by Mary Birk
Without dislodging his hand, she reached down and unfastened his belt, then slipped her blouse over her head, losing the bra, opened his pants, and moved her mouth down to him.
Chapter 16
ALONE IN THE FLAT after Terrence went to work, Anne walked around, examining where her husband had lived so long without her. It was a large, modern flat, in a large, modern building. He had the corner penthouse, so there were two solid walls of double story windows, both opening to glass-barriered balconies, one looking right over the Cathedral’s sculpture garden, the other to the river. The place had an almost monastic feel to it, the only ornamental objects being either religious or the photographs of her that seemed to occupy every available surface. A photograph of them the day they were married sat on a corner table next to the sofa.
She picked up the framed picture. It had not been a formal wedding—just the two of them at a small chapel in Virginia—but it had been wonderful because they were in love. So much had happened to complicate their lives since then that she wondered if things would ever be right again.
When she went to the kitchen to make herself some tea, mint this time, she was surprised to see a note to her from Terrence on the counter by the electric teapot. When had he done that? She read the first part of the note, puzzled, and then examined the stack of things underneath the note. A checkbook, credit cards and health card, all in her name. Well, not actually her name, as she’d never changed her name to add his surname, although all of the documentation he left for her had her name listed as Anne Michaels Reid.
His note said he’d opened accounts in her name, and wanted her to use them to start making their house a home. She flipped open the checkbook, saw that the staggering amount entered as an initial deposit had been made shortly after they were married, almost two years ago. He’d never told her, and there were no other entries after the initial deposit.
She looked back at the note and finished reading it. “I’ve left the designer’s business card on the counter. I’ve given her a heads up and told her to make our house a rush job. She’ll be by at half two to collect you to go to the house. Love, Terrence.”
Her head hurt. Would he want a home with her after he knew? She went back to the bedroom and lay on the bed. She also needed to work on the garden plans for Lynstrade Manor, but she didn’t think she could concentrate. Tonight after dinner she would tell Terrence about the baby. He loved children, maybe he wouldn’t care whose baby it was. But she knew he would.
Her cell phone rang. She checked the caller i.d. even though she knew who it would be. She couldn’t talk to Andrew right now. Not until she knew what Terrence’s reaction was to her news. She rubbed her stomach lightly, again trying to reassure the little person inside. Don’t worry, I love you.
She turned off the phone’s ringer and pulled the book she was reading out of her bag: The Education of a Gardener by Russell Page. Page was the original designer of the gardens at Lynstrade Manor, and the owner wanted them restored faithfully. Luckily, the estate’s manager had been able to locate a copy of Page’s design plans for the house’s gardens. Still, there were some slight changes she wanted to suggest, nothing that would compromise the integrity of the project, just some things to make the gardens easier to maintain. After all, there had been a lot of advances in gardening and technology since Russell Page’s day, and it made no sense to ignore progress.
She would read, then sleep a little, take a nap. After that, she would do some work. Being pregnant made her so sleepy. She’d never been much for naps, but now she could easily take several in one day. She changed into the shirt Terrence had worn to see the house, loving the smell of him that came from it, and climbed under the sheets.
Closing her eyes, she remembered what Terrence had said about Darby coming. Yuck and double yuck. Now she couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t concentrate on her book and couldn’t concentrate on her work.
She’d cook. Always a good plan when she was anxious. She scrambled out of bed, went to the kitchen, and examined the meager contents of his refrigerator (a bottle of HP sauce), freezer (ice) and pantry (a half bottle of red wine that looked barely drinkable, some dried up garlic, and olive oil). What in God’s name did this man live on?
So she’d shop, then she’d cook.
Chapter 17
ARRIVING AT THE Ramsey home, Reid realized that for the first time in ages he wanted the workday to end earlier, rather than later. While he and Anne had been apart, he’d filled his days and, as often as not, his nights, with work. Although such a schedule had positively impacted his career, he was well past ready to have a life in which he could look forward to going home at night.
The afternoon was clouding up and rain looked to be inevitable. He had hoped for sunny weather today to make a good impression on his California girl, but eventually and inevitably, she was going to realize that rain was a frequent visitor to Glasgow. Still, given time, he knew she would love this country, this city, as he did. Perhaps next weekend he’d take her to the Botanic Gardens. He’d not been there for years, but he remembered some very nice woodland walks.
He reached the Ramsey front door just as the first few drops of rain started to fall, and he thought of how vastly different this grand house was from the last home he’d visited that afternoon. The Parsons lived in a small, crowded flat. There’d been no lush gardens, no sweeping driveway, no servants. Just two people whose hearts were irreparably broken.
Reid was ushered into the Ramsey drawing room as he had been the day before. A young woman Reid recognized immediately greeted him. Moira Ramsey. Moira was a pretty girl, very much like her mother, though she wore a little too much make-up for Reid’s tastes. She wore low-waisted black jean shorts and a small tight shirt that exposed her midriff. A silver-studded belt encircled the top of the shorts, set off by a diamond belly button ring.
Her eyes appraised him with frank interest. “We’ve met before, Lord Reid. The party at Dunbaryn after your wedding. Two years ago, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, I remember. Almost exactly two year ago. I’m sorry that our meeting this time is under such sad circumstances.”
“Thank you. Please sit.” Moira indicated the sofa, and sat across from him on another. “We appreciate that you came personally to tell Mother yesterday.”
“It was the least I could do. I am sorry to have to intrude on your family’s grief today, but I need to ask some questions.”
“Do you know any more about what happened?” Moira’s tone was matter-of-fact, and more adult that he’d expected. But then, at nineteen she was leading a very adult life. Reid felt a wave of dismay for the girl—nineteen years old and kept by a man who held almost unimaginable depths of evil.
“We’re still investigating.”
Moira’s voice was hesitant, low, and now she sounded young. “Mother’s afraid he might have done it on purpose. Killed himself. Is that what happened?”
He shook his head. “We’re waiting for the medical examiner’s report, but it doesn’t appear to have been suicide.”
She took his answer in stride. “An accident, then?”
“I can’t say any more than that right now. I need to talk to your mother first.”
“But you’ll let us know? Mother is very worried about that. About everything of course, but about that in particular.”
“Aye, I will.”
“Mother was in shock yesterday. The news hit her super hard. She depended on Richard for pretty much everything. She’s practically helpless without him.”
“It had to be a terrible shock. How is she today?”
“Better. My aunt came over to help and the doctor gave Mum something. She’s still a little out of it but Bert’s bringing her downstairs to talk to you.”
He nodded. “I’m sure having her sister, as well as you and Bert, to help her cope, will be a comfort. Does your aunt live in Glasgow?”
Moira nodded. “Downtown—not far from me.” The luxurious flat where Moira lived was maintained
for her by Walter Von Zandt. In fact, Von Zandt did not seem to go to the trouble of trying to hide that he had a mistress. He apparently didn’t care if his wife or anyone else knew.
She sat down and crossed her legs, voicing what he’d been thinking. “I expect you know I’m Walter Von Zandt’s side bit. It’s his flat I live in.” Her eyes challenged him as she spoke.
Reid shrugged as if what she said was of no importance. He sensed she was disappointed in his lack of response. Still a typical teenager, for all that, wanting to shock the grown-ups.
“Walter says you’re trying to put him in jail.”
Reid made sure his surprise didn’t show. He’d assumed Von Zandt knew he was under investigation, and that Reid was involved, but somehow he’d not expected the man to be sharing that information with others.
“Actually, Moira, I wanted to talk to you about your father. I’ve some questions you may be able to help with.”
She furrowed her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “I doubt it, but ask away.”
“Did you happen to see him the night he died?”
Moira nodded, looking directly at him. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned back on the sofa, then folded her legs up beside her. “I had dinner with my family here Saturday night. Walter had something he had to do with his family—his wife’s birthday dinner.” She made a wry face. “I wasn’t invited.”
Reid stayed silent and the girl gave him a knowing smirk. “Elisa knows about me, of course, but she’s not broadminded enough to include me in family functions. Not that I’d want to go. Boring, I’m sure.”
“What time did your family have dinner?”
“Eight-thirty. Then afterwards, Walter’s son, Frederick, came to collect me and take me back to the flat. He does things like that for Walter. Drives Walter or me, or does other kinds of errands.” She motioned to some vague location outside of the room they were in. “He’s here now, waiting to take me back later.”
“When was it that you left?”
“Ten-thirty, maybe?”
“You don’t have a vehicle of your own?”
“No. Walter doesn’t like me driving.”
“How did your father feel about your relationship with Mr. Von Zandt? You’re considerably younger than he is.”
She looked amused. “It was my father who introduced us, you know. They are—were—business colleagues. Richard thought Walter would be a good influence on me.” She raised her eyebrows, smiling the smile of a woman decades older. “I’ve been living with Walter since I was sixteen.”
Reid knew that, but had not known of Ramsey’s role in bringing about the relationship. What kind of man would encourage his sixteen-year-old daughter to become the mistress of a man like Von Zandt?
“You don’t seem overly distressed by your father’s death.”
She got up and moved to join Reid on the sofa where he was sitting. “Not my father. My stepfather.” Moira looked at him lazily from behind her heavily made up eyes, and Reid got the definite impression that she was trying to vamp him. He acted as if he did not notice and went on with his questions.
“You have his last name.”
“Yes, but he was just my stepfather.”
“How did he seem Saturday?”
She shrugged and relaxed her gaze, changing from seductive to matter-of-fact. A child playacting, and not quite able to figure out what role to play.
“The same as always. Dull as dirt. I’m not sure what my mother saw in him. Other than the fact that he was filthy rich.” Then she smiled. “Dirt and filthy. Funny. I didn’t even plan that.”
Reid gave a small, perfunctory smile, a smile he did not feel. “You’ve lived with him most of your life, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “My real father was a worthless bastard who left us basically penniless. My mother was working at some club singing when Richard met her. His first wife was dead, and he married Mum and here we are.” She waved her hand around their opulent surroundings.
“Did you talk to—should I call him your father?”
“Richard. I call him Richard.”
“Did you talk to Richard at dinner?”
“I guess so. We all talked.” She studied her long red nails, as if trying to determine if they needed a touch up.
“Any particular subjects?”
“Not really. Bert talked about his job—he works for one of Richard’s companies, so they talked about that. We talked about Mum and him going on vacation. They were thinking about Spain. I told them about our trip to Toledo last fall, and said they should go there. Have you been there?”
Reid nodded.
“It’s great, don’t you think? Anyway, we talked about that and that Walter was taking me to Greece next month—to Rome and then to the island. Walter’s island.” She slanted her eyes toward him. “Where do you go on vacation, Lord Reid?”
“Wherever my wife wants to go.” It was certainly handy to finally have his wife around to invoke for protection. His last vacation had been their honeymoon, but he’d often thought about where they would vacation if they were together. Now they would actually be able to do it.
“Lucky woman.”
Reid shook his head. “I’m the lucky one. So, did Richard say anything about your trip to Greece?”
“He asked me how long I’d be gone.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “I never know. Walter decides all those kinds of things. It depends on when he needs to be where. I just tag along to be with him.”
“Anything happen at dinner that struck you as unusual or that indicated Richard had a meeting later?”
She shook her head and went over to a cabinet and poured a drink. Vodka and cranberry.
“Oh, sorry, do you want something?” She turned around and held up her glass. “I figured you probably wouldn’t since you’re working, but I still should have asked. Walter always gets annoyed when I do something thoughtless like that with guests. He says it shows lack of breeding.”
Reid shook his head. “No, thank you.” A nineteen-year-old girl from a family such as this one should be at university, studying and cavorting with people her own age—not playing house with a man old enough to be her father.
Moira went over to the piano, sat down, and began softly trilling a melody with fast fingers. “He didn’t say anything about going out again later. Dinner was boring. Probably as boring as the one Walter went to.” She spoke just loudly enough for him to hear over the music. “My brother was here.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“He lives here. Do you know this song?”
Reid shook his head. “Was anyone else at dinner Saturday night?”
She stopped playing and took a long pull from the glass she’d placed on top of the piano. “Just our happy little family. Oh, and Bert’s girl.”
“What’s Bert’s girl’s name?”
“Patty something. You’ll have to ask him her last name. She works at Richard’s company. She’s a typist or something.”
“I’ll get her full name from Bert. Did you go straight back to your flat from here?”
Moira nodded. “Walter told Frederick to deliver me directly home afterwards—even though Walter was spending the night with Elisa. How unfair was that?” She made a face. “Frederick didn’t think it was fair either.”
“What did you do after you got back to your flat?”
Her eyes glittered with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. It’s no fun to be left on your own, I’d guess, if your . . . what exactly do you call Walter?”
She shrugged, tapping out a melody on the piano keys. “It depends on who I’m talking to, but I usually call him my boyfriend.”
An oddly innocent term for someone like Von Zandt. “It can’t be very amusing to have your boyfriend spend the night with his wife instead of you.”
“No shite.”
“So what did you do after you got back to your flat?”
She made her lips into a l
ittle pout. “You won’t tell Walter, will you?”
“I can’t imagine that happening.”
“I went clubbing. Dancing. Walter doesn’t like going to clubs or that kind of music. There are several places within walking distance so I changed clothes and headed out. I got home late—probably around three.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, of course not. I danced with lots of people. I might be able to give you some names, but probably just first names.”
“I meant did you go to the clubs with anyone?”
“I don’t really have anyone to go with. It’s hard to keep in touch with people my own age with the kind of life I have with Walter, so I don’t have many of my old friends left, but when I have a night off, I like to party.” She tilted her head and studied him. “What about you? Do you like to party?”
Her use of the term “night off” made her relationship with Von Zandt sound like a demanding job, which Reid had no doubt it was. “You’re sure Richard didn’t say anything about going anywhere after dinner?”
“I’m sure. I think he might have even said he was going up to bed early. Mum didn’t even make it through dinner before she fell asleep.”
“Moira, do you know whether Richard was involved with any other women?”
She frowned. “No, but he’d hardly tell me.”
“Walter’s never mentioned anything like that?”
“Not to me. You don’t like Walter, do you?”
Reid gave a mirthless smile. “What do you think?”
“He doesn’t like you either.”
“Not a surprise.”
“I love him, you know. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” She closed her eyes and hummed as she played.
Reid recognized the melody, but couldn’t remember the name of the song. If going to live with a man thirty years older than she was when she was sixteen years old was the best thing that ever happened to Moira, he couldn’t imagine what her life before that had been like.
