Read The House of Seven Fountains for Free Online Page A

affair.”
    “I’d no idea. The lawyers sent me some details about the house and just added that there was a large garden and several acres of small holdings.”
    “Small holdings, eh?” Julian arched a quizzical eyebrow. “That’s quite an understatement. There is practically a village on the estate. Your godfather made a hobby of rehabilitating local prisoners by giving them a plot of land to till. Don’t worry, as far as I know none of them are dangerous criminals.”
    “Oh, dear, I hadn’t realized there would be tenants,” Vivien said in a dismayed voice. “Where is the estate? Can I see it from here?”
    He shook his head.
    “It’s on the other side of town. Look, let me come up to the house and see you settled in safely. I don’t like the idea of your being whisked off to the unknown by yourself.”
    The aircraft was coming in to land, and as they fastened their safety belts Vivien said, “That’s very kind of you, Julian, but I think I would rather go alone. The houseboy speaks English, so I shall be quite all right.”
    “Whatever you say,” he said doubtfully. “But I think you should have an escort.”
    There was a lurch and a scrunch of wheels as the Dakota landed on the sunbaked airstrip. Vivien thanked the pretty Chinese stewardess for her attention, and they climbed out.
    I’m here. I’m really here on the other side of the world, Vivien thought wonderingly as her feet touched the dusty earth.
    With Julian carrying her suitcase, his hand under her elbow, they walked across to the customs sheds. There were a number of taxis waiting in the car parking lot, and she wondered which one was hers. She was watching the tall Sikh customs officer glancing perfunctorily inside her case when Julian touched her hand and, turning, she found a small thin Chinese standing beside them. He was wearing an immaculate white drill suit and holding a panama hat. There was a black band on his sleeve. He might have been any age between forty and sixty, and his face was completely expressionless.
    “Welcome to Mauping, Miss Connell,” he said in a soft, rather high-pitched voice. “I am Chen, the number one boy of the late Tuan Cunningham. I await your instructions.” He gave a low bow, revealing a head as smooth and shining as patent leather.
    “How do you do, Chen,” Vivien said, wondering if it was the correct reply to his ceremonious greeting. Instinctively she held out her hand, but Chen merely made another obeisance.
    “The car is waiting when you are ready,” he said and stood aside, signaling to a small Chinese boy to remove the suitcase from the inspection desk.
    Somewhat taken aback by this encounter, Vivien turned to say goodbye to Julian and caught the suspicion of a wink.
    “How about coming to the club for a drink tonight?” he suggested. “You can’t spend your first evening alone. If I call round about eight it will give you time to get your bearings, and I can introduce you to some of the other English residents.”
    “Are you sure you aren’t too busy?” she asked uncertainly.
    He gave her an odd look.
    “I could never be too busy to look after you,” he said softly.
    Vivien smiled. He was an incorrigible flirt, but she was glad she had met him.
    “I’ll be ready at eight then,” she said, holding out her hand.
    He held it for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and the glint in his eyes brought a faint color to her cheeks. It might be difficult to remember that he was only flirting with her.
    They said goodbye, and Vivien followed Chen out of the customs shed and past the taxis. At the far end of the parking lot was an old-fashioned Rolls-Royce with a Union Jack on the hood. It was to this that Chen led her.
    Heavens, what opulence, Vivien thought as he ushered her into the solitary splendor of the backseat. Having satisfied himself that the luggage was stowed safely in the trunk, Chen took the wheel and they swung out of the airport gates onto the highway.
    At first