Page 9 of Mirrors of the Past

He walked across the road, pondering the layout in Elsie’s house, wondering if Marigold tried to slide down their banister as well. Elsie’s stairs were much more winding than Pencradoc’s and he could see the attraction, he really could.

They’d all slid down those Pencradoc stairs at some stage, even serious Isolde. It was like a rite of passage, presided over, always, by Elsie. ‘It’s awfully easy!’ she’d yell from the bottom. Laurie was inevitably the one at the top who had to push the children down. Elsie would catch them at the other end.

Mostly.

Laurie sometimes wondered who had pushed him or caught him the first time he’d done it? Maybe one of his Wheal Mount cousins, daughters of Uncle Jago and Aunt Alys, as Elsie held them in thrall too. The families had been one big mass of children growing up between the two properties, with Jago taking on the title of Duke of Trecarrow from his deceased brother.

Whatever, he held happy memories of growing up at Pencradoc and did a lot of work with his Uncle Jago to help out on the estate. One of his favourite areas was the garden room, where he’d sit with a notebook and pen and write his poems and stories, serenaded by the fountain in the centre of it, warmed by the heaters in there, whatever the weather outside . . .

But here he was in London, at Elsie’s front door. Louis had told him it was open and a gentle push confirmed that.

‘Elsie!’ He stepped inside the black-and-white-tiled hallway, coloured light pouring in from the big stained-glass windows. ‘Are you around? It’s me.’

‘In here!’ came his sister’s cheerful voice from a room on the right. As he might have expected, she was in her favourite room, a room full of soft furniture, warm fires in winter, and scattered with art equipment, cameras, sketches, books and photographs — whatever, basically, she was working on at the moment. And knowing Elsie it could be one, two or several more projects. ‘Hold on, I’ll pop out and get you!’

The door burst open and Elsie came running out, barefoot, dressed in flowing black as usual. Her dress was, even he could see, a dress out of time. Rather than the tall, slim silhouettes the streets were filled with, Elsie’s dress would not have looked out of place thirty years ago at a society ball. It was off the shoulder, full-skirted and covered in lace. It suited her, though.

‘Laurie! Oh, it’s so good to see you.’ She threw her arms around him.

‘Vile sibling.’ He smiled as he said it. It was part of their oddly affectionate shorthand. ‘You look particularly pale and vampiric today.’

‘Liar,’ she said. ‘I am always this colour. You, on the other hand, should be pale and vampiric, but you actually look hot, bothered and even more vile than usual. But come on — come and meet Viola.’

Laurie hesitated. Viola? No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Oh, God, he hoped not. It wasn’t that common a name, in his experience. But no — absolutely not . . .

Elsie took his hand, pushed open the door and stood back, gently urging him forward. His heart pounding, dreading what he might find within that delightful, airy room, he stepped inside.

Then . . .

‘Oh, jeepers! Not you!’ said that Viola, staring at Laurie, her face changing from open and welcoming to hostile and defensive in a heartbeat.

‘Good God. Spare me this!’ Laurie drew to a swift halt. ‘Not you!’

The pair of them glared at one another for what seemed like a lifetime.

‘I say — anything I need to know?’ asked Elsie, half amused. ‘Anything at all?’

* * *

Viola was horrified. There was no other word for it. Utterly horrified.

She waited for Laurie to speak, but, as far as she could tell, he was just going to stand there and glare at her as if she was Medusa and had turned him to stone.

She guessed it was up to her to speak, then. ‘Mr Teague and I have already met,’ she said rather stiffly. Elsie looked from one to the other, amusement definitely written all over her face.

‘May I ask — how?’ Elsie asked.

Laurie lifted his hand and pointed to Viola, then ran it through his hair. He shook his head. ‘In Cornwall.’ He glowered at Viola. ‘We were outside the same shop in Bodmin. She walked into me and dropped her parcels. I tried to help and she was, quite frankly, awful.’

‘Disagree!’ said Viola. ‘Laurie was not looking where he was going. He quite definitely walked into me and not only did I drop the parcels, I also ended up sitting in a damned puddle of mud. And he wasn’t helpful at all. He was the single most unhelpful person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. I swear he broke one of the gifts I had—’

‘And I disagree with that.’ Laurie fired back. ‘The package that was apparently broken, was actually a jigsaw. Ernie told me.’

Viola shot a look at Elsie, feeling her cheeks heat up. That was the truth, but still . . . ‘All right, maybe it wasn’t broken, but it could have been broken . . .’

It sounded rather pathetic out loud and she had the grace to lower her eyes, then flick them back up. Laurie just looked confused, then angry, then she saw his mouth open to speak again.

‘But it was not broken,’ he repeated, very slowly, as if he was speaking to a rather stupid child.