‘Did Edward ask you to?’
Imogen nodded. ‘I take it you had other plans.’
‘I did rather.’ Even so, Olivia was glad, after all, that Edward had arranged the call. She saw now how alone she’d been feeling.
‘Come,’ said Imogen. ‘Your maid can wait in the kitchen.’
Ordinarily Olivia would have bid Ada goodbye, checked she knew where she was going, but today she followed Imogen into the house without a word. If Ada couldn’t look after herself, the devil would surely take care of her.
‘I went to the Sporting Club yesterday,’ said Imogen as they climbed the front steps, ‘just to see what people are saying. Tom claims they’re trying to keep what’s happened to Clara quiet, but everyone’s whispering about why she’s been taken, who’s done it, enjoying the drama far too much.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘Horrible. Some of them have decided Edward’s to blame because of him going off just as Clara did, then returning as she disappeared.’ Imogen’s voice echoed through the marble hallway as they passed out onto the back veranda. The lawn swept before them, framed by lofty palms. A table was set with a jug of minted juice, glasses, and a plate of cinnamon-dusted pastries. Imogen gestured at Olivia to sit down. ‘A reporter from The Times was there, Morgan, Morton…?’ She frowned. ‘Anyway, he was most interested in it all. Most of the ladies are horrified at the idea of Edward being a baddy, of course.’
‘I hope this reporter isn’t going to print anything,’ Olivia said. ‘It’d be slanderous.’
‘I’d like to see what Edward would do to him if he did. But no, I think he’s just snooping at the moment.’ Imogen waved absently at a fly hovering by the pastries. ‘Everyone’s all het up, wondering who’s going to be next, and yet,’ she frowned again, ‘you’re the only one anyone seems to be taking especial care over. The Gray house is the only one being guarded. Tom’s told me now that it’s to do with your husband’s money being targeted but, I don’t know. There are other wealthy men in Egypt. Plenty, in fact. My brother, for instance… Tom.’ Imogen pressed her lace-clad fingers to her temples. ‘There’s more to it than someone just going after Jeremy’s money, I’m certain.’
Olivia nodded slowly, then proceeded to tell Imogen of all the strangeness curdling her mind, leaving nothing out – not Clara’s moods before she went to Constantinople, her elusiveness whilst she was away, the strained meeting she’d stumbled across at the parade ground last night, not even Clara and Edward’s covert discussion at the Sporting Club.
When she’d finished, Imogen sighed deeply, obviously digesting everything, then said, ‘I hate to suggest it, but do you think Clara could have landed herself in some kind of a mess?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘As you’ve said, she hasn’t been herself. I’ve noticed it too. She’s stopped calling on me, she’s never at home when I go there, and so withdrawn when we’re out. Not,’ Imogen held up her hand, ‘that I’m worried for myself. But I really think she might be in trouble, something she’s afraid to talk about. Perhaps Edward knows about it and was having it out with her at the Sporting Club. Maybe Jeremy took her away because of it.’
‘She said she didn’t know why Jeremy took her away.’
‘Still,’ said Imogen, ‘I do think it’s possible she’s become embroiled in something against her will.’ She reached for the juice, was about to pour, then paused. She leant under the table and pulled out a bottle. ‘Shall we have a nip of gin?’ She bit her lip. ‘Or is it a glug? A glug of gin. How medicinal.’ She poured a generous measure into the carafe, mint leaves swimming as the liquids mixed, and filled the two glasses, holding one out to Olivia. ‘Go on, it’ll make you feel better.’
Olivia took the glass, barely looking at it. ‘None of this is Clara’s doing,’ she said, ‘although I agree it isn’t as straightforward as we’re being told. There are just too many secrets.’ She took a gulp of her drink to quench her throat, only remembering how much alcohol was in it as the inside of her mouth turned to fire. ‘Willyouhelpmewithsomething?’ It came out like a dragon’s gasp. She reached for the plate of pastries and bit into a filo parcel; flakes of icing sugar stuck to her lips, custard soothed her tongue. She swallowed, breathed, and, when she was confident she could talk normally again, said, ‘I need to go to Clara’s house and find out what Sofia thinks was in Clara’s letter, who might have taken it. I can’t do that unless you help me avoid Ada.’
Imogen leant back in her chair. Her neck arched beneath her sapphire choker as she stared at the beating sky. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m worried about exposing you to risk.’
‘What could possibly happen to me at Clara’s? The police are guarding it.’
‘These are strange times. I never would have imagined Clara could disappear from one of the busiest streets in Alex in broad daylight, but she has.’ Imogen’s brow creased. ‘I’m scared for her, so very scared.’
‘Then help me. Please.’
‘Darling…’
‘Please, Imogen.’
Imogen sighed. At length she said, ‘I have a condition.’
‘Fine. Anything.’ Olivia sat straighter in her chair, blood pumping at Imogen stepping up, being her ally.
‘From now on, you go nowhere alone. If you need something, come to me first. I feel terribly responsible for you. You’re still so young.’
‘Not that young.’
‘To me you are. I’ve lived here my whole life, it’s a long time, darling. I was here for the riots of ’82, the invasion. The most sinister things can seem innocent, and you won’t sniff them out as easily as I do. So, please, tell me everything. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
Imogen clicked her tongue.
Olivia held her breath.
Imogen nodded. ‘All right,’ she said. She raised her glass. ‘To finding Clara, and getting her home, safe again. For God’s sake.’
With Ada being taken care of by Imogen’s staff, it was easy enough for Olivia and Imogen to slip out to the pony and trap one of the servants had ready on the road.
‘I feel like a thief,’ Imogen said, hooking her arm through Olivia’s as they clattered away. ‘It’s awful to be happy about anything, but I am pleased that we’re doing this. I can’t stand just sitting around, waiting.’
Clara’s house was less than a mile from the Carters’; it took them barely ten minutes to reach it. Clara’s driver, Hassan, and the footman, El Masri, met their trap. Hassan took hold of the pony. He smiled at Olivia, eyes like chocolate puddles, so deep she had to look away. She took El Masri’s hand, leaning on it as she climbed to the ground. His darkly handsome face was as brooding as ever. And there was something unsettling about the way he was studying her.
‘I can hear Angus,’ said Imogen, distracting Olivia. She nodded towards the house, where Gus could, most certainly, be heard wailing. ‘He misses Clara, I think.’ Imogen, who had no children of her own and said it was probably for the best (Really, I’m not good with little ones. Honestly I’m not. Much worse as I get older. It’s all for the best I was never given one. Really.), wrinkled her nose. ‘The poor little mite sounds quite furious. Let’s get on, get this over with.’
They let themselves into the house. A maid was in the hallway, a footman too, arranging a tray of crystal glassware. Another maid was in the corridor, polishing the tiles. Servants, servants, always everywhere.
Olivia led the way towards the stairs. Imogen nodded at the open door of the study. ‘Why not go in? Double-check Clara’s letter isn’t there.’
‘Aren’t you good at this?’ said Olivia.
‘Just go. I’ll keep watch.’
Olivia moved quickly, one eye on the door, thumbing the pages of the same books she had yesterday. A breeze blew on her neck through the open shutters. There was nothing there. She replaced the volumes on the shelves, and caught her breath at the sound of a stick cracking outside. She put her hand on her chest and exhaled. It was just surly El Masri loping towards the stables. He glanced
over, but gave no sign that he’d seen her.
‘Olivia,’ hissed Imogen, poking her head around the door. ‘Anything?’
‘No. Let’s go, before someone comes.’
As they made their way to the nursery, Olivia’s chest tightened in the air voided of Clara’s chatter, the swish of her sashaying skirts. Gus’s screams, which had escalated to an almost impossible pitch, reverberated off the walls. Olivia drew breath, then opened the door marked with a wooden duck.
She was barely in the room before Sofia bundled Gus into her arms and then collapsed into her rocking chair. She placed the back of her plump hand against her forehead and shook her head. One of her tortoiseshell combs came loose in the motion, although she appeared not to notice. ‘I’m glad to see you, agapi mou,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Are you?’ asked Olivia, rearranging Gus’s rigid body so she could rock him. She caught sight of Ralph, sitting cross-legged on the floor, just beneath Imogen’s skirts. Imogen crouched awkwardly beside him, apologising for not bringing any sweets. Ralph said, in a grave little voice, that that was really the least of his worries.
‘Where’s your father?’ Olivia asked him.
‘He’s gone to the office,’ said Ralph.
‘The office?’
‘He said he’s being British.’
Olivia frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Ralph shrugged.
Imogen shook her head. Turning to Sofia, she ran through the conundrum of Clara’s letter.
‘I swear it was still there when Mrs Clara went out,’ said Sofia, once Imogen had finished. ‘She hid it just before she left. I don’t know who would have taken it.’
‘You’re certain?’ asked Imogen. ‘Because whoever did obviously has something to hide.’
‘Anything you can tell us,’ said Olivia, still swaying from foot to foot with Gus’s tense body, ‘would help.’
‘You don’t think I took it, do you?’ Sofia’s bosom heaved beneath her apron. ‘Why would I have told you it was there if I was planning on stealing it?’
‘I don’t think you took it,’ Olivia assured her, ‘but I think you know what was in it.’
‘Just tell us,’ said Imogen, ‘and then we won’t have to go to the police.’
Sofia flushed, a glow that seeped into her grey-flecked hairline. Olivia felt awful for putting her on the spot as they were. Sofia was clearly struggling enough with everything going on, she hardly needed them grilling her on top of it all, especially in front of Ralph, who was listening, mouth open at his nanny’s unease. If the matter hadn’t been so important, if finding another opportunity to speak to Sofia didn’t feel so challenging, Olivia would have called a halt, said they would discuss it all another time when tiny ears weren’t so close by.
However, since it was what it was, she said, ‘You have to talk to us, Sofia.’
Sofia cast a glance at Ralph. ‘What can I say that he can hear?’ She opened her arms helplessly. ‘I don’t know how to put it.’
‘Just try,’ said Imogen.
Sofia sighed and gave Olivia a worried look. What was she so concerned about? Not just Ralph, of that Olivia was becoming uncomfortably aware. Her back prickled in the uncomfortable suspicion that something bad was about to come her way.
‘I never saw that letter,’ said Sofia, her laboured tone making it clear how little she wanted to be speaking of it all, ‘other than Mrs Clara hiding it. But yes, I think I know what was in it.’ She shot Ralph another frown, eased herself up from her chair and beckoned Olivia and Imogen into the adjoining bedroom. She pushed the door to behind them. ‘Mrs Clara,’ she said, her tone hushed, ‘used to go out at funny hours. A lot. Often, when I’d go to fetch her in the middle of the night, if Gus wouldn’t settle, or Ralphy had had a bad dream, her bed was empty, just lots of pillows where her body should have been. She and Mr Jeremy have different rooms, they have done for a long time.’ Sofia glared meaningfully at Gus in Olivia’s arms. ‘For years.’ Olivia looked down at Gus’s black hair, his tan complexion, so different to Clara and Jeremy’s fairness.
‘You think Mrs Gray has been meeting someone illicitly?’ Imogen’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. ‘That she was writing her letter to whoever he is?’
‘It would be a fair guess, yes.’
‘Let me get this absolutely straight,’ said Imogen. ‘You’re saying that our Clara was involved in an affair? That Angus here…’
‘Oh God.’ Olivia looked again at Gus’s wavy curls, so dark. She felt a weight settle on her; it spread through her limbs, beating within her to the rhythm of the word ‘naught-ee-ness’. ‘Oh no.’ She didn’t even attempt to hide her alarm. She couldn’t, it was too shocking. She closed her eyes. ‘Who was Clara meeting, Sofia?’
‘I don’t know for sure. On my honour, agapi mou, I don’t.’
‘But you suspect. Was it…?’ Olivia broke off. She wouldn’t say it, couldn’t think it, she refused to speak his name.
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Imogen. ‘Why…?’ She tailed off. Her eyes widened. ‘Edward?’
Sofia nodded slowly. ‘Mrs Clara’s been so upset lately. “Teddy’s so cross with me,” she kept saying whilst we were away. “I wish he wasn’t cross with me.”’
‘Teddy.’ The word was cold on Olivia’s lips. She turned to Imogen, far past any pretence now. ‘Clara’s always called Edward Teddy.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ Imogen said uncertainly. Couldn’t she at least try to sound convinced?
‘I could be wrong,’ Sofia said.
Olivia’s mind raced to draw evidence from the recent past that Sofia was wrong. Edward belonged to her, her, just as she belonged to him. It was the only thing she had to be sure of. She couldn’t let that go.
She bundled Gus into Sofia’s arms before she dropped him. She didn’t look at him, she was too terrified of what she might see in his features.
Without any idea of where she was going, only that she had to be gone, she ran from the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Imogen caught up with Olivia as she reached the front door. ‘Wait, darling, wait and listen. I can see you don’t want to hear it, God knows I don’t want to believe it, but we at least have to consider Sofia might be right.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Olivia’s voice shook. ‘Edward hasn’t been involved with Clara. I’m certain.’
‘But what about this “naughtiness”?’
Olivia dragged her mind for another explanation as to what it could be about. ‘Fine,’ she conceded at length. ‘Clara was probably referring to her affair. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that she was taken because of it, or that she was having it with Edward. Maybe he’d simply found out about it and, I don’t know… was talking to her about it at the Sporting Club.’
‘Or maybe he was trying to break it off with her, convince her not to tell anyone anything. He’s not infallible, darling. He’s handsome, a cavalry officer, I have to tell you he’s had liaisons before now.’
‘I don’t want to talk about this.’
‘I think we must. He and Clara have always been friends, good friends, ever since he moved here. I’ve often seen them talking.’
‘Clara could have been dallying with anyone.’
‘Well, whoever he was, he’s certainly been very skilful about covering his tracks.’ Imogen sighed. ‘Don’t you want to know for certain it wasn’t Edward?’
Olivia covered her face with her hands. She did, of course she did. Whatever she might claim, her doubt was growing by the second. She kept combing through the months since she’d arrived, looking for an action, or a word, to confirm that something had been going on between him and Clara, that yet another man had moved from her older sister on to her. But there was nothing. Nothing.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ she admitted. ‘I only know I don’t want to believe it.’
Imogen stared, her lovely face softened by sympathy. ‘I know it must hurt,’ s
he said. ‘You have… Well, you have feelings for him, don’t you? I’ve seen that. Even before today.’
Olivia flushed. ‘Have I been that obvious?’
‘No, darling. It’s only because I watch you as I do. And you’re so like your mama, I find I can read you better than most.’
‘You must think me brazen, a harlot.’
‘No,’ said Imogen sadly, ‘not that.’
‘Nothing’s happened between us, Imogen. Nothing.’
‘I know, I see that too. But I’m not sure I’d judge you if it had. You have no idea the way it upsets me, how unhappy you’ve become.’ She bit her bottom lip, frowning. ‘Alistair,’ she said, ‘he’s not a nice man.’
‘No,’ said Olivia, ‘I don’t suppose he is.’
Imogen’s eyes glistened sadly. Olivia felt the temptation to tell her just how not nice Alistair was.
Imogen spoke before she could give into it. ‘I hate this for you,’ she said, ‘the hopelessness of it. But whatever went on between Edward and Clara —’
‘If something went on.’
‘If.’ Imogen’s small nod felt like an indulgence. ‘Then it won’t have been anything next to what he feels for you. I remember the way he looked at you when you left Sabia’s, that night you first met. It broke my heart. The pair of you break my heart.’ She sighed. ‘Will you ask him for the truth?’
‘I don’t think I can, not whilst there’s a chance I’m wrong. I don’t know if I could forgive myself for putting that doubt between us.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘I know it’s hopeless. I know that I’m married to Alistair. I don’t want you to think I’m being naive about that. But at least for now it’s only Alistair keeping us apart. I don’t want another wedge. I don’t want Clara to be a wedge.’ Olivia’s eyes swelled, her throat tightened with tears. She swallowed them. She would not cry again. She would not.
‘Let’s go back to my house,’ said Imogen, taking her arm. ‘We’ll have another drink, and try and find a way to get to the bottom of this hideous mess. Take a breath, darling, we’ll make this well.’
Beneath a Burning Sky Page 15