Joker in the Pack

by Elise Noble

  All my crockery lay in smithereens on the kitchen floor, and I found the contents of my wardrobe at the bottom of the stairs. In the piles of peril, random boxes had been opened and the contents broken and strewn around. My temporary livelihood, ruined. Thank goodness I’d posted those ugly dogs on my way to visit Maddie yesterday.

  And all I could do was start clearing. My first thought had been to call Maddie, and she’d definitely have come, but she’d also have called in sick to do so. With her already in trouble at work, I didn’t want to add to her problems.

  I threw the remains of a plate into the bin, wishing I was aiming at the vandal’s head instead. Although a shard of china in the eye would be too good for that scum. If I ever got my hands on them, I’d… I’d… Well, I didn’t exactly know, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

  My phone rang as I mopped up a bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, and although I wiped my hands on a towel as quickly as I could, it stopped before I grabbed it. Tate. Dammit, lunch with him tomorrow had been the last thing on my mind, but I needed to cancel or at least postpone it. How could I get ready to go out when I didn’t even have a mirror left intact?

  I called back, even though I didn’t want to speak to anyone. Mother’s manners were blueprinted on my soul.

  “Did you call?”

  “Olivia. So kind of you to phone me back. If it’s not too much difficulty, I was hoping to pick you up at one tomorrow rather than half past twelve. One of my colleagues has arranged a conference call with Japan, and it’s not easy to get out of it.”

  “About lunch… I actually need to postpone it, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been burgled, you see, and I’ve got rather a lot of mess to clear up.”

  “Burgled? But this is the Foxfords. Nobody’s been broken into around here for years.”

  “Well, I guess I’m just lucky.” I struggled to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “So sorry—I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic. It’s just I can’t remember the last time we had a burglary around here.”

  Judging by Graham’s reaction, he couldn’t either. At least the forensics team had seemed competent when they dusted for prints this morning. They’d certainly used enough fingerprint powder.

  “I understand, and I’m sorry for cancelling at such short notice, but the place is a mess and I’m at my wit’s end cleaning it up.”

  “I’ll come and give you a hand.”

  “No, really, there’s no need for you to do that.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I don’t want you getting the wrong impression of the area. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  Tate surprised me by knocking on what remained of the door twenty-five minutes later. Surprised me because I’d been used to Edward’s timekeeping, and when he said half an hour, I was lucky if he turned up in double that. Emails and phone calls always took precedence.

  Tate’s eyes widened as he stepped inside. “I know you said it was a mess, but this… I wasn’t expecting this. It’s outrageous.”

  I’d held it together up until then, but when he voiced the indignation I felt, I began shaking. Visions of a black-clad figure prowling through my home took root in my mind, and a tear leaked out and rolled down my cheek. Hold it together, Olivia. I didn’t want to lose it in front of Tate, of all people.

  But his expression softened as he picked his way through the debris. “You look like you could use a hug.”

  Despair trumped awkwardness as I nodded, and as I stepped forward, I tripped over a stray box and landed right in his open arms.

  He held me while I sobbed, and when his jumper became damp from my tears, he handed me a monogrammed handkerchief: TP.

  This was ridiculous, crying all over a man when I didn’t even know his surname. I made an effort to pull myself together and levered myself backwards out of his grip, swaying slightly on unsteady feet as I tried to regain my composure.

  Tate took me by the elbow. “You need to sit down.”

  “I don’t have anything left to sit on.” Both of my kitchen chairs had been left splintered.

  “Have you eaten?”

  I shook my head.

  “In that case, I’m taking you out for a late lunch before we do anything else.”

  I tried to protest, but he pressed a finger against my lips.

  “You can’t tackle this…” He waved an arm at the hallway. “If your body’s running on empty. You might not feel like eating, but even a little food will help.”

  My head knew he was right, even if my body tried to rule it with strong feelings of nausea. Tate half carried me across the hallway then set me on my feet next to the door. Only when I caught a glimpse of myself in the jagged shards of the hall mirror did I come to my senses.

  “I can’t go out like this! Look at the state of me.”

  His sweet smile would have given me butterflies if my stomach hadn’t been replaced by a cement mixer.

  “You look beautiful.”

  My cheeks heated. “I don’t want everyone to start gossiping.”

  “We’ll go to Middleton Foxford. Nobody knows you there. To them, you’ll just be the pretty girl eating lunch with Fenton Palmer’s son.”

  He certainly was charming. “All right. But I can’t stay out for long. I need to sort out the bedroom so I can sleep in it tonight.”

  “We’ll have something light, and the service is excellent in Basilico. You do like Italian food?”

  “I love it.” I went to pull the door closed and the handle, which had been hanging on by a single screw, fell off in my hand. The tears threatened again. “But I can’t even lock the door. What if someone comes back while we’re out?”

  “I’ll call a locksmith. He can fix things up while we have lunch.”

  Visions of twenty-pound notes floated before my eyes at the thought of Sunday call-out charges. “I can wait until tomorrow. I’ll drag something up against it tonight.”

  “And I wouldn’t sleep tonight from worrying. Our gardener’s son’s in the trade, and he’ll come today as a favour to me. It’s no bother.”

  I didn’t want to be in Tate’s debt, but at the same time, I hated the prospect of sleeping in a house where the only barrier between me and a possible psychopath was Aunt Eleanor’s nicknack shelves. Last night, I’d destroyed half of the nails I’d managed to grow since I left London as my fingers found their way to my mouth in a reflex action, and I didn’t want to chew off the rest of them.

  “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can afford it.” He opened his mouth, to protest, no doubt, and I held up a hand. “Please. I have to for my own peace of mind.”

  I didn’t want to be treated like a charity case.

  “As long as you let me treat you to lunch.”

  That I could deal with, and I smiled for the first time since I found my home wrecked. “That’s very kind of you.”

  I followed him out to a shiny blue Mercedes S-Class, identical to the one Edward drove except for the colour. Edward’s had been silver. Tate opened the door for me, and I sank into the soft leather seat and breathed in the new-car smell. I’d missed that.

  My appetite had returned by the time we pulled up outside the Italian restaurant, fuelled by Tate’s charm and the feeling of safety that came from being away from Lilac Cottage.

  “So, what made you move to Upper Foxford?” he asked me as the antipasti arrived.

  “My aunt died, and I inherited the cottage.”

  “I didn’t realise you were related to Eleanor—were you close?”

  “I hadn’t seen her since I was a little girl. When I found out about the house, I didn’t even know where it was.”

  Tate tilted his head to one side. “Then why did you move here? Why not sell the cottage or even rent it out?”

  I’d hoped to avoid that question. “The lease was up on my flat in London, and I couldn’t find much within my price range what with Christmas coming up. Moving to Upper Foxford seemed like the perfect solutio
n, at least until now.”

  If his clenched fists were anything to go by, some of my anger had rubbed off on Tate. “I can’t believe the mess those scoundrels have made. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…”

  “It must have taken them most of the day. Back in London, one of the neighbours might at least have noticed the noise and called the police.”

  “One of my colleagues lives in London, and a thief convinced the doorman of his apartment building that he was an interior designer there to renovate. The doorman actually helped to carry all the furniture out.” Tate paused. “Sorry. That probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

  “Not really.” I decided to change the subject. “So, what do you do at work?”

  “I’m a lawyer, for my sins. I passed the bar exam last year.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “Not as much as John Grisham likes to make out. I’m in the corporate division. In reality, most of my cases settle before they get to court. Nobody wants their name dragged publicly through the mud.”

  Something I understood very well, and so, unfortunately, did Mandy Clark when she plastered shots of me with my dress around my waist all over Facebook.

  “Are you at a local firm?”

  He shook his head. “I join the happy throng travelling into London each day.”

  “Have you always lived around here?” I asked.

  “My family’s owned the Prestwold Manor for generations.”

  “You still live there?”

  “Yes and no. My father lives in the main house, I have one of the cottages, my uncle converted the tithe barn, and my cousin has the old stables.”

  Wow—that sounded like some place. Posh. For once, I was glad my mother made me recite DeBrett’s before each meal instead of grace. And I liked that Tate was still close to his family.

  I smoothed my napkin over my lap and made sure to keep my elbows off the table as the food arrived. Tate had chosen the restaurant well; I had to give him that. My tagliatelle with white truffle shavings was the tastiest meal I’d eaten in the post-Edward era. Tate may have been forking his food down, but I forced myself to chew slowly, my mother’s voice echoing in the back of my head.

  “You’ll never catch yourself a suitable gentleman unless your manners are impeccable, Olivia.” She’d repeated those words over and over.

  And while my head tried to tell me I wasn’t interested in Tate, that it was too soon after Edward and I needed to settle into my new life before adding any more complications, my subconscious, the part of me that had been trained from birth to hunt for the perfect man, perked up her ugly head.

  No! If I ever dated again, it would be for love alone, not because of a potential suitor’s social standing.

  But with Tate, maybe I could have both.

  “Be quiet!”

  Tate looked up from his stone-baked pizza. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Sorry. I’m sorry. I was just talking to myself.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and I gave a helpless shrug. Great. Now he thought I was crazy.

  Mind you, he probably wasn’t far wrong.

  CHAPTER 15

  A KNOCK AT my newly patched-up front door woke me early the next morning. At least, it felt early because I’d barely got any sleep, but when I checked the clock, it had gone eight.

  “Warren? What are you doing here?” I pulled my dressing gown tightly around me as the chilly morning air drifted inside.

  “I heard you’d had a break-in, and I wanted to check you were okay.”

  He did? But I hadn’t told anyone except Yvonne, Tate, and the police. “Where did you find that out?”

  “One of my passengers mentioned it. She said the burglar smashed everything up.”

  “Which passenger?”

  “Edna Curry.”

  “But I don’t even know her.”

  “Doesn’t matter in a place like this. Gossip spreads faster than a winter cold. If one of the ladies in the village knows, they all know.”

  Marvellous. With the number of committees Yvonne was on, she must have told someone about my bad luck. Mental note: watch my words around the neighbours. Otherwise, I’d have no secrets.

  “Well, the person who broke in made a huge mess, but I’m getting it cleared up.”

  “I wish I could stay and lend a hand, but Tuesdays are always busy with pre-booked rides. Do you want me to pick anything up for you in town?”

  “I’m still working out what’s usable and what isn’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “No problem. You’ve got my number—just call me if you think of anything.”

  Not ten minutes after Warren pulled out of the driveway, Tate turned up with a horsebox.

  “Do you have the wrong place? I haven’t sat on a pony in years.”

  Not since Mother made me take riding lessons as a child because all young ladies should know their fetlock from their forelock.

  Tate gave me that handsome smile of his. “I thought we could use it to take the unsalvageable items to the rubbish dump. Better than making a dozen trips in my car.”

  “Don’t you have to work today?”

  “Sometimes, there are more important things in life than work.”

  Did he mean me? My skin tingled as he met my gaze.

  “Besides,” he continued, “my godfather’s a senior partner at the firm, and when he heard what happened to you, he told me to take the day off and help.”

  “Is there anybody left in southern England who doesn’t know about the break-in?”

  Tate’s smile turned sheepish. “Probably not. The Women’s Institute holds its weekly meeting on a Sunday afternoon, so you can guarantee that the only people in the three villages who didn’t know by Monday morning are either too young to speak or dead.”

  My every move being common knowledge made me squirm a little inside. I’d lived in my London flat for over three years, and I’d only known the name of one of my neighbours. And that was only because the postman kept getting number one confused with number seven and delivering me his post by accident.

  But the close-knit community did have its good points. As Tate and I carted broken things out to the horsebox and put anything left intact back into its rightful place, people I’d never even met before stopped by to offer condolences or home-baked snacks. By the time the lorry was packed, I’d eaten so many cakes and quiches and sausage rolls I could barely move.

  One lady had insisted on cleaning the kitchen, and another had done the windows. I felt particularly guilty over the latter because their filthy state was nothing to do with the burglary. Eleanor couldn’t have touched them for years, and I’d barely been able to see out of the dining room in particular. Eleanor had worried as little about natural light as she had about salmonella.

  By the time Tate drove the horsebox back to the cottage, it looked better than I’d ever dreamed it could, and we’d salvaged a lot of the stuff for me to sell. A stranger had even donated a pair of wooden chairs to replace the broken ones in the kitchen, and I sank gratefully onto one while Tate took the other. Through the now-sparkling window, the sun set in a blaze of pink and orange, signifying the end of one of the strangest days of my life.

  And while I couldn’t say I’d enjoyed the last forty-eight hours, they’d certainly turned out to be less unpleasant than I’d anticipated.

  “Let me make you dinner,” I said to Tate. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “I’m not sure I could eat another thing. I got through at least six of those blueberry muffins alone.”

  Same for me. Good thing I’d worn trousers with an elasticated waist. “They were rather good, weren’t they? There are some spares left if you want to take them home.”

  “That’s kind of you.” He nodded slowly and pushed his chair back a couple of inches. “Well, I’d better be going.”

  “Stay for coffee,” I blurted, then felt my cheeks turn red. “Oh, gosh. That sounded a bit dirty, didn’t it?” A nervous giggle bubbled up my t
hroat. Everyone knew what the coffee euphemism meant.

  Tate grinned. “You’re too sweet to think like that, but I’ll take a cup of coffee. For now,” he added under his breath.

  I replayed those words over and over as I lay in bed that night. Or rather, what was left of it. My unwelcome visitor had slashed the mattress, but we’d flipped it over so it was still usable.

  Had Tate meant what I thought he meant? And if he had, what should I do about it? After Edward rode roughshod over my emotions, I’d thought it would be years before I felt ready to spend time with another man, but Tate was so incredibly sweet. Edward would never have dropped everything and stepped in like that. Hired someone to help, maybe, but not got his own hands dirty.

  And Warren? He’d been nothing but kind too. What if Maddie was right and I should consider spending time with a man more on my level?

  The last thing I wanted was to get hurt again.

  Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning, or so the old saying went. It had certainly held true today. Last night’s sunset heralded a clear dawn, the birds were singing in the old apple tree outside the kitchen window, and I had a whole bundle of things we’d saved to list on eBay.

  I’d barely got any work done on the bus to Maddie’s last Saturday because I kept getting distracted by the scenery, and when I got to London, I’d cursed about having the extra laptop to carry, but it had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. At least I didn’t need to spend my meagre savings on replacing it.

  With that in mind, I decided it was important to celebrate the small victories in life and headed to The Cock and Bull. Would their lunch menu be as strange as dinner? I could get to know the locals better and take advantage of their free Wi-Fi while I waited for my food to arrive, killing two birds with one stone.

  At least, that was my plan. I spotted a quiet table in the corner and waved at Jean as I headed towards it, but she didn’t return the gesture. In fact, she scowled.

  I checked behind me, but there was nobody else there. That expression had definitely been aimed in my direction. And when I went to the bar to order fish and chips, she didn’t say a word, just took my debit card and swiped it through the machine.