by Mary Birk
“Or the integrity of the investigation.” Reid added, as the afterthought it was.
Shreve’s mobile rang and he got up, walking to the other side of the room to take the call.
McMurty met Reid’s eyes, and spoke in a low voice, a voice that held a hint of compassion and more than a hint of pity.
“Just let her go, lad.”
Chapter 65
ANNE WORKED until the light got too dim outside and the laborers were packing up to leave. Walter had visited multiple times during the day to watch the progress of the garden, displaying the book he’d bought about Russell Page. He’d eagerly discussed what he’d learned about the garden designer, and Anne had allowed him to tag along while he talked. He was certainly a quick study, and astutely identified the garden principles she and Jonas were using to adhere to Page’s original garden plan.
She’d been relieved when finally, Jonas took Walter away to discuss some of the financial details of the project. As much as she enjoyed talking about the gardens, having an enthusiastic amateur dogging her heels slowed down her work.
Back in her room, she decided to take a bath, eat whatever they sent up on a tray for her, and go right to bed. Tomorrow she would try to do what Darby had outlined. Tonight she needed sleep. And food. She touched two fingers to her abdomen, gently pushing it in. Despite the emotional upheaval she’d gone through, the baby was making her hungry. She smiled to herself thinking of the little human being growing inside of her, making its demands known already.
She bathed, put on a robe and slippers and waited for her dinner tray to come. When she answered the knock on her door, however, it was not dinner but a young maid carrying an assortment of evening gowns. Anne’s eyes widened in astonishment. The Von Zandts must keep extra clothes here for unprepared guests. Full service hosts.
Chattering an explanation that Anne should choose which she wanted to wear and then join the others at dinner, the maid put the dresses in the closet. The girl wanted to help her dress, but Anne, knowing putting on the wire would be impossible with the maid there, assured her that her help wasn’t necessary, all but pushed the girl out the door.
Finally alone, Anne blew out a breath. Damn. All she wanted to do was to curl up and sleep and hope for no dreams—or at least no more dreams of Terrence leaving her. She sighed and went to the closet to examine the selections.
All of the dresses were Anne’s size and appeared new, or at least in excellent condition. She selected one of the gowns, opting for an emerald green dress because it had the highest neckline, remembering Terrence’s objections about business dinner wear. She put the wire back on, trying to make sure she did it exactly as she had been shown.
Even after her efforts determinedly tugging at the neckline, the dress still showed too much cleavage. Her pregnancy wasn’t showing around her waist yet, but it was certainly making her breasts swell. She would have to go shopping for her own dresses to get some that were more modest if she was going to be staying here long. It wouldn’t do if Terrence decided to come back to her and then left again because he thought she was being too . . . whatever. For a man who liked sex so much, he was a bit of a prude about things like this.
She turned to examine herself on all sides in the mirror, but there was no sign of the wire. No one would notice anything, even if they looked carefully.
Anne arranged her hair and make-up, took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and went downstairs.
* * * * *
There was no one but Walter in the drawing room when she got downstairs. He had a drink in his hand and looked at her with frank appreciation.
“You look amazing, Anne.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the use of the dress—and for the loan of the others, though I do intend to go shopping as soon as I can. I have to say, your home is certainly well prepared for unprepared guests.” She looked around the elegantly appointed drawing room with its coldly formal furnishings and modern art, then took a breath. No sign of any other guests. Her skin began to prickle. This better not be what it felt like. “Walter, isn’t Elisa coming down to dinner?”
He gave a small, sad smile. “Unfortunately, she was called away. Back to Germany.”
“So suddenly? I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Not at all.”
“That’s good. Will she be back soon?”
He shrugged. “I doubt it. She prefers Germany.”
Anne eyed him, trying to figure out the situation. She was willing to help gather information for Terrence’s investigation, but she needed to make sure Von Zandt didn’t get the idea that she was available for anything else. She decided that the best way to handle things was to come right out and tell him her misgivings.
“Walter, you’ve been very kind, but I’m not comfortable staying here alone with you. I don’t think it looks right for us to be staying in the same house by ourselves. I’ll move back to the hotel. I’m sure the reporters have lost interest by now.”
“No, no, please don’t do that. And don’t worry. When this sudden trip of Elisa’s came up, I anticipated the need to make sure that the situation, however innocent, was not open to misinterpretation. So I spoke to Jonas this afternoon after you two finished your work and got him to agree to move here from the hotel. He’s just settling into his rooms and will be down soon. My two sons, Henry and Frederick, will be here as well as a friend of mine, Moira Ramsey. I believe you may have met Moira before. She mentioned that she attended your wedding celebration at Dunbaryn.”
A huge wave of relief washed over Anne. If he’d brought his mistress, he definitely did not have any designs on her.
“That makes me feel much better. I’m probably being overly cautious, but we both know how people can talk and things can get blown out of proportion. And right now, the press seems to have me in their sights.”
Von Zandt nodded. “Indeed. This morning’s story was reprehensible. I hope Lord Reid isn’t still as displeased as he was last night.”
“I’m afraid he is.” Actually, Anne didn’t know how Terrence felt, but Darby had said Anne needed to make sure Von Zandt thought that she and Terrence were not speaking. She’d tried to figure out if that meant that Terrence wasn’t really still mad at her. Surely, he couldn’t be as mad as before, or he wouldn’t have wanted her to help with the investigation. Or maybe he’d just decided that his investigation was more important than what was going on between them. That was a depressing thought.
“And, forgive me, but the other gentleman? The artist?”
Anne’s face burned. “I think he returned to California. Do you mind if we don’t discuss that?”
“Of course, I’m sorry. We’ll just enjoy the evening.”
She decided to start a new subject for conversation. “It will be nice to see Moira again. I hope she’s doing well.” Anne couldn’t actually remember having met the girl at the reception for Terrence and her wedding. She would have been, what, sixteen? There had been so many people at the reception and she’d known almost no one, so the names and faces were a blur. The only face she’d really cared about at that time was Terrence’s.
“Yes.” Von Zandt seemed uninterested in the topic of his mistress. Anne wondered how Elisa felt about her husband substituting the girl for her in her own house as soon as she left, and felt sorry for Elisa. Anne assumed the woman didn’t have much say in what her husband did in that regard—or in any regard, for that matter.
Jonas entered just then, dressed in a tuxedo. He must have come to Scotland better prepared than she had. Of course, she had had the black dress. Shortly afterwards, Henry and Frederick Von Zandt joined them, followed by Moira, a very pretty young woman. Emphasis on the word young. Again Anne found herself wondering how this all worked. Did the sons not care that their father had another woman so openly? And wasn’t Henry married? Where was his wife?
Moira eyed Anne warily, and only approached her after Von Zandt nodded at her, clearly urging her on.
“Lady Anne,
I’m not sure you remember me . . .”
“Of course, Moira. Call me Anne, please. It’s so nice to see you again. I was sorry to hear about your father.”
“My stepfather, but thank you. Lord Reid was the one who notified us about it.”
“Yes, he told me. How is your mother doing?”
“She’s all right, I guess. I mean, it was a shock, but she’ll be okay. My brother is there with her.”
“I’m sure that’s a comfort to her.”
“I guess so.” Moira looked around for Walter, and when her eyes found him talking to Jonas, she spoke quietly to Anne. “I saw the news. I hope things are all right between you and Lord Reid.”
“Thank you.”
“Walter said the reporters were bothering you. Are you and Lord Reid . . .?”
“It was a misunderstanding.” Anne tried to think how to explain the mess she was in without telling too much. “But my husband reacted as most would, I suppose.” She smiled with a confidence she was far from feeling. “He just needs time to calm down.” This sounded so reasonable, she was almost convincing herself, although she knew she was not factoring in the impact of her pregnancy.
Moira screwed up her face and bit at a hangnail. “But you still love him? You want to stay married to him?”
“Absolutely.”
“Walter thinks you’re beautiful, you know.”
“That’s nice of him.” Anne realized Moira was trying to assess whether Anne was a rival and decided to try to reassure her. “I’m sure he thinks you are even more so.”
“He says you’re the kind of woman men kill for.”
Anne was momentarily speechless. Finally, she managed to respond. “That’s ridiculous.”
Their strange conversation was blessedly interrupted by the announcement of dinner.
* * * * *
Reid was back in his flat before eleven. He counted himself lucky to have escaped the dinner party at the Spencer-Burkes at a decent hour. Going anywhere after the news stories today about Anne and him was difficult. Even the office had been hard, but going to a formal dinner party was excruciating. No one had been crass enough to mention seeing the photos and stories of him coming upon his wife in a tête-à-tête with her lover, but there was no question that it was foremost in everyone’s mind.
Nevertheless, he needed to make these social appearances—for his family and for his work—and he refused to hide out as if he had something to be ashamed of. He was used to going out several nights a week for various obligatory occasions, and had kept it up even through these last two rough years. He always arrived at the end of the pre-dinner drinks and left as soon after coffee as he could. People sometimes asked him coy questions about his absent wife which he was generally able to deflect, but tonight no one had been stupid enough to try that.
Tonight’s appearance was meant to send the message that he and Anne were over, and he thought he’d done a good job of making it clear without saying a derogatory word against her. He made a point of talking to the available women present, although it had been difficult.
He wondered what it would be like to have a wife to go with to these things. Maybe they would actually be fun. There’d be someone to discuss things with beforehand, smile across the table at, and go home with where they could talk over the night before falling into bed together. He’d found himself studying the couples at dinner, wondering what secrets they knew that let them successfully make a life together. Some touched hands as they stood together, but many didn’t touch at all, only tying themselves together as if with invisible string. Some finished each other’s sentences, as if they’d practiced their conversations ahead of time. Some listened to their spouses respectfully, even reverentially, while others laughed fondly or teased.
All day, ever since he’d learned of Anne’s move to the Von Zandt estate, he’d hoped for news of her. He even thought she might call him again, but she hadn’t. Despite what McMurty had said, he would take her call. But she probably thought, based on her experience from their other separations, and from last night as well, that he wouldn’t answer her calls or talk to her. He’d been a hard man on that front, and now he was paying for it.
Surely she was fine. Von Zandt wouldn’t be crazy enough to hurt Anne. At least not unless he was desperate, and there was no sign of that yet. No, Reid decided, he’d just have to sit tight and hope to get news.
He thought back to the call he’d gotten earlier that day from the decorator. He knew the news stories had prompted the call. Of course the woman would be concerned that, with Reid’s marriage in tatters, her commission was no longer in play, or that he wouldn’t be willing to keep paying for the work she was doing. He’d been annoyed, but, for reasons he could not even articulate to himself, he’d instructed her to go forward. To be safe though, and consistent with the instructions that he make it clear that he and Anne were finished, he said, “We’ll be putting the house on the market but I want you to make all the changes my wife outlined. We’ll get a better price if it’s presented at its best.”
The decorator had murmured her acquiescence, and he’d instructed her to get back to him when she’d finished.
He had no idea what he would do at that point, but he didn’t have to think about it yet. What he was going to do with a house he had planned for Anne when he didn’t have Anne anymore, he didn’t know. He could not live in it without her. It would always feel empty without her. He looked around his flat. Even this blasted place felt empty without her, and she’d never even really lived here.
Maybe it was really just him that felt empty. And maybe he’d feel empty wherever he was.
He checked his messages. There was one from MacTavish getting back to him on some of the financial institutions Stirling had identified, and one from Harry saying he’d talked with MacTavish and was taking care of things, but there was nothing from or about Anne. He wanted to call her, but his instructions had been clear. No calls. But even if he called, what would he say?
He undressed, taking off the pleated white shirt, and laid the black pearl cuff links and studs on his dresser. Briefly, he wondered if he should call Grainger and see if the other man had heard from her. If he didn’t hear from Anne soon, as humiliating as it was, he’d check with Grainger. Maybe Grainger could convince Anne to get out of Von Zandt’s house.
SATURDAY, APRIL 18
Chapter 66
THE NEXT MORNING, Anne and Jonas were out on the property directing the workmen hired to do the heavy work. as well as the regular gardening staff.
She’d had the usual bout of morning sickness, but managed to get herself together and after some tea and toast, felt ready to work. She’d packed warm clothes and plenty of rain resistant gear, and that morning had piled on everything she could find to keep herself warm. The bitter spring Scottish wind seemed to penetrate clothing and flesh and go straight through to her bones. Luckily, when she got engrossed in her work, she forgot any discomfort from the weather. The project was challenging, but their experience at the prior Russell Page garden proved invaluable in unraveling the complexities of the design.
She’d managed to stop herself from calling Terrence yesterday or this morning, although it had not been easy. Darby had said not to use her cell phone, and Anne couldn’t figure out what to do to get an outside line on the house phones. Even if Terrence had wanted to call her, he probably couldn’t since he wouldn’t want to interfere with what she was supposed to be doing at Lynstrade Manor. She needed to use restraint, as well. Soon they would be able to talk things over and she could explain about Andrew.
Noon came before she realized it. Walter had come out once again that morning to talk to her and watch the work, then again when the workmen had their tea break. She and Jonas had been given the use of an old granary conveniently located at the far side of the back garden to use as a working office, a place to lay out the plans and coordinate the work. Walter had sat with her there, having tea and asking questions about the design concept. He wa
s funny and charming, and she found herself laughing and intrigued. He treated them as guests rather than simply as contractors who had come to do a job. He’d left after the break, his eyes sparkling, and told her he would see her and Jonas at luncheon at one o’clock. She felt half-guilty when she thought about what she was doing to spy on him.
She sensed the potential danger in him that Terrence had told her about, but it seemed far away. Darby had assured her that Von Zandt was only a money man. That didn’t change the fact that if what Darby said was true, the man was helping to perpetuate horrible evil, but she found it hard to believe. Surely Darby was wrong. Surely if Walter was as bad as Darby implied, he’d be behind bars already. And surely, if Walter was that evil, Terrence would not have asked Anne to move into his house to spy on him.
At luncheon, they ate the hearty fare Von Zandt’s cook provided in a dining room medieval in architectural design, but on a sleek, modern table that was characteristic of Walter Von Zandt’s style of furnishings. The contrast in styles was surprisingly effective, making Anne feel like she’d fallen into an issue of Architectural Digest magazine.
She was grateful that her stomach was stronger, because she was starving. The combination of exercise, fresh air, and being pregnant was a huge appetite enhancer, and she was happy they hadn’t been given cold sandwiches, but rather some kind of delicious lamb stew. Henry Von Zandt had gone back to Glasgow, but Frederick remained, a quiet, almost skulking presence who hovered around the edges of the conversation. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it was generally only a few words, and most of those to Moira or his father.
As they ate, Anne could see through the large windows in the dining room that heavy gray clouds had crowded out the morning’s sunshine. A sharp crack of thunder accompanied the lightning flashing in the suddenly darkening sky. The subsequent downpour did not bode well for the afternoon’s outdoor work, but maybe now she’d be able to locate her host’s office, or wherever it was that he likely kept the information Darby had specified.
