Castle In The Clouds, Chapters nine and ten (standard:drama, 5083 words) [5/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jul 13 2009	Views/Reads: 2569/1871	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Serialisation of my story set on an island off of the Northumberland coast. A prominent banker purchases a castle and finds himself a captive of his dreams.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

shrugged, endeavouring to conceal his disappointment that Veronica 
hadn't been present to greet him. 'How are things Dorothea, I trust 
there are no problems to speak of?' 

Dorothea waved a hand dismissively. 'Nothing I haven't been able to
handle – I would have thought she'd have the courtesy to await your 
return before undertaking her expedition of the island,' she persisted, 
swinging up to him, arms crossed. 

'Why do you take it upon yourself to be so vindictive?' Llewellyn
suddenly snapped, receiving a triumphant smile from his sister. 

'Oh dear, dear,' she patted his arm, 'more than a little touchy this
morning, aren't we, Thomas?' 

'On account of your behaviour, nothing more.' Llewellyn brushed down his
blue blazer and white flannels, turning away from her. This wasn't the 
homecoming he'd expected. 

'I beg your pardon – and what is wrong with my behaviour?' Llewellyn
felt Dorothea's hand grasp his upper arm, 'Has somebody been 
complaining, and would that somebody be Hambleton?' 

'Hambleton has said nothing,' Llewellyn lied, removing her hand from his
arm; for the equilibrium of the castle he could not impart what his 
butler had told him. 'Purely my own observations, I know you well 
enough, Dorothea.' 

'Not as well as you think it seems.' Dorothea's tone had lowered, her
lips twisting into ugly shapes, she lofted her head back and black 
curls swung about her face. No sooner had he set foot in the place than 
she was becoming confrontational, but he had allowed her to goad him 
over Veronica's absence, though he retained enough composure to prevent 
her capitalising on it. 

He turned away with her taunts ringing in his ears and headed upstairs,
out onto the roof garden, past the benches and table to the parapet, 
and then sweeping his eyes along the shoreline he saw her, a tall 
figure in a flowing green dress making her way jauntily towards the 
castle, pausing now and then to hurl a pebble into the sea. 

Delighted to see her returning he dashed through the castle and down the
slope, which she now approached looking windswept, slightly tanned and 
very healthy, her red hair fanned out by the wind. She greeted him with 
the broadest of smiles. 

'I'm delighted to see you Veronica.' He took her hand and when she
clutched it gently, let go. 'I'm so pleased you could come. I would 
have arrived yesterday but for a fallen tree on the main line.' 

She swept her hair away from her eyes. 'Well you're here now and that's
nice.' She glanced out to sea and then up at the skies. 'The weather's 
been kind to us after all that wind and rain. I was going for a walk 
around the island but I saw you and Mr. Hambleton in the trap.' 

'Perhaps we can do so together?'  Llewellyn suggested, with a tweak of
his moustache. 'I hardly know the island myself, never having had the 
time.' 

'Yes, let's.' 

Llewellyn felt like a love-struck youngster, longing to take her hand
but fearing to be so bold, so soon. 

'Isn't it great to be at one with nature?' Veronica said cheerily as
they headed back along the shoreline. 

'Most certainly,' Llewellyn replied, nodding at a flock of birds
foraging amongst the seaweed, 'they seem happy enough.' 

'Turnstones,' Veronica smiled. 

'I beg your pardon?' 

'They're called Turnstones, they're distinguished by their short orange
legs and small black bill – oh, and look at the baby gulls,' she 
pointed to a small group on the edge of the breakers, observed by their 
parents, splashing and tipping their tails. 'They're learning to swim. 
In a minute one of the bigger ones will stretch a foot out, tip them 
over – sink or swim technique, that's what it is.' 

Llewellyn was impressed; he hadn't counted on getting a nature lesson.
They stopped to watch the gulls; sure enough one of the parents toppled 
them over, one by one. 

'You seem quite acquainted with nature,' Llewellyn remarked as they
strolled away from the shore, heading towards the abbey ruins. 

'That's down to my parents,' she said, 'principally my father; we spent
long holidays on the  coast when I was a child, he taught me a lot – he 
was a great enthusiast on wading birds -' she sighed, 'and then we 
moved to Vienna and everything changed.' 

'In what way?' Llewellyn asked, offering a hand to assist Veronica as
they climbed a steep bank. 

'No, it's okay, I can manage.' She waved him away, climbed the bank
easily and Llewellyn felt a momentary stab of resentment at her refusal 
to take his hand. 'My father was a professor, and took a post at the 
University of Vienna, and my mother became a music teacher in the 
city.' 

Llewellyn noticed the smile had gone from Veronica's face. 'Would you
like to rest. There is a garden adjacent to the abbey grounds -' 

'Good heavens no, why, are you tiring?' 

Llewellyn was taken aback. 'No, of course not – it's just that, well –
you seem suddenly a trifle weary.' 

'No, no,' Veronica said dismissively. 'It's just the thought of all
those years in Vienna; although I received an outstanding education and 
learned the violin, I missed my childhood in this country.' Veronica 
turned her back, gazed out to sea and clapped her hands. 'Especially 
locations such as this – peaceful, remote, isolated.' She swung back to 
him, 'Come on, let's carry on inland, I'm turning melancholy.' 

Llewellyn led her into a curving lane, its hedgerows adorned with
hawthorn and elder. 'I've read about your years in Vienna, but I hadn't 
realised you were unhappy there.' 

'I wouldn't say I was unhappy exactly, but it's not that I had a lot of
option – more a case of having to. I must sound ungrateful -' 

'No of course not,' Llewellyn was quick to shake his head. 'I undertook
a career in banking, under my parents' guidance you understand – I 
cannot say however that I've felt any regret, or had the inclination to 
pursue anything else.' 

'Then I'm happy for you.' Veronica broke off as a gaggle of geese flew
low overhead, 'You have made a success of your career doing something 
you like -' 

'As have you -' 

'Yes, but at a cost.' 

Llewellyn was going to question her reply but she gave him an inquiring
glance and said, 'You say you read about my years in Vienna, where did 
you read it?' 

Llewellyn swallowed heavily, in his desire to become familiarised with
Veronica he had studied every classical music journal he could get his 
hands on, but he wasn't certain he should admit to it. 

But as he was formulating his reply Veronica broke into his thoughts,
pointing across to the castle grounds. 'That's your gardener out there, 
I believe – he does such a fine job on your gardens.' 

'Yes, indeed he does. Shall we have a word with him?' 

'Oh no, I wouldn't want to intrude on his work.' 

'Nonsense, I'd intended to speak with him on my return and you, I know
have a concern for his welfare, a concern that I fully appreciate.' 

Veronica briefly lowered her eyes as Llewellyn opened the gate and led
the way to where Gibbings was planting rose trees. 'Good morning 
Gibbings, a fine job you're doing -' he outstretched his arm, 'you 
remember Miss Day, no doubt, she was just expressing her admiration for 
your work.' 

Gibbings afforded her a quick glance, broody, unsmiling. 

'I try my best.' 

'That's all I ask.' Llewellyn cupped a palm to his chin, 'You are well I
take it, you look a trifle jaded -' 

'Aye sir, I'm fine.' Gibbings tapped restlessly on the shaft of his
spade. 'Everything's fine.' 

'And Miss Llewellyn has treated you well?' 

‘Yes, sir.' 

'Very well, keep up the good work.' Satisfied, Llewellyn turned to go,
but Veronica remained still. 'Mr. Gibbings, I shall be holding a 
recital in the castle's roof gardens tomorrow evening, weather 
permitting -' she looked to Llewellyn who turned abruptly in surprise, 
'with Mr. Llewellyn's permission of course. I would deem it a great 
honour if you would attend.'  She glanced again at Llewellyn, 'This 
invitation is naturally extended to your entire household.' 

Gibbings' eyes widened. 'No, he protested, I can't -' 

'Nonsense Gibbings,' Llewellyn interrupted sternly, glancing to
Veronica. 'What a fine gesture, to refuse would be an act of rudeness 
and I do not tolerate incivility. You shall attend, as shall my sister, 
Hambleton and Mrs. Simms. Beforehand we will dine on the terrace.' 

Gibbings opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut without uttering
a word, though his jaw was clenched and he was biting his lip. 

Veronica gave him a smile and a nod, before joining Llewellyn in a walk
back to the castle, 'Forgive me for not seeking your permission, she 
said quietly, 'but it was an impromptu decision, and I thought it would 
be nice for your household to be involved.' 

'Indeed it would, what a noble gesture. We are so fortunate to have you
as a guest.' 

Llewellyn, smiling broadly, approached the castle, his pleasure growing.
The presence of Veronica with her fine music on a lovely summer's 
evening would dissolve any disharmony that existed in his midst as 
surely as ice-cream melted on a hot day. Though he suspected that a lot 
of what he'd heard was a figment of his butler's overactive mind. 

Chapter Ten 

Dorothea looked up from her paper, a frown lining her forehead as the
strains of Veronica's violin seemed to fill the castle, cascading down 
from her room. 'This place is becoming an incessant musical box,' she 
complained to Llewellyn from her armchair. 

'Nonsense, Veronica needs frequent practice to maintain her
exceptionally high standard,' Llewellyn said, raising his ears to the 
music as he reclined in a high backed leather chair. 'We are fortunate 
to be given the opportunity to listen to her music – indeed, I should 
inform you she will be holding a recital out on the roof garden 
tomorrow evening, I trust you will be gracious enough to attend; I 
expect the whole household to be present.' 

Dorothea put the paper down, her lashes meeting repeatedly, before
giving Llewellyn a disbelieving look. 'Hambleton I concede - Mrs Simms 
I confess to not knowing her musical inclinations. But as for Gibbings, 
you are not suggesting that the likes of him would be in the slightest 
interested -' 

'The invitation was not mine Dorothea.' Llewellyn arced from his
reclined state, placed his hands on his knees, 'It was extended by 
Veronica herself, most generously.' 

'Oh such generosity Thomas,' Dorothea laughed incredulously. 'Have you
not noticed her tendency to “call the tune” if you'll excuse the 
phrase. She seems to do as she pleases and that is not normal for a 
mature woman of her standing -' 

'What pleases me Dorothea, is that you, Hambleton, Mrs. Simms and
Gibbings do the lady the courtesy of attending her performance.' 
Llewellyn brushed his moustache roughly with the back of his hand. 'And 
I will thank you to keep your ill-conceived opinions to yourself.' 

Dorothea gave a slow, bitter smile, 'Oh that you be stung by mere words,
Thomas. Are you so star-struck that you cannot see the truth in them, 
or do you indeed do so and choose to shut your eyes and ears?' 

'Your nonsense is the only thing that deafens my ears Dorothea and I
will listen to it no longer.' Llewellyn sprung to his feet, made for 
the door, stopped as he grabbed the frame and turned; his voice low in 
contrast to the music from the violin, he said, 'I trust you will 
remember your civility at dinner this evening, for the sake of our 
guest.' 

Dorothea rose and sauntered towards him, her long cream gown brushing
the stone floor, 'Unfortunately I shall not be present. I have an 
engagement with an intermediary from the village. Someone needs to 
maintain supplies for the demand made on them by your unexpected 
guests.' Dorothea raised her head as she brushed past him, regarded him 
with wide eyes, 'Don't they?' 

Llewellyn watched Dorothea approach the stone stairway with a familiar
swing in her stride, but more pronounced on this occasion; he heard her 
steps as she climbed it, presumably to the next floor where she had two 
adjoining rooms, one serving as her office. He wondered momentarily 
what work Gibbings had undertaken in them then chastised himself for 
even reflecting on it. 

Dorothea's powerful aura, her attitude, her haughty sarcasm, seemed to
encompass him at times, and in times of his absence, seemingly the 
castle itself and those within it, and this within a few short months 
of taking possession of the place. He wondered ultimately whether she 
might engulf the whole island, and then shuddered at the thought. 

For the first time that day he considered whether an impartial
administrator might have proven a prudent investment whereby his sister 
could have remained in her Richmond home. But his business dealings had 
extended him beyond his ability to purchase the castle outright, and 
only Dorothea's intervention had made the acquisition possible. Hence 
she now held a stake, and control of castle affairs in his absence. 

Upstairs the music had ceased, and fearing that in her present frame of
mind Dorothea might provoke a confrontation with Veronica, Llewellyn 
ascended the steps to the upper floors, on the first of which 
Veronica's room lay. Her door was slightly ajar, he tapped twice 
without response and so, nudging it open a fraction he peered through. 
Veronica's violin sat on its stand, but of her there was no sign. He 
ran up to the roof garden and from the shade of the open door, saw 
Veronica and his sister. 

Veronica was relaxing against a green wrought-iron bench, with Dorothea,
arms folded, prowling to and fro, her hawkish gaze angled towards the 
violinist. 'It was very generous of you to arrange to perform for the 
household's benefit, even those of us who do not wish to hear you.' 

'My offer was made with all good intentions,' he heard Veronica calmly
say. 'It was meant to convey my gratitude at being invited back. Miss 
Llewellyn, I wasn't the one who deemed it compulsory.' 

'No indeed it was I.' Llewellyn had intended simply to eavesdrop but
Dorothea's belligerence had gone a step too far. He was livid, lunging 
into the roof garden, his fists clenched so tightly they shook. He 
sensed that Dorothea knew it, because for once that arrogant stance had 
deserted her. There was a nervousness in the way she stepped back. 

'Thomas wait.' Veronica had moved with surprising speed across the
bench, he felt her hand clasp his wrist with a gentle firmness. 'It's 
not what it seems. Dorothea's duties leave her tired, running the 
affairs of a building such as this, is, I suspect, no small order.' 
With her eyes firmly set on Dorothea, she said, 'I think you mistook 
what you saw as rudeness for frustration.' 

Llewellyn took a huge breath as Veronica released his wrist, and swung
away. He recalled Dorothea's agitation a few minutes earlier, over the 
evening visit she had to pay an intermediary, but he still couldn't 
excuse her behaviour -“even those of us who do not wish to hear it.” 
Despite Veronica's intervention on her behalf Llewellyn struggled to 
interpret Dorothea's remark as anything other than rank rudeness. 

'Thomas, might I suggest that tomorrow evening Miss Llewellyn relax in
her own way,' Veronica said quietly, her hand upon his wrist. 'I shall 
be quite satisfied with the company of the remainder of your 
household.' 

'Very well, Llewellyn stammered, he had all but lost control of his
reasoning; he needed space, time to regain his composure. Admirably, 
Veronica seemed to have lost none of hers. * 

Dorothea lofted her head, gave Veronica a stony glance as she followed
her brother out. 

She was smarting – had she of all people, played directly into another's
hands? She'd lost face, for the first time she could recall; her 
brother had lost his temper as he occasionally did when pressured, but 
all the while Veronica Day had remained ice-cool. She'd out-maneuvered 
her, and despite that placid composition, the woman knew it. That one 
fact released a message darting to her brain – she was not to be 
underestimated. 

Back in her main room Dorothea stretched out on a Chesterfield sofa, a
glass of Scotch whisky in her hand, fingers tapping restlessly on the 
glass while her eyes travelled frequently to the clock. 

She had a visit to pay somebody shortly, but that somebody wasn't the
intermediary she'd informed her brother of, neither was it business 
related; the recipient of her visit had crept his way into her mind and 
soul by some, invisible, unguarded entrance she hadn't known existed 
until too late, by then he had taken root, governing her thoughts and 
actions so that all she saw was him, yes – and a lurking, ice-cool 
predator. 

John Gibbings was loathsome – he was dirty, untidy, of undeniably low
social standing and yet she desired him, needed his presence on an 
ever-increasing basis - 

But he hadn't responded the way she'd have liked and so she'd found him
regular jobs in the privacy of her rooms, until they were no longer 
enough. It was his full attention, his full, physical attention she 
wanted and nobody was going to stand in her way. 

Veronica Day wasn't the quiet, introverted classical violinist she gave
the impression of being, she was the lurking, ice-cool predator, the 
classic wolf in sheep's clothing; but John Gibbings didn't answer to 
Day, he answered to her, he was in her debt and at any time she could 
recall it, would do if he failed to comply with her demands. Though it 
wouldn't be necessary, because Gibbings, she was certain, would come to 
cherish her affections. 

Dorothea coiled her hand tightly around the stem of her glass, swirled a
mouthful of scotch  and felt it glide warmly down her throat, before 
embarking on the short walk to John Gibbings' cottage. * 

Thomas Llewellyn had been embarrassed beyond measure by his loss of
composure in the roof garden. In the past he'd occasionally allowed his 
temper to rule his actions and ended up regretting it. Only Veronica's 
calm response had prevented him exploding at his sister, but in losing 
his equilibrium had he diminished her respect for him? How did he stand 
in her eyes now? 

For the past two hours he'd reflected on that, and whether to seek her
out and apologise for the scene he'd helped create but he'd held back, 
determined to regain his full composure, to present himself in his true 
colours, that of a rational, well mannered and cordial man – someone 
capable and worthy of becoming her suitor. 

Now he experienced a fizz of excitement as Veronica walked into the
dining room where he stood waiting, the white dress she wore enhancing 
her tanned, unblemished skin, while a slim gold bracelet sparkled from 
her wrist. 

He caught the fragrance of her perfume as she responded to his
outstretched hand, taking a seat opposite, a hint of honeysuckle on a 
summer's evening. 'Veronica, it warms me to see you looking so lovely,' 
he said, seating himself in a plush red dining chair and leaning 
forward. 'I feel I must apologise for my inexcusable behaviour this 
afternoon.' 

'Not at all Thomas.' She reached across, placing her hand on his, her
long fingers enveloping it and sending a tingling thrill through him. 
'You must not feel that; you misinterpreted the situation, that is all 
– you acted on my behalf and showed your true, good nature.' 

He was glowing inside from the feel of her touch, so soft, and yet he'd
so recently experienced the firmness of her restraining hold on him. 
'My – my self-control deserted me. I felt that my sister was being 
insufferably rude.' 

Veronica removed her hand from his, raised a glass of red wine to her
lips, he felt her vibrant green eyes on his as she said, 'Your sister 
is what she is, Thomas, somewhat volatile, but I've told you it was all 
a misunderstanding – and please do not feel the need to intervene on my 
account. I am not easily alarmed or offended.' 

Her voice was quiet and yet so clear, her composure seemed absolute, her
beauty as the evening sunlight shone through the castle's Gothic 
windows exemplified in her hair, rich in vitality, its hue matching the 
reddening sunlight – he took in her broad, intelligent face and fine 
nose – Veronica Day had it all and Llewellyn was aroused. 

He was ready to fire his big question, it seemed the perfect moment. 'I
was wondering -' he began, but stopped short as he saw Hambleton enter 
the dining room bearing a tray containing dishes of smoked salmon. 
'Thank you Hambleton.' He watched his butler carefully lay out their 
meals, 'I trust we shall enjoy this as much as we surely will Miss 
Day's violin recital tomorrow. Let us hope for a fine evening.' 

'I'm sure it will be sir.' Hambleton glanced out of the window, saw a
figure passing the walled garden, heading towards John Gibbings' 
cottage. 'For Mrs. Simms' benefit sir, might I enquire as to whether 
Miss Llewellyn will be requiring supper, she hasn't mentioned it you 
see -' 

'I have no idea,' Llewellyn said edgily, the mere mention of his
sister's name was becoming enough to irritate him. 'She has an 
appointment in the village with a supplier. If she had made no mention 
then Mrs. Simms may be released for the evening.' 

'Very good sir.' Hambleton left the room and Llewellyn contemplated
bringing up the subject uppermost on his mind until Veronica spoke 
between mouthfuls of salmon. 'This is excellent. Mrs. Simms is a 
splendid cook, in fact I must compliment you on your selection of 
staff, they are all first rate. I assume they were your appointments.' 

'Such as they are – a very small staff you will have noticed. Hambleton
is my own man; he accompanied me on my move here and elected to stay. 
Mrs. Simms is a native of the island and John Gibbings is our gardener 
– in truth I know little about him,' Llewellyn paused, looked out at 
the gardens, a spectacle of multi-coloured splendour – 'other than that 
he does a first class job -' 

'I see. Then how did you come to appoint him?' 

Llewellyn adjusted his black smoking jacket – his favourite; this
evening it felt a little tight. Perhaps it was the food or perhaps 
simply that the conversation was taking a course other than his 
intended one - 

'Well, in point of fact I didn't employ Gibbings directly; whilst I was
surveying the castle with intention of purchase my sister undertook to 
examine the grounds, encountering Gibbings near the cottage he rents on 
the edge of our boundaries. Apparently, she had some reservations, but 
again there were good recommendations, thus we employed him.' 

Veronica turned her head away, placed down her cutlery, cupping her chin
with the tops of her hands. 'What kind of reservations?' 

'I really don't know.' Llewellyn was finding it difficult to suppress
his growing irritation. The intricacies of Gibbings' appointment as 
gardener seemed an insignificant topic for conversation over dinner. 

'Is the salmon not to your liking?' 

She returned her attention to him. 'Indeed it is, but I habitually take
small breaks for digestion purposes.' Her eyes remained on him, 
although her face was expressionless they seemed to be searching – the 
clear message was, she wasn't through with the subject. 

'I see; most commendable. With regard to your question,' Llewellyn said
through a mouthful of salmon, 'I can only surmise that my sister took 
objection to the condition of his hands, which she continues to insist 
are always filthy, though what would you expect of a gardener?' He 
paused, took a sip of red wine, 'She has a strange attitude towards him 
which caused Hambleton to comment, but we are talking of Dorothea here 
one must remember.' 

'What kind of comment?' 

Llewellyn looked into Veronica's widened green eyes, they seemed to melt
his frustration, 'Apparently that she gives him regular odd jobs and 
daily inspections. Anyway, her obsession with cleanliness was probably 
the cause of any reticence,' 

'Perhaps,' Veronica said quietly, resuming her meal. 

'I beg your pardon?' 

'Perhaps we shall never know, and perhaps we shall.' 

Llewellyn shook his head and then searched for a change of subject.
Veronica's pre-occupation with Gibbings' appointment had voided his 
mind for the moment of his intended course of conversation. * 

The door to the tiny stone built cottage lay open and so Dorothea didn't
bother to knock, she didn't deem it necessary. She and her brother 
owned the castle and grounds after all, and that included the drab, 
unimposing dwelling she was now entering. 

She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the gloom within, making out
Gibbings' silhouette as he boiled water on a stove in the tiny kitchen 
beyond the drawing room. 

'Miss Llewellyn -' sounding surprised he placed a kettle on the stove
and came towards her, bare from the waist up, a towel slung over his 
left shoulder, his slim, well defined and tanned upper body glistening 
beneath a mop of dark curly hair. 'Anything I can do for you?' 

'You do wash occasionally then?' Dorothea drew close, running the back
of a forefinger slowly down the centre of his chest; she thought she 
saw a flicker of resentment in his eyes as his mouth tightened. 

'Struck dumb are you?' 

'Miss Llewellyn I -' 

'Yes, there is something you can do for me,' she pushed past, brushing
against his bare skin, 'after I've examined your quarters. Show me your 
bedroom.' 

'If you care to look yourself, Miss -' Gibbings pushed open an adjoining
door. 'I must attend to the lifeboat -' 

'Do you not trust yourself in your own bedroom in my company Gibbings,
is that it?' 

She watched him clasp the back of his neck, shake his head. 'No, Miss.' 

'Then step inside, it is not a request Gibbings.' 

The room was sparse, a single bed, a worn oak wardrobe and an oil lamp
atop a cabinet. A threadbare carpet covered the floor but Dorothea was 
not the least interested in the furnishing. 

She entered the room and turned, Gibbings had halted barely inside the
doorway. 'It seems that I am braver than you Gibbings, why – you seduce 
me here and I would be at your mercy – why, I'll make it easy, I'll 
come to you.' 

Dorothea took two paces towards him, held his arms, her head craning
towards his neck. 'No - Miss – please,' Gibbings thrust her away, 
'don't be doing this.' 

She breathed deeply, made to come again then checked herself. 'Very
well, you have passed my test, but I am most displeased with the 
condition of this cottage, more regular inspections will be necessary.' 


Dorothea swept past him to the door, turned, swallowed back her
indignation. 'Should Veronica Day place any demands upon you, be 
certain not to concede to them. I remind you that your position here is 
by my own good grace. Was Mr. Llewellyn to learn of the true 
circumstances surrounding you then he would dismiss you forthwith.' 

Gibbings lowered his gaze, 'Aye Miss Llewellyn.' He watched Dorothea
stride along the path, head high, arms swinging, and then slammed the 
door shut. 


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