A Bitter Feast(4)

“Welcome to Beck House.”



Duncan Kincaid watched the sun set from the A40. He had plenty of time to admire the spectacle, as the traffic was creeping along in annoying stops and starts. He’d rung Gemma to let her know he was held up. According to the radio, there was a major traffic incident just short of his exit. He supposed it was a good thing after all that the family hadn’t traveled together, although he hadn’t been thrilled about leaving the boys in London.

Of course, they would be all right tonight. Their family friend Wesley Howard had offered to stay with them. Then Kit would walk Toby to his ballet class in the morning, after which they’d meet Doug Cullen at Paddington for the train. Not that Kit and Toby couldn’t have traveled down alone, but Kincaid felt better knowing they’d have adult supervision.

The thought of Doug as “adult supervision” made him smile. Not that Doug wasn’t past thirty now, but somehow he couldn’t see his sergeant in a parental role. Doug had said he had a sculling event in the morning, but Kincaid suspected he was more reluctant to lose a Saturday morning in his garden. Since the spring, the garden had become Doug’s new passion and he talked about it with the tediousness of the convert.

Kincaid also wondered how comfortable Doug felt about the visit to the Talbots’ country home. They had both worked with Sir Ivan after the events of the spring, but neither had met his wife, and from Melody’s description Lady Adelaide sounded quite formidable.

The sun sank below the horizon and he shifted restlessly, wishing he’d at least had the forethought to grab a sandwich and a bottle of water. But, hungry as he was, he was more concerned about his old car than his stomach. The Astra’s engine had seemed a bit rough lately. He hoped the car didn’t overheat with all the idling.

When the traffic finally began to move, he breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like the old beast would make it, after all. And perhaps he would even reach the Talbots’ in time for dinner.



Dawdling, Nell sipped at her cold coffee. Outside, the dusk faded and lights winked on in the village. But neither Viv nor Bea emerged from the kitchen, nor did the man in the fedora return for his coat. Diners came and went, and Jack was too busy at the bar to chat. Reluctantly, Nell settled her check with Jack and let herself out into the crisp night.

The car park was now dark as pitch and the sharp air smelled of wood smoke and apples. Nell wondered if there might be a light frost by morning, and if the weather would hold for tomorrow’s luncheon. She supposed that she would just show up at Beck House and do whatever was needed. Perhaps Lady Addie would know something about the mystery man, although Nell didn’t think she was much of a one for gossip.

In the meantime, Bella, her border collie, was waiting for her evening walk, and the stars were hard and bright in the night sky. Nell took a breath of contentment as she unlocked her little Peugeot. This was a good life she had chosen, all in all.

Easing her way out of the car park, she took the old quarry road out of the village. Her cottage was close enough that she could have walked, but the lane was narrow and could be treacherous in the dark. Her headlamps glared against the hedges as the lane dipped and turned.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in the center of the road. Nell jammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt. The man in the fedora was walking away from her, in the center of the lane. He didn’t turn or even seem aware of the car, and as she watched he staggered slightly. Was he drunk after all? Why was he walking away from the village, and without his coat?

Lowering her window, Nell called out, “Hello, there.” When he didn’t respond, she got out, leaving the engine idling, and walked towards him. “Excuse me! Do you need a lift? It’s not safe walking these lanes in the dark.”

He kept going, and it wasn’t until she reached him and put a hand on his arm that he turned, as if startled. Immediately, she saw that he was not drunk, but ill. His face was pale, beaded with sweat in spite of the cold, and his eyes were unfocused. He swayed under her touch.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Do you not feel well? I think you need some help.” He didn’t resist as she grasped his elbow and guided him gently towards the car. She could feel him trembling. Should she take him back to the village? But then what? Not only did she not know where he was staying, there was no doctor.

The man swayed against her, mumbling something she couldn’t understand. Nell made a decision. It would have to be Cheltenham. There was nothing nearer. “Right,” she said briskly. “I can see you’re ill. Let’s get you in the car.” She put an arm round him to support him. “We’re taking you straight to hospital.”



Kincaid’s predictions turned out to have been overly optimistic. The traffic had slowed again, and it was fully dark by the time he finally left the Oxford ring road. The car was too old to have built-in sat-nav, and not wanting to stop to check his mobile, he trusted to his memory of the map he’d looked at earlier.

As he passed Burford, the land began to rise into the Cotswold Hills, as well as he could tell in the dark. Not far to go, then, but he had to laugh at the idea of the Talbots referring to their place as a “weekend” home. Perhaps they knew a way to circumvent the motorway traffic—or simply took the train to the nearest station, where they had a retainer waiting to fetch them. Or maybe they just took a helicopter, he thought, grinning.