Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (3 page)

I was uneasy, but my disquiet, the way my heartbeat increased in peculiar anticipation, appeared to be lost on Milo. He was never uneasy. He was always so calm, so very sure of himself, and because of this Gil’s visit had had no impact.

“The Riviera was beautiful,” he continued with characteristic nonchalance, plucking a leaf off a nearby tree and examining it disinterestedly before tossing it away. “Though not as warm as I like. I thought perhaps we might go back in August, when it’s warmed up some.”

“No.” I said it so suddenly, so forcibly, it took me a moment to realize that I had spoken. And then I knew what else I would say.

Milo turned. “No? You don’t want to visit Monte Carlo?”

“No. Because, you see, I’m taking a trip.”

“One of your little excursions with Laurel?” He smiled. “Well, I dare say you’ll be back by August.”

“You don’t understand, Milo,” I said. I took a breath, smoothed my features, made my voice calm and sure. “I’m going away, and I’m not sure when I shall be back.”

*   *   *

WE DID NOT
dine together that evening.

Milo had been surprised, I think, by my proclamation on the rise, but he had not protested, had not even really questioned me. I had said what I had to say, that I was going away for a time, and then I had mounted Paloma and ridden back to the house alone. He didn’t follow me, and I didn’t know what time he had come back.

I spent most of the day laying out my things for the trip and drawing up a list of details for Grimes to tend to in my absence. Though it gave me something to occupy my time, the list was really unnecessary. Grimes was a treasure. Without my requesting it, he brought a tray to my room, and, mostly to please him, I ate a little and drank a good deal of strong tea.

I would be traveling without the assistance of a lady’s maid. Eloise, who had been with me for three years, had recently and somewhat unexpectedly left my service to be married. I had not yet had the opportunity to interview for someone to fill her position, and now it appeared I would be unable to do so until my return. Grimes had suggested one of the housemaids might assist me at least in my packing, but I said I would do it for myself. It was no matter, really. Packing allowed me time to gather my thoughts. As for traveling unaccompanied, I thought it was just as well. Eloise, sweet as she was, had never been terribly discreet.

It was nearly dark when the knock sounded. I knew instantly that it was Milo. Grimes’s knock was softer, much more deferential. Milo’s confidence came through in his rap at my door, as though it was a mere formality and the door would open with or without my consent.

“Come in.” My back was to him, and I continued to pack as he entered and shut the door behind him.

The irony of our being here together in my room was not lost on me. We had not shared a bedroom for several months. He had come back from one of his trips quite late one night and slept in the adjoining room to keep from waking me. Late coming home the following night as well, he had slept there again. Neither of us said anything about the arrangement, and he had stayed there. We had become adept at not addressing the steadily growing distance between us.

“Packing, I see,” he said, when I didn’t acknowledge him.

“Yes.” I folded a yellow dress and set it in the suitcase on my bed.

“You didn’t say where you’re going.”

“Does it matter?”

He was beside me now, leaning against one of the bedposts, observing my preparations in a disinterested sort of way.

“How long will you be gone?” His tone was indicative of total indifference. I was not even sure why he had bothered to come and inquire.

I straightened and turned to look at him. He was closer than I had expected. His eyes were so very blue, even in the poor light of my room. “So much concern, so suddenly,” I said airily. “I’m quite grown-up, you know. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure one suitcase will be enough?”

“I’ll send for my things if I need them.”

He sat on my bed, beside the suitcase, absurdly handsome as he looked up at me. “Look here, Amory. What is this about? Why all the secrecy?” His tone was light, and I wondered briefly if it would even matter to him if I should leave for good.

“You needn’t overdramatize things,” I said, deliberately evading his question. “You travel about as you please. Why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason, I suppose. Although I hadn’t expected you to leave as soon as I arrived home. The house will be rather empty without you.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was typical of Milo to behave as though I were the one who had little interest in our marriage. It was also typical of him to do what he was doing now: inserting himself into my life with the full force of his charm when it was convenient for him and inconvenient for me.

“I didn’t know you were arriving home,” I said.

“Yes, I know.” His eyes came up to mine. “And I don’t think you knew you were leaving either.”

“Meaning what?”

He picked up a black silk nightgown from my open suitcase, absently rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “This has something to do with Trent, doesn’t it? With his visit today.”

“You haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Has he been coming here often?”

“Not very,” I answered, only a little ashamed of my purposefully vague answer.

He favored me with a smirk that somehow managed to be becoming. “Whatever you may think of me, my dear, I am not a fool.” Languid amusement played at the corners of his mouth. “So Gilmore Trent rode down here on his steed and swept you off your feet, victorious at last. He took rather a long time about it.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Milo,” I said, snatching the nightgown from where his fist had closed around it.

He let out a short laugh. “For pity’s sake, Amory. You can’t seriously mean to run off with him.”

I shut the suitcase, pressing the clasps into place with a unified click, and looked at Milo. “I am not running off with anyone. I am taking a trip.”

He rose from the bed, his features a mask of wry indifference. “Leave me if you must, darling. But don’t go crawling back to Trent, of all people. Surely you must have some pride.”

My eyes met his. “I have been married to you for five years, Milo. How much pride can I possibly have left?”

3

I HAD OUR
driver drop me at the station early the next morning. I’d had a wire from Gil saying that he would take the morning train from London and meet me when I changed trains at the next stop so we could ride down to the coast together.

I hadn’t expected Milo to see me off, but I was a bit disappointed that I saw nothing of him before I left. Then again, I hadn’t anticipated a fond farewell. My comment about the state in which our ravaged marriage had left my pride had been rude, if true.

Of course, he had taken it in stride. He had laughed and said in that terribly cool and indifferent way of his, “Very well, darling. Do as you wish.” And then he had risen and left the room, and that had been that.

I stopped on my way to the station to bid farewell to my cousin Laurel and to explain to her the reason behind my sudden departure. Laurel and I had grown up together and were the closest of friends. She was the single person in whom I felt I could freely confide.

“A trip to the seaside with Gil Trent?” she asked, brows raised as we sat in her parlor. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Amory.”

“I may just surprise us all,” I answered. “Perhaps I have a reckless streak none of us has foreseen.”

We were joking, of course, but her final assessment of the situation was accurate. “Helping an old friend or not, this certainly can’t improve things between you and Milo.”

“I sometimes wonder if anything will,” I said.

The thought troubled me as I reached the station, but I did not allow myself time for further reflection as the train moved over the landscape. First and foremost, I was to help my friend. Gil was depending on me. My marriage woes had lasted this long; they could wait a bit longer.

I switched to the southbound train at the Tonbridge station, and a few moments later Gil found me in my compartment and dropped onto the seat beside me as the train set back into motion.

“Hello,” he said. He smiled then, brightly. “I’m glad you’ve come, Amory.”

“I told you I would come, Gil.”

He removed his hat and tossed it on the empty seat facing us, brushing his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I knew you had every intention of coming.” He spoke ruefully. “But one must never underestimate the persuasive powers of Milo Ames.”

“Let’s not talk about Milo, shall we?”

“I have no desire to talk about your husband,” he said. “But I don’t want you to be hurt. Was he angry with you?”

“No,” I answered with a sigh. “Milo doesn’t get angry. I don’t think it much matters to him that I’ve gone.”

Gil was silent for a moment. “Have you left him?” he asked at last.

“I hadn’t realized how inclined to melodrama men are,” I said. “No, I haven’t really left him. Not completely, I suppose. I told him I was taking a trip.”

“Did you tell him you were going with me?”

I picked up the magazine I had been reading and flipped it open to a random page, ready to be done with this conversation. “Milo’s very clever, really. He just pretends to be glib because others find it charming. Naturally, he made the connection between your visit and my going away.”

“And he didn’t try to stop you from coming?”

“No. He didn’t.”

Gil shook his head and smiled wryly. “Then he really isn’t as clever as you believe him to be.”

*   *   *

THE TRAIN PULLED
into the station that afternoon, and the weather was lovely. The sun shone brightly, and the warm air smelled of sea and salt. Standing on the platform, I breathed deeply and felt, for just a moment, that sense of well-being I had felt as a small child at the seaside, perfect happiness and contentment.

“Here’s the car.” Gil led me to the sleek blue automobile that the hotel had sent to collect us. We pulled away from the station and followed a road that led gradually upward, passing through the thriving village as we went.

“There it is,” Gil said a moment later, pointing to the top of the hill.

The Brightwell Hotel sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. It was a lovely white building, sprawling, sturdy, and somehow elegant at the same time. There was something stately yet welcoming about the place. It looked as though it would be equally suited to princes or pirates, the sort of place one could be proud of visiting without being perceived to be too fond of squandering one’s money. These days, a good many people frowned upon unnecessary lavishness.

Gil and I emerged from the car and moved together up the walk, stepping through the door into the hotel. The interior was as pleasing to the eye as the exterior had been. The lobby was a large spacious room with a desk directly facing the doors. The floors were of gleaming white marble, and light filtered in through the numerous windows, bouncing off the yellow walls, infusing the room with a warm glow. There was a good deal of furniture in white and various shades of blue scattered artfully about with very deliberate carelessness. A potted plant or two, strategically placed, added to the overall effect.

As Gil collected our room keys, I felt I could spend quite a happy week in this place.

“Why, if it isn’t Amory Ames!” A high, almost shrill voice called out across the lobby. I turned and saw a woman in an outrageous hat and brightly colored clothes soaring toward me like a parrot in flight.

“Oh, dear,” said Gil and I in unison.

Yvonne Roland, terror of London society, descended upon us.

“Amory, Amory darling!” She clutched my arms and brushed kisses an inch away from each of my cheeks, the scent of talcum powder and roses enveloping me. “It’s been ages … Since before my last husband died, I think … Or maybe just before … Poor dear Harold … And how are you, dearest?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer before turning on Gil. “And Gilmore Trent! How delightful to see you. But you’ve come together.” She turned to me, grabbing my hand. “How delightful.”

A thought suddenly seemed to strike her. Her eyes narrowed and darted from me to Gil and back again. “But, my dear, I thought you had married … What was that fellow’s name? The wickedly good-looking one?”

“I’ve just come to visit the seaside with some friends,” I said vaguely.

A rather sly smile crossed her face. “Ah! I see. Well, you can count on me as the soul of discretion … If you only knew the secrets I’ve kept … never revealed I knew all about Ida Kent, even after she’d run off with that butcher.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Sordid business … but you and Gil? I’m delighted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking tea on the terrace. I’ll be seeing you both later.” She winked ostentatiously and was gone.

“Good heavens,” Gil breathed.

I nodded. Mrs. Roland was a wealthy widow who flittered about society like a flamboyant and excessively chirpy bird. She had been widowed three times, accumulating successively more wealth as each husband faded beneath her bright and tiresome exuberance. I was inclined to believe her husbands had gone to the grave for the sheer peace of it. Still, she was harmless enough.

“At least things won’t be dull at the seaside,” I said with a smile. “Mrs. Roland may not exactly be with us, but she will certainly be
among
us.”

“Well, then,” he said, lightly touching my elbow, “I suppose we may as well go up and prepare ourselves to join Mrs. Roland and the others for tea on the terrace.”

I followed him to the lift, which sat to the left of the front desk. We rode up in silence to the first floor, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

As we stepped out of the lift, Gil turned to me and handed me the key to my room. As his hand brushed mine, I suddenly felt that there was something rather clandestine about all of this. Separate rooms or no, we had just checked into a hotel together, and I felt a bit unsettled about the fact.

We looked at one another. I wondered if the thought had occurred to him as well.