by Mary Lyons
‘Oh—er—good,’ she muttered, trying not to look too amazed, and hoping that the sudden rush of colour flooding over her pale cheeks might be mistaken for a modest blush of pleasure at what was, for David, high praise.
‘However, if you do have any trouble with a member of the public, and you really feel that you can’t cope with the situation, then all you have to do is to threaten to call a policeman. That generally does the trick.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she sighed, realising that there was no way she could possibly even begin trying to explain the disturbing, traumatic series of events which had taken place lately. And exactly what a policeman could have done about Luke Cunningham’s devastating embrace, which had left her completely shattered, Angelica had absolutely no idea.
It was also extremely unlikely that David would be interested to know that she’d scarcely been able to get a wink of sleep since then. Or that when she did eventually manage to nod off she seemed to be haunted by a tall, dark figure stalking arrogantly through her dreams. The fact that she appeared to have completely lost her appetite wasn’t exactly of earth-shattering importance, either.
If only there were someone she could talk to. Someone who might help to put the present phase of her life—which appeared to have been turned completely upside-down—into some sort of correct perspective. Unfortunately, the one person on whom she could always rely for hard, practical common-sense and good advice was away on holiday at the moment.
Angelica and Kim Edwards had become firm friends at school, before going on to university together, and were still staunch supporters of each other in good times as well as bad. It was unusual for a close friendship to last so long, but maybe it was because they were so different, both in looks and temperament. With her short, dark hair, practical, down-to-earth outlook, and a successful career running a modern art gallery, Kim’s lifestyle was the very opposite of Angelica’s. Even their homes reflected the dissimilarity between them, Kim’s ultra-modern penthouse apartment in Chelsea Harbour being the total antithesis of Lonsdale House.
If only Kim weren’t away in New York, and could give her some sensible, practical advice, maybe…
‘Come on, Angelica—stop daydreaming!’ David’s exasperated voice broke into her dismal thoughts. ‘If you haven’t got any other queries, you’d better push off. I’ve got to get this new brochure finished and at the printers by this afternoon.
‘Don’t worry about difficult clients,’ he called after her as she was closing the office door. ‘As you know, they’re a hazard of the trade. With our walks only taking about two hours, the best thing is just to grin and bear it. OK?’
‘No, it definitely is not OK….!’ Angelica muttered grumpily under her breath as she trailed slowly down the many flights of stairs.
It was all very well for David to say ‘grin and bear it’, but he hadn’t been forced to put up with the sort of cataclysmic, horrendous turn of events which had afflicted her lately.
It wasn’t just the sudden advent of Luke Cunninghams into her life, and the devastating effect he seemed to be having on her emotions—although that was bad. enough! But she hadn’t been joking when she’d told David about her urgent need for money. After receiving the latest estimate from the builders, she had been forced to accept that the repairs to the roof timbers were likely to cost many thousands of pounds. She hadn’t even a faint hope of raising that huge amount—not without some outside help and advice. On top of which, and adding yet another burden to her ever-mounting problems, her visit to Lady Marshall had proved to be an absolute disaster?
Unfortunately, Angelica knew that she had nobody but herself to blame. Confused and upset by her emotional encounter with Luke, it had been incredibly foolish of her to arrive on the old lady’s doorstep in such a distraught state of mind. It would have been far more sensible to go straight home, where she could have phoned to cancel her visit, putting it off to another time. But when Luke had left her in the Physic Garden she’d been so shattered that she had hardly known what time of day it was, let alone been able to think clearly.
She had spent a long time searching in vain for her hair combs—which Luke had removed and thrown away. So, feeling completely disorientated and confused, she had not only arrived late, but also looking a complete and utter mess. Neither state was guaranteed to win the good opinion of the imperious old woman, who’d immediately launched into a lecture regarding modern-day dress and manners.
From that inauspicious beginning, the visit had proceeded rapidly downhill. Lady Marshall had forcibly spoken her mind about those who couldn’t manage their finances correctly, and who must— for their own sakes, of course—be forced to economise in these hard times.
‘There is absolutely no excuse for not having put aside money for the roof repairs,’ the old woman had told her firmly. “One must foresee the problems which lie ahead, and take adequate measures to see that they are catered for. After all, where would I be if I hadn’t kept a sharp eye on my own investments?’ she’d added, gazing down with satisfaction at the heavy gold and diamond rings on her fingers.
And exactly where would Lady Marshall have been without the rich legacy from her late husband, Sir Edward? Surely that question, was more to the point? Angelica had thought grimly. And, while she didn’t envy or fesent the old lady’s obvious wealth and comfort, she was desperate to try and save Lonsdale House—the only home she’d ever known.
Angelica always dreaded invitations to tea with the elderly woman. It meant hardly daring to move, just in case she should inadvertently disturb any of the precious glass and porcelain ornaments set out on the many small tables in the crowded drawingroom.
Lady Marshal’s large house in Belgravia was crammed full of valuable antique furniture, paintings and objets d’art, which must have been an absolute nightmare to dust and clean. So it was fortunate that she could afford an army of servants, whom she kept busy from dawn to dusk.
Isolated from the real world, by having more than enough money to indulge her slightest whim, the old woman appeared to be totally out of touch with the ordinary, everyday problems of those who had to work for their living.
As she’d tried to explain, Angelica certainly wasn’t afraid of hard work. But, while she had to look after and care for Lonsdale House, she had no way of earning any serious money. And she definitely didn’t have the capital sums required to cover major items, such as the repairs to the roof timbers. However, since there was apparently plenty of money in the large trust fund, which was designed for just such a problem, it seemed only fair that the trustees should help her out during the present crisis.
But she might as well have saved her breath. Lady Marshall either couldn’t or wouldn’t understand the problem. It was only when Angelica realised that it was pointless to keep on trying to get the message over, and was rising to leave, that the old woman had made even the slightest offer of help.
‘I will contact a young niece of my dear late husband,’ she’d told Angelica, ringing for the aged butler to show her visitor out. ‘I understand that she now holds a senior position in a firm of accountants. Maybe she will be able to suggest an answer to this deplorable situation.’
That disastrous visit to the imperious old lady had been a complete waste of time, Angelica now told herself unhappily, trailing slowly down the last steps of the tall office building, and out into the busy street. Maybe she should just give up, and stop trying to persuade the trustees to advance money for the urgent repairs to Lonsdale House?
She was so immersed in her miserable thoughts that it wasn’t until she collided with someone that she came down to earth—literally with a bump!
‘Whoops! Sorry, Angelica.’ Her colleague, Grog Harper, grinned as he bent down to help her up off the pavement, where she’d fallen after the collision with his tall figure. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ she muttered, brushing the dust off her blue checked shirt and denim jeans.
She was very fond of G
rog, who was easily the most successful tour guide working for Footsteps in Time. His walk On the Trail of Jack the Ripper was always a smash hit with the public. Taking place in the evening, and evoking the menacing attmosphere of Victorian London, with its fog and gas lights, frightening shadows and stealthy footsteps, he would lead his companions through the various series of murders in the East End of London.
‘How did you get on with your tour around the City last week?’ he queried as she dusted herself down.
‘Don’t ask!’ Angelica groaned.
‘It can’t have been that bad, surely?’
‘Oh, yes, it was. To be honest—and for goodness’ sake, please don’t tell David—I have to admit that it was an absolute fiasco!’ she told him ruefully.
‘What went wrong?’
‘Just about everything,’ she admitted gloomily. ‘And, just to make everything ten times worse, I had a real Mr Know-all along who made my life a complete misery.’
‘That was bad luck,’ he agreed with a sympathetic smile. ‘But I’m SURE you’ll have massaged to cope with him.’
‘Er…well…’ she mumbled, her cheeks flushing as she swiftly decided that she didn’t want to get into any further discussion about the disastrous tour. In fact, it was definitely time to change the subject. ‘So—what are you doing here?’
He shrugged.’ Nothing much. David seems to be quite excited about someone who’s apparently injecting a large amount of capital into the business. So I was popping in to see if he’s intending to make any radical changes to the programme.’
‘Yes, David did drop a few heavy hints that the business might be expanding very soon. He certainly seemed unusually cheerful.’
‘That will make a pleasant change!’ Grog laughed. ‘I’m also calling in to check the details of a new tour I’ve been putting together. I thought it might be fun to do a Sherlock Holmes walk, visiting some of the places mentioned in Conan Doyle’s stories. I’ve been trying to think of a title, but I’m a bit stuck. Any ideas?’
‘How about Elementary, My Dear Watson…?’
‘Not bad—not bad at all!’ He grinned. ‘In fact, I think I might try that out on David. Well done, Angelica!’ he added, enveloping her slim form in a huge bear hug, before going upstairs to see their employer.
It must have been her overwrought imagination at work again, Angelica told herself as she travelled home on the bus. Because, just as she was being given such an enthusiastic, friendly hug by Greg, she’d been almost certain that on glancing over his shoulder she had caught sight of Luke Cunningham. But she must have been mistaken, she told herself quickly. It had only been a brief, fleeting glimpse of a man frowning at her and Greg from the back of a long black chauffeur-driven limousine as it travelled swiftly down the street. It could…well, it could have been just about anyone, she told herself firmly, terrified by the way that Luke’s powerful, dark presence seemed to be invading her waking hours now, as well as dominating her dreams.
However, the very next day, when Lonsdale House was open to the public, Angelica’s sinking heart knew that this time she couldn’t blame her overheated imagination. The tall figure, now walking up the steps and confidently striding into the main hall of her home, really was Luke Cunninghan!
At seemed to take an age before the message conwyed by her eyes managed to reach her frozen brain. As if in a trance, her limbs frozen with shock and horror, all she could think some evil magician-Luke seemed to be able to materialise suddenly out of thin air. And then her mind was filled by the imperzative question: how on earth had he managed to discover where she lived?
On her return to the house after visiting Lady Marshall, Angelica had tried to discover from Betty exactly what she’d said to Luke when he’d stopped to talk to her during the tour of Chelsea. But Betty hadn’t been able to understand her urgent need to know the worst.
‘What is this-the third degree?’ the elderly woman had demanded irritably. ‘For goodness’ sake, Angelica! How can I be expected to remember what I did or didn’t say? And why are you so interested, anyway? All I know is that he seemed a very nice gentleman,’ Betty had told her, before flouncing off down into the kitchen.
Now, clutching the back of a nearby chair for support, Angelica gazed with stunned eyes at the ‘very nice gentleman’ as she desperately tried to pull herself together.
‘Good afternoon, Angelica,’ he murmured, looking about him with interest.
‘W-what….?’ she croaked, her legs suddenly feeling as though they were about to give way beneath her. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. ‘What… what are you doing here?’
He raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow as her low, husky voice echoed eerily around the large hall.
‘My dear girl—what does it look as if I’m doing?’ he drawled, moving over to gaze up at a painting on the wall. ‘I’m here to see over Sir Tristram Lonsdale’s house and to view his collection, of course.’
‘But how…why…?’
‘Because it’s the only day in the week when you’re open to the public,’ he pointed out patiently, as if talking to a particularly dim-witted child.
‘I don’t need you to tell me that!’ she snapped. ‘But I still don’t understand. I mean, how did you…?’
‘How did I discover where you lived?’ He gave a short bark of sardonic laughter. ‘Oh, come on! Did you really think that I wouldn’t be able to find out?’
Since that was exactly what she’d thought and hoped, she could only stare back at him with fear and trepidation. Tongue-tied, the knuckles of her hand whitening as her grip tightened on the chair rail, Angelica struggled to try and pull herself together.
Quite apart from the sheer embarrassment of the situation—her cheeks flamed at the memory of what had happened when they’d last met—she still couldn’t believe what was happening to her. It was so unfair to find, after all the trouble she’d taken to prevent him learning her address, that she might as well have spared herself the effort.
The hall was large for a London town house, and yet it now seemed filled with his dominant presence. He must spend a fortune on his clothes, she told herself grimly, staring over at the tall, lean figure wearing an impeccably cut, lightweight grey suit, the white silk shirt comphasising his tanned features and the thick, dark hair just touching his collar. However, despite his usual immaculate appearance, Angelica instinctively knew that it would be a great mistake to ignore the lean, muscular, hard strength beneath his expensive clothes, Because, as she was at last beginning to realise, Luke Cunningham was both a dangerous and very determined man.
‘Well?’
‘Hmm…?’ She looked up to find him regarding her with some amusement.
‘I presume that you do charge an entrance fee?’ he said, reaching inside his jacket and producing a wallet.
She nodded, and then found herself becoming confused and flustered when he placed a large note in her shaking hands, waving away her attempt to give him his change.
‘Well-er-in that case you’d better have a free brochure,’ she muttered, nervously stuffing it into his hands as two middle-aged ladies entered the hall.
Busy dealing with the newcomers, Angelica had a few moments to realise that there was very little, if anything, she could do about the situation.
Although the idea of attempting to evict Luke forcibly had flickered briefly through her mind, she had almost immediately abandoned the idea. Not only were there now two witnesses to any action that she might take, but she could hardly do anything on her own. And, with Betty busy downstairs in the kitchen baking cakes for a church bazaar, her next idea—of disappearing upstairs to her bedroom, and staying there until he left—was also quickly discarded. Someone had to be on duty and, as Luke had reminded her, he was a member of the public. He had, therefore, a perfect right to walk around the house if he chose to do so.
However, as it soon became apparent, that wasn’t enough for him. Oh, no! Luke, it seemed, was determined to have his pound of flesh as well.
‘I see from this brochure that you do conducted tours. I think I’d like that,’ he told her blandly. And despite her obvious reluctance to conduct him anywhere—other than out of the front door!—it looked as though she hadn’t any choice but to comply.
There seemed no way of avoiding this fraught, difficult situation, until she turned her eyes on the two middle-aged ladies. If she was being forced to conduct a tour around the house, there was nothing that said how many people should or should not be included in the group. Quickly making up her mind, she went over to the woman, asking if they were interested in being shown personally around the various artefacts and curiosities.
While in actual fact it didn’t take very long, it seemed to Angelica as though it was hours and hours before she led her three visitors back into the hall.
‘Thank you so much—it was all very—er—very interesting,’ one of the ladies said kindly as Angelica escorted them towards the front door.
Impatiently waiting for Luke to join them, and looking forward to getting rid of the man at last, Angelica was thrown when he suddenly murmured, ‘I think I’ll just take another look at one of the paintings In the dining-room.’
After seeing the women off the premises, she hurried back to the hal, nonplussed on teaching the oak-panelled dining-room to find that there was no sign of Luke. Hunting feverishly through the other rooms on the ground floor, she quickly ran out into the garden, and then up the wide staircase to see if, by any chance, he’d snaked upstairs when she wasn’t looking. But there was no sign of his tall figure—either there, or in any of the bedrooms on the upper two floors. Not, of course, that she’d expected to find him up there-but she’d had to make sure, if only for her own peace of mind.
So where was the dammed man? It wasn’t as though he’d appeared to be at all interested in the contents of the house, she reminded herself with a puzzled frown, trailing slowly back down the staircase into the hall. The blank and impassive, almost deadpan expression on his face during the tour, during which he’d said virtually nothing, had proved to be considerably off-putting. There had been something particularly unnerving about his silent lack of response to what she’d been saying. in fact, Angelica had been grateful to the two middle-aged ladies for asking a few pertinent questions every now and then.
