Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall (26 page)

Emergency services said it would take at least ten minutes to send an ambulance out. I called Mum but she wasn't picking up the phone—nor was Alfred. I left a message and told her there had been an accident and to bring a blanket.

It was more like twenty minutes before we heard the wail of a siren. Angela hadn't said a word. She just lay flat on my raincoat with her eyes closed.

Swiftly Tony and John Cruickshank set to work, checking Angela's vitals and attending to her foot. An inflatable foot brace was produced and gently wrapped around her damaged limb. She had lost both top teeth but most of the blood had resulted from her biting through her lip.

Both told me they had had some experience with stampeding cows and that Angela was extremely lucky to survive and not been crushed. Angela drifted in and out of consciousness so it was left to me to answer their questions as best I could.

At last, Mum turned up in her red MINI and handed me a hip flask. “Mrs. Cropper's cherry brandy,” she said.

“She just ran.” I took a sip and felt a little better. “Angela just freaked out and ran, Mum. There was nothing I could do—Oh! I don't believe it!

A Porsche SUV came into view.

“What's David doing here?” I said.

“I'm so sorry. He turned up just as I was dashing to the car and insisted on coming.”

We watched David find a dry place to park, then make a meal out of removing his shoes and donning boots. “I bet he's laying out newspaper in the back of the SUV,” said Mum. “You could never rely on him to make a snap decision, could you?”

David strode toward us, his face white with concern. “Thank God it wasn't you, Kat.”

“She's in shock,” said Mum bluntly. “And not to be taken advantage of.”

“I'll be fine,” I said. “But I'm not so sure about her.”

If it turned out that Angela hadn't sent the photograph to
Star Stalkers,
I would feel that her accident had been my entire fault—despite how ridiculous that sounded.

Tony and John withdrew the gurney from the rear of the ambulance and gently lifted Angela onto it.

David turned to watch and let out a cry of surprise. Pushing me aside he stepped toward the gurney. “Angela? What the hell are you doing here?”

Incredulously, Mum and I looked from one to the other.

“You know her?” I exclaimed.

Angela's eyes snapped open “David! Oh! I can exthplain. I'm tho thorry.”

 

Chapter Twenty-one

David was storming around the kitchen. His face was so purple that I was afraid he'd have a coronary. I had never seen him so angry.

“But I don't understand.” I felt incredibly upset and confused. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“I told you,” David fumed. “Angela Parks is a close friend of Trudy's.”

“Who is Trudy?” Alfred hovered from the doorway, no doubt intrigued by all the raised voices. He was now 75 percent covered in primrose-yellow paint and reminded me of a perky canary.

“Trudy is David's wife,” Mum said.

“Ex-wife,” snapped David.

“Angela is an actress,” said Mum.

“I thought she was the housekeeper?” said Alfred.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” said Mum. “She was pretending to be the housekeeper.”

“Well. She certainly fooled me,” said Alfred.

“She fooled all of us,” I said, although from the beginning I had had a funny feeling about her.

“I knew her accent was fake,” Mum declared. “She was so over the top as well! All those stories about being a servant. Remember what she said about ‘ethnic minorities'? What a little liar.”

“Lies, Mother?”

“We're not talking about
me,
” said Mum hotly.

“How did Angela get the job here in the first place?” David demanded.

“Apparently, she wrote to Mrs. Cropper and asked for the position,” I said. “Angela claimed that she'd grown up on the Lindridge estate in North Devon somewhere. It had burned down so she moved south.”

“Lindridge?” David gave a snort of derision. “Yes, it burned down alright but it burned down in 1962.”

Mum and I exchanged looks of dismay. “We weren't to know,” said Mum. “Anyway, why on earth would she want to work as a housekeeper?”

“I just told you why! She's an actress.” David ran his fingers through his hair. It stood up on end. It was the first time I had ever seen him lose his groomed demeanor. “This is all my fault.”

“Of course it's your fault,” said Mum.

“Why is it his fault?” Alfred chimed in.

“We used to joke about Angela's fascination for
Downton Abbey,
” said David with disgust.

I noted the “we” as in David and Trudy.

“Where is
Downton Abbey
?” Alfred asked.

“It's a television show!” Mum cried.

“Angela was determined to get on the show,” David went on. “She thought that by working as a real housekeeper, it would give her an advantage.”

“Hmm. That makes sense,” said Mum. “Ren
é
e Zellweger did the same thing for
Bridget Jones's Diary
. She worked for a real publishing house to prepare for the role and no one recognized her.”

“No.” I said. “I don't believe it was just about that. It's too much of a coincidence. Angela has been spying on me and your wife put her up to it.”

“Ex-wife,” David said.

“So now you're saying it's Trudy's fault,” said Mum. “Typical.”

“Who is Trudy, again?” Alfred asked.

“I don't care whose fault it is,” I said coldly. “I think you should leave, David.”

David's jaw dropped in surprise. “Don't be silly.”

“No one calls my niece silly.”

“Niece?” David regarded Alfred with confusion. “Who are you?”

“Please! No more,” I cried. “Just go.”

David stepped toward me. “Kat, please listen. I'm just—”

“You heard what she said.” Alfred may be small and currently bright yellow but I could tell he was spoiling for a fight. Alfred raised his fists.

Startled, David took a step back. “Of course!” He snapped his fingers. “You worked in the fairground. No. Something to do with a traveling boxing emporium?” A strange expression crossed David's features. “I think I know what this is about.”

“What. Exactly?” I demanded.

“I'll handle it,” said David grimly. “I'll talk to Trudy.”

“What should we do about Angela?” said Mum. “Tell the police?”

“Tell them what?” I said. “She's in hospital. Isn't that punishment enough—anyway, I don't care. All this does is validate my decision.”

“Yes, yes, so you keep saying,” said David, exasperated. “I've already told you that ship has sailed. They've found a new host anyway.”

“I'm not talking about
Fakes & Treasures
. I'm talking about you and me.” I was close to tears. “It's humiliating to say nothing of how horrible it was, just watching Angela being trampled on—”

“Let's all have a nice gin and tonic—”

“I don't want a gin and tonic, Mother!”

“Kat, my divorce—”

“Didn't you hear what she said, Dylan?” Alfred chimed in. “She doesn't want you—”

“That's right,” said Mum. “She's moved on.”

“Which is why I came by,” said David. “My friend at the ministry called me about Prince-Avery.”

“Who is Prince—?”

“Shut up, Alfred,” we three chorused.

“Is he the one with the walking cane?” Alfred ventured gingerly.

“There was a scandal that was hushed up,” David went on.

“I'm not interested,” I said.

“Your friend is rather too fond of the bottle. He was acting as a consultant on a project—the name of which I agreed not to reveal—when he caused a fatal car accident. He went to prison for a year.”

“So I heard.” But I hadn't known about the prison sentence.

“A
year
?” Alfred scoffed. “That's nothing!”

“Prison?” Mum exclaimed. “Good God!”

“And there's something else,” David said. “I have a contact with the UK Border Agency—”

“You're so well connected, Dylan.” Mum's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Todd Gray, I know,” I said impatiently. “We've had dinner with him lots of times.”

“Todd has access to a vast database of people who enter and leave the United Kingdom.”

Mum gasped. “Everyone? Every time?” She looked at Alfred and I caught him giving her a reassuring nod. “Even ferry crossings to Jersey?”

“What? Why Jersey?” David seemed thrown by the question.

“No reason,” said Mum quickly.

“As part of my job as an international art investigator, the information the UK Border Agency can provide is highly valuable.”

David's tone had grown more self-assured and pompous—he actually reminded me of Shawn. It was a side of David I never liked.

“What kind of information?” Alfred suddenly didn't seem so confident. “Aren't they just looking for terrorists?”

“Yes. Terrorists. Thieves. Fraudulent transactions—yes, yes, yes! Let me finish!” David rolled his eyes at me and went on. “The point is, Valentine Prince-Avery has been spending the last several months in East Africa. So I don't see how he can be acting as a consultant on this new high-speed train from a different continent.”

“Actually, you're wrong. He's been visiting the Zanzibar Archipelago. Pemba Island to be exact,” I said. “He's entitled to a holiday, isn't he?”

To say that the wind was knocked out of David's sails was putting it mildly. “You
knew
?”

“Valentine told you?” Mum said, surprised.

He hadn't but I couldn't stand David's smugness any longer. “But thanks for clarifying things for me, David. You just can't stand to lose, can you? It is over between you and me. It has been for a long time.”

Shock registered on David's face. He looked to Mum—who stood arms akimbo and was visibly gloating—and Alfred, who brought up his fists, again.

“Mum, Alfred—please. Just leave us for a minute.”

They filed out of the kitchen.

“You're serious, aren't you?” said David.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” And I was.

It was finished.

David bit his lip. He stood awkwardly just staring at me. “Right. Okay.” He extended his hand. “No hard feelings?”

After a moment, I took it. “None.”

David thrust his shoulders back and headed for the kitchen door that opened into the field behind. I wanted to warn him that it was muddy but no words came out of my mouth.

He didn't look back.

A split second later, Mum and Alfred were back in the kitchen. I knew they had been eavesdropping but I was too tired to argue anymore. I sank into a chair and put my head in my hands.

“Alfred's worried about the bank in Jersey,” said Mum. “Will David cause us any trouble now that you've really ended it, Kat?”

“I told Iris not to worry,” said Alfred. “As long as she did what I told her, she'll be fine.”

“Of course! I wouldn't dream of trying to touch my own money without your permission, Alfred,” said Mum. “Would I, Kat?”

“Leave me out of this, please.”

“If you need more money, you let me handle it. You heard what Dylan said, there's a record of people who come in and out of the country.”

“But surely, if you're a British citizen you don't need a passport,” said Mum. “So if you don't show a passport, then how would they know you had come in or out of the country? What do you think, Kat?”

“I have no idea,” I said again.

“Oh God!” she cried. “Would David say anything about me being Krystalle Storm?”

“Let's hope not.” David's reaction this evening had made me realize that despite all his faults and his messy marriage and ugly divorce, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Maybe he really had loved me as much as he was capable of loving anyone.

“That's all right then.” Mum poured herself a gin and tonic and downed it in one go.

“I'll drink to that! And I would if I had one,” said Uncle Alfred.

“You can't have one until you've finished painting that front room—wait! This isn't about you. This is about me!” Mum's eyes widened. “Of course! This is all about me!”

“It's always about you, Mother.”

“If Angela was Trudy Wynne's friend, that explains why she was asking all those questions about Krystalle Storm! The little minx! All that Ravishing Romantics Book Club and the rumors that I live here.”

“Which you do,” I reminded her.

“Remember when Vera sent those e-mails to Trudy Wynne just before she died?”

“Claiming to know who Krystalle Storm really was,” I said. “Yes.”

“Um. Can I ask…?” Alfred raised his hand gingerly. “Who is Vera?”

“No!” Mum and I chorused.

“Trudy Wynne must still be pursuing that lead!”

The phone rang in the kitchen and we all looked at each other. “Alfred, you answer it,” said Mum.

“The Stanford residence,” said Alfred. He jumped to attention. “Yes, m'lady, I
am
Alfred Bushman.” As he listened, his face was wreathed in smiles. “Yes, very much so, m'lady. I can start tomorrow. Yes. She's right here.” He offered me the phone. “For you. It's the dowager countess.”

I braced myself for questions about Angela's accident with the cows but instead she got straight to the point. “Is Mr. Chips with you?”

My stomach turned right over. In all the excitement following the cow incident, I had completely forgotten about Edith's little dog. I felt paralyzed and couldn't think of a thing to say.