That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,53

the room was as good as new. The hole in the wall had been closed up, and only a slight difference in the colour of the paintwork showed that a repair had taken place. Which left her with only one problem: the lack of a range.

She knew she would have to have one sooner or later, as the range provided all the hot water and all the cooking facilities for the Lodge, but she could not think how she was going to pay for it.

Ah well! she thought bracingly, she would just have to find a way of solving this problem as she had found a way of solving all her others. Fortunately, as it was summer, she could manage for a little while without one.

In the meantime, she had her visit to Marienbad to occupy her mind, and she settled down to make her arrangements.

Chapter Eight

Cicely felt her excitement mount as the steam train pulled into Marienbad station. It was three years since she had last visited the spa town, and she was looking forward to seeing her aunt and cousin again.

How fortunate she was to have such a generous aunt, she thought, as the puffing and blowing train ground to a halt. Not only had Aunt Hilda made her welcome whenever she had visited, but had always insisted on paying her fares. Without this generosity, Cicely knew she would never have been able to visit.

And there was Aunt Hilda now!

Cicely waved at her aunt, who was standing on the platform beside Cousin Sophie. Her aunt, seeing her, raised her hand in greeting, and Sophie waved wildly, full of the exuberance of youth.

Mrs Lessing was looking exactly the same as the last time she had seen her, thought Cicely as she stepped off the train, being a fine looking woman in her forties. Her mouse-brown hair was pulled back from her face and arranged in a simple knot at the back of her head. Her slim figure - the product of vigorous walks through the surrounding pine forests, which even now were perfuming the air with their fresh, clean scent - was encased in a high-necked blouse, a long skirt and a tailored jacket. Ever practical, she carried an umbrella, which was often needed in Marienbad, whatever the time of year.

Sophie, in contrast, was looking completely different to the last time Cicely had seen her. The three intervening years had brought about a definite change. Gone was the gawky fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, and in her place was a beautiful young woman with elegantly-coiffured golden curls and the most immaculate clothes. Her dress was definitely Parisian - probably, thought Cicely, a creation of Maison Worth - and had an unmistakeable air of chic. Setting it off was a plumed hat that was perched most becomingly on the back of her pretty young head. But for all her cousin’s new-found maturity, Cicely was pleased to see that she still had a mischievous sparkle in her eye, for without it the plan to catch Goss could not go ahead.

‘Cicely.’ Her aunt greeted her affectionately, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘It is lovely to have you here.’

‘It’s lovely to be here. I’d forgotten how beautiful Marienbad is,’ she said, looking round at the pine forests which could be seen rising all round the town and stretching off into the distance

‘You must have plenty of walks now you are here. You are looking a little peaky,’ said her aunt, surveying her closely. ‘But then, after your father’s death, it is not to be wondered at.’

‘Cicely!’ Sophie could not contain herself any longer. ‘It seems like an age since I last saw you. I am so glad you are here. And in such mysterious circumstances. Your letter said everything and nothing. What sort of help do you need? It all sounds very exciting.’

Cicely laughed at Sophie’s enthusiasm. ‘I will tell you all about it, but not on the station platform.’

‘Oh, no, of course not. We have to get a taxi to the villa, as we don’t have a motor car,’ she said, as a porter took Cicely’s luggage and loaded it onto a hand cart. ‘I keep trying to persuade mother to let me learn to drive but she says it isn’t suitable.’ Sophie looked at her mother in exasperation. ‘It seems to me that nothing interesting ever is.’

‘You, miss, are becoming fast,’ said Cicely’s aunt reprovingly. ‘Your father would turn in his grave.’

Cicely’s Uncle Harry had died some years before, in Marienbad, where the family