Dangerous to Know Read online

  About fifteen minutes later the service came to a close, and we all filed out of the little, white clapboard church with its red door and headed for the cemetery at the top of the hill in Cornwall.

  The impact of seeing Sebastian’s coffin being lowered into the ground was overwhelming. I began to weep, finally understanding that this was the end. I would never see him again. He really was dead and almost buried.

  I heard a strangled sob, and swiftly I glanced at Cyrus standing to my left. He turned to me helplessly and I saw the tears trickling down his ancient cheeks, saw the pain on his face. I knew then that he was suffering as much as I was.

  inking hold of his arm I helped to support him, as Madeleine was doing on his right. He and I huddled together under the trees, shivering in the cold, but drawing a measure of comfort from each other in our mutual grief.

  A sharp wind had blown up, was scattering the leaves, whirling them around our feet as we walked away from the graveside and down the path to the cemetery gate.

  I experienced an overwhelming feeling of sadness and a sense of finality as we left; a part of my life had come to an end. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  At one moment I lifted my eyes, glanced up at the sky. It was clear and cloudless and a very bright blue, as his eyes had been.

  Jack had heeded my advice and had invited everyone back to Laurel Creek Farm for lunch. Mrs. Crane, on duty again in full force, had had the good sense to cater the lunch, and she had hired plenty of local help to assist her. A splendid buffet table had been set up in the dining room, but I did not feel like eating.

  Madeleine led Cyrus into the drawing room and I followed closely behind.

  The three of us sat down near the fire, the old man reaching Out eagerly to warm his hands in front of the blazing logs once he was seated in a chair.

  As a waiter approached with a tray of drinks, both Madeleine and I took a glass of sherry, and I turned to Cyrus and said, “Why don’t you have one too? It’ll warm the cockles of your heart.”

  He looked at me alertly, then nodded his acquiescence.

  As I handed him my glass and took another one for myself, he murmured, “My mother used to say that . . . when I was a boy growing up. ‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart, Cyrus,” she used to say.”

  He looked off into space, and intently so, as if he saw something we could not see. Confronting ancient memories, perhaps, conjuring up longdead faces, going back to his youth.

  “To be sure and it’s an Irish expression,” Madeleine volunteered, breaking the silence. “It was one I grew up with myself. Back in Dublin .”

  “I thought it was English,” I said. “Gran Rosalie said it was, any way.”

  “Sylvia. That was her name,” Cyrus murmured. “My mother’s name was Sylvia.”

  “Yes, I know,” I replied. “I think I know every single name in the Locke dynasty. Sebastian told them to me, going all the way back to Malcolm from Arbroath.”

  “Dynasty,” he repeated, and stared at me over the rim of his glass, his narrowed eyes flinty and sharp. “Are you mad, Vivienne?

  There is no dynasty. It’s kaput, gone, finished, extinct.” His glance sought out Jack and Luciana mingling with the guests at the far end of the room, and he added acidly, “And those two poor specimens are not likely to provide any future heirs in order to regenerate it.”

  “You never know, Cyrus, you never know,” Madeleine soothed.

  “Don’t be so negative.”

  “Who can help it,” he muttered, tossed back his drink, handed me the empty glass, and went on, “Another sherry, please, Vivienne.”

  “Do you think you should?” Madeleine fussed and scowled at me.

  “You’ll get tiddly,” she warned, clucking to herself.

  Giving her a scathing look, he said, “Nonsense, woman. And even if I do, so what? I’m ninety years old. What can happen to me now that’s not happened to me in the past? I’ve seen it all, done it all, lived several life times already. Might as well get drunk. Nothing else to do.”

  “Of course I’ll get you another sherry, Cyrus,” I said, hurrying off with his empty glass.

  When I returned with the refill, he thanked me, took a quick sip and said to Madeleine, “I’m hungry. Can you fetch me something to eat, please?”

  “To be sure and that’s a grand idea!” she exclaimed, looking pleased as she stood up.

  I watched her walking across the’ floor in the direction of the dining room, a plumpish, handsome woman in her late sixties with a kind face and bright red hair that most obviously drew its color from a bottle these days. I thought it curious that after fifty years of living in America she still had a pronounced brogue.

  Once we were alone, Cyrus tugged at my sleeve, pulled me closer and peering into my face, he said, “We loved him too much, you and I.

  Far too much. That was the trouble. He couldn’t accept it.

  Frightened him.”

  I gaped at the old man, startled by his words. “Yes . . . yes,” I said slowly, “maybe you’re right.”

  “You were the only one, Vivienne. You were the best. The best of ‘em all. The only one who was any good. Except for what’s her name Jack’s mother? She might’ve measured up one day.”

  “Josephine,” I said. “Jack’s mother was called Josephine.”

  “Breeding was there, but no stamina,” he muttered almost to him self, then drew himself up slightly and stared into my face again.

  “You were the best,” he reiterated, nodding his head.

  “Oh,” I said, and hesitated, at a sudden loss. “Well, thank you for

  saying that. I’m not sure it’s true, though. The-“

  “Write a book,” he interrupted, tugging at my sleeve again. “Write a book about him.”

  “Oh Gyrus, I don’t know about that-“ I began, and paused, shaking my head. “That’s a hard one, a tough assignment for anyone. Md he’s certainly a tough subject to write about. There was always something so . . . so elusive about Sebastian, and I don’t think I’m the right person anyway. I could never be objective.”

  “Do it!” he snapped and his eyes fastened on mine.

  “Do what?” Madeleine asked, returning to the fireside with a plate of food for him.

  “None of your business,” he said, sounding irritated.

  “Now, now, don’t be cantankerous,” she murmured, “Come along, let’s eat, shall we?”

  “Stop treating me like a child,” Gyrus muttered, glaring at her.

  I rose quickly. “I think I should go and talk to a couple of people some of those I know from the Locke Foundation,” I said.

  “Excuse me Madeleine, Gyrus, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I made my escape and headed toward Allan Farrell who stood talking to Jordan Nardish, a colleague from the foundation. I told Allan how moved I had been by his eulogy. Jordan agreed that it had been very touching, and the three of us stood talking about Sebastian for a few moments before I excused myself. Slowly I made my way around the room, acknowledging everyone I knew, talking to them for a moment or two, hoping to make them feel welcome. And we all shared our reminiscences of Sebastian, spoke sadly of his untimely passing.

  I was on my way back to join Oyrus when suddenly Luciana was standing in front of me, blocking my way.

  “You’re something else,” she said, her dark brown eyes hard, her expression frosty.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what-“

  “Don’t give me that!” she exclaimed in a peremptory manner. “You know very well what I mean. Waltzing around here, playing the grand hostess, acting as if you’re the grieving widow. You’ve been divorced from him for over seven years, for God’s sake, and married to some one else in between. Enjoying it though, aren’t you? Being the center of attention again.”

  “Enjoying it,” I sputtered in astonishment. “How can you say such a thing? Sebastian’s dead and you think I’m enjoying this!”

  “It’s true, you
are! I’ve been watching you. Sucking up to Oyrus, floating around, preening yourself,” she shot back, her thin face twisted with dislike. “After all, it’s not as if you cared anything about my father.”

  I was furious. Drawing in my breath in anger, I stepped closer to her, gripped her arm tightly, and stared hard at her. “Now you listen to me and listen very, very carefully,” I slier arm tightly, and stared hard at her. “Now you listen to me and listen very, very carefully,.” I said in a low, harsh voice. “Don’t think you can pick a fight with me, because you can’t! I won’t allow it!

  And I won’t permit you to create a scene at Sebastian’s funeral, which is what you’re trying to do. As for caring about him, I’ve loved him all my life, and you know it. I will always love him, and my life’s that much poorer without him in it, the world a lesser place now that he’s gone.

  Furthermore, you’d better start behaving in an appropriate manner as befits his daughter. You’re only making a fool of yourself, starting in on me. Try to show a bit of dignity, Luciana. And grow up!”

  I let go of her arm abruptly and walked away quickly, leaving her standing alone.

  Crossing the long hall, I went up the staircase. I was shaking inside and close to tears. I needed a few moments alone to compose myself.

  The door of Sebastian’s upstairs study was ajar. I pushed it open and went in, glad to escape the crowd downstairs and wanting to recoup -after my little skirmish with Luciana.

  How hateful she was. She had not changed; when we were growing up she forever targeted me, tried to make my life miserable. Seemingly she still had that need.

  Moving across the floor, I went to one of the windows, parted the lace curtains, stood looking out at the back gardens and the stables beyond.

  For a split second, in a flash of memory, I saw us out there in the stable yard-Jack, Luciana, and me.

  We were all astride our horses, waiting for Sebastian, who was mounting his gelding. Without warning, my horse Firebrand had bolted, almost throwing me, and would have done so if I had not managed to hang on tenaciously. Sebastian had galloped after me and had helped me to rein in the horse.

  Only later that day did Jack tell me that Luciana, then eight years old, had been responsible. He had seen her giving Firebrand several hard prods with her riding crop, which had caused my horse to take off like lightning. I might easily have been killed.

  Even though we were both shocked that she had done such a wicked and dangerous thing and should be punished for it, we had not told Sebastian. We did not dare. He would have exploded, been harsh with her. It had been our secret, one of many we shared as children. Jack and I had been best friends, and he had never failed to stand up for me, or take my side. He too had suffered at Luciana’s hands and, in consequence, he was forever wary of her.

  Long ago I had come to understand that she had many problems when it

  came to her father, the chief ones being jealousy and extreme

  possessiveness. Even in death. That was quite apparent to me. Very simply, she had not wanted me to be present today. If the truth be known, she had probably not wanted Jack there either. Nor her husband.

  Continuing to stare out of the window, I could not help thinking how sad and lifeless the stable yard looked. Once it had been full of bustle with horses, dogs, grooms, stable boys, and children milling around. But for years now it had been deserted.

  After my mother died in 1976, Sebastian’s passion for horses had lessened. A year later he had started to sell them off, and he had given away quite a number. By the time we were married his bloodstock had dwindled down to almost nothing, and the few horses he kept were for us to ride when we went to the farm at weekends.

  Also around this time Sebastian’s involvement with his charity work had increased to the point where it occupied him constantly. He had his hands full with IOocke Industries and the foundation; we were tray -eling more and more, and doing good, helping others, had become his -main passion.

  Aldred, his major domo of many years, died in 1981. After that everything changed at the farm. By the time we were divorced, all of the horses had finally gone. What was once a thriving horse farm of -some repute had become just another charming old farmhouse sitting -in the midst of hundreds of magnificent acres.

  In the last few years Mrs. Crane had been in charge, acting as house keeper when Sebastian was in residence, caretaker in his absence.

  By the time she took over, all of the old outdoor staff had left, except for Harry Blakely, the arborist who looked after the trees. The gardens were tended by a team of part-time gardeners who came from a local nursery to keep them properly maintained.

  Thruing away from the window I thought: Nothing ever remains the same, everything changes. But then as I stood regarding the study I had to amend this thought slightly.

  The room was exactly the same as it had been the day I finished decorating it eleven years ago. Nothing had changed here. Crimson glazed walls, dark green plaid carpet, and English antiques that I had culled from different rooms in the farm still made the right statement, in my opinion. Sebastian must have thought the same thing, since he had left everything intact.

  I walked through into the adjoining room, which had once been mine, and discovered that the little sitting room looked the way it had in my day.

  A melange of blues played against bright yellow walls, and the pieces of black-lacquered Chinoiserie furniture remained where I had placed them so long ago.

  Curiosity truly getting the better of me, I wandered into the master bedroom. I was not in the least bit surprised to see that this, too, was unchanged. Shades of Rebecca, I muttered to myself, thinking of the old movie and wondered what Sebastian’s last wife had had to say about my decorating skills.

  If I remembered correctly, Betsy Bethune had not spent much time at Laurel Creek Farm. She was a famous concert pianist and was usually performing on a stage in some foreign capital, while Sebastian had been thousands of miles away in some Third World country.

  ‘Which was why, in the end, they had divorced. They never saw each other, were never together, and Sebastian had told me at the time that it was pointless to continue the marriage.

  I noticed a photograph of me in a silver frame, standing on an antique French chest of drawers between two windows. I went over, picked it up, and looked at it.

  It was an enlargement of a snap he had taken on our honeymoon in Africa.

  There I was, in my safari gear and wide-brimmed bush hat, smiling at the camera. Sebastian had written across the bottom: My darling vivi at the foot of Kilimanjaro.

  I continued to gaze at it for a moment, and then I placed it back on the chest, surprised but also touched that he had kept it there for all these years.

  “You can have that. If you want,” Jack said, making me jump.

  I swung around. “My God, don’t creep up like that! You gave me such a start,” I exclaimed.

  He strolled into the bedroom, joined me in front of the chest.

  Lifting the photograph, he studied it for a moment, then handed it to me.

  “Take it. It’s yours.”

  “Thank you. That’s so nice of you, but are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’d keep it myself. But I have better pictures of you.

  And Luciana won’t want it.” As he spoke his mouth twitched, and he tried to suppress a laugh. He was unsuccessful and began to chuckle.

  I laughed with him. “She came at me like a spitfire a few minutes ago.”

  “I noticed her angry stance. What was it all about?”

  “She accused me of playing the grieving widow.”

  Jack shook his head slowly, looking bemused. “She’s off the wall.

  Pay no attention to her.”

  “I don’t. But she did make me terribly angry. I wanted to slap her.

  That’s why I came upstairs, in order to get a hold of myself.”

  “Thought as much. That’s why I came after you.” He peered at me, looking concerne
d in the same way he had years ago. Clearing his throat, he added, “Are you okay, kid?”

  “I’m all right, really. It takes more than Luciana to do me in, as you well know. I suppose I am a bit vulnerable, though. And I was absolutely furious the way she tried to make a scene, today of all days.

  She’s as maddening as she ever was.”

  “You’re right about that.” Jack opened the top drawer of the chest.

  “There’s another reason I followed you. Wanted to give you some of his stuff. It’s in here. Choose anything.”

  Taken by surprise I said nothing. Returning the photograph to its place, I looked in the drawer with him.

  “It’s all mine. He left it to me.” Jack took out a small black velvet case, showed me a pair of ruby cufflinks. “Would you like these?”

  I shook my head. “But thanks anyway. However there is something I’d love to have .

  “Anything, Viv.”

  “His sapphire evening studs . . . if you don’t want them . . .”

  I looked at him swiftly. “I’d understand if you didn’t want to part with them.”

  “I don’t want them.” Jack began to open more of the small velvet boxes, finally found the studs, and handed them to me. “They’re yours.

  There’s a pair of cufflinks. Somewhere. They match. An, here they are.”

  “They’re beautiful, thank you, Jack. It’s so thoughtful of you to give me a few mementos in this way.”

  “I told you, take whatever you want. That goes for the farm too.

  It belongs to me now. Do you want his desk? Any furniture you had?

  When you were married?”

  “No, no, and thanks again. It’s lovely of you to offer, but the things you’ve given me are enough, and they really are so very meaningful to me.”

  “Change your mind, let me know.”

  We walked out of the bedroom through the main door, which led directly onto the upper landing. As we headed along the hall toward the staircase I paused, touched Jack’s arm. “I suppose you haven’t heard anything from the police, have you? About the autopsy, I mean?”