Read September (1990) for Free Online

He's not in this country very much."
    "So you don't see much of him?"
    "Sometimes when he's passing through London. He doesn't stay here, because he goes to the Company flat, biit he usually rings, and if there's time, he takes me out for dinner at the Connaught or Claridges. It's a great treat. I pick up all sorts of cooking ideas."
    "I suppose that's as good a reason as any to go to Claridges. But . . ." He doesn't stay here. ". . . who owns this house?"
    Alexa smiled with total innocence. "I do," she told him.
    "Oh . . ." It was impossible to keep the disbelief from his voice. The dog was back in her lap. She stroked his head, played with the furry pricked ears.
    "How long have you lived here?"
    "About five years. It was my grandmother's house. My mother's mother. We were always very close. I used to spend some part of all my school holidays with her. By the time I came to London to do my cooking course, she was a widow and on her own. So I came to stay with her. And then, last year, she died, and she left the house to me."
    "She must have been very fond of you."
    "I was terribly fond of her. It all caused a bit of family ill-feeling. My living with her, I mean. My fathe r d idn't think it was a good idea at all. He was quite fond of her, but he thought I should be more independent. Make friends of my own age, move into a flat with some other girl. But I didn't really want to. I'm dreadfully lazy about things like that, and Granny Cheriton . . ." Abruptly she stopped. Across the space that divided them their eyes met. Noel said nothing, and after a pause she continued, speaking casually, as though it were of no importance. ". . . she was getting old. It wouldn't have been kind to leave her."
    Another silence. Then Noel said, "Cheriton?"
    Alexa sighed. "Yes." She sounded as though she were admitting to some heinous crime.
    "An unusual name."
    "Yes."
    "Also well-known."
    "Yes."
    "Sir Rodney Cheriton?"
    "He was my grandfather. I didn't mean to tell you. The name just slipped out."
    So that was it. The puzzle solved. That explained the money, the opulence, the precious possessions. Sir Rodney Cheriton, now deceased, founder of a financial empire that stretched world-wide, who, during the sixties and the seventies, had been associated with so many take-over bids and conglomerates that his name was scarcely ever out of the Financial Times. This house had been the home of Lady Cheriton, and the sweet - faced, unsophisticated little cook who sat, curled in her chair like a schoolgirl, was her granddaughter.
    He was flabbergasted. "Well, who'd have thought it?"
    "I don't usually tell people, because I'm not all tha t p roud of it."
    "You should be proud. He was a great man."
    "It isn't that I didn't like him. He was always very sweet to me. It's just that I don't really approve of huge take-overs and companies getting bigger and bigger. I' d l ike them to get smaller and smaller. I like corner shops and butchers where the nice man knows your name. I don't like the thought of people getting swallowed up, or lost, or made redundant."
    "We can scarcely move backwards."
    "I know. That's what my father keeps telling me. But it breaks my heart when a little row of houses gets demolished, and all that goes up in their place is another horrible office block with black windows, like a hen battery. That's what I love about Scotland. Strathcroy, the village we live in, never seems to change. Except that Mrs. McTaggart, who ran the newsagent's, decided that her legs couldn't take the standing any longer and retired, and her shop was bought by Pakistanis. They're called Ishak, and they're terribly nice, and the women wear lovely bright silky clothes. Have you ever been to Scotland?"
    "I've been to Sutherland, to fish on the Oykel."
    "Would you like to see a picture of our house?"
    He did not let on that he had already taken a good look. "I'd love to."
    Once more, Alexa set the dog on the floor and got to her feet. The dog, bored by all this