A Proper Cuppa Tea

by K. G. MacGregor

  “Why the charade? Both of you pretended you didn’t know each other.”

  “Come on, she was a patient in a confidential drug trial. It wasn’t my place to say anything. When she pretended not to recognize me, I followed her lead. I’m sorry.”

  “Why would she…it doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s a question for her, not me.”

  Channing groaned. “Must you always be so…so ethical?” With the phone tucked beneath her chin, she returned to the kitchen and inspected the wound. “All right, it’s stopped bleeding. Can you look at the picture again? I don’t care if you’re a witch doctor. You have to tell me what to do.”

  “Let Maisie make the call. I’m sure she’s seen her fair share of cuts and scrapes. I don’t see anything that would alarm me if I were in fact medically qualified to say so, which I’m not.” She finished with instructions for how to clean and dress the wound if they decided not to seek medical care.

  “Please tell her thank you from me,” Maisie said cheerfully.

  “Maisie says thanks. So do I, Lark. Sorry I turned into my beastly self. I was frightened.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be happy to come by later and give it a look if you want. I can even give you a ride to wherever you might be going this evening…if you’re still planning on going out, that is. And back home tomorrow.”

  Clever. “Yes, that would be convenient. See you later then.”

  “She seems like a nice young woman,” Maisie said as Channing dabbed her hand with a soapy cloth. “And pretty too. From Boston, is she?”

  Channing’s heart leapt at hearing she might have an ally in Maisie. “That’s right. She’s wrapping up her work here soon and going back. What’s with this secret, the two of you pretending you didn’t know each other when she came for dinner?”

  “Oh, that…I felt so silly. I’d only met her the day before, for the interview in her office. I was afraid she might mention the plans we’d made for our pension before Cecil and I had the chance to tell you.” She scolded Channing with a shaking finger. “All the while you were bottling up a secret of your own about Lord Hughes’s estate. It was such a relief when we sat down and talked it out.”

  “Secrets are silly, aren’t they? Both of us trying not to hurt each other’s feelings. If we’d been honest from the start it would have saved us a lot of worry.”

  Maisie put the kettle on for tea as Channing swept up the glass. “Speaking of secrets…you’ve become close with Dr. Latimer.”

  Had Cecil not seen them together, such a question would have triggered what Channing called her “deflect mode.” Keep calm, make the suspicious seem ordinary, and change the subject. There was no point to avoiding it now, as it was inevitable. “She’s quite nice. Wonderful sense of humor too, very British. I like her very much.”

  “Your jaunt over to Amsterdam…it was one of those gay pride parades, wasn’t it? I saw it on the BBC. Quite colorful, all the boats.”

  A deep shudder sent a rush of fresh heat to Channing’s face. This was the conversation she’d dodged for fifteen years. “It was quite the party atmosphere. Great fun.”

  Maisie’s trusting blue eyes flashed just the slightest hint of hurt. She’d held the door wide and Channing had been too cowardly to walk through it. It was the first time she’d considered that her pretense might be hurtful for someone who was waiting for her to open up.

  “Yes, it was a gay pride festival. It’s true, Maisie…I’m gay. I’ve pretty much known since I was about twelve, believe it or not. It was confusing for a while but I understand it better now. And I’m quite all right with it. Happy in fact. Not that it matters, since there’s nothing I nor anyone else can do to change it.” She tried to read Maisie’s face, which somehow managed not a flicker of emotion. “I never told Poppa…it’s possible he suspected but we never talked about it. That whole Thatcher thing and all. But anyone who knows me knows I’ve had a suspicious lack of boyfriends. There was always Kenny, who’s…well, he’s gay also. He’s been with Oliver for several years now.”

  Maisie nodded slowly, her face still giving nothing away. “Cecil guessed as much about Lord Teasely. Saw him once when he was just a lad at the Plough and Fleece with some of his mates. Cecil said a new boy came in and they all kissed. It upset him a bit, what he saw. He doesn’t understand how two men can fancy one another.”

  She thought again of Cecil’s angry glare. “I’m sure it’s difficult at first, especially if it spoils all the expectations, all those silly plans that Kenny and I would grow up and get married. Lord Alanford knew…and he made life miserable for Kenny at home, which is why he spent so much time here. I always assumed Poppa knew as well since Lord Alanford was his best mate, but he never said. He was always kind to Kenny. It’s better now, the relationship with his family. Probably helps that they like Oliver so much.”

  The more she tried to normalize the discussion, the more it sounded to her ear like chattering. She needed Maisie on her side.

  “The poor fellow, having to go through that,” Maisie said. “He’s such a dear young man.”

  “And full of mischief too, speaking as someone who knows him quite well.”

  Channing checked the wound one last time and confirmed the bleeding had stopped. As she fetched the first aid supplies, Maisie poured their tea.

  “Cecil and I, we’re old fashioned, luv. That sort of thing is more accepted now, I know. Still, it’s a bit of a shock when you find out it’s someone you know. You’re used to thinking of them one way and now they’re another way.”

  “A bit unsettling, I suppose. I always had a strong feeling it would be, which is why I kept it from you…and from Poppa as well. I didn’t want it to cause problems between us. There were times I felt horrible about it, that I was being dishonest with you. But it never seemed worth the worry to upset everyone when I had no one special in my life.”

  Lark was special, but the rift with Cecil had left her feeling vulnerable about saying too much. If he was intent on judging her, she didn’t want to bring that on Lark.

  As if on cue, the back door opened to Cecil, who was carrying a box of groceries. It was instantly obvious he was perturbed, as he wouldn’t meet her eye.

  Channing stiffened at first but then chastised herself for her cowardice. “Maisie’s cut her hand, Cecil. It’s all right I think, but you mustn’t let her do too much.”

  He promptly inspected the bandage and expressed concern.

  “We were just talking about my friend Lark,” Channing went on. “You’re upset with me.”

  A scowl overtook his grizzled face, and still he wouldn’t look at her. “It’s not right, Miss Channing.”

  “Maisie and I were just saying it’s a bit of a shock to suddenly discover—”

  “It’s not what God intended.”

  Channing sighed, realizing she’d have to try a new tack. “I do respect your right to your religious beliefs, and I know you feel them quite sincerely, but honestly…I don’t share them at all. I’ve never been one for the church. How could I be when they seek to negate my very existence?”

  “You are the one who’s doing that,” he said, his anger causing him to spit his words. “If your Poppa were here…he’d be ashamed of you.”

  Her face suddenly burned but not with the guilt he’d intended. What she felt was rage. “I’m truly sorry to have caused you such an upset, but I refuse to be ashamed of who I am. This is the real Channing Hughes, Cecil. It’s who I’ve always been. If it was your intention to hurt my feelings, then you have. But if you’re trying to bully me into denying my own existence, I’m afraid you’ve fallen miserably short. The only thing you’ve managed to accomplish is to lower my opinion of you. It’s not how you treat people you profess to love.”

  He took a step toward her and shook his finger. “You are not the child I helped raise.”

  “I’m exactly that child—all grown up.”

  “Please, both of you. Stop this.” Maisie’s cheeks were strea
ked with tears. She’d spoken too late to stop the angry invective.

  “I’m going,” he said.

  When the door closed behind him, Maisie fell into Channing’s arms. “Darling, I’m so sorry. He doesn’t mean those awful things. I hope you don’t either.”

  Cecil had known Poppa better than anyone. It crushed her to think he might be right, that he’d have been ashamed of her. That wasn’t the grandfather whose memory she cherished.

  “It would take a lot more than that to change what I feel for you and Cecil. I love you both so much.” Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she held Maisie’s shoulders at arm’s length and steadied her voice. “Are you disappointed, Maisie?”

  “Not in you, luv. Never in you.” Her voice was achingly sweet. “I’m a little sad…I’d have liked for you to have a little one of your own someday. I’d have loved that baby like my own grandchild.”

  “Don’t count me out, Maisie. I may surprise us both someday.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wendi took the chair opposite Lark’s desk and crossed her legs, causing a stylish platform boot to dangle like dead weight. “What can I help you with, boss?”

  It was critical for Lark to get this interview right. If her renewed focus on Wendi turned out to be a wild goose chase, the stain of suspicion could end the young woman’s career.

  Certain facts were straightforward. Someone had switched out the transdermal patches for three study subjects, replacing them with high-dose nicotine patches that triggered an array of frightening symptoms. Automation and strict quality control measures at the Munich packaging and distribution center made it unlikely the switch had taken place there. Also a fact—in a marked deviation from normal procedures, those individual drug packets had not been subjected to the usual inspection upon delivery to the participating clinics. Without doubt the switch was deliberate. While the transdermal patches were similar in appearance, it strained credulity to think a single nicotine patch could have accidentally found its way into a packet with six trial patches, let alone into three separate packets.

  Along with the facts were several conjectures. The switch likely took place at PharmaStat rather than at the clinic, since the affected subjects were at two different hospitals. Trial supplies were stored in a locked, climate-controlled dispensary at PharmaStat and delivered to the clinics once a week. Only a handful of people had access. And finally, whoever sent Shane with the deliveries probably had known he wouldn’t examine the individual packets.

  All that gave Wendi the opportunity and means. Did she have the motive?

  “Wendi, I need to go over some questions I asked you earlier and make sure my record of events is correct. You handled most of the deliveries to the clinics, and you always inspected the contents of each package, right?”

  “Correct, except for the two deliveries Shane made.”

  “And can you tell me the reason Shane was sent those two times? Since it wasn’t his usual job, that is.” According to Shane, Wendi had asked him to make the run because she was working against a deadline on a report for another client.

  “Because I got slammed with reports.” She scrolled through the calendar on her phone. “Here it is. Dr. Martin asked for an interim compliance report for Abbott Labs.” Her hand shot to her mouth. “Oops, I probably wasn’t supposed to say who it was for. Please don’t tell Dr. Batra I did that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not even writing it down. What about the second time?”

  “That would have been the twenty-sixth. It was a…let’s see, a subject recruiting update. For a different client. Not Gipson, not Abbott.”

  “So just routine reports.”

  “The reports themselves were routine. I’ve done dozens, probably hundreds of them. It’s only a matter of pulling together the data on the page. I’ve a template for every project. And of course I check and recheck the numbers.” She touched her chin pensively. “And I try to stay on top of the schedule. It’s all on a white board in my cubby, the dates for what’s due to whom. What caused the panic was that neither of those reports was scheduled, which is why I was slammed.”

  “What do you mean by not scheduled?”

  “Apparently Dr. Batra was conferencing with the clients and needed to gen up on the status of their trial. At least that’s what Dr. Martin said when he asked for the reports. I got Shane to sort the deliveries because I didn’t have time.”

  “On both occasions?”

  Wendi nodded.

  Two last-minute special reports—both ordered by Jermaine Martin, ostensibly for Niya—upended usual procedures, exposing the trial to possible sabotage. Lark tried to shake off the implications.

  “Wendi, something came to my attention in my discussions with the nursing staffs at Shire and Addenbrooke. They all remarked about your professionalism, how you’re meticulous about the delivery process, opening every box to inspect the seals on each packet.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “I know, it’s probably overkill. Some of them take the mickey, say I’m OCD. I’ve always done it that way though. It’s how we were taught at Sheffield. Verify that treatment packets are intact, that they haven’t gotten wet or spilled out in the bottom of the box. I found that once, believe it or not. A box cutter had sliced one of the packets open. It was contaminated and had to be replaced.”

  “It’s a good habit, very conscientious. So it’s not part of the training here at PharmaStat?”

  “Only when it’s stipulated by the client, which it hardly ever is. Dr. Batra seems pleased that I do it, but it isn’t strictly required. As far as I know, I’m the only one who does.”

  There was nothing in Wendi’s demeanor to suggest that she would do something that was not only malicious but dangerous. But whoever had done this was a master of deception.

  “Wendi, I need to be blunt here. Something went really wrong with the Flexxene trial and we need to determine exactly where it all broke down. We’re looking at possible tampering.”

  Her blue eyes opened wide in surprise and her freckled face began to turn red. “Oh my God, you don’t think I—”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m still gathering information to determine how it could have happened.”

  “I can’t believe it…I’m the one person who does things totally by procedure.”

  “Like I said, it’s a good habit, Wendi. As far as I’m concerned, that makes you part of the quality control team.”

  Even so, Lark planned to check her story about the last-minute assignments. Drug tampering was only one aspect of her investigation. Whoever had done this had also laid a trail to implicate Shane and alerted the media with a bogus story about Gipson putting profits over safety. It would take a perfectionist to pull it off…and by all accounts, that described Wendi to a T.

  * * *

  Leon Downey had been a college mate of Kenny’s at Queen Mary in London before dropping out for a career in real estate. Well-connected with the gay scene in London, Kenny said, especially in professional circles. Just the guy to help get Penderworth ready for sale.

  Though foppishly dressed in a shiny black suit with patent leather shoes, he’d trudged through the seeping moss to view the exterior of the manor house from all angles. After a detailed inspection of every cupboard and closet within, including the Brownings’ humble quarters in the old carriage house, he was to recommend simple repairs that might pay off with a higher asking price. He clearly was knowledgeable and market-savvy, but with all the charm of a plate of peas. Three times he’d called her Chandler.

  “How soon do you think I’ll be able to list the property?” she asked. Now that she’d made up her mind it had to be sold, she was anxious to see the process underway. Saying goodbye was a different matter, but they weren’t there yet.

  “It all depends on what you choose to do. People sell homes ‘as is’ all the time, but they don’t usually fetch as good a price. However it might be best to go that route in your case.”

  “
So lots of repairs, huh?”

  “More than a few, less than a lot. The foundation is quite good and the house has weathered nicely. If one merely wanted to live here, I’d start with a new roof to protect the structure and its contents, and add a few joists to level the second floor. Also, the entire parcel needs to be graded for drainage. Those are time-consuming, so a quick sale wouldn’t be possible. But if one wanted to enjoy living here, there’s also much to be done with the baths, the kitchen, the carriage house.”

  “So you’re saying that ‘as is’ means the buyer takes care of the roof, the joists and the drainage…which means I could list it for sale right away.”

  “Yes, though I’d not recommend an actual listing, Chandler. Sorry…Channing. An historical property such as Penderworth attracts an undesirable element of, shall we say, sightseers. They run the agents ragged setting up tours purely to satisfy a leisurely interest in period homes. Very few of them can afford to seriously entertain a purchase of this magnitude, especially considering the cost of repairs and upkeep.”

  Little wonder Leon was Kenny’s friend, given how much Channing wanted to smack him. “Very well, not listing but…”

  He gave her a haughty cluck and said, “Any agent worth half his salt probably already has a list of buyers who are salivating for such a property as Penderworth. They’d sit down over a scotch whiskey and strike a deal within a week. Subject to your approval of course.”

  The thought of leaving the manor and all its memories in a week hit her stomach like a bad egg. There was an upside however—a quick sale would force her hand about returning to Boston.

  As if conjured by thoughts of Boston, Lark drove through the gate and parked near the front door. She’d dropped by after work three days in a row, ostensibly to check on Maisie’s wound, but also to pick up Channing so they could spend the night together at her flat.

  “Hi, beautiful,” Channing said, delivering an unabashed peck on the lips. Now that her secret was out, she couldn’t be bothered with hiding her feelings.