House of Storms by Violet Winspear Read Free Book Online

uncle. No one had any idea he was arriving; he just turned up out of the blue looking as brown as a bullfighter and he popped into the nursery last night to take a look at his little nephew. He's that foreign-looking it's hard to believe he's half-brother to Mr Jack and Miss Zandra.'
    Nanny Rose always referred to the members of the Salvador family in the old-fashioned way; she had worked her way up from a nursery-maid in the households of upper-class families and had been recommended to Jack Salvador by his publisher.
    Debra smiled, but didn't mention her own disturbing encounter with Rodare Salvador.
    'A pity it isn't the little lad's daddy who has come home.' Nanny Rose coaxed milky cereal into the child's mouth. 'The lord knows when he's going to return ... I really start to wonder if he's gone and joined his poor love of a wife.'
    'Oh—don't say that!' Debra exclaimed.
    'You didn't see him, my dear, the day he scattered her ashes.' Nanny Rose gave Debra a significant look. 'Ashen-faced he was and he left Abbeywitch about an hour afterwards, speeding away in the motorboat like a man pursued by devils. There was such a to-do. Madam had hysterics and even Mr Rodare couldn't calm her down. And Miss Zandra got pie-eyed and went out on Firefly in that state and ended up breaking the mare's left foreleg. You should have heard the language Mr Rodare used! He had to go out with the gun and do the necessary, and when he came storming back into the house the chandeliers shook in the hall when he told those two women what he thought of them.'
    Debra could well imagine the scene which had taken place. 'Nanny, I wonder why the family was so upset when none of them seemed to care very much for Pauline?'
    'Perhaps they felt guilty.' Nanny Rose gave Dean's chin a wipe. 'We all feel a touch of guilt when we lose someone we love, so just imagine what mother and daughter went through when Mr Jack went off as if he couldn't stand the sight of them.'
    'But he left his little son behind.' Debra touched a finger to the child's milky cheek; he was sloshing about with his spoon and getting most of his breakfast over his face and bib. A man, Debra thought, would have to be in a very stricken state to do what Jack Salvador had done. This, after all, was Pauline's baby.
    'There's no accounting for what folks will do when they're in a state.' Nanny Rose gazed at the little boy with a look of sadness in her eyes. 'I've been on this earth long enough to have learnt that people are the strangest of God's creatures, and that's a fact.'
    And even as she spoke, the door of the nursery opened and in strode the boy's uncle. Debra felt a leap of her nerves, for here in the nursery he looked even more formidable than he had looked down on the beach. A cambric shirt was thrown open against his throat and he wore corded breeches and a pair of boots laced up the front to the knee. He brought a whiff of horse in with him and his shirt was generously splashed as if with sea water.
    He gave Dean's nanny a courteous inclination of the head, then fixed Debra with a brief look that penetrated. When he turned to his nephew a smile quirked the edge of his mouth.
    'How quickly a child loses the baby look,' he said. 'When last I was here Dean was so much smaller, just a bawling bundle of wants, now look at his chunky limbs and those mischievous eyes.'
    Dean sat gazing up at his tall uncle, his mouth open like a cuckoo bird's so his nanny could feed him. 'Dino!' He turned in his high chair and waved a fist at his clown. 'Nice Dino.'
    'Is that his name for me?' Rodare asked, amused.
    Nanny Rose gave an indulgent laugh. 'That's the little lad's name for all his toys, isn't it, my duck?'
    'You're a quaint pequeño , aren't you?' Rodare gently stroked a hand across the boy's dark hair, and in return Dean gave him a wide smile that revealed his tiny teeth.
    'And already he has teeth,' Rodare exclaimed, as if he wasn't often in the company of very young children and didn't