Too soon?

Alex frowned as he swung into the gates of Jamaica Hill. What did he mean by that? He surely wasn't seriously considering a permanent relationship on the basis of a couple of hours of good s.e.x.

And that was all it had been, he a.s.sured himself firmly. Okay, it had been incredible s.e.x, and Kate was every bit as desirable to him now as she had been earlier in the evening. But he was too old to start looking for constancy between a woman's legs. If his experiences with Pam had taught him anything it was that nothing was ever that simple.

But he liked Kate; he enjoyed her company. And, what was equally important, Rachel liked her, too. Despite the lateness of the hour, he'd taken the opportunity to ask Joanne if she'd like to come down to the stables some time when his daughter was there, and she'd been more than willing to accept his invitation. Indeed, he'd have gone so far as to say that Joanne had suspected that something had been going on between him and her mother, and her mischievous smile had not been entirely unbiased.

Which might be a reason for him to steer clear of Kate in future, he reflected dourly, his mood changing when, after leaving the Range Rover on the forecourt, he let himself into the house. He didn't want to give either of them the wrong impression, but when he thought of the consequences of not seeing Kate again he dismissed the alternative out of hand. He wanted to see her again; he intended to see her again; and, however reckless it might seem, he was prepared to take the risk.

Nevertheless, after he'd showered and slipped naked between the cool sheets on his bed, he determined not to take any further risks so far as unprotected s.e.x was concerned. Kate had a.s.sured him she was unlikely to get pregnant at this particular time of the month, but there was always the danger that she could.

He groaned. G.o.d, why did the prospect of her having his baby not fill him with the dismay it should? Why did the very idea of his child swelling her stomach tighten his own? It was crazy but he wanted to make love to her again, s.e.x against s.e.x, skin against skin...

Despite his intentions to the contrary, he didn't see Kate again for a couple of days.

An owner, someone he'd dealt with for a number of years, and who had stuck with him throughout all the publicity surrounding Pamela's death, had phoned from the north of England.

The man, who'd been attending a horse sale at a stud near York, had wanted Alex's opinion on a mare he'd seen there. He'd asked if there was any chance of Alex's driving north to join him, bringing a horse-box, if possible, to transport the animal back to Jamaica Hill should the sale go through.

It meant being away overnight and in other circ.u.mstances Alex might have asked Ted Lowes to go in his place. But the owner was a good friend, and a good customer, and he wasn't in the habit of asking for favours. In consequence, Alex felt obliged to go himself.

He considered ringing Kate before he left King's Montford, to explain where he was going and when he hoped to be back. But he didn't. He decided it might do them both good to have a breathing s.p.a.ce before they saw one another again. It was probably better if he tried to cool it.

Despite the warnings he'd given himself the night before, he was still far too eager to continue the affair.

Yet, as soon as he hit the M1, he started wishing he'd ignored his conscience. Kate was bound to wonder why he'd left town the morning after he'd visited the flat. So long as she didn't think he was avoiding her, he brooded irritably. Could he ring her from his hotel? What excuse could he give if her mother answered the phone?

In the event, he decided against doing anything so reckless. Guthrie would tell her where he was, he a.s.sured himself. Sam would explain the circ.u.mstances and he'd be back the following afternoon. He had to concentrate on his job, and on the fact that his solicitor was presently negotiating for him to have Rachel to stay for a whole weekend. His relationship with Kate-if they had a relationship-must not be allowed to interfere with his daughter's future.

Which was all very well. And, while he was discussing breeding schedules and blood lines, and deciding how much the mare he'd come to see was worth, he was almost able to convince himself he meant it. But, despite his concern for Rachel, he couldn't get Kate out of his thoughts, and in consequence he slept badly and awoke the next morning feeling heavy-eyed and depressed.

It didn't help that it was a lousy day, heavy rain making all driving a hazard. It was particularly frustrating to be driving a horse-box, which meant he had to limit his speed. He was eager to get back to King's Montford, but the weather slowed him down considerably. That, and the fact that an articulated wagon had jackknifed on the motorway, leaving a tailback of traffic five miles long.

He got soaked when he stopped to give the mare a breather, but he got himself a strong cup of coffee at the same time and that helped his headache a bit. But it was well into the evening before he reached his destination, and his head was throbbing so badly he felt physically sick.

Finding the gates to Jamaica Hill closed was another source of irritation. For G.o.d's sake, he thought, he'd told Ted Lowes he was driving back today. Why on earth would he close the gates?

It meant him getting out into the rain again to open them, and after getting back into the cab he drove straight down to the stables. Finding his head groom standing in the open doorway of the office, he was tempted to demand an explanation, but the man was looking edgy and Alex guessed he'd remembered what he'd done.

Instead, after exchanging the briefest of formalities, Alex grabbed his overcoat from the cab, and stamped across the paddock to the house. He was tired and not in the best of tempers. It was too late to contact Kate tonight and that was what was really bugging his mood.

He went straight into the library, and he was helping himself to a can of c.o.ke when his housekeeper appeared. 'Och, thank G.o.d you're back!' she exclaimed, and he noticed how anxious she was looking. 'Could ye not have warned me ye'd be so late?'

It was a sign of her agitation that she'd relapsed into the dialect of her childhood, and Alex knew a moment's sympathy before his own resentment kicked in. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'I didn't know I was under curfew. You try driving nearly three hundred miles in the pouring rain and see how accurate your timekeeping is.'

Mrs Muirt wisted her hands together. 'You don't know, do you?' she cried. 'Ted didn't tell you that the police have been here?'

'The police!' Alex slammed down the can and turned to the old woman in disbelief. Then, in a whisper, he said, 'My G.o.d, something's happened to Rachel! Just tell me: has she had an accident, or what?'

'There's nothing wrong with Rachel-as far as I know,' Mrs Muir a.s.sured him hurriedly. 'The police came to interview you, Mr Kellerman.' She licked her lips rather nervously. 'They say that Mrs Sawyer has gone missing. No one's seen her since she left Jamaica Hill.'

'Alicia?' Alex blinked. 'They wanted to ask me about Alicia?' He relaxed a little. 'What does Alicia's disappearance have to do with me?'

'You may well ask.' The housekeeper grimaced. 'I told them we knew nothing about it. But I think they think they've found some evidence that connects with her disappearance. They asked when I'd last seen her.' She sniffed. 'I can't be sure, but I think they suspect something terrible has happened to her.'

Alex felt as if all the air in his lungs had been expelled in a rush and he couldn't seem to take in any more. Alicia, missing? He couldn't believe it, and he sank into the nearest chair, resting his arms on his spread thighs and dropping his head into his hands.

'Are you all right, Mr Kellerman?'

Mrs Muir was obviously anxious about him, and, bustling across to the refrigerated cabinet, she opened a bottle of mineral water and poured some into a gla.s.s.

'Drink this,' she said, tugging his arm and pushing the gla.s.s into his hand. 'Don't worry. They won't be back until tomorrow morning. I told them I didn't know what time you'd be home tonight.'

'Thanks.'

Alex took the gla.s.s and drank thirstily from it, the chilled water giving some relief to his pounding head. But, for G.o.d's sake, he thought, he'd hoped he was through with police interviews. Alicia couldn't be dead. And if she was, why the h.e.l.l were they pointing the finger at him?

Of course, she had worked for him, and thanks to Conrad Wyatt there were still rumours circulating about the circ.u.mstances surrounding Pamela's death. h.e.l.l, the old man would be clapping his hands in delight if this was made public. How was he ever going to get Rachel back if this became another cause celebre? 'You're going to have to tell them,' said Mrs Muir suddenly, and his head swung up to face her.

'Tell them what?' he demanded harshly. 'You don't think I had anything to do with Alicia's disappearance, do you?'

'Of course not.' The old housekeeper was impatient. 'You forget: I know how that woman used to pursue you. It was because you'd have nothing to do with her that she walked out.'

'Who's going to believe that now?'

'Well, I do.' Mrs Muir put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. 'I mean, you're going to have to tell them about Jim,' she declared steadily. 'You've protected us both for far too long, and I can't let you go on destroying yourself.'

'Oh, Agnes...' Alex tipped back his head and flexed his shoulders wearily. 'I don't think the police will believe anything I say at this point in time. Let's hope they find Alicia, or that she hears what's going on and comes forward herself. Until that happens, it looks like I'm their prime suspect.'

'But it's not fair.'

'No.' Alex conceded the point, getting to his feet and setting the empty gla.s.s on the corner of his desk. 'Did they say what this new evidence was, or who'd drawn their attention to it? Do you think it's possible that Pam's father's involved?'

'I don't know.' Mrs Muir bent her head. 'But there's something else I haven't told you, Mr Kellerman.'

'What?' Alex gazed at her, narrow-eyed. 'Don't tell me they've found a body as well?'

'No.' The housekeeper pursed her lips. 'But they told me her husband-'

'Henry Sawyer?'

'Yes. He apparently reported her missing.'

'So?'

'Well-they said he'd used the services of a private investigator here in town to corroborate his suspicions.'

'So?' Alex shook his head. 'I didn't even know there was a private detective agency in King's Montford.' And then, seeing the old woman's expression, he asked, 'Are you saying that I've spoken to this-investigator myself?'

'Oh, yes.' Mrs Muir backed up a bit, as if she feared an explosion. 'She-she's been working here for the past three weeks, Mr Kellerman. I'm afraid-I'm afraid it's Mrs Hughes.'

Alex eventually crawled into bed but he didn't sleep. In fact, he didn't know how he restrained himself from getting back into the car and driving to Milner Court to confront Kate, late as it was.

Every nerve in his body was crying out for retribution, for the chance to tell her what a deceitful b.i.t.c.h he thought she was.

Yet it was hard to accept that what Mrs Muir had said was gospel. Had Kate really tricked him, and tantalised him, and reduced him to an emotional wreck, just to satisfy some perverted belief of Henry Sawyer's that he was responsible for his wife's disappearance? That was what hurt the most-the fact that she'd taken some other man's word as to his character. He'd put his daughter's life on hold while he made love to a woman who'd been sent to destroy him.

Which meant everything they'd shared had been a mockery. She'd probably encouraged his interest in the hope of hearing some incriminatory pillow talk from him. His fist slammed into his pillow. G.o.d, did she really suspect that he was capable of murder? And if so, hadn't she taken an enormous risk by letting him into her flat when she was alone?

He didn't know and he tried to tell himself he didn't care when he hauled himself out of bed the following morning. Dammit, he had more to worry about than the circ.u.mstances behind why he'd got laid. The police were coming back this morning to interview him, and, remembering their diligence two years ago, he doubted they'd care whether he'd had breakfast or not.

Not that he wanted anything to eat, he thought, his stomach churning nauseously. Despite the fact that he hadn't had a decent meal since dinner two nights ago, Alex couldn't face the thought of food. Caffeine was what he needed, and much against Mrs Muir's advice he drank several cups of strong black coffee, so that by the time the detective inspector and his sidekick were shown into the library he felt as hyper as an addict on crack.

The interview was fairly short. Detective Inspector Rivers, a dapper individual wearing as lightly shiny suit, seemed very much concerned with his own importance, and he looked around the library as he came in, as if a.s.sessing how much Alex might have gained from his late wife's death.

He hadn't been on that case, but that didn't matter. Alex guessed he'd have read through the files before coming here.

The inspector's first question was predictable. He asked when Alex had last seen Alicia Sawyer, and then, under what circ.u.mstances had she left his employ? Speaking quietly, Alex explained that Mrs Sawyer had not found the work to her liking and that, after a short period, she'd decided to leave.

'It was Mrs Sawyer's decision to terminate her employment, was it, sir?' The inspector's question was polite enough, but Alex thought he could hear the veiled insolence in his voice.

'No, it was mine,' he said, refusing to compromise about Alicia's departure. 'We-had a difference of opinion, and she walked out.'

'And when did this row take place, sir?'

'It wasn't a row.' Alex balled his fists, and in his ear he could hear Kate telling him to lighten up.

She'd implied he was his own worst enemy, and it was probably true. He showed his real feelings too well.

'But you admit you did have an argument, Mr Kellerman,' suggested the detective constable, only to fall silent again when his superior sent him a glowering look.

'We had a difference of opinion,' Alex repeated, breathing deeply. 'I've no idea where she went after she left here.'

'She left no forwarding address?'

'No.'

'She had no friends here who might know where she's gone?'

'You'd have to ask the men,' said Alex, mentally dreading the thought of another investigation into his life. 'If that's all-er-Sergeant-'

'It's not. And it's Detective Inspector Rivers, Mr Kellerman.' The dour little man scowled, and Alex hoped he wouldn't regret the urge to put him down. 'There's been another development; you might say, a rather serious development, Mr Kellerman. Mrs Sawyer's suitcases have been found. At the bottom of a rubbish skip in town.'

Alex could feel the colour draining out of his face. 'I see,' he said, and he knew his voice was strained. But, for G.o.d's sake, Alicia's suitcases in a rubbish tip! 'Who-who found them?' he asked, hoping he didn't sound as guilty as he felt.

'Some children,' replied Rivers, watching him closely. 'Do you have any idea how the suitcases got into the tip, Mr Kellerman?'

'Of course not.' Alex was appalled. But he was aware that they didn't believe him. Yet how was he supposed to act when he was apparently the last person to see her-what? Alive?

'I understand you've been away.'

Rivers was speaking again, and Alex struggled to answer him. 'That's right,' he said, wondering if they really suspected he'd been disposing of the body. 'Um-I've been in York,' he added.

'With one of my owners. We bought a horse: an Arabian. I brought it back to Jamaica Hill.'

'In a horse-box, Mr Kellerman?'

'Of course.' Alex could only guess what he was thinking.

'I see.' Rivers drew himself up to his full height and attempted to look Alex in the face. 'I a.s.sume this-owner-can confirm your whereabouts for the past two days?'

'If necessary.' Alex's jaw clamped at the prospect of having to ask someone else to vouch that he was telling the truth. 'Now, will that be all? I do have quite a lot of work to catch up on.'

'So long as you don't go away again, sir,' said Detective Inspector Rivers crisply. 'At the moment we're trying to find out how long the suitcases have been in the skip, so we may need to speak to you again.'

'I didn't put them there,' said Alex, forcing himself not to react to the inspector's att.i.tude. 'But I'll be here.' He took another steadying breath. 'I'm sorry I couldn't be of any more help.'

Alex waited until Mrs Muir had shown the two men out before flinging himself into the leather chair behind his desk. 'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' he muttered harshly, levelling his gaze on the half-full decanter of Scotch residing on the top of the cabinet at the other side of the room. Who in h.e.l.l would have put Alicia's suitcases in the rubbish skip? Remembering how particular she'd been about her appearance, he couldn't believe she'd do something like that herself.

Then who?

And why?

One name sprang into his mind instantly. But would his father-in-law go as far as to hire a private detective to find a woman he knew only by reputation? It didn't make sense. When he'd met Kate at Wyvern Hall, there'd been no recognition there. Unless they were both better actors than he was giving them credit for. But Kate had defended him to Conrad. Would she have done that if the old man was paying her fee?

Kate...

The thought of what she'd done to him was a painful torment. The Scotch looked even more of a temptation with her on his mind. It would be so easy to give in, so easy to pour himself a gla.s.s of the rich dark malt and let the alcohol dull his senses. Dear G.o.d, was it only forty-eight hours ago that he'd begun to believe he might have a future, after all?

'They've gone.' Mrs Muir stood in the open doorway gazing anxiously at him. 'Well? Are you going to tell me what they had to say?'

Alex's shoulders slumped. 'They've found Alicia's belongings; her suitcases. Someone has dumped them in a rubbish skip in town.'

'What?' Mrs Muir looked totally staggered. 'So that's why they've started an investigation. Did Mr Sawyer find them? Is that why he-?'

'Some children apparently found them,' Alex interrupted her heavily. 'As far as I know, they don't know how long they may have been lying there. They probably think I dumped them after I'd got rid of her body.'

Mrs Muir gasped in horror. 'They're surely not accusing you of having anything to do with her disappearance?'

'Well, not yet,' said Alex flatly. 'Give them time.'

'But-that's ridiculous.' Mrs Muir was angry. 'What about her husband? She always said he resented you giving her a room here. Isn't it far more likely that he's involved?'

'She also said that he used to beat her,' Alex reminded her. 'And we soon found out that that wasn't true.' He grimaced. 'It's not up to me to accuse anyone else of being involved. I've had enough of that myself.'

'But it was Mr Sawyer who hired-well, the private detective, wasn't it?'

'Was it?'