For a moment I felt as if I’d been caught in a lie, but it was Shawn who had claimed to be working—or was he?
Shawn was dressed in a pair of neat trousers and sports jacket—no trench coat for him tonight—and when a very pretty strawberry blonde in her mid-thirties emerged from the cloak cupboard brandishing a cloakroom ticket it was obvious he was on a date.
And then he saw me.
He looked horrified. “Kat? What on earth—?”
“Damn it,” I heard Piers hiss in my ear. “What’s Cropper doing here?” Piers took my elbow. “We’ve got to go.”
Shawn looked from Piers and then to me with confusion that turned into first disbelief and then disapproval, but before he could say a word Sabrina slipped between us. She gave Piers his validated parking ticket. “Your car is already waiting outside, Mr. Matthews. Mr. Roberts didn’t get your business card. Do you have one handy?”
“Another time,” Piers shouted, and propelled me out of the restaurant to the waiting Mercedes.
Piers walked so quickly I had to break into a jog to keep up, and yet even though I could sense he was agitated, he remembered his manners and opened my passenger door. He also took a moment to tip the valet parking attendant—quite generously, judging by the man’s happy smile.
We sped away in silence.
Slowly the full implication of what had just happened began to sink in.
After a good ten minutes, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Kat,” he said. “I’m afraid my joke backfired.”
“You’re telling me it backfired,” I said angrily. “You do know that Shawn will tell the manager who you really are.”
“Yes.”
“And it’s me who is going to look the idiot.” I was really upset. “They took my photograph for their wretched Facebook page. It will look like I scrounged a free meal.”
Piers gave a snort of laughter.
“It’s not funny!” I exclaimed.
“Well … it is a little bit.”
“No. Not even a little bit!”
Piers stole me a sideways glance, but when he realized I wasn’t joking he seemed contrite. “Let me make it up to you.”
“No. Just take me home, please.”
“Of course. Right away.” He floored the engine and the car surged forward. I lost count of the number of times the police scanner beeped, but he didn’t seem to care.
Finally, we turned off the A38 into the myriad of country lanes that led to Little Dipperton.
“Look, I really am sorry,” said Piers again. “It was a stupid idea.”
“Yes, it was stupid.”
“Have dinner with me again and this time I swear I will book the table in my own name.”
“No.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would,” I said drily. “But the answer is still no.”
As the village of Little Dipperton loomed, Piers slowed down a little—but not much. As we passed the entrance to Jess’s barn conversion, Piers narrowly missed hitting a man who was standing in the middle of the road. Just standing there! He actually had to vault over the low stone wall by the churchyard to get out of our way.
“Careful!” I shrieked. “You nearly hit him!”
“Bloody tourist,” Piers mumbled under his breath, but he did reduce his speed for just a moment. We crawled past St. Mary’s at a snail’s pace. I could have sworn I saw a light flickering in the chancel, but I couldn’t be sure.
It was when we descended the steep hill to Bridge Cottage that Piers was forced to hit the brakes. Suddenly a black Range Rover swerved out of a concealed track and cut us off. It raced up the other side heading for Honeychurch Hall.
We both knew who was at the wheel.
“What’s Rupert doing out so late?” I said, and wished I hadn’t.
“Why don’t we ask him?” Piers slammed his foot on the accelerator and we tore after him.
“Piers,” I begged. “Please. Let him go.”
But Piers ignored me. I was beginning to wonder if he was mentally unstable.
Piers rode the Range Rover’s bumper and flashed his lights, but Rupert accelerated all the more. I kept my eyes closed and hung on to my seat. I didn’t care if Piers knew these lanes like the back of his hand … I was terrified.
“Piers!” I screamed. “If you don’t slow down I’m throwing myself out.” I unbuckled my seat belt.
We came to a screeching halt.
“God. I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. I just— Kat, forgive me.”
“Take me home!” I shouted. “Now!”
Without another word, we set off again. Piers turned into the tradesmen’s entrance and we bumped our way along the service road, trying to avoid the numerous potholes.
All too late I remembered that I had left my Golf outside the gatehouse, but there was no question of me asking to be taken back there now. I’d have to collect the car in the morning.
Moments later we had arrived at Jane’s Cottage.
Piers cut the engine.
“I won’t come in,” he said sheepishly.
“Probably a good idea.”
Piers got out of the Mercedes and came around to open my door. He walked me to the entrance and waited for me to find my latchkey.
I turned to say good night.
Piers leaned in and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead, he whispered in my ear, “I could easily fall in love with you, but don’t fall in love with me, Katherine Stanford.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said coldly. “I can assure you that there is no danger of that.”
Suddenly he cupped my chin and then he did kiss me. He kissed me so fiercely that my head spun. I felt a rush of electricity that was so unexpected that I had to reach out to steady myself against the pillar.
Piers broke away as abruptly as he had begun. And, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back to his car, leaving me with a racing heart and feeling more than a little confused. I stared after the receding taillights as the Mercedes sped away.
But all thoughts of Piers vanished the minute I stepped inside my door.
Someone was here, but this uninvited guest was human.
I grabbed the fire poker and stood still. Listening.
And then I heard a strange ping. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen.
Gingerly, I crept forward and slowly peered into the tiny room.
The blue light from my electric kettle glowed in the darkness.
There was a creak overhead.
I walked to the bottom of the spiral staircase.
“Mother!” I shouted. “I know you’re up there.”
“Are you alone?” came the reply.
“Yes. I am.”
“Piers didn’t come in?” Mum descended the staircase.
“How did you know I went out with Piers?” I said. “Are you spying on me?”
“What? Oh—yes. No. Alfred saw you.”
“Even for you that is pretty low—Mum?” Her face was deathly pale. She seemed upset. “Are you feeling alright? Whatever’s the matter?”
She swallowed hard. “Something awful has happened to Muriel. I think she’s dead.”