Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [52]
“Ah well, then,” O’Neil said cheerfully, his good humor apparently returned. “I’ll show you, with pleasure.” And he opened the door and led Pitt into another larger and warmer room where a fire burned in the hearth, crackling noisily, flames leaping, and a young woman with fair brown hair and unusually high cheekbones sat on a padded stool, beside her a dark, curly-haired child of about two years old. Another child, whom Pitt judged to be about four, sat on the carpet in front of her, a thin, brightly colored book in her hands. She was quite different in appearance: Her hair was ash fair with only the slightest wave in it, and she had solemn blue eyes.
“Hello, my pretty,” O’Neil said cheerfully, patting her head.
“Hello, Papa,” she replied happily. “I’m reading a story to Mama and James.”
“Are you indeed?” O’Neil said with admiration, not questioning her truthfulness. “What is it about, then?”
“A princess,” the child answered without hesitation. “And a fairy prince.”
“Oh, that’s marvelous, sweetheart.”
“Grandpapa gave me the book.” She held it up with pride. “He said I could be a princess like that, if I’m good.”
“And so you can, my love, so you can,” O’Neil assured her. “Kathleen, my dear,” he said to the woman, “this is Mr. Pitt, who has called on a matter of business. Mr. Pitt, may I present my wife.”
“How do you do, Mrs. O’Neil,” Pitt replied courteously. So this was Kathleen Blaine O’Neil. She was pretty, very womanly, and yet there was strength in the cast of her features, not masked by the soft chin and the gentle eyes.
“How do you do, Mr. Pitt,” she said without any expression except a slight curiosity.
“Mr. Pitt is interested in photography,” O’Neil said, keeping his back to Kathleen and facing Pitt. “There are one or two good pictures in here I wished to show him.”
“Of course.” Kathleen smiled at Pitt. “Please be welcome, Mr. Pitt. I hope they are of help to you. Do you take many photographs? I expect you have met some interesting people?”
Pitt hesitated only a moment. “Yes, Mrs. O’Neil, I have certainly met some very interesting people, with quite unique faces, both good and bad.”
She continued to regard him without making any further remark.
“This is one that you might like,” O’Neil said casually, and Pitt moved over beside him in front of a large, silver-framed photograph of a young woman, who was immediately recognizable as Kathleen O’Neil, in a very formal gown. Behind her was a man of apparently the same age, tall, still with the slenderness of youth, fair, wavy hair falling slightly over his left brow. It was a handsome face, good-humored, emotional, full of an easy, romantic sensuality. Pitt did not need to ask if it were Kingsley Blaine. He would ask O’Neil later, privately, if Blaine were the father of the elder child with the fair hair, but it would only be a formality; the answer was plain.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “An excellent picture. I am most obliged, Mr. O’Neil.”
Kathleen was regarding him with interest.
“Is it helpful to you, Mr. Pitt? He was my first husband. He died about five years ago.”
Pitt felt an abysmal hypocrite. Words raced through his mind. He should tell her he knew, but how without embarrassing O’Neil?
O’Neil came to his rescue.
“Mr. Pitt knows that, my dear,” he said to his wife. “I explained to him.”
“Oh. I see.” But obviously she did not.
The conversation was rescued by the door opening and a man coming in. He looked first at O’Neil, then at Pitt, with a question sharp in his powerful, hatchet-nosed face. He was heavily built, barrel-chested, and he walked with a pronounced limp. Briefly he glanced at the children, and there was intense pride in his eyes for that moment before he turned back towards Pitt.
“Ah, a good morning to you, Papa-in-law,” O’Neil said with a charming smile. “This is Mr. Pitt, a business acquaintance of mine.”
“Indeed!” Harrimore looked at Pitt civilly enough, but with