No Mark Upon Her Read Free

river view . But then the market had dived, and now
he was overextended and couldn’t get the damned thing off the ground.
    He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and
checked it once more, just in case he’d missed a call, but there was no message
light. His irritation inched over into vague worry. Stubborn Becca might be, but
they’d managed to keep up an odd sort of friendship after the divorce, and if
nothing else, he’d expected her to ring him to tell him to mind his own
business.
    Maybe he had been out of line, telling her off
about the rowing. But he couldn’t believe she really meant to put her career as
a detective chief inspector in jeopardy for a pipe dream of an Olympic gold
medal that any sane person would have given up years ago. He’d felt the siren
call of rowing, too, and God knew he’d been competitive, but at some point you
realized you had to let it go and get on with real life. As he had.
    With a sudden and uncomfortable twinge, he wondered
if he’d have let it go so easily if he’d been as good as she was. And just how
successful had he been at real life? He pushed that nagging little thought
aside. Things would get better; they always did.
    Perhaps he should rethink what he’d said to Becca.
But first, Mr. Craig.
    A ngus
Craig, however, failed to materialize.
    Freddie had leapt from the Audi, popping open his
umbrella with the speed of a conjurer, then squelched across the car park to the
haven of Leander’s lobby. Lily, the duty manager, had brought him a towel from
the crew quarters, then seated him at his favorite table in the window of the
first-floor dining room.
    “The crew won’t be going out this morning,” he
said, looking out at the curtains of rain sweeping across the river. This was
rough weather, even for Leander’s crew, who prided themselves on their
fortitude—although anyone who had rowed in an Oxford or Cambridge Blue Boat
could tell them a thing or two about weather . . . and fortitude.
    Freddie’s boat had almost been swamped one year in
the Boat Race, in conditions like this. An unpleasant experience, to say the
least, and a dangerous one.
    “You’ve got someone joining you?” asked Lily as she
poured him coffee.
    “Yes.” Freddie glanced at his watch again. “But
he’s late.”
    “Some of the staff haven’t made it in,” said Lily.
“Chef says there’s a pileup on the Marlow Road.”
    “That probably explains it.” Freddie summoned a
smile for her. She was a pretty girl, neat in her Leander uniform of navy skirt
and pale pink shirt, her honey-brown hair pulled back in a knot. A few years
earlier he’d have fancied her, but he’d learned from his mistakes since then.
Now he was wiser and wearier. “Thanks, Lily. I’ll give him a bit longer before I
order.”
    She left him, and he sipped his coffee, idly
watching the few other diners. This early in the week and this time of year, he
doubted there were many overnight guests in the club’s dozen rooms, and the
weather had probably discouraged most of the local members who normally came to
the club for breakfast. The food was exceptionally good and surprisingly
reasonably priced.
    The chef would have his hands full, regardless of
the slow custom in the dining room. He was also responsible for feeding the
voracious appetites of the young crew, who ate in their own quarters. Rowers
were always starving, hunger as ingrained as breathing.
    At half past eight, well into his second cup of
coffee and beginning to feel desperate for a smoke, Freddie rang Angus Craig’s
number and got voice mail.
    At a quarter to nine, he ordered his usual
breakfast of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, but found he’d lost his
appetite. Pushing the eggs aside and buttering toast instead, he realized the
rain had eased. He could see across the river now, although the watery gray
vista of shops and rooftops on the opposite bank might as well have been Venice.
But perhaps the traffic was moving again. He’d give Craig