by Joan Wolf
“Why do you want him to change his mind?” she asked ingenuously.
Tony took a seat on one of the sofas and gestured for Mauley to do the same. “Money,” he replied succinctly. “Harry doesn’t have the money to keep up this immense property. With the money he would get from Mauley, he could afford to maintain the house and expand the stables. Hell, he would be able to afford a new car! It’s completely to his advantage to sell the land.”
And I imagine that it would be to your advantage too, Tracy thought. Some of Mauley’s money would be bound to trickle down into your pockets.
Tony said grimly. “I cannot believe that he is being so stubborn about property that is just farmland.”
“At least farmland contributes to the common good,” Tracy said. “It produces food.”
“And a golf course produces exercise and enjoyment for thousands of people,” Mauley returned swiftly. “It will contribute to the common good as well if not better than any farmland.”
Tracy disguised her disagreement and rose gracefully to her feet. “Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to your discussion. I have shopping to do.”
Both men had risen with her, and Robin Mauley bared his small teeth. “Pleasure to have met you again, Miss Collins.”
Tony said with an engaging smile, “I’ll see you later.” Tracy shared a gracious smile between them and floated out into the foyer, where a worried frown creased her brow. There had been an air of conspiracy between the two men as they came into the room that she did not like.
Harry’s bedroom door was half-open as usual, and she glanced back at the morning room to check if the men could see her. The sofa where both men were seated was out of her line of sight. Without stopping to think, she stepped into Harry’s room and shamelessly prepared to eavesdrop.
Mauley’s deep, gruff voice was easy to distinguish. “Percy isn’t going to wait forever on this, Tony. If I can’t tell him that I definitely have the land, he will look elsewhere to build his hotel. And that is something we don’t want to happen. A hotel is a key part of my plan, and Percy Hotels are the best.”
“I know,” Tony replied. Tracy had to strain to hear his lighter voice. “Harry is just so goddamn stubborn. But I have a few ideas that might make him change his mind.”
“I can stall Percy for a few more weeks, but not much beyond that,” Mauley said warningly.
“Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do. And if you do get the land, our deal stands?”
“Absolutely, dear boy. Absolutely.”
What deal? Tracy thought. But the men must have moved because their voices had become indistinguishable. She waited for a few more minutes, hoping that they would become audible once more, and while she waited she looked around the room.
It was a larger bedroom than hers, with an equally high ceiling and tall windows. The walls were painted Wedgewood blue, with the elegant moldings that divided the walls into squares and rectangles painted a contrasting white. Over the white marble fireplace hung a picture of horses on Newmarket Heath that Tracy was certain was an original Stubbs. Most of the furniture in the room was either Regency or French in style, from the blue silk chairs in front of the fireplace, to the small satinwood tables that flanked the fireplace, to the magnificent rosewood armoire. However, the blue-patterned carpet was definitely modem, as was the king-size bed, which was covered with a blue-and-white comforter.
A jet-black spot of fur was curled up in the middle of that comforter and Ebony was directing an outraged green glare at the intruder in her domain. “It’s okay, little girl,” Tracy said softly to the cat. “I’m not going to touch anything.”
The room was neat, but there were definite signs that someone beside Ebony inhabited it. Reposing on the Louis XIV table in front of the window was a pile of loose change, a set of car keys, and a folded-up newspaper. A man’s wool sweater was carelessly tossed on the bed and a pair of maroon slippers was on the floor. A book lay open and facedown on the bedside table, as if the reader had put it that way to mark his place before going to sleep. Before she could think better of her action, Tracy crossed the carpet on soundless feet to look at the book’s title.
Wellington: The Years of the Sword. The author was Elizabeth Longford.
He was reading a biography of the Duke of Wellington, the British general who beat Napoleon at Waterloo.
Tracy felt a shiver go up her spine. Charles fought under Wellington, she thought.
There was the sound of a door closing in the corridor, and Tracy flew to conceal herself behind the door. I hope to God it’s not Harry, she thought, and wondered why she had placed herself in such a potentially embarrassing situation for a man she heartily disliked. After a few minutes she peeked out into the hallway and saw no one. In five seconds flat she was inside the security of her own bedroom.
Tracy decided to get away from Silverbridge for the day and called Gail to make plans to go shopping. They were joined at the last minute by Jon Melbourne, who had finished his scheduled scenes and had reached the house just as Gail pulled up in a dark green Mercedes. When he heard that they were going shopping, he asked to come, as he needed to make some replacements to his burned-out wardrobe.
“I’m going to ask Dave to have the studio rent me a car, too,” he said as he got into the backseat. Tracy had traded places with Gail and was at the wheel. “Driving in the country is easy. One really doesn’t need a chauffeur.”
“That was my feeling,” Tracy said. She went down the drive for a hundred feet, then veered off onto a dirt road.
“Where are we going?” Jon asked, surprised.
“Meg told me there was a tradesman’s entrance to the property at the end of this road,” Tracy said. “I hope by using it to avoid that reptile Counes.”
The entrance was only wide enough for a single car to pass through at a time, and the gate was closed. Gail got out and opened it, and Tracy drove through. There was no sign of Counes, so she headed the Mercedes toward Warkfield.
All three of them were successful in purchasing the things they needed, and Tracy found a beautiful silver cup to send to her sister as a christening present for the new baby. When they had finished shopping, Jon suggested that they drive to Myddelton for tea. “There’s a charming old inn there that I think you would enjoy,” he said. “And you might like to see Myddelton. We are going to be shooting there in a few weeks.”
The day was still fine, and Tracy and Gail agreed that a side trip might be fun. When they arrived at the village, which did not include a house that had been built after the eighteenth century, they were enchanted.
“It’s like a place out of time,” Tracy said. “Like Brigadoon.”
They had just finished tea at a timber-framed medieval inn and were standing in front of the fifteenth- century battlemented and pinnacled church of St. Stephen. A group of tourists nearby were staring at Tracy.
“Do people actually live here?” Tracy asked, turning to look down the street at the lichen-and-moss encrusted stone-slated roofs and gables that adorned the charming old houses.
“It is her,” one of the tourists said loudly.
“Yes, people do live here,” Jon returned. He glanced at the tourists. “May I suggest that we move along, ladies, before we are assaulted by requests for autographs.”
Jon was familiar with Myddelton and played guide as the three of them walked around the village’s four main, streets, which were lined with timber-framed buildings with mullioned windows, seventeenth-century stone cottages, and elegant Georgian brick mansions. The tourist group followed them, and eventually Tracy did have to give autographs.
Why should these strangers have the right to interrupt my life just because they once bought a ticket to one of my movies? she thought as she signed her name on someone’s National Trust brochure.
She knew the standard reply to that question by heart: You’re a public figure, Tracy. You gave up your right to privacy the moment you appeared on a movie screen.
The problem was
, she had never planned to be a public figure, and she didn’t like it. She doubted that she ever would.
By the time they had finished touring, it was time for dinner, which they had in another old Myddelton inn, where once again Tracy had to sign autographs. It was nine o’clock when Gail finally dropped Tracy and Jon back at Silverbridge. They went up the stairs, and Tracy could not resist looking into the morning room to see if Harry was there. Jon followed her.
Harry and Tony were playing chess in front of the fire. Tracy looked at the two blond heads bent over the chessboard, one tawny and one sublimely fair, and felt a pain in her heart.
Shit. I have to get out of this house. I have to get away from him.
As she was thinking this, Harry’s head turned toward the doorway. “I see you had a successful shopping expedition,” he said, looking at the packages she was carrying.
“Yes, and Jon showed us around Myddelton Village, where we’re going to film in a few weeks. It was very lovely.” Tracy was relieved to hear that her voice was calm. Her heart certainly wasn’t.
“Isn’t Myddelton charming?” Tony said. “That’s why the National Trust took it on, you know. It’s so perfect.”
“It’s a fossil,” Jon said flatly. “Your family killed it when you wouldn’t allow any railroad lines to come through.”
“A good thing too,” Harry said, his voice very clipped. He was holding a knight in his hand. “The result is one of the most pleasing and individual places in all of England.”
“It couldn’t have been so pleasing to the people who saw their livelihoods disappear,” Jon said.
Harry deliberately placed his knight on the chessboard, leaned back in his chair, and regarded Jon with an expression that Tracy could only term insufferable. “It probably wasn’t pleasing to the slaves who built the pyramids, either, but the magnificent result of their labor has astounded and gratified people for centuries.”
Tracy abruptly realized that Harry was being deliberately provoking.
Tony’s light laugh cut through the tension. “Pay no mind to my brother, Mr. Melbourne. He’s a throwback to different times.”
“If it’s being a throwback not to want my acres of farmland turned into a golf course, then perhaps I am,” Harry returned evenly.
For the briefest of moments, a cloud appeared in Tony’s celestial blue eyes. Then they cleared, and he smiled. “See? He’s incorrigible. Don’t waste your breath trying to make him see reason, Mr. Melbourne.”
“Good advice,” Jon said tersely. “And now I will wish you all a good night. I have lines I must learn for tomorrow.”
“So do I,” Tracy said, deciding it would be wise to remove herself from Harry’s dangerous presence.
As she was turning away, he said, “If you care to go to church in the morning, Miss Collins, I will be leaving at eight-thirty.”
Tony groaned. “I hope you don’t expect me to come with you.”
Harry looked at his brother. “You most certainly will come with me. It won’t be long before the neighborhood knows that you are home, and it won’t look good if you don’t come to church.”
“Damn it, Harry. What do I care what the locals think?”
“You have a responsibility to set a good example,” Harry said implacably.
“Noblesse oblige and all that,” Jon said from the doorway.
Harry gave him a long level look. “Something like that.”
Tracy, who had just decided it would be wisest to stay away from him, heard herself say, “I’d like to go to church, my lord. Thank you.”
He nodded.
Tracy shifted her packages from one arm to the other, said brightly, “Well, good night, again,” and turned back into the foyer, leaving the two brothers to their chess game.
That night the Silverbridge stable burned down.
12
Tracy awoke to the sound of sirens. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, and her first thought was, Not again! In ten seconds she had pulled on the fleece robe she had bought the day before and run out into the hallway. Meg was coming out her door at exactly the same time.
“What happened?” Tracy demanded.
“I don’t know, but it sounded to me as if the engines went toward the stables,” Meg replied.
“Oh no!” Tracy thought of all the beautiful horses living in the Silverbridge stable and went cold with horror. “I’m going to put on my sneakers and go down there. Perhaps I can help.”
“Me too,” Meg said.
It took less than a minute for Tracy to lace up her sneakers, then she met Meg in the corridor again, and the two of them raced toward the stables.
First they smelled the smoke. Then they heard the high-pitched screams of horses in fear. Then they saw the flames. Tracy increased her speed and raced into the stable yard, which was a chaos of heat, loose horses wearing stable blankets, firemen, hoses, and spraying water. Harry and his assistant Ned Martin were trying to round up the horses to get them out of the firemen’s way. This was proving rather difficult, however, as none of the horses were wearing halters.
Tracy immediately pulled the tie off of her fleece robe, slipped up behind one of the horses, spoke to him soothingly, and slid the tie around his neck. When he turned his head to look at her she realized she had caught Maestro.
“Where do you want him, my lord?” she called. Harry was in the process of leading Pendleton out of the stable yard by his forelock. “In the first paddock,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Follow me.”
The fire lighted the whole area, enabling Tracy to see clearly as she led her horse after Harry and Pen. Maestro, thank God, was no trouble, walking eagerly after his stablemate. As soon as they had turned the horses loose in the paddock, Harry bolted the gate and said, “Thanks, but you shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.”
He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and there was a streak of dirt across his left cheekbone. She could almost feel the intensity of his concentration as he surveyed the chaotic scene in the stable yard.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she returned. “You need all the help you can get.”
Ned Martin was approaching them, leading a haltered Dylan, and Meg was following with another horse. Behind them the whole sky was brilliantly orange from the flames.
“I got the extra halters from the truck,” Ned Martin said to Harry, motioning with his chin to the leather straps hanging from his shoulder. “Take them.”
“Good thinking.” As Harry grabbed the halters, Tracy said, “Give me one.”
Without any noticeable hesitation, he tossed her a halter. “Let’s go.”
The two of them ran back to the stable yard to catch more horses.
By the time the red ball of the morning sun had arisen, the fire was out. Two horses had managed to slip away, but the rest of them were milling around in the first paddock. Harry was relieved that the escaped horses belonged to him, not to a client, and was confident that someone would find and return them. “The important thing is that they all got out of the stable,” he said.
The stone shell of the stable still stood, but the roof and the whole of the inside was just charred wet rubble.
“Jesus, Harry,” Ned Martin said as he stood in the stable yard regarding the smoldering pile. “Jesus.” He sounded deeply shaken.
“At least it didn’t spread,” Harry returned grimly. “The fire department did a good job of containing it.”
“How did it start?” Meg asked. The gray sweatshirt she wore over her flannel pajama pants was stained with the slobber of several horses.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied wearily. “We are always so careful of fire around the stable. Perhaps the fire department will be able to tell us something.”
“I never let the grooms smoke in the stable,” Ned said. “You know that, Harry.”
“I know, Ned.”
The firemen were still pouring water into the already-sodden building. “They’re only making a bigger mess,” Meg said fretfully. �
�Why don’t they give it a rest?”
“They want to make certain that there are no sparks left,” Harry returned. “We don’t want it to start up again.”
“It won’t start again. There’s nothing left to burn,” Meg said bitterly.
It was true. Tracy felt infinite sadness looking at the wreck of what had once been a proud and beautiful building.
“I need some coffee,” Harry said.
“I can brew you some if you don’t feel like going all the way back to the house,” Ned offered.
“Thanks,” Harry said, and the four of them began to walk in the direction of the indoor riding ring, where Ned’s apartment was located.
Tracy was pleasantly surprised by the living quarters that Harry provided for his assistant. The upstairs apartment had a big, bright modern kitchen, and the living room that they passed through was painted a pale yellow and was tastefully and comfortably furnished. She took a seat at the light wood kitchen table and watched as Ned measured coffee into his coffeemaker.
“I’d rather have tea,” Meg said.
“That’s easy,” Ned replied, and filled a kettle at the sink.
Tracy had been running around so much with the horses that she had not realized how cold it was. Now that she was at rest, however, she began to feel chilled. She pulled her fleece robe closer around her and hoped that the coffee would not take long to make.
Harry must have seen her gesture, for he said, “Are you cold, Miss Collins?”
“A little, but the coffee will warm me up.”
“It’s just plain silly to go on calling Tracy Miss Collins, as if she was a stranger, Harry,” Meg said. “After all, she’s staying in our house, and she just helped you save your horses.”
“True.” Harry’s dark eyes rested on Tracy’s face. “But perhaps Miss Collins has other ideas.”