by Carrie Marsh
Laura looked at him and then looked again. It was not that she wanted to stare – rather she couldn't help it. He was wearing an elegant tweed jacket and casual wool trousers, his hair a burnished mustard she had only ever seen on television, lightly touched with gray at the temples. He had an even smile and a pleasant, oval face with a fine thin nose.
“Good morning. Uh, afternoon,” Laura corrected herself, glancing around. The restaurant was already full and she would have to help Bethany out with the ordering. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. Morrison. I had a reservation for today.”
“Oh...” Laura's hand flew to her mouth. “I'm so sorry! Did you call earlier? I forgot to make the sign...”
Red with embarrassment, she went to the bookings list. There it was: A. Morrison, twelve-thirty.
“I'm so sorry...” Feeling dreadful, Laura cast around the dining-room, looking for a place to seat the man. There was one table fortunately still open, over by the window. “Please,” she said a little desperately, “come and sit here?”
“Thank you,” he smiled pleasantly.
“We were so busy...I completely forgot!” Laura said again, blushing furiously as she checked the table was set and waved the man to his seat.
“Please,” he said softly, “don't worry about it. I quite understand. These things happen all the time.”
He was so pleasant and polite that Laura calmed down slightly, though she still felt awfully daft. When she reached her desk she collapsed behind it, covering her head with her hands.
That's the millionaire! And I just forgot about him. She groaned, and then had to see how funny it was: Janet would be furious with her! Though Janet would doubtless also see the funny side when Laura told her later on that day.
“Boiler's fixed, Miss,” Mr. Perry said, drifting past the desk from the second entrance to the kitchen.
“Thank Heavens!” Laura beamed. “How much do we owe you?”
“I'll send the account,” he said laconically. “And mind you tell the cleaning-lady to clean out the fan sometime...thing was full of dust. No wonder the boiler keeps breaking.”
“Oh,” Laura blinked. “Thank you. I will.”
“No worries, lass! Pleasant day and all.”
“Thank you! To you too,” she called to his retreating back. Once he had gone she put her head down on her desk, exhausted.
As if working on a murder case isn't enough! Now I have boilers, linen and affronted Prince-Charming to worry about.
She looked up to see Imogen Weston coming into the dining-room. Fortunately she had remembered to book her a table. The woman wore a long navy shirt-dress and a brief brown coat, paired with a silk patterned scarf in the same shade of navy as the dress. She sighed. She had to admit she was extremely elegant, her face classical and her brown hair styled in elegant curls.
I can't actually believe she would pay a contract killer to fix her tax problems. It seemed inane, and Laura decided she had to take her off the list of suspects.
“Miss Laura?”
“Mm? Oh! Bethany!” Laura jumped up. Musing about the murder case had completely distracted her from her work. She has promised to help Bethany with the service in the crowded restaurant.
“Thanks, Miss. This place is packed today!” Bethany grinned, though she looked remarkably tense as she ran to take orders from another table.
Laura found herself taking orders, fetching trays and pouring drinks and, before she knew it, lunch service was over for the day.
It was only after she finished clearing away the things with Bethany that she noticed that there was one table that hadn't been used.
Strange, since it was so busy...She musingly went over to the place. She noticed a “reserved” sign. It was labelled: “Reserved: I. Weston.”
So she didn't dine here after all, Laura thought wonderingly. I saw her come in...Maybe she just didn't want today's menu, or she didn't like how crowded it was.
Laura sighed. Just because the woman was having financial difficulties and was in a small village when you'd expect her to be in London, didn't mean she was a murder suspect. She chuckled to herself. She was starting to make silly accusations. There were only two suspects: Mrs. Hugh and Mr. Hugh – brother of the deceased. She should concentrate on those.
“Miss Laura?” Bethany asked, laying knives on one of the dining-tables. “You said something?”
“Oh, no,” Laura said airily. “I was just having a funny thought. I suppose I'm tired.”
“I can understand that,” Bethany said, stifling a yawn. “Dinner service was ages yesterday!”
When the dining-room was settled down for the day, Laura sat down behind her desk again, relieved. The lunch-service had been okay, the linen had arrived. With any luck everyone would have hot water that evening. Now she could settle down and work on the murder, at least until supper-time. She reached for a notebook and a pen and started to jot down her thoughts.
Suspects: Mrs Judy Hugh and Mr. Brandon Hugh. Motives: For Judy, to inherit. For Mr. Hugh...?
Did he stand to inherit anything? I wonder. Tapping her pen against her teeth, Laura leaned back in her chair. If he had, how would she find out? The easiest possibility was to ask Judy.
Dinner service was exhausting but simple, and Laura left work at ten p.m. As she passed Janet's desk, she winked, but she was talking to a woman in a brown coat with glossy chestnut hair. Imogen Weston. Laura sighed, seeing them grinning at each other as if confiding secrets. I'm glad I crossed the woman off the list. Breathing in the fragrant air, she walked lightly down the stairs to where her car was parked, around the back of the hotel. All was well, for the moment, in her world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A MOMENTOUS HAPPENING
A MOMENTOUS HAPPENING
“Monty?” Laura walked into her house, feeling suddenly strangely anxious. Monty was always on the welcome mat, waiting when she arrived home. Today, he wasn't.
“Monty?”
Laura walked lightly into the kitchen, carrying some groceries she had bought at the gas station on the way home. Monty wasn't at his bowl.
Unpacking the groceries, Laura felt a rising sense of anxiety. Even if he was out, he usually came in when he heard her in the kitchen, demanding food or a cuddle from her. She finished what she was doing, put the kettle on and reached out with her mind, trying to sense his thoughts.
“Monty?”
Nothing. She sighed and tried to tell herself she was being silly. “He's probably in the fields, having fun.” Monty had made friends with the local cat populace, particularly a delicate marmalade-and-white cat by the name, or so Monty relayed, of Keillor. He had every right to be out having fun. She reached for the cheese-and-spinach pie she had bought at the farm-stall and popped it in the oven to heat.
When supper was done, she walked through to the bedroom. There, on the bed, she saw a dark shadow on the bed near the top end.
“Monty?”
Hello...his mind sounded faint, as if he had just woken up and was still very tired. Some of us feel a bit off color. He stretched and, wobbling, collapsed on the bed.
“Monty!” Laura ran to him and stroked his fur, feeling him for injuries. His nose was dry and hot. Did he have a temperature? “How do you feel?”
I have a headache. My joints are aching and I have the most awful cramp in my abdomen. My skin prickles.
Laura let his thoughts convey the feeling to her, and felt as if she had a terrible headache and a grinding, bruised pain in her tummy. Her skin felt like little needles were inside it. She stroked Monty. “Lie down, sweet,” she said. “I'm getting help.”
Monty collapsed gratefully on her pillow, still sitting hunched, as if in pain. Laura reached for her mobile. “Howard?”
A tired but cheery voice reached her from the other side. “Laura! Hey! Good to hear you. How are you? Sorry to have been away so long...”
“Howard. I'm fine. Good to hear you. Could I ask you something urgent?”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
“What would make a cat have a temperature and be itchy all over? Not itchy: Prickly?”
She could hear Howard pausing to think. “Is Monty ill?”
“Yes.”
“I'll come round to see him.”
Laura breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
“No worries.”
Twenty minutes later, Howard was there. Laura was sitting in the bedroom with Monty, feeling sick with worry. He wasn't hungry – he wasn't interested in any food at all, even turning away from the bowl of warm, creamy milk she offered him. She could barely hear his mind, every message one of pain.
“Howard! Thank heavens!” she exclaimed as she let him in. He looked wide awake and was carrying his bag.
“Where is he?”
“In my bedroom.”
That was tricky. Howard had never explicitly been in Laura's bedroom, except once when the lightbulb popped. She followed him in, nervous lest she had left underwear on the chair by her bed or stockings on the heater.
“Monty,” Howard said gently, dropping down beside the ill cat. He rested a hand on the silken dark head and stroked it gently. “Laura says you don't feel nice.”
No, I don't, Monty said to Laura. She sensed he was marginally fed-up with Howard, but she also sensed a feeling of deep relief from the small fluffy body as Howard ran his hands down him, feeling his tummy.
When Howard had finished his brief examination, Monty seemed relaxed. He looked up with his green eyes slit, half-closed. Laura heard him shuffle about a bit. He purred.
Howard, on the other hand, looked concerned.
“What is it?” Laura asked.
“Has he eaten anything strange? Did you see him in the garden, perhaps, eating something?”
“No,” Laura said cautiously. He hasn't been..?
“I think he ate rat poison.”
“What? Oh, God. Howard..?”
“He will probably be okay,” Howard said gently, as she sat down on the bed, hands over her face. “It isn't fatal – not necessarily. I have known people, and cats, recover just fine. It depends how much he ate. He isn't likely to have eaten a whole rat – I know you feed him! If he took a mouthful or two, he's not got enough inside him to kill him – I'm sure.”
“Oh, Howard,” Laura said, a tear running down her face. “Monty is...he's my friend! He means so much to me...” She covered her hands again and wept.
“It's okay,” Howard said gently. His arm was round her shoulders and he held her close. “He'll be fine. Would you like me to put up a drip? He just needs his fluids maintained until he can eat properly by himself. Or his kidneys will suffer.”
“Oh, Howard,” Laura said again, sniffing. She leaned against his shoulder and he held her close. He leaned in and, very slowly, heart beating under her hand, he kissed her.
“Oh...” Laura sighed. Something about having him here, caring for Monty, in her bedroom, made her whole body ache. All thoughts of commitment or fears or worry melted away. She wanted him. Leaning against Howard, she deepened the kiss. His mouth tasted of lemon – fresh and delicious. She wanted to carry on kissing him. She wanted to lie back on her bed and feel his hard, muscled body on hers.
“Laura...” Howard said, breath thick in his throat. “I...” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I need to set up the drip now.”
Laura laughed breathlessly. “I can let you do that,” she agreed, relinquishing her hold.
“I'll try not to take too long,” he said huskily. Laura felt his voice wash through her like rain.
“Good,” she breathed.
He put a drip in tenderly, using a needle meant for a baby and sliding it in carefully to Monty's leg. Monty, bravely, sat still throughout the procedure. When it was done, Howard arranged a support using Laura's clothes-rack and moved Monty gently to the chair.
“Sorry, Monty,” he said shakily. “I think I'll be sleeping here tonight.”
Laura felt her whole being ignite and she grinned. “Yes, Doctor Howard Lucas. You shall.”
They were only wrong about one thing – the sleep. Neither of them slept much at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SURPRISES EVERY DAY
SURPRISES EVERY DAY
The next morning Laura woke to the sunshine, golden on her closed lids.
“Howard?” she murmured, as memory came back to her and she reached for, and found, his warm body still beside her in the bed. She ran a hand down his muscular arm and shivered.
“Laura,” he murmured warmly, and reached for her. He held her against him, and Laura felt as if she had never felt so amazing before. His lean, firm body was against her bareness, his chest pressed against her side as they cuddled warmly together.
“I suppose I need to get out of bed,” Laura said reluctantly. She had to go to work, and so did he.
“I suppose,” he said, grinning. He stroked her hair and kissed it, running his other hand slowly down her arm. “I suppose I have to go, too. I feel like just staying in bed.”
“Me too.”
They laughed and kissed and sat up.
The first thing Laura did as she slid out of bed was go to the chair.
“Monty?” she felt him. He was sleeping deeply and she had a sudden terror that he would not wake up.
Hello? The mind voice was very quiet, as if he were half-asleep. He was.
“I didn't mean to wake you,” Laura said gently. She knelt down and kissed him on the head softly. “Are you any better?”
I am. I slept well, thank you. And I feel less sick now.
“I'm so glad you're better,” Laura said gently, and stroked him again before turning to face the rest of the room. Howard was still in bed. He was leaning against the board at the back of the bed, grinning at her.
“Enjoying the scenery,” Howard smiled lazily. Laura, naked, felt herself blushing.
“You are an indecent gentleman,” she said teasingly.
“Yes, I am.”
They kissed and Howard slid out of bed. Fluid and lithe with muscle, he held her to him and then bent to collect his clothes.
“Shower?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Laura drifted off towards the shower. As she ran the water, she closed her eyes, feeling the bliss of the previous night pulsing in her blood like rain. She could barely believe what had happened. She had spent a night with Howard. A man she had loved since she met him, if she was feeling honest. Her heart felt as if it had caught fire.
The scented steam swirled around her as she washed and then she slid lightly out and reached for a towel to dry herself. “Your turn.”
“Thank you,” Howard said, grinning ironically. He stepped in and she soon heard his bass voice singing off-key songs in the shower.
Grinning, Laura dressed herself for work. She was still relatively early, and took her time. She went over to talk to Monty before heading for the kitchen.
“How are you. Will you be okay today?”
I'll be okay. I think he can take this thing off before he leaves! He said, indicating the drip.
“I'll tell him,” Laura promised. She drifted into the kitchen.
She and Howard had breakfast together, laughing and joking as if they did this every day. They knew each other so well that it was almost as if they did – this new interaction only added another layer to their closeness, enhancing a friendship that had grown over a year.
Just before he left, Laura remembered to ask him about the drip.
“Should you take Monty's drip down?” she asked. “He seems to be feeling much better?”
“I think that's a good idea,” Howard said gently, kissing her hair lightly as he passed on his way to the bedroom.
He bent down to examine Monty with his customary gentleness, and, carefully, slid the needle out of his leg. He put a piece of sterile cotton swabbing on the wound, fastening it there with micropore-tape.
As Laura watched him work, her hand on his shoulder, she talked
to Monty reassuringly.
“It's okay, baby. He's just taking the needle out. It might hurt a bit.”
Monty did not reply, but allowed Howard to remove the needle and to bandage his leg in complete silence. When he was done, he stood up and stretched.
I think I shall get some sleep. This room was not particularly quiet last night – someone was keeping me awake.
Laura felt herself grinning, and when Howard turned to her, her face was split with a wide smile, her laughter bubbling over.
“What is it?” Howard asked, eyes sparking with mischief.
“It's Monty,” Laura said, chuckling. “I think we kept him awake last night.”
Howard, assuming she had deduced that from the cat's enormous stretch, smiled back. “Poor chap – I suppose we did.”
Laura laughed. “It's so wonderful he's better!”
“Yes,” Howard agreed, holding her close. “It is.”
They kissed lingeringly in the doorway and then parted company for work.
At work Laura could barely concentrate. She was grinning and drifting about in a state of delight.
“Miss Laura?”
“Mm?” Laura asked Bethany who had appeared before her desk, biting her lip worriedly.
“Message for you. You left your mobile in your pocket,” she explained, when Laura stared at her.
“Oh! I did? Silly me. Thanks!”
“Don't mention it.”
Laura reached for the mobile in the pocket of her coat, which she had left in the doorway on the coat-rack. She felt a delicious anticipation, hoping Howard had messaged her.
As it happened, he had. But that message was not the most recent one. That was from Judy Hugh.
“Oh?” Laura said to herself surprised. Only when she had read it did she remember she had texted Judy the day before, asking her if she wanted to meet her for coffee on the weekend. Judy's reply was positive. Hi, Cousin! That would be great. Thanks. See you at ten on Saturday? J.
Laura smiled and wrote an encouraging response. She had hoped to invite Howard for dinner. She would have to get rid of him by that time.