The Savage Gorge (11 page)

'His Lordship has decided to make an exception in your case. The girl will remain in your car.'

'She is my chief assistant, goes everywhere with me.
So she will come with me now.'

'You might have mentioned that earlier. And don't
trip over the shag carpet.'

She was referring to the fact that the small panelled
hall's floor was covered wall-to-wall with the carpet.
Tweed felt his ankles sinking into it. She led them to a
door in the right-hand wall, opened it, made her
announcement.

'Mr Tweed, sir. Also the female assistant he insisted
must accompany him.'

A very large man jumped with surprising agility out
of an armchair, walked rapidly across to his visitors, his outsize hand extended in greeting. The head on a thick neck seemed huge. Below thick fair hair his
prominent forehead suggested intelligence, beneath

his thick eyebrows large blue eyes stared at each of them in turn. His nose was aggressive above a strong mouth and below that jowls were developing.

Paula was taken aback by their host's sheer size, but
like many big men his feet were small and neat. His
voice was powerful.

'You are so welcome, Mr Tweed. A visitor of great
importance who arrived in Gunners Gorge yesterday
and is staying at the Nag's Head.'

He was smiling warmly as he shook Tweed's hand
and then turned to Paula to shake hers.

'I am losing my manners. I should have greeted the delightful Miss Paula Grey first. Mr Tweed's brilliant
aide-de-camp.'

'Lord Bullerton?' she queried, tensing her hand,
expecting it to be crushed in his great paw. Instead he
squeezed gently, holding on longer than is normal.

'Yes,' he answered her, 'for my sins I am Lord
Bullerton. My venerable late father insisted I carry on
the line. Three of us so we shall sit round this table.
The chairs are very comfortable.' He glanced at the
open door where the woman who had let them in
stood waiting for orders. 'Mrs Shipton, drinks all
round. I'll have a neat double Scotch. Tweed?'

'The same as yourself.'

'Most important of all. Miss Grey?'

'I'd like a French Chardonnay in a small glass.'

'We only serve French,' Mrs Shipton said severely as
she walked to a large glass-windowed cupboard which
appeared more like a bar.

'And I see you know Mr Falkirk,' Tweed com
mented, settled in one of the tapestry-covered carver
chairs. 'A private detective.'

Tweed doesn't waste time, Paula thought. Plunges
straight in.

'Ah, Falkirk,' Bullerton sighed. 'Touts for business
round the shires.'

Mrs Shipton had served the drinks, placing a large
cloth mat in front of each of them before perching
their drink on top of it.

'At least Mr Falkirk made an appointment,' she
snapped, went into the hall, slamming the door
behind her.

'Mrs Shipton!'
thundered Bullerton.

'Sir?' she called out, reopening the door.

'Point one,' Bullerton continued thundering, 'I can
do without your commentaries. Point two, when you leave this room I like the door closed quietly.'

Mrs Shipton, her expression venomous, left again,
closing the door without a whisper.

'Your housekeeper?' Paula enquired.

'Shsh!' Bullerton laid a hand on hers. 'House man
ager.'

'You seem to have a lot of spies,' Tweed remarked.
'When we arrived you knew a lot about us.'

'Ah! Mr Tweed. You are in the country now.
Anyone new and the gossip starts . . .'

'Indeed it does,' intervened Paula. 'You have five
daughters and one son.'

'Yes.' Bullerton sighed. 'The two eldest, Nancy and

Petra, walked out on me. Wished to travel, I gather.
Nancy went to Canada. Had just one postcard from
her. Toronto. Petra pushed off to Australia. Again only
one postcard - Sydney. But I still have Margot and
Sable
—'

As though on cue the door burst open and a wild
girl burst into the room. Fair-haired, she wore baggy jeans, a short jumper which exposed a generous dis
play of bare stomach, and Reeboks on her feet. She
dropped a briefcase by a couch and hurtled over to Tweed. He held out a hand and she slapped it in a
friendly gesture with her own.

'This is Margot,' Bullerton said in a resigned tone.

'I like you,' Margot said to Tweed, dragging a chair
close. 'I'm so fed up with the young idiots. Just
dumped a boy friend. Only one part of my anatomy
he was interested in. Tried to drag me behind a bush
up on Black Gorse Moor. I gave him my knee. Left
him crouched over and moaning. I prefer more
mature men.'

The door opened and Mrs Shipton appeared again.
She seemed in a better mood now as she addressed
her employer.

'Sir, that important call you expected has come
through. You could take it in the library. The line is
bad. I think he's using a mobile.'

Bullerton stood up, excusing himself to his guests.
He wore jodhpurs tucked into gleaming boots and
riding kit. The garb seemed quite normal in this part
of the world. As he was leaving, a very attractive slim

girl appeared. She was fashionably dressed in an
expensive two-piece blue suit. Her fair hair was neatly
coiffured and Paula estimated her to be in her early
twenties.

'This is Sable,' Bullerton called over his shoulder
before he left the drawing room.

'Oh, God!' Margot said in a loud voice.

She began running two fingers up the sleeve of
Tweed's arm. Her smile was inviting when Sable
spoke. She had a cultured voice and a very pleasant
manner as she spoke to Margot.

'I'm not sure Mr Tweed likes you doing that during
his first visit.'

'Drop dead,' Margot snapped. 'Just because you
manipulated Pater into sending you to Heathfield
you think you're the cat's whiskers,' she went on
nastily. 'I went to a good school but it wasn't
Heathfield . . .'

'Calm down, Margot,' Sable said quietly, still stand
ing.

'You shove off,' screamed Margot. 'You weren't invited to this party!'

She jumped up, advanced on Sable, her right fist
clenched ready to punch her sister in the stomach.
Sable, taller, stood very still, shot out her long arms,
her hands on Margot's shoulders. She gave Margot a
violent shove. Margot staggered backwards, ended up
sprawled in an armchair.

Sable fingered a diamond brooch attached to the
top of her jacket. Margot leaned forward, screaming

as she felt under the left leg of her jeans. She pulled
out a knife from a holster attached to her lower leg.

'See that!' she screamed. 'Pater's birthday present to
his pet, Sable.'

Margot leapt to her feet. She rushed at Sable, knife
raised to slash her. Sable remained quite still. Then as
Margot reached her one long arm shot out, the hand grasped Margot's knife hand by the wrist, twisted.
Margot yelled in pain and dropped the knife. At that moment during the struggle Lord Bullerton returned.

'Couldn't hear a word . . . bloody hell. Margot, are
you mad?'

'We had a disagreement,' Margot replied sullenly, sitting on the armchair, nursing her twisted wrist.

Tweed leaned forward, studied the knife. One side
had a keen blade, the other a regular serrated edge.
Not the weapon which had been used to carve up the
faces of the two women in London.

A good-looking young man in his early twenties
entered the room. Wearing a neat grey suit, his fea
tures were striking and his eyes almond-shaped, which
gave him an air of authority.

'This is Lance, my son ... and this is Margot again,'
he said in a voice rumbling with fury.

'Again.
Always Margot again,' Margot yelled in fury.

Bullerton raised one huge hand, slapped her so hard
across the face Paula thought he would take her head
off. Then he administered the same harsh blow to the
other side of her face. She burst into tears and ran
from the room.

I’ll get rid of this,' said Lance.

He picked up the knife by the handle, walked across
to a door a distance beyond the bar, opened it and
Paula saw it led to a marble-tiled toilet. He came out
with a large towel wrapped round the knife.

'Plenty of deep fissures on the moor,' he explained. 'It will be safe down there. I never knew Margot went
in for knives.'

I’ll give her hell later,' Bullerton growled.

'May I suggest you don't?' requested Lance. I’ll
arrange for Mrs Shipton to prepare a nice tea for her.
Muffins, which Margot loves, plenty of butter, Dundee cake and a large pot of tea. I'll take it up to her myself.'

'All right. If you think that's best. You'd make a good candidate to carry on the title when I'm gone.'