by H. Y. Hanna
“Why not? I mean, shouldn’t vampires know each other?”
Viktor gave her an irate look. “Young lady, when you walk into a room and look at a group of people, can you tell everyone who is American?”
“I…” Pomona faltered. “Well, if they dress a certain way or speak with a loud American accent… Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. I wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re, like, really trying to hide it.”
“It is the same for vampires. Yes, I can recognise those of my kind—but not if they make an effort to disguise it.” Viktor sighed. “And this murderer is clever; he will be making every effort to conceal who he really is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Caitlyn was still mulling over everything that Viktor, Bertha, and the Widow Mags had told her, as she and Pomona drove back to the Manor later that morning. She wondered if she could ask James to unlock the door at the top of the Folly and have a look in the belfry chamber when they visited it later.
“Maybe we can ask James to look in the Folly this afternoon,” said Pomona, obviously sharing her thoughts. “I mean, if we’re talking about coincidences, it’s a pretty big fat coincidence that there’s a tower with a belfry right here in the same village that Pierre Rochat was murdered. It’s gotta be connected!”
“Pomie, I just thought of something,” said Caitlyn. “When I was with Antoine in the Portrait Gallery last night, I had a look at that painting again—you know, the one I told you about, with the Four Horsemen… and I noticed something in the background: a tower in the middle of a forest, with a swarm of bats flying around it.”
“Holy guacamole!” said Pomona. “That’s, like, proof! Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I didn’t think of it. But it’s not really proof of anything—I mean, the person who painted that picture might have heard of the vampire legend and just put it in there for fun. Still… the tower in the painting does look exactly like the one on the Fitzroy estate.”
“You see?” said Pomona, getting so excited that the car swerved slightly. “That is proof, Caitlyn! Or at least it’s a clue—it means that the Fitzroy Folly could be the tower in the legend. And I’ll bet you anything that the stolen antique brooch is the enchanted key that unlocks the magical belfry. We need to tell James and—oh crap!” She made a sound of annoyance. “I took a wrong turn. We’re on that big road heading south, instead of the side one that goes to Huntingdon Manor.”
Caitlyn saw a road sign whizz past and realised that Pomona was right. They had ended up on the A429, otherwise known as the Fosse Way—an ancient Roman road built during the Iron Age—which was one of the main roads cutting north-south through the Cotswolds. It eventually merged with the bigger motorway that led all the way to London. Thankfully, it wasn’t one of the dual carriageway roads with a central barrier that prevented easy turning.
“It’s okay—you just need to find a turning lane and a side road, and you can head back the way we came,” said Caitlyn.
Pomona adjusted her speed to match the other cars and cruised along, looking for a turning lane.
“You know, I think I’m getting the hang of driving on the left side of the road. It’s just—” She broke off suddenly and stared through the windscreen. “Hey! Isn’t that Antoine de Villiers?”
Caitlyn looked around. “Where?”
“There! In that green convertible up ahead.”
Caitlyn caught a glimpse of the handsome Frenchman. “Oh… you’re right, that is him… He said he was going somewhere for business today, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but look at the direction he’s travelling in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re heading south.”
“So?”
“So yesterday at dinner, he said he was going to Birmingham. That’s north, right?”
“Maybe he changed his plans.”
Pomona said nothing. A minute later, a turning lane appeared on their right but she didn’t slow down.
“Hey—you’re going to miss the turn off…” said Caitlyn.
Pomona kept her foot on the accelerator. “I’m gonna follow Antoine.”
“You’re going to what?”
“I wanna see where he’s going.”
Caitlyn exhaled in exasperation. “What does it matter where he’s going?”
“He lied yesterday. I wanna know why.”
“Pomie, this is ridiculous!”
But Pomona ignored her and kept her foot steadily on the gas, keeping Antoine’s car in sight but making sure that she wasn’t too close. Soon they were on the A40, passing through the ring road around Oxford and then joining the M40—the main motorway down to London.
“You’re not going to just keep following him, are you?” asked Caitlyn incredulously.
“Why not? England is pretty small—I could drive from here down to Brighton on the south coast in, like, two hours. Anyway, I bet he’s going to London.”
Pomona turned out to be right. An hour later, they were on the outskirts of London, navigating the busier roads leading into the capital city. It was harder now to keep a safe distance behind Antoine de Villiers without losing him, and they almost did at one set of traffic lights, which turned red just as he crossed over.
“You just drove through a red light!” gasped Caitlyn as her cousin floored the accelerator and horns sounded angrily around them.
Pomona shrugged, her face a picture of concentration. It had become a game for her, following Antoine to his destination—a game she was determined not to lose. Caitlyn was relieved when the green sportscar finally slowed down, looking for a place to park. If they had followed Antoine any longer, she shuddered to think how many traffic infringements Pomona might’ve racked up!
Farther up the street, Caitlyn recognised the majestic façade of Harrods, one of the world’s largest and most famous department stores. They were in the elite London neighbourhood of Knightsbridge. Antoine de Villiers turned into a side road and Pomona carefully followed, driving casually past him as he pulled into a free parking spot.
“Jeez—how did he find a spot so easily?” she muttered.
Thankfully, luck was on their side too, and they found a free space a moment later. Pomona slid the car haphazardly into the spot, then sprang out of the car.
“Come on!” she urged Caitlyn. “We’ve got to see where he’s going!”
They jogged to where the Frenchman had parked his car and were just in time to see him in the distance, walking rapidly. They followed and soon came back out onto the larger street where Harrods was situated. In fact, Antoine de Villiers seemed to be heading straight for the luxury department store. He paused outside the grand main entrance and exchanged a word with one of the famous Harrods doormen, dressed in the iconic forest-green-and-gold livery, before disappearing into the store.
“C’mon!” said Pomona, putting on a burst of speed.
They hurried through the double doors and joined the crowds milling in the maze of sprawling shopping halls. Both girls strained to keep Antoine in view. Inside the vast store, with over three hundred departments across a million square feet, they would probably never find the Frenchman again if they lost sight of him.
Antoine was obviously familiar with Harrods, moving swiftly past the luxury accessories and perfumes, through the famous Egyptian room, decorated in gold fixtures and pillars carved with hieroglyphics, and on to the legendary Food Hall. The girls followed, darting between the aisles as they tried to stay close but unseen. It was hard walking past the incredible displays of gourmet food without being tempted—especially as it was now lunchtime and both girls’ stomachs were rumbling. Even Pomona became distracted from her mission as she slowed and hovered next to the display cases.
“Omigod, check out those chocolate cakes… and those pink ones shaped like little rosebuds… and the macaroons! And did you see those gorgeous tiny cupcakes? Oh, wait, the English call them fairy cakes… I wish we could stop and taste some! Omigod, look… there’s li
ke a million different sausages here… champagne ham… wow, so many pies—I’ve never heard of these flavours: ‘Royal Game with Blackcurrants’… ‘Hazelnut and Truffle Oil’… Man, I’m starving now! Wow, they’ve even got foreign stuff too… ‘A Taste of India’… sushi and noodles… Mmm… French pastries and baguettes… ‘Amaretti’—Italian almond cookies… ooh, and speculaas! I had some the night of the Open-Air Cinema—they’re delicious… Hah—they’ve got a Krispy Kreme Doughnuts stand—can you believe it?”
Caitlyn glanced anxiously ahead. “We’re going to lose Antoine if we don’t keep moving.”
Pomona sighed and gave a last lingering look at the shelves, then turned and hurried on. As they rounded a corner, however, they nearly collided with the man himself. He was standing next to the Caviar House & Oyster Bar, looking down at his phone.
“Do you think he just came in here to grab a bite to eat?” Pomona asked in disappointment.
The Frenchman looked up and the girls jerked out of sight.
“Did he see us?” hissed Pomona.
“No, I don’t think so,” whispered Caitlyn.
Cautiously, they peeked around the corner of the aisle, then relaxed slightly. Antoine de Villiers had walked on again, past the seafood bar and through an adjoining archway to the hall beyond. The girls followed. They found themselves stepping into a spacious hallway in which a large group of people were gathered. Unlike the crowds milling about in the other halls, this group didn’t seem to be browsing but rather waiting for something.
“What’s going on?” asked Pomona.
“I don’t know… it looks like there’s some kind of event…” said Caitlyn, stretching up on tiptoe to peer over the heads of those around them.
She could see some members of the press hovering around, brandishing cameras with huge flashbulbs, and a few large poster stands at the sides of the hall. Beckoning Pomona to follow her, she sidled through the crowd until she was standing in front of one of the posters. It depicted a close-up of an exquisitely-cut diamond ring, sparkling against a black velvet background, and some words in elegant calligraphy centred above the image.
“…biennial exhibition in the Harrods Fine Jewellery Room…” Pomona read. She turned to Caitlyn excitedly. “Antoine’s come to a jewellery exhibition. This can’t be a coincidence!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Caitlyn felt a stab of disappointment. She really hadn’t wanted to think that Antoine de Villiers could be involved with the murder, but she had to admit that Pomona was right: it did seem like a strange coincidence.
“Where is he?” Pomona asked.
Caitlyn surveyed the area and spotted the Frenchman at the other end of the hallway, next to a set of closed doors which obviously led into the exhibition. He was standing in an area roped off from the rest of the crowd, and from the look of the well-dressed men and women around him, they were obviously members of London’s wealthy set—probably enjoying special VIP access to the exhibition before the public was let in. They were being served champagne and canapés whilst they waited for the doors to open and Caitlyn saw several ladies surround Antoine, eagerly vying for his attention.
A separate queue was forming next to the VIP section, with a smartly-dressed young man checking people’s names against a list before letting them join the line.
“Look…” Caitlyn pointed out the young man to Pomona. “It looks like it’s invitation only.”
Her cousin didn’t seem daunted. She marched up to the young man and gave him a big smile. He blinked, looking slightly dazzled.
“Can I help you?” he asked politely.
“Ohhh… I hope you can…” Pomona purred. “We were just wondering if we could get in to see the exhibition.”
He gave her a regretful look. “I’m so sorry—there are only a limited number of tickets and they were sold out months ago.”
“Aww… come on… I know you guys always keep a couple of tickets aside …” She fluttered her eyelashes and gave him another beguiling smile. “Can’t you, like, bend the rules a bit?”
“Well, we do have a few spare tickets, just in case of a celebrity visit or something… but I don’t hold them. You’ll have to speak to Miss Fothergill. She’s the organising secretary for the exhibition and she controls everything.” He nodded to a woman standing a few yards away.
Caitlyn glanced over and saw an older woman in a turtleneck sweater and grey pencil skirt, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses dangling from a chain around her neck. Her mouth was pursed primly and she stood very erect as she made notes in a leather organiser. Caitlyn didn’t think she had ever seen anyone less likely to “bend the rules a bit”.
Once again, however, Pomona seemed undaunted. She strolled over to the woman and, leaning close, said warmly, “I had to come and tell you… I just love that top you’re wearing!”
“Why, thank you,” said Miss Fothergill in surprise, her cheeks flushing with pleasure.
“Is it cashmere? You just can’t beat cashmere, can you? But I think you wear it so well—I mean, I’ve seen people do cashmere turtlenecks and they just look kinda ‘dated’, you know? It totally turned me off—but now that I’ve seen the way you wear it, it’s totally changed my view about turtlenecks!”
Caitlyn didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or applaud. Her cousin was outrageous—and yet somehow people seemed to respond to her. Maybe it was Pomona’s warm, bubbly manner—or maybe it was because she said everything with such conviction. Confidence was infectious and people often followed exactly where you led them.
“You’re from the States, aren’t you?” Miss Fothergill asked with a smile.
“California girl, born and bred,” said Pomona, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, how lovely. I hear the weather there is wonderful.”
“Well, I gotta say, your weather’s pretty awesome too. Man, everyone told me it rains all the time in England, but so far it’s been fantastic.”
“Oh, yes, English summers can be quite nice,” said the woman with typical British understatement. “Have you been seeing the sights?”
“Yeah, we’ve been to some of the big stuff—like the Tower Bridge and the London Dungeons… We haven’t had a proper cup of tea yet though.”
“You haven’t?” The woman looked horrified. “You can’t come to England and not experience the full English Afternoon Tea!”
“Oh… is there anywhere you recommend? I know I can trust your taste.”
Miss Fothergill’s chest puffed up with pride. “Well, there are so many places really—there’s the Tea Room here at Harrods, on the fourth floor… that’s quite nice… and there’s Fortnum & Mason, of course, the famous food emporium in Picadilly—their High Tea is renowned… and if you’re going to the Cotswolds, you could have some wonderful afternoon tea in many of the little tearooms in the villages dotted around.”
“That sounds awesome,” said Pomona. Then she glanced across at the queue and said casually, “By the way, do you know if there are any tickets left for the exhibition? I didn’t know it was today and I’m just dying to see it!”
“No, I’m afraid all the tickets are sold-out.” Miss Fothergill glanced at her watch and lowered her voice. “But I’ll tell you what—we usually keep a few tickets back in case of any last-minute special guests. It’s so late now, I don’t think anyone else will be coming, so… here you are.” She reached into her handbag and withdrew a heavy cream envelope.
Pomona beamed. “Oh, I could kiss you!”
Miss Fothergill looked slightly alarmed. “Er… no, that won’t be necessary. But you’re welcome.” She gave Pomona a prim smile. “It’s been lovely chatting to you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in England.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Caitlyn as they hurried to join the queue. “If you ever need a job, Pomie, you’d be great as a door-to-door salesman!”
The VIP crowd had already gone into the exhibition room and the two girls shuffled impatiently at
the back of the queue.
“What if Antoine leaves again before we get in?” asked Pomona, craning her neck to look at the open doors ahead.
“Don’t worry—he’ll probably come out of the same doors so we’ll see him. Anyway, the line is starting to move; I think they’re letting us in.”
Several minutes later, she and Pomona walked into the inner hall and joined the people milling around the displays. Despite the dimmed lights, the whole room seemed to glitter and sparkle as the precious stones within the glass cases caught the spotlights and reflected them back in a shimmer of rainbow colours. Their size and brilliance were breath-taking. For a moment, Caitlyn almost forgot why she was there as she paused beside a glass counter displaying a stunning sapphire-and-diamond necklace on a bed of black velvet.
“He’s over there!” Pomona hissed suddenly.
Caitlyn jerked her head up and looked in the direction her cousin was pointing. Antoine de Villiers was standing in the far corner, next to a display case of antique watches. He had his back to them and seemed to be talking to someone.
“Who’s he talking to?” asked Pomona, stretching on tiptoe. With the dim ambient lighting, the edges of the room remained in shadow and it was impossible to see.
“Come on!” said Pomona, grabbing Caitlyn’s arm and starting to push her way through the crowd.
They jostled and shoved as politely as they could, trying to make their way to the other end of the room as fast as possible. But when they stumbled through the final knot of people and stopped by the antique watch case, they were disappointed to find that Antoine was no longer there. In fact, they could just see his dark head moving slowly away through the crowd.
Pomona made a noise of frustration and was about to plunge after him when the crowd shifted and a tall, dark-haired man walked past them. He was dressed all in black—a perfectly tailored black suit with a black shirt and a black silk tie—and flanked by two hulking bodyguards.
Caitlyn looked up, gasping as she recognised the piercing blue eyes in the thin, cruelly handsome face.