A Bitter Feast(8)

“Do you want to use mine to ring her?”

Kincaid thought, then shook his head, gingerly. “It’s not far, I don’t think. Better I tell her in person. It’s Beck House, near Upper Slaughter.”

Woodman whistled. “The Talbot place? You do move in fine company. You know,” she added as they walked back to her car, “I think I heard at the hospital that Nell Greene had retired to one of the Slaughters. Inherited a cottage or something. We should all be so lucky.” She glanced at the mangled remains of Nell Greene’s little car and shrugged. “Or maybe not.”





Chapter Three

The Talbots had come out to greet Gemma and Melody as soon as Melody’s car came to a full stop on the gravel drive. “My mum has radar. She’ll have sensed us coming up the lane,” Melody whispered as Gemma got out and lifted Charlotte from her car seat. Charlotte clung to her, taking in the house and the strangers with wide eyes.

Lady Adelaide Talbot had given her daughter a peck on the cheek, then held out her hands to Gemma. “I’m so pleased to meet you at last. And you must be Charlotte,” she said, bending down so that she could look the child in the eye as Gemma let Charlotte slide to the ground. “Welcome to Beck House, darling. We’re going to have lots of fun. Would you like to see the house?”

Charlotte nodded, still shy.

“Thank you for having us, Lady Adelaide,” Gemma began, but Melody’s mother was already shaking her head.

“Call me Addie. Everyone does. Can you imagine being saddled with Adelaide? And I’m only a lady when I’m not at home.” Her smile was infectious and Gemma relaxed. Melody had always given her the impression that her mother was quite starchy. She’d been expecting prim, proper, and possibly matronly. Glancing at Melody, she thought she should have known better. Addie Talbot was small, dark-haired, and even more delicate than her daughter. She was also effortlessly elegant in a way that made Gemma doubt her own choice of work trousers and nubby jumper, and wonder just how badly her hair needed a brush.

To cover her discomfort, she exclaimed over the cascades of pink roses surrounding the front door. “Oh, these are gorgeous. What are they?”

“St. Swithun’s. A David Austin climber. Ivan chose them because he misses his dreadful Newcastle weather,” Addie added as she linked her arm through her husband’s.

“St. Swithun’s Day, if it does rain, full forty days it will remain,” said Ivan with a twinkle. “Famously inaccurate.”

“Do come in,” Addie urged. “Ivan can bring your things.” She took Charlotte’s hand and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.

From inside the house came the sound of excited barking, one dog a high, shrill yap, the other a deeper rumble. “Puppies,” said Charlotte, jiggling with excitement now.

“We put the dogs in the study,” explained Addie, nodding towards the room on the front of the house. “Until we knew if you were comfortable with them.”

“Oh, we have tw—” Gemma began, just as an enormous furry head appeared in the window and a loud “Woof” rattled the glass.

Gemma and Charlotte both jumped, and all of the Talbots grinned. “That’s MacTavish, Mum’s dog,” said Melody. “He’s the size of a horse. But don’t worry, he’s a sweetheart.”

“MacTavish?”

“He’s a Scottish deerhound,” Addie explained. “We thought he deserved something appropriately north of the border.”

Ivan held the door for them, and Gemma caught her breath as she stepped inside. The covered entry opened into a large dark-beamed hall that ran the depth of the house. Sun falling through the west windows painted the pale cream walls with blocks of gold, and through windows on either side of a staircase at the back, Gemma saw a garden and the green of rising hills. A fire already crackled in a large fireplace set at a right angle to the front door.

“It’s beautiful,” Gemma murmured. “And so unusual.”

“My great-grandfather built it in 1905,” said Addie. “The architect was a disciple of Luytens and a devoted follower of the Arts and Crafts movement. They believed in function as well as comfort.”

“I’ll take you for a tour,” put in Melody, nodding towards the study, where the barking was now interspersed with frantic whining, “but first things first. You might want to pick up Charlotte so that Mac doesn’t knock her down.”

Ivan opened the study door and the dogs came bounding out. The small bark, Gemma saw, belonged to a Jack Russell that leapt excitedly at Melody’s legs. “That’s Polly,” said Melody, “Dad’s favorite girl.”

Ivan shook his head, laughing. “Jealousy will get you nowhere, sweetheart.”

The deerhound, an enormous gray beast with a head so large he seemed almost prehistoric, trotted towards them. Charlotte buried her head in Gemma’s shoulder and even Gemma tensed a bit. But the dog was as gentle as Melody had promised, and when he came to sniff and lick at Gemma’s fingers, Charlotte reached out, too, and giggled at the dog’s wet tongue.

Catching the heady scent of roses beneath the resinous smell of the fire, Gemma turned and saw a bowl filled with roses on a side table. Some were the pale pink of the climber by the front door, others deeper pinks and reds. “Are these all from your garden?” she asked.