A Secret Rebellion Page 5

  ‘I—Linda—she appears to have gone,’ he said, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt, and Nick nodded.

  ‘I noticed.’

  ‘You noticed?’ Alex repeated his words harshly, and then, getting himself under control again said, ‘So, perhaps you noticed where they—where she went. I need to speak with her.’

  Nick frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark suit. ‘Is that wise?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Perhaps you should just let her come to you, if she wants to.’ He paused. ‘Dad thinks you’ve been more than generous letting her come here.’

  ‘Does he?’ Alex was curt. He didn’t much care what George thought. The fact was, his brother found it a damn sight easier being tough with a woman than he ever did with a man. ‘Well, if you’ve heard that she and I exchanged a few words at the college a week ago, forget it. We both said a lot of things we probably shouldn’t have. And, if she is Tony’s wife—widow—’

  ‘Dad says the marriage certificate is authentic.’

  ‘—then I guess I have to find out what she intends to do, don’t I?’

  Nick nodded again. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘And—whether she had any idea what Tony—’

  Nick shrugged. ‘Do you think she’d tell you? Even if she knew?’

  ‘She has to talk to someone,’ said Alex flatly, as the image of a slim, startlingly beautiful woman, with silvery blonde hair, flashed across his mind. ‘Come on, Nico, do you know where she’s gone or don’t you?’

  ‘They might know,’ answered Nick obliquely, gesturing towards a group of young people who were just dispersing from the graveside. ‘They’re students—from the university. They all came down from Yorkshire this morning.’

  * * *

  Alex brought the Mercedes to a halt at the kerb, but although he switched off the engine he didn’t immediately get out of the car. He was tired, he thought wearily, gazing at the lace-curtained windows of the small semi. Bone-tired, and in no mood to conduct any kind of interview. But it had to be done. From what he could gather, Linda was planning on going back to the university in a couple of days. To take her exams, if the students he had spoken to could be believed. How she could think of taking exams in the present circumstances was beyond his comprehension. But if that was what she intended to do, the sooner he spoke to her the better, before time, and his resentment, got in the way.

  Not that that was the only reason he had come here tonight, he conceded, hunching his shoulders against an unwilling tide of emotion. He hadn’t left his brother to make his excuses to the rest of the family just because he needed to speak to his daughter-in-law. It was the woman who had accompanied her he needed to see. Forgive me, Tony, he prayed, but his confrontation with Elizabeth Ryan was long overdue.

  He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half-past six, but he was surprised to find it was still so early. A whole lifetime seemed to have passed since he’d seen her in the churchyard earlier that afternoon. Since then, he had had only one objective. To see her, and tell her what he thought of her.

  He knew his family and friends, his business acquaintances, and the members of his household staff, all thought grief was responsible for the unnatural air of optimism he had adopted throughout the reception that had followed the burial. And perhaps it was. Conversely, during the past week, he had thought of little else but Tony, and the guilt he felt at not being there when his son might have needed him most. He had gone around in a daze, hardly aware of what he was doing. All through the police enquiries, and the inquest that followed, he had felt as if he was living some awful nightmare. Only when he’d spoken to Linda had he let his feelings show.

  But now his mind felt active again. Ever since he’d seen Elizabeth Ryan in the churchyard, it had had a new focus. For a period, at least, he could use his anger towards her to blot out the pain of his son’s death. Thinking of her could keep him sane; give his mind time to heal.

  Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he thrust open his door and got out of the car. He was still wearing the dark suit and black tie he had worn to the funeral, and his sombre clothes stood out in the quiet street, where most men were in their shirt-sleeves. The warm day had given way to an even warmer evening, and the usual activities of trimming hedges and mowing lawns were much in evidence here.

  But not at Number Seventeen, he noticed, locking the car, and approaching the gate. Apart from an upstairs window being open, and a curtain billowing in the gap, the house looked deserted. They were probably all in the back, he decided. Linda, her parents, and—Elizabeth Ryan.

  There was no bell, so he knocked on the panels, which were interleaved with strips of fluted glass. An encouragement for thieves, he thought, imagining how easy it would be to break the glass and unlock the door. Would he go that far, if they refused to speak to him?

  Deciding his mind was wandering again, he rested one hand against the wall beside the door and knocked again. He should have let Spiro come with him, as George had wanted him to do, he thought. His burly chauffeur could be relied upon to handle most situations. It was only because he hadn’t wanted to intimidate the girl that he had insisted on coming here alone.

  At last, when he was seriously considering all alternatives, he heard someone coming along the hall to the door. He could see a shadow through the glass panels, and his stomach clenched in sudden anticipation. What if it was Elizabeth Ryan? he thought, aware that he was not as in control as he’d imagined. God, why did the woman do this to him? He was as apprehensive now as he had been on his first date.

  A key turned, the door opened—and his daughter-in-law was standing there, looking at him. ‘Why—Mr Thiarchos!’ she exclaimed, briefly too shocked to show any hostility. And then, less hospitably, ‘What do you want?’

  She had been crying, Alex noticed. Her eyes were red, the lids white and puffy. In normal circumstances, he supposed she was a pretty girl. Attractive, anyway, with her wide, mobile mouth, and short brown curly hair. She wasn’t tall, and she was inclined to carry a little weight, but in something other than an oversized T-shirt and worn jeans he guessed she could look quite presentable.

  ‘I—we need to talk,’ Alex replied at last, looking beyond her into the narrow hall of the house. ‘May I come in?’

  Her breath escaped in a rush. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’d prefer not to discuss my private affairs on the doorstep,’ declared Alex evenly, and she raised a protesting hand.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean—why do you want to talk to me? I—I don’t think we have anything to say to one another.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Alex endeavoured to hold on to his patience. He had to remember that this had to have been almost as hard for her as it had been for him, and he couldn’t rush her. ‘Well, trust me, we do.’

  Linda sniffed. ‘If you’ve come here to tell me I needn’t expect any help from the Thiarchos family, then save your breath. I don’t want anything from you—’

  ‘I haven’t.’ Alex straightened. ‘Look—I know it hasn’t been easy for you. And—and I haven’t made it any easier; I know that, too. But you have to cut me a little slack here. We all say things we don’t mean sometimes. I know I do, and I guess you do, too.’

  Linda gave him a suspicious look. ‘So, you haven’t come to cause trouble?’

  Alex shook his head. ‘No.’

  She hesitated a moment longer, and then she moved to one side so that he could step into the hall. It was a silent invitation, but Alex took it, taking the door from her unresisting fingers and closing it behind him.

  ‘You’d better come through,’ said Linda, leading the way along the hall. ‘I’ll introduce you to Kathie.’

  Kathie? Alex frowned. Who the hell was Kathie? Not her mother, obviously. Her sister, perhaps? Or the woman he knew as Elizabeth Ryan? His nerves tightened.

  Deciding he’d find out soon enough, he said nothing as he followed her into a small conservatory at the back of the house. The light in the glass-walled exten
sion was dazzling, and the heat was such that Alex wouldn’t have been surprised to see grapes ripening on the vines that curled up from a variety of pots and containers. But his attention was caught by the sight of a woman, sitting in a cane chair beneath the windows, and it wasn’t until she got up and came towards them that he saw that her silvery hair was grey and not blonde.

  ‘This is my foster mother, Kathie Adams,’ said Linda, with some reluctance. ‘Kathie, this is Tony’s father.’

  ‘Tony’s—father?’ The woman looked at Alex with evident surprise. ‘I—how do you do, Mr Thiarchos? I’m sorry to meet you in such unhappy circumstances.’

  ‘Yes.’ Alex took the hand she proffered with controlled politeness. ‘I’m sorry, too. And I hope you’ll forgive me for coming here unannounced.’

  ‘Why, of course.’ Mrs Adams was as sociable as his daughter-in-law was reserved. ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Thiarchos? Let me get you something to drink. Tea, perhaps?’

  Alex, who had been hoping for something a little more substantial, managed a slight smile. ‘Tea sounds fine,’ he conceded, waiting until Linda had perched herself on the edge of the wide window-seat before taking the chair the older woman had offered. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ Mrs Adams gave her foster daughter an encouraging look. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to have a chat, hmm? I won’t be long, Linda.’

  Linda flashed her a grateful look, though Alex had the impression that she would rather have made the tea herself. Still, she remained where she was, gripping the sill at either side of her jeans-clad knees with nervous hands. For the first time since he had learned his son had a wife, Alex felt a trace of sympathy for her. Dear God, what an end to their married life! And he’d thought his divorce from Lucia had been ugly.

  ‘So,’ he said, realising it was up to him to say something, ‘why did you rush away after the funeral? You should have come back to the house.’ Both of you.

  ‘Your house?’ Linda gave him a sceptical look. ‘Oh, yes. I’m sure I’d have been welcome there.’

  Alex spread his legs, resting his arms along his thighs, and looked down at the tiled floor beneath his feet. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I deserved that. Perhaps I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been when I—’

  ‘You were damned rude!’ she retorted, a break in her voice. ‘You came up to Yorkshire looking for a scapegoat, and I was there!’ She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and scrubbed at her nose. ‘How do you think I felt?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alex lifted his head. ‘Yes—well, perhaps that’s so. But you know what they were saying, what they’re still saying, if it comes to that. That Tony drove into that tree deliberately—’ He broke off as the whole horror of the situation washed over him again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m doing this badly. You’ll have to forgive me. What I want to say is—did you have any inkling that he might—?’ He shook his head. ‘My God, he was due to leave in a few weeks. I thought he was happy!’

  Linda bent her head. ‘When you thought about him at all,’ she muttered, scuffing her feet, and Alex gazed at her with sudden anger.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well…’ Linda swallowed, and he guessed she had bitten off more than she could chew. ‘How—how often have you seen him in the past year? How many times have you been up to Sullem Cross?’

  Alex tamped down his resentment, but he wasn’t used to having his actions questioned. By anyone. ‘I—saw him a couple of times—’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘So? I have a business to run, Linda. Tony understood that.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘I thought he did.’ Alex’s cheek muscles ached with the effort of controlling his emotions. ‘I gave him everything he wanted. A decent place to live; clothes; a car!’

  ‘Presents,’ said Linda contemptuously. ‘You gave him presents. You treated him like a child. He never had any money of his own.’

  ‘He had access to funds.’

  ‘Credit cards,’ she retorted. ‘You didn’t know your son very well, Mr Thiarchos. Tony couldn’t live on what you gave him.’

  Alex’s fists clenched. ‘You mean he couldn’t support a wife on what I gave him,’ he countered. ‘No, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘I didn’t want his money!’ Her voice was shrill. ‘I didn’t take any of it!’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  They were both on their feet now, facing one another, and the sound of the outer door slamming didn’t immediately register in Alex’s tired brain. He was too intent on finding out the truth about his son. He had even forgotten the other reason he had come here.

  ‘And you expect me to believe that?’ he was demanding harshly, when someone appeared in the doorway to the conservatory.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Linda, what’s going on here?’ the newcomer exclaimed. ‘Dear Lord, can’t this wait? Tony was only buried this afternoon!’

  Alex’s first thought was that her voice was the same, smooth and husky, soothing his jagged senses with a fine stroke of velvet. Then his world tilted. God, it was her, he saw unsteadily. The same, yet not the same. The same height and colouring; the same exotic beauty, but softer, somehow, gentler. She had a little more flesh on her bones than he remembered. And her hair was definitely longer than before. It brushed her shoulders now, thick and silky, its weight removing its tendency to curl.

  She hadn’t seen him yet, hadn’t identified him as anything more than Tony’s father. Her attention was all on his daughter-in-law, and he was able to look at her unobserved. He suddenly wished he had chosen some other way to do this. But he hadn’t expected his own irrational sympathy for her, and what had seemed so simple back at the house was now intensely complicated. Complicated by the fact that he suddenly had the urge to bury his face in the pale beauty of her hair, he thought disgustedly. He was unutterably relieved when Linda broke the spell.

  ‘It’s all right, Beth.’ Beth? So it was Elizabeth, then. ‘Mr Thiarchos was just leaving, weren’t you, Mr Thiarchos?’

  Was he? Alex hauled his unruly senses back into line, and endeavoured to adopt a neutral expression. But he noticed that Linda was making no attempt to introduce them, and that angered him, too.

  ‘Won’t your—Mrs Adams—think it strange if I do?’ he suggested politely, and had the doubtful privilege of watching Elizabeth’s composure disintegrate. She looked at him properly for the first time, and he met her horrified gaze with carefully dispassionate eyes. Then, deliberately, he held out his hand. ‘Hello. I’m Alex Thiarchos. And you must be—Miss—?’

  ‘Haley,’ she got out hurriedly, and his eyebrows arched in knowing acknowledgement.

  ‘Haley,’ he agreed, not allowing her to look away. ‘Were you a friend of my son’s, too?’

  Beth moistened her lips, triggering memories of that night, memories Alex would sooner forget, and lifted her shoulders in a curiously defeated gesture. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, and he realised she was having some difficulty in actually saying anything.

  But once again Linda intervened. ‘Miss Haley is a lecturer, from the university,’ she told him brusquely. ‘She very kindly agreed to come with me. Not just—not just as a representative of the university, but—but as—my friend.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  BETH remembered a comedy show that used to be on television, where one of the characters was always saying, ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’ She felt like that character now, and, no matter how she fought the emotion, panic was all she could feel.

  Dear God, she fretted, she should have realised the chance she was taking by coming here. When Linda had needed a friend, she should have let someone else take the part. She had known there might be people who had attended the party at Tony’s funeral. But she had foolishly imagined that no one would recognise her—not on such an occasion.

  And she had felt so sorry for Linda, so desperate to do something—anything—to make amends. No matter how she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to d
etach herself from the tragedy, and by supporting Linda she’d hoped to make some reparation for what she’d done.

  And she’d succeeded. Or so she’d believed. Attending the funeral with Linda had been no problem at all. It had been a very moving occasion, and, as Linda had assured her she had no intention of going back to the Thiarchos residence afterwards, any awkward confrontations had been avoided. But who could have anticipated that Alex Thorpe would turn up here, just when she had thought she was home free?

  Only he wasn’t Alex Thorpe, she acknowledged sickly. He was Alex Thiarchos! Tony’s father. Son of Constantine Thiarchos, who everybody knew was one of the richest men in the world. Dear God! And she had picked him up and taken him home, as if he were some penniless drifter. She’d used him. She’d taken advantage of his semi-inebriated state, and seduced him. Lord, what would he do now?

  ‘I guess I have to thank you, Miss Haley.’

  She heard his words, but it was from a distance. The terracotta and cream tiles that stretched between them were wavering in and out of focus, and she knew, though she had never done such a thing before, that she was going to faint. He had known, she realised, as the buzzing in her ears drowned out the rest of what he was saying. He had expected to see her. She clutched the doorframe with hands that were suddenly sticky with sweat. She couldn’t faint now, she thought wildly. She couldn’t give him any suspicion that their night together had produced anything more than a bad hangover. Not now. Maybe not ever…

  And then his arm was around her, supporting her, preventing her from slipping down on to those pretty tiles that suddenly seemed so attractive. In fact, the whole concept of losing consciousness was gaining appeal with every second, and she fought his will to rescue her with every nerve in her body.

  But the trouble was, she was already feeling stronger. She wasn’t one of those frail women who displayed their femininity by swooning at every emotional obstacle. In fact, until today, she had never even felt close to passing out, and she could only assume it was her condition that had aggravated her weakness. Her condition…