Greengage Shelf

by Emma Sterner-Radley

  Then Laura kissed her, deeper this time. Kit’s senses filled with Laura’s mouth, the warm, velvet feel of it and the ghosting taste of the red wine they’d drunk with dinner. It would be easy to lose herself in this again and end up making love to Laura right here and now.

  Then the memory of a big pink balloon and a moustachioed little man popped into her head, and she pulled away from Laura. “Maybe we should leave before I tear your clothes off.”

  Laura gave a shy, flattered sort of smile. “Yes. This dress was made for me by a London tailor who’s not only retired but far too expensive for me these days.”

  Laura stepped back, and Kit tried to compose herself by asking questions. “Oh, really? When?”

  “Hm. Must be around eleven years ago.”

  “Eleven? But we’re both thirty-one. Did you get this when you were twenty?”

  Laura smoothed down said dress. “Yes. That’s good tailoring for you. It can leave room for when you fill out through the years due to too many jam-drenched waffles.”

  “At least if you fill out in all the right places.”

  “Behave,” Laura said with a smirk that was ordering Kit to do the opposite.

  She reached out to touch Laura, but she danced away and opened the door to let herself out of the phone booth. Kit followed, heart bubbling over with affection.

  Outside, the heavy, wet air still felt refreshing compared to the air in the booth.

  They returned to the walk they’d been taking before that phone booth lured them in, now heading up the hill to Howard Hall and Kit’s cottage.

  As they strolled in comfortable silence, Kit thought about Laura’s dress. Back in London, the rich people she’d seen had often been businessmen and women, third-generation bankers, and foreign oligarchs.

  However, the landed gentry tended to be just that: out on the land. They had their manor houses, halls, and old seats out in the countryside, most of them crumbling by what she’d heard. They often seemed to have more titles and family history than ready cash.

  Someone like Laura, modest as her ancestry was compared to old families with actual titles on the mainland, would be more likely to have boots made by a shoemaker and a dress that some old tailor had sewn, and keep them all until they wore out or didn’t fit. The upper middle class, the stockbrokers, CEOs, solicitors, and so on, were more likely to buy expensive designer brands and change their outfits every season.

  The rich are bloody confusing.

  “Where are you with the book affair?” Laura asked, interrupting Kit’s musings.

  “Alice has arranged for me and the suspects, I mean her family, to sit down and chat over drinks. Then we can get to the bottom of the will-hidden-in-the-book thing I told you about.”

  “Excellent. Will you want company?”

  “I doubt your uncle would let you go alone, so it’s best that you sit this one out, babe.”

  Laura sighed. “You’re probably right. Speaking of him, I should get back to the Hall to babysit. I guess there’ll be an evening of playing chess while he prattles on and I daydream about you.”

  Kit laughed. “About little old me, huh?”

  “Mm-hm. About those cornflower blue eyes behind cute glasses, rosy cheeks, a stunning pair of long-fingered hands, and girlish curves supported by… mmm… lean muscles.”

  Kit withdrew her hand from Laura’s so she could cross her arms over her chest in feigned annoyance. “Oh, so you’re not going to daydream about anything else than how I look? Now who’s objectifying who, mate?”

  Laura playfully slapped her hip. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

  “You don’t want me to mate with you?”

  Laura made a noise like a badger who’s been stepped on.2 “Kit! You know what I mean.”

  Kit was laughing too hard to answer. Instead she let herself be pulled into a kiss and embrace halfway up the hill. Here, she thought, they should be safe from Charlie Baxter and his Barbie balloon. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for Maximillian. Oh well, spending time with Laura was always the best way to spend time. Even if it was without kissing. Or cuddling. Or wrapping her legs around Laura. Or, well, why not be honest?

  Going at it like two rabbits after a plate of oysters and two pots of coffee.

  Love was never straightforward on Greengage, but that made it all the sweeter.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Biggest Tosser

  The late evening’s light had that warm tinge of summer eves, all honey and gold. It filtered through bleached-white net curtains and perfectly cleaned windows. Alice Caine was without a doubt houseproud.

  Kit stood in Alice’s little cottage, admiring the gorgeous, big bookshelves while ignoring the floral wallpaper in eye-bashing pinks and purples.

  All the suspects were present. Well, except Liam Soames, who had been invited but claimed he was busy. Maybe he was. Or perhaps he didn’t want to socialise with the Caines, since most of them looked down on him. Kit didn’t know if Liam was an astute judge of character, but surely that sort of snobbery and rudeness would be obvious to anyone.

  The Caine family, on the other hand, were all accounted for.

  Phillip Caine’s appearance was as stern and unpleasant as his manner on the phone. He and Jackie sat on either side of the mauve sofa. Kit had the feeling that the space between them was as much due to years of arguments as it was due to comfort. A round pillow with the words “Home Sweet Home” embroidered on it sat between them. However, that was probably not as telling of their marriage situation as the distance between them was.

  A bit ironic, Kit thought. Bet their home is anything but sweet.

  The only interaction Kit had seen between the pair was the occasional glare and sharp word. This stood in sharp contrast with the doting Jackie did on their daughter. She cuddled and coddled the girl as if she was a baby and not a teenager. It made you wonder how much of it was for Caitlin’s sake and how much of it was Jackie needing the affection. Jacqueline Caine also had kind words to spare for her brother-in-law and even gifted him a smile or two, something which she didn’t do for anyone else in the house, including Kit. This did nothing to dispel the gossip that Jackie and Anthony were having an affair. Nevertheless, Kit refused to make any assumptions on the basis of island gossip about a woman who was unhappy in her marriage seeking kindness from another family member. That might be naïve, especially for a Londoner, but Kit tried to give people the benefit of the doubt.

  Speaking of Anthony, he was standing by the fireplace, fidgeting with a small porcelain elephant. He put it back on the shelf with a little too much force, and Kit jumped with worry about the porcelain cracking. It seemed to hold together, much as Anthony gave the impression of barely avoiding cracking under pressure.

  With bleached blonde hair and clothes of an equally unnatural platinum colour, Caitlin was propped against the wall, typing away on her phone at the speed of light. Kit didn’t blame her. This little gathering must have been boring for her, and she probably had friends she wanted to talk to. Kit tried to observe her, but, of course, saw no signs of the girl either being prone to stealing or feeling guilty about having taken a book. It had been a year since that book disappeared, and thirteen-going-on-fourteen-year-old Caitlin’s life was no doubt filled with much more recent and juicy drama.

  Alice Caine was in the kitchen, preparing drinks and snacks. Earlier, she had offered to whip up a pitcher of Pimm’s and serve the cheeseboard she had prepared. At that point, Phillip had banged his fist on the armrest of the sofa and griped that this was too much for a regular Tuesday evening, especially as he planned to leave soon. Jackie had added that it was a school night for Caitlin and then glowered at her jewel-encrusted watch as if she wanted to have left ten minutes ago. Alice had thus simplified the treats down to glasses of sherry and port, served with some crackers, and Kit had tried not to pout. Big summer-sweet glasses of Pimm’s and a full cheeseboard sounded like a lot more fun, even if she’d have to exercise like mad to counteract the cal
ories.

  Kit was still standing there, casting glances at the Caine family, when Phillip rubbed one of his thick eyebrows and growled. Actually growled. His face was a picture of annoyance.1

  “You’ll pardon my restlessness, Ms Sorel,” he said, leaving no room for negotiation. “But I simply cannot see why Mother thought we all needed to meet to discuss trifles such as missing books with someone who, no offence, is a complete stranger to us. I told you the other night, this is all codswallop.”

  Kit gave a slight shrug. “And as I told you, your mum is worried because things were moved around the house and something went missing. That would be disconcerting for anyone, but especially for someone who is elderly and lives alone. I think it’s natural that she wants some answers.”

  “I could see that if there were signs of a break-in or something valuable stolen,” Jackie said in a posh voice with a tinge of her native Scottish accent. “In this case, though, we don’t know anyone has actually been in here. Perhaps the book merely fell down behind the bookshelf? Or someone borrowed it when they visited and never told Alice?”

  Phillip waved his hand in the direction of his wife as if he wanted to waft away her words. “What does it matter anyway?” he snarled. “I can buy Mother ten copies of the missing book, ones that are in better condition than the ratty, old, dog-eared copy she lost.”

  Kit’s gaze shot to him. “You remember the condition of the book that went missing? Did you ever read it?”

  His upper lip twitched. “Do you mean Journey to the Centre of the Earth in general or that exact copy?”

  Alice tottered in slowly, carrying a tray of tiny, high-stemmed glasses. Three contained pale amber liquid and two held blood-red port. Kit tried to not be annoyed at that it was assumed the women would want the sweet sherry and the men got the strong port, especially as she did in fact want the sherry tonight. She picked up a glass, briefly marvelling that the spirit’s colour matched the evening sun’s before answering Phillip.

  “I meant that exact copy. The one you described as… ‘ratty, old, dog-eared,’ was it?”

  He squirmed. “That was an educated guess. All Mother’s books tend to be old, careworn copies. Oh, and obviously no port for me. I’m driving.”

  “Of course. Silly me,” Alice said, placing the tray on the coffee table. She smiled at Kit. “He’s right about my books being old. I like buying books second-hand. It feels like I’m adopting them, saving them from the rubbish bin, as it were.”

  “Agreed,” Kit said, returning the smile.

  Alice glanced around until her gaze set on her granddaughter. “Caitlin, dear, I’ll go fetch the crackers and some water for your father. I’ll get you a drink at the same time. What would you like?”

  The fact that this fragile woman in her seventies was waiting hand and foot on her family without any assistance hit Kit. “Maybe Caitlin could fetch a drink for herself and pick up the crackers and water when she’s in the kitchen? I’d like you to be here for this, Alice.”

  The last bit wasn’t quite true as she was more here to observe Caitlin than chat with Alice, but it was either that or Kit would have to help her, meaning that she would miss out on her reason for this visit: watching and questioning the suspects.

  To Kit’s surprise, everyone looked appalled at the suggestion. Alice’s eyes widened, and she quickly said, “No! There’s no need for Caitlin to wander around on her own.” She took a breath, smoothed down her skirt, and then in a calmer tone added, “You are all my guests. Naturally, I will fetch the refreshments.”

  Caitlin was blushing a shade of red you rarely saw on anything else but a mailbox. “I’ll have a Sprite if you’ve got some.”

  “I think there are a few cans left since your last visit, dear. I shall pour you some in a nice glass,” Alice said.

  Kit couldn’t help but notice the relief in the other three adults in the room. Either this kid was a menace when it came to pouring drinks or there was some truth to the rumour of her stealing things. Or maybe that was a bit of a reach. Perhaps there had just been an incident in the past where Caitlin had snuck herself some sherry while alone in the kitchen.

  Alice trundled off to get the Sprite, water, and crackers, so Kit turned back to Phillip. “Where were we? Right, the missing copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth. So, you never borrowed it?”

  A muscle bounced in Phillip’s cheek. “No.”

  There was a moment of silent, challenging eye contact. Kit leaned back against the wall, trying to seem nonchalant. “Okay, um. You’re absolutely sure?”

  Phillip gave her a burning stare which probably served him well in the air force. Through gritted teeth he said, “Obviously I’m bloody sure, you silly woman!”

  The way that he sat back on the sofa suggested that he thought he’d ended the discussion with fear-inducing rage and a sprinkling of misogyny. Kit tried to not smile pityingly at this misconception. “I see,” she said, unmoved. “I was just wondering if you might’ve known if there was something in it? A slip of paper or something?”

  “What? Of course not,” he barked.

  Alice came back in with two highball glasses and a plate of crackers. “Are we back to that, Kit? The idea that something was written in the book or left in it?”

  Kit surveyed her. Has Alice forgotten our chat about the will? Or is she acting for the benefit of the present company?

  “I think it’s likely,” she replied. “There had to be some worth to the book, and if it wasn’t a special edition or a particularly uniquely bound book, the only worth I can imagine it having is as a container for something else.”

  Kit didn’t mention Aimee’s idea of the book being a cypher. She was sure that Ethel’s mention of the will was the ticket here. It had to be! She needed to prompt Alice’s memory without putting words in her mouth. After all, perhaps Alice never put the will in the book but only talked to Ethel about doing it.

  Kit weighed her words carefully. “Perhaps there was an important document hidden in there?”

  Alice stopped mid-movement. The lines around her eyes deepened as she squinted towards her bookshelf. “Wait. Hidden? Journey to the Centre of the Earth...” Her forehead furrowed, making the wrinkles collide with each other. “There is a hidden message in the Icelandic book the professor finds in that novel, isn’t there?”

  “Yep,” Kit said hopefully.

  “Yes,” Alice said under her breath. “That was why I hid it there. We spoke about this when you woke me up from my nap, didn’t we? I remember. I hid my—”

  The grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine. This seemed to drain the last drop of patience from Wing Commander Caine. He smacked his hands against his solid thighs.

  “This is a waste of my time! I told you that we only had time to stop for a minute, Mother. I’m sure Anthony has more time to lounge about since he was fired. However, Jackie, Caitlin, and I are leaving.”

  “You can’t stay long enough to let your mother finish her sentence?” Kit asked.

  In one sharp movement, he was on his feet and standing to his full height. She had to admit that he looked terrifying, even though he wasn’t the biggest or fittest bloke she’d ever stood up to. At his age and with his back injury, if he did get violent, she could probably hold her own or at least get away without too much issue. Not that she expected things to go that far. Phillip cared too much about society’s expectations, and about seeming in control of himself, for that.

  He fixed his piercing eyes on her. “Don’t be impertinent. I told you to drop this matter. Instead you have made it worse.”

  “Phillip, calm down,” Jackie said, with no real feeling in the words.

  He kept his gaze on Kit. “I am calm, despite this monumental waste of time. I wish you wouldn’t help my mother make a molehill into a mountain and fill her head with conspiracies when all that’s happened is that a tattered book has been misplaced.” He took a step closer to her, and she made a point to sip her sherry in the most unfazed way poss
ible. “Ms Sorel, if you want to keep my mother safe and avoid a robbery, you should make her take back Liam Soames’ key. However, if all you want to do is interrogate important people about a bloody book, then you should have your head examined and stay out of my precious free time.”

  Precious free time? He’s not in the RAF anymore, Kit thought but said nothing.

  Looking annoyed that he hadn’t goaded a reply from her, he stormed off with pounding steps.

  Jacqueline rose with much more poise. In no rush, she drank the last of her sherry, picked up her handbag, and elegantly hung it on her thin shoulder. Then she trained her false-lashed and black-lined eyes on Kit. “While Phillip was a bit rude just then and should have stayed longer, he’s right. This is pointless and will only end up frightening dear Alice. Furthermore, it makes us all feel like suspects in some sad, second-rate detective story.”

  Kit was thinking of how to reply, but Jackie hadn’t finished. She tilted her head to the left in an affected gesture of sympathy. “I’m sure this is all very exciting to you and that you need something to do on this quiet island, but this is real life. No one has time to worry about a missing book. It was nice meeting you, Ms Sorel.”

  Jackie click-clacked over to Alice on her high heels and gave her mother-in-law an air kiss near each cheek. Then she turned to give Anthony a slow nod and what looked like a flirty smirk, before linking her arm with Caitlin’s. Caitlin downed her drink, left the glass on a side table with a subtle burp, and grimaced at Kit. They left without a word, slamming the door with a deafening thud.

  Alice was left wringing her hands and looking from Anthony to Kit. “They’re… very busy, Kit. Especially Phillip, who is so stressed and in rather a lot of pain with his back. Please forgive him.”

  “He certainly seems stressed,” Kit muttered before having the last of her sherry.

  Anthony put his unfinished port on the mantelpiece and sniffed. “I must say, while my brother is dramatic, he does have a point. No offence, but I’ve got to be frank.” He broke off to clean his glasses on his sleeve with rapid movements. Kit, knowing the pains of wearing glasses and trying to clean them on the wrong material, saw that he was only smearing them further. “Mummy, I believe the book has been misplaced or that there’s some other obvious and harmless explanation. I fail to see why we need a librarian to look into that. In fact, this is all quite stressful at a time when many of your family members are adjusting to new circumstances.”