A Dangerous Fortune(38)
Augusta was mystified. What was he referring to? For no reason at all the thought of Micky Miranda came into her mind, but she pushed it aside. “I have no secrets to be ashamed of,” she said.
“Don’t you?”
“No!” she said, but his confidence worried her.
He gave her a peculiar look. “A young lawyer called David Middleton came to see me yesterday.”
For a moment she did not understand. “Should I know him?” The name was disturbingly familiar.
“You met him once, seven years ago, at an inquest.”
Suddenly Augusta felt cold. Middleton: that had been the name of the boy who drowned.
Samuel said: “David Middleton believes that his brother Peter was killed—by Edward.”
Augusta wanted desperately to sit down, but she refused to give Samuel the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. “Why on earth is he trying to make trouble now, after seven years?”
“He told me he was never satisfied with the inquest, but he remained silent for fear of causing his parents even more distress. However, his mother died soon after Peter, and his father died this year.”
“Why did he approach you—not me?”
“He belongs to my club. Anyway, he has re-read the inquest records and he says that there were several eyewitnesses who were never called to give evidence.”
There certainly were, Augusta thought anxiously. There was mischievous Hugh Pilaster; a South American boy called Tony or something; and a third person who had never been identified. If David Middleton got hold of one of them the whole story might come out.
Samuel was looking thoughtful. “From your point of view it was a pity the coroner made those remarks about Edward’s heroism. That made people suspicious. They would have believed that Edward stood on the edge dithering while a boy drowned. But everyone who’s ever met him knows he wouldn’t cross the street to help someone, let alone dive into a pool to rescue a drowning boy.”
This sort of talk was complete rubbish, and insulting too. “How dare you,” Augusta said, but she could not muster her usual tone of authority.
Samuel ignored her. “The schoolboys never believed it. David had been to the same school not many years earlier and he knew many of the older boys. Talking to them increased his suspicions.”
“The whole idea is absurd.”
“Middleton is a quarrelsome individual, like all lawyers,” Samuel said, heedless of her protests. “He’s not going to let this rest.”
“He doesn’t frighten me in the least.”
“That’s good, because I’m sure you’ll be receiving a visit from him soon.” He went to the door. “I won’t stay for tea. Good afternoon, Augusta.”
Augusta sat down heavily on a sofa. She had not foreseen this—how could she? Her triumph over Samuel was blighted. That old business had come up again, seven years later, when it ought to have been completely forgotten! She was dreadfully frightened for Edward. She could not bear anything bad to happen to him. She held her head to stop it throbbing. What could she do?
Hastead, her butler, came in, followed by two parlormaids with trays of tea and cakes. “With your permission, madam?” he said in his Welsh accent. Hastead’s eyes seemed to look in different directions and people were never quite sure which one to concentrate on. At first this was disconcerting, but Augusta was used to him. She nodded. “Thank you, madam,” he said, and they began to set out the china. Augusta could sometimes be soothed by Hastead’s obsequious manner and the sight of servants doing her bidding; but today it did not work. She got up and went to the open French doors. The sunny garden did nothing for her either. How was she going to stop David Middleton?
She was still agonizing over the problem when Micky Miranda arrived.
She was glad to see him. He looked as fetching as always, in his black morning coat and striped trousers, a spotless white collar around his neck, a black satin tie knotted at his throat. He saw that she was distressed and he was instantly sympathetic. He came across the room with the grace and speed of a jungle cat, and his voice was like a caress: “Mrs. Pilaster, what on earth has upset you?”
She was grateful that he was the first to come. She grabbed him by the arms. “Something frightful has happened.”
His hands rested on her waist, as if they were dancing, and she felt a shiver of pleasure as his fingertips pressed her hips. “Don’t be distressed,” he said soothingly. “Tell me about it.”
She began to feel calmer. At moments like these she was very fond of Micky. It reminded her of how she had felt about the young earl of Strang, when she was a girl. Micky reminded her powerfully of Strang: his graceful manners, his beautiful clothes, and most of all the way he moved, the suppleness of his limbs and the oiled machinery of his body. Strang had been fair and English, where Micky was dark and Latin, but they both had that ability to make her feel so feminine. She wanted to draw his body to hers and rest her cheek on his shoulder….
She saw the maids staring at her, and realized that it was mildly indecent for Micky to stand there with both hands on her hips. She detached herself from him, took his arm and led him through the French windows into the garden, where they would be out of earshot of the servants. The air was warm and balmy. They sat close together on a wooden bench in the shade, and Augusta turned sideways to look at him. She longed to hold his hand but that would have been improper.