Betrayal at Blackcrest (15 page)

“Betty brought coffee to my room,” I said.

“You've made quite a hit with her, it seems. Special service. You have a way with you that wins people over—first Andy, now Betty. It is a formidable gift. Be careful not to abuse it.”

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Hawke?”

“Just a word of advice,” he said.

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me a boyish smile. For a moment I thought he was very like his cousin Alex, and then I noticed that his dark eyes were not smiling at all. They were examining me closely, as though evaluating competition. I remained very calm, my chin tilted up and my eyes meeting his with cool disdain.

“Perhaps you'll be able to join us for dinner tonight,” he said in a deep, husky voice. “Your presence would grace any table.” The stilted compliment sounded sincere. The smile that accompanied it was warm. He could be an accomplished actor, I thought.

“Perhaps I will,” I said.

“I'd like that.”

“Would you?”

“We decided to be friends,” he said. “Remember? We decided you were not a blackmailer and I was not a villain. I had rather hoped we'd get to know each other better.”

I made no reply. He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. There was a potent, leathery smell about him that was very appealing. He was standing very close to me, and he had an undeniable attractiveness that made me nervous. I had to remind myself what this man was, what he had done.

“It seems my cousin Alex has gotten the jump on me,” he said. “Will you be seeing him this afternoon?”

“How—how did you know about that?”

“About your date with Alex last night?” He grinned. “Someone saw you together and told someone else who told someone else who told one of the maids who told Jessie who mentioned it to me this morning. Not much happens in Hawkestown, but then again, not much happens that isn't known by everyone minutes after it's happened. It's that kind of town.”

“That's encouraging,” I said.

He didn't stop to ponder this reply. “Have you known Alex long?”

“We're friends,” I replied tersely.

“Alex is a fascinating man, a successful author, young, carefree, charming. He has too much charm for his own good. I make it a strict rule never to trust a person with too much charm. It's a rule you would be wise to adopt.”

“I'm a grown woman, Mr. Hawke. I think I can decide for myself the people I can trust, as well as the people I can't.”

My voice was crisp. Derek Hawke stepped back, extending his palms in a gesture of mock concern, begging my forgiveness. The exaggerated gesture irritated me. He arched one dark brow, and an amused smile played at the corner of his mouth. He was silently laughing at me, and I felt a flush burning my cheeks. I gave him a sharp nod and went into the garage, thoroughly out of sorts. I got into the car and slammed the door with unnecessary violence.

He was still standing there when I backed out of the garage. It was necessary to turn the car around before I could drive around the house, and although there was plenty of space in front of the garage, I found it difficult to manipulate the car with someone watching me. I could see him through the windshield, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, an amused expression on his face. It was a full five minutes before I had the car pointing in the right direction. By that time I was furious. I must have left several yards of rubber marks on the crushed-shell drive as I zoomed out of his sight.

I was still trembling with rage as I passed through the great stone portals and turned onto the main road. I was driving too fast, and the worn tires rumbled over the bumpy road. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It wouldn't do to let myself vent my emotions in this childish way. Through his mockery Derek Hawke had scored a point and caused me to lose my composure. He had won an easy victory, and I was irritated with myself for giving way. I eased my foot on the gas pedal and slowed to a decent speed.

This was the first time I had driven this road in daylight, and the trees and shrubbery that had seemed so foreboding at night were now sun-spangled and lovely—tall pines, giant oaks, and maples with leaves of a dozen different shades of green, from darkest green to a pale, translucent jade almost yellow in the sunlight. I passed a field of waving brown grass, brown and golden sunflowers rising up on sticky stalks to meet the sun. Behind a low gray stone fence I saw a grassy slope scattered with rich blue wildflowers, a line of silver birch trees growing in the distance. Accustomed as I was to the congested pavements of London, this rugged, unkempt beauty had a soothing effect on me, and I soon banished my ill temper.

I passed the station with pale blue petrol pumps. Without the garish lighting, it looked sordid and dilapidated, plaster flaking off the walls, the parking area littered with candy wrappers and bottle tops. I wondered if Neil were already there. I hadn't seen him in the gardens with his father. I drove through another wooded area and soon entered Hawkestown proper. It was calm and picturesque, the old houses standing serenely behind neat gardens, the oak trees making patterns of shadow over the sun-speckled sidewalks, the river winding like a sparkling blue ribbon beneath the ancient stone bridges. I drove along the main street and found a parking place across from the square. Several old men were sitting on the benches beneath the tarnished bronze statue, and groups of pigeons waddled at their feet, looking for crumbs. I locked the car and walked along the row of shops.

I strolled casually, lingering to look in a window, enjoying the feeling of freedom. Several people were shopping or just walking beneath the oak boughs: a stout woman in tweeds with a pair of binoculars slung around her neck, an old man leading a Yorkshire terrier on a red leather leash, a girl with long, tangled blond hair who wore the briefest miniskirt. Everyone I passed studiously ignored me, and I had the strange sensation that I might be invisible. At the same time, I knew that every detail of my dress and manner was duly noted. I could almost hear myself being discussed later on by these people who didn't appear to see me. Hawkestown was inbred, self-sustaining, and strangers were out of place. That was in my favor. Surely if Delia had been here there would be someone who remembered her.

The shops all had pink or gray brick fronts with large display windows. The brick was faded, and the windows were dusty. Several shops had ancient, handpainted wooden signs swinging over their doors; a few had tattered awnings. I had the feeling I was wandering across a stage set of an English village, the atmosphere mellow. After the crowded furor of London streets, this serene tranquillity didn't seem quite real. I peered through the window of an antique shop. A marmalade cat slept peacefully on a Hepplewhite chair with tapestry-covered bottom, reflected in the dusty glass of a Venetian mirror. A set of gorgeous milk-glass dishes was piled carelessly beside one leg of the chair. Such treasures hadn't yet been plundered by the commercial buyers of London, I thought. This in itself told me a great deal about Hawkestown's isolation.

I went into the stationery shop to buy carbon paper and a new typewriter ribbon. The clerk had to hunt for both items, clearly not used to selling such unconventional wares. To soothe his distress I bought a box of heavy creamy writing paper and a pot of glue. While he wrapped them all up in a neat brown parcel, I examined the pens and cards and bottles of bright-colored ink. Not once during this transaction did the clerk look at me directly, although I felt I was under serious scrutiny from the moment I entered the shop.

I was hungry, and I needed to sit down and think about exactly what I intended to do. Across the street I saw the Tea Shoppe. Unlike the other shops, it had a front of honey-colored brick, with neat green-and-white-striped awnings over the windows on either side of the green door. The final “pe” on the sign seemed pretentious, but at least there wasn't a “Ye Olde” in front. I crossed the street and went inside. A tiny brass bell jangled as I closed the door behind me.

It was cool and dim inside. The walls were soft blue, the carpet thick and gray. There were several small tables covered with snowy white linen cloths, a bowl of blue larkspurs in the center of each. I could see the gleam of fine china and silver and hear the tinkle of glass. The atmosphere was extremely genteel, soothing. I sat down at one of the tables and looked around. The stout woman in tweeds I had seen earlier sat in one corner, stuffing down tiny glazed cakes and discussing bird-watching with a thin, limp woman who sipped her tea daintily. They were the only other customers, and neither had looked up as I came in.

I was beginning to think no one would wait on me, when the back door swung open and the waitress sauntered toward me. The atmosphere of gentility was shattered immediately. This creature belonged behind the bar of a rowdy pub, selling beer and ale. She was certainly not suited for an establishment such as this. She wore a bright red blouse and a tight black skirt. Cheap five-and-ten bangle bracelets clattered at her wrists, and golden hoops dangled from her ears. Her short curls were dyed an improbable shade of black.

“What'll it be, ducks?” she said breezily.

She stood beside the table, chewing a wad of gum. Her face might have been pretty, but it was coated with makeup, the lipstick too red, the Pancake too thick, the mascara too dark and improperly applied. Her lids were coated with blue-gray shadow, and a black satin beauty mark was stuck on her cheek. She spoke pure cockney. I wanted to ask her if she were for real, but good breeding forbade.

“Could you bring me a menu?” I asked.

“Could do,” she said, “but it wouldn't do you no good. You can have cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches, tea and cakes. That's it.”

“Cucumber and watercress?” I said.

“Very refined,” she said. “On white bread, with the edges trimmed. Tiny little things.” She seemed to think it a grand joke. She grinned impishly and wrinkled her nose at me. “You want the works? 'Course, if you're really hungry, you can go to Benton's down the block. They'll give you meat and boiled potatoes.”

“I'll take the works,” I said after only a moment's hesitation.

“Righto, ducks. Be right with you.”

She left my table and went over to speak to the women in the corner of the room. They looked horrified when she asked if everything was all right. The stout woman paused with cake halfway to her mouth, looking at the waitress as though the girl had leprosy. The waitress laughed and sauntered on into the back. The women finished quickly, dumped a pile of coins on the table, and left. The bell jangled angrily as they slammed the door behind them.

I smiled to myself. Despite her makeup and ill-advised clothes, the waitress had that breezy, devil-may-care manner that I always found delightful. I wondered what she was doing in a place like this, and then I remembered Andrea mentioning “that awful Tottie” and saying she didn't come to the Tea Shoppe anymore since the girl had arrived. Andrea had also mentioned that Alex Tanner had been seeing the girl.

I asked myself what Alex, with all his poise and polish, could find attractive in such a girl, and I answered myself almost before the question was properly framed. He would admire that same breezy quality I had already noticed, and the girl obviously had an availability that would be most welcome in a dull town like this. The makeup and junk jewelry that offended me would only make her more appealing to a man who wanted a casual companion for an evening at home. I had few illusions on the subject. Alex was a man, and men demanded satisfaction. That was the reason for good-natured creatures like Tottie.

She came back into the room, bearing a heavily laden tray. She set it on the table, whipped off the white cloth covering the food, and displayed a plate of tiny sandwiches, a silver pot of tea, and three minute glazed cakes with pink-and-white frosting.

“Here you are, duckie,” she said, pouring tea into a white cup.

She went over to the table where the women had been and scooped up the money. She rang it up on the cash register beside the door and then began to clear the table. She hummed merrily to herself as she worked. I found the food surprisingly delicious. The sandwiches were crisp and full of flavor, the tea strong and aromatic. I was eating the last cake when Tottie came back to my table.

“More tea?” she asked.

“Please,” I replied.

She went to fetch a fresh pot of tea, and when she came back I was sitting with my chair pushed away from the table, completely relaxed. I smiled at the girl as she poured the tea.

“Are you a native of Hawkestown?” I asked.

“You've got to be kiddin', duckie. Do I look like one?”

“Well—hardly. No offense,” I hastily added.

“None taken. You ain't either, sweets. A native, I mean. No one in this town dresses like that. The minute I laid eyes on you, I said to myself, that little number ain't from this town, not by a long shot. You stand out like a sore thumb. I mean that nice-like.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“London?”

I nodded.

“Me, too, though not from the same circles, I'd wager. No, I was out of work, and the old man who runs this place needed a girl. He was in London and talkin' to a friend of his who's a friend of mine, so they got together an' fixed it up for me to come work here. Me, sellin' cucumber sandwiches! The owner almost dropped his teeth when I came sashayin' in a few weeks ago. He didn't know what to expect, but he sure didn't expect me. Nice old coot, though. Pays a decent salary, and hasn't fired me yet.”

“You've been here only a few weeks?”

“Six or seven. Long enough to know this ain't the town for me. The women who were just in here, for example. Bird-watching! I ask you, is that sane? Everyone here seems to be livin' in the past. You'd hardly know it was the twentieth century. No action. Well—” She hesitated a moment, then smiled. “Almost none,” she said.