Last to Leave Read Free Page B

Garden. A cherry tree, it had gone wildly leggy, the productive part of it isolated aloft like a ship’s crow’s-nest. Lower, it could have had nets thrown over in the fruiting season, but skied up there on its pine-straight trunk it was only a drop-in for scavenging blackbirds and pigeons. Whenever she thought of the pub, even before the casky beeriness of its smell and the dim, smoky interior swam into her mind, she remembered those two overgrown trees.
    For all its unpretentiousness, or perhaps because of it, she was fond of the place. This was where she’d stayed weekends in her late teens when Michael, very much the youngest of the three Dellar brothers, used to steal away from the manor house to meet her. She was supposedly in college and, skint as students always are, they could afford no plushier venue for their secret meetings.
    The then landlord had long departed, replaced by a disabled ex-midshipman from the Royal Navy, whose name remained over the door while the main work fell to Duncan and Lily Crick, his brawny son and motherly young daughter. For two decades now Kate and Michael had established the habit of dropping in, once she’d become an almost-accepted member of the Dellars’ extended family.
    The Cricks made her warmly welcome. They had woken to see the fire reflected in the sky. It was only half a mile from Larchmoor Place if you went straight through the
woods, although three miles round by road. Duncan had rung the house, found the line down and then contacted the local police for information.
    With surprising tact they refrained from questions. Lily showed Kate to a comfortable room under the eaves, bringing up a tray of cold cuts and salad with a half bottle of good Merlot. She declined the food, poured a glass of wine, showered to get the stench of smoke off her body and hair, then climbed into bed wearing a kindly-lent outsize nightdress.
    Determined to sleep, she found it impossible. Against her will, incidents of the past day ran through her mind time and again, as if in a loop of film. She was forced to re-live all that had happened since her taxi drew into sight of the house – her husband’s home until the day they’d eloped together.
    She’d come a long way since then and considered herself a pragmatist. She knew that in his family’s eyes she remained little more than an outsider, valued only for having provided a brace of junior Dellars. But, released from close socializing since being widowed, she felt that she could withstand any disdain the family chose to display towards her. Or had done, until this moment.
    Loyalty to Michael’s ghost had made her accept old Carlton’s eightieth birthday invitation, although she hadn’t looked forward with any pleasure to the family gathering. She knew Eddie had felt much the same. About Jess – always the rebel – she wasn’t sure, and she’d been uneasy on seeing her daughter across the drawing-room, partly because of the circumstances of their last meeting.
    That had been when the girl told her she intended living openly with Charles Stone. Kate knew him only by reputation, a wealthy married man who had made a name in the City. Despite her determined policy of non-interference, she’d had to speak out against him.
    â€˜It’s what we both want,’ had been Jessica’s excuse.

    â€˜That isn’t reason enough, Jess. Marriage means something. He has a duty to his wife. Have you thought what you’d be doing to her? And the monster you’d be making of him? How could you ever trust him yourself, if he could walk out on the woman he’d solemnly promised to love and protect for life?’
    â€˜Mother, you should just hear yourself!’ she jeered. ‘I wish, I really, really wish I’d a tape recorder for this moment. You sound like something out of the ark.’
    â€˜Because I’m looking straight at what you’re thinking of doing? Be