with Rose Chen.
‘You’re not saying a lot,’ Colonel Lightfoot commented at last, and Oliver gathered his drifting thoughts.
‘There’s not a lot to say,’ he responded evenly. ‘I’ll be in touch again when I’ve got something to report.’
‘Right.’ The colonel hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t go soft on me, would you, Lynch? I’d hate to see that solid gold reputation sullied because you’ve let your—sexual urges—rule your head. I know you care about the woman. But don’t think that warning her will do her any good.’
The short laugh Oliver uttered then was ironic. If only Archie knew, he thought wryly. It wasn’t his Chinese nemesis the colonel had to worry about. It was a cool, innocent Englishwoman, Oliver was remembering. With skin as sweet as honey, and hair as fine as silk …
‘And you say Robert isn’t coming to terms with the situation?’ Matthew Hayton remarked thoughtfully, looking at his daughter over the rims of his spectacles. ‘Well, I don’t really see what choice he’s got.’
‘Nor do I,’ averred Fliss energetically. ‘The woman’s identity’s been verified and, if that wasn’t enough, she’s shown a remarkable aptitude for filling the void left by Mr Hastings’ death. Honestly, Rose Chen knows more about the business than Robert ever has. She’s a natural organiser, and she certainly gets things done.’
‘Which is probably another reason why Robert objects to her presence,’ declared the Reverend Matthew Hayton drily. ‘I mean, you can’t deny that Robert seldom showed a great deal of interest in the company when his father was alive. He spent more time playing golf and sailing his yacht than he ever did in the office.’
‘Robert’s always maintained that his father never gave him any responsibility,’ Fliss exclaimed loyally. ‘And after all, Mr Hastings was only in his fifties. Who’d have thought he’d die so young? He never seemed to have much stress in his life. Though I suppose if he was leading a double life there must have been some strain.’
‘Hardly a double life, Felicity.’ Her father was the only person who ever called her by her given name, and now he viewed his daughter with some misgivings. ‘We can’t really speculate about Hastings’ life in Hong Kong. And if neither Robert nor——’
‘Rose Chen?’
‘—nor Rose Chen knew of each other’s existence, the affair—if that was what it was—must have been over some time ago.’
Fliss nodded. ‘I suppose so.’
‘In any event, it’s not our concern, Felicity, and I hope you don’t encourage Robert to criticise his father’s behaviour.’ He pushed his spectacles back up his nose, and returned his attention to the sermon he was trying to compose. ‘People who live in glass houses, Felicity. Need I say more?’
Fliss snorted. ‘I don’t encourage Robert to talk about his father, Dad, but he does it anyway.’ She grimaced. ‘He talks about little else. Oh, and he moans about Oliver Lynch’s influence on Rose Chen, as well. Apparently, she’s insisted he sits in on their meetings—like a skeleton at the feast, according to Rob.’
Matthew Hayton looked up again. ‘Oliver Lynch?’ he frowned. ‘Oh, that American you said had accompanied her. What is he? Her accountant? Her solicitor?’
Fliss shuffled the pile of reference books she had been tidying, and gave a careless shrug of her shoulders. ‘Her—partner, I think,’ she said, bending her head so her father shouldn’t see the colour that had stained her cheeks at his words.
‘Her partner?’ Matthew Hayton frowned. ‘You mean, he has a share in the business, too?’
‘No.’ Fliss wished she hadn’t mentioned Oliver Lynch at all. ‘He’s her—boyfriend, I believe. At least, Robert says she can’t keep her hands off him.’
‘I see.’ Her father arched his brows that were several shades lighter than his daughter’s. ‘And Robert thinks this man exercises some undue influence on his—sister, is that right?’
‘Well—something like that,’ agreed Fliss uncomfortably. ‘No one seems to know what he does exactly. He doesn’t appear to have a job, and—well, Robert thinks he must be living off Rose Chen.’ She hesitated and then added reluctantly, ‘He certainly wears expensive clothes for someone without any obvious means of support.’
Matthew Hayton took off his spectacles now, and gave his daughter a reproving look. ‘Felicity, this is all hearsay, isn’t it? I doubt very much whether Robert has actually asked Rose Chen what this man—Lynch, did you say?—does.’
‘No, but—’
‘He may be a man of substance. He may have independent means. I don’t think you should immediately assume he’s some kind of—what’s the word?—pimp? Just because Robert’s feeling betrayed by his father’s deception.’
‘No,’ said Fliss again, but with rather less emphasis. And, after all, her father had a point. Robert really did know nothing about Oliver Lynch. If she was perfectly honest, she’d have to admit that she’d only sympathised with him because she’d been intimidated by Oliver Lynch’s tall, dark presence.
‘So, what did you think of the man?’ Reverend Hayton prompted now, and Fliss realised that her careless words had got her into even deeper water. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Oliver Lynch with her father. Particularly as her reaction to him had been so disturbingly confused.
‘He seemed—very nice,’ she said carefully, avoiding making any statement that might initiate a follow-up. ‘Um—I think I’ll go over to the church. I promised Mrs Rennie I’d help her with the flowers.’
Her father looked as if he might have some further comment to make, and she balled her fists in the pockets of the linen trousers she was wearing as she waited for the verbal axe to fall. But all Matthew Hayton said was, ‘Ask Mr Brewitt to check on the communion wine, if you see him,’ before pushing his spectacles back in place and returning to his sermon.
Outside the pleasantly cool environs of her father’s study, the air was hot and decidedly humid. At this time of year, any long spell of hot weather was usually followed by a bout of thunderstorms, and the sky had that ominous overcast sheen that often heralded bad weather.
Other than that, the village looked rather pretty at the moment. The cottage gardens were filled with every kind of flower imaginable, and sunflowers and hollyhocks rose thickly above the rest. There were geraniums, too, in great numbers, spilling from every hedge and border, and tumbling riotously from stone urns and planters. Only the lawns looked rather parched, because sprinklers had been forbidden.
The vicarage garden was no different from the rest, and Fliss, who invariably ended up having to do the weeding herself, viewed its dried beds with some misgivings. The church did employ a caretaker, part of whose duties was to keep the grass neat in the churchyard, and to look after the rather large gardens of the vicarage. Church fetes were always held on the back lawn, and it was important to keep the weeds at bay. But Mr Hood was really too old now to do all that was needed. Even with a tractor mower, he found it hard to pull his weight. Not that the Reverend would ever force him to retire, thought Fliss affectionately. Not as long as Mr Hood wanted to work. Until he chose to retire, the job was his.
Walking up the gravel path to the vestry door, Fliss lifted
