A Bitter Feast(94)

The color drained from Viv’s face. “Oh, Christ. The bastard. The absolute bastard.”

Her reaction took Gemma by surprise. “Who, Viv? What are you talking about?”

“Fergus, of course. Bloody Fergus. He swore not to tell her. I should have known he wouldn’t keep a promise.”

“Dear God,” said Gemma as realization dawned. “Fergus was Grace’s father?” She’d only seen the mortuary photo of the man, and she hadn’t caught a resemblance. “I knew you used to work for him, but—”

“That’s why I left O’Reilly’s. He never wanted her, you know. And, then, to show up here, demanding to see her, after all this time—” Viv wiped at tears.

Giving Viv a moment, Gemma finished pouring the tea while she thought it through. “Viv, a friend in the London police talked to Colm Finlay this morning. You said that Fergus had offered you a job working for him in a new restaurant in London. Colm Finlay said that Fergus’s job was dependent on you taking that offer.”

Viv stared at her. “Oh, the idiot,” she breathed. “I should have known. Did he think I wouldn’t find out? That Colm wouldn’t eventually tell me? That’s why he was so determined I should do it.” With shaking hands, Viv reached for the cup of tea Gemma brought her.

“Here, your fingers are like ice,” said Gemma. “Wrap your hands around that and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I told the truth. Just not all of it,” Viv admitted after a moment, with a sigh. “Fergus showed up here on Friday morning, out of the blue, telling me he had this great opportunity, that Colm was setting him up in a place and he wanted me in on it. I hadn’t seen him in nearly twelve years. It was . . . a bit of a shock, I can tell you. And he still— I was still— Fergus could be so bloody charming, even after everything that happened between us.” Viv sipped at the tea, wincing. “But I said no, I’d made a life for myself here. Then, he said it was our chance to be a family, the three of us. He’d seen Grace, I don’t know how. He seemed obsessed with her, with wanting to be a father. Or so I thought,” she added with a grimace. “How could I have been so stupid? He needed me to get the job. And he needed Grace to get me.”

“What happened when you told him no?”

“I thought it might be okay, that he might leave it. But he came back in the afternoon, and this time he told me that if I didn’t agree, he would sue me for partial custody. He said he could have the court order a paternity test, that I couldn’t deprive him of his rights as a father. I told him to get stuffed.

“But he wouldn’t let it go—I’d forgot how persistent Fergus could be when he set his mind to something—he kept pushing me. Hanging about in the courtyard, talking to Grace. And then later, coming in the dining room, ordering food, then sending it back, with the chef’s compliments.”

A horrible thought occurred to Gemma. She’d never seriously considered the possibility that Viv had poisoned Fergus. What chef in her right mind would poison someone in her own restaurant? But it sounded more and more as if Viv had good reason to want rid of Fergus—and quickly, before he made further inroads with Grace.

Viv had known exactly which plates were going out to Fergus. But, still, even if she’d had the intent, would she have had digitalis on hand? Or foxglove itself? The plant was common enough, but certainly no part of it would be kept in a kitchen, and Gemma hadn’t seen it growing in the pub garden.

Unaware of Gemma’s ruminations, Viv continued, “When he came into the kitchen during service that night, I just lost it. I shouted at him to get out and not to bloody come back. I never thought . . .” She looked stricken. “I never thought he would die!”

Viv Holland had still loved Fergus O’Reilly, Gemma realized, in spite of his faults.

She didn’t believe Viv could have harmed him, and certainly not through the very thing that was the touchstone of her life—her food. “Viv,” she said slowly, “who else knew about Fergus and Grace? Or Fergus’s offer, for that matter?”

“Well, Bea knew about the offer. It was only fair to tell her, even though I didn’t mean to take it. And of course Ibby knew about Fergus and Grace. Ibby was—” Viv’s expression softened. “Ibby was the only one who was there for me when Grace was born. He’s known Grace her whole life.”



Once they’d left Roz Dunning’s house, Booth told them that he’d asked a uniformed officer to meet him with O’Reilly’s mobile. “I’m all for the glories of fingerprint recognition,” Booth said. “But I don’t want some anorak in forensics texting me what he thinks is important. And”—he nodded at the cottage they’d just left—“I want to keep an eye on this nice lady for a bit, see if she rabbits. She’s a right piece of work, that one. Your mother,” he added to Melody, “had better hope she hasn’t hijacked the family silver.”

“They’re bringing the mobile here?” Doug looked as eager as a puppy promised a treat.

“To the green. I’d better move my car, though, someplace a bit less conspicuous, so Ms. Dunning won’t see us. We can sit in yours.”

“Mine, actually.” Melody sounded thoroughly irritated. “The Clio.”

Booth’s raised eyebrows conveyed his opinion of her automotive judgment. “Well, you all pile in, then. I’m going to move my car to the hotel down the road.”