CHAPTER THREEThe Earl stared out of the window.
The lake was molten gold in the sinking sun, the swans moving slowly over its smooth surface and the crimson rhododendrons were reflected in the water.
He thought how often he had dreamt of this particular view when he had been abroad. Always it had brought him an inexplicable pain.
Ever since he had been a child, the beauty of his home had moved him unaccountably and at times when he was away from it at school or University it had been almost too poignant to visualise it. Yet it had always been in the back of his consciousness, a part of himself, a part of his heritage.
He could feel the loveliness of it now, like a cooling hand on his hot forehead gradually soothing away the anger that an interchange of words with his mother had aroused
