“What the hell is wrong with you, Viv? You’ve been heaving your guts up for days, so you can’t blame that on me.”
She started to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “I can blame it on you, Fergus. At least partly. I’m pregnant.”
If Viv had ever wanted to see him gobsmacked, she had her wish. He gaped at her. “But . . . you . . . you can’t be.”
“What we’ve been doing, Fergus, is generally how babies are made.” Even though she knew it wasn’t the least bit funny, she was still stifling giggles, so light-headed she might have been drunk.
“You were on the pill,” he protested.
“Yeah, well, when I went to Evesham, I didn’t take any of my things, remember? And after that, I didn’t see much point continuing.”
He backed up a step, as if it might be catching. “Of all the bloody stupid things to do, Viv—”
“I thought my mum was dying.” She stood, all the urge to laugh gone. “And I wasn’t exactly planning to sleep with you again, or have you conveniently forgotten that?”
His face had gone the color of clotted cream, the dimples marking his cheeks like tiny craters. “Well, you can’t have it,” he said. “You’ll have to get rid of it.”
“What?” She stared at him. “What are you talking about? This is your child, too, Fergus!”
“It’s my fecking restaurant! I can’t have a pregnant cook in my kitchen. And you—how exactly do you plan to be a chef with a bloody baby to take care of?” He’d made baby sound like a dirty word. “Don’t be daft. You get this taken care of and then we’ll—”
“No.” It wasn’t until the word left Viv’s lips that she realized she had made a decision. “I won’t do it, Fergus. I can’t.” She tried to shove her way past him but he caught her arm.
“Let me go.”
“Viv, you can’t mean it.” His fingers were pinching her. “I can’t manage— You can’t leave this. You can’t leave me.”
She saw it then, the fear in his eyes, and for just an instant she felt sorry for him.
It didn’t last. “Let me go, Fergus,” she said again, and this time there was something in her tone that made him release her as if he’d been burned. “Find yourself another chef.”
Forgoing Ibby’s grand gestures, she carefully hung up her apron, put her jacket on over her whites, and walked out.
After her talk with Kit, Gemma had wanted to have a chat with Viv, but the phone call a few minutes later from Kerry Boatman made a visit to Viv seem even more urgent.
As much as she hated to ask another favor of Addie, she couldn’t discuss things with Viv with the children in tow. She had Addie drop her at the Lamb in Lower Slaughter. It was well after lunch by this time and the car park was nearly empty. A small Volkswagen pulling out beeped its horn at her and, seeing that it was Angelica, Gemma waved back.
There was a mud-spattered Land Rover parked near the archway that Gemma didn’t recognize. Hoping for a private word with Viv, Gemma slipped into the hallway. She was about to enter the kitchen when she heard a man’s voice. Mark Cain.
Taking a step forward, she peered into the kitchen. Viv stood at the central hob, stirring something, with Mark beside her. “I’ve got to finish unloading the hay,” he was saying. “But I’ll be back. Try not to worry, love.” Gently, he pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.
Gemma had seen him comfort Viv before, but there was a tenderness in this gesture that made her heart contract. And when Viv looked up at him, Gemma felt the intensity all the way to her toes. This was more than a dalliance.
She was trying to back up gracefully when a voice in her ear said, “Gemma, whatever are you doing here?” Startled, she stepped back and trod on Bea Abbott’s toes.
“Oh, Bea, I’m so sorry. I was just going to have a word with Viv, but I didn’t want to intrude—” she began, but when she looked back into the kitchen, Mark was gone and Viv was stirring her pot with great concentration.
“Well, don’t mind me,” said Bea briskly. “Viv, I’m just off to the bank with the cash receipts from the weekend.”
“Okay, see you later,” Viv replied, then smiled at Gemma. “Come in, Gemma, do. I’ve sent Ibby and Angelica for a break. Tonight will be slow and we all needed a bit of a breather.”
“I was hoping we might have a chat.”
Viv’s eyes widened. “Has something happened?”
“No, no, I just wanted to talk.”
“Let me finish seasoning this soup, then, and I’ll make us a cuppa.”
“What is it? It smells divine.”
“Cream of mushroom. Come and taste.” When Gemma came to stand beside her, Viv dipped some soup into a tasting spoon and handed it to her. “We’ve a local farmer growing mushrooms for the markets, so I buy whatever he has on hand. This has brown mushrooms, shiitake, and some dried porcini, for depth of flavor.”
Gemma took a little sip from the spoon. “Oh, I see what you mean,” she said in surprise. “It’s delicious, but it’s somehow more—mushroomy.”
“It’s not balanced yet. It needs more salt.” Viv added a generous palmful from a dish by the hob and stirred the pot thoroughly. Grabbing two more spoons, she tasted it herself, then handed a spoonful to Gemma. “Now try.”
Obediently, Gemma tasted. This time the flavors seemed to pop on her tongue. “Oh, my goodness. It’s not salty—it just tastes . . . I don’t know . . . brighter?”
“That’s what salt does. It’s a flavor enhancer. You have a good palate.” Viv turned the flame down to a low simmer and fetched cups from the crockery shelf. Plopping a few Yorkshire teabags into the old Brown Betty pot that Gemma had used so diligently yesterday, she filled the pot from the already steaming kettle. “Maybe Kit has inherited that from you.”
“I’m afraid not,” Gemma said a little ruefully. “I’m his stepmother, you see.”
“Oh.” Viv looked startled. “I’m so sorry. He never said. I just assumed . . .”
“No need to be sorry. I couldn’t love him more or be more proud of him.” Gemma decided to take advantage of the opening. “Speaking of Kit, he’s a little concerned about Grace. She was asking him all sorts of questions about going to live in London with his dad. She wanted to know if he knew his dad before that.”
Viv, filling Gemma’s cup, sloshed scalding tea on her hand. “Shit!” Setting the cup down, she stuck her hand under the cold tap, her back to Gemma.
“Viv, are you all right?”
“It’s nothing.” Viv turned off the water and patted her hand with a towel, her expression tense. “What else did she say to Kit?”
Gemma wasn’t sure how to put it delicately. “This is like she really believes this stuff and it’s just . . . weird. She seems to think you deliberately kept her from seeing her dad.”
The color drained from Viv’s face. “Oh, Christ. The bastard. The absolute bastard.”
Her reaction took Gemma by surprise. “Who, Viv? What are you talking about?”
“Fergus, of course. Bloody Fergus. He swore not to tell her. I should have known he wouldn’t keep a promise.”
“Dear God,” said Gemma as realization dawned. “Fergus was Grace’s father?” She’d only seen the mortuary photo of the man, and she hadn’t caught a resemblance. “I knew you used to work for him, but—”
“That’s why I left O’Reilly’s. He never wanted her, you know. And, then, to show up here, demanding to see her, after all this time—” Viv wiped at tears.
Giving Viv a moment, Gemma finished pouring the tea while she thought it through. “Viv, a friend in the London police talked to Colm Finlay this morning. You said that Fergus had offered you a job working for him in a new restaurant in London. Colm Finlay said that Fergus’s job was dependent on you taking that offer.”
Viv stared at her. “Oh, the idiot,” she breathed. “I should have known. Did he think I wouldn’t find out? That Colm wouldn’t eventually tell me? That’s why he was so determined I should do it.” With shaking hands,
Viv reached for the cup of tea Gemma brought her.
“Here, your fingers are like ice,” said Gemma. “Wrap your hands around that and tell me exactly what happened.”
“I told the truth. Just not all of it,” Viv admitted after a moment, with a sigh. “Fergus showed up here on Friday morning, out of the blue, telling me he had this great opportunity, that Colm was setting him up in a place and he wanted me in on it. I hadn’t seen him in nearly twelve years. It was . . . a bit of a shock, I can tell you. And he still— I was still— Fergus could be so bloody charming, even after everything that happened between us.” Viv sipped at the tea, wincing. “But I said no, I’d made a life for myself here. Then, he said it was our chance to be a family, the three of us. He’d seen Grace, I don’t know how. He seemed obsessed with her, with wanting to be a father. Or so I thought,” she added with a grimace. “How could I have been so stupid? He needed me to get the job. And he needed Grace to get me.”
“What happened when you told him no?”
“I thought it might be okay, that he might leave it. But he came back in the afternoon, and this time he told me that if I didn’t agree, he would sue me for partial custody. He said he could have the court order a paternity test, that I couldn’t deprive him of his rights as a father. I told him to get stuffed.
“But he wouldn’t let it go—I’d forgot how persistent Fergus could be when he set his mind to something—he kept pushing me. Hanging about in the courtyard, talking to Grace. And then later, coming in the dining room, ordering food, then sending it back, with the chef’s compliments.”
A horrible thought occurred to Gemma. She’d never seriously considered the possibility that Viv had poisoned Fergus. What chef in her right mind would poison someone in her own restaurant? But it sounded more and more as if Viv had good reason to want rid of Fergus—and quickly, before he made further inroads with Grace.
Viv had known exactly which plates were going out to Fergus. But, still, even if she’d had the intent, would she have had digitalis on hand? Or foxglove itself? The plant was common enough, but certainly no part of it would be kept in a kitchen, and Gemma hadn’t seen it growing in the pub garden.
Unaware of Gemma’s ruminations, Viv continued, “When he came into the kitchen during service that night, I just lost it. I shouted at him to get out and not to bloody come back. I never thought . . .” She looked stricken. “I never thought he would die!”
Viv Holland had still loved Fergus O’Reilly, Gemma realized, in spite of his faults.
She didn’t believe Viv could have harmed him, and certainly not through the very thing that was the touchstone of her life—her food. “Viv,” she said slowly, “who else knew about Fergus and Grace? Or Fergus’s offer, for that matter?”
“Well, Bea knew about the offer. It was only fair to tell her, even though I didn’t mean to take it. And of course Ibby knew about Fergus and Grace. Ibby was—” Viv’s expression softened. “Ibby was the only one who was there for me when Grace was born. He’s known Grace her whole life.”
Once they’d left Roz Dunning’s house, Booth told them that he’d asked a uniformed officer to meet him with O’Reilly’s mobile. “I’m all for the glories of fingerprint recognition,” Booth said. “But I don’t want some anorak in forensics texting me what he thinks is important. And”—he nodded at the cottage they’d just left—“I want to keep an eye on this nice lady for a bit, see if she rabbits. She’s a right piece of work, that one. Your mother,” he added to Melody, “had better hope she hasn’t hijacked the family silver.”
“They’re bringing the mobile here?” Doug looked as eager as a puppy promised a treat.
“To the green. I’d better move my car, though, someplace a bit less conspicuous, so Ms. Dunning won’t see us. We can sit in yours.”
“Mine, actually.” Melody sounded thoroughly irritated. “The Clio.”
Booth’s raised eyebrows conveyed his opinion of her automotive judgment. “Well, you all pile in, then. I’m going to move my car to the hotel down the road.”
“You know this village?” Kincaid asked.
“Michelin-rosette restaurant in the hotel. Anniversary date last year.”
When the panda car arrived a few minutes later, there’d been no sign of activity in Roz Dunning’s cottage. Doug had rather grudgingly ceded the Clio’s front-passenger seat to Booth, which left him and Kincaid crammed into the back. Now Doug leaned forward, breathing down Booth’s neck as Booth scrolled through the phone.
“He didn’t use it much,” said Booth. “Limited data plan?”
“Or it’s new and he didn’t transfer anything,” Doug suggested. “Or maybe he was just a Luddite. Sad tosser.”
Booth flicked his finger down the screen. “There’s a Colm in the contacts. That would be the restaurateur, I think. Along with some missed calls from the same number.” He went to the texts, holding the mobile up so that they could all see the screen. “Somebody named Abby wants to buy him a drink. But that was a month ago. Not much social life, poor bugger. Colm wants to know why he’s not returning his calls; O’Reilly says he’ll be in touch soon.” Booth frowned. “Wait. Here’s a text thread from an untagged number, just a couple of messages. He—or she—says, ‘When are you coming back? Please please come soon.’ He says, ‘Don’t worry, everything will work out and we’ll be together, I promise.’” Booth swiped again. “Then, he says, ‘PS remember DONT tell your mum!’”
“The guy was a pedophile,” Doug said, with disgust. “Christ. But how does—”
“No,” Kincaid broke in. “I don’t think so.” He was remembering the child who’d played with his own children at the luncheon, with the same pinched and angry look she’d worn when she’d come tearing into the pub yesterday to shout at her mother. “I don’t think that’s what this is about at all. We need to talk to Viv Holland.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
There had been a moment, on Saturday, when Kincaid had caught a glimpse of the girl laughing as she played with the dogs. It had transformed her, and it was that image that he recalled now. He’d skimmed Doug’s research on Fergus O’Reilly, with the accompanying photographs, and he could see it now—the ghost of a resemblance.
“When was that text sent?” he asked Booth.
Booth scanned the messages again. “Last Wednesday.”
Leaning up from the backseat, Doug said, “Check the call log.”
Booth tapped the phone icon. “O’Reilly made calls to that number on Thursday afternoon, and again on Friday morning. Hang on a moment.” Frowning, he scrolled further back. “The first call to that number was just shy of three weeks ago. The Wednesday—”
“After the Monday O’Reilly first came to the village,” Kincaid finished. “He intended to see Viv—he told Roz Dunning as much—but then he changed his mind. I think it was because he met Grace Holland.”
They took both cars down the hill to the pub, Booth having now agreed that speaking to Viv took priority over keeping an eye on Roz Dunning. Melody had been oddly quiet and seemed to be avoiding speaking to Doug.
The four of them walked into the pub courtyard together, the crunching of their feet on the pea gravel sounding like the arrival of the cavalry. The noise brought Viv to the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. Gemma appeared behind her, carrying a mug of tea. “Where have you been?” she said, hurrying down the steps towards him. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine. We got caught up with something.” He gave her a reassuring smile before turning to Viv. “Viv, does your daughter have a mobile phone?”
She looked puzzled, but said, “Yes, but it’s just calls and texts. I wouldn’t buy her a smartphone, even though she says everyone in her year has them.”
“Is this the number?” Booth read it out to her from O’Reilly’s mobile.
Viv blanched. “Yes, that’s it. What’s happened? Is Grace all right?”
At a nod from Booth, Kincaid said, trying to break it gently, “We think Fe
rgus O’Reilly was in contact with your daughter in the weeks before he died.”
“What? But how—” She glanced at Gemma. “That’s why she said those things to Kit. Oh, my God. When you said he’d been here before, staying at the manor house, it never occurred to me that he’d— He had to have met her then, hadn’t he, to get her number?”
“That would be my guess, yes,” said Gemma. “Viv, shall I tell them?”
“I can guess,” Kincaid told her. “Fergus was Grace’s father, wasn’t he?”
“There’s more.” Gemma put a supportive hand on Viv’s back. “I heard from Kerry Boatman. Viv didn’t know this, but Fergus getting the job in Colm Finlay’s restaurant depended on Viv accepting the offer as well. When she refused, Fergus threatened her with a paternity suit.
“Finlay also told Kerry that he was certain Fergus was not taking heart medication. Fergus was living in his flat and Finlay kept a close eye on him. He wanted to be sure Fergus was clean before he finalized a job offer.”
Booth fixed a hawkish gaze on Viv. “If we can rule out self-administered, we have to look at where the digitalis came from. And when he might have ingested it.”
Looking more startled than frightened, Viv said, “You can’t think—surely you don’t think I gave it to him.”
“It seems to me that you had very good reason to want Mr. O’Reilly out of the way, Ms. Holland. It’s highly unlikely that any court would have granted him complete custody, but a suit on his part would certainly have disrupted your and your daughter’s lives—and caused your daughter untold emotional distress.”
“But”—Viv threw Gemma a helpless look—“but I would never— I wouldn’t even have any idea how to go about something like that!”
A Bitter Feast Page 28
