Next Door to Murder (11 page)

‘Feel better?'

‘Pity I can't do that to him!' Lindsey sighed. ‘OK, maybe I'm overreacting. But I can't help wondering if he took her to France.'

‘She was then and you are now,' Rona said firmly, hoping she was right. ‘Now, stop being evasive about your own trip, and tell me everything that happened.'

While Rona and Lindsey were discussing him, Dominic was being shown into the dining room of the London club. During the journey, he'd been attempting to formulate the best approach to Miranda's father. He could hardly claim she'd made all the running, even though it was true. Better, he'd decided, to sit tight and judge the prevailing mood.

At least his greeting was cordial enough.

‘Frayne! Good of you to come.' Rupert Barrington-Selby, ninth Earl of Roxford, came to his feet and reached for Dominic's hand, grasping it firmly. ‘Sit down, sit down.'

He was a large man in every sense, over six foot, with broad shoulders and a heavy frame. In his fifties, he'd developed a paunch, and his fair-to-sandy hair was thinning. Though on the few occasions they'd met he'd been dressed formally, Dominic had a mental image of him in tweed jacket and cords, the archetypal country squire.

‘First things first,' Roxford said firmly. ‘I've ordered a good claret – hope that suits you – and I'm going for duck pâté, followed by Beef Wellington. I can strongly recommend both dishes, but if something else takes your fancy, just say.' He nodded towards the menu.

‘Your choice sounds admirable, thank you.'

‘Excellent. And an aperitif?'

With a clutch of anxiety, Dominic wondered if this affability stemmed from his host's belief that he was entertaining his future son-in-law. What, exactly, had Miranda told her father?

However, as the waiter moved away, Roxford came swiftly to the point.

‘Unfortunate business, with Mirrie.'

‘Yes, indeed,' Dominic said soberly.

‘I suggest we get the discussion over straight away, then we can enjoy our meal.' He paused, staring down at the snowy cloth. ‘I was well aware she'd set her cap at you,' he continued, ‘and, with due respect, I issued all the necessary warnings. Sadly, she chose to ignore them.'

Dominic began to breathe more easily. ‘She said you knew she was serious,' he offered, hoping to scotch any misunderstanding.

The earl nodded, lifted his promptly-delivered aperitif in a silent toast, and drank. ‘Knew,' he confirmed then, wiping his mouth on his napkin, ‘and told her, in no uncertain terms, not to be a goose. I love her dearly, but I wonder sometimes if she's a sensible idea in her head. No offence intended, old chap.'

‘I blame myself; I should have been more responsible—'

‘My wife tells me Mirrie saw to that side of things,' Roxford said obliquely. ‘She took a gamble, and lost. I trust she'll be wiser in the future.' He cleared his throat. ‘Look, I'll come straight out with it. My main reason for meeting you is to ask if you'd have any objection to an abortion?'

Dominic, taken completely by surprise, reached hastily for his glass, gaining a much-needed moment's grace. ‘Not if that's what she wants,' he said cautiously. ‘In fact, when she came to see me . . .'

‘Can you honestly see her as a mother? She can't even take care of herself. It's a sad, messy business all round, but this seems the best way, provided you agree. After all, it's your child, too.'

‘I did say I'd support it, if—'

Roxford waved this away. ‘Yes, yes, good of you, but that's not the solution.' He waited, eyeing Dominic from under beetle brows.

It was his child, too
. Dominic surprised in himself a feeling of regret, realizing to his discomfort that he'd never considered the child itself. Its conception had been simply a mistake, to be rectified as quickly as possible, and he now felt a sense of guilt. Yet, to be realistic, there was no question of his having any future contact with it. It was an innocent victim, a means towards an end; and now that the gamble, as Roxford put it, had failed, it was neither wanted nor needed.

‘How does Miranda feel?' he asked in a low voice.

‘She's seen sense, at last.'

‘Then – of course it's all right with me,' Dominic confirmed, feeling as though he'd signed a death warrant.

‘Fine. Good chap.' Roxford sat back in his chair. ‘And here, on cue, comes the pâté. Bon appétit!'

Rona returned to Oak Avenue, mulling over the conversation during lunch. Gavin's view that Dominic wasn't to be trusted weighed heavily on her; was his association with this girl proof of that, or had the relationship indeed ended before he began seeing Lindsey?
Tell her to watch her step
. She had not, of course, done so. Lindsey was prickly enough, and, if she sensed criticism, would clam up completely. The best Rona could hope for was that doubts raised by the photograph might put her on her guard, making her a little more cautious in her dealings with him.

Back at the window table, however, she dismissed her sister's problems, and, to ensure a swift return to the past, started to read some letters she'd come across before lunch. They were signed respectively by Charles, Frederick and James, each of them signing himself Araminta's loving brother. Immediately, the biographer in Rona wanted to know about them, which one had inherited the title, and who each of them had married. She started leafing through the file, only to pause in stunned disbelief as a name leapt out at her. Eyes still fixed on the papers, she reached for her mobile.

‘Lindsey Parish.'

‘Linz, you'll never believe—'

There was an irritated sigh. ‘Ro, you know I don't like—'

‘You'll want to hear this.' Rona took a deep breath. ‘Like to hazard a guess as to who Lady Miranda's father is?'

‘What on earth—?'

‘None other than the Earl of Roxford.'

There was a silence, which Rona broke impatiently. ‘Well? What do you think of that?'

‘How the hell,' Lindsey said slowly, ‘did you come up with that?'

‘The Roxfords – family name Barrington-Selby – happen to be the upper-crust relatives the Willows are so proud of.'

‘Good God!'

‘I think the phrase is, “It's a small world.”'

‘You'll actually be interviewing them?'

‘If Julian has anything to do with it.'

‘Including Miranda?'

‘Unlikely; she lives in London, and I'll be going to Yorkshire, to the family estate.'

‘Ye gods. You're absolutely sure about this? That the present earl's her father?'

‘Ninety per cent. At the very least, they must be closely related.'

‘A title in the family would be quite a coup for Dominic.'

‘You sound like Julian!' Rona scoffed, then glanced guiltily at the door. ‘Come on, you don't seriously think he'd be swayed by that, do you?'

‘It might tip the balance, if he's genuinely fond of her. We don't
know
they're not still an item.'

‘If they were, where would you fit in?'

‘That,' said Lindsey heavily, ‘is the million dollar question.'

When she finished at five o'clock, Rona was pleased with her first day's work. Even without the Miranda connection, the archives looked more promising than she'd expected; the Willows had been inveterate letter-writers, and a surprising amount of personal correspondence survived. Together with the photographs, they should help her build up an interesting profile of the family.

Having garaged the car and walked home, she let herself into the house, resolving to open all the windows to dispel the day's stuffiness. Then, as she closed the front door, she saw a note lying on the mat, and stooped to retrieve it.

Rona
, she read in a hasty scrawl,
please contact me. I must speak to you. Louise
.

Damn! She'd been looking forward to a leisurely shower before Max got back, but as she didn't know next door's phone number, the only way to contact Louise was by going to the house.

Five minutes later, armed with a book as an excuse for calling, she walked down her garden path and up the one next door. Her ring was answered by Mrs Franks, who looked at her in some surprise.

Rona smiled at her and held up the book she was carrying. ‘Louise and I were discussing this the other day,' she said brightly. ‘I thought she might like to borrow it.'

‘That's kind of you,' Barbara Franks replied after a moment, and made a move to take the book from her.

‘Is Louise around?' Rona asked quickly.

The woman hesitated, but a voice called from upstairs, ‘Is that Rona? I'll be right down.' And she'd no choice but to invite her in.

Louise came running down the stairs, and Rona said quickly, ‘This is the book I was telling you about. I think you'd enjoy it.'

‘Thanks – it's good of you to bring it.'

Mrs Franks, forced into hospitality, offered a cup of tea, adding, ‘Or would you prefer something cold?'

‘There's home-made lemonade,' Louise said.

‘That sounds perfect.'

At her gesture, Rona preceded Louise into the doorway on the right. Although she'd been in the house before, it was a strange sensation to walk into the room that corresponded to that in their own house, before she and Max had knocked down walls and turned two rooms into one. Used to the larger space, this sitting room seemed small and cluttered, and the furniture showed signs of wear and tear left by previous tenants. No attempt had been made to personalise it; the mantelpiece was bare of any kind of ornament, there were no books on the shelves, and the prevailing atmosphere struck Rona as depressing.

‘Thanks for not letting on about the note,' Louise said in a low voice. ‘I'm sorry to have dragged you over. I've calmed down a bit now.'

Before Rona could reply, Mrs Franks came in with a tray bearing a large glass jug of lemonade and two glasses.

‘Tell you what,' Louise said quickly, ‘let's take it outside; it's a pity to be indoors in this weather.'

And we can be sure of no one overhearing us, Rona thought.

They went together down the basement stairs to the kitchen and the door to the back garden. Rona hadn't been here before, and this room also was very different from their own, seeming old-fashioned with its free-standing units and dated cooker. She supposed that since the owners of the house didn't live here, there was no incentive to provide other than basic amenities.

Louise opened the glass-paned wooden door that, in their own house, they'd replaced with a full-length glass one, and led the way to the bench under the apple tree. A ginger cat that had been lazily washing itself on the stone terrace unfurled itself and followed them.

‘So that's your cat,' Rona commented. ‘I'm afraid Gus was chasing it the other day.'

Louise set the tray on the bench between them and scooped the cat on to her lap, where it turned round three times before settling down.

‘We've christened her Amber,' she said, pouring the lemonade. ‘Strictly speaking, she's not ours. She seems to have adopted us; every time we open a door, she darts inside. We've phoned the RSPCA and put notices up, but nobody's claimed her and I've grown quite fond of her.'

Rona gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade. ‘So – what was worrying you?'

‘I was frightened,' Louise said. The word seemed shockingly out-of-place in the sunlit garden.

‘
Frightened?
' Rona repeated incredulously. ‘What of?'

‘My parents, I suppose. If they
are
my parents.'

And as Rona stared at her, she added, ‘You see, I – don't think I'm who they say I am. I mightn't even be their daughter.'

‘But—'

‘They've never shown me any proof,' Louise went on quickly, ‘and would you believe, I've not even seen my passport? When I began to have doubts I asked for it; but they said they'd put everything of value in the bank for safekeeping, till we have our own house. Though why that should be any safer than rented accommodation, heaven knows.'

‘It does sound excessively cautious,' Rona agreed.

‘And another thing: there are no photos of me as a child, no family groups. Everyone has photographs, don't they?'

Rona thought of the corner table in her mother's sitting room, crammed with baby snaps of herself and Lindsey, graduation and wedding portraits, holiday photos.

‘I'm not even sure I was married.' Louise glanced at her left hand. ‘I don't
feel
as though I was, and I've seen nothing relating to any husband. In fact, I'm starting to question everything they've told me.'

‘But why?'

Louise shrugged, and did not reply.

‘Did you ask to see photographs?'

‘Yes; they had some implausible story about a fire having destroyed everything. Very convenient, isn't it?'

Rona struggled to be objective. ‘But why would they go to such lengths? What have they to gain by pretending you're their daughter and bringing you back to this country?'

‘That's what I've been trying to work out.' She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Perhaps I'm heir to a great fortune!'

‘But you couldn't claim it if you were supposed to be their daughter.'

‘That's true.'

Rona was silent, trying to think of some way to reassure her, to dispel what was surely an impossible scenario. ‘How long ago was the divorce?' she asked.

‘Again, I've only their word for it, and thinking back, they were pretty vague. It was a quickie, apparently, and if it came through just before the accident, as they implied, it would have been about six months ago.'

‘You could check on the Internet; it must be on record.'

Louise brightened. ‘I never thought of that. Only trouble is, I don't have access.'

‘There's an Internet Café in Guild Street.' Rona pursued another line of thought. ‘Where did you go when you came out of hospital?'