Silverbridge (12 page)

He was reading a biography of the Duke of Wellington, the British general who beat Napoleon at Waterloo.

Tracy felt a shiver go up her spine.
Charles fought under Wellington,
she thought.

There was the sound of a door closing in the corridor, and Tracy flew to co
nceal herself behind the door.
I
hope to God it’s not Harry,
she thought, and wondered why she had placed herself in such a potentially embarrassing situation for a man she heartily disliked. After a few minutes she peeked out into the hallway and saw no one. In five seconds flat she was inside the security of her own bedroom.

T
racy decided to get away from Silverbridge for the day and called Gail to make plans to go shopping. They were joined at the last minute by Jon Melbourne, who had finished his scheduled scenes and had reached the house just as Gail pulled up in a dark green Mercedes. When he heard that they were going shopping, he asked to come, as he needed to make some replacements to his burned-out wardrobe.

“I’m going to ask Dave to have the studio rent me a car, too,” he said as he got into the backseat. Tracy had traded places with Gail and was at the wheel. “Driving in the country is easy. One really doesn’t need a chauffeur.”

“That was my feeling,” Tracy said. She went down the drive for a hundred feet, then veered off onto a dirt road.

“Where are we going?” Jon asked, surprised.

“Meg told me there was a tradesman’s entrance to the property at the end of this road,” Tracy said. “I hope by using it to avoid that reptile Counes.”

The entrance was only wide enough for a single car to pass through at a time, and the gate was closed. Gail got out and opened it, and Tracy drove through. There was no sign of Counes, so she headed the Mercedes toward Warkfield.

All three of them were successful in purchasing the things they needed, and Tracy found a beautiful silver cup to send to her sister as a christening present for the new baby. When they had finished shopping, Jon suggested that they drive to Myddelton for tea. “There’s a charming old inn there that I think you would enjoy,” he said. “And you might like to see Myddelton. We are going to be shooting there in a few weeks.”

The day was still fine, and Tracy and Gail agreed that a side trip might be fun. When they arrived at the village, which did not include a house that had been built after the eighteenth century, they were enchanted.

“It’s like a place out of time,” Tracy said. “Like Brigadoon.”

They had just finished tea at a timber-framed medieval inn and were standing in front of the fifteenth- century battlemented and pinnacled church of St. Stephen. A group of tourists nearby were staring at Tracy.

“Do people actually
l
ive here?” Tracy asked, turning to look down the street at the lichen-and-moss encrusted stone-slated roofs and gables that adorned the charming old houses.

“It
is
her,” one of the tourists said loudly.

“Yes, people do live here,” Jon returned. He glanced at the tourists. “May I suggest that we move along, ladies, before we are assaulted by requests for autographs.”

Jon was familiar with Myddelton and played guide as the three of them walked around the village’s four main, streets, which were lined with timber-framed buildings with mullioned windows, seventeenth-century stone cottages, and elegant Georgian brick mansions. The tourist group followed them, and eventually Tracy did have to give autographs.

Why should these strangers have the right to interrupt my life just because they once bought a ticket to one of my movies?
she thought as she signed her name on someone’s National Trust brochure.

She knew the standard reply to that question by heart:
You’re a public figure, Tracy. You gave up your right to privacy the moment you appeared on a movie screen.

The problem was, she had never planned to be a public figure, and she didn’t like it. She doubted that she ever would.

By the time they had finished touring, it was time for dinner, which they had in another old Myddelton inn, where once again Tracy had to sign autographs. It was nine o’clock when Gail finally dropped Tracy and Jon back at Silverbridge. They went up the stairs, and Tracy could not resist looking into the morning room to see if Harry was there. Jon followed her.

Harry and Tony were playing chess in front of the fire. Tracy looked at the two blond heads bent over the
chessboard, one tawny and one sublimely fair, and felt a pain in her heart.

Shit. I have to get out of this house. I have to get away from him.

As she was thinking this, Harry’s head turned toward the doorway. “I see you had a successful shopping expedition,” he said, looking at the packages she was carrying.

“Yes, and Jon showed us around Myddelton Village, where we’re going to
film in a few weeks. It was ver
y lovely.” Tracy was relieved to hear that her voice was calm. Her heart certainly wasn’t.

“Isn’t Myddelton charming?” Tony said. “That’s why the National Trust took it on, you know. It’s so perfect.”

“It’s a fossil,” Jon said flatly. “Your family killed it when you wouldn’t allow any rai
lroad lines to come through.”

“A good thing too,” Harry said, his voice very clipped. He was holding a knight in his hand. “The result is one of the most pleasing and individual places in all of England.”

“It couldn’t have been so pleasing to the people who saw their livelihoods disappear,” Jon said.

Harry deliberately placed his knight on the chessboard, leaned back in his chair, and regarded Jon with an expression that Tracy could only term insufferable. “It probably wasn’t pleasing to the slaves who built the pyramids, either, but the magnificent result of their labor has astounded and gratified people for centuries.”

Tracy abruptly realized that Harry was being deliberately provoking.

Tony’s light laugh cut through the tension. “Pay no
mind to my brother, Mr. Melbourne. He’s a throwback to different times.”

“If it’s being a throwback not to want my acres of farmland turned into a golf course, then perhaps I am,” Harry returned evenly.

For the briefest of moments, a cloud appeared in Tony’s celestial blue eyes. Then they cleared, and he smiled. “See? He’s incorrigible. Don’t waste your breath trying to make him see reason, Mr. Melbourne.”

“Good advice,” Jon said tersely. “And now I will wish you all a good night. I have lines I must learn for tomorrow.”

“So do I,” Tracy said, deciding it would be wise to remove herself from Harry’s dangerous presence.

As she was turning away, he said, “If you care to go to church in the morning, Miss Collins, I will be leaving at eight-thirty.”

Tony groaned. “I hope you don’t expect me to come with you.”

Harry looked at his brother. “You most certainly will come with me. It won’t be long before the neighborhood knows that you are home, and it won’t look good if you don’t come to church.”

“Damn it, Harry. What do I care what the locals think?”

“You have a responsibility to set a good example,” Ha
r
ry said implacably.

“Noblesse oblige
and all that,” Jon said from the doorway.

Harry gave him a long level look. “Something like that.”

Tracy, who had just decided it would be wisest to stay
away from him, heard herself say, “I’d like to go to church, my lord. Thank you.”

He nodded.

Tracy shifted her packages from one arm to the other, said brightly, “Well, good night, again,” and turned back into the foyer, leaving the two brothers to their chess game.

That night the Silverbridge stable burned down.

12

T
racy
awoke to the sound of sirens. She sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, and her first thought was,
Not again!
In ten seconds she had pulled on the fleece robe she had bought the day before and run out into the hallway. Meg was coming out her door at exactly the same time.

“What happened?” Tracy demanded.

“I don’t know, but it sounded to me as if the engines went toward the stables,” Meg replied.

“Oh no!” Tracy thought of all the beautiful horses living in the Silverbridge stable and went cold with horror. “I’m going to put on my sneakers and go down there. Perhaps I can help.”

“Me too,” Meg said.

It took less than a minute for Tracy to lace up her sneakers, then she met Meg in the corridor again, and the two of them raced toward the stables.

First they smelled the smoke. Then they heard the
high-pitched screams of horses in fear. Then they saw the flames. Tracy increased her speed and raced into the stable yard, which was a chaos of heat, loose horses wearing stable blankets, firemen, hoses, and spraying water. Harry and his assistant Ned Martin were trying to round up the horses to get them out of the firemen’s way. This was proving rather difficult, however, as none of the horses were wearing halters.

Tracy immediately pulled the tie off of her fleece robe, slipped up behind one of the horses, spoke to him soothingly, and slid the tie around his neck. When he turned his head to look at her she realized she had caught Maestro.

“Where do you want him, my lord?” she called. Harry was in the process of leading Pendleton out of the stable yard by his forelock. “In the first paddock,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Follow me.”

The fire lighted the whole area, enabling Tracy to see clearly as she led her horse after Harry and Pen. Maestro, thank God, was no trouble, walking eagerly after his stablemate. As soon as they had turned the horses loose in th
e paddock, Harr
y bolted the gate and said,
“
Thanks, but you shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.”

He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and there was a streak of dirt across his left cheekbone. She could almost feel the intensity of his concentration as he surveyed the c
haotic scene in the stable yard.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she returned. “You need all the help you can get.”

Ned Martin was approaching them, leading a haltered Dylan, and Meg was following with another horse. Behind them the whole sky was brilliantly orange from the flames.

“I got the extra halters from the truck,” Ned Martin said to Harry, motioning with his chin to the leather straps hanging from his shoulder. “Take them.”

“Good thinking.” As Harry grabbed the halters, Tracy said, “Give me one.”

Without any noticeable hesitation, he tossed her a halter. “Let’s go.”

The two of them ran back to the stable yard to catch more horses.

B
y the time the red ball of the morning sun had arisen, the fire was out. Two horses had managed to slip away, but the rest of them were milling around in the first paddock. Harry was relieved that the escaped horses belonged to him, not to a client, and was confident that someone would find and return them. “The important thing is that they all got out of the stable,” he said.

The stone shell of the stable still stood, but the roof and th
e whole of the inside was just
charred wet rubble.

“Jesus, Harry,” Ned Martin said as he stood
in the stable yard regarding th
e smoldering pile. “Jesus.” He sounded deeply shaken.

“At least it didn’t s
pread,” Harry returned grimly. “
The fire department did a good job of containing it.”

“How did it start?” Meg asked. The gray sweatshirt she wore over her flannel pajama pants was stained with the slobber of several horses.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied wearily. “We are always so careful of fire around the stable. Perhaps the fire department will be able to tell us something.”

“I never let the grooms smoke in the stable,” Ned said. “You know that, Harry.”

“I know, Ned.”

The firemen were still pouring water into the already-sodden building. “They’re only making a bigger mess,” Meg said fretfully. “Why don’t they give it a rest?”

“They want to make certain that there are no sparks left,” Harry returned. “We don’t want it to start up again.”

“It won’t start again. There’s nothing left to bu
rn
,” Meg said bitterly.

It was true. Tracy felt infinite sadness looking at the wreck of what had once been a proud and beautiful building.

“I need some coffee,” Harry said.

“I can brew you some if you don’t feel like going all the way back to the house,” Ned offered.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and the four of them began to walk in the direction of the indoor riding ring, where Ned’s apartment was located.

Tracy was pleasantly surprised by the living quarters that Harry provided for his assistant. The upstairs apartment had a big, bright mode
rn
kitchen, and the living room that they passed through was painted a pale yellow and was tastefully and comfortably furnished. She took a seat at the light wood kitchen table and watched as Ned measured coffee into his coffeemaker.

“I’d rather have tea,” Meg said.

“That’s easy,” Ned replied, and filled a kettle at the sink.

Tracy had been running around so much with the horses that she had not realized how cold it was. Now that she was at rest, however, she began to feel chilled. She pulled her fleece robe closer around her and hoped that the coffee would not take long to make.

Harry must have seen her gesture, for he said, “Are you cold, Miss Collins?”

“A little, but the coffee will warm me up.”

“It’s just plain silly to go on calling Tracy
Miss Collins,
as if she was a stranger, Harry,” Meg said. “After all, she’s staying in our house, and she just helped you save your horses.”

“
True.” Harry’s dark eyes rested on Tracy’s face. “But perhaps Miss Collins has other ideas.”

Tracy felt his eyes touch her as if they had made actual physical contact. “I should be delighted if you would call me Tracy,” she said as lightly as she could.

“Thank you.” Why did his voice send such shivers along her nerves? “And you must call me Harry.”

“Very well,” Tracy said. “Harry.”

For the briefest of moments they looked at each other, and something trembled in the air. Then Meg said, “Where are you going to put the horses, Harry? Have them live outside until you can rebuild?”

Ned placed a cup of coffee in front of his employer, and Harry drank half of it in one gulp. Then, “I can’t do that,” he replied. “The horses would survive just fine, but the owners will pull them out of training at Silverbridge before the end of the week if they don’t have a stall.”

Tracy said, “Rent the portable stalls they use at shows and put them in the indoor riding arena.”

“That’s a great idea,” Meg said with enthusiasm.

“Yes, it is,” Ned replied more slowly.

Apparently it was an idea that had also occurred to Harry. “It’s a temporary solution, and I’ll see about getting the stalls, but I am going to have to demonstrate that I am actively rebuilding the stable if I am to expect people to send their horses to me.” He thrust his hand through his already-disordered hair. “The stable will have to be finished before winter.”

His mouth was grim.

“Surely you have insurance,” Tracy said.

A brief nod was his only response.

They all jumped as the knocker on Ned’s front door sounded. He went to answer it and came back accompanied by one of the fire officers, who asked Harry, “May I speak to you privately, my lord?”

They went into the living room while Tracy, Meg, and Ned sat in tense silence in the kitchen, wondering what was being said.

When Harry rejoined them he was alone. He resumed his seat at the table and looked bleakly at the faces gathered around him. “The fire department thinks the fire was set,” he said. “They found an empty can of kerosene in the rubble.”

Tracy was suddenly terribly afraid.

“Couldn’t it have been there for some other reason?” she asked quickly. “I know that at home we often used a kerosene heater in the ba
rn
when the farrier came.”

“I never let kerosene within a hundred yards of my stable,” Harry returned.

Ned’s thin face looked strained.
“
Thank God for that monitor you had installed in my bedroom. The sound of
the horses whinnying woke me up, but by the time I got to the stable the fire was already raging. If all of the stalls didn’t have outside doors, the horses would have been incinerated.”

“Thank God, indeed,” Hanry said. “And thank you, Ned. You were magnificent.”

His words were quiet, but Ned’s face flushed a bright red.

Meg was chewing on her hair. “Who would want to set fire to the stables? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I can’t answer that question, Meggie,” Harry replied wearily. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, Ned.” He glanced at the clock that hung on Ned’s wall and looked at his sister. “If we hurry, we can still make church.”

“Not me,” she said positively. “I’m exhausted, and I’m going back to bed.”

“All right.” Tracy noticed that he didn’t pressure her as he had pressured Tony. “I’m going, however. I seem to have a lot to pray about.”

“I’ll come with you, if I may,” Tracy said.

He looked dubious. “It’s already eight o’clock. Can you be ready by eight-thirty?”

Tracy looked down at her mud-splattered pajamas and fleece robe, which was anchored by a tie that had pieces of straw sticking off it. Her running shoes were also muddy, as were her sockless feet. “Sure,” she said.

Meg said a little hesitantly, “Perhaps you’re right, Harry. I suppose we do have some things to pray about.”

He reached out to put an arm around his sister’s frail shoulders. “Thanks, brat. You were a big help tonight.” Her thin face lit to beauty.

“I wonder where Tony is?” Meg asked, as they went down the stairs from Ned’s apartment. “I know he sleeps like the dead, but those fire engines made a lot of noise.”

“He’s used to the racket of London,” Harry said.

But Tracy, who had heard Tony’s words to Mauley about finding a way to get Harry to change his mind about the golf course, was terribly afraid there might be another reason for Tony’s absence.

H
arry ’s car was a Mercedes, but unlike the one that Gail had driven the day before, his was nine years old. He sat behind the driver’s seat watching as his three passengers walked down the path from the house, although he looked at only one of them.

She was incredibly beautiful in a navy blue sheath dress that came just to the middle of her knees. Her matching shoes were high enough to be fashionable but not so high that they would look out of place in a country church. Her magnificent hair was still damp from the shower, and her deep blue eyes were like gemstones in the perfect setting of her face.

With considerable effort, he dragged his eyes away from her in order to get out of the car and open the door on the passenger side. She shot him a look as she slid past him and into the car.

It’s not just me,
he thought.
She feels it, too.

Tony, who looked as if he had just stepped out of a tailor’s shop on Savile Row, got into the backseat after Meg. “I just heard about the fire,” he said soberly. “God, Harry, I am so sorry.”

“No one was hurt,” Harry returned expressionlessly. “We must be grateful for that.”

“That stable was your pride and joy.” Tony leaned forward to lay a brief hand on the shoulder of his brother’s gray suit. “What rotten luck.”

Harry, who had spent some of the happiest moments of his life in the Silverbridge stable, merely nodded, and said, “Yes.”

“Would you mind very much going out by the tradesman’s entrance?” Tracy asked. “A photographer who has been stalking me is parked outside the main gate.”

“Stalking you?” Harry said sharply as he turned onto the road that led to the smaller gate.

“I call it that,” she replied. “There seems to be nothing I can do about it, however. I did get a court order demanding that he keep a certain number of feet away from me, but he still follows me and photographs me. It’s infuriating.”

“The price of fame,” Tony murmured.

“It’s outrageous,” Harry said with heartfelt sympathy. “Freedom of the press is all very well, but there should be some protection of personal privacy as well.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Tracy said. “But, in America, public figures don’t seem to be entitled to any privacy at all. As I have discovered, to my sorrow.”

The tradesman’s exit was clear, and Harry turned the car in the direction of All Saints Church. He drove for a short time, then, from the backseat, he heard Meg say to Tony, “We could have used your help last night. I can’t believe you slept through all that noise.”