before outrage could overcome good sense her father answered the man. ‘The only mistake I ever made was in believing I could trust you!’ he said self-disgustedly. ‘Oh, get out, will you, Falcon?’ He suddenly sounded very weary. ‘Chalford isn’t yours yet, not until the dust has settled and the lawyers say it is, and until that happens you aren’t welcome in my home. Now get out, Falcon,’ he repeated harshly. ‘And take Janette with you.’
Janette? Why on earth would her stepmother want to leave with this hateful man, a man her father obviously hated? None of this made any sense to her.
‘I don’t want your wife, Howard,’ the other man told him hardly. ‘I never did.’
‘Served her purpose, has she?’ her father said with knowing contempt. ‘Well, I don’t want her any more either!’
‘That’s between the two of you,’ the other man dismissed without emotion. ‘I’m only interested in——’
‘I know why you’re here, Falcon,’ her father cut in heatedly. ‘And I’ve told you, you have everything else—the house you’ll have to wait for. And much joy may it give you every time you think of how it came into your possession!’ There was the sound of the door behind wrenched open. ‘I’ve asked you to leave twice; if I have to do so again I’ll call in the police and have you forcibly removed—I wonder how that would look in newsprint?’
There was silence for several long-drawn-out seconds after this direct challenge, and she suddenly realised she was holding her breath again, this time without even knowing she had been doing it. She didn’t understand half the conversation she had unwittingly overheard, but she did recognise the raw emotion behind her father’s words as he once again ordered the man Falcon to leave Chalford immediately.
‘Very well,’ the other man finally conceded, and there was the sound of him moving towards the door her father obviously still held open for him. ‘I suggest we talk again, Howard, when you feel in a more reasonable frame of mind.’
‘And I suggest,’ her father returned tautly, ‘that in future you stay well away from me and my family!’
The door was closed with only slightly repressed violence as the other man finally seemed to have left, and with his departure the room was suddenly filled with an ominous silence, a silence that seemed endless.
She wanted to run out into the room, put her arms around her father and tell him that she thought the Falcon man was hateful too, that she didn’t want him to have her beloved Chalford, that he couldn’t let that awful man come and live here! But if she did that she would give away her hiding place, reveal that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation. And, indulgent as her father was with her, she knew that would make him cross all over again.
No, she would just have to wait here now until her father left his study, and then creep quietly away herself. It was almost teatime, so she shouldn’t have too long to wait, and her stomach rumbled hopefully; her father always joined them in the small family sitting-room for tea.
She could hear him moving about his study now, knew he had sat down at the desk, that he was opening and shutting the drawers as he looked for things he wanted. And then the room fell very silent, and as the minutes passed the muscles in her legs began to ache from the effort of having to sit completely still so that she wouldn’t be detected.
Suddenly, when she was beginning to think she would have to move anyway and face the consequences, without any warning, except perhaps the smallest of clicking noises, the silence was shattered by a deafening roar.
For a moment she was just too stunned to move, and then her surprise at the sudden noise turned to puzzlement. She had recognised the sound only too well, often having accompanied her father on his seasonal ‘shoots’. But he had always impressed on her, on those occasions, the importance of never having a loaded gun anywhere near the house, of always making sure the safety catch was on before handling a gun at all.
And yet she knew, without a doubt, that it was the sound of a gun being shot that had reverberated around the room seconds ago.
There was the sound of running feet in the hallway outside now, the door to the study being thrown open, the babble of the voices of the people who had entered the room—she guiltily recognised Nanny’s as being one of them, and there was Sylvester the butler too, and Mrs Hall the housekeeper—coming to an abrupt and sudden end … possibly so that her father could reprimand them for entering his study without knocking, as they were supposed to do!
‘My God…!’ Sylvester finally groaned raggedly.
She wondered why Nanny hadn’t rebuked him for the blasphemy, as she knew the elderly lady would have done if it had been her. The old lady had been Daddy’s nanny first, was almost at retirement age now, and her old-fashioned morality lingered on with this, the second generation.
But her curiosity was now fast overtaking any fear she had of a reprimand for disappearing in the way she had after lunch, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer, silently leaving her hiding place, edging quietly into the room in the direction of her father’s desk, which seemed to be where everyone else’s attention was centred. So intent were they all that they didn’t even see her.
What she saw when she reached the desk made her eyes widen with disbelieving horror, and all the colour drain from her cheeks. That—that couldn’t be her father! It was too grotesque, horrific, unrecognisable as a human being, even. And the blood. Good God, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. All over the pale blue shirt and checked jacket she knew her father had been wearing earlier in the day!
She opened her mouth to scream as she realised it was her father. But no sound passed her lips. And the silent scream went on and on and on…
‘I’VE dressed some brides in my time, Di——’ Joanna lovingly arranged the ivory-coloured veil for what must have been the dozenth time ‘—but you look—you look——’ Words seemed to fail the twice-married and twice-divorced cynic.
‘Fantastic!’ Cally told her without hesitation as she burst into the room and heard the latter part of their conversation.
‘Absolutely beautiful.’ Joanna, perfectly capable of talking for herself, drily chose her own description. ‘Of course, the gown could have something to do with it…!’
‘It has everything to do with it.’ Diana finally spoke from behind the sheer ivory-coloured veil with its beautifully arranged teardrop pearls draping her forehead. ‘Charles is going to be delighted,’ she said with husky confidence, squeezing the older woman’s arms reassuringly.
‘He had better be!’ Joanna told her fiercely as she still fussed over the veil, seeking absolute perfection in its shimmering length that cascaded to the base of Diana’s spine, her hair shimmering like gold beneath the whole length of it. ‘I’ve had nightmares about the next few moments!’
‘You had better get out there, Di,’ Cally advised warningly. ‘Before Charles is reduced to a quivering wreck!’
‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Joanna said with a certain amount of relish. ‘After the week he’s just given me, I feel like one!’
With a wryly affectionate
