Less Than a Treason

by Mary Birk

  “I’d have agreed to ride a giraffe in a parade if it got you to come back to me.”

  A laugh burst out of her, in spite of herself. “If you’re good, I’ll move in with you when the room’s finished. We’ll see if you can manage to behave that long.”

  He traced a finger along the inside of her arm. “Perhaps I could continue to visit you in your bed?”

  Anne tried to look nonchalant, despite the throb just under her skin where he touched her. “If you like.”

  “I like.”

  “Michael’s sleeping temporarily in a playpen thing we found at one of the stores around here. They called it a cot.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Yes, of course. Go on in. I’ll just go down and help Meg clear up, then I’ll come back up.”

  “Come here, you.” He took her hand, twirled her into him, and leaned down to kiss her.

  She pushed against his chest, but he wouldn’t let her go. “No kissing in here. This close to a bed you’re a dangerous man. Besides, we’ve no drapes. Anyone could see us.”

  “All the more reason to kiss. I need to make sure everyone knows you’re taken.”

  “I have things to do. Go see your child.”

  “In a minute. One kiss. Not dangerous at all. I’m so tired I couldn’t try anything if you let me.”

  “Okay, if you’re really that harmless.” She kissed him, long and full on the mouth, felt him harden against her. “Harmless, my foot.”

  “That’s not my foot, lassie.”

  She laughed and slipped out of his arms. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Indeed you will.”

  DECEMBER 30 - WEDNESDAY

  Chapter 59

  ANNE WOKE in the middle of the night and looked around to orientate herself as to where she was. Then she remembered. She lifted herself up to see inside the baby’s makeshift bed. Michael was still sleeping, so she decided to go back to sleep herself. Nice he was starting to sleep longer stretches. She rolled over and put her arm around Terrence, burrowing into him, and went back to sleep.

  When she woke up again, Michael was fussing to eat and Terrence was gone. The clock on the table beside the bed said six-thirty. He’d be long gone to make morning Mass, part of his daily routine. On her way downstairs with the baby, she peeked in the master bedroom. Definitely gone, and he’d made the bed though he couldn’t have slept there long before coming in to join her. On the kitchen counter, next to the electric teapot was a note inviting her and Meg to dinner that night at a local Italian restaurant.

  She filled the teapot with hot water to warm it while she waited for the electric tea kettle to boil. Sometime this week the truck from Dunbaryn should arrive bringing their wedding presents from three years ago. She couldn’t remember what they were. In fact, she hadn’t even seen a lot of them. Most had come after she and Terrence had left Scotland, and as they never set up housekeeping together, the presents just stayed at Dunbaryn in storage.

  Today the designer was coming again. Anne wanted her to go ahead and measure for draperies for all of the rooms as well as work on finishing the master bedroom. She felt so exposed in the house with almost all the windows bare—even though the house was set back from the street and protected by a privacy wall and iron gates. Anne wanted the master bedroom ready for New Year’s Eve, an almost impossible task, but Priscilla told Anne she thought she could get it done.

  Meg and she were having coffee when they were interrupted by the gate intercom. They hadn’t been expecting anyone so early, but when he said who he was, she knew exactly why the man was there. Her husband had wasted no time arranging for the courier service to take Andrew’s ring back to him.

  She buzzed him through the gate. When he got to the door, she greeted him and turned to Meg.

  “Meg, can you get this gentleman some coffee or something while I get the ring packed up?”

  *****

  Colin Gibson rustled the papers in front of him, getting everyone’s attention. “We may as well begin. I’ll read the will, then explain what it means. I know Mr. Kensington is a solicitor, so he’ll not have any trouble with it, but sometimes the language in legal documents is difficult for lay persons to understand. Then, if you have any questions, I’ll try to answer them. I will remind you I represent the estate and not any of you individually. The person chosen by Lady Flora to be the executor of her estate can, of course, choose different counsel.”

  Reid let his eyes move around the faces of the people gathered around the conference table. The solicitor sat at the head of the table with Rafe and Lance to his right and Miranda, Rodney, and George to his left. There had been little conversation as the group arrived. The two sides of the table were clearly divided into two camps. Lance’s arrest for Flora’s murder, and the now common knowledge that Flora had been planning to file for divorce and had been having an affair with George, made even mutual condolences awkward. Rafe had made a weak complaint about the choice of the location for the reading being essentially police offices, but the solicitor explained his firm didn’t have offices in Glasgow and that Reid had offered the use of his conference room as a neutral location. He’d stated that, due to the circumstances of Lady Flora’s death as well as the murder of his own law partner, he’d decided to accept Reid’s offer.

  Reid had placed himself in a chair away from the table and near the door. He wasn’t actually expecting trouble, but he did have his weapon on. He wanted to observe the reactions of the participants to the news that Flora’s new will had indeed been signed.

  Gibson read the terms of the will in a clear, unemotional voice. Flora Kensington had left her entire estate in a trust to her three children. The trustee of the estate, as well as the executor of her will, was to be George Greene. The trust would dissolve upon Lance’s thirty-fifth birthday, or upon the death of George Greene, whichever came first. The will stated that because it was her understanding that George Greene would leave Greenebrae Lodge to Miranda and Rodney upon his death, that a sum from her estate equal to the value of a half share of Greenebrae would be paid to Lance when the trust dissolved. The rest of what remained in her estate would be distributed equally among her three children at that time, with Rodney’s share having the sum of two million pounds deducted from it. To George Greene, she left nothing directly, saying she knew that his own estate was more than sufficient to take care of his needs. To Rafe Kensington, she left the building in which his chambers were located, as well as the cancellation of a note securing a substantial loan to his law practice on the condition that he not contest her will.

  A stunned silence hovered over the room, until, finally, Rafe spoke. “I thought that there was no signed copy of this will found among her things.”

  Gibson explained, “Lady Flora signed her will on Christmas Eve when Jeremy was at Dunbaryn for the christening. She’d been given an unsigned draft for her own files, but Jeremy brought the original signed will back to Inverness with him that night. I don’t know what happened to Lady Flora’s copy of that, or of the other papers that should have been in her possession.”

  The skin on Rafe’s face seemed to tighten over his bones. “I see. The Glasgow flat was in Flora’s name alone. I assume from what you’ve told us that it will be part of Flora’s estate that goes into the trust?”

  “Yes. George, as the executor, will need to decide whether to sell it or rent it out. You will need to talk with him about any arrangements you need to make in that regard and also with regard to your possessions in the country house.”

  “In other words, I’ve been effectively kicked out of my homes.”

  George interrupted. “We can talk about it, Rafe. I’m sure no one will have any objection to you staying on at the flat for the time being. There are a great deal of details to take care of with regard to the country house before it can be sold. I would anticipate that would be one of the first things we’ll need to address. We can talk about the Glasgow flat later.”

  “Good of you.” Rafe
’s tone left no doubt in anyone’s mind about his resentment of the new role his wife’s ex-husband and subsequent lover would have in his life. He stood. “I need to make arrangements for Flora’s burial and services. I know you called me about that, George, but I’ll take care of it. I was still her husband when she died, no matter what the two of you were up to behind my back.” He looked over at Lance. “Why don’t you come stay at the flat with me?”

  Lance shook his head. “I’ve got classes starting soon. I need to get back.” He dragged a hand through his hair, stood up, stumbling toward the door.

  His father, not bothering to take his leave from the others, hurried after him.

  Neither Miranda nor Rodney appeared disturbed by what they had heard in the will. They left with their father shortly after Rafe and Lance Kensington. Reid escorted Colin Gibson to the door.

  The solicitor ran a hand over his brow. “That’s done at least. Reid, one thing I hadn’t thought of until we were all seated in there is that Jeremy did the paperwork for Miranda’s hospitalization few years back. She’d had some kind of an emotional breakdown. She’d fought going in, but eventually even she realized she needed it. I’m not sure what caused her breakdown – Jeremy was closemouthed about that, but it was something she was very sensitive about.”

  “Thank you, Colin. Let me know if anything else comes up.”

  Determined not to succumb to guilt, Reid went over to Allison’s desk. “Anything? I’m particularly interested in Lance and his father.”

  Allison had been assigned to pay attention to any conversations between the attendees on the way in or out of the meeting. She looked down at her note pad. “The father said, you are not going to have anything more to do with Darryl Duggan. The son said, you can’t tell me what to do. The father tried to keep his voice down, but I could still hear. He said, I know you’re protecting him. He’s not worth it. He’s dangerous. Then they got to the door and left, and I couldn’t hear anything else.”

  Reid tilted his head in thanks. “Good work, Allison.”

  Chapter 60

  RAFE KENSINGTON WATCHED as his son strode away from him, crossing the street in the middle of traffic, not seeming to care about anything but getting away, and getting back to his morally corrupt friend. Nothing Darryl Duggan had done or said had convinced Lance he was as evil as Rafe knew Duggan was. Lance hadn’t even flinched when Rafe told him he knew Darryl had tried to convince him to kill his mother, and even himself. Lance simply said Darryl hadn’t meant it and then demanded to be left alone. He’d insisted that his father just didn’t know Darryl.

  The problem was, Rafe did know Darryl. All too well, and all too late.

  Rafe Kensington had struggled for years with his attraction to men, and other than a few anonymous encounters when he visited other cities, he’d managed to avoid temptation. He was able to service his wife in the early years of their marriage by controlling and directing his thoughts to something that actually aroused him. He managed to do his duty by her, and they had a son. He’d been convinced she wasn’t interested anymore in that facet of their relationship. Being able to stop pretending—or at least as infrequently as possible—had been a relief to him.

  Rafe hadn’t approved of the way his wife hovered over her children. His parents had never coddled him like that. His father, a vicar in a medium-sized parish in southern Scotland, had been a cold man, and his mother, a housewife, would never have risked her husband’s displeasure by communicating with her son separately. When he grew up, he’d been on his own. His parents had done their best to educate him and teach him their expectations of him, but didn’t seem to care overly much about continuing to have a relationship with him after he was grown.

  When his father died during Rafe’s last year at university, Rafe had felt little, if any, sorrow, and when his mother followed her husband in death the next year, he didn’t even go to the funeral, just arranged things long distance. He’d been left a little money, just enough to make it possible for him to finish his studies. Then he’d met and married Flora, and, although he’d been pleased with the change his marriage had effected on his life, both financially and in his social status, he’d felt no passion for his wife. In fact, he didn’t remember ever being passionate about anything or anyone—until last August when he’d met Darryl Duggan.

  Going into the Club had taken all the courage he’d but something had driven him. He’d passed the place many times. Heard about it. Thought about it. He’d felt an ache in his body he couldn’t get rid of with work or exercise, as he’d usually been able to do. Even the risk that his colleagues would find out his weakness didn’t stop him, so deep was the desperate ache he carried. He’d just felt better being there, even if he was only having lunch. He let himself get used to seeing men openly showing affection to other men. It was acceptable, even expected here. A feeling of relief had gone through his whole body as he looked around, releasing a tension that felt like it had been with him all his life. He felt like he could finally get enough oxygen. The place calmed him.

  When he saw Darryl Duggan smiling and waiting on customers, his blond hair casually falling around his neck, he’d been lost forever. The young man had been wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, and the muscles flexing through his tanned arms fascinated Rafe. The easy confidence and friendly smile finally allowed Rafe to cross over to where he could take a chance. To his happy surprise, Darryl found him interesting, funny, and engaging—and when he talked to the young man, Rafe thought maybe he was all those things.

  In those first days with Darryl, Rafe had been happier than he’d ever been before in his life. He lived for the times they were together. Mostly just afternoons, but sometimes Darryl would come to his flat and spend the night. Rafe had proudly shown his flat to Darryl shortly after they started seeing each other. He knew the young man was impressed with the high-rise penthouse that looked out over the city. His wife had decorated the flat with a blend of modern and antique furnishings that quietly announced the presence of serious money. Darryl had prowled around, touching things, looking at Rafe’s books and the artwork. At one point, he’d picked up a photograph of Rafe’s wife and son. He’d smiled and asked, “Your family?”

  Rafe remembered telling Darryl about Lance being at university for his first year, studying law like Darryl himself was. Had Darryl then deliberately sought Lance out? Or had the meeting between the two been coincidental?

  No, it wasn’t coincidental. Nor had Darryl’s suggestion to Lance that Flora had to die been coincidental. He’d made it first to Rafe.

  *****

  A month before he’d been shocked out of his mind at seeing Darryl with Lance at Dunbaryn, Rafe and Darryl had fought.

  They’d been lying in bed together on one of the rare mornings Darryl had stayed over for the night, when he first brought up killing Flora. Of course, Rafe hadn’t realized what Darryl was talking about at first.

  Darryl had smiled his lazy, sexy smile. “Things need to change. I want to be with you openly, not this sneaking around.”

  “I can’t divorce my wife. Not right now, at least.”

  “No, divorce isn’t the answer. A lot of the money for you to live like this comes from her, I’d guess?”

  He had to concede this point, at least in part. “My practice is good, but of course there is a certain lifestyle my wife has the means to ensure.”

  “Right. The Rolls, this place. Being able to flit off to Paris for the weekend.” Darryl smiled his brilliant smile, sending desire throbbing though Rafe. “But you said she was sick?”

  “Not sick, exactly. She’s diabetic.”

  “You’ll inherit if she dies?”

  “I suppose so.” He rolled over, started caressing the muscles on Darryl’s abdomen and dragging his fingers down the young man’s body. He could spend all day like this. He felt wonderfully infused with youth when he was with Darryl, a youth he’d never even felt when he was young.

  “If she died, we could live together
like this. Every day.”

  Rafe shook his head. “I don’t think that’s likely. At least not soon.” He tried to turn Darryl’s body around.

  Darryl didn’t let himself be turned. “It would be so much better if she did. You’d get the money while you still have time to enjoy it. And, we could live together.”

  Rafe was only half-listening, more interested in Darryl’s body than in his words.

  “Right, but as I said, she’s not likely to die any time soon.”

  “She could. It wouldn’t be hard. We could make it look accidental.”

  Rafe ignored the shiver that slid up his spine. He reached for his lover, laughing to show Darryl he knew he was joking, but Darryl pulled away.

  “Don’t laugh at me.” The words were sharp and bitter. “Don’t ever laugh at me.”

  “I’m not, but you can’t be serious.” Rafe moved toward Darryl again.

  “Why not?” Darryl eluded his grasp, pulling over to the other side of the bed.

  “You know I couldn’t do anything like that.”

  “Then you can’t want me as much as you say you do.” Darryl stayed tantalizingly out of Rafe’s reach.

  “Of course I do.”

  “She could have an accident.”

  “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. It’s depraved.”

  Darryl hadn’t responded, only drew himself up and got off the bed. He’d started to dress, ignoring Rafe’s pleas to come back to bed, then left without another word.

  After that, Darryl had become unavailable. Rafe left him messages everywhere, but Darryl never responded. He started showing up at the Club at all hours. But if Darryl was on duty, he stayed away from Rafe’s table and wouldn’t speak to him. Rafe went to Darryl’s flat and waited outside, hoping to see him, talk to him. He rang the intercom over and over, but Darryl never again released the lock to let him in.

  Chapter 61