“Your brother has been telling me about the duchess and the…” She cleared her throat. “The man who came to write about her.”
“And the girl,” Jamie guessed. “Laurel.”
“That’s the one. Full disclosure, Laurel is my mom.”
“Yes.” Jamie nodded. “I’ve gathered.”
“You’ve gathered?” she said as he delivered the coffee. “From what? We don’t look anything alike and I only just figured it out myself.”
“You introduced yourself as Annie Haley. Another nosy and animated American with that particular surname. It all made sense.”
Annie looked at him cross-eyed.
“How did you … Haley is my mom’s married name. You’ve been keeping track of her all these years?”
“Not especially.”
As Annie waited for him to speak, to describe how he could know the “Haley” without keeping track, her stomach roared. When was the last time she’d eaten? Had she even had breakfast that morning?
Jamie spun toward the refrigerator.
“You seem hungry,” he said, pushing aside wine bottles and lemons.
“Oh, um, I just ate,” Annie lied, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
“Rubbish! Your stomach speaks louder than you do. Hmm, my fridge is in a sorry state. I have positively nothing to eat unless you like olives or gherkins.”
“Really, I’m not hungry.”
“A tall tale if ever I’ve heard one. And I’ve heard a few. I have a proposition for you.” He spun back to face her. “Why don’t you relax, watch some telly, enjoy a drink. Wine is one provision I have. In the meantime, I’ll scamper over to the market and pick up a few supplies for dinner. It’s early, but I’m happy to eat now.”
“That’s very kind, but you don’t have to feed me.”
“It’d be my distinct honor.” Jamie placed a hand to his heart. “I love to play amateur chef and since my wife left I haven’t a person to cook for.”
With the words “wife left,” a sneaky, tight-lipped smile crossed Annie’s lips. Win was unattached and so was “Pru.” Was it too ridiculous to think…?
“You have a wife?” Annie said.
“Believe it or not, yes. Alas, the ole ball-and-chain’s been in Gstaad for two weeks visiting her parents.”
“Oh.”
Annie frowned. So much for that fantasy.
“Miss her like hell,” Jamie said. “But she didn’t make me accompany her, thank heavens. Bloody awful people, those parents of hers. Extraordinary that they produced such a primo child. So what do you say? Meal for two, made by yours truly?”
“If you’re sure…”
Annie was hungry, famished even. She’d have to eat at some point. Maybe it’d slow the spin of her brain.
“Bien s?r!” Jamie said. “Of course I’m sure. You’d be doing me a favor. Will you be all right alone for a spell?”
“Yes, of course,” Annie said, thinking of the tapes in her backpack. “I have some work to catch up on. So I’ll be just fine.”
“Brilliant. Well, young lady, I shall return. I look forward to a delicious meal and an even more delectable chat. Sounds as though my brother’s not talking so I will fill in the gaps. And, believe me, I have plenty to say.”
Sixty-six
?LE SAINT-LOUIS
PARIS
NOVEMBER 2001
The moment Annie heard the creak of the door she snapped a cassette into the player. It was a tape from the desk drawer at the Grange, freshly repaired by a grumpy man from a clock shop.
With a thundering heart and the shakiest of hands, Annie swallowed hard and hit Play.
FROM THE RECORDINGS FOUND AT THE GRANGE
A voice, male: This is a first interview conducted by writer Win Seton.
A voice, female: Also, the last.
Male: We’ll see about that. I have with me the lovely and talented Pru Valentine.
Female: Laurel Innamorati. Let’s get our facts straight.
Male: Yes, okay. No aliases. I am here with Miss Innamorati at a decayed estate in the derelict hamlet of Chacombe. The last time we were in this location a grievous injustice was committed. Miss Innamorati, how does it feel to return to the scene of the crime?
Female: Interesting question. Now that you mention it, I am a touch sick to my stomach.
Male: The interviewer will assume it’s not the company making you ill.
Female: Feel free to assume what you wish. It won’t make you right.
Male: Why do you think your stomach is upset? Is it due to “fear” perhaps?
Female: Yes. I am worried I’ll fall victim a second time.
Male: Lightning doesn’t strike twice.
Female: Actually, it often does. I’m quite afraid I’m in a great amount of moral danger.
Male: You mean mortal.
Female: No, I mean moral.
Male: Tell me, what happened the last time you were at the Grange?
Female: I encountered a suspicious character. He called himself a writer.
Male: Suspicious indeed.
Female: This so-called writer, he started out as your basic prowler. Then he ingratiated himself to the woman of the manor. He secured free room and board to boot.
Male: A real swindler sounds like.
Female: If you’re being generous. Anyway, he tried to befriend the woman’s guileless, wide-eyed assistant.