Robyn Donald – Iceberg by Robyn Donald Read Free Book Online Page A

if in a mask, the hard mouth still a firm line.
    She concluded she must have been mistaken.
    'Very well,' she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll just -go and change.'
    'You look perfectly normal in that,' he told her with a chilling lack of interest.
    So she went with him, those baseless fears lulled but not completely set at rest.
    Sarah was sitting in a small room with the curtains drawn, watching television with an absorption which was
    obviously faked.
    She looked up as Linnet entered the room, scowled, then switched her gaze back 'to the set.
    'She's obviously too busy,' Linnet said to Justin Doyle, and turned to go out.
    'No, I'm not.' The child flew across the room, turned the set off, then came slowly towards them, her expression
    shuttered, as if fearing rejection.
    'Have you got your dinner ready?' she asked.
    Linnet smiled. 'Yes, apart from the peas.'
    'Oh. I think I'm having peas tonight. I hate them.' Sarah said it defiantly.
    'Really?' Linnet grinned. 'Ah well, everyone can't like everything.'
    Sarah looked puzzled. 'What don't you like?'
    ‘Marrow. Unless it's hidden some way.'
    'Daddy, what don't you like?"
    Justin answered with barely a hint of amusement, 'Broad beans.'
    His daughter gave a crow of laughter. 'I love broad beans! How funny! I didn't know you hated them. Linnet,
    'would you like to see my bedroom? I've got lots of books in my bookcase.'
    'A dear case of bribery and corruption,' Linnet replied. 'Yes, I'll come, but I must be back home in half an hour.'
    ‘
    'O.K.'
    Sarah might have been upset at the tension she sensed, but she showed no signs of it now, dancing down the
    wide hallway like a sprite, her curls a nimbus of silver above her small earnest face.
    She was a good hostess, gravely snowing her guest about the large airy room, which had been furnished as a
    bedsitter for her, it was obvious that she had been accustomed to luxurious surroundings all her life.
    'And this is my mother,' she said, pointing out a photograph in a silver: frame. 'She died when I was two: Her
    car went over a bank at the farm.'
    Linnet looked compassionately at the wilful, laughing face in the photograph; such a contrast to the grave little
    girl she had given birth to. And such a contrast to Bronwyn, top. This girl was not a real beauty, her mouth too
    wide, her nose slightly tiptilted, but she had a radiance which shone, through the blacks and greys of the
    photograph. Her hair was tumbled, far different from Bronwyn's sleek tidiness, and there was an openness about
    her expression. With Bronwyn you never quite knew what she was thinking. But if Justin was going to marry
    Bronwyn it must be because she was what he wanted. According to Stewart and Bronwyn this vital girl had had
    other aspects to her character dial the photograph didn't show.
    'Daddy doesn't talk about her,' the soft little voice said, not sadly but in resignation. 'P’raps when I'm grown up a
    bit he'll fell me about her. She looks nice, doesn't she?'
    The unconscious pathos caught at the older girl's heart. Giving the child a swift hug, she said, 'She looks lovely,
    and you look a little bit like her.'
    ‘Do I really? I know I look like Daddy; Anna said that I've got his eyes, but he was brown-haired when he was
    as old as me. Your hair gets darker when you grow up. Did yours, Linnet?'
    'It did, indeed. It was bright carroty red when I was little. Ask Bronwyn, she'll tell you.’
    She felt the child's withdrawal as dearly as if it had been physical. 'Miss Grant doesn't like to talk to me,' Sarah
    said with crisp emphasis, turning away from the lovely, doomed face in the photograph. 'Let's have a look at my
    books.'
    Just before it was time to go Linnet told her a story about Panda Bear she still took to bed with her, then, as
    Anna had appeared to tell them that it was time for Sarah's bath, she left her in the small bathroom off her
    bedroom and went back down the hall, her mind still full of Alison Doyle, who had died so tragically seven
    years