Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall (24 page)

He stood back and his eyes raked over my body. I found myself blushing.

“You see,” he gloated. “You still feel the same way. I know you do. Things will be different now. I promise. Oh—!” David exclaimed. “Iris! There you are.”

Mum was peering around the corner of the tent and had the grace to look sheepish. “I didn't want you to miss the Steiff skittles,” she said lamely.

I wondered how long she had been listening.

“Some people never change,” said David ruefully.

“If you're hoping she'll come back to you, David,” Mum said as she hurried over. “It's too late.”

“Let me handle this, Mother,” I exclaimed.

Mum opened her bag and pulled out a copy of the
Daily Post
folded to page three. She thrust it into David's hands. “I'm not sure if you've seen today's newspaper, but this is Kat's new man. So as I said, it's too late.”

A smug smile crossed David's features. “I assume you're talking about Valentine Prince-Avery.”

“You know him?” I was surprised. But of course David would know him. The antiques circuit was very small and collectors always knew other collectors.

“With a name like that he could be in one of your books, Iris,” said David without a trace of humor. “But he'd have to be the villain of the piece, I'm afraid. He's a fake. I know. Because I checked.”

“You
checked
.” I was furious. “It's none of your business.”

“How did you find out?” Mum demanded.

David shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“It's over, David,” said Mum. “Don't you understand?”

“Mum—stop—”

“In fact, Valentine's meeting Kat here this afternoon so perhaps you can both fight a duel.” My mother knew full well that Valentine wasn't coming and that there was no romance between us anyway.

“Pistols at dawn,” joked David.

But Mum seemed to have the proverbial bit between her teeth. “Valentine is
besotted
with Kat,” she declared. “He's not just a collector, he's some bigwig at the ministry. He's a very important man. He's very close friends with the prime minister.”

“Mum, please!” This, of course, was a blatant lie.

“Is he now?” David smiled again but I knew the reference to the ministry would bother him. He was fiercely competitive and had to be the best at everything. David often acted as a consultant for various investigations and I knew he still harbored dreams of being appointed the Minister for Culture.

“It turns out that your Mr. Prince-Avery hasn't worked for the Department for Transport for quite some time,” David went on.

“Don't take any notice of him,” said Mum. “He's just jealous.”

“He was fired in 2012.”

“I know.” The newspaper article hadn't stated that fact but I had assumed, following the car accident, it would have been the case.

David looked taken aback. “But do you know what
really
happened?”

“No. And I don't care.”

“You're just making it up!” said Mum with scorn.

“I'm not.”

“Enough!” I shouted. “I don't want to listen to the pair of you bickering anymore.” I strode off toward the car park. People turned to stare and I knew David and I had been recognized but I didn't care.

“Kat!” David shouted. “Wait! I'm sorry!”

He caught up with me as I entered the stable yard.

“Really. I'm sorry,” he said again. “Hear me out, please.”

He took my arm and steered me into an empty stall. Even though the herringbone floor had been swept clean, I could still smell horses and for a moment wished I was twelve years old again when life seemed so simple.

“You've changed,” he said. “You're different.”

I didn't answer.

“I've blown it, haven't I?” said David quietly. “I'm such a fool. If only Hugh—”

“Don't start that again—”

“When I saw that photograph of you and Prince-Avery together coming out of … well … I just couldn't stand it. Kat, you didn't—you couldn't…?”

David left the obvious question dangling in the air. “You seriously expect me to answer that?”

“It's true. I'm jealous. And I don't know what to do.” For the first time I saw defeat in David's eyes. “I can't force you to come back but if you want me, you know where to find me.”

“Just let me be, please.”

“But be careful, Kat,” said David. “Prince-Avery is dangerous.”

With one last look, he left me alone in the stall. I felt incredibly sad. He was right. I had changed. But it had nothing to do with Valentine. I'd finally had enough.

I left the stable and set off down a path that ran around the building. Although I could still hear various announcements being read on the public address system, it was far enough away from the auction. I needed to be alone.

I came upon an enclosure fenced off with chicken wire and post and rail fencing. It was quite a large area peppered with hedgerows and ancient oaks. A wooden information board stood next to a stile stating it was a conservation area. The board had beautiful illustrations of all the wildlife that lived inside its boundaries. There was a list of endangered species that included the grey-long-eared bat and, to my surprise and delight, the
muscardinus avellanarius
 … the hazel dormouse.

In an instant, I'd completely forgotten all about David. I felt a surge of excitement. As a listed endangered species, their existence on Honeychurch land could really help our campaign.

I couldn't wait to tell my mother and hurried back to find her.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I feared you'd eloped.”

“There's no danger of that,” I said. “I have an idea.”

As we walked back to the main marquee I told Mum all about the dormice.

“Benedict wanted to find an environmental angle!” she enthused. “Clever you!”

I paid far too much for the Steiff skittle set circa 1908. With a kingpin in his red felt jacket and gold crown and eight other bears standing eleven inches high on turned wooden bases holding poles, they really were adorable. I knew they'd make a great centerpiece for my new shop—wherever it would be.

Valentine's “George” did not do so well. Much to the embarrassment of the auctioneer, the automaton failed to show off his smoking skills and didn't even reach his reserve.

My mother bought a raggedy mink coat for a bargain and wore it back to the car. “It belonged to Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone,” said Mum. “She was the last remaining grandchild of Queen Victoria. Did you know she was ninety-seven years, three hundred and thirteen days old when she died and had lived through six reigns?”

“As did her coat, I suspect. Why on earth would you want to buy something like that?”

“I thought I'd branch out into clothing,” said Mum. “Anyway, Frank always wanted me to wear mink.”

“Mind you don't get paint thrown at you,” I said. “There are still a lot of anti-fur activists around here.”

“I don't care,” said Mum, stroking the fur. “I now know what it feels like to be a princess.”

We set off for home. “Well? Do I have to be worried about you going back to Dylan?”

“No,” I said. And meant it.

“All that talk about buying a house together in Devon,” said Mum.

“We didn't talk about buying a house in Devon today,” I exclaimed. “Wait a moment … I don't believe it! Did you read one of his letters to me?”

“It was completely by accident,” said Mum. “I went into your bedroom to look for my favorite pen—didn't I lend you my favorite pen? Anyway a gust of wind shot through the open window and … one of his letters just landed in my hand.”

“From inside my bedside table drawer?”

“Exactly! Isn't that odd?”

“Those are private,” I cried. “You would never get me going into your personal things.” And then I remembered, I had done just that up in the loft.

“I must say Dylan can be quite ardent when he puts his mind to it,” said Mum. “Who would have thought he had it in him? At least he's sparked some ideas for my book. I thought I'd rewrite Lady Amelia and Shelby's first kiss and set it in the stable. Originally, they bumped into each other in the woods.”

“I know, I typed it.”

“But in the stable, it raises the danger. What if he's seen? What if they're caught?”

“How clich
é
d,” I said.

Mum pulled a stack of Post-its from out of her pocket. “Listen to this.
‘What are you doing, Shelby?'”
said Mum, mimicking her heroine's breathy voice.
“Lady Amelia's eyes widened with surprise as the young gamekeeper slipped into the empty stable and closed the door behind them. ‘I must speak with ye, m'lady.'”
Mum affected a deep country brogue.
“Shelby's breathing was heavy and his eyes glittered with lust
. ‘
Oh, draw no further, sire!
'
Lady Amelia cried as she shrank into the corner. She began to tremble and, feeling his gaze upon her, slowly raised her eyes to meet his. In an instant, he was beside her, sweeping her into his passionate embrace; his lips crushed hers as she tried to fight him. She felt his hard body pressed against her own. Her head spun as she found herself drowning in a pool of lust until she finally broke free. Shelby stood back. His eyes raked her body. ‘You see,' he gloated. ‘You feel the way I do. Things will be different now.'”

I felt my own face grow hot. “You saw David and me in the stable!”

“How could I have done that?” Mum said, feigning innocence. “I can't see through walls.”

“You're incorrigible!”

“I know.”

Back home, Mum's good humor evaporated the moment we opened the front door and were faced with a wall of displaced furniture.

“I told you so,” said Mum.

“Hello?” Alfred's head popped out of the sitting room doorway. His face was speckled in primrose-yellow paint. “Nice mink, Iris. Very posh.”

“How are you getting on?” I asked.

“Just need a few more hours.” Alfred beamed. “Any chance of a cup of tea? It's gone four.”

“You know where the kettle is,” said Mum coldly. “I'm going upstairs to work and I don't want to be interrupted.”

“Sorry, we had a cup of tea at the auction,” I said. “But as Mum says, you know where it is—if you can actually get into the kitchen.”

“Oh, you had a visitor,” said Alfred. “A Benedict Snoop.”

“Scroope, you mean.”

“Snoop suits him better,” said Alfred. “I caught him trying to climb over the sofa.”

“Did he leave a message?”

“Just said he thought he'd left his mobile in the kitchen. He hadn't. I looked.”

“I thought you repaired the front door lock,” I said.

“Yeah well, the doorjamb's rotten.” Alfred shrugged. “Don't tell your mum, though. She'll say I botched it.”

And I suspected Mum would be right.

My bedroom was just as cluttered as the hall. I was collecting a lot of stock for my new shop. I thought again about the gatehouses and my nonexistent life in London. Maybe Edith had a point. Could I do it though? Was I ready to take such a big step?

I sank onto the bed. What a tumultuous day.

“Kat!” shouted Uncle Alfred from downstairs. “Someone to see you.”

Oh God,
I thought.
Who now? Benedict? David? The Queen of England?

 

Chapter Twenty

Angela was standing at the bottom of the stairs holding Mrs. Cropper's wicker basket.

“I've been waiting for you to come back,” said Angela. “You told me we would go and pick sloes.”

Angela was the last person I felt like seeing but then I remembered the mystery photographer from today's
Daily Post.
Getting her alone would give me the perfect opportunity to ask a few questions.

“It'll be dark in an hour or so,” I said. “We'd better make it quick.”

“I like the new color scheme in the sitting room,” said Angela. “Nice and cheerful. Your eye looks much better.”

Alfred emerged from the sitting room with Mr. Chips cradled in his arms. The little dog seemed fascinated by Alfred's face—which was fascinating given the amount of paint on it—and seemed unusually placid.

“I didn't even know Mr. Chips was here,” I said. “Usually he arrives in a fanfare of barking.”

“He says he wants to go out digging,” said Alfred.

Angela's eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Why? Because he told me so, didn't you, boy?”

I was almost tempted to ask if Alfred knew what Mr. Chips had done with Mum's money.

Mr. Chips licked Uncle Alfred's face.

“Aw. He's so cute,” said Angela.

“All the ladies tell me that.”

“Not you!” Angela hooted with laughter and turned to me. “Your uncle's so funny!”

I wanted to tell her that we're not really related but knew that would bring forth another rash of questions.

“Alfred says he can talk to the animals,” said Angela. “He was telling me all about his days in the circus.”

“Oh, yes. When he worked with retired circus horses in
Spain,
” I said. “Isn't that right, Alfred?”

“That's right. That's what I told her,” said Alfred and winked at me.

“So you weren't part of Bushman's boxing emporium?” said Angela.

“Boxing, circuses, fairgrounds … I'm a wanderer, that's me,” Alfred said with a chuckle. “Now … if you're talking about boxing—”

“Angela!” I said sharply. “We'd better pick those sloes before it gets dark. Come on, Mr. Chips. Bye, Alfred.” I practically pushed Angela out the front door.