by Mary Birk
Aggravated at Reid’s lack of communication, Harry directed Allison to follow up on Stirling’s information, and she’d dived right into it. They’d driven into work together again this morning. His resolution that they go to and from work separately was a good idea in principle, but a little ridiculous when they were up at the same time and going to the same place. She never asked or even hinted that she wanted a ride, but always accepted gratefully when he offered. As long as they both knew he had no obligation to take her to and from work, it was fine.
Besides, he’d done it as much to spite Siobhan as to help Allison out. Siobhan hadn’t believed he’d spent Easter with his mates at the lodge. She’d been convinced he’d been with Allison. She’d been being a bitch about it again last night, although she’d stayed over anyway. Then she’d started in again about it in the morning. He’d brought her a cup of tea, though he’d been in a bad mood from her nagging. When she asked for another cup of tea, just to show he wasn’t going to give in to that kind of possessive shite, he said he didn’t have time, that he needed to get to work. Siobhan had slammed out the front door almost before he’d registered that she’d thrown his own cup of tea in his face.
After he changed his shirt, he’d called down to Allison to offer her a ride. That would show Siobhan. Besides, he’d met another woman at one of his mates’ houses before they’d gone to the lodge. Rita. She’d been kind of sexy, and he could tell she was interested in him. He’d call her and see if she wanted to go out tonight.
* * * * *
After her first dinner at Dunbaryn Castle, Tabby tried to access the chat room where she’d first found out about her au pair job, but couldn’t find it. She then logged on to her email account, deciding she’d let her mother know how wonderfully things were turning out for her. She pictured her mother’s envy when she heard about Tabby staying at a real castle. She’d taken some photos to prove that she was really here and downloaded them to the computer. It looked like she’d have a lot of free time because not only did Lady Anne take care of her baby part of the time, but everyone else around here wanted to do it as well: the Countess, the cook, Lady Phillipa, who insisted on being called Pippa, and even the Earl after he’d gotten home that evening.
She’d gotten pictures of the outside of the castle, the secret passage, the drawing room, and her own room. Her own room here was even nicer than the one she had at the MacTavishes or the Reid’s house in town. She had two beds with matching upholstered headboards in a large floral print, fitted bedspreads, and striped comforters at the foot of each one. An antique dressing table with silver and crystal ornaments sat in front of an alcove window, and a matching desk stood against one corner wall. A sofa covered with a different floral print than the bed sat in front of a marble-fronted fireplace, and an armoire to the side of the fireplace concealed a television and music system.
Tabby ended the email with a p.s. with the news that, just like in the movies, her tea would be delivered to her room in the morning. Not five minutes later, a new email appeared in her box. This one was from Peter.
She clicked on it, then reading it, smiled.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 7
Chapter 27
ANNE SURVEYED the work the various crews had completed on the Dunbaryn grounds since her last visit. Everything had been done pretty much according to her instructions except for where the stream flowed into the pond. Several wayward boulders, part of the original waterfall that had collapsed, still hadn’t been cleared out, which needed to be done before the plumbing could be repaired, and the waterfall rebuilt. Nor had the smaller rocks been cleared from the stream bed to allow the new lining to be laid. This was going to put everything off schedule. She pulled out of her file the bill for the firm that was supposed to have done the work. Either they’d quit halfway through the job and not told their main office, or they thought she was blind. They’d have to come back and finish the work before she’d authorize any more payments.
The men doing installation of the garden fixtures, however, were busy at work, and the plants that could be put in at this point were being installed by Dunbaryn’s regular gardening staff. She looked at her watch. Almost eleven. The crews would be stopping work for tea about now, so she’d take a break herself and go back to the house to nurse Michael. He had to be getting hungry.
The warmth of the castle was a welcome break from the teeth-chattering wind outside. It had rained last night, and again early this morning. Gauging from the way the sky looked right now, rain was likely again this afternoon. Anne removed her tall brown leather boots in the mud room and slipped on the comfortable shoes she’d left there earlier, before going into the kitchen. Mrs. Paulson was busy with lunch preparations, but motioned to the tea kettle on the stove.
“Almost ready.”
“Great. I thought I’d better feed the bossy little laird. Have you seen him?”
“He was exercising his lungs upstairs with your nanny. I’ll have tea sent upstairs.”
“Wonderful. I’m on my way.” Anne’s cellphone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and looked at the screen. Her heart skipped when she saw it was the manager of the Loch Etive Castle renovation job.
Thirty minutes later, Anne hung up the call, elated. They’d loved her plans and she had the job. Then she realized she was starting to leak milk, and ran upstairs.
She opened the door to Michael’s room and, to her dismay, saw that he was almost finished with a bottle Tabby was feeding him. In front of them, on the table, sat an empty bowl with scant remnants of rice cereal clinging to the sides.
Anne groaned. If she wasn’t nursing regularly, she wouldn’t be able to count on its not-completely-reliable anyway natural birth control effect. “Don’t tell me he’s full?”
“Just about.” Tabby looked proud.
“Sorry, I came inside to feed him, but a call came through I had to take.”
“No problem. We made do.”
“I got the Loch Etive job.”
“That’s great.”
“Isn’t it?” Anne took the baby. “He’d better finish his meal by nursing or I’m going to be in pain—and a mess.” She got Michael settled in nursing, but she could tell he wasn’t very hungry. He kept pulling away from her and smiling, patting her with his little hand. She finally gave up.
“You want to play, don’t you?”
Hearing a soft knock, Anne looked up to see her mother-in-law at the nursery door.
“Chérie, may I talk to you in private for a few moments?”
“Of course.” Anne put Michael on her shoulder to burp him. “Tabby, why don’t you take a couple of hours for yourself? I’ll take care of him until after luncheon.”
After Tabby left, Juliette sat down. Her face was so serious, Anne felt her heart stutter.
“Something’s happened to Terrence.”
“No, no, chérie. It’s not about Terrence.”
“The Earl?”
“No, Charles is fine.”
Anne, regaining her breath, loosened her hold on Michael. “But something’s wrong. What is it?”
“Darby called.”
Anne resisted the urge to make a face. Darby was Juliette’s daughter, after all. “Did she tell you she brought Andrew Grainger to the MacTavishes’ Easter party?”
“No. You saw them there?”
“Darby made sure we did. I got Terrence out of there before he could kill Andrew. But he calmed down by the time he left for Paris,” Anne said, thinking of Terrence’s conciliatory note.
“Paris?”
“He had to go there for work.” Anne wiped off Michael’s face, and took him to the changing table to put a clean diaper on him.
“You mean Spain, don’t you?”
“No, he’s in Paris.” Anne got Michael into a new diaper, and surveying the damage to the rest of his clothes from his rice cereal and banana feast, decided he needed a clean outfit. “Juliette, would you mind bringing me another set of clothes from Michael’s dresser?”
>
Juliette complied, handing Anne a pair of tiny jeans and a warm long-sleeved shirt. “Will these do?”
“Perfect, thanks.” Anne pulled off Michael’s dirty clothes, then guided his legs into the jeans. “What made you think Terrence was in Spain?”
“Charles talked to him morning.”
“He did?” Anne frowned, slipping the clean shirt over Michael’s head. She tucked Michael’s shirt into his jeans and put soft socks on his little feet. “There, all clean.”
“Charles said Terrence called from John Stirling’s yacht, and that they were off the coast of Malaga.”
“He told me he was going to Paris.”
“Perhaps it was a short trip, and he went to see John afterwards.”
Anne took a deep breath to calm herself. This went way beyond lack of communication. “If he changed his plans, why didn’t he call and tell me?”
“Perhaps he’s tried, and you missed it?”
“Maybe,” Anne said, but she knew she hadn’t. She checked her phone all the time; she’d have seen if he’d called. If he wasn’t in meetings in Paris, why hadn’t he picked up the phone any of the many times she’d called him? If he had time to talk to Charles, he had time to talk to her. “If you’ll excuse me, Juliette, I’m going to give Terrence a call right now.” She stood up, holding the baby. And, Anne, thought, he’d better pick up this time.
Her mother-in-law put her hand on Anne’s arm. “Not yet, chérie. I need to tell you something first.”
Anne sat back down, realizing she’d been rude. “I’m sorry, you said you had news.”
Juliette clasped her hands in her lap, drawing in a deep breath. Then she met Anne’s eyes, her own revealing deep anxiety. “I don’t know how to tell you, so I’m just going to say it. Darby and Andrew Grainger are getting married.”
Chapter 28
THE NAME he’d given her, Apara, meant she who comes and goes. Kristen Daly hoped the name was prophetic—that someone was going to come for her and she would go away from here. She had to survive until they came. Where they’d be coming to, she wasn’t sure. Whatever name these people used for their country didn’t match with any names she’d ever heard of, though she knew she was somewhere in Africa.
In the beginning, the man who had bought her had sex with her almost non-stop for a week. Then, almost as if she’d passed her sell-by date, he seemed to forget about her. Well, not quite forget about her. She slept with him at night, and sometimes he still heaved himself on top of her. And during the day, she was still required to sit on a cushion in a corner of his office in case he wanted her, which he rarely did. There was another girl in another corner, an Asian girl, who sat just as Kristen did, silently waiting. But Lord Ashaba—Lord was his first name as far as she could tell, not a title—was bored with them. Kristen suspected they were there as status symbols, like having expensive cars you rarely drove sitting in your driveway.
The men who came to his office, obsequiously paying their respects, would let their eyes slide over to her and the other girl when they thought Lord Ashaba wasn’t watching. In truth, Kristen knew Lord Ashaba wanted the other men to look at them. Both she and the Asian girl wore colorful silk gowns, and their faces and hair were exposed, unlike the Muslim women Lord Ashaba took for his wives. She’d only been struck once, when she’d resisted that first night. She never resisted again, and he never hit her again.
At night, she and the other girl sometimes were called upon to dance for Lord Ashaba and his guests, or sometimes just for him while he watched television, splitting his attention between them and the action features he favored. He never let his guests touch them, for which Kristen was grateful. She knew this wasn’t going to last long because she’d seen other obviously foreign girls who were concubines for some of Lord Ashaba’s highest assistants, and realized from things Lord Ashaba said that they’d once been in her position. Lord Ashaba’s men, while careful not to overstep their boundaries, clearly entertained hopes of eventually being awarded one or the other of the two girls in the corners.
Kristen tried to figure out how much time she had before she’d be passed along. The Asian girl had been there before her, so Kristen thought she’d be given away first. She assumed another girl would be coming soon to take her place in Lord Ashaba’s bed, then she’d take the Asian girl’s place on the floor in his room. She’d probably have no more than a month, after that before she’d be given to another man.
She prayed she’d be rescued before she got pregnant.
* * * * *
Just before midnight, Reid drove up to the house on Aytoun Lane and aimed his car into the garage. He’d taken Stirling’s plane home as soon as he’d gotten the phone call from his father giving him the news about Darby and Andrew Grainger. On the flight over, he’d worried about how Anne was taking the news. Reid knew Grainger wasn’t in love with his sister. No one who’d looked at Anne as Grainger had on Easter could be in love with another woman a few days later. Reid assumed that even as Darby had her motives for marrying Grainger, Grainger had his for marrying Darby, and Reid suspected that the man’s main motive was that he thought that as Darby’s husband he’d be able to see Anne more often.
That would not be happening. The couple would never be welcome at Dunbaryn when he and Anne were there, and they’d certainly never be invited to Aytoun Road.
Reid entered the house quietly, passing into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. He walked quietly upstairs, and opened the nursery door. He went over to Michael’s cot, empty now. He straightened the little sheets and folded a blanket that lay on the spot from which Michael must have been lifted. He arranged some stuffed toys along the side of the bed and left the room.
He was in his closet, and had just kicked off his shoes when his mobile phone buzzed signifying he had a text message. He grabbed the phone, and checked the screen. Reading the illuminated words, he sat down on the bed, and laughed.
THURSDAY, APRIL 8
Chapter 29
ALLISON SPUN AROUND, glaring at the four angry men encircling her. She’d not expected to be ambushed by the lot of them all at once, though maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her oldest, and most obnoxious brother, Evan, hadn’t shut up since she’d run into them. They’d been waiting for her around the corner from her work on the route she took to the underground. The things he was saying were awful, and she shouted at him to stop. People barely spared them a glance, apparently concluding it was a family row.
She made a fist, and using her most authoritative cop voice, warned Evan one more time to stop. He didn’t, of course. He thought he was the bleeding end and beginning. She advanced on him, drew her arm back, then swung her fist toward her brother’s stupid face as hard as she could, instantly feeling the impact of his jaw on her hand. She put her fist up to her mouth, afraid she’d broken something.
Evan fell back in surprise, slumping to the ground. Allison was saved from feeling too much sympathy for him by the crushing pain in her hand. Her other brothers rallied around Evan to pull him up, and examine the damage their little sister had done. Allison used the opportunity to get away.
On the underground, she sat nursing her injured hand. Her knuckles were skinned and her whole hand ached. Those absolute swine. She was doing nothing wrong and even if she were, it wasn’t any of their business. They’d all certainly sowed their own wild oats. What total arseholes.
She’d go home and open a bottle of wine and put her hand on ice. Harry was certain to be out by now, so she’d have the place to herself. Allison realized she’d better warn him to be on the lookout for her brothers, in case they tried to ambush him, too. How could she tell Harry what they’d been saying, though? That they’d accused her of sleeping with him? How absolutely mortifying.
But it was his nose and his life, and he might do best to mend fences before the bulls came charging through them to protect her perfectly safe virtue. Certainly safe from Harry, of all people. In fact, Harry had another
new girlfriend. She didn’t know what had happened to the last one, but this morning he’d come downstairs with a different one who’d he’d kissed and sent out the door before he and Allison drove in to the office.
Allison let herself in the front door, being careful of her sore hand, and went straight to the kitchen. Soaking her hand in ice water might help. She got a bowl and went to the freezer for ice. Then she decided she needed a drink first and set the bowl of ice on the counter. She looked in the fridge at her small stash of lager. No, she needed something stronger. She had wine, but that wouldn’t do either. What she wanted was whiskey, and that she didn’t have. Harry, though, did. She decided to write him a note and borrow some.
Allison pulled the bottle from the cupboard and poured herself a healthy portion, then put the bottle back. She leaned back against the counter, and took a big gulp. Then she found a pad of paper on the counter and tried to write a note to Harry about his whiskey, but her hand hurt too much to hold the pen, so she put the pen in her left hand and made some barely legible scrawls.
One-handed, she heaved the bowl of ice over to the sink and added water. She stuck her right hand in the ice water, and picked up the glass of whiskey with her left hand. She frowned. She was either going to have to put the glass of whiskey down or take her hand out of the ice water to get everything over to the table. Neither was an acceptable alternative. Or she could try to carry the glass with her teeth. But if it fell and broke, all that lovely whiskey would be wasted. She sniffled, feeling incredibly sorry for herself. Suddenly sensing someone watching her, she glanced over at the doorway and saw Harry standing there, looking bemused.