However, he now stared at his twin in surprise when she announced: ‘Linnet was on top of everything, Lorne. She really was. I don’t know what I would have done without her.’
‘You’re suddenly singing a different tune!’
‘Don’t be mean.’
‘I’m not being mean, just truthful, my pet. You’re the one who’s constantly complaining about Linnet. I realize that you’re determined to be the supremo at Harte’s, but there’s a place there for Linnet, too.’
‘I know, I know. Don’t go on about it, Lorne. I’m really grateful that Linnet had the presence of mind to do the things she did, like get Jack Figg on the job, for instance. You see there was no one here when Mark snatched Adele…well, only Wiggs and his gardeners.’
‘Where the hell was everybody?’ Lorne’s voice had risen and he looked even more taken aback. ‘This place is teeming with people usually, it always has been since our childhood. Odd that everyone was gone that morning, don’t you think?’
‘Nothing sinister, Lorne. Just a coincidence. Margaret had decided to go shopping, Joe had driven over to East Witton on estate business, and Elvira was on her day off…’ Tessa paused, sat back, and thought for a moment about her encounter with Elvira earlier. In a way it still bothered her that the nanny had waited so long to mention Mark’s conversation with her on the roadside.
‘What is it? Something’s troubling you, Tess.’
‘No, I’m fine. It’s just that Elvira told me this morning that Mark had been waiting for her on the main road outside Pennistone Royal–’
‘How the hell did he know she’d be leaving when she did?’
‘Because it was Wednesday, and she always has that day off. Anyway, apparently he flagged her down, she stopped, and he asked her where I was, where Adele was, said he was on the way to visit us.’
‘And she told him, gave him all the details.’ Lorne nodded and a reflective expression settled on his face. ‘They weren’t in cahoots, were they? Do you trust her?’
‘I’m quite certain they weren’t in cahoots, and yes, I do trust her. She’s a creature of habit, Miss Elvira is, and she has never changed her day off. Always Wednesdays. Everything else is done in the same way, almost by rote in a sense, although it’s not really that–banal.’
‘And Evan? Where was she? You did say she’s staying here.’
‘She’d gone over to Lackland Priory to have lunch with Uncle Robin.’
‘And where is the dastardly Jonathan, the elusive Jonathan?’ Smiling acidly, not waiting for her answer, Lorne declaimed, in a highly exaggerated upper-class English accent, ‘They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven, or is he in hell, that damned elusive Pimpernel?’
Tessa began to laugh; her brother had always had the ability to bring a smile to her face, and she loved listening to him when he put on his actor’s face and voice and adopted appropriate mannerisms. ‘Jonathan’s in Hong Kong, according to Jack, who just had him tracked by one of his top operatives. But as Jack pointed out, where he happens to be is meaningless, of no consequence in this Age of Communications in which we live. Mr Ainsley can direct the traffic from anywhere.’
Lorne nodded his understanding. ‘Mark and Jonathan, what a pairing up that is, very hard to believe. My God, Mark’s a bloody fool, Tessa, when one thinks about it. How could he let himself get…conned by Jonathan?’
‘You just said it yourself, Lorne. He’s two bricks short of a full load.’
Lorne picked up his cup, took a swallow of tea and remarked, ‘I wouldn’t want to be in Evan’s shoes…Jonathan must detest her.’
‘Absolutely true, I’m sure. She’s very, very close to Gideon, you know. I think they might–’ Tessa sat back, gave her twin a long knowing look, and finished, ‘be very serious about each other.’
‘I thought they were, at Dad’s sixtieth birthday party, didn’t you?’
She simply inclined her head, suddenly filled with a strange aching feeling, a sadness really, when she thought of Shane’s birthday celebration. She had been alone that night, without an escort, having so recently left Mark, and she felt empty inside, awkward and somewhat lost. It had been her cousin Toby Harte who had come to her rescue, who had looked after her, just as he had done when they were little. They had been close all of their lives; Toby truly understood her. Wasn’t it funny how life worked out? He was in a mess himself, just as she was, getting a divorce from Adrianna. Divorce. She rolled the word around in her head like a small glass bead. She hated the idea of failure; she had failed at marriage. But she wasn’t going to fail at motherhood. Oh, no. Whatever it took, whatever it cost her, she was going to make sure Adele had a happy childhood and a wonderful life, and certainly without any interference from Mark Longden.
Tessa picked up her cup, took a sip of tea, and with a small shock she noticed her hand was shaking. Swiftly replacing the cup in its saucer, she turned her head and gazed out of the window, her mind awash with memories of Mark and the early years of their marriage.
She had had such great hopes for it. How had it gone so very wrong? Was it somehow her fault? Had she not pulled her weight? Why had Mark fallen under the influence of Jonathan Ainsley, a man whom he knew the entire family despised? Was he motivated by greed? Dissatisfaction with her? Or was he, very simply, a weak man?
Unexpectedly, her silver-grey eyes filled. She tried to choke back the tears, felt a burning sensation at the back of her throat and tried to swallow…now the tears were falling unchecked, spilling out of her eyes. Bringing a hand up to her face, she attempted to hide behind it, but didn’t succeed.
Instantly Lorne noticed how upset she had become, and he was filled with a mixture of dismay and concern for her. Leaping to his feet, he went and stood next to her, bent down, placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘Oh, little pet,’ he said, using his childhood name for her, ‘don’t, don’t, Tess, he’s just not worth it. Nobody is, you know.’ When she remained totally silent, he added, very softly, ‘Did you give him your heart, Tess?’
Clearing her throat, she wiped her face with both hands, and shook her head, then looked directly at her brother. ‘I’m fine, do go and sit down, Lorne dear, and finish your sandwiches.’ Sighing to herself, she remarked, ‘And no, I didn’t…give him my heart.’
‘But you did fall in love with him,’ Lorne asserted, returning to his chair.
‘I suppose I did. Well, I thought I was in love with him. Maybe it was just an infatuation.’
‘Perhaps it was, I’ve been there.’
‘Oh. You’re thinking of your last girlfriend, are you? Did you give Miriam Delaney your heart?’
He smiled at Tessa, and it was a rueful smile, very fleeting, barely settling on his mouth before it was gone. ‘Oh yes,’ he said.
‘So what happened?’
‘She trampled on it.’
‘I’m so sorry. I knew you cared deeply for her, were very much in love with her. I hadn’t realized it was so one-sided.’
‘Neither did I, at first.’ He shrugged, then lifted his hands in a Gallic gesture. ‘C’est la vie, chérie.’
A small silence fell between them, but it was an easy silence, and they were as comfortable with one another now as they had been since childhood. On the same wavelength, thinking the same thing.
Suddenly Tessa said, ‘I’ll never get married again. It’s not worth it.’
‘I do sincerely hope you don’t mean you’re going to remain celibate for the rest of your life. Surely you don’t mean that?’
‘Why not? There are worse things.’
Leaning across the table, Lorne exclaimed, ‘Listen to me, Tessa Fairley, I’m not going to permit you to lead a bleak, empty, unfulfilled life without love. You must be fair to yourself. I agree that marriage might be too much for you, after your recent hassles with Mark, but there has to be a lover. I won’t let you spend the rest of your life alone without a man in it, a loving, caring man who will treat you the way y
ou deserve to be treated. Actually, if it’s anything to do with me, I’ll see you have a string of devoted lovers,’ he finished on a teasing note.
Tessa had the good grace to laugh, and she also managed to push her troubles to one side. ‘And that goes for you, too. Put Miss Delaney behind you and find yourself a gorgeous girl. Perhaps you’ll meet somebody wonderful in Paris when you’re over there filming. A beautiful mademoiselle perhaps.’
Lorne was relieved that her mood had lightened, and he caught hold of her hand, kissed it. ‘Now you’re sounding better, much better indeed. Like your normal self.’
‘This is an extraordinary studio, India,’ Linnet exclaimed, glancing around. ‘Dusty did a wonderful architectural job…you did say he designed it himself, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right,’ India replied, sounding preoccupied as she let her eyes roam around the room, taking in everything. There were a lot of blood splatters on the floor near the painting, and she hurried over to check the portrait and saw, with great relief, that none of the blood had hit it.
It was at this moment that she noticed the knife on the floor where the young woman had dropped it, and she said, ‘Look, Linnet! Over there! It’s the knife.’ She pointed to it and immediately added, ‘I mustn’t pick it up or touch it. Her fingerprints have to be on it, not mine.’
‘You’re right about that,’ Linnet emphatically agreed. ‘And I just want to say this, India. I thought the two policemen were nice to us, but just a little bit suspicious of you, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes. Constable Charlton was suspicious of my story, I agree. But not Hobbs. I know those who are closest to a victim, especially of the opposite sex, are usually suspected of being the perpetrator. So they most probably do have me in their sights.’
Linnet glanced at the big clock on the wall. ‘Those two will be arriving soon. Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Jack Figg to drive over, be here for you in case you need him?’
‘No, no, honestly, it’s fine. My prints aren’t on the knife, and I know that when Dusty comes round he’ll tell exactly the same story I’ve told. Because it’s the truth. Also, Paddy Whitaker will be back by four, or thereabouts. And maybe he can throw some light on what happened. He’s the house-manager I mentioned earlier–’
‘Isn’t that simply Dusty’s more plebeian name for a butler?’ Linnet asked, an auburn brow lifting.
India half smiled. ‘You’re correct in that assumption. Anyway, Paddy had to go to Manchester this morning, but I heard him tell Dusty he’d be returning around teatime.’
‘And where did you say the housekeeper was?’ Linnet probed, and continued to prowl round the studio, filled with curiosity.
‘I explained before, it’s her weekend off,’ India answered, sounding slightly impatient, ‘that’s why we’d been looking forward to being here together. Alone.’
‘So you think the house-manager might know who the young woman was, or rather, is? Isn’t that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes,’ India answered, quietly, her sharpness receding. ‘If it was somebody from Dusty’s past…or present. But she could have been a total stranger, you know.’
Linnet glanced across at her cousin and shook her head. ‘That’s stretching it, love. Why would a stranger attack him? Or rather, attack the painting?’
‘Perhaps she was a deranged fan.’
‘India, really! He’s not a film star or a rock star. Fans of artists aren’t–stalkers, for God’s sake. They don’t go bursting into studios and stabbing people, or rather stabbing paintings.’ Linnet threw her an odd look, shaking her head, nonplussed.
‘She could be a deranged fan. Or a former girlfriend, a lover, even. But I trust Dusty and he would have told me if there was anyone important still hanging around in his life. I just know he would, Linnet.’ India’s voice had risen several octaves.
‘Okay, okay, don’t get upset. I trust you and your judgement, India, so if you say he’s above board and all that, then of course I’ll take your word for it.’ Moving towards one of the tall side windows, Linnet continued, ‘I think I’d better call Julian, he’ll be wondering what’s happening.’ As she spoke she pulled out her mobile and punched in her fiancé’s number.
India half smiled, nodded, and walked over to the portrait, stood looking at it, her head on one side. Her thoughts went to Dusty in the hospital, strung up with wires and drips and God knows what else. He had rushed to protect this painting, and that’s why he was where he was at this moment. He could have died for it, actually, and the terrible thing was it was still in the early stages, incomplete. He had only been working on it for three days, and he could have surely started it all over again, couldn’t he? Perhaps he had acted on impulse, his reflexes automatic and in high gear.
Thankfully he was going to be all right; the doctors had told her that before she had left the hospital to come to the studio. The ‘crime scene’, the police called it, but there was nothing here of great interest to them, nothing of real importance, except the jackknife on the floor where the woman had dropped it, and Dusty’s blood. Just before she had left Harrogate District Hospital, they had allowed her to see Dusty in the ICU. She had stood alone by the side of the bed, looking down at his drawn face, swept free of all colour, chalk white, as if his essence had been drained away. Well, it had, she supposed. The blood loss had been acute; he had had to have transfusions. Fortunately the artery had been successfully repaired. Since he was still unconscious from the anaesthetic, she had simply leaned over him, touched his face gently with two fingers, whispered that she loved him. And then the nurse had put her head around the door and beckoned for her to leave the room.
India’s sense of relief was enormous, and her anxiety had begun to ease. He was going to live. And so, after seeing him, she had been quite willing to drive over to Willows Hall and open up the studio for the police.
Who was the woman? This question hung there in mid-air, as it had for hours. Was she a stalker intent on doing harm? Or a former lover? And would she come back to do more damage?
CHAPTER TEN
Gideon expected the kitchen door to be locked. But when he turned the knob it opened at once and he walked straight in, fully anticipating a cheery greeting from Margaret and Joe, who were usually sitting here having a cup of tea at this hour. Much to his surprise the room was empty.
He paused in his tracks, glancing around, then stood inhaling the marvellous smells. The air was redolent with the scent of mixed spices that brought memories of North Africa rushing back, of meat simmering and vegetables steaming and glorious mouthwatering aromas of a special gourmet meal in the process of being made. He knew it would be a delicious feast tonight because Tessa was the best chef he knew, bar none. She missed her calling, he thought, as he hurried across the spacious kitchen and went into the back service corridor.
A steep staircase led to the first floor, which was mostly Paula’s domain, and then continued up to the second floor where so many of the bedrooms were located. No security here, he decided, anybody could’ve walked right in, just as I did, and made it to the main part of the house. Everyone was going to have to get used to locking outside doors, or they would have Jack Figg to contend with. He sighed as he climbed the back staircase which long ago had been used by servants when the house had been staffed to the hilt.
It was a steep climb and he thought of those little housemaids of long ago carting breakfast trays up to the rooms. They must have been worn out by mid-morning. But the world was full of genuine inequities in those days; in certain ways, things had changed for the better.
On the second floor every door had a small brass plate with the name of the suite engraved, announcing Yellow, Blue, Crimson, or Gold, and so on; this way of identifying each room by a colour had been Emma Harte’s invention and he had always thought it a charming idea. Finally he arrived at the Yellow Suite, tapped on the door and walked in before he was bidden to enter.
‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, ‘you startle
d me!’ She clutched the towel to her naked body as she stood and gaped at him.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized and walked towards her, his step determined. When he came to a standstill he took hold of her hand purposefully and pulled her into his arms in the most proprietary manner. Holding her close, he kissed her deeply, and then swiftly led her across the room.
She endeavoured to keep the towel around her; the expression on her face was one of uncertainty. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded quietly, staring at him, trying to break free of his tenacious grip.
Not answering her immediately, he went on manoeuvring her towards the bed. ‘Now sit there, and stop struggling, I’m not going to rape you.’
‘Are you sure you’re not?’ she asked, but dutifully sat on the bed as he had suggested, and watched him as he struggled out of his clothes. When he walked towards her she realized at once that they were going to be on this bed for some time, and that would mean they would be late for dinner. But she didn’t have a chance to mention this, or protest, because he was on the bed next to her before she could even blink, and kissing her passionately. And, of course, she immediately responded, ardently, matching his passion, since she did love him with all her heart.
After a moment or two they stopped kissing, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, looked down into her face. ‘I know what you’re going to say, that we’ll be late down to dinner, and all that stuff. But I haven’t been alone with you for over a week, and I do have the need to be close to you like this, and very intimate.’
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