Silverbridge (7 page)

“Not good news?” Meg asked as she came into the room.

He swiveled around in his chair, causing Marshal to get up and look at him expectantly. When Harry didn’t get up, the spaniel lay back down again. Harry took off his ho
rn
-rim glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Meg. What are you doing here? I thought you were watching the movie shoot.”

“I came to see you.” She went to sit in the old leather chair next to the desk. “Did you know that the Wiltshire Arms burned down last night?”

His brown eyes widened. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

She hooked her rain-straight hair behind her ears. “Well it did, and it has left all of the movie people who were staying there homeless. Greg—he’s the assistant
director—tried to book them into other hotels today, but the point-to-point over in Castleton is tomorrow, and everything is taken.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. “I was planning to go myself,” he said mildly. “One of my students is riding in it.”

“Who?” Meg asked, momentarily distracted from her mission.

“Matt Alder.”

Meg nodded. Matthew Alder, Baron Carsford, was a jump rider, but over the winter he had taken a series of dressage lessons with Harry.

Meg moved the conversation back on track. “Anyway, because of the point-to-point, the only lodgings available are in some bed-and-breakfasts in Littleton and Marlton. Greg says that the rooms are tiny and not appropriate for Tracy. Or for Jon.”

Harry crossed his arms behind his head. “God forbid an American movie star should be forced to stay in an English B&B.”

“Well you certainly wouldn’t like it.”

He shrugged.

“Anyway, I suggested that they stay here,” Meg said. “We have three empty bedrooms at the moment.”

Harry’s arms dropped and he glared. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Why not?” Meg asked. “The film company would pay you the same amount of money they were paying the Wiltshire Arms.”

A little silence fell. Then he said abruptly, “It’s impossible, Meg. I have managed to work around the mess
the movie people are making of my grounds, but I don’t want them living in the house with me.”

“It would just be Tracy and Jon. They’re super, honestly, Harry. And they spend most of their time on the set or in their dressing rooms. You’d probably hardly see them.”

He said stiffly, “I would like to think that I am not yet reduced to the status of a hotel keeper.”

“You’d be a very well paid hotel keeper,” Meg shot back. “The Wiltshire Arms charges a fortune, and both Tracy and Jon had suites.”

“I can’t offer them a suite,” he said. “I can’t even offer them a private bathroom. Did you explain that to whomever you were talking to? Perhaps your movie star friends won’t think Silverbridge is suitable.”

“Anyone would rather stay at Silverbridge than in a B&B,” Meg said with certainty.

Harry pushed his hair
off his forehead. “Jesus, Meg
gie, what’s going to happen if the gutter press gets hold of the fact that Tracy Collins is staying in my house? I really can’t go through another Dana Matthews thing.”

“You are also training Gwen Mauley’s horse,” Meg pointed out. “Darling Gwen is going to be hanging around here as well.”

“I know.” He sounded grim.

“Harry, even the
Examiner
won’t have the nerve to say that you’re having an affair with two women at the same time and in the same place.”

His jaw set. “In my experience, there is very little that the
Examiner
doesn’t have the nerve to say.”

Meg chewed on a strand of her hair and looked at him.

He sighed. “Oh, all right. If the film company wants to pay me the Wiltshire Arms rate, they can stay here.”

Meg jumped up. “Great. You’ll like Tracy, Harry. She’s not like Dana Matthews at all.”

He grunted, put on his glasses, and turned back to the computer. As she was going out the do
or he turned his head to call, “
Tell them I want the money up front.”

“All right.” She squinted at the columns of figures that had appeared on the computer screen behind him. “What are you working on?”

“Bills,” he said dryly, and turned back to the machine.

7

T
he excitement over the fire had pushed Tracy’s vision of the horse rider to the back of her mind, but once she returned to Silverbridge for filming, it came back vividly.

I must be letting the atmosphere of this place get to me,
she thought, as she stood on her mark waiting for Dave to direct the cameras to roll. Clouds had come in during the course of the afternoon, and the changing light in the garden had forced them to shoot a scene near the end of the film, when Julia had begun to fear her obsessively jealous husband. Tracy’s mind, however, was not on the movie.

I spend my days surrounded by people dressed in Regency clothes. Then I meet Lord Silverbridge, who, however rude and obnoxious he may be, is certainly a striking man. So I have this hallucination where
I
see a man who looks like Lord Silverbridge riding a horse and wearing Regency clothes. It’s weird, but explainable.

The vision of the man on horseback rose again before her mind’s eye and her heart began to thud. As if from a distance, she heard Dave call, “Check her.”

A studio makeup woman appeared at Tracy’s side, dusted a tiny bit of powder on her nose, and went away. Dave called, “Action.”

Tracy made a great effort to close her mind to all outside thoughts, and began to walk along the path in the direction of the house. The camera, which was mounted on a dolly, moved beside her. Tracy, as Julia, looked toward the terrace, where she was supposed to see her husband awaiting her. In fact, Jon was not on the terrace. They would shoot the meeting between Julia and her husband later. Consequently, when Tracy focused her eyes on the terrace, she expected to find it empty.

It wasn’t. A young woman with auburn hair was there, accompanied by a little boy. The woman wore a plain Regency morning dress of sprigged muslin, and the little boy was dressed in what looked like a gray jumpsuit with a short jacket over it. Even under the cloudy sky, his hair looked bright.

Tracy stopped short, staring in disbelief at the tableau on the terrace. Her hand went to her throat in an instinctive gesture of protection. Then she shut her eyes, trying to get a grip on herself. When she opened her eyes again, the terrace was empty.

“Cut! Dave called. “Were you able to get that, Michael? I know she wasn’t supposed to stop.”

“We got it,” the cameraman called back.

“Then print it,” Dave said.

He came up to where Tracy was standing. She had broken out in a clammy sweat, and small tremors were
causing her body to quiver. Dave appeared to notice nothing of this, however. “That was brilliant, Tracy. Just brilliant.” Behind his thick glasses his eyes were glittering. “Do you think you could do it once more, just in case the first take doesn’t come out?”

“No,” Tracy said in a thready voice. “Not now, Dave. I can’t do it now.”

For the first time he noticed her pallor and her trembling. He put an arm around her shoulders, and said gently, “All right. I’m sure the first take will be okay. Come and sit down, and I’ll have someone bring you a glass of water.”

Tracy nodded and allowed him to lead her to the chair that had her name on it. Gratefully, she sat down and rested her forehead on her lap.

“You’re not going to faint, are you?” Dave asked in alarm.

Tracy shook her head. “Where is that water?”

“Here.” Someone put a plastic bottle in her hand, and she drank thirstily. The water was tepid, like most liquids in England, but she drank it gratefully. Finally, she was able to offer Dave an attempt at a smile.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s all right,” Dave replied. “You didn’t sleep at all last night. Perhaps I should have given you the day off.”

“No, No, I was fine. Really.”

“Well you’re finished for today,” Dave said. He was still looking worried. “I think you ought to go home and take a map.”

Meg said from someplace behind Tracy’s chair, “I’ll take her, Dave.”

“Take me where?” Tracy asked a little forlornly. “My hotel burned down.”

As Meg appeared at his side, Dave explained, “We’ve made arrangements for you and Jon to stay here at Silverbridge.”

Tracy jerked, as if a bolt of electricity had just shot through her. “What?”

Dave said soothingly, “All the hotels were booked for the weekend. If you don’t want to remain at Silverbridge after Sunday, I’m sure we can make other arrangements. But for now, I think you’ll be more comfortable here than you would be at a bed-and-breakfast.”

“We have a nice big bedroom for you, Tracy,” Meg said. “It even has a painting by Claude.”

For some reason, Tracy felt panicked by the thought of staying at Silverbridge. “I don’t want to disrupt your family any more than they have been already,” she protested to Meg.

“Don’t worry about that,” Dave said. “We’re paying Lord Silverb
r
idge hotel fees for you and Jon.”

Tracy racked her brain for a valid excuse not to stay at Silverbridge for the weekend and could come up with nothing.

“Do you feel well enough to walk?” Dave said solicitously.

Tracy slowly breathed in and out. Then she did it again. “Yes,” she said.

Despite her assurance, Dave put a hand under her elbow and supported her as she stood up. To her relief, the world remained clear and steady. She smiled at her concerned director. “I’m fine, really I am. Go back to work and don’t worry about me.”

“You look better,” he said. “A little color has come back into your face.” He tu
rned to Meg. “Lady Mar
garet, if you would accompany Tracy to the house, I would be grateful.”

“Not to worry,” Meg said. “Come along, Tracy. I’ve already had Mrs. Wilson make up your bed. You can crawl right in if that’s what you want.”

Tracy made one last plea. “This has to be an imposition, Dave. Really, I wouldn’t mind a B&B for a few days.”

“That photographer will have much easier access to you at a B&B than he will if you stay here,” Dave said.

Tracy thought of Silverbridge’s huge extent of private property that Jason Counes could not trespass upon and gave in.
“
This is very kind of you, Meg.”

Meg smiled. “It will be fun having you.”

Tracy looked apprehensively toward the terrace. It was empty.

“Go with Lady Margaret,” Dave said firmly. “We’re finished with you for the day, you aren’t on call tomorrow, and we’re taking Sunday off. By the time you report for work on Monday morning, I expect to see roses back in those cheeks.”

Tracy didn’t even attempt a smile as she turned toward Meg and a house she did not want to enter.

A
side entrance took them into a wood-paneled vestibule with a green marble floor. The staircase that led upstairs from the vestibule was steep and narrow. “Our apartment is on the second floor,” Meg said.
“My father thought that the rest of the
house was just too big for modern
living.”

Tracy nodded.

“We have an elevator if you’re not up to the stairs,” Meg said. “My brother had it installed for Mummy when she broke her hip.”

“I’m sure I can manage the stairs,” Tracy said.

“This way, then.” Meg led the way upward.

The first flight of stairs ended in a landing that opened to the left onto a delightful sitting room furnished in chintz and rosewood and bowls of fresh flowers. “How pretty,” Tracy said, peering in through the arched doorway.

“This is the morning room.” Meg walked into the room and ges
tured for Tracy to follow her. “
This room and the kitchen are where we basically live. You are welcome to make yourself at home here.”

Tracy looked around the room, which ran from the front to the back of the house, with tall windows on three sides. In front of the south wall windows there was a rosewood table with six chairs set around it and a magnificent vase of fresh flowers in its center. Six more matching chairs were set along the walls for use when the table was expanded. Meg said, “If we have a dinner party, we usually eat in here.”

A small black cat, who had been curled up on one of the chinz sofas, stood up and stretched, arching her back. She then fixed a pair of unnerving green eyes on Tracy and uttered a short, angry-sounding yowl.

“That’s Ebony, Harry’s cat,” Meg said. “She doesn’t like strangers.”

“Most cats don’t,” Tracy murmured, her eyes on the
outraged Ebony. “I once had a cat that would hide under the bed every time someone new came into the house.”

“Ebony is a little more confrontational than that. She’ll glare at you and yowl and prowl around you, but if you ignore her she won’t actually scratch you or anything.”

“How nice,” Tracy said ironically. Then, curiously, “How on earth does she deal with the dogs?”

Meg straightened a copy of
Horse and Hound
that had been carelessly tossed on the coffee table. “They have different territories. The dogs stay downstairs, in the kitchen and Harry’s office, and Ebony stays up here.” She smiled. “Come along, and I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

They exited the morning room and went down the wide, picture-lined corridor that lay to the right of the landing. Three large oak doors punctuated either side of the corridor. One of the doors was open; the others were closed.

“These are the bedrooms,” Meg said. “The room on the far end of the passage is the original drawing room, which lies at the top of the main staircase. We had the morning room made by knocking down the walls of the two end bedrooms.”

“Is the drawing room part of the apartment?”

“Yes, but it’s used for entertaining, and we haven’t done a lot of that since Mummy died.”

They went past the open bedroom door, and Meg said, “That’s Harry’s room. He always leaves the door open so that Ebony can come in and out.”

Tracy stopped herself from looking in. “Your brother seems to have very devoted animals,” she said lightly.

“He found Ebony when she was a starving kitten that somebody dumped. People still have such weird ideas about black cats. Anyway, he brought her home, and she worships him.” Meg stopped at the end door on the opposite side of the passageway from Harry’s room. “This will be your room,” she said, and opened the door.

This bedroom, like the other rooms on the floor, had a twelve-foot ceiling, two long, many-paned windows, and a white wood fireplace. The landscape by Claude that Meg had promised hung over the mantel. The bed was a four-poster without a canopy, and the rug was an Axminster. A great bowl of pink roses reposed on the table that stood in front of the fireplace.

“It’s lovely,” Tracy said honestly.

Meg opened a door that led into a white-tiled, old- fashioned bathroom. It was quite large and, except for the usual conveniences and a scale, exhibited a lot of empty white tile floor. Meg said, “I’m afraid that you’ll have to share a bathroom with me. The only rooms with private baths are the two closest to the sitting room, and Harry has one of those and the other one had a leak in the ceiling and has to be redone. The two other rooms on each side share a bathroom. There are locks on the bathroom doors, however, and when you’re using it, just lock my side and I won’t be able to come in on you.” She gestured toward the sink. “Mrs. Wilson has put out a new toothbrush and toothpaste for you, and I will be happy to lend you what you need in the way of clothing.”

Tracy privately thought that there was no way she would ever fit into Meg’s c
lothes, which had to be size 00
. Out loud she said, “I appreciate the toothbrush,
Meg, but Gail called our London hotel this morning and asked the concierge to send everything we had left behind down to Wiltshire. I expect some clothes to arrive before evening.”

After Meg had finally gone, Tracy went over to the window and stood looking out across the front lawn. She was still deeply perturbed by her earlier hallucination.
It must be an hallucination,
she thought.
What else could it possibly be?

She turned back into the room, and it was then that she realized for the
first time that her family pho
tographs had been left behind at the Wiltshire Arms and were probably ashes.

My wedding picture
!
she thought in panic. The other photos were all blown-up snapshots and could be duplicated, but her wedding picture had been done by a studio, and the only other copy belonged to her mother.

I have to call Gail.
She looked around for her purse and realized that it, too, had been left at the hotel. She didn’t have her cell phone, and there was no phone in her bedroom.

There has to be a phone around here somewhere,
she thought and hurried out into the corridor and back to the morning room. There was a phone there, and she dialed her secretary’s cell phone number. Gail answered on the third ring.

“Gail!” Tracy sounded almost as panicked as she felt “I left my wedding picture back at the hotel. Can you call my mother and see if the photography studio still has the negative?”

“Of course,” Gail replied. “In fact, if you have the name of the studio, I’ll call them myself.”