How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams (28 page)

“I think Karisma was speaking of social friends,” I said as kindly as I was able. “And we are lucky there, aren’t we, dear? Since coming to live here we’ve been fortunate in meeting some wonderful people, including the members of the Library League, all of whom are
so
grateful, Karisma, that you have spared some of your valuable time to be the drawing card for our fund-raiser.”

“It is no problem.” He modestly shied away from further expressions of my gratitude. “This is a beautiful house you live in. It is quite like a fairy tale castle, just as Mrs. Swabucher told me.”

“You know the old adage,” Ben said with an eloquent shrug, “an Englishman’s castle is his home.”

“Yes, I have heard that saying.” Karisma walked towards the windows that still revealed something of the grounds in the amethyst light. “Such beautiful trees and
you are so privately situated. You do not have any other houses pressing up close to you.”

“The vicarage is quite near.” I addressed his broad back while admiring the feral grace with which he rested his hand against the open window.

“And the people who live there are your great friends?”

“Eudora and Gladstone Spike are special people. She is a very caring clergy woman—”

“And he is a splendid cook.” Ben drained his brandy glass and set it down by the decanters. “Of course, some people may not consider whipping up a cake to be the height of masculinity, but being a chef myself, Mr. Karisma—although I don’t suppose that counts for much in the glamorous world you inhabit—I’m inclined to cheer for the bloke who can separate the white from the yolk of an egg.”

If my husband had been the age of the twins, I would have sent him up to bed with a flea in his ear. But being stuck with his dampening presence, I put a bright face on the situation.

“Gladstone also writes the
Clarion Call
, which is the St. Anselm’s Church bulletin,” I said. “He manages to make it a real page-turner; last week I couldn’t wait for it to arrive so I could read the latest thrilling installment of the discovery of church records in a biscuit tin in the vestry.…” My voice petered out as I realized how boring all this must be to Karisma.

“I would
lorve
to meet your friends, Giselle.” He turned from the window and stood cloaked in twilight as if having just leapt through it after being hounded along the cliffs by the king’s excise men who suspected him of supplying us with contraband brandy. “Perhaps tomorrow we can go and visit them. I will take them a life-size photo from my swimsuit calendar.”

“The Spikes won’t believe their good fortune.” Ben managed to sound passably sincere.

“Speaking of photographs, Karisma,” I said, “Mrs. Swabucher told me you would be bringing your own cameraman along with members of your staff. But you came alone.”

“Not entirely”—again my husband stuck in his oar—“he must have fifty pieces of luggage in the hall.”

“We had an upset at my home.” Karisma shook the tousled locks back from his noble brow. “A stomach upset. The chef prepared a midday meal for himself, my trainer, and my hairstylist while I was gone on a photo shoot. And when I got back, it was too great a shock. They were all crawling around on the dining room floor. It was horrible, the moans and the groans. Poor Wu Ling, he says if he gets better he will have to kill himself. Nothing like this has ever happened to him before. He says he must have offended the kitchen-god’s wife and she has put a curse on my house.”

“Giselle doesn’t believe in curses.” Vanessa’s voice floated in upon us from the doorway before I could ask if something untoward had happened to the photographer. Moving into the room with George Malloy in her wake, Vanessa had never looked more lovely. Her amber silk frock was cut high at the thigh and low at the neck. She was barefoot and flushed as a June rose, and I realized I was really delighted to see her.

“You told me he was coming tomorrow, Ellie!” Stepping within two inches of Karisma, she tilted her face up to his and touched his fingers with a pearly fingernail. “How interesting, our hair is almost the same colour. Mine’s natural”—her lips parted in a pensive smile—“what about yours?”

“Nessie!” George expressed his consternation by dropping one of the sandals he had been carrying for her. Even Ben looked mildly embarrassed when he saw Karisma stiffen into a sculpture of himself. My heart ached for the man even though he was enough to knock Geronimo off his bronze pedestal.

“My cousin Vanessa is such a tease.” I attempted a laugh, but it got tangled up in my vocal cords. “And she’s particularly giddy just now, Karisma, because she recently became engaged to George Malloy, whose mother has to be one of your most devoted fans here in Chitterton Fells.” Leading the redheaded, red-faced fiancé forward with the result that he dropped the second sandal, I kept right on gabbling. “George manufactures exercise equipment and Vanessa is doing some modeling for his television spots.”

“So she and I are in the same business. Could it be that one day we will work together, like this?” Karisma came back to life with a flourish. Sweeping the undeserving Vanessa to him in one fluid motion, he held her draped over his arm. Her hair spilled almost to the floor and her bosom swelled above the neckline of her frock. It was a pose straight from the cover of a Zinnia Parrish novel, and my heart almost stopped when I tore my eyes away from it and glanced at George. He was also a picture—of utter despondency. How could he not see himself as anything but overweight, blunt-featured, and dull as ditch-water in the face of such sizzling competition? He wasn’t like Ben, who though he might not be of romance-cover calibre, was certainly handsome enough on the everyday scene and had no reason to get his ego out of whack.

Being a first-rate coward, I escaped George’s wounded eyes by saying I must go and check on the children. Ben followed me out with such speed that when I closed the door he was right on my heels.

“Vanessa really is the limit,” I raged, “and you weren’t any better.”

“The fellow’s a royal pain in the rear.”

“Shush! he’ll hear you.”

“Good! What an egocentric ninny! The man doesn’t talk—
he emotes
! And don’t tell me he went over to the window to look at the view! He was making love to himself in the glass.”

“How can you be so hateful?” I had trouble keeping my outrage down to a whisper. “He’s a
celebrity
. People like that aren’t like you and me. They have flair, spontaneity, and—”

“Karisma?”
Ben growled. “Did you ever hear such a stupid name? I felt a complete idiot every time I said it. And what does anyone—man or woman—need with all that
hair?
We’ll be vacuuming it up for days and tearing up the drains at God knows what expense.”

“He’s here on a mission of mercy.”

“Because he
lorves
libraries? Give me a break, Ellie.”

“Exactly what are you getting at?”

“Do I have to spell it out? The man has an ulterior motive.”

“You’re right.” I bared my teeth in a smile. “Mrs.
Swabucher must have shown Karisma my photo and raved about how men drop like flies when I enter a room. Whereupon he knew he could not live another day without me in his life.”

“My idea”—Ben stepped back and knocked over two suitcases—“is that he had to leave town in a hurry because the law is after him for dressing in a manner that undermines the morality of this nation. Consider the facts, Ellie! He doesn’t give you enough time to properly prepare for his visit, and then he arrives the evening before he is expected. And take a look at this luggage! I’ll have to empty his room of furniture before I can get this lot inside the door!”

“He’ll need to change his clothes any number of times for the photo sessions.” I righted the toppled suitcases with a couple of thumps. “From the way Mrs. Swabucher spoke, I’m sure he plans to spend the best part of a day in front of the camera.”

“
If
the photographer turns up.”

“Of course he’ll be here,” I said coldly. “I expect he’ll arrive tomorrow morning with Mrs. Swabucher. And now, if you’ve nothing else nasty to say, I’ll go back and see how our guest is doing.”

Ben’s savage glare faded. “I’m sorry.” He reached out a hand, then dropped it to his side. “I don’t know why I’m being such a lout, Ellie. This library thing is important to you, and it’s not going to kill me to be pleasant to the bloke for your sake. Tomorrow you’ll get the new and improved me; that’s a promise.”

I watched him tuck an overnight bag under one arm and pick up three of the larger suitcases, then start up the stairs. For a moment I was tempted to run after him, but when he said, “I’ll even serve him freshly made vegetable juice for breakfast,” I had to strain to catch the words because he had reached the upper gallery. And as I crossed the hall I had the feeling that he might as well be on the moon.

It was when I stumbled over Tobias, who came out from under the trestle table, that I knew I had to get out of the house for ten minutes. Gathering my furry friend up in my arms, I opened the drawing room door and stuck in my head. The scene presented would have been quite ordinary
if Karisma and Vanessa had been two other people. They were doing nothing more scintillating than standing talking to each other by the window. But the juxtaposition of his supreme machismo and her vivid beauty provided enough drama for a three-act play. And there was George Malloy. He was by the mantelpiece, and it was woefully evident his was a walk-on part.

“Hello!” My overly cheery voice made even me jump. “I have to take the cat for his evening walk, but I won’t be long.”

“You go alone, so late?” Karisma took two strides towards me. “I shall come with you and we will talk, how is that?”

Vanessa clapped her hands and gurgled a laugh. “What a treat for you, Ellie, walking with Mr. Romance himself in the moonlight and sheltered from any threat of rain by the cape of his hair.”

At that, poor George came unexpectedly to life. “Nessie, she’s a married woman.”

“I’ll be fine on my own, thanks, Karisma.” I ducked back into the hall while Tobias tried to claw his way out of my arms. He had never been a cat who enjoyed organized activity, and no sooner were we out of the house than he let me know, with a fierce meow, what he thought of me and my bright ideas. Setting him down in the courtyard, I crossed the moat bridge and made my way down the gravel drive to pause at the cottage by the gates. For the first time since she had vanished through the French windows I remembered Gerta. Should I knock and see if she was all right? No, better not. She was probably getting ready for bed.

What, I wondered as I made my way out onto the road, was wrong with me? Why did I feel as though I would have liked to haul up a boulder and send it rumbling over the cliffs? Why was I not beside myself with joy? I was a woman to be envied by every member of my sex with enough breath in her body to pant Karisma’s name. He was a guest in my house. He had spoken to me, kissed my hand, looked at me with fire enough to singe his eyelashes. The easy answer was that I was furious with Ben for dampening my innocent enthusiasm. But as I drew level with the vicarage, which showed no sign of life, I
decided the problem was Vanessa. I resented her making a play for Karisma’s attention, because in doing so she had upset George. And it wasn’t in me to rejoice in the face of another’s suffering.

Then there was Gerta, I thought crossly. How could I let my spirits glow when she was holed up at the cottage? She would be afraid to come up to the house tomorrow for fear of meeting Karisma, who surely no one else but she could possibly think resembled her husband in the least. Marching on down the hill that became darker with every step, I knew I had more than sufficient reason to be upset; but wasn’t there something else, some half-formed realization lurking just below the surface of my mind that was the real root of my distress?

A cat leapt over a hedge, then streaked into the shadows. Had Tobias followed me? Sometimes he showed an uncanny propensity for listening in on my most private thoughts. But not tonight. The animal I now saw crouching under a tree was less portly than my friend and black as a witch’s cape.

“Here, puss puss!” In my jumbled state of mind I thought I was doing the coaxing, until I saw a figure step through a gate in the hedge and wander towards me with a hand outstretched as if proffering a tidbit. It wasn’t until we were almost nose to nose that I was able to determine the person was a woman. She, like the cat, was dressed all in black, was thin as a fence post, and gave off a familiar … slightly mildewed smell. I blinked.

“Miss Tunbridge … Fancy meeting you for the second time in one day.”

“Mrs. Haskell?” She stepped back to get a better squint at me, thus providing me a glimpse of jet-black hair that had to be dyed, done up in a frizz of curls on top of her head. “So you did decide to come and visit me. How nice. If you’ll wait just a moment, my dear, for me to find my naughty pussy, I’ll take you inside for a nice cup of tea. Or should we have elderberry wine, as this is such a special occasion?”

“Oh, but it’s so late … And really, I was just out for a walk …” Belatedly I realized the house peering out at us from between the trees was Tall Chimneys. Once the residence of Hector Rigglesworth and now home to Miss
Ione Tunbridge. “I’ll come and have tea with you another time,” I promised as she bent down to pick up the cat, who had been about to leap once again over the hedge.

“But I want you to come in now.” I could hear the pout in her voice and there were no two ways about it—I
was
dying to see inside the house that figured so prominently in local legend. “Don’t disappoint me, Mrs. Haskell”—she was already heading back to the gate—“I don’t like it when I don’t get my way.” Her chuckle happened to coincide with a shiver of wind that made its way down my back. “We were always fated to meet. I’ve known that ever since I watched you going into the church on your wedding day. You looked so frightened and I wept for you, my dear.”

“That was only because I was late for the ceremony,” I said just as I had that morning when Vanessa and I had met the Lady in Black at St. Anselm’s.