Devil At Archangel - Sara Craven

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      ‘I see.’ Vivien was silent for a moment, then she said quite gently, ‘You will remember that his time costs money, won’t you? You can’t expect a professional man to continue indefinitely giving you free consultations.’

      Her face flaming now, Christina turned to Mr Frith. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘It never occurred to me …’

      ‘Or to me.’ He squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘What can I do to help, Christina?’

      She shook her head, trying to back away. ‘It doesn’t matter. I only wondered … I mean do you know …?’

      ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Vivien Webster interrupted irritably. ‘If you have something to say, say it and get it over with!’

      Christina tried to ignore her. ‘Did Aunt Grace ever mention a Mrs Brandon to you?’ she asked, but before he could reply, Vivien had butted in again.

      ‘The Brandons of Archangel?’ she demanded in a surprised tone. ‘But of course she’s mentioned them. She was at school with the wives—I forget their names, but they were sisters and they married two brothers—quite a romantic story. Why do you ask?’

      Christina supposed she could refuse to answer, but it did not seem worth the trouble.

      ‘Because Mrs Brandon is in England and she has offered me a job,’ she said with a certain dignity.

      Vivien and her husband exchanged glances. ‘Why on earth should she do that?’ the other woman asked coldly, after a pause. ‘You’re even less to her than you were to my aunt. Have you been writing begging letters to Aunt Grace’s wealthy friends? I do hope not, Christina. It’s so degrading …’

      ‘I’ve done nothing of the sort,’ Christina said hotly. Tears were not far away, but she blinked them back furiously, refusing to give way to that sort of weakness in front of her present audience. ‘I never even knew of her existence until today. Apparently Aunt Grace wrote to her when she first realised she was ill.’

      ‘Well, it seems most extraordinary that she should just arrive like that,’ Vivien declared. ‘Was she at the sale? I’m surprised she didn’t introduce herself.’

      ‘She did,’ Christina said quietly. ‘To me.’

      Vivien gave her a hostile look. ‘Well, I still don’t see what interest she has in you. I suppose you spun her some sob story about being destitute. I hope no one sees fit to remind her that there’s such a thing as Social Security.’

      Mr Frith touched Christina’s arm and she turned to him gratefully. ‘What kind of a job is it that she’s offered to you?’ he inquired kindly. ‘The name is well-known to me, of course. I believe Miss Grantham has known both the Mrs Brandons since her girlhood, but I had no idea she intended to contact them on your behalf. I must say it seems a godsend under the circumstances.’

      ‘I don’t see why,’ Vivien interrupted again. ‘I can see no need to turn to strangers. Angela Morton is looking for a reliable mother’s help again—the au pair stormed back to Sweden yesterday—and I’ve almost promised her that she could have Christina.’

      Christina felt almost sick with anger. She had heard of Vivien’s friend Angela before. She had four young children and did not believe in discipline of any kind. If Mrs Brandon had indeed been a white slave trader, she thought furiously, she would still have opted for her rather than the Morton ménage.

      She made herself smile, aping Vivien’s own superciliousness. ‘What a pity you didn’t think to mention it to me,’ she said with a fair degree of carelessness. ‘Then, of course, I wouldn’t have agreed to go to the West Indies.’

      Vivien gave her a fulminating stare, then sat back in her seat and wound the window up in bad-tempered jerks.

      Beside her, Christina heard Mr Frith give a little sigh as their car drew away.

      She gave him a wan smile. ‘I do seem to have committed myself, don’t I?’

      ‘Perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing,’ he commented drily. ‘It isn’t easy to find work these days, and this offer seems to have come at just the right time for you.’

      ‘Yes,’ Christina acknowledged doubtfully. ‘It just seems so odd that she should want to do this for me. I mean, she could just have thrown Aunt Grace’s letter away and forgotten about it. Mrs Webster was right, really. I am a complete stranger to the Brandons and they have no obligation to do anything for me. As it is, I don’t even have to make up my mind yet about working for her, but can just have a holiday at Archangel.’ She repeated the name wonderingly. ‘How strange that sounds.’

      Mr Frith frowned a little. ‘If you’re really unsure, Christina, I can always make some inquiries for you,’ he said. ‘Have you any reason to doubt this lady’s probity?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ Christina said quickly. ‘It seems she’s just what she said—a friend of Aunt Grace’s. That’s really all I wanted to know.’ She paused, then held out her hand. ‘I shall be joining her in London tomorrow, so I don’t suppose I shall have the chance to see you again. Will—will you thank your wife for me for all her kindness.’

      Mr Frith took her hand and pressed it warmly. ‘I hope everything works out well for you, my dear. It seems your godmother did have your best interests at heart after all. A summer in the Caribbean at the very least. We shall all envy you.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘If you—should find yourself in difficulties of any kind, you can always write to me. I know it’s what Miss Grantham would have wished.’

      ‘Yes.’ Christina felt suddenly awkward. ‘Thank you for that—and for everything.’

      She felt curiously forlorn as she watched his car drive off, as if she had lost her only friend in all the world. And that was nonsense, she told herself robustly. She now had Mrs Brandon, who had come halfway across the world apparently to befriend her, and there would be other people too—at Archangel. People she had not known existed, whom she would meet and learn to know in the weeks to come.

      But, strangely enough, as she turned to walk back to the Bay Horse, that thought did not bring in its train quite the comfort that she had expected.

      CHRISTINA opened the louvred shutters and stepped out on to her balcony into blazing sunshine. She looked down into an interior courtyard of the hotel where gaily coloured loungers surrounded the brilliant turquoise of a swimming pool and gave a little sigh of satisfaction. Mrs Brandon had been angry in the extreme when a delay in their flight to Martinique had meant that they missed the afternoon boat to Ste Victoire, but Christina herself had no regrets. She had not the slightest objection to spending some time in Martinique, even though she had resigned herself to the fact that there would be insufficient time to pay a visit to Les Trois Ilets, the birthplace of the Empress Josephine of France. On the way to the hotel, she had seen a large statue of the great lady and realised how proud the Creoles were of their famous daughter.

      Mrs Brandon had retired to her room and had curtly advised that Christina should do the same, but Christina knew that she would never rest. It was all too new and exciting, and her first jet flight had stimulated her rather than induced any signs of jet lag.

      It was still very much a flight into the unknown as far as she was concerned. She still knew very little about Archangel and its inhabitants, and her diffident questions had met with little response from Mrs Brandon. One thing she had elicited was that Vivien Webster had been quite right when she had said that Marcelle and her sister had married two brothers. She had also learned that Madeleine Brandon and her husband had both died in a boating tragedy a few years earlier, although she was given no details.

      One thing Christina had found out for herself was that Mrs Brandon had not been unfair to herself when she mentioned her temper. After only a day in her company in London, she had learned that the older woman

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