Authors: Minette Walters
Can you make the Newton point-to-point? I'm riding Monkey Business in the 3.30…
Don't forget you promised me a grand toward MB's vets' bills…
Are you coming to the Hunt AGM…?
Do you really mean it about the new horsebox? I LOVE you to distraction…
Meet me on the bridleway at the back of the farm. I'll be there around 10.00 a.m…
I'm sorry about Bouncer's leg. Give him a get-well kiss from his favorite lady…
With murder in her heart, Eleanor went into "sent items," looking for Julian's messages to GS.
Thelma is taking Louise shopping on Friday. Usual place? Usual time…?
T and L are playing golf-Sept 19th…
T is off to London next week-Tues. to Friday. 3 whole days of freedom! Any chance…?
T's an idiot. She'll believe anything…
Do you think T could have found herself a toy boy? Keep finding her on the phone. Hangs up immediately…
T's definitely up to something. Keeps whispering in the kitchen with L…
What are the odds on Dick and me being given the boot together? Do you think a miracle's happened and they've both found toy boys…?
The sudden ringing of the telephone on the desk caused Eleanor to give a guilty start. The raucous sound, a reminder that real life existed beyond the grubby secrets on the screen, set her nerves jangling in the silence of the room. She shrank back into her seat, heart thumping like a steam hammer, anger and fear colliding in her gut to produce nausea. Who was it? Who knew? People would laugh at her. People would crow. People would say she deserved it.
After four seconds the line switched to the answerphone and Prue's vexed voice came through the loudspeaker. "Are you there, Ellie? You promised to call when you'd spoken to the solicitor. I don't understand why it's taking so long… plus Dick's refusing to answer his mobile so I don't know where he is or if he wants lunch." She gave an angry sigh. "It's so damn childish of him. I could have done with some help before Jack and Belinda arrive… and now he'll just sour the evening with one of his moods. Ring soon. I'd like to know what's going on before he comes back otherwise there'll be another row about James's bloody solicitor."
Eleanor waited for the click as Prue hung up, then pressed the delete button to erase the message. She took the scrap of paper with the mobile number on it out of her shirt pocket, stared at it for a moment, then lifted the receiver and dialed. There was no rationale to what she was doing. Perhaps the habit of accusing James-and his timid reactions-had taught her that this was the way to deal with transgressors. Nevertheless, it took two attempts to make a connection, because her fingers were shaking so much that they fumbled on the keys. There was no answer, just a few seconds of silence before the call was diverted to voicemail. She listened to the prompts to leave a message, then, with belated recognition that it might not be GS's phone, she rang off.
What would she have said, anyway? Screamed and yelled and demanded her husband back? Called the woman a slut? The awful pit of divorce opened in front of her. She couldn't be alone again, not at sixty. People would avoid her, just as they had when her first husband had left her for the woman who carried his child. Then she had worn her desperation blatantly, but at least she'd been younger and still employable. Julian had been the last throw of her dice, an office affair that had finally led to marriage. She couldn't go through it a second time. She'd lose the house, lose her status, be forced to start again somewhere else…
Carefully, so that Julian wouldn't know she'd found the emails, she exited Windows and shut down the computer before closing the desk drawers and repositioning the chair.
This was better. She was beginning to think straight.
As Scarlett O'Hara had said, "tomorrow is another day." Nothing was lost while GS remained secret. Julian hated commitment. The only reason Eleanor had been able to force his hand twenty years ago was because she'd made sure his first wife knew of her existence.
She was damned if she'd let GS do the same to her.
With renewed confidence, she went back upstairs and replaced everything neatly in Julian's dressing room, then sat in front of her mirror and worked on her face. For a woman of such shallow mind, the fact that she didn't like her husband and he didn't like her was irrelevant. The issue, rather like the issue of adverse possession at the Copse, was one of ownership.
What she didn't appreciate-because she didn't own a mobile telephone-was that she'd set a time bomb that was about to go off. A "missed call" was logged on the display unit beside the number of the caller, and Gemma Squires, reining in Monkey Business beside Bouncer as the hunt was abandoned, was about to show Julian that his landline was showing on her handset with the call timed at just ten minutes previously.
The foundations of Prue Weldon's world also began to rock when her daughter-in-law phoned to say that she and Jack wouldn't be staying the night after all. They both had hangovers from their Christmas celebrations, Belinda told her, which meant they wouldn't be drinking that evening and could safely drive home after dinner. "I didn't want you to make the beds unnecessarily," she finished.
"I've already done it," said Prue irritably. "Why couldn't you have phoned earlier?"
"Sorry," said the girl with a yawn. "We only surfaced about half an hour ago. It's one of the few days in the year when we get a decent lie-in."
"Yes, well, it's very inconsiderate of you. I do have other things to do, you know."
"Sorry," Belinda said again, "but we didn't get back from my parents' till after two. We left the car there and slogged across the fields. They're bringing it over in half an hour. Jack's cooking lunch for them."
Prue's irritation grew. Eleanor hadn't called, she didn't know where Dick was, and at the back of her mind were growing worries about slander and nuisance calls. Also, her son's relationship with his in-laws was so much easier than hers with Belinda. "It's disappointing," she said tightly. "We hardly ever see you… and when we do you're always dashing to get away again."
There was an exasperated sigh at the other end. "Oh, come on, Prue, that's very unfair. We see Dick most days. He's always popping over to keep a check on things at this end of the business. I'm sure he keeps you posted."
The sigh fueled Prue's anger. "It's hardly the same," she snapped. "Jack was never like this before he married. He loved coming home, particularly at Christmas. Is it too much to ask-that you'll allow my son to stay one night under his mother's roof?"
There was a short silence. "Is that what you think this is? A competition to see who has more control over Jack?"
Prue wouldn't recognize a trap if it jumped up and bit her on the nose. "Yes," she snapped. "Please put him on. I'd like to talk to him. I presume you've decided for him."
Belinda gave a small laugh. "Jack doesn't want to come at all, Prue, and if you speak to him that is what he'll tell you."
"I don't believe you."
"Then ask him this evening," said her daughter-in-law coolly, "because I've persuaded him that we
should
come-at least for Dick-on the basis that we won't stay long and we won't stay the night."
The
"at least for Dick"
was the last straw. "You've turned my son against me. I know how much you resent the time I spend with Jenny. You're jealous because she has children, and you don't… but she
is
my daughter and
they
are my only grandchildren."
"Oh,
please
!" said Belinda with equally scathing emphasis. "We don't all share your petty values. Jenny's kids spend more time here than they do with you… which you'd know if you bothered to come and see us occasionally instead of fobbing us off because you'd rather be at the golf club."
"I wouldn't have to go to the golf club if you made me feel welcome," said Prue spitefully.
She listened to the nasal breathing at the other end as the girl struggled to calm herself. When Belinda spoke again, her voice was brittle. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say? Since when have you made
us
feel welcome? We flog over once a month for the same ridiculous ritual. Chicken casserole in dishwater because your time's too precious to cook properly… character assassination of Jack's dad… invective against the man at Shenstead Manor…" She drew a rasping breath. "Jack's even more hacked off with it than I am, bearing in mind he adores his dad and we both have to get up at six every morning to keep the business afloat at this end. Poor old Dick's dead on his feet by nine o'clock because he's doing the same thing… while you sit there stuffing your face and slagging people off… and the rest of us are too damn knackered earning your bloody golfing fees to tell you what a bitch you are."
The assault was so unexpected that Prue was stunned into silence. Her eyes were drawn to the casserole dish on the worktop while she listened to her son's voice in the background telling Belinda that his dad had just come through the kitchen door, and he wasn't looking happy.
"Jack will phone you later," said Belinda curtly before ringing off.
Eleanor bolstered her courage with a neat whisky before she phoned Prue, knowing that her friend wasn't going to be happy about no solicitor, no police, and no Bartlett involvement. Eleanor couldn't afford to alienate her husband further by signing him up for expensive legal fees, nor was she prepared to tell Prue why. Julian's preference for a thirty-something was humiliating enough without it becoming public knowledge.
Her relationship with Prue was based on their mutual certainty of their husbands, whom they tore to shreds for their own amusement. Dick was slow. Julian was boring. Both allowed their wives to rule the roost because they were too lazy or inept to make decisions themselves, and so helpless that if their women ever said enough is enough, they would be lost and rudderless like ships adrift. Such statements were funny when made from a position of strength, deeply unfunny with a blonde threatening in the background.
Prue answered at the first ring as if she'd been waiting for the call. "Jack?" Her voice sounded strained.
"No, it's Ellie. I've just come in. Are you all right? You sound cross."
"Oh, hello." She seemed to make an effort to inject some lightness into her tone. "Yes, I'm fine. How did it go?"
"Not very well, I'm afraid. The situation's completely different from the way you described it," said Eleanor in a slightly accusing tone. "It's not just travelers stopping over, Prue, it's people who say they're going to stay there until someone produces deeds to show who owns it. They're claiming it by adverse possession."
"What does that mean?"
"Fencing it in and building on it… effectively what you and Dick tried to do when you first came here. As far as I understand it, the only way to get rid of them is for either Dick or James to produce evidence that it's part of their estate."
"But we don't have any evidence. That's why Dick gave up the attempt to enclose it."
"I know."
"What did your solicitor say?"
"Nothing. I haven't spoken to him." Eleanor took a quiet sip of her whisky. "There's no point, Prue. His advice will be that it's nothing to do with us… which, in fairness, it isn't-there's no way we can claim the Copse as part of our land-so our chap won't be able to access any of the deeds or give us a considered judgment. I know it's boring, but I actually think Dick was right to phone James's solicitor. Dick and James are the only ones with an interest, so they'll have to come to an agreement over who's going to fight it."
Prue didn't answer.
"Are you still there?"
"Did you call the police?"
"Apparently Dick phoned them from the Copse. You should have talked it through with him. It was a complete waste of my time going up there." She warmed to her grievance in order to put Prue on the back foot. "And it was pretty damn frightening as well. They're wearing masks… and they're alarmingly well informed about everyone in the village. People's names… who owns what… that kind of thing."
"Have you been talking to Dick?" demanded Prue.
"No."
"Then how do you know he spoke to the police?"
"The man at the Copse told me."
Prue's voice was scornful. "Oh,
really
, Ellie! How can you be so gullible? You
promised
you'd phone the police. Why agree to it if you had no intention of following through? I could have done it myself two hours ago and saved us all a lot of trouble."
Eleanor bridled immediately. "Then why didn't you? If you'd listened to Dick instead of assuming he was running away from the problem, you and he could have dealt with this mess yourselves instead of expecting Julian and me to bail you out. We're hardly to blame if people move onto your land… and it's
certainly
not our responsibility to pay a solicitor to rescue you from it."
If Prue was surprised by Eleanor's volte-face she didn't show it. Instead she said petulantly, "It's not our land, not according to the deeds anyway, so why should we have to take responsibility?"
"Then it's James's… which is exactly what Dick was trying to tell you before you had your row. If you want my advice, you'll eat some humble pie before you have another go at him… either that or talk to these squatters yourself. At the moment they're cock-a-hoop because Dick and I are the only people to turn up… they think the rest of the village doesn't care."
"What about James's solicitor? Has he done anything?"
Eleanor hesitated before the lie. "I don't know. I caught a glimpse of him outside the Manor, but he had someone with him. They seemed more interested in the state of the roof than what's going on at the Copse."
"Who was it?"
"Someone who drives a green Discovery. It's parked in the drive."
"Man? Woman?"
"I don't know," said Eleanor again, rather more impatiently. "I didn't hang around to find out. Look, I can't waste any more time on this… you need to talk it through with Dick."
There was a silence, laden with suspicion, as if Prue were questioning the value of Ellie's friendship. "I'll be very angry if I find out you've been speaking to him behind my back."
"That's ridiculous! Don't blame me if you and he have fallen out. You should have listened to him in the first place."
Prue's suspicions deepened. "Why are you being so peculiar?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake! I've just had a frightening encounter with some extremely unpleasant people. If you think you can do any better, you go and talk to them. See how far
you
get!"
Any fears nancy might have had about meeting James Lockyer-Fox were allayed by the straightforward way he greeted her. There was no forced sentiment, no feigned affection. He met her on the terrace and took her hand briefly in both of his. "You couldn't be more welcome, Nancy." His eyes were a little watery, but his handshake was firm and Nancy applauded him for taking the embarrassment out of a potentially difficult situation.
To Mark, the observer, it was a moment of appalling tension. He held his breath, certain that James's confident demeanor would rapidly collapse. What if the phone rang? What if Darth Vader began a monologue on incest? Guilty or innocent, the old man was too frail and exhausted to remain detached for long. Mark doubted there was ever a right time or method to discuss DNA sampling, but he ran hot and cold at the thought of discussing it to Nancy's face.
"How did you know it was me?" Nancy asked James with a smile.
He stood aside to usher her through the French windows and into the drawing room. "Because you're so like my mother," he said simply, leading her toward a bureau in the corner where a wedding photograph stood in a silver frame. The man was in uniform, the woman in a plain, 1920s-style, low-waisted dress, with a train of lace curled about her feet. James picked it up and looked at it for a moment before handing it to Nancy. "Do you see a resemblance?"
It surprised her that she could, but then she'd never known anyone to compare herself with. She had this woman's nose and jawline-neither of which, in Nancy's view, were anything to be pleased about-and the same dark coloring. She looked for beauty in the celluloid face but couldn't see it, any more than she could see it in her own. Instead, the woman wore a small frown above her eyes as if she were questioning the point of her history being recorded on camera. A similar frown creased Nancy's brow as she studied the photograph. "She looks undecided," she said. "Did marriage make her happy?"
"No." The old man smiled at her perspicacity. "She was much brighter than my father. I think it suffocated her to be trapped in a subservient role. She was always champing at the bit to do something with her life."
"Did she succeed?"
"Not by today's standards… but by the Dorset standards of the 1930s and forties, I think she did. She started a racing stable here-trained some decent horses, mostly hurdlers-one of them came second in the Grand National." He saw the flash of approval in Nancy's eyes, and gave a happy laugh. "Oh, yes, that was a splendid day. She persuaded the school to let me and my brother take the train to Aintree and we won a lot of money on an each-way bet. My father took the credit, of course. Women weren't allowed to train professionally in those days, so he was the nominal license holder in order to allow her to charge fees and make the enterprise pay for itself."
"Did she mind?"
"About him taking the credit? No. Everyone knew she was the trainer. It was just a bit of gobbledegook to satisfy the Jockey Club."
"What happened to the stables?"
"The war put paid to them," he said regretfully. "She couldn't train with my father away… and when he came back he had them converted into the garage block."
Nancy replaced the photograph on the bureau. "That must have annoyed her," she said, with a teasing glint in her eyes. "What did she do for revenge?"
Another chuckle. "Joined the Labor party."
"Wow! A bit of a rebel, then!" Nancy was genuinely impressed. "Was she the only member in Dorset?"
"Certainly in the circle my parents moved in. She joined after the forty-five election when they published their plans for a National Health Service. She worked as a nurse during the war and became very unhappy about the lack of medical care for the poor. My father was appalled, because he was a lifelong Conservative. He couldn't believe his wife would want Churchill overthrown in favor of Clement Attlee-very ungrateful, he called it-but it made for some spirited debates."
She laughed. "Whose side were you on?"
"Oh, I always took my father's side," said James. "He could never win an argument against my mother without assistance. She was too powerful a character."
"What about your brother? Did he take her side?" She looked at a photograph of a young man in uniform. "Is this him? Or is this you?"
"No, that's John. He died in the war, sadly, otherwise he would have inherited the estate. He was the older by two years." He touched a gentle hand to Nancy's arm and steered her toward the sofa. "My mother was devastated, of course-they were very close-but she wasn't the type to hide herself away because of it. She was a wonderful influence… taught me that a wife with an independent mind was a prize worth having."
She sat down on the edge of the seat, turning toward James's armchair and placing her feet apart like a man with her elbows on her knees. "Is that why you married Ailsa?" she asked, glancing past him toward Mark, surprised to see satisfaction in the younger man's face as if he were a schoolteacher showing off a prize pupil. Or was the commendation for James? Perhaps it was harder for a grandfather to meet the child he'd helped put up for adoption, than it was for the granddaughter to offer the possibility of a second chance.
James lowered himself into his own chair, bending toward Nancy like an old friend. There was a powerful intimacy in the way they'd arranged themselves, though neither seemed aware of it. It was clear to Mark that Nancy had no idea of the impact she was making. She couldn't know that James rarely laughed-that even an hour ago he wouldn't have been able to lift a photograph without his hands trembling so much she'd have noticed it-or that the sparkle in the faded eyes was for her.
"Goodness me, yes," said James. "Ailsa was even more of a rebel than my mother. When I first met her, she and her friends were trying to disrupt her father's shoot in Scotland by waving placards around. She didn't approve of killing animals for sport-thought it was cruel. It worked, too. The shoot was abandoned when the birds were frightened off. Mind you," he said reflectively, "all the young men were much more impressed by the way the girls' skirts rode up when they lifted their placards above their heads than they were by the cruelty-to-animals argument. It wasn't a fashionable cause in the fifties. The savagery of war seemed far worse." His face became suddenly thoughtful.
Mark, fearing tears, stepped forward to draw attention to himself. "How about a drink, James? Shall I do the honors?"
The old man nodded. "That's a splendid idea. What time is it?"
"After one."
"Good lord! Are you sure? What are we doing about lunch? This poor child must be starving."
Nancy shook her head immediately. "Please don't-"
"How does cold pheasant, pate de foie gras, and French bread sound?" Mark broke in. "It's all in the kitchen… won't take a minute to do." He smiled encouragingly. "Drink's limited to what's in the cellar, I'm afraid, so it has to be red or white wine. Which do you prefer?"
"White?" she suggested. "And not too much. I'm driving."
"James?"
"The same. There's a decent Chablis at the far end. Ailsa's favorite. Open some of that."
"Will do. I'll bring it in, then make the lunch." He caught Nancy's eye and lifted his right thumb at hip level, out of James's sight, as much as to say "well done." She dropped him a wink in return, which he interpreted rightly as "thank you." Had he been a dog, his tail would have wagged. He needed to feel he was more than just an observer.
James waited until the door closed behind him. "He's been a wonderful support," he said. "I was worried about dragging him away from his family at Christmas, but he was determined to come."
"Is he married?"
"No. I believe he had a fiancee once, but it didn't gel for some reason. He comes from a large Anglo-Irish family… seven daughters and one son. They all get together at Christmas-it's an old family tradition, apparently-so it was very generous of him to come here instead." He fell silent for a moment. "I think he thought I'd do something silly if I was left on my own."
Nancy eyed him curiously. "Would you?"
The bluntness of the question reminded him of Ailsa, who had always found tiptoeing around other people's sensibilities an irritating waste of time. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've never thought of myself as a quitter, but then I've never been into battle without my friends beside me… and which of us knows how brave he is until he stands alone?"
"First define
bravery
," she commented. "My sergeant would tell you it's a simple chemical reaction that pumps the heart with adrenaline when fear paralyzes it. The poor bloody soldier, terrified out of his wits, experiences a massive rush and behaves like an automaton under the influence of hormonal overdose."