Dear Deceiver(31)

'I'm sure she would,' Rory agreed still avuncularly. 'What time may we expect you?'

Powerscourt Demesne was not open to the public in November, but Paul  obtained access. They passed under the stone eagle on the entrance gates  and headed up the avenue. On the right, the great park, where a film  company had once shot the battle of Agincourt, unrolled its green to the  dark lapis lazuli of the hills. On the left, the cone of Sugar Loaf  stood naked against the clouds.



There were thirty-six thousand acres in the estate put down in grass and  garden, wood and weald, and a waterfall that poured like milk over  black rock four hundred feet high. Paul took a road in this direction  and followed it along the banks of the Dargle to the back road. Crossing  this, the estate went on into mountain land; the sound of the river was  louder and more exciting and there were signposts distinguishing the  car route to the waterfall from the rough field path.

Ahead, now visible again and making the panorama which was almost a  commonplace in this county of thirty summits, were the mountains. And  they were wild. On the skyline saddles and ridges were peat brown, below  came a narrow band of green and then a richer swathe of plantation. A  ruler of road straight up the face of the mountain cut the conifers in  two, but stopped short of the heath and the rocky brown wilderness above  it. Sometimes a feeling about a place can come at first sight. One came  to Haidee then, so strongly that as she gazed at the ridge antlers  appeared to twinkle along it.

'You realize you're looking at the back doorstep?' Paul asked lightly.  'That,' he pointed at the highest of the peaks, 'is Glenglass  Mountain-the side you don't see from the village.'

'Then you could get up there.' She pointed. 'From the forest?'

He was not impressed. 'If you were crackers,' he said carelessly, driving on.

He had an easy way with people. Willie Byrne, located in his  son-in-law's cottage, was obviously flattered at being sought out as an  expert.

'Oh, begob there are,' he asserted in reply to Paul's question as to  whether there were still deer in the vicinity. 'If I'd me legs under me  like I used I'll guarantee I could find you upwards o' fifty beyant  there on the mountain.'

An exciting prospect, but apparently it had to be done at dusk or later.  'No use in the daytime at all. You scare the living light out of them. I  only once saw a number to speak of in the daytime. 'Course you'll see  the odd one. Don't mind that. You want to see the king bringing in his  herd.' He described how he had seen this in the dusk of a summer  evening, fifty to sixty animals in all strung out in single file along  the ridge top of Glenglass with the master stag in front. These were  wild deer, of course, he explained, descendants of those who during 'the  troubles' had escaped from Powerscourt Park and taken up residence in  the northwesterly parts of the Wicklow range. 'An' bloody terrible the  way they're gettin' slaughtered,' he threw in fiercely at this point.  This time of the year they were starting to come closer in, summer they  lived higher and farther out. At the moment the rut was still on, last  night he had heard the roars of them in the distance.                       
       
           



       

'The rut is the breeding season,' Paul interpolated for Haidee's benefit.

She said unthinkingly: 'The babies must be beautiful. I'd love to see some.'

'Them's words I don't like hearing,' old Willie rejoined unexpectedly.  'People go making pets of the calves and it's not right. They're wild  creatures. Nature puts in their brain-box that man's an enemy, and  that's the way it should stay. If I had a' needed to learn that which I  didn't I surely saw it with Miss Suzanne beyant there in Glenglass.'

Haidee caught her breath. Unnecessarily. The faded blue eyes turned  benignly upon her silky hair and the oval glasses Paul had suggested  obviously saw no likeness. How could they? Their owner was back in the  past, somewhere in the middle fifties. Long hair hadn't come into  fashion then; Suzanne would probably have had short curls.

He had taken her, it seemed, on many an expedition, her and 'young Rory  Hart-him that's now in charge of the forest. Rory had been a sensible  lad, Suzanne 'pigheaded as they come'. She had made a pet of a calf,  christened it some rubbishy name, and got it so it followed her about.  One day it had trailed her down the mountain, bolted across the road  after her and been killed by a passing car.

'Lord have mercy, what a business!' The white head shook. 'It was everyone's fault, o' course, except Suzanne's.'

He would have developed the theme, but Paul pulled him back. 'Any chance of getting up to the deer these days?'

'You could, you could,' old Willie allowed. 'There's two ways. You can  climb up this side be the back of the waterfall or there's a short way  up t'other side, but it's Forestry land, so you'd need to get  permission.'

'Any hope with a car?' Paul pursued.

'You could, I suppose, if you'd a good enough engine.' He mentioned a  road and the fact that at times it would be necessary to drive on the  rocky surface of the moor. 'I don't advise it, mind. You'll ruin your  springs, but I suppose it's worth a try.'

'Listen to this, lily maid,' Paul said genially to Haidee. 'I ask for thee!'

He could have saved himself the trouble. Haidee saw no prospect of  borrowing a vehicle nor would she have risked it alone. His intentions,  however, had been good and the tip he slipped old Willie on leaving was  generous. It earned them a fervent: 'May God spare you the health. Good  luck now, good luck.'

There was a cheese pudding for supper and Toby partook heartily and quickly.

'Just a minute, just a minute,' Haidee joked when his empty plate came up for the third time. 'Rory, are you ready?'

'Yes, please. It's very good,' he approved.

What was happening to him? The morning's mellowness with Paul, and now a  smile boyish as his son's. In passing the plate their fingers touched  and the warmth of his made her absurdly glad. She wanted to make him  comfortable, warmed, fed, rested. This morning he had seemed older and  all day she had not been able to forget it.

'Suzanne,' Jennie said abruptly, 'where did you go this afternoon with Paul Freeman? I saw you coming back.'

If she had dropped a gauntlet along with it, the sentence could not have  been more challenging. The significance of it, sinking coldly, delayed  Haidee's reply. Rory got there first. 'Oh yes, he was taking you for a  drive, wasn't he? Have a good time?' Brown spatulate fingers conveyed  the spoon to his mouth. 'This stuff is very good. We shall have to get  the recipe for Mrs. Ryan.'

There was a slight sound from Jennie's end of the table. Uneaseful, like  the clearing of a throat. Haidee, looking down at treacle dark eyes and  a forehead beaded with sweat, was in her own turn hot with trepidation.

'Sorry,' said Jennie anxiously. 'I was just going to ask will he be  taking you out tomorrow.' She paused and Haidee shook her head. Whatever  the child was up to, it was costing her something.

'Did you want me for something?' she asked.

Jennie had gone scarlet. 'Yes, in a way. I think you should go and see  Mother Mary.' She was not good at delivering ultimatums and she looked  quite agonized. 'And I'll go with you. If that will be all right?'                       
       
           



       

In the second's silence Haidee found herself looking not at Jennie but  at Rory. Almost imperceptibly he nodded. It held reassurance, or seemed  to. A moment later she dispelled the feeling for the fancy it must be.  Rory had no doubts of her. And if he had he would certainly not have  been protective.

She stood alone as always, but, frighteningly, her solitude now had a  degree of sophistication. She was the more alone because, like the deer,  she wanted to come in close.

Too silly. Absolute cobblers. And you haven't answered Jennie.

She nodded quickly: 'Of course, I'd like that. Tomorrow, then.'

Next day she wondered about Marie Antoinette. Had she dressed up for her  date with the guillotine? It echoed faintly in memory that she had.

She thought of her own French name as establishing a link. Haidee with a  slim neck ready for the chop. She switched her hair and pinned it in a  pleat, buttoned the cuffs of her high-necked paisley blouse and stood  with her gold trench coat in one hand and her dark Sunday coat in the  other. Choosing the dark with dark gloves and shoes and quite liking the  effect of gold paisley at the neck, she went downstairs to find Jennie  in pants and fur-trimmed jacket.

'You're all dressed up,' the younger girl commented disapprovingly.

'And very nice too,' Rory's voice from the background was a shock. She  had not dreamed he was anywhere near the house. 'Take the car,' he  suggested. 'You can hardly climb fences in that get-up.'

Again it seemed Jennie did not approve. 'Oh, heavens, that makes it so different.'