Free The Silver Castle by Nancy Buckingham

came here? Or have you just met?”
    “We’ve just met—the day I arrived. Isn’t it quite extraordinary, after you helped me like that in Zurich?”
    “Incredible,” he said.
    “I was amazed when I saw your photograph,” I rushed on, “because of course I recognised you at once.”
    “My photograph? Are you saying that Raimund carries a photograph of me around with him?”
    “I meant at the Schloss. Your stepmother showed it to me. Or rather, I happened to see one lying about.”
    He was looking even more puzzled. “You know my stepmother, also?”
    “Yes, I’m staying at the Schloss. Frau Kreuder kindly invited me to stay there, rather than find a guesthouse.” I hesitated a moment. “From what she said, I gathered that you weren’t expected home so soon.”
    The grey eyes flickered. “Something arose and I had to change my plans. I have driven straight here from the airport.” His manner became terse as he continued, “I’m afraid I shall be keeping Raimund for some time, so perhaps you would prefer to return to the Schloss. I could arrange for someone to drive you.”
    “Thanks, but it’s not very far. I’ll enjoy the walk.”
    “As you please. Well ... we will be meeting again later. By the way, you did not tell me your name.”
    “It’s Gail,” I said. Then, wondering how he was going to take it, I added, “Gail Sherbrooke.”
    “Sherbrooke?”
    “Yes. I’m Benedict Sherbrooke’s daughter.”
    His face was suddenly like rock, cold and hard and impervious. “Did you say my stepmother invited you to stay at the Schloss?”
    “That’s right. It was very good of her, I thought.”
    He said, in a chilling voice, “Perhaps, Miss Sherbrooke, you will tell me precisely what it is you are doing here.”
    “It’s a long story,” I faltered. “To cut it short ... I’d always believed that my father had died when I was very young, and only recently did I learn that he was alive until February of this year. I discovered it when The Times reported that one of his paintings had changed hands at a London saleroom. I was able to find out that he’d been living all these years in this part of Switzerland, and ...”
    I broke off, checked by the scorn in his eyes. I had remembered them as being a soft, warm grey, like wood smoke, but now they were like splintered slate.
    “So you came hurrying out to find what pickings there might be for you,” he said viciously. “How gratified you must have been to find there was a whole roomful of paintings. If buyers can be found for those, too, your journey will have paid handsome dividends.”
    Shaken, and furiously angry, I started to protest that he’d got it all wrong. But already he was striding away from me across the yard and in another moment he had vanished through the doorway to the offices. It was all I could do not to rush after him, to force him to listen to me, but I could hardly provoke a scene right here at the silk mill.
    I was reaching into the car for my handbag when Raimund reappeared, hurrying out of the showroom with a swatch of fabric under his arm. Obviously he was still unaware that Anton had arrived and I felt tempted to say nothing, but just get in the car and let him drive to St. Gallen. But I was interested to see how he would react.
    “I think I ought to mention that your half-brother has just turned up.”
    He froze, the car door half open. “Anton is here?’
    “That’s right, he arrived a few minutes ago,” I said, nodding towards his blue Mercedes that was parked across the yard. “I gathered that he wants to talk to you.”
    “You spoke to him?”
    “Yes, briefly.”
    “But ... but he couldn’t have known who you were. I mean, not unless you told him just now.”
    “I did tell him. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t,” I added challengingly.
    Raimund cursed under his breath in German. Then in a subdued voice, he asked, “How did he take it?”
    “He was astonished, to say the least. He suggested rather