Gwendolyn Reece-Jones in person.

My father's mistress.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We stared hard at each other, she and I. And for a split second neither of us spoke.

I was aware from the expression in her eyes that she knew who I was, had recognized me as Edward Jordan's daughter, but I doubted that she would acknowledge this. Certainly she would not confide her relationship with my father or even say that they were friends. I knew this instinctively.

She spoke first.

Moving closer to the bottom step, she said, "I'm looking for Mrs. Keswick. Rude. To come without calling first. Tried. Your phone's been engaged for a long time. Is Mrs. Keswick in?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid she isn't, she went off to do a few errands. But she should be back any moment. Would you like to come in and wait for her?"

Gwenny bit her lip, and an anxious expression crossed her angular face. "Don't want to impose."

"I'm sure Diana won't be long. I know she'd be very upset if she missed you."

"Frightfully kind. Yes, well, er, thank you. Perhaps I will hang around for a few minutes." She began to mount the steps. Drawing level to me, she held out her hand. "Gwendolyn Reece-Jones."

"Mallory Keswick," I answered, shaking her hand. Immediately I swung around, stepped up to the front door, opened it, and ushered her into the small entrance foyer. "Can I take your jacket?" I asked politely.

"Just the scarves, thank you," she replied, unraveling the three of them from around her neck.

After hanging these in the coat closet, I took her into the parlor next door to the dining room. This was a small, comfortable room, rather cozy, with a Victorian feeling to it, a sort of den, which we used all the time. It was there we watched television and usually had afternoon tea and drinks in the evening.

Parky had turned on the lamps and started the fire. This burned merrily in the grate, and the room looked inviting.

"Please make yourself comfortable," I said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and take off my boots and tell Andrew you're here. He'll come and join us. If he's off the phone."

"No rush. Take your time." She reached for the current issue of Country Life which lay on the tufted ottoman and sat down in an armchair next to the fire.

Once I had shed Diana's barbour and Wellingtons and put on my shoes in the mudroom, I went in search of my husband. Andrew was still on the phone in Diana's office, but this time when I opened the door he saw me, smiled, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"We have a visitor," I said rolling my eyes to the ceiling.

"Just a minute, Jack," he murmured into the receiver and looked across at me, frowning slightly.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"You'd never guess in a million years, so I'm going to tell you. Gwendolyn Reece-Jones. She's here looking for your mother. She tried to phone first, but she couldn't get through." I laughed. "For obvious reasons."

"Gwenny!" he exclaimed. "I'll be damned! Since Ma isn't back yet, offer her tea, and I'll join you in a few minutes. I'm just finishing up with Jack."

I nodded. "Give him my best."

"I will."

As I turned away I heard him say, "That was Mal, she sends her love. Well, that's about it, old buddy. Just wanted to run all this by you."

Parky was in the kitchen putting cups and saucers on a large tray; she glanced up as I walked across the floor and hovered next to the table where she was working.

"Hi, Parky," I murmured. "You'll have to add another cup and saucer. A friend of Mrs. Keswick's has just arrived. Miss Gwendolyn Reece-Jones. I'm sure you know her. Anyway, she'll be having tea with us."'

"Oh." Parky pursed her lips. "Miss Reece-Jones can't have been expected, or Mrs. Keswick would have told me before she went out. She's very precise about things like that, Mrs. Keswick is."

"She wasn't expected, Parky."

"A bit rude, if you ask me," Parky sniffed, "dropping in like that." She marched into the pantry and came back with an extra cup and saucer. "Most people telephone first."

"She did try to get through," I explained, hiding a smile, amused at Parky's irritation. But then, she was a stickler for good manners; I always remembered that about her. For a reason I didn't quite understand, I felt I had to defend Gwenny, so I now added, "Mr. Andrew's been on the phone to New York for well over an hour, Parky, that's why Miss Reece-Jones was unable to get us."

"Hurrumph," was all Parky said as she went on fussing with the teapot and the other things she needed for afternoon tea. But after a few seconds she threw me a warm smile, and leaning closer, she said, "I've made a luvely caraway-seed cake for tea, Mr. Andrew's favorite. And nursery sandwiches. He did enjoy them when he was little. Four sorts today. Tomato, cucumber, watercress, and egg salad. Homemade scones, too, with homemade strawberry jam and Cornish cream."'

"Goodness, we're not going to want any dinner!" I exclaimed, before I could stop myself. "So much food, Parky."

"But it's what I always serve, Mrs. Andrew, and I've been doing so for thirty years," she announced, taking a step back and staring at me. She looked slightly put out.

Realizing that I might have hurt her feelings unintentionally, I said quickly, "The tea sounds wonderful. I just know Mr. Andrew is going to enjoy it, and so will I. Why, my mouth's watering already."

Mollified, she beamed. "In any case, dinner's a simple meal tonight, Mrs. Andrew. Just Morecombe Bay potted shrimps, cottage pie, and a green salad."

"No dessert?" I teased.

Taking me quite seriously, she cried, "Oh, yes! I always make a dessert for Mr. Andrew. You know how he loves them. But I haven't decided which one to make yet-English trifle or custard flan."

"It'll be delicious, whatever it is," I muttered and hurried to the door. "I'll go and keep Miss Reece-Jones company. By the way, Parky, did Mrs. Keswick say what time she'd be back?"

"She's never later than a quarter to five for tea. Never."

"As soon as she arrives perhaps you can serve it," I suggested.

"I will that. And I expect Mr. Andrew'll be needing a bit of sustenance by then, working all afternoon the way he has, poor thing. On a Saturday too."

"Yes," I agreed and slipped out.

Gwenny Reece-Jones was leafing through the magazine when I returned to the parlor. "Andrew will join us in a minute," I told her, closing the door behind me. "And Diana's expected back imminently, so I hope you'll join us for tea, Miss Reece-Jones."

"How nice. Love to."

"Good."

As if she felt she needed to explain her sudden and unexpected arrival, she. cleared her throat and said, "Working in Leeds. Doing A Midsummer Night's Dream. At the Theatre Royal. Sets. I design sets."

"Diana told me you were a theatrical designer."

"Oh." She looked momentarily taken aback. "Came over to Kilburn today. Know it, do you?"

"I think so. Isn't that the place where there's a giant-sized horse carved into the side of the hill?"

"Correct. On the face of Roulston Scar. Wanted to order a hall table from the Robert Thompson workshop. The great Yorkshire furniture maker and carver. Dead now. His grandsons run the workshop. Continue his work. Thought it a good idea to stop on my way back to Leeds. Say hello to Diana."

"I'm glad you did. As a matter of fact, Diana mentioned you to me only the other day."

"She did?"

I took a deep breath and plunged in. "She told me that you know my father, Edward Jordan, that you're a friend of his. A very good friend."

Startled, Gwenny gaped at me. A bright pink flush spread up from her neck to flood her face. "Good friends, yes," she admitted. She glanced away swiftly and stared into the fire.