True Colours (35 page)

Their breathing apparatus still in place, the fire fighters glanced at him, their expressions unreadable through their masks. Getting clear of the building, heading for the drive, Sebastian followed them, stumbling over the border to the path. Guy Wingfield’s face was grey, his mouth and nose smeared black, his head lolling uselessly to one side, eyes closed. Painfully thin, limbs stick-like, twisted sinews of flesh and bone revealed as his pyjamas flapped, the men carried him easily.

His appetite had been failing for years, the first stroke paralysing his face making eating difficult, messy, undignified. And Sebastian knew that his dignity was the one thing Guy Wingfield held onto with a vice-like grip. But confined to a wheelchair, unable to walk the dogs, to ride out with Tom, his energy levels had fallen rapidly. He’d tried to stay involved, but it hadn’t been long before he’d started delegating everything except the crossword to his grandson.

Moments later, the old man was lying on a stretcher on the grass, the fire fighters and paramedics blocking Sebastian’s view as they deftly fitted an oxygen mask over Lord Kilfenora’s nose and mouth, took his blood pressure.

Watching them work, Sebastian was hit with a surge of utter despair. Ahead of him, another ambulance swung around the bend in the drive, pulling up with a hiss only yards away, its blue strobes bouncing off the fire fighters’ visors, off the windows on the western side of the house. More paramedics were out of the vehicle, had the back doors flung open, before Sebastian had caught his breath. He ran his hand across his eyes, so many people were trying to save the old man, he couldn’t give up now. He wasn’t a quitter, and neither was Guy Wingfield.

His heart pounding in his chest, eyes fixed on the activity in front of him, Sebastian felt like he was trapped in a bubble, the sounds strangely dull, his blood pumping in his ears. He hardly registered the Garda car that pulled up behind the ambulance, the uniformed officer who got out. His focus was entirely on the medical team, on Guy Wingfield, he was a stubborn old goat, would pull through, had to pull through…for a moment Sebastian was back in his grandfather’s study, summoned from the den where he had been sketching…

‘
I’m sorry my boy I don’t know how to tell you.’

It was the one and only time in his life that Sebastian had seen his grandfather cry. As he stood leaning on his desk, his arms spread to support the weight of the message he was about to impart, a tear had coursed its way down his leathery cheek.

In that split second, Sebastian had been sure he was going to tell him that he’d found out what had happened to Alex, that it was something dreadful, that she’d been murdered by a psychopath, or had been abducted by white slave traders, and shock had paralysed him before Guy Wingfield had even had a chance to speak.

‘
It’s your parents’ Sebastian John and Marjorie. Both of them. They’ve gone, some bastard jumped a red light in Cape Town. Hit them head on. Left the scene of course. The police are trying to track him down.’ Guy Wingfield had rambled on, not pausing for breath, ‘But there was nothing anyone could do…I’m so sorry.’

His emotions overloaded, overwhelmed by shock, sorrow, by guilt that his first thought had been for her, for Alex, Sebastian had nodded, unsure what to do, had turned and walked out of the study, out into the chill of the hall and through the open front door, the heady scents of summer caressing him as he started to walk. It was four miles to Tom’s tiny cottage, four miles down winding lanes, but only two miles cross-country. And when he reached the yellow front door, Sebastian had pounded on it, taking out his anger and frustration, all his sorrow, on the pristine paint, banging until a voice behind him had brought him up. Tom’s voice, calm and soothing.

‘
Come on lad, I’ll put the kettle on.’

And now as Sebastian stood here, the house burning, his grandfather, his only living relative, lying helpless on the ground, the enormity of being alone in the world hit him for the first time. He’d never been particularly close to his parents, had spent more time with his pal Cormac than his father. And at the time they had been killed, he’d still been still so wrapped up in his own loss, his grief after Alex’s disappearance, that their absence from his life hadn’t really hit him.

He couldn’t let his grandfather go that easily.

Snapping back to the present, Sebastian saw one of the paramedics poised over the old man’s chest, defibrillator paddles in his hands about to shock him. Surely not?

Taking a step closer, his arms folded tightly across this chest, Sebastian tried to see what the paramedics were doing, to understand; but it was useless. He didn’t have time to watch medical dramas on TV, had never done a first aid course, had no real idea of what was going on. As the paddles came down on his grandfather’s chest, the sound of shouting drew his attention to the house.

‘
Sector one clear. All persons accounted for. Fire under control.’

FORTY TWO

‘
Evening, how can we help you?’

Peter nodded to the Garda sergeant who had answered his rap on the wired glass partition separating the station from the black and white tiled hall, taking in his sergeant’s stripes.

‘
There’s a car abandoned on the main road. A red BMW. I know the owner, I’m worried something might have happened to her.’

‘
And who would you be sir?’

‘
I’m a good friend of hers, her name’s Caroline, Caroline Audiguet-O’Reilly. She’s Sebastian Wingfield’s fiancée.’

There was a pause as Garda Sergeant O’Hanlon pursed his lips.

‘
There’s no need to worry sir, she’s quite safe.’

‘
Was there an accident, is she okay?’ The words tumbled out.

‘
No accident. Miss Audiguet-O’Reilly was apprehended earlier this evening a bit the worse for wear.’

Peter leaned on the counter so he could see the sergeant properly, ‘Drunk?’

‘
That would be about it sir. We’re looking after her here. Are you a good friend of hers sir?

Peter paused, then nodded.

‘
You wouldn’t have any knowledge of her whereabouts this evening?’

Peter’s brow creased, ‘Sorry?’

‘
There’s been a serious fire at Kilfenora House. We need to establish Miss Audiguet-O’Reilly’s whereabouts this evening.’

‘
Christ, is everyone alright? Is Sebastian alright?’ Peter paused, his face confused, then clearing as if something had suddenly fallen into place. His voice was urgent as he continued, ‘Jesus I heard the sirens...someone came into the pub and said “the house” was on fire; I never twigged.’ Peter shook his head like he was a total idiot, like he’d let someone down by not seeing the obvious and turned as if to leave. ‘I’d better get up there...’

O’Hanlon held up his hands, ‘You’re grand, it’s all under control now. Everyone appears to be unharmed but Lord Kilfenora has been taken to hospital.’

Peter turned back to him like he was torn between staying and going, then nodded, acknowledging the note in the sergeant’s voice.

‘
Sorry, you’re right, I’d only be in the way. Old habits.’ Then, ‘Do you think Caroline was involved?’ Peter managed to get just the right amount of disbelief in his voice.

‘
Not for me to say sir.’

Jesus. Peter’s mind moved swiftly into practised professional mode, assessing the options, weighing up the outcomes. The very reason he’d had such a distinguished military career, was now so successful in business, was his ability to make rapid, sure decisions. Out in the field it meant life and death. There was no room for mistakes.

But here was a real curve ball. They were going to pin the fire on Caroline.

Had she been to Kilfenora? He hadn’t seen her but that didn’t mean anything. She’d hardly be touring this part of the countryside if she hadn’t – there was absolutely no reason for Caroline to be in Kilfenora village unless she was visiting the house. But why had she been leaving so early? Had she had a row with Sebastian? It would be just like her to get caught in the middle of Peter’s own personal war. Peter sighed inwardly.

It was time to change the game. And that call from ‘New York’ was the ammunition he needed.

‘
There’s no way she could have had anything to do with it.’ Peter shrugged like it was obvious. He was about to blow his alibi out of the water, but it was a calculated risk, ‘I had to drop some papers in earlier. I saw her car heading down the road as I pulled in. There was no sign of a fire then.’

‘
You sure sir? What time would that have been?’

‘
Around 9.30? I’m not sure, Jesus it’s been one of those days.’ Peter shook his head, then said, ‘I was in the pub, nipped over while I was waiting for my dinner. I meant to go earlier but had to wait for a call to confirm what needed signing.’ Then, as if it had suddenly dawned on him, ‘but if the place was on fire they’ll be toast by now. Shite, I need to get them faxed back. Unbelievable.’

‘
Was Mr Wingfield expecting you?’

Peter shook his head, ‘It all happened quicker than we expected. We were due to meet the day after tomorrow but I knew Sebastian was at Kilfenora and I needed to get his signature, so I thought I’d run down and drop in. You know how bad the mobile reception is around here so I got the guys in New York to call me in the pub – I couldn’t give them the number at Kilfenora. But then when I got to the house he didn’t answer the door. I never thought of calling him to say I was coming. Must be the jet lag, my brain’s slow.’ Peter shook his head, ‘Stupid.’

‘
So how were you going to tell him these papers were there?’

Peter looked back at the sergeant like it was all a total pain in the arse, ‘I thought I’d call him from that hotel on the Dublin road and then shoot back. I didn’t want to call him from the pub with half the village listening.’ Well that made sense at least. Peter continued, ‘It was a bloody nuisance. I almost broke the bloody door down at Kilfenora banging but that house is so bloody huge he couldn’t hear, he was probably down in the cellar or something.’

O’Hanlon nodded like he was buying the story but Peter had had enough experience of interrogation himself to see that the sergeant still only half-believed him.

‘
Would you like to step inside sir, we might have a little chat.’ Sergeant O’Hanlon came around and unlocked a door to Peter’s right. Sticking his hands in his pockets Peter nodded obligingly, ‘Of course.’

The public office of the tiny station was warm, too warm. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his waxed Barbour jacket as the sergeant indicated he take one of the swivel chairs next to a battered desk. O’Hanlon remained standing, his arms folded.

‘
So what time did you say you were at Kilfenora?’

Peter sat down heavily,

‘
I came down about six, I was waiting for the call from New York, like I said. I needed a coffee and had a read of the paper while I was waiting. When I got it, the call I mean, I ran up to the house. Sebastian’s car was there but he didn’t answer.’ Peter shrugged, ‘like I said, one of those days. The door to the Palm House was open so I stuck the papers inside on the table. I’d ordered a steak at the pub, but they said it would be a good forty minutes. I thought I’d ring him from the hotel, tell him where the papers were, nip back for my steak while he signed them and collect the papers afterwards.’

A smile twitched on O’Hanlon’s face, ‘How was your steak?’

‘
Crap actually. But I missed lunch, seemed like a good idea at the time.’

O’Hanlon nodded like he’d been there. ‘And you saw Miss O’Reilly leaving?’

‘
Yeah, as I pulled in I saw a red Beemer hightailing it down the road.’ Peter paused, ‘Are you charging her for drink driving? Can I take her home? She’ll be devastated about this.’

O’Hanlon ignored his question. ‘So how do you know the Wingfields?’

‘
I work with Sebastian.’

‘
In Dublin? You mentioned New York.’

‘
New York mainly, I go wherever he needs me. I’m his chief negotiator.’

‘
And you know Miss O’Reilly?’

Peter nodded, shrugged. ‘Of course’.

O’Hanlon stuck his hands in his pockets, tipped backwards and forwards in his black boots. ‘I’ll need your details. We’ve charged Miss O’Reilly with a Section 49, she’ll be before the District Court in the morning. She needs to appear.’

Peter nodded, his face creased with concern, ‘No problem. Get the picture.’

This wasn’t a time to mention he’d been in the Marines, understood how the law worked – he was getting the vibe that the sergeant wasn’t enamoured with his British accent.

The sergeant sat down at a desk opposite Peter and pulled a computer keyboard into the centre. Glancing at the screen on the terminal to his right, his hands flew over the keys.

‘
So if you can just give me your name?

Before Peter could answer, a door opened on the other side of the office. Caroline’s voice reached them before they saw her, ‘Honestly, I don’t know what all the fuss is about...’

A female guard held the door to the interview room open, ‘This way please.’

Caroline came through the door like a vision of Aphrodite, the skirts of her long not-quite-so-white dress in one hand. Peter caught a flash of her smooth thigh as she stumbled into the public office. Then she caught sight of him.