A Bitter Feast(10)

But Melody was frowning. “It’s not like him.”

“Maybe his mobile battery died,” Gemma suggested, trying to convince herself. “It wouldn’t be the first time he forgot his car charger. Or he could have had car trouble. I keep telling him he’s got to replace the old boat, even if it hurts his dad’s feelings.” The Astra estate had been a gift from Hugh, Kincaid’s father, when the demands of family life had finally forced Kincaid to give up driving his classic MG. A wife, three kids, and two dogs simply had not fit.

She put her phone on the side table and sipped at the brandy Sir Ivan had insisted on pouring her after dinner. Waiting for Kincaid, they’d put off the light supper the Talbots had prepared until Charlotte had been almost too sleepy to eat. Cold salads, paté, cheeses, and bread had been laid out in the comfortable eating area in the kitchen.

“We didn’t want to worry about getting a hot meal on the table with everyone in transit and the little one up past her bedtime,” Addie had said. “I raided Daylesford Organic,” she added with a conspiratorial smile. Gemma had no idea what she was talking about.

“The Fortnum and Mason of the countryside,” Melody explained. “The poshest farm shop you can imagine. Run by the family who owns JCB.” When Gemma still looked blank, she elaborated. “You know. Tractors. Earth movers. Pots of money. And the shop is so upmarket it even has a spa.” When Gemma raised her eyebrows, Melody said, “Seriously. That’s where you’ll find all the Chipping Norton set. Even the Camerons, if the stars are in your favor.”

Ivan’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Or not, more like.”

In spite of what she’d heard from Kincaid, Sir Ivan Talbot had been a surprise to Gemma. She’d seen photos, of course, so she’d known he was impressively tall and blond, but nothing had prepared her for his sheer presence. Or for the remnants of his Geordie accent. Melody had told her his story; a Newcastle grammar school boy, he’d come to London and taken a job as a fledgling reporter for the Chronicle, the newspaper owned by Addie’s family. Smart and fiercely ambitious, his wooing of the boss’s daughter had made London tongues wag. But anyone who wondered whether plain Ivan Talbot had courted Lady Adelaide Mann out of a desire to move up in the world had only to see the two of them together to know otherwise.

More and more of the running of the paper had fallen to Ivan, and when Addie’s parents died, Ivan had taken over, shaping the paper to his vision. They had all, in the last few months, had reason to be thankful for it.

Gemma was wondering if there was any way she could tell him how much she appreciated what he’d done for Kincaid when both dogs lifted their heads, ears pricked. She heard it then, the crunch of tires on gravel, and then the dogs began to bark.



Later, Kincaid would only remember the swoop of the drive in the dark, then the shape of the house, blotting out the sky. It seemed formidable, but light shone from the lower windows, a good sign, surely.

Tracey Woodman brought the car to a halt in front of the door. Then, reaching up, she switched on the dome light and examined his face one more time. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “I’d be happier if you’d go to A and E.”

“I’m fine,” Kincaid assured her. In fact, he didn’t feel fine at all, but the last thing he wanted to do was go to hospital. “Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t mend.”

“Promise me you’ll at least have someone look at that cut tomorrow. And at your hand.”

Ouch. Obviously he hadn’t managed to hide the fact that his hand was swelling and hurt like blazes. “Right. I will.” He could hear dogs barking now, from inside the house.

Tracey seemed to hesitate a moment, then pulled her handbag from the footwell and dug round in it. She fished out a pen and a scrap of paper with a look of triumph. “Just in case you need anything,” she said, scribbling, “like some more medical advice to ignore”—she looked up with a grin—“here’s my number. I only live in Bourton.”

“Thank you,” Kincaid said, offering her his left hand. “Really.” Light spilled from the door of the house. “I’d better go.” As he climbed out and shut the car door, Tracey switched off the dome light, then gave him a friendly wave as she drove away.

Kincaid turned to see Gemma coming towards him, followed by Ivan Talbot, Melody, and a small, dark-haired woman he assumed must be Melody’s mother. The barking continued from inside the house.

“Duncan! Where’s your car? What happened? Are you all right?” Peering at him, Gemma touched his arm, her face creased with concern. “What have you done to your face? I was so worried.”

“Long story.” Managing a smile, he greeted Ivan. “Good to see you, sir.”

“No ‘sirs’ here. Just Ivan. And this is my wife, Addie.”

When Kincaid reached out to her, she waved his hand away. “Never mind that. Let’s get you inside.”

They led him into the house and introduced him to the dogs, who sniffed at him with more than usual doggy interest. He realized he must smell like blood—and God knew what else he had sat or crawled in on the side of the road.

“Let’s get you a drink,” said Ivan. “You look like you could use one. Whisky?”

“Yes, please. But, first, could I have a wash?” Kincaid turned to Gemma. “Where’s Char?”