Part 12 (1/2)

'Good idea,' I said.

He nodded. 'Come along, then, and I'll show you where things are.'

We went out into the carpeted hall and he pointed to the doorway opposite.

'That's the family room, as you know. Next to the kitchen-' he walked along and opened a closed door,

'- is my dining-room. We don't use it much. You'll have to turn the heating up, I dare say.'

I looked into the room I was to get to know well; a s.p.a.cious room with mahogany furniture, swagged crimson curtains, formal cream-and-gold striped walls and a plain dark green carpet. Not Tremayne's own choice, I thought. Much too coordinated.

'That'll be great,' I said obligingly.

'Good.' He closed the door again and looked up the stairs we had climbed to bed the night before. 'We put those stairs in when we divided the house. This pa.s.sage beside them, this leads to Perkin and Mackie's half. Come along, I'll show you.' He walked along a wide pale-green-carpeted corridor with pictures of horses on both walls and opened double white-painted doors at the end.

'Through here,' he said, 'is the main entrance hall of the house. The oldest part.'

We pa.s.sed onto a big wood-blocked expanse of polished floor from which two graceful wings of staircase rose to an upper gallery. Under the gallery, between the staircases, was another pair of doors which Tremayne, crossing, opened without flourish, revealing a vista of gold and pale blue furnis.h.i.+ngs in the same formal style as the dining-room.

'This is the main drawing room,' he said. 'We share it. We hardly use it. We used it last for that d.a.m.ned party-' He paused. 'Well, as Mackie said, I don't know when we'll have another.'

A pity, I thought. It looked a house made for parties. Tremayne closed the drawing-room door, and pointed straight across the hall.

'That's the front entrance, and those double doors on the right open into Perkin and Mackie's half. We built a new kitchen for them and another new staircase. We planned it as two separate houses, you see, with this big common section between us.'

'It's great,' I said to please him, but also meaning it.

He nodded. 'It divided quite well. No one needs houses this size these days. Take too much heating.' Indeed, it was cold in the hall. 'Most of this was built about nineteen six. Edwardian. Country house of the Windberry family, don't suppose you've ever heard of them.'

'No,' I agreed.

'My father bought the place for peanuts during the Depression. I've lived here all my life.'

'Was your father a trainer also?' I asked.

Tremayne laughed. 'G.o.d, no. He inherited a fortune. Never did a day's work. He liked going racing, so he bought a few jumpers, put them in the stables that hadn't been used since cars replaced the carriages and engaged a trainer for them. When I grew up, I just took over the horses. Built another yard, eventually. I've fifty boxes at present, all full.'

He led the way back through the doors to his own domain and closed them behind us.

'That's more or less all,' he said, 'except for the office.'

Once back in his own hall he veered through the last of the doorways there and I followed him into yet another big room in which Dee-Dee looked lost behind a vast desk.

'This used to be the Windberrys' billiards room,' Tremayne said. 'When I was a child, it was our playroom.'

'You had brothers and sisters?'

'One sister,' he said briefly, looking at his watch. 'I'll leave you to Dee-Dee. See you later.'

He went away purposefully, and, after the time it would have taken him to replace coat, cap and scarf, the door out to the yard slammed behind him. He was a natural slammer, I thought; there seemed to be no ingredient of ire.