Davina watched him like a frightened sheep.
“And when it didn’t,” said Elain, who had recovered her calm, “you figured that if the insurance company didn’t pay the claim, Math would be in financial trouble anyway. So you called the insurance company with an anonymous tip that he was guilty of arson.”
“No!” Davina exclaimed, but as Rosemary made a noise of fury, she turned to her sister. She seemed to recognize that the look of cold rage Rosemary was directing at Elain meant she was guilty. “I didn’t know that,” she amended.
“You don’t know it now!” snapped Rosemary. She turned to Math. “What are you going to do?” she demanded, a woman who would ask no quarter and give none. She was only asking for facts.
Math said slowly, “Most of what you’ve done hasn’t had the effect you were after. But there’s one thing you did that’s unforgivable.”
She snorted. “Oh, really, how melodramatic. What have I done that’s unforgivable? Tried to rob you? People do that every day and are forgiven.”
He said, “Yes, I think they do. But you did something more than that. You destroyed Elain’s paintings.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Vinnie. “Surely not!”
Elain sat mute, staring at him, feeling as though her eyes would catch fire if they stretched any farther.
“A few stupid sketches! She’s lucky I didn’t do more, the interfering, busy—”
“Shut up,” said Math evenly, and Rosemary swallowed and went silent.
“Well!” said Jeremy. “It’s certainly been one for the books!”
“I wanted to be a writer, you know,” Rosemary said conversationally. “They wouldn’t let me. They sent me off to teacher’s training.” No one said anything, and a silence fell on the room.
Brian Arthur, who had left some time before, came back and nodded to Math.
“The police are on their way,” Math said.
Davina gulped and began to sob. But not Rosemary. “Really, how pathetic you all are. You’ve been sitting on a gold mine for fifty years, between you. It took me to find it, me to discover the way in. You ought to thank me. You can sell this place now for a fortune! And you’re turning me over to the police? There’s gratitude.”
The whine of the police siren came up the valley on the wind.
* * *
“So you were suspicious all the time?” Elain asked.
It was nearly dawn. “It was clear there was something going on.”
“And...you did ask Brian Arthur to check me out?” she asked, half hoping it was true. If they had each mistrusted the other, there might be room...
“He did that on his own. It just didn’t occur to me. But as he said, he likes to be thorough.”
Ah, well. She might have known. “I know you can’t forgive me,” Elain said. “I know I’m ugly. But I’m—I just want to say I’m sorry.”
They had climbed the stairs together and walked along the hall to her room. The back stairs led up another flight to his flat.
Math looked down at her, unsmiling. “May I come in, Elain?” he asked quietly.
Her heart kicked against her ribs. “What do you want?” she whispered.
He breathed once. “Just—not to let you out of my sight. Just to hold you and know that you’re breathing.”
* * *
They explored the passage the next day, Elain and Math and Brian Arthur, climbing down the hidden staircase to the cellar. There, with the push of a large rusted latch, the wall opened, and they were in the secret passage where the wartime supplies had been stored.
“The mine was abandoned when the Romans withdrew, was it?” Brian Arthur asked. “I’m not much on ancient history.”
“When the Roman Empire began to collapse, they pulled their garrisons out of the conquered territories,” Math said. “Later, a fort would have been built over the Roman site—they’d built here before the Romans, too. I suppose they found the tunnels useful, especially in times of attack. They could store supplies and water and animals there, and maybe they could even go through the tunnels to come out behind the enemy. We don’t know how many entrances there might have been.”
“And when the fortress was built, it incorporated the tunnels, too,” Elain suggested. Last night, they hadn’t talked, they hadn’t made love. They had just lain holding each other till they slept.
Math nodded. “The house was begun in the time of Henry VIII. Henry was the one who demolished the monasteries and made Roman Catholicism illegal. So the house, like so many others, as Rosemary said, was built with a priest’s hole and with the passage leading to the mine.”
“And Jessica knew about it,” said Elain. “And told her lover how to use it.”
“No doubt.”
“I wonder what got walled up to keep out Jessica’s lover?”
Math shrugged. “Maybe the rockfall was caused deliberately. Or maybe it was just a part of the myth. Or it may be that the walled part was opened again later. Certainly the stairs and panelling have been kept in good order well into this century.”
And then, after all those centuries, the secret had been lost. Elain sighed. “I’m glad it was found again. But what a pity it had to be Rosemary who did it.”
* * *
Later, Math and Elain walked on the hill among the trees, the fortress behind them. The sun was bright, the birds were singing, it was a perfect day. They didn’t talk. Something had changed, so that it seemed they might never need words.
They climbed to the fortress, and Math led her inside the old keep. The sun was high, pouring through the open roof onto the grass floor.
She leaned against a stone wall and turned her face up to the sun’s rays, closing her eyes. When a shadow came between her and the sun, she opened her eyes. Math was leaning over her.
“Do you remember the day you climbed these stairs, and I came in on Balch, and you came down to me?” he asked.
She caught her breath at what she heard in his tone. “I remember,” she whispered.
“I knew that day,” he said. “That’s how strong it was for me. I’d felt it before—even when I saw you at a distance on the day you arrived, I was driven by something. And when I spoke to you, somehow I had to keep you here. But that day—that day I knew. I thought you knew, too.”
“Yes,” she said, her heart pounding. “I thought it was that other woman, the watching woman, but it was me, too. It was me, wanting to run to you. Only I was so afraid.”
His eyes went dark. “I wanted to make love to you then as I have never wanted to make love to any other woman. I knew you’d think me crazy if I said anything. I’ve never needed control the way I did then.”
But she knew there had been another time, later, when he had needed control not to smash her into the ground. When he had looked at her with icy hatred.
His right hand came up to caress her cheek; his left arm embraced her. He said, “Last night, I might have lost you. By my own hand I could have sent out of this life the only thing I want from it.” His voice trembled. “Then I saw how impossible it would have been to live without you.”
She asked, “Do you—think we were enemies once?”
Math shook his head. “I have no explanation for things like that. But if we were, we never will be again.” He bent and kissed her neck, and she felt the passion trembling in him.
She sobbed once. “I’m so sorry for what I did,” she cried hoarsely. “I didn’t—just didn’t know what to do, falling in love with you and spying on you and—”
He kissed her lips gently, stopping her words. “No,” he said. “Rosemary called you spy and cheat, the kind of words I had used, and all I could see was how stupid and ridiculous those words are, used to you. You’re not those things, you’re not that person.”
“Who am I?” she whispered.
“You’re my woman, my wife,” he said. “You’re everything to me. And what I said last night was the truth I would have seen before, if I hadn’t been so insanely angry. You never tri
ed to hurt anyone, or did anything you did out of self-interest. You were trying to do what was right.”
She blinked because her eyes were swimming. “Do you trust me, Math?”
“With my life. With everything I am and have. Last night you said to me, ‘I know I’m ugly,’ and I knew I was the one who had made you think so. You are so beautiful that my heart is torn out every time I look at you, but because I was hurt, I uttered an unforgivable lie. That lie was worse than any you might have told me. Will you forgive me, my love?”
She felt tears on her cheeks. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said.
He pulled her to him then, and kissed her mouth. And as his hungry, seeking hands ran over her flesh, her body began to sing for him.
* * *
“Well, we’re a little reduced in numbers these days,” said Jeremy. “I hope you’ll get the repairs done and some people in before the season is entirely over, Math.”
“So do I.” Math grinned.
“No comment on the present company, of course. Elain’s omelette is delicious. And eating by candlelight is always charming, whether the electricity is down or not. No, it’s only that one is rather tired of the erratic quality of the Monday night meal.”
“There’s always the pub,” Math said heartlessly.
Jeremy shuddered. “No, really, Math. Chicken in a basket!”
“You mustn’t be so ungracious, Jeremy,” said Vinnie reprovingly. “I am so glad everything is over, and that all those ugly things have stopped happening, I don’t care what I eat. Not that the omelette is not delicious, Elain.”
“Thank you.”
“And what a relief it is not to have to share it with Rosemary. I did get so tired of her always complaining about our Jessica! I found it very hard to be polite sometimes.”
“Didn’t we all.”
“A most unpleasant woman. And when you look at the intelligence that went into it all, it certainly makes one uncomfortable. It was all so well planned and executed. I, for one, would never have dreamt Rosemary had a hand in any of it. They were always so obviously not here when anything happened.”
“Yes, Rosemary is not stupid,” Math agreed. “And she has very cool nerves. I imagine her real weakness was Davina.”
“Do you remember the day the coal got on the rug?” Vinnie said to Elain. “How they went off with their picnic? When they came back—the fuss they made at the door, being too wet to come in, and needing towels. It was very well executed.”
“Of course, Bill helped with the fuss.” Elain grinned.
At the sound of his name, Bill pricked up his ears.
Jeremy began to giggle. “Bill has really been the only one of us to express his opinion of Rosemary fully. I admire that, I do, indeed.”
They all laughed, and Bill, recognizing their approval, sat up, his mouth open in a broad grin. Elain slipped him a piece of cheese.
“How did they execute it, exactly?” Jeremy asked tentatively. “I’ve never quite followed.”
Math tore off a bit of his French bread. “On that occasion, they went out by car, drove eventually to the car park that services the public footpath, walked up to the fortress and came down through the tunnel to the lounge. I assume Rosemary had chosen a rainy day so that there would be fewer people on the path to notice them.”
“And because there was more chance of there being a fire in the lounge, no doubt,” said Vinnie.
“I remember thinking how muddy Rosemary’s oilskins were that day,” Elain mused. “And of course, the day I went down the tunnel, she recognized that same particular greasy dirt on me. That’s why she came to my room that night—to try to learn what I had found out.”
“She must have been terrified that someone else would realize that it was a gold mine,” said Jeremy. “I said so, you know. I guessed it without realizing. If only people had listened.”
“And then she saw my sketch of the tapestry, and must have been really scared. She couldn’t have known why I’d painted it.”
“I suppose when we found out you were here as a private investigator, Rosemary was the least surprised of us all,” Vinnie said.
Elain glanced at Math then, but he only smiled at her.
“Well, of course, some of us suspected something,” said Jeremy archly. “You just aren’t quite one’s image of an artist.”
Elain smiled. “But I am an artist.”
“Yes, that’s not what I mean. I mean you’re not the image of an artist.”
“But—”
They were all momentarily silenced, as usual after one of these confusing declarations. “Well,” Jeremy went on, “I must say, it’s good to have Jess back again, isn’t it? I didn’t at all like thinking that she was ‘turning,’ or whatever they called it, and wanting to kill us all.”
“I never did think it,” said Vinnie. “It was a ludicrous idea.”
“But all those tricks—didn’t it make you wonder? There didn’t seem to be any other explanation.”
“Jess was no explanation,” Vinnie insisted. “I’ve lived with her for nearly fifty years. Those things were not her at all. Her tricks were always humorous, always. Puncturing someone’s arrogance, or—”
With a little gasp of understanding, Elain’s brain suddenly made sense of something it had unconsciously been puzzling over for some time. She put down her knife as the other three turned to her expectantly.
“I’ve just figured it out!” she told them. “I see what happened! There were Rosemary and Davina blaming things on Jessica, and each time, something occurred to prevent their horrible tricks causing real damage. Right? When they put the burning coal on the carpet, Bill went crazy till Math shoved him into the lounge. And when they broke the tap in their bedroom, my paintbox fell apart and my turps broke all over the floor.”
They were looking at her a bit blankly. “Yes, we know this, dear,” said Vinnie. “But I don’t see—”
“Don’t you see that it’s those tricks that are like Jessica? Whenever Rosemary got rude she blew smoke at her or something. See? Jessica knew all the time who was doing it. And she sabotaged every attempt. She spooked Bill—ghosts can do that to animals, can’t they? And she made my paintbox come open—maybe even made sure I took the back stairs that day!”
“I believe you’re right,” said Vinnie happily. “Of course Jessica would have wanted to protect her reputation. Why didn’t we think of that long ago?”
Math was grinning. “And that’s not her best trick, either. What caused Rosemary’s nightgown to catch on the wood panelling that night? Without that, we might not have caught her.”
Jeremy choked. “Poor Rosemary! Can you imagine her caught in that little space and tearing her way out of her nightgown? Then running up the ladder mother naked and throwing a robe on before rushing out pretending to have been awakened by the explosion?”
They all burst into laughter. “Like Superman in a telephone box!” Elain gurgled. “Oh, if only we could have seen that!”
“I suppose Jessica saw it all,” Vinnie said, wiping her eyes. “I hope she got a good laugh. I’m sure you’re right, Math. That’s down to Jessica, too. She never did like Rosemary, you know, and that’s very like her sense of humour.”
“I’m sure she enjoyed it,” Math said. He picked up his wineglass. “That calls for a toast, I think.” With murmurs of agreement, the others picked up their glasses. “To Jess!” said Math. “Wherever she is.”
Slowly the candle flames faded and died. They gasped and then laughed, and the sound of silver laughter joined their own faintly on the night air.
“Jess” they said, and drank.
* * * * *
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8718-1
Dearest Enemy
Copyright © 1995 by Alexandra Sellers
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerogra
phy, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Dearest Enemy Page 24