Chapter TWENTY
I put down my napkin and excused myself, and on the way upstairs, I paused in the hall and peered out of the window into the darkness.
I felt my heart lift. The rain had stopped. But for how long?
And when could we expect the flood water to recede?
Many more guests were expected tomorrow morning for the wedding ceremony and the tea dance afterwards. But right now, with Sylvia so ill, it seemed impossible that any of that would happen now.
I sighed as I hurried up the stairs. All those wedding preparations! But the main thing was Sylvia’s health. Maybe the paramedics would get through now that the rain had stopped, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Poor Mick must be past himself with worry . . .
Softly, I pushed the door open and peeped into the room.
Everyone was sitting around the bed and Sylvia was propped against some pillows, Mick holding her hand. Her eyes fluttered open and Evelyn said.
‘Do you think she might drink some more juice?’
She got up quickly and hurried over to a side table, holding up an orange juice glass.
Mick nodded and Evelyn dashed over and handed him the glass, managing to spill a little in her hurry.
‘Come on, love, have a sip of this,’
said Mick softly. But just before I ducked out again, I saw Sylvia’s eyes close again. She was clearly in a bad way, drifting in and out of consciousness, and I prayed that an ambulance would arrive soon.
Mark was at the bottom of the stairs, looking up as I came down.
‘How is she?’
I shook my head.
‘Not good. She needs the proper treatment. The emergency insulin.’
‘I couldn’t eat anything, either,’
he confessed, looking back at the dining room.
‘Cup of tea? Or something a bit stronger?’
‘Good idea.’
He grinned.
‘I’ll go for the “something stronger” I think.’
He decided on a whisky and soda and I joined him, and we took our drinks over to the big squashy sofa by the fire in the kitchen.
‘Thank goodness it’s stopped raining at last.’
Mark stood for a moment by one of the long windows, staring out across the lawn, and I took the chance to study him. Time had turned his hair silver, which really suited him, and he was still a fine figure of a man.
The moon sailed out from behind a cloud and he turned and smiled down at me.
I settled back onto the sofa with my drink, and Mark joined me.
We sat for a while in companionable silence, sipping our whisky and gazing into the embers of the fire. It was so cosy sitting there with Mark . . . almost like old times . . . and a yawn suddenly escaped. If I was to fall asleep now, he was sitting so close to me, I would probably wake up in his arms . . .
Mark laughed softly.
‘Tired? Or am I boring you?’
‘What? No. Never!’
Smiling, I turned to look at him and my heart missed a beat at the intensity in his eyes. And then my heart took over and I found myself shuffling an inch nearer to him in response . . . so close now that I was breathing in the glorious, familiar masculine scent of him, butterflies fluttering madly inside.
The world seemed to disappear as we drank each other in . . . as if we’d been parched for far too long. Shadows danced on his face in the flickering firelight and I was mesmerised by his blue, blue eyes . . .
We moved closer so that our lips touched.
The first kiss was soft, and yet it evoked in me a tug of such sharp desire that I gasped. And then we were kissing deeply, and he was pulling me against him, and I was running my hands over his neck, his hair . . . the glorious breadth of his shoulders and the solid muscles of his chest . . . feeling the heat of his skin through the fitted shirt he was wearing.
I was vaguely aware of the kitchen door opening and a voice saying.
‘Oops! Sorry.’
But by the time it filtered through to my fevered brain and we broke apart, whoever it was had gone again.
I gave a nervous giggle and Mark cleared his throat and said.
‘Oops indeed.’
Then we both started to laugh and I leaned against him, unable to stop. It probably wasn’t that funny but it seemed hilarious at the time. Later, I wondered if it was the relief I felt at breaking the sexual tension that had long been simmering – for me, at least – that made me laugh so uncontrollably . . .
Whatever it was, it took a good while and another drink to calm the tumultuous feelings I was experiencing inside after that scorching kiss. Stealing a glance at Mark, I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one trying to wrestle emotions back into their box . . .
Finally, I managed to turn my thoughts back to the strange happenings on this Hallowe’en night.
‘You know,’
I began, shifting slightly in my seat to face Mark.
‘I have wondered if Sarah Frobisher might have something to do with all the mysterious goings-on.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, she knows the hall inside out, so maybe she could have set up the whole thing with the screams and the painting falling off the wall.’
He nodded slowly.
‘Are you saying she also stole Sylvia’s meds and burned her wedding dress? But what would be her motive?’
‘She’s not happy looking after this place. It’s a millstone around her neck and she’d like to sell up and leave. But her brother is determined to hang onto the old family seat, which you can sort of understand. He wants to turn it into an upmarket wedding venue and he’s trying to get an investor on board. But he’s working abroad at the moment. So in the meantime, Sarah’s living here on her own, like a sort of caretaker. And it’s clear from what she’s said that she hates it.’
‘So . . . you think she might be trying to give the hall a bad name by making all these sinister things happen? It’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?’
I shrugged.
‘I just thought she might be attempting to persuade her brother that the wedding venue idea is a non-starter. So that he’d give up and agree to put the house on the market instead.’
Mark didn’t look convinced. And I had to admit, it did sound a bit far-fetched.
‘But who else could it be?’
‘Chantelle?’
I nodded.
‘It’s obvious she’s really angry about the will and would like Sylvia out of the picture. But she wouldn’t have stolen the meds deliberately to put Sylvia in danger, would she? I mean, she’s rather obnoxious as a person but I can’t imagine she’d plot to get rid of Sylvia permanently.’
‘No.’
He chuckled.
‘She’s been in no fit state today anyway to plan anything sinister like murder.’
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘I can’t believe we’re even talking like this. But something bad is definitely happening here.’
I paused, thinking.
‘I did wonder if someone set the washing machine off deliberately so that the vibrations would somehow knock the painting of Lady Annabel off the wall at a crucial moment.’
‘The washing machine?’
‘Yes, it’s ancient and very noisy. Someone had already set it off when we heard the screams. I thought I heard the rumble when we all came out into the hall, and Fiona told me she was in the kitchen straight after and the machine was going then. It was making such a racket when it started to spin, she and Maddy didn’t even hear the painting crashing to the floor.’
‘It’s an interesting theory. But the machine must have been used hundreds of times before without any accidents with paintings falling off their hooks!’
‘True.’
‘If someone was genuinely washing clothes, wouldn’t they still be in the machine?’
‘Oh, yes.’
We both got up and walked over and Mark bent to open the door.
The machine was empty.
We exchanged a puzzled look and I said slowly.
‘Doesn’t that prove that someone set the machine going with nothing in it?’
‘Maybe. And that’s strange in itself.’
I sighed with frustration.
‘So really, we’re no further forward in working out who’s doing all these things.’
Mark shook his head.
‘Goodness knows how all this will end. With Sylvia’s recovery, hopefully.’
We sat there for a while, sipping our drinks.
Then Mark spoke into the silence.
‘You do know that Fiona and I are just friends?’
‘Sorry?’
I turned to him in surprise, suddenly covered in confusion. I’d assumed that after that brief spark of passion, we were back to being just friends who were trying to solve a mystery.
He shrugged.
‘I was thinking maybe you imagined that there was still something . . . romantic . . . between us. But there really isn’t. We’ve just defied the odds and managed to stay great pals. That’s all.’
‘Right.’
I didn’t really know what to say to that.
‘It’s just we had such a great time together, you and I, meeting by chance after all those years apart. And then all of a sudden, I felt as if you left me out in the cold.’
He smiled ruefully.
‘I’ve been racking my brains ever since you left the engagement party in such a hurry, trying to work out what I’d done wrong.’
‘Oh.’
I swallowed. Waves of emotions were suddenly rising up, threatening to overwhelm me.
He’d been thinking about me all this time!
I felt bad now for walking away. But what about the jewellery he gave Fiona? I quite clearly saw him lovingly slip the necklace round her neck and fasten it for her. Even if it was her necklace and he was simply fastening it for her, it still seemed like a very intimate moment . . . the way she’d reached up and kissed him afterwards.
I’d been in a highly emotional state at the time, of course. But could I really have interpreted that tender little scenario so wrongly?
My thoughts were interrupted at that moment by a shout from the hall.
Alarmed, I glanced at Mark and we sprang up off the sofa and headed for the door to find out what was happening now.
Everyone had rushed out of the dining room and Evelyn was holding something up in the air.
‘I think this might be it!’
She opened the box she was holding very carefully and her eyes widened. She showed everyone the contents and it was clear exactly what they were.
Sylvia’s lost medication.
‘Is the emergency insulin in there?’
asked Joyce, taking the box to look inside.
‘Yes! It is. Let’s take it up to Mick straight away.’
Everyone was chatting at once as Joyce headed for the stairs, closely followed by Evelyn and the rest of us.
‘It was under a table in the hall,’
explained Evelyn, panting a little in her hurry to climb the stairs.
‘It must have dropped out of a bag on the way in.’
Not wanting to crowd Mick, I stayed outside the bedroom with Mark and Fiona, while Joyce and Evelyn and some of the others went in to give Mick the precious emergency insulin.
‘Please let this work,’
I murmured to Mark and Fiona, but mainly to myself. Sylvia had been one of my lovely mum’s best friends. It had been so marvellous to be back in touch. I couldn’t possibly lose her now.
It was an anxious wait that felt like hours. But it was probably only minutes later when Fen came out to tell us that Mick had given Sylvia the injection and she seemed to be coming round.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’
I breathed, and we all crept into the room. Everyone looked so relieved, especially Evelyn, who was weeping silently and being comforted by Joyce.
I was delighted to see that Sylvia was sitting up and attempting to drink some juice.
‘How are you feeling now?’
I asked her gently.
She reached for my hand.
‘Much better, thank you, Celia. Mick thinks we should call the other guests and tell them the wedding’s off, but I’ve told him I’m going to be fine by tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
I smiled dubiously and looked down at the open box of syringes and other medical paraphernalia on the bedside table.
‘What was that?’
Sylvia had heard something outside, and when I crossed to the window, I saw the very welcome lights of an ambulance drawing up outside and parking by the front door.
‘It’s the paramedics! They’ve managed to get through. I’ll bring them up. Back in a mo.’
I pressed her arm and hurried downstairs just as the doorbell rang.
The relief I felt was enormous.
An hour ago, I had thought the wedding was doomed. But with Sylvia fully conscious and slowly getting back to her normal self, I wasn’t so sure now.
But what I was sure about, having been with Sylvia in her room just then, was exactly who was responsible for causing all the horrible things that had been happening to her . . .