Aunt Dimity's Good Deed (8 page)

Gerald returned with a first-aid kit, and after I’d cleansed and bandaged my little finger to his satisfaction, he set the kit on an end table and took a seat in the remaining armchair.

“I’m sorry to say that tea will be delayed,” he announced. “Mrs. Burweed insists on preparing a fresh batch of meringues to replace those left too long in the oven.” He removed his spectacles and returned them to his shirt pocket. “While we wait, perhaps you would continue with your story, Mademoiselle Gascon. I’m sure Miss Shepherd will be fascinated.” He leaned back comfortably in his chair and favored Nell with an amused, tolerant smile that vanished instantly when she exploded into tears.

“F-forgive me,” she said tremulously. “But Maman is so ill, and I was so hoping to find Grandpapa, to t-tell him that she n-needs him....” She gave a little moan, bowed her head, and wept as though her heart would break.

Gerald sat bolt upright, completely disconcerted. He looked distractedly at me, then pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to Nell, who waved it away and lapsed into a torrent of French in which the words for “death” and “despair” figured prominently. She was magnificent. Gerald patted her back and murmured soothing phrases, and by the time he’d persuaded her to accept his handkerchief, he looked as though he’d willingly believe anything Nell chose to tell him.

Which was just as well, because the tale Nell trotted out would have made a fine libretto for a tragic opera.

For the next forty minutes I listened, awed and humbled by Nell’s daring and the depth of her conviction. Cousin Gerald seemed transfixed, and by the time Nell had brought her story to its stirring conclusion she had
me
half convinced that it was true.

Nicolette Gascon was nothing less than Willis, Sr.’s illegitimate granddaughter. Nicolette’s mother was Regina, Willis, Sr.’s only daughter, who’d run off to Paris to live in sin with Howard Gascon, a British exchange student and artist manqué she’d met while studying art history at Harvard.

Howard Gascon had abandoned Regina and Nicolette three years earlier—“because an artist must be
libre,”
Nell proclaimed, with the passionate conviction of an adoring daughter—but mother and child had managed well enough until six months ago, when Regina had been taken ill with something that sounded suspiciously like consumption.

Because of her illness, Regina had lost her job at the café near Montmartre and was sliding into abject poverty, but she couldn’t turn to her father for help-Willis, Sr., had disowned his daughter because of her scandalous behavior and to this day had neither seen nor acknowledged his only grandchild.

Nicolette had heard of her grandfather’s presence in England—“from one of the
gentils
men who visit Maman now and then”—and had hitchhiked from Paris to the Channel, where she’d spent her last centime to board the train that had taken her to London. There she hoped to confront Willis, Sr., and persuade him to do his duty by his daughter.

“I must make Grandpapa see reason,” she concluded. “Without his help, we will end up on the streets.” Nell’s eyes sought mine. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Miss Shepherd, but I was afraid. I thought you wouldn’t bring me with you if you knew who I really was.”

“And you work for William Willis?” Gerald asked, turning to me.

“I’m his executive assistant,” I answered glibly, inspired by Nell’s bravura performance. “Mr. Willis and I come to London regularly, on business. Nicolette showed up at our hotel this morning, minutes after my employer had left for Haslemere. I’d never heard of her, but since it was still the middle of the night back in Boston, I had no way of checking our records. Then papers arrived, requiring Mr. Willis’s immediate attention, and I couldn’t leave her in London on her own, so I ... I did try to telephone first.”

 

“But you couldn’t get through.” Gerald nodded. “The phone’s still not working properly. I was cut off in the middle of the first call to come through in three days.”

“I’m sorry to intrude like this,” I said, with complete sincerity. It seemed a shame to pull the wool over such beautiful eyes.

“Not at all. But I’m afraid I have bad news for you,
ma petite,”
he continued, laying a hand on Nell’s arm. “Your grandfather was here, but he left two hours ago.” Nell sighed expressively and Gerald gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. “I can tell you where he’s gone, though.”

“Vraiment?”
Nell asked, her face brightening.

“I hate to say it, but he’s returned to London.”

“To London?” I exclaimed in dismay.

“I believe he intends to visit my cousins tomorrow,” Gerald explained. “Here, I’ll give you their address.” He got to his feet and went over to the battered wooden desk.

“Vous êtes très gentil, Monsieur Willis, très généreux—un véritable ange,”
Nell said effusively to Gerald’s back. Turning to look straight at me, she went on: “Grandpapa is sure to return to his hotel in London. I am certain we shall find him there tomorrow.”

I received her message loud and clear. Calm down, she was saying. If William plans to spend the night in London, he’ll stay at the Flamborough, and Miss Kingsley will keep an eye on him until we get there.

“I apologize for making such a spectacle,” Nell said, rising from her chair. “I must look
terrible.
Please, may I use your
salle de bain?”

“Bien sur,”
said Gerald. “It’s at the top of the stairs. Mind the handrail,” he added. “It’s wobbly.”

Nell’s histrionics had, in fact, left her looking lovelier than ever, with high color in her cheeks and tears sparkling on her long lashes, but I didn’t need a neon sign to tell me what was afoot. Cousin Gerald, I thought without a trace of doubt, was about to have his second floor searched. I thought Nell was being overly suspicious—Gerald wouldn’t have told us where to find Willis, Sr., if he’d cached his corpse in an upstairs closet—but I was willing to play along, if only to keep Nell from embarrassing herself, and me.

“You won’t be going back to London this evening, then?” Gerald crossed from the desk to the sofa, a slip of paper in his hand.

“I’m not used to driving on English roads, Mr.—Gerald,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t like to risk it in the dark.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said, with an understanding smile. He handed me the slip of paper and sat beside me, adding casually, “You’re welcome to spend the night here, if you like.”

“Th-thank you,” I faltered, my face growing peony-pink, “but we’ve already checked into the Georgian.”

“They’ll take good care of you there,” Gerald said, and although I watched him closely—an easy task, since our knees were almost touching—I detected not a trace of irony or self-consciousness in his comment. He appeared to be entirely unaware of his impact on the hotel’s staff.

I was acutely aware of his impact on me, however. It took an enormous amount of self-restraint not to lean in to him as I tucked the slip of paper into my blazer pocket, and although I knew I should be asking probing questions, I couldn’t for the life of me think of one.

“Have you worked for William very long?” Gerald asked.

“Ever since college,” I answered. Nell wasn’t the only one who could improvise.

“Yet you knew nothing of his daughter or Nicolette?” Gerald cocked his head to one side. “How strange.”

“I knew he’d had problems at home,” I assured him, “but Mr. Willis doesn’t bring that sort of thing into the office with him.”

“Very wise,” said Gerald.

“Did you have a pleasant visit?” I ventured, beginning to find my feet. Gerald was remarkably easy to talk to.

“I enjoyed meeting Cousin William,” said Gerald, “but I don’t think I was of much help to him. He wanted to know about a woman named Julia Louise and a family quarrel that took place sometime in the eighteenth century, but I knew less about it than he did. I referred him to my cousin Lucy, in London. Lucy’s the family historian.”

So Willis, Sr., was rootling around in family matters past, I thought, just as Dimity had warned. “Did Mr. Willis get a chance to discuss his proposal with you?” I asked, more concerned, for the moment, about the present. “His plan to open a European office?”

“He mentioned it,” Gerald acknowledged. “But I told him he’d be much better off speaking with Lucy. She runs the firm now.”

I felt my heart sink straight through the parlor’s tatty carpet. It was true, then. Willis, Sr., was planning to move to England. He was planning to leave me alone in the mansion with his stick-insect sisters and his invisible son. A shadow seemed to pass before my eyes, and it took me a minute to find my voice.

“Do you think Lucy’ll be willing to go ahead with the plan?” I asked.

“I imagine so.” An expression of mild regret crossed Gerald’s face as he turned to look toward the picture windows. “Lucy’s been shorthanded ever since I left the firm. ”

“I’d heard that you’d given up your job,” I said hesitantly. “To be perfectly honest, I’d heard certain rumors....”

“We all make mistakes, Miss Shepherd.” Gerald gazed at me in silence, then got to his feet and strolled slowly to the French doors, where he stood looking out at the forest, his chestnut hair aglow in the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun. “As I told your employer, I was under a great deal of pressure at the time—putting in long hours for demanding clients....” He looked over his shoulder. “Surely you’ve encountered the same difficulties on your side of the Atlantic.”

I nodded, and he turned to the windows again.

“I was also concerned about my father, Thomas Willis. He’s a great man.” Gerald folded his arms and sighed deeply. “He was head of the firm until his heart gave way. It happened three years ago, and for a few months I thought I might lose him. Between worrying about him and trying to maintain a normal schedule at the firm, I ... made some mistakes. So I left.”

“To come ... here?” I said, stealing a glance at the electric fire.

Gerald’s dazzling smile reappeared as he turned to face me. “The Larches may not be everyone’s idea of paradise, but it suits me. Apart from that, I have time for my father now that I’m here, and that’s what really matters.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “that’s what really matters.” I stared at Gerald’s broad shoulders, silhouetted against the green-gold shadows of the forest, and felt a sudden, urgent need to speak with Willis,
Sr., before
he met with Lucy, to-tell him that I had time for him, even if Bill didn’t. I stood abruptly. “I’m sorry, Gerald, but I have to get back to the hotel.”

“You won’t stay to tea?” Gerald asked. He seemed genuinely disappointed.

“I can‘t,” I said, feeling my pulse flutter as he approached. “It’s ... the papers I brought for Mr. Willis to sign. They slipped my mind, what with Nicolette and ... and everything. I have to let him know about them and since your telephone still isn’t working properly...”

“I understand,” said Gerald, “but I’m sorry you have to go so soon. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

“I ... uh ... me, too.” I gazed up into those blue-green eyes and wondered if getting back to the Georgian was so very important after all.

Nell saved me from my second thoughts by choosing that moment to return from her fact-finding mission on the second floor. She had no objection to leaving the Larches immediately. Instead, she seemed oddly relieved.

Gerald accompanied us to the entryway and opened the door, then asked us to wait there as he disappeared up the hall. The moment he turned his back, Nell darted outside, crying,
“Regardez le lapin!”

A rabbit? I peered curiously after Nell as she rounded the comer of the house. Then I smiled. She was, once again, being a cleverboots. Anyone watching from inside the Larches would assume that young Nicolette was thrilled to bits by the sight of an English rabbit in the wild, but I knew better. Nell wasn’t interested in surveying the local fauna. She was beating the bushes for signs of Willis, Sr.’s car.

Five minutes later, she came back into view and called to say she’d wait for me in the Mini. I waved to her to go ahead, heard Gerald’s step in the hall, turned, and found him beside me, smiling his radiant smile and handing me a round tin.

“They have a marvelous cook at the Georgian,” he explained, “but Mrs. Burweed is even better.” He rapped the tin lightly. “Especially when she uses my father’s secret recipe.”

“Thank you,” I said, touched by his thoughtfulness. “For everything. You’ve been very kind.”

“It has been my pleasure,” he assured me. “And I do hope we’ll have the chance to meet again.” He stood watching from the doorway while I got into the car, and waved as I drove off down the grassy drive.

“If that man’s a reprobate, I’ll swear off butterscotch brownies forever,” I declared.

“You think Miss Kingsley’s misjudged him?” Nell asked.

“I think everyone’s misjudged him,” I replied. “I think. he’s been maligned and slandered, and I’ll bet that woman Miss Kingsley’s seen him with at the Flamborough is his analyst. God knows he could use one, with all the abuse he’s taken.”

“Lori, there’s something you should—” Nell began.

“I mean, think about it, Nell,” I interrupted. “We burst into the guy’s house like a pair of demented ducklings, and what does he do? He serves us
tea.
Tries to, anyway.” I glanced at my bandaged finger and blushed to remember how I’d injured it. “Apart from that, he turned down William’s proposal flat, so he can’t be trying to con him. Which reminds me, William is—”

“Lori!” Nell cried.

I slammed on the brakes and turned to ask Nell what on earth was the matter, but the question never left my lips. For there, peering at me from within the folds of Nell’s oversized black blazer, was Reginald.

Nell blinked at me innocently. “I told you I saw a rabbit.”

My supply of amazement had been exhausted. I’d used up my allotment of surprise. I had nothing left to give. I gazed into Reginald’s black button eyes and said, with the slow smile of the heavily sedated, “Hi there, Reg. Where’ve you been?”