Kitabı oku: «Mistaken Mistress», sayfa 2

Reception handed over Owen’s key without a murmur. The management knew both of them well. Knew they were close friends and business partners.

In the lift he used the security key to get himself to the top floor. This was the first time Owen had bothered with a suite. Owen, like himself, usually settled for a deluxe room. After all, they spent precious little time in it. His dark thoughts were returning. Was this Owen’s little love nest when he came to town? Surely not? Owen wouldn’t expose himself or his young love in this way.

He opened the door, seeing the empty space before him; the suite was commodious, comfortable, stylish, a home away from home for the businessman under pressure. He went to the desk along a wall hung with a large genuine oil painting, a seascape, of considerable merit. The hotel liked to trust its up-market guests. He spotted the folder at once. It contained coloured photographs, designs, architectural drawings still in the planning stage for a challenging new project, some twenty-five spacious luxury villas they intended to build along the Hibiscus coast shoreline. The resort would include a private marina, seafront pool and twenty-four-hour security. Last year they’d won platinum in the Best of the New Millennium Awards. He was riffling through the folder when he heard a sound from the master bedroom beyond. He hesitated, frowning. Was it possible the suite was being serviced? With the large folder in his hand he walked to the corridor calling out, “Hello?”

Even as he did it, the warning bells rang. He knew in a very few moments he was going to come face to face with the love of Owen’s life.

Hell and damnation. He wasn’t ready for it.

She emerged from the bedroom looking disturbed before she even caught sight of him. She’d been dressing. That was clear. She’d probably spent the morning in bed. He took in the silky black masses of waves and curls tumbling to her shoulders, little tendrils still damp from the shower. She wore no shoes on her narrow feet. Up close he saw her eyes were lotus-blue, like her dress. Nor could he stop noticing, like last night, she was trembling. If he were truthful with himself he’d have to admit there was something approaching violence in the emotions that shot through him. He didn’t want it, but he couldn’t stop it. He despised this girl but he knew now he wanted to see her again. The full realisation shocked him.

“You!”

The word was a little cry, a reminder of the night before. If possible she was more agitated than he was.

“I’m sorry.” He knew his voice was curt to cutting. “I didn’t realise anyone was here. Lang Forsyth.” He introduced himself. “I’m Owen’s partner.”

“Yes.” There was such stillness about her. She might have been a painting. “Owen has told me so much about you.”

“How fascinating!” He recognised that as acid. “I must go now.” He had to get out of there before he told her what he thought of her. That would be much too much. The end of everything with Owen.

“Please…” It was an appeal and it stopped him briefly. “You were at the restaurant last night.”

“I wanted to be private. There’s no reason for you to tell Owen. I had no wish to disturb you.”

“You looked at me as though you hated me?”

The luminous gaze momentarily disarmed him. “How could I do that? You’re a total stranger.”

“Except you do have a reason. Your reaction was so strong.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “What the devil are you doing here in his suite? Half dressed.” He marvelled at the colour and texture of her skin.

“I’m a kept woman, is that it?” Such control for such a small-boned, small-breasted, willowy creature.

He knew his eyes were ice-cold. “Forgive me if I can’t be as civil as you’d like. All I can think of is what’s going to happen from now on?”

“You don’t want me in Owen’s life?”

He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“But I am in it, Mr. Forsyth,” she said with no trace of triumph. “My position has been confirmed. Owen loves me.”

“Infatuation,” he cut in. “Owen is totally swept away by your beauty.”

“He’s seen it before.”

He couldn’t account for that. “What are you talking about? What tricks are you playing?”

“No tricks,” she said gently. “If you’d allowed me just a little time to justify my actions…”

He turned decisively to go on his way. “I’m sorry. You’d need all the time in the world.”

“You’re on dangerous ground, Mr. Forsyth,” she warned from behind him.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” He caught hold of the doorknob. “You’ve propelled yourself into Owen’s life but it’s not my relationship with Owen that disturbs me the most. Or the fact that our relationship might end. It’s Owen himself I’m worried about. Owen and his family.”

“Such pure motives. How high-minded you are.”

“While you are not.” He let her see his contempt.

“I think you’d better go now.”

How her flush accentuated the whiteness of her skin. “I intend to. From something Owen said to me earlier I think he was planning for us all to meet over dinner. That may not be possible.”

“I’ll allow Owen to persuade you,” she said quietly. “I have no desire to myself.”

CHAPTER TWO

EDEN first laid eyes on her father at her mother’s funeral. She had no idea then who he was or the remarkable fact that he, not Redmond Sinclair, was her natural father. Owen was her mother’s lover over twenty years before when they were both very young.

Owen—a ruggedly handsome man in his prime—would have stood out anywhere, but it had been the quality of his gaze that had seized and held her attention. Just as Lang Forsyth’s silvery lancing glance had compelled her to look in his direction in the restaurant last night. Now she knew who he was. Owen’s close friend and partner. Owen had portrayed Lang Forsyth as a wonderful guy. Brilliant! A man of great strengths, educated, polished, ambitious, a great mixer, the sort of man you’d want on your side. Not the man you’d ever need as an enemy, Eden has since concluded.

She put up her hands to cover the flush of helpless anger that rose to her cheeks as she relived that brief incident which had so affected her. Of course he harboured the belief she was Owen’s mistress. How ironic! She still saw his frozen gaze. Diamond-hard. Heard the vibrant voice, uncompromising, deliberately stripped of all softness. She comforted herself—just barely, he had upset her so much—he would soon know the truth. Not that she would ever forgive him his contempt, understandable or not. She had suffered enough anguish of recent times, but she had loved her mother dearly. It hadn’t been easy to accept Owen’s claim he had fathered her and not Redmond Sinclair, the man she called “Father.” They had never been close or so comfortable for her to call him “Dad.” Redmond Sinclair was a man who never showed emotion. Not even at her mother’s funeral when every other thing about him spelled grief and desolation.

Now at long last Eden knew what was at the heart of the lack of trust her “father” had shown in her mother. The fear, kept rigidly in control, one day she might leave him. In retrospect she realised Redmond Sinclair had lived with such a burden of suspicion it had poisoned him. It allowed her to understand his reserve with her. In his heart of hearts Redmond Sinclair had known she wasn’t his child, but so closely did she resemble her mother, the woman he loved who had never returned his love in full measure, it kept him from rejecting her child outright. That and the fact Redmond Sinclair always strove to please her grandfather who had pulled a lot of strings to further his son-in-law’s legal career.

Her grandfather had been shattered by her mother’s death. In the intervening six months his health had declined rapidly. It seemed he didn’t want to survive the loss of his only child or thought he didn’t deserve to. Eden had known since she was a child her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one just as she had gleaned over the years it had something to do with her mother having obeyed her father’s wishes as to her choice of husband.

Eden sank into an armchair trying to recover from the great shock of Lang Forsyth’s dramatic entry into her life. The day had started out so well. She had stayed in town with her father rather than return to the “family” home where she no longer felt needed or wanted. These days she only presented a pain-filled reminder to Redmond Sinclair. Her real father, Owen, had turned over the master bedroom of his suite to her while he spent the night on the very comfortable day bed in the main room. He’d left early to inspect a motor yacht he was particularly interested in. It was moored at the Gold Coast, some fifty miles away. She intended to spend the day in town doing some shopping and having lunch with a girlfriend. Owen would be back late afternoon. He had everything planned. At dinner he was going to introduce her to his close friend and partner, Lang Forsyth, a man Owen clearly looked on as “family.”

How the best-laid plans came unstuck. Lang Forsyth had caught up with her many hours before Owen intended, his attitude harshly judgmental. In truth the sight of him at dinner last night, a stranger staring so fixedly at her, darkly handsome and authoritative, an easy elegance to his tall body, his beautiful clothes, had filled her with foreboding. His appearance in Owen’s suite this morning was as momentous in its way as her first meeting with her own father. Even when Forsyth found out who she really was, Eden had the feeling he would always be antagonistic towards her. Maybe that was her destiny. Always to be the outsider.

Eden sank further into her reverie. She and Owen had come a long way since their first meeting. After her mother’s sudden violent end in a car crash, she and Redmond Sinclair had been on compassionate leave from her grandfather’s legal firm, Redmond a full partner, she a recent associate. Owen had approached her one morning as she’d left the house to visit her grandfather. At first she’d been startled to see him again, thinking perhaps he was someone from the press—there had been some speculation her mother’s death hadn’t been an accident, but Owen by his sheer presence overcame any fears and suspicions. He told her he wanted to speak to her about her mother; Cassandra was someone he had known very well when they were young. Could they go someplace quiet and private where they could talk?

Strangely she had gone with him without a moment’s hesitation, his demeanour so gentle and protective it allayed all fear. They had coffee but it was actually when they were seated on a park bench looking at small children playing on the swings that Owen began to relive the past….

“My story, the central tragedy of my life is no means unique, Eden,” he told this beautiful young woman gravely. “It’s a story as old as time. Star-crossed lovers. Boy from the wrong side of the tracks meets and falls desperately in love with the adored only child of a rich man. You know your grandfather. He was, and I suppose remains, a man who had very exacting standards. Penniless young men of no family had no place in his scheme of things. Despite that, for long tumultuous months Cassandra and I were lovers. But in the end the pressure from your grandfather was all too much for Cassandra. She’d been reared like a princess. She couldn’t contend with a run-away marriage to me. I had absolutely nothing to offer her at that time. Save my love.”

“It wasn’t enough?” Eden asked, the tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Your mother did love me, Eden. I want you to know that. But your grandfather and security won out.”

“How sad. My mother was always sad.” Eden stared sightlessly at the playing children. There was more. She just knew it.

“As was I.” Owen sighed deeply. “It has been an unparalleled grief to me all these long years to know my beautiful Cassandra was carrying a baby when she married her store dummy.”

Eden was electrified. “My God, what are you saying?” It came out like a plea. For a long moment she couldn’t speak until Owen put his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m saying, my dearest girl, that baby was you. Had I known your mother was pregnant to me at the time, things would have been very different.”

“You mean she didn’t tell you?” Eden shook her head, shocked and aghast.

“Not for three long years into her marriage. I have a letter to show you. You will know her handwriting. It confirms what I’m saying. The letter was sent to my mother who died without even knowing she had a granddaughter. Cassandra couldn’t trace me. I was mad with grief after she married. I felt crushed by her betrayal. I packed up and left home. I went north of Capricorn to frontier country. My mother always regarded Cassandra with some trepidation. She foresaw what would happen.”

“Yet she sent you the letter?”

Owen’s voice was gentle. “She had great integrity. I never told her about you because I knew she wouldn’t have left things alone. She was the wise one. Your mother begged me in the letter to keep her secret just like the confessional. Though it opened the door to unimaginable pain, I did it. Cassandra could always manipulate me. She convinced me you were happy and secure. So was she. As some kind of sop, probably to diffuse the inflammatory nature of her revelation, she told me she had named you after my mother, of all people. Your grandmother, Eden Carter.”

Eden was silent, trying to absorb her shock. “This is unbelievable,” she managed finally. “I can’t take it in.”

“I understand. I understand all about pain, suffering and shock. Read the letter.” Owen withdrew the yellowed much-read, much-folded pages from his inside breast pocket. He passed it to Eden….

As she read it her eyes became so filled with tears she had to pass it to Owen to finish aloud. How had her mother ever done him such a terrible wrong? Had she no courage? Whatever had persuaded her to remain with Redmond Sinclair? The marriage, so badly foundered, had never been happy but as a highly “social” couple they had maintained a public fiction. She herself had missed out on a father’s love. She could feel it pouring out of this man she now knew to be her real father. Redmond Sinclair had tried hard to find a place in his heart for her but he never could get the portals open. Such love as he had, more like obsession, had been reserved for her mother.

It was a terrible story and they all had paid for it. Even her grandfather had been worn down, she now realised, by a sense of guilt. In persuading his daughter to marry “one of their own kind” he had committed her to a life of unhappiness and unfulfillment. A charade.

“You know there’s been some speculation my mother’s death wasn’t an accident?”

Eden turned her head to look directly into her real father’s fine dark eyes.

Owen looked off abruptly. “Cassandra would never have left you.”

“You didn’t know her all these long years. I expect my mother changed greatly from the girl you knew. She was a sad woman. But so gentle and beautiful, everyone loved her. The man I called Father all my life certainly did.”

Owen’s rugged features hardened to granite. “I’m sorry, Eden. I don’t want to hear about him. Sinclair was the one Cassandra chose over me. From the look of him he hasn’t weathered the years well. He used to have a shock of golden hair. He was very handsome, very eligible, a promising lawyer. I never got past grade ten. I had to leave school before I was sixteen to learn a trade. There was little money in our house to go around. Today’s a different story. I’m a very rich man.”

“Did you ever marry?” Eden asked, thinking of so many broken lives.

Owen nodded. “I have a wife and child. A little boy called Robbie. Robert after my father. My wife, Delma—she has Italian blood—calls him Roberto.”

“Then you’re happy.” She was glad.

“I should be happy.” Owen frowned. “I would have been happy if I hadn’t had you and Cassandra perpetually on my mind. Often when I’m alone in my boat I have the habit of calling your name. Eden! My little girl. Sounds desolate, doesn’t it? It used to frighten the gulls away. But now by the grace of God I’ve found you. Cassandra’s tragedy has set us free.”

They’d met regularly after that, a couple of times a month. Owen travelled from his home in far North Queensland to be with her. Such was the power of blood both found their relationship, though propelled forward at a great rate, an intensely accepting one. They talked easily and freely, both of them on the same wave length. In fact Eden had come to recognise she had inherited some of her father’s characteristics, even mannerisms, though she had grown up isolated from him. There was so much for them both to discover. They enjoyed hours and hours of discussions and confidences as they pieced together the past. Owen was determined she come to live with him, to be family. But Owen in his exultation at finding a lost daughter was running the risk of alienating his wife and the mother of his son, her half brother, Robbie. It was obvious in keeping his friend and partner, Lang Forsyth, in the dark he had done some considerable damage already. But Owen couldn’t be persuaded to speak out prematurely any more than she could. Both of them needed time to turn their lives around.

While her relationship with Owen blossomed, her troubled relationship with the man she had called “Father” for all of her life deteriorated to the point Eden felt Redmond Sinclair no longer had anything to say to her. It was time to move out. Not hastily. People were talking enough already about her mother’s untimely death. She had no wish to cause Redmond extra pain and embarrassment. Six months after her mother’s passing it mightn’t seem such a desertion.

She hadn’t confided in her grandfather. Had she any need to? Her grandfather doted on her almost as much as he had doted on her mother, but he had become so much frailer Eden held back from upsetting him in any way. He surely knew the truth. She was convinced he did. Her grandfather was a very clever, astute man. He and her mother had been so close; her mother would have poured out the whole sorry story. Then there was the time factor, though no doubt she had been passed off as premature. The depth of her grandfather’s grief—he was inconsolable—began to persuade Eden he had profound regrets at the way his daughter’s relatively short life had turned out.

Eden rose from the armchair and returned to the bedroom where she finished dressing. She was looking forward to lunching with her friend, Carly. They had gone to school and university together. Like her, Carly had taken a degree in Law and joined a firm specialising in Family Law. Carly would have to get back to work, but Eden had taken accumulated leave from her grandfather’s firm not only to maximize the amount of time she could spend with Owen, but to spare Redmond Sinclair the painful memories the sight of her must evoke. Cassandra had been the one to hold them together. Now that she had gone, so had the bond. Proof positive if she ever needed it she and Redmond Sinclair were not of the same blood.

After a companionable lunch with her friend, Eden did a little leisurely shopping then returned to the hotel late afternoon. Owen should be back from the coast by now. No doubt the new owner of a luxury motor yacht. Later in the evening they were to dine with Lang Forsyth. A dinner at which Owen proposed to reveal her true identity. That should put the arrogant judgmental Lang Forsyth very nicely in his place. Strangely enough she gained no pleasure from the thought. Owen thought the world of him.

Lang Forsyth looked what he was, a man from a privileged world who nevertheless knew what it was like to fight to survive. Physically he was very striking. Well over six feet, very lean but powerfully built; she had noted the wide shoulders. A highly individual face; dark, very definite features, arrogant high-bridged nose, the mouth quite sensuous, hollows under the high cheekbones. The whole impression was one of tremendous vigour and vitality, the excitement coming from the ice-grey eyes. A total surprise when his hair was near black and his polished skin was tanned to dark gold. She was sure that Lang Forsyth would never be her friend. Not in a lifetime. But he was Owen’s close friend and partner. She had to remember that.

The sound of the phone in the quiet suite surprised her. She picked it up, murmuring, “The Gold Suite.”

“Miss Sinclair?”

She drew a sharp breath, already aware of the caller’s identity. “Yes, Mr. Forsyth.”

“I’m in the lobby,” he said, his tone almost flat. “I’m coming up.”

Suddenly the air-conditioned room seemed cold. Unease entered Eden’s mind. What was it he wanted? This wasn’t the time for confrontation.

She went to the door at his knock, opening it and standing back. His striking face was drained of all expression though she thought there was a pallor beneath his tan.

“Sit down.” He spoke more gently than she had yet heard.

“What is it?” She was so used now to unhappiness and grief she instantly caught his mood. “Is it Owen?”

His dark brows contracted. “I don’t know a good way to tell you this. Owen has been involved in a three-car pile-up on the Pacific Highway. It seems the driver of one of the cars suffered a seizure of some kind, ploughed into the first car, while Owen’s ploughed into him.”

Her knees went from under her and her eyelids flickered. “Oh My God!”

The next thing she knew she was lying back in an armchair with Lang Forsyth tapping her wrists. “Are you okay?”

“I knew something was wrong.” She kept her head down, unaware he was standing over her with an expression of concern, not unmixed with worry about the difficulties she now presented. Delma had to be informed. Owen had been conscious for a good part of his ordeal, giving the police his name and particulars and the person to be contacted.

Owen, as in so many other things, had left it to Lang to break the news. To Owen’s wife. And his mistress. He hadn’t rung Delma yet. Indeed he was with this girl, even trying to protect her.

“Where is he?” she raised her dark head to ask; her violet gaze resting on him.

He named the hospital, hearing her heartfelt sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have told you it wasn’t fatal.”

“My mother’s was.” She spoke very quietly.

He steeled himself not to react. “I beg your pardon?”

“My mother was killed in her car just over six months ago,” she told him from the depths of her grief.

“I’m very sorry.” Her news appalled him. “That must have been a great grief and a great shock to you. Now this. I’m going to the hospital now.” He could no longer delay.

“I’ll come with you.” She rose from the chair, trying very hard to calm herself.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He couldn’t hold off his frown.

“I don’t care what you think,” she said, without challenge. “If you don’t take me I’ll get a cab. I want to find out exactly how Owen is. I love him. I’m not going to lose him now.”

Her intensity was such he believed her, yet he had to chide her. “You must remember he has a wife and child.”

She looked at him as if that had no significance. “What has that got to do with me?”

Oddly he felt no anger. Just a quiet despair. “You don’t look callous.” In fact she looked the most sensitive of creatures, her beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Owen had intended to tell you all about me tonight,” she said, as though she pitied him.

That restored his hostility. “Frankly, Miss Sinclair, that fills me with dismay. You must realise this is going to be a very difficult time. I have to contact Delma, Owen’s wife.”

“I know.”

There was a secrecy to her, to Owen, he couldn’t fathom.

“Why haven’t you done it before?” she asked. “Why not before telling me?”

Why indeed. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he answered with more force than he intended. “We both know I have concerns about you. You’ll have to get out of this suite. I’ll attend to everything.”

“Of course.” She inclined her dark head. “I’m so grateful you’re here with your odd combination of condemnation and concern. Are you going to take me to the hospital?”

Her insistence left him reeling. “If I can trust you to keep perfectly quiet. I feel sure Owen’s accident is going to be reported. There could be news people about. Owen is quite a celebrity. Most certainly in the North.”

“And I’m someone second rate?” she asked with gentle irony, fixing him with her soulful eyes.

He couldn’t bear to think of her and Owen together. “You’re a young woman who’s happened to make a bad mistake. I can’t claim to understand Owen’s motives in not telling me about you long before this. We’ve shared so much over the years I’ve worked with him.”

“He thinks very highly of you,” she said. “My identity will come out soon enough. If not while Owen is ill then sometime in the future. Should anything happen to him, God forbid, I’ll quietly disappear.”

He found he didn’t want this to happen, yet he spoke curtly, cursing himself, but driven by shock and anxiety. “You may think that now.”

“What are you so afraid of? Do you think I’m after Owen’s money?”

“Forgive me if I believe Owen’s money is a factor.”

She shook her dark head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. My mother left me financially secure. There’s my grandfather, also. You know nothing about me, Mr. Forsyth.”

“Except you’ve got my friend, Owen, spellbound. Anyway, what good’s talk? If you’re coming with me, come. If you’ve got belongings here, get them. I assume if you’re so financially secure you have a good home?”

She flushed, the sheen of tears in her beautiful eyes. “You’re making far too many assumptions as it is, Mr. Forsyth. If you give me a moment I’ll pack what I have. We were to have had dinner with you tonight, instead Fate has stepped in yet again.”

They never spoke a word throughout the fifteen-minute journey to the hospital though Lang found himself watching her continually in case she started to crumble. He even had to stop himself reaching for her hand. Such a slim wrist, a network of delicate blue veins beating there. Two gold bracelets. He knew gold. Both were unmistakably heavy eighteen carat. Patek Philippe watch with diamonds and a mother-of-pearl face. All very expensive items. Had Owen given them to her? He rarely gave Delma presents though he allowed her to buy whatever she liked. For herself. There was a huge difference. He was beginning to feel more and more sorry for Delma. She would take it very badly when she found out about this girl. He was silent under the great surge of anxiety he felt. What if Owen died? God, hadn’t his own father slipped so easily out of life?

“Are you ready for this?” he asked as they made their way to the ward.

Her voice rang with hope and conviction. “I know he’s alive. I’m sure of it. He won’t leave me. Not now.”

“You look like you’re going to faint.” Indeed she was snow-white. Her took her arm as stabs of pity pierced him, his manner at that moment more protective than he realised. She was tall for a woman but beside him she seemed so small.

“I haven’t fainted so far, have I?” Her lips moved.

“You did briefly at the hotel,” he reminded her. “Anyway, we’re here now. Please let me do the talking.”

“Of course.” She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away, either. That had some significance but he didn’t want to look into it now. This was Owen’s young love.

The surgeon was waiting for them, and they briefly shook hands. He needed to scrub up. “Mr. Carter will undergo immediate surgery,” he told them, looking from one to the other as though they were a pair. “For internal injuries. He’s bleeding and has broken ribs and a broken collarbone, but he’s in good shape for his age. He’s conscious at the moment, but he’s been sedated. You can speak to him for just a moment, if you like. Now you must excuse me.”

Even as the surgeon turned away they saw Owen being wheeled out into the corridor.

“Come on,” he heard himself saying to her, upset beyond words at the whole damn business.

Owen’s dazed eyes rested on him first. “Lang!” He put up a hand and Lang took it, feeling the strange chill off Owen’s skin. “We’re here for you, Owen,” he said, allowing his strong feelings to show. “Eden is here, too.” He used her name knowing that he liked it. It suited her.

“Eden?” Owen tried to turn his head, clearly excited, agitated and the medical attendant shook a warning head at them.

She came forward, taking Owen’s other hand, bending over him, her lovely face as sweet and innocent as a Madonna’s.

The expression that blazed out of Owen’s face caused him to look away. This was love. Real love. God! And it was going to last. He knew that now. No one, not wife, not child, not partner, was going to separate them.

Ward Sister came up briskly. “Thank you,” she said with what was clearly a dismissal. “Mr. Carter is due in surgery. You’re waiting?”

“Yes.” He spoke for both of them. “We want to be here.”

Sister nodded. “There’s no telling how long it might be.”

“We’ll wait.” Eden spoke for the first time. “We couldn’t possibly leave.”

But Owen wanted desperately to detain them. “Lang,” he called, his voice weak and slurred.

“Go now,” Sister said. “You’re disturbing the patient.”

“I think he wants to tell me something.” Lang started to move back towards Owen but Sister stepped with authority between them.

“If you don’t mind.” She lifted a hand to signal a medical attendant who wheeled Owen away.

He sat Eden in the waiting room, a cup of coffee in hand before he put through a call to Owen’s home from the privacy of the empty corridor. He had spoken to the Carter housekeeper initially, not filling her in before he had a chance to speak to Delma, but he had left the message for Delma to ring him on his mobile the moment she got in. The housekeeper sensing something was wrong had apologised profusely for not knowing exactly where Mrs. Carter had gone. Mrs. Carter was a busy lady, sometimes she forgot to say.