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No, it wasn’t fair to her, or to himself, actually, since he had no intention of becoming serious with India. He was wasting his valuable time with her, when he could be painting, and he was setting her up to get hurt when he said goodbye. Yes, she was trouble. For a variety of reasons.
The red phone on the counter top began to ring. He looked across at it balefully, reluctant to answer it. But it didn’t stop after six rings, so he got up in exasperation and strode over to the counter, snatched at the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Russell?’
‘Hello Melinda.’
‘How did you know it was me?’
‘Recognized your voice.’
‘I want out of this place, Russell,’ she wailed. ‘Get Dr Jeffers to release me.’
‘You know I can’t. You’ve got to stay there until he thinks you’re properly de-toxed. Then he’ll sign your release. I don’t have anything to do with it, you know that.’
‘Russell, please ask him.’
‘You know very well he won’t listen.’
‘Please don’t punish me this way.’
‘I’m not doing that, Melinda. You signed yourself into the clinic.’
‘I’ll tell Atlanta what you’re doing to me.’
‘I’m not doing anything. Anyway, she’s too young to understand.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Yes, she’s wonderful. I spoke to your mother yesterday and she said she’s as happy as a lark. Look, Melinda, I’ve got to go. I’m working.’
‘Will you talk to the doctor? Please.’
‘Yes, I will. I’ll give him a ring tomorrow. Now rest quietly, and get well. ’Bye.’ He hung up and stared at the phone. Now that was trouble if anything was. And then some.
He groaned. What was he going to do about Melinda and his child? He dreaded the thought of someone finding out about them. And yet he knew it would leak out some time soon … he was far too famous for it not to … He let this disturbing thought go, unable, suddenly, to cope with it.
Unexpectedly, his thoughts veered to Tessa Longden and her predicament about Adele. He fully understood how she felt, the agony of mind she was going through. After all, he had a three-year-old of his own, and he could well imagine how beside himself he would be in the same circumstances.
India drove along the motorway at a steady pace; she was soon leaving Harrogate behind and heading towards the village of Pennistone Royal. The sky had changed, the thunderclouds had drifted out to the North Sea and it was a lovely pale blue again. She was relieved. There would be nothing worse than tramping over sodden fields and meadows looking for a lost child.
Was she lost on the estate? No. Mark Longden had taken her out of spite. As a bargaining chip, as Dusty had suggested. Dusty. He was such a difficult man in so many ways, and so full of contradictions. He was loaded with baggage, most of it about his background and their class differences, all of which she found silly. He wouldn’t listen to her. But no matter, she had fallen in love with him the night she had first met him, and nothing was going to change that. He was the only man she wanted, the only man for her, and she was determined to get him. Permanently. Long term. Marriage. That was her goal. It wasn’t going to be easy, she was fully aware of all the problems.
Dusty was extremely independent, loathed being pinned down. Nor did he like to make commitments. That was obviously why he had never married or had a long-term relationship. ‘Love ’em and leave ’em, that’s always been my motto,’ he had said to her when they first met several months ago, as if warning her. And then he had begun to laugh uproariously, seemingly highly amused by his own attitude.
He laughed a lot and she liked that. She couldn’t bear glum people who sounded like the voices of doom with their dire predictions of impending disasters and gloomy outlook. He was usually in top form, cheerful, optimistic, raring to go, and ready to take a chance on life, except when it came to wedded bliss, of course. That was verboten even as a subject, not open for discussion at all.
Dusty liked being one of the boyos, as he called his male friends, who were numerous and varied … actors, writers, politicians, journalists, ‘And,’ as he often said, ‘nobodies who I absolutely adore.’ He fancied himself as Jack the Lad – Jack the Bad Lad. He enjoyed carousing and creating a stir, constantly referred to himself as a rabble-rouser. However, she had come to understand in the three months she had known him that much of this was a bit of an act. In point of fact, he drank very little, hardly anything at all, mostly nursed a Stolichnaya over ice all night, simply made a big noise about his consumption of booze. She was well aware that the men in the Harte family drank much more than Dusty. But then he needed a very steady hand the next morning in order to do his work. His style of painting was Classical Realism, and notable art critics around the world had hailed him right from the beginning of his career as the new Pietro Annigoni, proclaiming that he had inherited the mantle of the famous Italian painter who had died in 1988. They called Dusty a genius, and with the same awe and reverence they had called Annigoni a genius. Dusty’s paintings were classical in style, very much in the manner of the great artists of the Renaissance, with precise attention to detail in the subject matter and background, whether these were interiors or exteriors. His portraits of the famous, and his paintings of landscapes and seascapes, were so detailed, his use of colour so breathtakingly beautiful, people simply stood and gazed at them mesmerized, unable to tear their eyes away.
Anybody who painted as precisely as he did could hardly afford to booze it up; she had said that to him once and he had grinned and winked at her. She felt the same way about his so-called rabble-rousing; even this was merely a form of jovial boisterousness, with much laughter, loud voices, arm-punching, back-slapping. Much ado about nothing, something which was totally innocuous but which the press played up. As he hoped they would. He loved his reputation as a wild hard-drinking hell-raiser, and did much to foster this characterization of himself. Especially in the papers.
When she had first understood his reputation was something of a myth she had burst out laughing. She had been walking through Harte’s with Linnet when the truth dawned on her, and she had been unable to suppress her hilarity. Her cousin had stared at her and shaken her head, and said pithily, ‘People who burst into gales of laughter for no apparent reason get taken away in straitjackets. Especially when they’re in the middle of a renowned and very posh emporium making a hullabaloo. Drawing attention to themselves.’
‘I’m sorry, Linnet,’ she had spluttered, ‘but I can’t help it. I’ve suddenly realized my boyfriend is a bit of a phoney.’
This comment had instantly gained Linnet’s undivided attention, and she had cried, ‘Oh get rid of him. Immediately. We don’t need anybody who’s not true blue around here. Anyway, he’d get clobbered by the lads.’
‘What lads?’
‘Julian, Gideon, Toby, and even young Desmond. They’d gang up on him.’
‘That’s true.’
‘By the way, when you say boyfriend are you referring to the VFP?’
‘VFP? What’s that?’
‘Very Famous Person. You told me you were seeing someone very famous but you never confided who he is.’
‘Russell Rhodes.’
‘Dusty Rhodes? The painter?’ Linnet’s eyes had widened.
She had simply nodded in response but was pleased by Linnet’s surprised reaction.
‘He looks rather dishy, India.’
‘He is, but complex.’
‘Aren’t they all,’ Linnet had responded, grinning at her.
She had laughed and answered, ‘But at least he’s never been married, so there’s no ex, or children to contend with. In fact he’d been unattached for quite a while before he met me.’
‘You know, Dad loves his work, in fact we all do. He’s always wanted Dusty Rhodes to paint Paula, but Mummy says she’s too busy to sit all those hours for an artist. I wish she would, though, and so does Daddy.’
‘I agree. Dusty’s the perfect person to paint your mother. He could do a wonderful medieval portrait of her.’
Linnet had then asked her a lot of questions about Dusty as they had continued their walk through the store; she had answered some but had remained silent about others. She had discovered she didn’t want to reveal too much about him or their relationship, at least not just yet. The real problem with Dusty was his attitude to her family. Without ever meeting any of them he had made a sudden snap decision and categorized them as aristos. ‘Too posh. Snobs. Hoity-toity, idle rich folks,’ was the way he described them. None of this was true, and she had tried to explain this, explain about her great-grandmother’s impoverished beginnings, but he had swept her words away and changed the subject in his usual imperious manner.
At first she had thought he suffered from an inferiority complex about his own bleak and desolate background, growing up as a poor boy in the back streets of Leeds. Certainly he was always making reference to this. But she had quickly come to accept that he didn’t have an inferiority complex at all – far from it, in fact. He was one of the most self-confident and self-possessed people she had ever met, in command of everything, exuding charm and displaying the most perfect manners when he wanted to.
Yet, nevertheless, Dusty believed her father would look down on him, wouldn’t approve of him, would condemn their relationship out of hand. And so far she hadn’t been able to convince him otherwise. But she would keep trying. And she knew her father and mother would like him, quite aside from the fact that they both admired his paintings, without even knowing she was involved with Dusty.
I have to give him time, she told herself, and slowed down as she came to the village. Within minutes she was leaving the small main street behind and heading for the road which would take her directly to the front gates of Pennistone Royal.
Her mind focused on Tessa and the situation she was likely to come across when she arrived. She had purposely not thought about it on the drive over from Dusty’s house, but now she had to concentrate on the matter at hand. She had no idea what she would have to face. She prayed she would find Adele with her mother and not still lost. Or abducted. Prayed that tragedy did not lurk in the shadows.
Jonathan Ainsley crept into her mind, and she grimaced. From what she had learned lately, it appeared that Mark Longden was under his influence. How terrible that such a thing had happened. Could Jonathan be pulling the strings, was he the mastermind behind Adele’s abduction? If that was what it was. She had no answers for herself.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_2ef1706e-2561-50aa-b81f-6bc13e593c7e)
Linnet sat with Tessa in the upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal, talking to her quietly, trying to reassure her that Adele was all right, that she would soon be home, silently praying that she was correct in this assertion, and that her assurances would not prove to be meaningless.
Evan was with them, seated near the lovely oriel window, but she was an observer rather than a participant at this moment, knowing it was best to let Linnet handle everything. Tessa could be touchy, even a little caustic, at the best of times, and today was the worst.
‘Mark would never do anything to upset or hurt Adele,’ Linnet said, touching her sister’s hand, then taking it in hers. ‘He does adore her, you know, that’s always been most apparent.’
‘Yes,’ Tessa responded, ‘but what if it’s not Mark who has her? Perhaps Desmond was right when he suggested it might well be a kidnapping for ransom. She could easily be with strangers, and therefore in danger.’
‘I really do doubt that,’ Linnet answered in a stronger tone, wishing her younger brother had not voiced this opinion. It was a possibility but he would have been wiser to have kept it to himself. ‘And you must trust Jack Figg. He’s the best and the smartest private investigator there is, Mummy’s said that for years and she’s always relied on him in a crisis. And don’t forget, he was head of Harte’s security for years.’
‘But he’s been retired for some time now,’ Tessa pointed out, a sudden shrillness in her voice.
‘Semi-retired, to be exact. He still works full time for those who need him, such as former clients he’s remained close to, like us. Anyway, you know very well our mother put him on a retainer and used him to do that in-depth check on Mark Longden several weeks ago. She filled us in before she went off to New York.’
‘Yes –’ Tessa’s voice suddenly broke and tears welled in her eyes again. She wiped them quickly with a tissue and continued shakily, ‘I’m so worried about Adele I can hardly bear it. She’s such a little girl and she must be so scared, even if she is with her father. I mean, being snatched off the terrace in such an awful way will have frightened her. I feel so helpless, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Listen to me,’ Linnet said in her firmest, most confident voice, ‘we don’t know how she was taken, whether it was awful or not. Actually, I’m sure it wasn’t.’ Hoping to calm Tessa, she went on talking. ‘I’m sure Mark made it seem like a game to Adele, you know, waving to her, putting his finger to his lips so she would be quiet, smiling at her, beckoning. Yes, I’m quite certain that’s what he did. It’s obvious he wouldn’t want to alarm her, frighten her. He knew he mustn’t upset her since he was taking her without your permission. She would’ve made quite a racket, I think, if he’d just rushed in and grabbed her.’
‘You seem so certain it is Mark. Like me.’ Tessa gave Linnet a hard stare and her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I just hope to God we’re right. What is Jack Figg actually doing right now?’
‘He’s working in the library, on the phone a lot, talking to people, mostly his operatives, I believe. I never question his methods and neither should you. Let it suffice for me to say that he has contacts everywhere in the world and in all walks of life. If anybody can find Adele, it’s Jack, believe me it is.’
Glancing across at Evan, Tessa said slowly, ‘You had lunch with Uncle Robin at Lackland Priory today. Did he mention Jonathan Ainsley? Where he was living these days?’
Evan tensed. Tessa had sounded almost accusatory, but she kept her voice level as she answered calmly, ‘No, he didn’t mention Jonathan. I’m sorry, Tessa, I don’t know anything about him. But he’s more than likely out of the country. In Hong Kong. Robin would have told me if Jonathan were in England … you see he would have warned me. I know Robin worries a lot about Jonathan doing me harm out of spite.’
‘And all of us, too, for that matter!’ Linnet exclaimed, her green eyes flashing. ‘He’s had it in for Mummy and her offspring for ages. In fact, I think he has it in for every one of the Hartes. He’d like to mow us all down with a machine gun and be rid of us once and for all. And all because he feels cheated by Emma Harte. He’s a nasty piece of work, but Mums says he always was.’
‘That’s true,’ Tessa agreed. ‘And to think Mark let himself fall into his clutches.’ Tessa sat back on the sofa, twisting the tissue in her hands, her face ringed with misery. At this precise moment she fervently wished she had never married Mark Longden. All he had ever done really was to create a ton of misery for her, not to mention the verbal and physical abuse he had meted out lately. Now he had stolen their child.
Suddenly the door flew open and India came into the upstairs parlour almost at a run. ‘Hi, everybody,’ she said and then made a bee-line for her cousin Tessa; she knelt down next to her and took hold of her hand. ‘I’m so sorry this happened,’ India murmured, looking at Tessa intently, wanting to convey her enormous sympathy and concern. Her face was full of compassion, her eyes warm and loving. ‘I’m here for you, whatever you need. You only have to ask.’
Tessa nodded, attempted a smile. It faltered instantly, but she managed to say, ‘Thanks, India, I’m glad you’re here.’
Watching India commiserate with Tessa, Evan couldn’t help thinking how very much alike they looked, like sisters actually, as if turned out from the same mould. It was apparent they were closely related; both had silver-gilt hair and silvery-grey luminous eyes, pale complexions and delicately-wrought faces. They were lovely looking in a soft, feminine way, and she knew their striking resemblance to each other came from their genes, their shared Fairley bloodline.
Evan had also heard the family legend that their great-great-grandmother Adele Fairley had been a famous beauty – stunning, elegant, aristocratic, and possibly slightly mad. And that it was from her that these two had inherited their unique silver-blonde hair and extraordinary eyes, as well as their angelic faces. Even little Adele had the same looks. She was part Fairley, and to Evan she did not appear to be anything at all like a Harte. The thought of the missing child made her shrivel inside, and she felt a sudden chill sweep over her. Involuntarily, she shivered. What if Adele were in some kind of danger? Everyone had mentioned Mark, or a kidnapper looking for money, but hadn’t anyone thought of a paedophile?
Immediately Evan shoved that thought aside, it was too awful to contemplate. She glanced across at Linnet, who was a true Harte with her halo of red hair, green eyes and dynamic personality. Gideon had the same Harte colouring and upbeat attitude. Evan couldn’t help but admire Linnet this afternoon. She had taken charge in a quiet but confident way and was handling everything with true diplomacy and efficiency. Not only did she convey great positiveness, she had managed somehow to keep Tessa calm. Evan knew how much the latter was suffering; furthermore, Tessa was at a loss, had no idea what to do, which was so unlike her.
Linnet’s cell phone began to ring and she got up, walked over to one of the tall windows, stood talking for a moment, and Evan knew it was Julian on the other end. Linnet had asked her to be a bridesmaid at her marriage to Julian in the winter, and she had been thrilled to accept. Gideon was to be best man and India the other bridesmaid.
Her eyes wandered around the upstairs parlour … Linnet had once explained to her that this had been Emma Harte’s favourite room, and she understood the reasons why. It was lovely, gracious, charming, and spacious, with a high ceiling and tall leaded windows. There was a carved mantel over the fireplace and the walls were a sunny daffodil colour. Two large comfortable sofas were covered in a floral chintz fabric vibrant with scarlet and blues, greens and pinks on a pale yellow background. The Aubusson rug underfoot was obviously rare, a valuable antique, as were the pieces of furniture made of mellow, ripe woods. Linnet had also explained that over the years the room had never changed in its decor; it was simply refurbished with the same fabrics and colours for a sense of continuity and as a reflection of Emma’s great taste.
Evan loved art and she was particularly interested in English landscapes, and for a moment her gaze rested on the museum-quality Turner hanging on a side wall, then it swung to the oil painting above the mantelpiece. This was of Paul McGill, the love of Emma’s life; he was wearing an army officer’s uniform and it had apparently been painted in the First World War. What a handsome man he was, she thought. No wonder Emma had succumbed to his charms.
‘Evan, let’s go down to the kitchen and rustle up a pot of tea,’ Linnet said. ‘And Margaret will make us some smoked salmon sandwiches. I’m starved. I didn’t have lunch.’
Evan sat up with a start, brought out of her reverie by Linnet’s voice. ‘Okay!’ she answered at once, jumping up, moving across the floor swiftly, hating to be caught offguard in this way.
‘What about you, Tessa?’ Linnet asked.
‘I couldn’t eat a thing! Food would choke me!’ she cried, shaking her head almost violently.
‘India? Do you want something, darling?’ Linnet’s auburn brow lifted questioningly.
Her cousin nodded. ‘Tea with lemon would be nice, and so would a smoked salmon sandwich. Thanks.’
‘I thought you’d had lunch,’ Linnet murmured, and then stopped short. ‘Oh, but you never finished it, did you? Instead you drove here.’ Linnet stared hard at India but her face was quite expressionless.
‘That’s correct,’ India responded evenly, her own face as blank as her cousin’s. But she couldn’t help wondering if Linnet had guessed she had been with Dusty at lunchtime. No matter; Linnet was always on her side whatever she did.
Jack Figg was seated at the large Georgian desk in the panelled library, his eyes on the papers spread out in front of him.
After a moment he lifted his eyes and looked across at Linnet, who was seated on the sofa with Tessa. She was grim and intent, but holding her own as he knew she would. It was Tessa he was worried about.
She looked as though she would pass out at any moment; her face was stark, chalky, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed from weeping. He fully understood how anguished and worried she was, and his heart went out to her. Apart from being a kind and compassionate man, he had once lost a child to death and his grief had been searing, a sorrow he could not endure. Now he prayed that Adele was alive. Instinctively he felt that she was, and he wanted more than anything else to trust in those instincts. God damn it, she has to be alive, he thought, willing it to be so.
Seated on the other sofa near the fireplace were India Standish, whom he had known since she was a child, and Evan Hughes, the newcomer to the family, recently-discovered, and another great-granddaughter of Emma. He could see the concern on their faces as well, and he knew that all of these four young women had been waiting for hours to get an update on the situation from him.
So had young Emsie and Desmond, who had rushed after him when he had traversed the estate with Wiggs and Joe earlier. They were now sitting on the upholstered library fender, obviously being extremely careful about opening their mouths. He had warned them that if they wanted to stay in the library they had to remain totally quiet. ‘Not one word,’ he had cautioned and they had nodded their agreement.
Without preamble he began to speak, addressing himself to Linnet and Tessa who sat together. ‘It’s turning four-thirty, and it’s just over five and a half hours since Adele disappeared.’ He paused, his eyes sweeping over them, then he went on: ‘I’m afraid I don’t know where she is. But I do know where she isn’t, and that’s here at Pennistone Royal. She’s not in the fields, the meadows, the woods or the gardens, which have all been thoroughly scoured. And I’ve even had Wiggs drag the pond. Fortunately, all he found were weeds. Nor has Adele been seen in Pennistone Royal village, although two or three people did notice a black Mercedes driving through at high speed around lunchtime. That’s obviously the same car which was seen here in the drive by Wiggs and the stable lads.’
‘What about Mark? What about Mark?’ Tessa cried excitedly, repeating herself, and clutching the rag doll to her, as she had done on and off during the day. ‘Have you tried to find him?’
‘I have indeed,’ Jack responded softly. ‘I spoke to his secretary who told me he had taken a few days off –’
‘He came up here to grab Adele!’ Tessa interrupted, her voice rising. ‘I bet anything he’s in Yorkshire. With Jonathan Ainsley. They’re in this together.’ She looked agitated, and her eyes flared.
‘He could be up here, of course,’ Jack said, ‘but he’s certainly not with Jonathan Ainsley. I’ve had one of my people check Jonathan’s whereabouts and he’s in Hong Kong at this very moment. And he’s been there for several weeks.’
‘Perhaps Mark took Adele back to London with him, if he grabbed her,’ Linnet ventured, giving Jack a long, hard stare.
‘He’s not in his apartment nor is he at the house in Hampstead. Both places have been checked out.’
‘But the house is locked up –’ Tessa began, and then her voice faltered when she saw the irritated expression flashing across Jack’s face.
‘Yes, the house is locked up, Tessa, and so is Mark’s apartment. But we do have our ways of checking things out.’
‘I understand,’ she said meekly, leaning back against the sofa, ignoring Linnet who had poked her in the ribs a moment ago, warning her to shut up, she had no doubt.
‘I’ve phoned Mark’s mother in Gloucestershire,’ Jack continued. ‘She was not at home, but was expected early this evening, according to someone called Dory.’
‘Dory’s the housekeeper,’ Tessa volunteered. She cleared her throat and went on somewhat tentatively, ‘Mrs Longden’s a bit of a doting mother, but she’s a decent woman. If Mark took Adele to her home she would insist he brought her back to me at once.’
