A Bitter Feast(67)

“Good.” Fergus reached over and touched her chin, tilting her face up so that he could meet her eyes. “Come to bed,” he said, and there was no hint of Irish brogue, and no laughter now in his voice.

She went, as if her life had never held any other possibility, and when she kissed his scarred fingers, they tasted of vinegar and salt.





Chapter Eighteen

As soon as Bea and Grace had left the room, Gemma went to Kit. “What happened?” she asked quietly, moving him away from the others.

“I don’t know. She seemed okay with what you said—I told her you’d invited her to lunch and that the kids would like to meet Bella. But we had to walk back through the center of the village and she saw something. Maybe it was the closed sign still out in front of the pub. Then she started yelling at me and ran straight across the road. I couldn’t stop her.”

“I know, love. Thank you for trying.” Gemma gave his shoulders a squeeze, then bent to stroke the dog’s silky head. “I’m sure Grace will calm down. But in the meantime, what are we going to do with this lovely girl?”

“I don’t want to give her back to Grace.”

Gemma looked up, surprised. “Why ever not?”

“Grace isn’t responsible. She’s a baby. She doesn’t understand that what’s good for the dog comes first, not what she wants.”

What exactly had Grace done? Gemma wondered. But before she could ask, her mobile vibrated in her pocket. When she saw that it was Melody, she realized she hadn’t even had a chance to ask Kincaid what on earth he’d done with the children. “Just hang on to Bella for a bit,” she told Kit. “We’ll work something out. I’ve got to get this.”

She stepped into the lounge bar and answered the call. “Melody, are the kids okay?”

“That depends on whether you call playing croquet with Doug ‘okay,’” said Melody. “But other than that, they’re fine.”

“I’m so sorry.” Gemma puffed out a breath of relief. “I didn’t mean for you to be landed as a babysitter. I left them with Duncan. He’s here at the pub now with DI Booth, but I haven’t had a chance to ask him what happened.”

“Doug says Booth got a heads-up from the pathologist and picked Duncan up on the way to the scene. I came back to find Doug and both kids glued to Frozen and made them go outside.”

“Where were you, anyway?” Gemma asked.

“Having an interesting visit with Joe.”

“The gardener?”

“One and the same. I’ll tell you about it later. Listen, boss, Dougie did actually make himself useful this morning, other than child minding—which was probably good for his constitution. He did some research on Fergus O’Reilly.”

As Melody started telling her what Doug had learned, Gemma said, “Hang on,” and looked round for something to write on. Yesterday’s newspapers were still on the reading shelf by the bar, but there was no pen. Ducking behind the bar, she seized on an order pad and a pencil and began making notes. “Colm Finlay?” she repeated, and double-checked the spelling. She took down the name of the deceased ex-wife, and the approximate dates of Fergus’s different restaurant ventures. “So Fergus was in bad shape financially?” she said, tapping the pencil on the pad.

“Certainly looks that way. What’s going on with the bartender?”

Gemma stepped into the empty dining room on the other side of the lounge. “All I know is that Booth and the pathologist don’t think the hit-and-run was an accident.” Frowning, she added, “Melody, can you and Doug manage the kids just a bit longer? And please apologize to your mum and dad if we don’t make lunch? I’ll ring you back in just a few.”

Ringing off, she crossed the lounge again and stood in the doorway of the smaller dining room. Kit, the dog at his side, had joined the chefs, who seemed to be arguing. Viv was shaking her head as Ibby spoke to her urgently. Kincaid was huddled with Booth, discussing something Booth had pulled up on his phone. Watching her husband, she noticed how drawn his face had become over the last two days. There were hollows under his eyes and the lines between his nose and mouth seemed etched more deeply. He was still cradling his right hand and wincing when he moved. Could she be certain that he’d see the doctor again tomorrow if she left this afternoon?

She was worried about Viv Holland, but it was concern for Kincaid that tipped the balance. Crossing the room, she touched him gently on the arm and whispered, “Need a word.” When he’d excused himself to Booth, she led him back into the empty lounge and urged him to sit down with her at the table by the cold hearth.

“I don’t think we can just leave this,” she said quietly. “Not that I don’t think DI Booth can do a good job, but there’s a lot going on here that he may not have access to. And I think Viv Holland needs some serious support. I want to stay on at least another day. We can all go back to London together, tomorrow or the next day.”

Kincaid frowned. “What about the kids? They have to be back in school tomorrow. And work? I’ve let my team know I’ll be held up, dealing with the car, but you’re due back at Brixton in the morning.”

“I’ll ring the kids’ schools first thing and get them excused. I don’t think the boys have anything they can’t make up. And you know I’ve got leave due—I worked straight through the last two weekends because other people were out.”