The Flower Girls (12 page)

She was excellent with computers, had a pleasant personality and her looks wouldn’t frighten the customers. The country house hotel was half an hour’s drive from Heaton Grange and Seth had loaned her a car. She had to work every other weekend and one late evening but that didn’t inconvenience her. Seth could choose his own hours and two days together in mid-week was no problem.

If the previously rather sour Mrs. Carrington disapproved she didn’t show it. When Poppy was able to eat breakfast with them all in the kitchen, she was more welcome than she’d ever been. Not that Mrs. Carrington was ever really warm and friendly, but she wasn’t uncommunicative and no longer gave her long, suspicious looks. On analyzing the housekeeper’s mood, Poppy decided that Mrs. Carrington was happy because it was obvious that Seth was happy. She’d probably long decided that Poppy wasn’t at all like her sister.

Poppy knew that the most important thing was that they were—she and Seth—happy and companionable. They hit it off in more ways than one. She knew she had a lot to be thankful for, a lovely man in her life, a pleasant house to share and a reasonably satisfying job. Now and again thoughts of Jasmine and her dreadful end came and almost stole her contentment and her bliss. She let it in and then chased it away. None of it was her fault. Jasmine had chosen her own path, the marriage between her and Seth was over, her death was horrendous but it wasn’t the fault of her, or importantly, Seth. There were times when she was alone that she cried for her sister. She remembered happier times, when Jasmine was small and so pretty and mischievous that everyone loved her. Poppy had always adored the little girl and perhaps she’d spoilt her like everyone else. It was only when Jasmine hit fifteen that she began to change. She’d stay out late, hang out with the fast crowd at school; receive bad reports from schoolteachers. It seemed she was on a path to destruction. What she wanted was glamour, to be a reality television star or a fashion model, run around with the
in
the crowd. But for all her beauty she was too short to be a fashion model and she could neither sing nor dance nor act. Besides, learning something and working at it seemed to bore her. However, somehow she half-pulled herself together and found modeling work in London. The city suited her, she never came home again. She wasn’t long there before she met and married Seth Sanderson. Her sister wasn’t invited to the wedding. In fact Poppy hadn’t been aware that she’d married until the Christmas before she died. It was all such a stupid waste, Poppy believed. A girl who had the chance of everything, only to end in a ditch with her head bashed in, her nose clogged with cocaine. Perhaps she
had
taken the drug; her avowal that she’d never do that could have been broken. Misery could have led her to it, the fact that life hadn’t turned out as she wanted, and the drug gave her a lift. Poppy, in spite of her happiness with Seth, was haunted by these thoughts and could never entirely rid herself of them.

At work Poppy wore her hair in a neat chignon, the minimum of make-up, no spiky eyelashes, but she knew she looked attractive. There was something about the royal blue and dark gold uniform that really flattered her. Some businessmen did flirt a little but she was able to handle herself.

She was on the computer when a well-modulated voice said, “You’re new.”

She turned with her practiced smile and then felt a dark cloud descend. Stiffening her spine and not losing the smile, she said, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Miss…” he looked at her badge, “Poppy.”

She wanted to say,
“Miss Lord to you,”
but of course the customer was never wrong.

“How can I help?” She kept her voice friendly. Anyway she was being ridiculous. There had to be more than one silver fox in the world. This one was tall and slim, immaculately tailored in a gray suit, a dark pink shirt and pink and gray tie. His hair was thick and abundant and that lovely silvery color that suited some men. He was good-looking too, especially for a man in his fifties.

“Yes, I’m here for a meeting…” He named a charity organization.

She smiled. “Several guests have arrived. They’re in the Gainsborough room—the one with the cocktail bar.”

“I’m not sure I know that one, can you show me the way?”

“I can’t leave the desk but if you’d hang on a second I can fetch someone.”

“Never mind, I’ll find it…Poppy.” He gave her a warm, appraising sort of smile.

Observing him, she saw, as she’d suspected, that he knew exactly where to go.

Some men,
she thought… He’d probably be the type of man Jasmine was involved with. He was attractive, obviously not short of a bob or two judging by his designer-tailored suit. It was ridiculous of her to feel a tremor of fear, as if he knew who she was and as if, in this wide world, he was the man with whom her sister was involved. After all, their milieu was the city, not out here in the wilds of Yorkshire.

It was her late shift; she went down to the staff restaurant and had a salad for dinner, along with a cup of coffee. One of the porters was having his dinner and they chatted about the possibility of a really hot summer. It was June and still a cold wind invaded the Dale.

At nine she set off to drive home. There was still a lot of light. It was two weeks to the longest day. The long nights of summer were something she really enjoyed. There was a chance for a walk in the evening after dinner, or just sitting outside having a glass of wine, even if she had to wear a woolly cardigan. Seth teased her about Florida, saying it had thinned out her blood. She wondered how he could wander around in a short-sleeved T-shirt, but she was glad he did. There was something wonderful about his brown well-muscled arms.

The road wound and twisted for most of the way. The time of year meant she often met farm vehicles, but tonight she almost had the road to herself. There was a car on her tail. She’d noticed it as she had left the gates of the hotel. It was a light-colored expensive model and it hugged her car, rather than trying to overtake, not that it wasn’t difficult to overtake on this road, but there were places where it was possible. Agitated, she glanced in her mirror a little too frequently. It was unusual to have a car behind her all the way home; quite often any cars turned off way before Heaton Grange. This one was not for turning. As she approached the gate she put down her indicator and swung inside. The car behind her slowed and then accelerated off into the night. Once in the garage she paused and caught her breath. Her heart had raced a little; the way the car slowed down was odd, the house wasn’t on a bend. Was she being followed? How ridiculous was that, who would want to follow her?

Vaulting from the car, she ran around the house and burst into the kitchen. It was empty. Closing the door with her back, she leaned against it for a moment, waited for the ludicrous panicky feeling to pass before she moved deeper into the room.

Analyze the damned thing,
she ordered.
You’re traveling on a road, a car’s behind you—so what, it’s a public road. So it slows down after you’ve turned into the gate. Probably the person driving had never noticed the turning there.

There were a thousand and one reasons why it had happened and none of the reasons had to do with
her
. Straightening, she marched across the kitchen and out into the hall.

“Seth,” she called. Her voice echoed back at her. She went to the library, Seth wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the drawing room either. She ran up the stairs, bursting into their bedroom
. Their bedroom
—even the words caused a warm comforting feeling. However, the room was empty. Saul wasn’t around. The bedroom window looked down onto the small terrace where they sat in the evening. She peered over the sill and called his name but there was no reply. How odd. He always was at home to greet her. Still he was a busy man; he could have been called away on business.

Anxiously she looked around for a note. There was nothing. Miserably, she peeled off her uniform, hung it on a hanger and went for a shower. Returning, she slipped into sweat pants and a matching hooded top. Dressed, her hair pulled from its chignon, she traipsed downstairs. The house seemed big and empty and she didn’t like the prickle of fear that returned to haunt her.

The silence of the big house echoed back at her. She was spooked, she admitted it, and she had no reason why. Everything could be logically explained. In the kitchen she opened the fridge. There was a bottle of white burgundy; part of it they had drank last night. Finding a glass, she poured in a measure of wine, took a sip then wandered back into the library. Here the French doors looked down on the garden. The garden she’d thought unimpressive when she’d first arrived was now a riot of color. Pink and yellow roses, white and scarlet hollyhocks and tumbling honeysuckle. Mr. Carrington looked after the garden. It was, Seth had told her, a labor of love. The man definitely had green fingers. Opening the glass door a fraction, she let in the scent and reveled in it. A shiver ran down her spine; she shut the door and turned the key.

Into the silence there came a noise, a clatter. Whirling around, she ran to the library door, pressing her ear against a panel. The door was thick wood but she could hear something—gathering her courage she flung open the door.

Seth. He was standing by the ornate wooden chest in the hall and had cast his keys there; he was just staring into space as if worried about something. She murmured his name and he started.

“Poppy, I hadn’t realized you were home.”

He strode to her. It was as if whatever had been worrying him had been shrugged aside. Reaching her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “You smell delicious,” he murmured as he gently eased from her.

“Shower cream.” She smiled, relieved to see him. “I poured a glass of wine—want some?”

“No, I’ll have a whiskey, come on. Let’s sit in the library.”

When he’d poured his scotch and settled in the armchair, she perched on the arm until, without reluctance, he tugged her down onto his knee.

“I missed you.” She was careful with her words. She didn’t want to ask where he’d been. That seemed too demanding and possessive.

“I popped over to see my aunt. You know the big day’s Monday week. She’d invited me to Edward’s wedding some weeks ago. I thought it best to tell her to her face I wouldn’t be attending.”

They’d talked about it before. The invitation had invited only him. He’d been furious about it but she’d thought she’d persuaded him that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t exactly a snub to her but perhaps they wanted just family there. He’d laughed about that and said if he went he would probably be the only family member there. She surmised, although he’d not told her so, that he’d been brooding on it. In the end he’d decided not to go.

“I wish you’d go—”

“Not my scene with or without you. He might be my cousin but I can’t stand Edward. I thought you knew that.”

“Not exactly. Was she angry with you?”

“Oh you know…” He twirled a finger around a strand of her hair. “She’s too cold for anger; I don’t think she liked it but too bad.”

“I don’t want you to fall out with her…with them.”

“She’s not my favorite person. I suppose I see her because my mother was her sister but really they weren’t alike. Anyway, Robert arrived home and saved the day. He always says the right thing. I think he understood why or at least he pretended to.”

“Is he nicer than Carolyn?”

“Marginally…and now, my sweet, what kind of a day did you have?”

Poppy decided to say nothing about her fears; she thought in the cold light of day that they were irrational. So a car had been behind her from the hotel, a silver fox had flirted a little with her. Her uneasiness was ridiculous. If she said it out loud Seth would think her silly and emotional. Better to say nothing.

Chapter 16

She supposed that she’d been living in a confused state, a series of highs and lows. As the summer days swept by, she was at once hit by the reality of her life. Had she really mourned Jasmine? Guilt overwhelmed her at times. Had she stolen her sister’s life? What was she doing here with her sister’s widower so soon after Jasmine’s brutal murder? All these thoughts tormented her. The death of her sister started to haunt her. No one talked about it anymore; it seemed as if the police had given up any hope of finding the killer. No DNA, no sightings of Jasmine before her murder. And she…what was she doing? Not telling the police about the one place she knew her sister visited. Just who was she protecting? Seth or herself? She was certainly not doing the police any favors. Perhaps really not even Seth because he had to know everything, she had to tell him what she’d found out. She kept from him her discovery that Jasmine was frequently seen with the silver fox. She wanted to tell him everything but since that first attempt she’d been reluctant to bring it up. As if talking about Jasmine would somehow besmirch what they had. She was a fool.

Yet did she want to spoil her happiness?
“The happiness you have because of your sister
,
”
her conscience shouted at her. For the first time in her life she’d experienced real happiness, a perfect relationship. She’d let that dominate her thoughts and feelings and now she wanted, nay
needed
, to pull the whole of the house of cards down.

What can I do?

She looked at her tortured reflection in the mirror. This had started weeks ago, it was getting worse. She had to do something about it. But what?

Seth was away. He’d been gone over a week; perhaps that was why she was feeling even worse. There was no one to talk with. He wasn’t certain when he would be back—complicated negotiations, he’d said, not about his book but this was to do with some property the family owned. He didn’t go into detail.

When Mrs. Carrington went home the big house seemed so very empty. Normally she wouldn’t have minded but she knew this would have driven Jasmine insane. It was with Jasmine’s ghost flitting in and out of her mind that she felt unsure about being alone.

She knew her behavior was bordering on the hysterical. She was forever checking windows and doors to make certain they were locked at night. When it was a late night that she had to return she knew she’d nagged Mrs. Carrington to make sure everything was locked up tight before she left. Surprisingly the housekeeper didn’t offer a cutting, or sarcastic comment but did her best to assure Poppy that everything was all right, even offering Jason to stay if she wanted. It was a good idea, but then after consideration, Poppy rejected the offer. Jason would be bored rigid and far happier at home or with his mates from college. He wouldn’t want to be trapped in this house, beautiful though that house was.