Black & Blue (Lord & Lady Hetheridge Book 4) (20 page)

"So this morning, after you showed us the letter, I began to wonder—what was your end game?"

His eyes opened. "Kate…."

"Really. I'm curious."

"I've told you, nothing was certain. Michael—AC Deaver—thought they were bluffing. The first threat to your career came days before our wedding. I saw no reason—"

"No, I understand all that." She pushed back the duvet, raising herself on one elbow. "I mean, what was your end game in marrying me? If you didn't want a partner, what were you looking for? A trophy? 'Silver fox seeks younger blonde to play house in the West End. No pets, personal details furnished on a strictly need-to-know basis.'"

He groaned. "What do you expect? Histrionics? Shall I get pissed and pummel a wall like Buck Wainwright? Beat my fists black and blue?"

"I could understand that. I could understand almost anything but you shutting me out. You revealed more on TV this afternoon than you've ever revealed to me."

He sat up. Propping himself against the headboard, he passed a hand over his face. "Kate. If I wanted a trophy wife, I could have had one years ago. I don't believe the definition of a partner requires me to subject anyone, least of all you, to me at my worst."

"I heard the vicar say something about for better or worse."

"That's not what the phrase means."

"What else would it mean? Tornados? Asteroids? I accept the fact you were single for a long time, so playing things close to the vest comes naturally." She ran a fingernail up his bare chest. "But before you and I have even one serious conversation about Henry's future, you tell
Best Buzz
you want to adopt him?
Best Buzz
and not me? And why would you even want to, anyway?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"Not good enough."

"He needs a stable home. His mother—"

"Not good enough."

He sighed. Just when she thought he would shut down, turn to stone again, he took a deep breath and met her eyes. "Because I love him."

Kate's throat tightened. She knew what she wanted to say, but emotion made the words sticky.

"Right," she managed at last. "Was that so difficult?"

"I feel better showing you the best I can be." He, too, seemed to be forming each syllable with effort. "I don't want you to think of me as overly emotional. Impulsive. Out of control."

She kissed his earlobe. "You were out of control a little while ago…."

"That's different."

"As for impulsive—you always have been. You think I don't know that?"

Tony seemed so startled, even offended, Kate sat up straight. "Oh, my God. You actually think I don't know that?"

The look on his face confirmed it. She tried not to laugh.

"Tony. The first time we met, you took my part against Vic without any idea whether I was right or wrong. That was impulsive. When my relationship with Dylan blew up and I didn't know what to do, you offered to marry me. We'd known each other a few days.
Days
. And all that bollocks about me never having seen you angry? Of course I have. You were angry the day I confronted Madge. You were furious with me, furious with Madge, and willing to die in my place. The best parts of you are overly emotional. Impulsive. Out of control.

"It's not that I don't respect who you pretend to be," she went on, kissing his lips. "Cold, precise. But I would never have married that man. I wouldn't even have shagged him. I fell in love with the real you—the one who takes risks and damn the consequences. The man who told his family to stuff it, who took a job they loathed because
he
wanted it. The man with a willful streak," she ended, recognizing something she'd never understood before, "that matches mine."

He cupped her face in both hands, saying nothing. Seeing how his eyes shone, she didn't press him.

"You know the sort of blokes I used to date," she continued after a moment. "Gorgeous but bone idle. Musicians who never played gigs. Political agitators who never left the house. I had this idea men were basket cases, that I should take home the prettiest disaster and try to keep him alive, like a moldy houseplant. Then one day I turned a corner and ran into you—a man. A real man. And you were the best thing that ever happened to me. But surely you know it's not in my nature to be shielded from all harm. Whatever happens to you, whatever hurts you, I want my share. For better or worse."

"But… how do I…."

"Tell me how they forced you out. Every detail. And how it made you feel."

Kate held her breath. He was quiet for a very long time. And then, to her relief, he did.

* * *

Even by mid-morning, it was too cold for an outdoor summit, so Kate and Tony awaited their guests in the dining room. Cream tea was already on the table: two pots of Earl Grey, two pots of Darjeeling, a three-tiered plate of scones, clotted cream, strawberry jam, and crustless finger sandwiches stuffed with cucumber or ham and mustard. Tony had requested something informal, and Harvey, still prone to brief bouts of weeping after hearing the news, had responded with a spread that was last meal quality.

"Thank you," Mrs. Snell said when the butler insisted on pulling out her chair. "After so many years providing the morning repast, this is a welcome change," she added, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Henry liked you very much." Kate tried to keep the surprise from her voice. She'd expected him to run away screaming, not engage Mrs. Snell in a long discussion about his new favorite dinosaur, the recently reinstated Brontosaurus. "Harvey's been so busy since Henry and Ritchie moved in. It's very generous of you to help out."

"If only until my private investigation service takes off," Tony said. "Whatever that might entail. A case a week? A case a month? I've no idea."

Refusing the head of the table, he'd taken a seat on the window side next to Kate. With the exception of their honeymoon, she'd never seen him at eleven in the morning without one of his trademark Italian suits. Today, however, he wore an Oxford button-down shirt and a dark blue sweater, no tie. And even during their honeymoon, he'd shied away from public displays of affection, but that, too, had changed overnight. Ignoring the scone and teacup before him, he held Kate's hand, giving it a squeeze from time to time. She thought he'd pull away when Bhar entered the dining room, but Tony didn't let go. He merely smiled when his former subordinate's gaze flicked to their linked hands.

"Morning, guv, Mrs. S." Paul looked harried, despite his natty suit and obligatory
Acqui di Parma
fumes. "I didn't expect all this. Your lip looks better, Kate. Um…." He lifted his hands as if to rake them through his hair, stopping just before he ruined a look that must have taken beaucoup product to achieve. "Hiya, Harvey. Sad about the guv, eh? I mean Lord… I mean, him. The fact is, before we begin…."

"Are you off your meds? Sit down," Kate barked.

"Yes, I appreciate the invitation, it's lovely to be here, but the fact is—"

"Deepal!" A woman called from the front parlor. "I won't be hidden out here! It's undignified!"

"… I brought my mum," Paul concluded. "When I told her I was popping by the guv's—I mean, Lord—I mean, his place, she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"You're sacked," Tony said.

"Too late. Mum," Paul said, turning to intercept Sharada in the doorway, "Of course you've met, um, er,
Tony
, and Kate. This is Mrs. Snell, who used to be his secretary, and that's Harvey, the manservant. Like Alfred to Batman."

"Deepal, I write romances. I know what a manservant is." Evading her son's attempt to shepherd her into the nearest chair, Sharada made directly for the man with the title. "Tony, I'm so worried about Buck I've barely slept. They won't let me visit him. I've had to apply for permission! So I sat up last night, researching the art man and all his women. Every one of them married! I made a list of cuckolded husbands, that is to say, suspects…."

"Please, have a seat," Tony said with the easy authority that worked so many miracles, even when dealing with the strongest of personalities. "Pour some tea. Try some clotted cream. We're waiting on just one more, and then we'll discuss the case in an organized fashion."

"If we're discussing the case, I'm not meant to be here," Paul said, sitting down beside Mrs. Snell. She looked sideways at him, and he put on a smile that didn't quite make up for all the times he'd not-so-secretly called her "ghastly."

"Nice shawl you're wearing, Mrs. S. White with gold trim."

"Yes. Lady Hetheridge gave it to me this morning. A personal token of appreciation for my years of service."

"Oh." Paul shot Kate a look that suggested if she was going to give presents, she had a duty to warn him beforehand. "Well. In recognition of your service, I would like to give you… my undying gratitude?"

Mrs. Snell regarded him coolly. "Thank you."

"But again, as far as the case, maybe I should let Mum say her piece and then go," Paul continued, biting into a cucumber sandwich as if time were of the essence. "Being in disgrace stinks. Know what I did yesterday? While Action Kate was going about karate chopping suspects and uncovering Hardwick's ties to the drug trade? I was chatting up an old gal named Mrs. Lobelia Nibley-Tatters. No kidding," he said, pouring himself a cup of Earl Grey. "Thought it was Michael Palin in a housedress at first. Her neighbor, Arry, has been at war with her over—wait for it—the nocturnal activities of her cat Jinxy, who likes to pop round gardens where he's not welcome.

"Anyhow, during the course of arguing with Arry over her cat's right to jump the fence and serenade him at two in the morning, she noticed the sort of people Arry keeps company with. Took down license plates. Wrote descriptions in her diary. All in hopes of turning Arry over to the Council, getting him cautioned for obstructing parking spots or the like. She never cottoned on that Arry's a drug distributor, or that some of those men she's observed were traffickers higher up the food chain. Not till Scotland Yard came calling. Now she's not so hot to testify. Afraid it might put her cat in danger."

Kate grinned. "Think you can convince her to take the stand?"

"I have to, if I'm ever going to get back to the murder beat. And I also need to keep well away from anything touching on the Hardwick case. There's no way I'm deliberately provoking Jackson. I know old Vic's a bit of a mingebag, and he has those crazy eyes, like he's one taut rubber band from snapping. But he was decent to me yesterday, and—"

"DCI Jackson," Harvey announced from the doorway.

Paul shot Kate a second look, more wounded than the first. Then he took a scone from the plate, cut it in half, and silently began anointing it with clotted cream.

"Good morning, Vic. Thanks for coming. Have a seat." Tony indicated the head of the table.

Jackson went to his place with shoulders hunched and head down. He looked like a man who'd crashed a wedding, or been caught stealing from the collection plate. As he sat down, Harvey said,

"Sir, I seem to recall you enjoy Bloody Marys. If you'd like, I can—"

Tony silenced his butler with a look. Catching it, Kate suddenly understood. Vic's changed demeanor, his liquor trolley stocked only with non-alcoholic beverages, the way he smelled of mouthwash these days, instead of a pint. It all made sense.

"No Bloody Marys, thank you." Jackson looked around the table warily. "A cuppa is fine. Sorry I interrupted. You were at 'one taut rubber band from snapping?'" he asked Paul.

Mouth full of scone, Paul widened his eyes and shook his head, as if genuinely at a loss.

Jackson cleared his throat. "I appreciate being asked over." Picking up a teapot, he poured himself a cup very slowly, as if mistrusting himself to perform the operation with so many people watching. "As for your presence, Bhar, if I think it's dangerous or counterproductive, I'll send you packing. Otherwise, you can stay. But later, if AC Deaver or a nosy parker like Saunderson asks, you'll forget you were here, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," Paul managed around the remnants of his mouthful.

No one else spoke. Kate glanced at Tony, who filled his own cup, still saying nothing. Gradually it became clear that Jackson not only occupied the head of the table. He was meant to lead the meeting.

"Right." Jackson cleared his throat again. "So. This afternoon, DS Hetheridge will interview Miss Georgette Sevrin. I've looked over the file provided by PC Fannon, Tony. It made for interesting reading. She's a career malingerer." Hauling out his battered leather notebook, he flipped to the relevant page and read,

"Aged fifteen. Miss Sevrin brought suit against the headmistress of her school for negligence. Slipped on a floor in her dormitory, said the danger wasn't properly signed. Obtained a settlement.

"Aged nineteen. Nearly drowned on holiday in Polperro. Brought suit against the beach commission for lack of lifeguards. Won a settlement.

"Aged twenty-nine. Suffered temporary blindness due to chemical exposure on the job. Brought suit, then dropped it, apparently after failing to secure a doctor's testimony. Score one for the ophthalmologists of the NHS.

"Aged thirty-five. Married a French millionaire. Soon developed a psychiatric disturbance she attributed to her husband's mental cruelty. Sued for divorce and won a settlement of over two million pounds. I reckon it took her awhile to burn through the money, because things went quiet.

"Aged forty-two, it starts again. A slippery floor in Harrods. A chemical burn on her arm from a perfume squirter in Harvey Nicholls. Finally, nine months ago, she was a passenger in a car driven by her former brother-in-law, Granville Hardwick. He swerved to avoid a pedestrian and crashed into a Routemaster. He was unharmed; she spent a week in hospital and came out mental. Now she has an open suit against the City of Westminster, which operates the bus in question, for negligence, and the NHS, for mistreatment while hospitalized. Looking to collect ten million."

"Was the art man involved in the scam? Did he expect a cut?" Sharada asked. She seemed to consider herself part of the investigation, and to Kate's amusement, Jackson went along with it.