Minette Walters - Fox Evil

It was a throwaway line, designed to puncture her conceit, but he was surprised by the strength of her reaction. She stared at him wild-eyed, then turned and fled down the road toward her house. Well, well, he thought with surprised satisfaction. Now that was a hit.

He found Nancy leaning against an oak tree to the right of the terrace with her face turned to the sun and her eyes closed. Beyond her, the long vista of the lawn, peppered with trees and shrubs, dipped toward the farmland and the distant sea. Wrong county, wrong period, but it might have been a painting by Constable: Rural setting with boy in black .

She could have been a boy, thought Mark, taking a good look at her as he approached. Butch as hell! Muscular, strong-jawed, barren of makeup, too tall for comfort. She wasn't his type, he told himself firmly. He liked them delicate, blue-eyed and blond.

Like Elizabeth…?

Like Eleanor Bartlett…? Shit!

Even in relaxation and with her eyes closed, the stamp of James's genes was powerful. There was none of Ailsa's fine-boned, pale beauty, which had passed to Elizabeth, only the dark, sculptured looks that had passed to Leo. It shouldn't have worked. It was unnatural. So much strength in a woman's face ought to have been a turn-off. Instead, Mark was riveted by it.

"How did you get on?" she murmured with her eyes still closed. "Did you give her a bollocking?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else could it be?"

"Your grandfather?"

She opened her eyes. "Your boots don't fit," she told him. "Every tenth step you slide the soles along the grass to get a better grip with your toes."

"God! Is that part of your training?"

She grinned at him. "You shouldn't be so gullible, Mr. Ankerton. The reason I knew it wasn't James is because he's in the drawing room… assuming I've got my bearings right. He inspected me through his binoculars, then opened the French windows. I think he wants us to go in."

"It's Mark," he said, holding out his hand, "and you're right, these boots don't fit. I found them in the scullery, because I don't have any of my own. There's not much call for Wellingtons in London."

"Nancy," she said, solemnly shaking his hand. "I noticed. You've been walking as if you had flippers on since we left the house."

He held her gaze for a moment. "Are you ready?"

Nancy wasn't sure. Her confidence had faltered as soon as she spotted the binoculars, and made out the figure behind them. Would she ever be ready? Her plan had gone awry from the moment Mark Ankerton opened the door. She had hoped for a private one-on-one conversation with the Colonel, which would follow an agenda set by her, but that was before she had seen his distress or realized how isolated he was. Naively she had believed she could keep an emotional distance-at least on a first meeting-but Mark's wavering had provoked her into championing the old man's cause, and this without even meeting him or knowing if the cause was a true one. She had a terrible fear suddenly that she wasn't going to like him.

Perhaps Mark read it in her eyes because he took her hat from his pocket and gave it to her. "Usher only fell because there was no one like you around," he said.

"You're a naive romantic."

"I know. It sucks."

She smiled. "I think he's guessed who I am-probably from the Herefordshire cattle sticker on my windscreen-otherwise he wouldn't have opened the French windows. Unless I look like Elizabeth, of course, and he's mistaken me for her."

"You don't," said Mark, holding his arm behind her back to encourage her forward. "Trust me… in a million years, no one would mistake you for Elizabeth."

Eleanor began in Julian's dressing room, searching through his jacket pockets and turning out his chest of drawers. From there she moved to his study, rifling through his filing cabinet and ransacking his desk. Even before she switched on his computer and scrolled through his email correspondence… the man was too blase even to use a password-the evidence of betrayal was colossal. He hadn't even bothered with the pretense of keeping the affair a secret. There was a mobile phone number on a scrap of paper in one of his jackets, a silk scarf at the bottom of his handkerchief drawer, hotel and restaurant receipts in his desk, and dozens of emails filed under the initials "GS."

Darling J, What about Tuesday? I'm free from 6.00…

Can you make the Newton point-to-point? I'm riding Monkey Business in the 3.30…

Don't forget you promised me a grand toward MB's vets' bills…

Are you coming to the Hunt AGM…?

Do you really mean it about the new horsebox? I LOVE you to distraction…

Meet me on the bridleway at the back of the farm. I'll be there around 10.00 a.m…

I'm sorry about Bouncer's leg. Give him a get-well kiss from his favorite lady…

With murder in her heart, Eleanor went into "sent items," looking for Julian's messages to GS.

Thelma is taking Louise shopping on Friday. Usual place? Usual time…?

T and L are playing golf-Sept 19th…

T is off to London next week-Tues. to Friday. 3 whole days of freedom! Any chance…?

T's an idiot. She'll believe anything…

Do you think T could have found herself a toy boy? Keep finding her on the phone. Hangs up immediately…

T's definitely up to something. Keeps whispering in the kitchen with L…

What are the odds on Dick and me being given the boot together? Do you think a miracle's happened and they've both found toy boys…?

The sudden ringing of the telephone on the desk caused Eleanor to give a guilty start. The raucous sound, a reminder that real life existed beyond the grubby secrets on the screen, set her nerves jangling in the silence of the room. She shrank back into her seat, heart thumping like a steam hammer, anger and fear colliding in her gut to produce nausea. Who was it? Who knew? People would laugh at her. People would crow. People would say she deserved it.

After four seconds the line switched to the answerphone and Prue's vexed voice came through the loudspeaker. "Are you there, Ellie? You promised to call when you'd spoken to the solicitor. I don't understand why it's taking so long… plus Dick's refusing to answer his mobile so I don't know where he is or if he wants lunch." She gave an angry sigh. "It's so damn childish of him. I could have done with some help before Jack and Belinda arrive… and now he'll just sour the evening with one of his moods. Ring soon. I'd like to know what's going on before he comes back otherwise there'll be another row about James's bloody solicitor."

Eleanor waited for the click as Prue hung up, then pressed the delete button to erase the message. She took the scrap of paper with the mobile number on it out of her shirt pocket, stared at it for a moment, then lifted the receiver and dialed. There was no rationale to what she was doing. Perhaps the habit of accusing James-and his timid reactions-had taught her that this was the way to deal with transgressors. Nevertheless, it took two attempts to make a connection, because her fingers were shaking so much that they fumbled on the keys. There was no answer, just a few seconds of silence before the call was diverted to voicemail. She listened to the prompts to leave a message, then, with belated recognition that it might not be GS's phone, she rang off.

What would she have said, anyway? Screamed and yelled and demanded her husband back? Called the woman a slut? The awful pit of divorce opened in front of her. She couldn't be alone again, not at sixty. People would avoid her, just as they had when her first husband had left her for the woman who carried his child. Then she had worn her desperation blatantly, but at least she'd been younger and still employable. Julian had been the last throw of her dice, an office affair that had finally led to marriage. She couldn't go through it a second time. She'd lose the house, lose her status, be forced to start again somewhere else…