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dining room?'
    She was a little taken aback. 'Well, sometimes. We don't grow all
    that much. There are a few apple trees as well.'
    Lyall gave a sharp sigh. 'Perhaps we'd better look at the rest of the
    ground floor rooms—leaving the drawing room out of the tour.
    I've had enough of the stares of the curious.'
    'I suppose you think we should have told our guests to go,'
    Morgana said defensively.
    'I didn't say that.'
    'No—but you obviously don't want them here. Only it is—or it has
    been our living, and we didn't hear from you, so we didn't know
    what to do for the best.'
    His mouth curled sardonically. 'That last phrase I'd say sums up
    the present situation pretty accurately. Now, might we get on,
    please? As I've pointed out, my time here is limited.'
    Oh, that it were true, Morgana thought in impotent rage leading the
    way along the passage to the dining room.
    Lyall said little as she did the honours of the house in a small
    remote voice—like a bored house agent with a reluctant client, she
    realised with unwilling humour, as she heard herself uttering
    phrases like 'original mouldings' and 'local stone'.
    She tried to look at him as little as possible, so it was difficult to
    gauge his reactions to what he was seeing—to know whether he
    was impressed, appalled, or simply indifferent. One of his few
    abrupt questions was about central heating, and she had to confess
    there wasn't any, but that they'd always found the open fires
    perfectly adequate. It wasn't true. Her mother had bemoaned the
    lack of radiators on innumerable occasions, but Morgana wasn't
    prepared to admit that. As far as this—interloper was concerned,
    the present occupants thought that Polzion House was perfect,
    warts and all.
    Besides, she didn't want him to like the house. The solution to all
    their problems would be for him to refuse the inheritance, and he
    could just do that, if there were sufficient drawbacks. She could
    imagine die kind of accommodation that would appeal to him—
    some chic penthouse, she thought impatiently, with wall-to-wall
    carpeting, and gold-plated bathroom fittings, to go with his gold-
    plated image.
    As she led the way up the broad, shallow curve of the staircase, her
    sense of purpose faltered a little. At the head of the stairs was the
    long gallery off which the principal bedrooms opened, with
    smaller wings at each end, and in this gallery the family portraits
    were hung. However much she might silently condemn him as an
    intruder and a stranger, she could not escape the fact that every
    few yards they were going to come face to face with his likeness,
    and it wouldn't escape him either.
    She made no reference to them as they passed, but took him
    straight to the master bedroom which her parents used to share,
    and where Elizabeth Pentreath now slept alone. He looked around
    it without comment, opening the door into the small dressing room
    which lay off it.
    'Are the guest rooms similar?' he asked, when they were once
    again on the gallery.
    Morgana hesitated. 'Well, usually guests have a choice of rooms.
    We charge different prices for them, of course. At the moment
    Miss Meakins has accommodation in the West Wing, but we
    moved Major Lawson over to the other side because of his typing.'
    He said nothing in response, and after a minute she added
    defensively, 'There's nothing wrong with the rooms in the wings.
    We always show the guests everything that's available.'
    She walked on quickly down the corridor, and Lyall followed.
    He said, 'Just a moment. Haven't you forgotten something?'
    She stopped and turned quickly. He was standing by a door,
    touching the handle, his brows raised interrogatively.
    She said reluctantly, 'Oh—that's my room.' She half expected him
    to leave it, and follow her, but he remained where he was.
    'I suppose you want to see it.' She made no effort to disguise her
    resentment.
    'I want to see everything. I thought I'd made that clear.'
    Yes, you did, she thought, as she