Deadfall (27 page)

It was nearly nine o'clock when Linc left the Vicarage, having done all he could, and he decided
to head on to Shaftesbury to see Sandy. Making a slight detour, he called in at the excellent Post Office and general stores in Farthing St Thomas, where he bought a bottle of Scotch and a bacon roll. The first he stowed in the roomy glove compartment of the Discovery, the second he ate whilst he drove. In theory, it wouldn't have taken much longer to call back to his flat at Farthingscourt but in practice he'd have been lucky to get in and out without someone finding something that needed his urgent attention, and wanting to know where he was going and why.

When he reached the industrial park, he found the forecourt to Sandy's unit already taken up with the saddler's own lorry and a white BMW that he vaguely remembered having seen there before. He searched his memory and came up with a mental picture of a tall, well-built man in a leather coat. Nobody he knew.

He parked the Farthingscourt vehicle on the other side of the lorry from the BMW and started to get out, then hesitated. He'd walked in on Sandy's visitor last time; perhaps he'd give them a moment or two. So he sat in the warm sunshine watching a busy colony of house martins coming in relays to a series of mud nests, high under the metal overhang of the building, his mind returning to the puzzle of Saturday night. He couldn't see how it could have anything to do with the warnings he'd received, but if not it seemed completely pointless.

Either way it had left a lot to chance. Given the state he'd been in, he might very possibly have driven off the road and into a handy tree, but it was just as likely he would do what in fact he did do –
gradually lose consciousness and bump on to the verge, stalling the car in the process. The thought of what might have happened if he'd travelled that extra yard or two still made him go hot and cold. But that could never have been planned for

And if he hadn't left the party early, what then? After all, whoever slipped him the Mickey Finn could have had no way of knowing how long he'd stay. Crispin had told Manston that Linc had left just a couple of minutes after drinking the punch, but he might have stayed there all evening for all anyone knew.

Was the object to make him a laughing stock? Was one of the conservation group an ardent republican, who might gain satisfaction from putting one over on a member of the hated aristocracy? But surely such a person wouldn't have volunteered to work on the estate in the first place.

Or was the intention more sinister still? Apparently, hounded by the garrulous group leader, he'd drunk less than half a cup of Nikki's punch before he left. If he'd drained the cup would he still be here to tell the tale? Manston was very keen to know what his blood tests revealed. Was the violence of Linc's reaction in keeping with the substance he'd consumed or was it an individual response, compounded by his not having eaten for several hours?

The door of the unit opened, interrupting his thoughts, and an unfamiliar voice said testily, ‘Well, if you'd just used your head, there wouldn't still
be
a problem!'

From where Linc sat, he couldn't see the owner of the voice because Sandy's lorry was in the way.
He could just see part of the open doorway if he craned his neck but didn't particularly want to be caught doing anything so bad-mannered.

Still inside the unit, Sandy's reply was indistinct, but Linc had no problem hearing his visitor's response to it.

‘Oh, no! Don't try and shift the blame. You
both
fucked up! But
you
had a chance to put things right and you didn't – that's what pisses me off!'

Sandy's voice came again, protesting, but the other man cut across him.

‘No. That's not good enough. I'm going now, and I don't want to hear from you unless it's good news.'

After a moment a car door slammed and its engine roared into life. The white BMW backed out of its space and on a long fluent curve, accelerated out of the park.

There was a crash from the unit and Linc looked back to find that Sandy had slammed the metal door shut. In fact, he did it with such force that it failed to catch and bounced open again. It was obviously not a good moment, and if he hadn't made a special journey to see the saddler, Linc would have thought twice about going in. As it was, he retrieved the Scotch from the glove compartment, shut and locked the Land-Rover and headed for the swinging door.

Sandy had gone into his office, leaving the door ajar, so Linc knocked lightly on it and peered round.

The saddler was sitting at his desk with a whisky bottle and empty tumbler in front of him and a stormy expression on his good-natured face. The bottle held only an inch or so more liquid.

‘Refill?' Linc suggested, holding his bottle out with a smile.

‘What?' Sandy looked up, scowling.

Linc put the Scotch on the desk in front of him. ‘By way of a thank you for the other night. Looks like I was just in time, too.'

Sandy's scowl dissolved into a beatific smile. ‘There is a God!' he declared. ‘Will you join me?'

‘Er, I'd prefer a coffee, if you've got some. I'm still feeling a little fragile.'

‘Sure.' Sandy emptied the first bottle into his glass, took a swig and stood up. ‘You certainly learn your lessons the hard way. Sit.'

‘Actually, I hadn't been drinking,' Linc informed him, making use of the chair on his side of the desk. ‘I think someone must have slipped me a Mickey at the party.'

‘Nice of them!' Sandy observed. ‘You were well out of it when
I
found you, that's for sure! I tried to wake you but you were dead to the world, so I thought it was best to take you on to the Vicarage with me.'

‘In my car.'

‘Yeah, well, I didn't think you'd want it left there, and since you were already in the passenger seat, it seemed the simplest thing to do.'

‘I
was
?' Linc couldn't imagine why he might have changed seats; not easy in a Morgan, without getting out and walking round.

‘Yeah,
I
thought it was odd,' Sandy remarked. ‘Thought perhaps someone else had been driving but there was no one around.'

He looked at Linc as though he was expecting
him to provide an answer to the puzzle but he had none to offer.

‘I'm sorry. Your guess is as good as mine.'

‘Oh, well, people do strange things when they're stoned,' Sandy observed placidly as he switched the kettle on and located a mug. He peered inside this and then tapped it upside down before spooning coffee granules into it.

Linc decided it was probably better not to ask.

‘Got any idea who planned that little surprise then?' the saddler went on.

‘None at all. But I'd certainly like to come up with them in some lonely spot . . .'

‘I bet.' He found milk in a mini-refrigerator next to the microwave, and sniffed it cautiously. Linc began to think the whisky might have been the better option after all.

There was a scratching at the door and when Sandy opened it, Tiger trotted in, tail waving happily. He made a beeline for Linc's feet and parked his brindle rump firmly on them.

Sandy smiled. ‘He's happy now. Al doesn't like dogs and Tiger tends to growl at people who give off the wrong vibes, so I had to shut him out.'

There are dogs and dogs, Linc thought, sympathising with Sandy's late visitor on that point, at least. Nevertheless, old habits die hard, and he found himself fondling Tiger's ears as he talked.

‘He didn't sound a particularly happy bunny, as it was,' he commented. ‘I'm sorry, I couldn't help overhearing. He wasn't exactly discreet when he left. Is it anything I can help you with? I feel I owe you.'

‘Rubbish! What was I supposed to do? Leave you there?'

‘I don't know. But thanks anyway. And your friend Al?'

‘No. It's okay. I can handle him. He just gets a bit hot under the collar. He'll calm down. Nothing you can do.' Something struck him as funny and he chuckled.

‘What's the joke?'

Sandy shook his head, handing Linc his coffee. ‘Nothing really. Actually, one thing you
can
do . . . Stop sending the bottles round here. It's bad for my reputation!'

‘Bottles?' Linc was bewildered.

‘Bottles and stoppers – coppers,' Sandy translated. ‘They were round again today, asking about Saturday. Honestly, you do a bloke a good turn and all you get is grief!'

‘Yeah, I'm sorry. I should have warned you. They said they'd want to talk to you. But surely they didn't give you a hard time?'

‘No, not really.'

Linc sipped his coffee. ‘So what's with the rhyming slang? You're not a cockney, are you? You don't sound it.'

‘My old man was. I used to sound just like him but I found some of the hoity-toity horsy crowd didn't approve, so I try and remember to talk proper when I'm “ite and abite”!'

Linc laughed. ‘Well, I'm just glad you were “ite and abite” on Saturday night,' he said. ‘Or God knows where I'd be now!'

Sandy started to say something but was interrupted by the shrill tone of Linc's mobile phone. He paused while Linc retrieved it from his pocket and looked at the display.

His heart skipped a beat as the caller was identified as Josie and, apologising to Sandy, he answered it.

‘Linc! It's happened! She's awake!' Josie was half-laughing and half-crying. ‘She opened her eyes and smiled at us! She said “hello”!'

‘Oh, Josie, that's wonderful! She made it! I knew she would. Didn't I say she was a tough cookie?'

‘You did. But it's been so long. Oh, I can't believe it! This is the best moment of my entire life! We've all been laughing and crying – we can't stop!'

‘I suppose it's family only, at the moment?'

‘Yes. I'm sorry. And
we
were only allowed to stay for a short time. She's got to rest and then there'll be tests to do and stuff. But I just had to tell you . . .'

‘Thanks. Give her my love. Will I see you later?'

‘Probably. I'll give you a ring. 'Bye then.'

‘'Bye.' Linc cut the connection and looked across at Sandy. ‘Abby's made it. She's come round!' he said, and his voice cracked a little with the emotion.

‘That's brilliant! What a relief!' the saddler said, smiling. ‘Will she be okay? I mean, has she said anything yet? I know they were worried – you know – about brain damage.'

‘Well, she said hello,' Linc told him. ‘So that's a start. It's looking good but I guess only time will tell.'

‘Yeah.' Sandy looked thoughtful. Then he raised his glass. ‘Well, here's hoping!'

‘I'll drink to that. Even if it
is
just coffee.'

REALISING THAT THE
Hathaway family probably needed space and time to take in their marvellous change in fortunes, Linc resisted the temptation to contact Josie later that day. The next morning he sent her a text message, simply asking if everything was still all right.

The answer came back promptly:
Yes. Everything fine. Am at Hosp. Call u L8R. J xxx

She actually called less than an hour later, full of bubbling happiness. Abby, it appeared, was far better than anyone had dared hope and improving all the time.

‘She can't remember anything much about the night she was attacked,' Josie told him. ‘Rockley came to speak to her but she couldn't tell him anything new. The doctor didn't let him stay long because of upsetting her. She's very easily tired and rather emotional.'

‘That's not surprising, I suppose,' Linc said. ‘It's incredible, really, that she's as well as she is after – how many weeks is it?'

‘Four weeks, four days,' Josie supplied. ‘It's hard to believe. I think it's going to take a while for Abby to get her head round it, too.'

‘Will you be at the hospital all day?'

‘No. I'm on my way home now, actually. We have to be careful not to overtire her. She's still very weak.'

‘Well, I don't know whether you feel like it but Farthingscourt is hosting a musical soirée this evening, and I wondered if you'd like to come. It's part of a season of concerts in stately homes and we've been lucky enough to land Mischa Barinkov playing Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto. You know, Number Two, the famous one. It should be lovely – if you like piano music, of course.'

‘I love it. And Rach Two is my absolute favourite. What time do you want me?'

All the time
, was the answer that sprang immediately to mind, but Linc bit his tongue. ‘Half-past seven for eight,' he told her. ‘There's a buffet supper afterwards, so it should be a good evening.'

The evening was indeed a great success. It was the first time Farthingscourt had participated in the concert series and tickets had sold out weeks before. It was stipulated that people should turn up in eveningwear and, with very few exceptions, they did. Softly lit, and with its richly dressed occupants, the state drawing room at Farthingscourt looked almost as it must have done in its heyday, in the time of St John, the ill-fated Third Viscount.

Even in a room filled with glamorous people, Josie turned heads in a long slim dress of burgundy silk. Her modelling experience gave her an air of
calm elegance and Linc guessed that he was the envy of many of the other men. He'd have been less than human if he hadn't enjoyed the sensation.

The young Russian pianist gave a beautiful performance on a Steinway that had been loaned to Farthingscourt for the occasion, and the applause was long, rapturous and entirely genuine.

When Linc turned to look at Josie at one point during the recital he was touched to see her eyes shining with unshed tears.

‘No need to ask if you enjoyed that,' he murmured, as they stood up to file into an adjacent room where the kitchen staff had set out a buffet on two long refectory tables.