Up Close and Personal (12 page)

For a few moments, the two stared at the young American with undisguised hostility. Dante was nonplussed. The man called Mike was distinctive – tall and lean, with lots of gold jewellery and a circle of dark hair that perched like a wreath round his shiny pate. He was certain he’d have remembered if they’d met before. ‘I think you must be confusing me with someone else,’ he said curtly.

‘You’re that Fisher fellow, aren’t you?’ The man’s upper lip was curled in a sneer.

‘Yeah,’ Dante said warily. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’

The second man stepped forward. ‘Your sort aren’t welcome here,’ he said in a threatening tone.

Dante held his gaze. ‘And what sort might that be?’

‘Gold-diggers.’ He spat rather than said the word.

The hairs on the back of Dante’s neck prickled. ‘What are you talking about?’ he said, setting the drinks down on the nearest table.

‘Don’t play the innocent,’ the man called Mike retorted. ‘Everyone knows you only married Juliet Ingram for her money and if she wasn’t still in pieces about Gus – who, I might add, happened to be a good friend of mine – then I’m sure she’d be able to see that for herself.’

Dante counted silently to five. It was a technique he’d often used back in Aspen when faced with a difficult or aggressive customer. ‘Look, I don’t know who you guys are, or what your problem is, but all I want to do is have a
quiet drink, okay? So I suggest you get out of my face before I really lose my temper.’

The man turned to his friend. ‘Did you hear that, Andy? The Yankee boy’s going to do his Hulk impression. I’m pissing my pants.’ He gestured towards Dante’s pink cocktail. ‘That looks like a girl’s drink to me,’ he remarked. ‘Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake? Not just a gold-digger, but a
gay
gold-digger.’ He gave a cruel laugh. ‘Poor Juliet.’

Sighing in disgust, Dante turned to go, but before he’d taken a single step, Mike had grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.’

It was too much for Dante. He’d been bottling up his feelings ever since he’d arrived in England and now weeks’ worth of pent-up emotion came bubbling to the surface like molten lava. Whirling round, he shrugged Mike’s hand off his arm. ‘Take your freaking hands off me or I swear I’m gonna kick your butt across this room,’ he hissed, thrusting his face close up to the other man’s.

Mike seemed shocked by Dante’s reaction. He began backing away, hands held up defensively. ‘Steady on, mate. There’s no need to get your jockstrap in a twist.’ His speech was slightly slurred and it occurred to Dante for the first time that his adversary might be the worse for wear.

‘What’s going on here?’

Looking over his shoulder, Dante saw Connor standing behind him. Before he could open his mouth to explain, Mike had brushed past him. ‘Dr Swift, great to see you!’ he exclaimed, grabbing Connor’s hand in both of his and pumping it up and down.

‘Hi, Mike,’ Connor replied in a clipped tone. ‘I see you’ve already met my friend Dante.’

The man’s smile vanished. ‘You two are
friends
?’

‘We certainly are.’ Connor withdrew his hand and folded his muscular arms across his chest. ‘So if you’ve got a problem with Dante I’m afraid you’ve got a problem with me too.’

‘Problem? Who said anything about a problem?’ Mike said quickly. ‘We were just having a laugh with Dante here.’ He looked at his friend. ‘Isn’t that right, Andy?’

The other man nodded. ‘But he took our little joke the wrong way.’ He curled his hand round his mouth and whispered stagily to Connor, ‘I don’t think these Americans appreciate our English sense of humour.’

Mike flashed a fake smile at Dante. ‘Sorry, mate. I always get a bit lippy when I’ve had a few drinks.’ He looked at his companion. ‘Come on, Andy, let’s get going. Our wives will be wondering what’s become of us.’

As the two men sidled off, Connor and Dante took their seats in the booth. ‘Don’t take any notice of them,’ Connor said as he sipped his Scotch. ‘Mike Henderson’s an idiot. He’s always shooting his mouth off, especially when he’s pissed. You’re not the first person he’s got into a ruck with, and you certainly won’t be the last.’

For a few moments, Dante stared at his drink, silently working over Mike’s words. Then he looked at Connor. ‘He called me a gold-digger … Is that what everyone around here thinks?’

‘Not at all,’ Connor said firmly. ‘What you’ve got to understand is that this is a very close-knit community and people love to gossip – especially about newcomers. You just need to put yourself about a bit, and pretty soon people will realize that they’ve got you all wrong.’

‘I guess … It’s going to take time, though.’ Dante sighed and rested his chin on his hand. ‘Can I ask you something, Connor?’

‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘What was Gus like?’

The GP took a drink of whisky. ‘He was one of those larger-than-life types – the sort of bloke who was always in the thick of things. He was chair of the Rotary Club, vice-president of the cricket club, a leading light in the Loxwood amateur dramatics society … I don’t know where he found the time, to be honest. He was a bit of a showman too; he liked to play to a crowd. Every year the cricket club holds a formal dinner, followed by a charity auction. Gus used to act as compère and he was really good at whipping the audience into a frenzy, playing one bidder off against another. His tactics were a bit theatrical for my tastes – but, fair play to him, he helped raise an awful lot of money.’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘Not really. We met socially, of course … played golf a few times. That’s about it.’

‘What did he look like?’

Connor looked at him in surprise. ‘Haven’t you seen a picture?’

Dante shook his head. ‘Nope. There are photos and portraits all over Ashwicke, but not a single one of Gus … It’s kinda weird, don’t you think?’

‘Not necessarily. Perhaps Juliet put them all away because she knew they’d make you feel uncomfortable.’

‘I guess … or maybe she just finds it too painful looking at him – that’s my theory,’ Dante said. ‘Gus’s death must’ve been a huge shock, and sometimes I think she’s still grieving
for him. Whenever his name comes up, she gets this kind of misty look in her eyes, like she’s thinking about all the good times they had together. It was there the other night at the dinner party.’

‘Oh well, it’s only been a year since he died. It takes a long time to come to terms with the death of a loved one, especially when you lose them in such appalling circumstances.’ Connor frowned. ‘Anyway, what were we saying? Ah yes, Gus’s physical appearance. He was a good-looking bloke and he kept himself fit; I used to see him at the gym all the time. I remember Nicole always used to say how well groomed he was. He always wore designer gear – even on the golf course – and he never had a hair out of place.’

Dante felt suddenly self-conscious in his khaki trousers and plain white T-shirt. He was the most casually dressed person in the bar – by a mile. ‘He sounds the complete opposite of me.’

Connor gave a strange, knowing smile. ‘Yeah, you could say that.’ He swirled the ice cubes round his glass. ‘I appreciate it can’t be easy for you, coming to a new country, stepping into a dead man’s shoes …’

Dante winced at the GP’s turn of phrase. ‘Yeah, it’s weird not having people I can talk to. I really miss my friends back home.’

‘They must’ve been pretty surprised when you got married and took off to England with a woman you hardly know.’

Dante scratched his chin. ‘Mmm, a couple of them even tried to talk me out of it. But I knew I was making the right decision.’

Connor drained the rest of his whisky in one gulp. ‘And do you still think that?’

‘Of course I do,’ Dante replied.

‘Good for you.’ Connor waggled his empty glass. ‘Let’s get another drink, shall we? Nicole’s not expecting me home any time soon.’

Dante was in a good mood when the cab dropped him off at Ashwicke, shortly after seven p.m. Despite the unpleasant confrontation in the bar, he’d enjoyed his afternoon with Connor. He just had enough time for a quick shower before Juliet returned from her Pilates class.

He’d almost reached the top of the stairs when he heard the distant strains of music. Frowning, he stopped beside the portrait of one of Gus’s illustrious ancestors, who gazed down sourly at him through layers of blackened varnish. The music was coming from the far end of the west wing. Wondering if one of the chambermaids was working late, he decided to investigate.

He set off down the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The music seemed to be coming from a room midway down the corridor. Its door stood slightly ajar and, as Dante approached, he felt a flicker of apprehension for this, he already knew, had been Gus’s dressing room.

He’d caught a brief glimpse of it the day after his arrival at Ashwicke, during Juliet’s whistle-stop tour of the house. There was just time to take in the custom-made floor-to-ceiling wardrobes and the large cheval mirror before Juliet was closing the door. ‘I’ve been meaning to give that room a good clear-out for months,’ she’d remarked. ‘It’s just finding the time.’

A few days later, Dante had made a second, unaccompanied visit to the room, while Juliet was busy in the kitchen discussing some new additions to the breakfast menu with Chef. Even though it was his home, Dante felt like a trespasser as he pushed open the door to the dressing room, which was at least twice the size of the bedroom in his apartment back in Aspen. It was very much a man’s room, purposeful and unfussy, the furniture large and linear, the walls covered in a bold striped wallpaper. He opened one of the wardrobes and found it full of designer suits, some still in their dry-cleaning wrappers. The next wardrobe contained a rainbow of shirts, grouped in corresponding colours, and, on a shelf unit, a selection of aftershaves. Picking up the nearest bottle, Dante puffed a spray of scent into the air. It was fruity, with citrus undertones, and rather pleasant. He returned it to the shelf and went to the tall chest of drawers. The top drawer contained several dozen silk ties, all neatly rolled; the second, a stack of handkerchiefs with Gus’s initial embroidered on them in navy thread. Dante had no appetite for the third drawer; he’d seen enough. After checking that he’d left the room exactly as he’d found it, he slipped back out into the corridor and pulled the door to.

Now that he was mere feet away, Dante could hear the music quite clearly. It was a classical piece – a haunting violin concerto. He stopped and cocked his head, ears straining for sounds of human activity: the hum of a vacuum cleaner, the hiss of an aerosol, the squeak of a cloth against glass. He heard nothing. Frowning, he stepped closer and peered through the two-inch crack in the door.
The next instant his heart was in his mouth. A tall figure with dark hair was standing in the middle of the room, with his back to the door. He was wearing one of the suits Dante had seen in the wardrobe; the dry-cleaning wrapper was lying on the floor. Over his shoulder, Dante could see a radio on the windowsill that hadn’t been there on his previous visit to the room. Just then, he became aware of a distinctive smell: aftershave – or, to be more specific,
Gus’s
aftershave. Dante swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He watched as the man’s hand went to his throat, as if he were adjusting a tie. A few moments later, the hand went to his left sleeve and plucked off a stray hair. It suddenly dawned on Dante that the man must be studying his reflection in the cheval, which lay frustratingly out of view. After telling himself firmly that there were no such things as ghosts, he reached out and pushed the door open. The man turned round and Dante realized with a jolt of surprise – and a hefty measure of relief – that it was Nathan.

Dante’s eyes flickered over the general manager. Now that they were standing face to face, he saw he was wearing a silk tie with a distinctive purple stripe and beneath it, a pink shirt. For a few seconds, Dante stood staring at Nathan in shocked silence. The strangest thing of all was not that he was wearing Gus’s clothes, but that he didn’t seem in the least bit embarrassed. The manager was the first to speak.

‘Good evening, Mr Fisher,’ he said calmly. ‘I didn’t expect you back till later.’

Dante frowned. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘I was just checking Mr Ingram’s wardrobe,’ the manager replied in a tone that suggested the answer was perfectly obvious to anyone with half a brain. ‘We had a terrible
infestation of moths a few months ago. I had to throw out several of Mr Ingram’s good lambswool sweaters, so now I come in here once a month to shake everything out.’ He smiled tightly. ‘It seems to do the trick.’

Dante folded his arms across his chest. ‘Yeah, but why are you
wearing
that stuff?’

‘It’s easier to check things this way.’ Nathan brushed some invisible lint off his lapel. ‘A little macabre, I know, but if a job’s worth doing …’

Dante frowned. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to give it all to charity?’

‘I couldn’t possibly do that; Mrs Fisher would be devastated.’

Dante’s nostrils flared. ‘Would she now?’

‘Absolutely. She likes to have Mr Ingram’s things around her.’

His words were like a knife twisting in Dante’s chest. Swallowing hard, he glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It’s getting late. How much longer are you going to be?’

‘Only another ten minutes or so.’ Nathan’s hollow eyes bored into Dante. ‘Is that all right with you?’

Dante shrugged. ‘I guess it’ll have to be.’

Nathan went to the open wardrobe and began rifling through the line of suits, rattling the wooden hangers noisily as if to demonstrate how industrious he was being.

As Dante started back down the corridor, he felt a creeping sense of unease. When he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced back over his shoulder. Nathan was standing in the doorway of the dressing room like a sphinx guarding the entrance to the pharoah’s tomb.

9

‘Cheers, ladies,’ Yasmin said, taking several gulps of wine in quick succession.

Juliet smiled. ‘Tough day at the office, was it?’

‘Mondays are always the worst, and today was an absolute pig,’ Yasmin replied, turning her face upwards to catch the watery rays of early evening sunshine that flooded Nicole’s west-facing garden. ‘I was supposed to be meeting a TV contact for lunch – he’s a press officer for
SouthWest Tonight
.’