BLINDFOLD (21 page)

It didn't seem to have the desired effect. Rachel burst into tears. `I never meant to frighten her,' a new voice protested. `I thought it was you in there, Dad, working on the lorry like you was this morning.'

Gideon was coping with shallow breaths now. He gritted his teeth and sat up. The faces above him swam about in an annoying fashion until he blinked and they settled again.

Quentin was finding release for his fright in berating his unhappy offspring, who had begun to whine and deny all responsibility. Rachel was sniffing quietly.

`Look, it was a misunderstanding,' Gideon said soothingly. Back on his feet, he felt battered and bruised but didn't think there were any broken bones. It was much like falling off the bike, really, and he'd done that a few times, heaven knew.

`See? It was a misunderstanding,' Quentin's son declared sulkily. `I told you!'

`Why don't you do something useful?' his father asked. `Go and catch the horse.'

`Er ... No offence meant but if you don't mind, I'd rather do that myself,' Gideon suggested. `I want to make sure she doesn't associate me with the fright she's had.'

A quarter of an hour later, having politely refused all anxious offers of hospitality, Gideon eased himself gingerly into the passenger seat of the Mini, wincing a little as his back came into contact with the seat.

Rachel was watching him closely. `Are you sure you're all right?' she asked for the umpteenth time.

`It's nothing that a good hot bath and a stiff drink won't put right,' he reassured her, wishing he could believe it himself. He'd a notion he was in for an exceedingly uncomfortable night and, judging by her expression, his optimism didn't fool Rachel either.

She was very quiet on the return journey, in spite of Gideon's assurances that incidents like the one she had witnessed were very much the exception rather than the rule. He could see she'd convinced herself that his line of work was second only to Mafia bodyguard in its potential for serious risk. He gave up, attempting instead to divert her thoughts to other matters.

They arrived back at the Gatehouse with Rachel having been coaxed into a marginally less anxious state of mind, which good work was abruptly overturned by the discovery of a note from Duke pinned to the front door.

Gideon cursed under his breath as he detached the slip of paper and read the angular, childish writing. It was written on a small sheet of lined paper that had obviously been torn from a spiralbound notepad. Dated at the top of the sheet with yesterday's date, the next few lines consisted of precise times listed on the left-hand side, coupled with observations on the right.

08.45 - Rachel leaves in Mini.

09.15 - Gideon leaves the house on foot going to the Priory.

14.35 - Gideon and Pippa drive past in Volkswagen heading for main road.

17.05 - Rachel back. Sits in Mini. (Scared to go in?) 18.17 - Gideon back.

And so it went on, up to and including the hour and minute that they had left the house that morning.

Underneath this meticulous list he had written: Just wanted you to know I was still around.

D. S.

Beside him, Gideon could feel Rachel beginning to tremble. He quickly unlocked the front door and, putting his arm round her shoulders, marched her firmly indoors.

`No, don't look back! It's what he wants, if he's still there. Don't give him the satisfaction.' He pushed the door shut with his foot and turned Rachel to face him. Her dark eyes looked

helplessly up at him, and the terror in them moved Gideon to uncharacteristic anger.

`He won't hurt you, you know. I won't let him get to you.' Rachel scanned his face, desperately seeking reassurance. Whatever she saw there obviously didn't do the trick, for her eyes became misty with tears.

`I know you'll do everything you can, but what if he's got a gun? If he's over there in the wood, we'd never even see him . . .' She gulped. `I don't want you to get hurt on my account.'

Her words jolted Gideon. He hadn't considered the possibility of a gun.

`Has he had guns before?'

`Once.' Rachel nodded. `He brought one back from the pub one night and teased me with it but I don't know if it was loaded. It didn't matter, he knew I was terrified.'

Gideon put his undamaged arni round her and pulled her gently towards him, kissing the top of her head. `Poor lamb,' he murmured softly. `When they locked him up, they should've thrown away the key.'

Rachel leaned against him, clinging like a child and bringing Gideon's bruises sharply to his attention.

`I used to hope he'd die in prison,' she said in a voice that was perilously close to breaking. `You hear of it, don't you? People being found dead; attacked by the other prisoners. Five years seemed such a long time. I thought anything might happen. I suppose I just didn't want to face the fact that one day he'd be free again.

`Shhh,' Gideon said, sensing her rising panic. `Let's get something to drink, shall we? I know I could do with it. Coffee would be good.'

She nodded, drawing away from him reluctantly and heading for the kitchen. The sudden ringing of the telephone stopped her in her tracks and she looked sharply at it, and then back at Gideon. `I'll get it,' he said, walking forward. `You get the coffee.'

He lifted the receiver, warily.

'Gideon. Hi!' the voice on the other end of the line greeted him cheerfully, and he breathed a small sigh of relief, in spite of himself. He was tired and aching and not over anxious for any more tussles that day, be they physical or verbal.

'Giles,' he said gratefully. `What can I do for you?'

`Pippa and I are having a small dinner party this evening,' Giles announced. `And we wondered if you and Rachel would like to come along?'

`How small?' Gideon asked doubtfully, feeling that Rachel probably wasn't in the best of moods for socialising, and that after the effects of several hours' stiffening on wrenched muscles and joints, he mightn't be either.

`Well, just us four, actually,' Giles admitted. `But I thought "dinner party" sounded more impressive.'

Gideon laughed. `Well, okay, thanks. As long as we're not expected to wear evening dress,' he added, reflecting that on balance it would be for the best if Rachel were out of the house that evening.

Giles was pleased. `Great! I've got a new case of wine I want your opinion on. Just bought it at an auction.'

`You mean, you want to use me as an excuse to open a bottle of it.'

`Well, wine is meant to be shared and it's wasted on Pippa. She can't tell a five-hundred-pound bottle from supermarket plonk. "As long as it's fruity," she says. I ask you! What did they teach her at that catering school?'

`Goodness knows,' Gideon said, not at all sure he could do any better than Giles' sister in the matter of wine-tasting.

When Giles rang off, Gideon telephoned the local police, who were inclined to take the business of the note with its record of observations seriously, and promised to send someone round right away.

They were as good as their word. Barely had Gideon reported the gist of the two conversations to Rachel as she made coffee on the Aga than somebody knocked heavily on the front door.

Rachel jumped visibly, spilling hot milk on to the hotplate, where it smoked and burned.

`That'll be the police, I expect,' Gideon said, hoping it was. The two officers at the door, Constables Hillcott and Roach, were the two who'd come when Gideon had reported his abduction, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

He showed them into the sitting room, where they perched awkwardly on the edges of the soft leather armchairs, as if to relax would somehow undermine their authority. Gideon sank back on to the sofa with an inner smile. Body language spoke volumes, whatever the species.

Rachel, who made extra cups of coffee and handed them out, seemed a little ill-at-ease around them but Gideon noticed wryly that they unbent noticeably in the presence of a pretty girl and became far more eager to please.

They listened to Gideon's report of Duke Shelley's activities, read and took charge of the note, and told Rachel that everyone at the station had been made aware of her case and that they were confident Duke would soon be apprehended.

Rachel didn't appear much comforted.

As Gideon showed the officers out, one of them stopped on the doorstep.

`We heard from the lads at Chilminster that they had a visit from you too, on another matter. Busy sort of chap, aren't you? If you go on like this you'll have to have a task force assigned 'specially to you!' He leaned closer to Gideon. `I think perhaps you like the attention, that's what I think.'

Gideon forced himself not to recoil from the waft of smoky breath that accompanied the remark. He leaned even closer. `You know what? As long as you do your job, I don't give a damn what you think.'

Unable to come up with a suitable reply, the constable gave him a look heavy with dislike, turned on his heel and followed his colleague to the car.

NINE

THE EVENING WENT WELL, all things considered. The grey skies had cleared after dusk and it was a cold, frosty night. Gideon's first impulse was to walk up to the Priory but thoughts of Duke Shelley lurking menacingly in the undergrowth made him decide, reluctantly, that the car was a safer option. He hated to let the man dictate his actions - it was like acknowledging a defeat, however small - but there was another person in the equation and in his present, less than athletic, state he couldn't guarantee Rachel protection. Besides, he added to himself, there was the possibility of a gun to consider. Much better to concede the skirmish for the sake of the war.

They travelled the few hundred yards to the Priory with Gideon at the wheel of Rachel's Mini, in spite of her protesting that she ought to drive.

`Well, what would you do if Duke jumped out in front of us?' Gideon quizzed her.

`I think I'd run him down,' she said darkly.

Gideon gave her a hard look and wasn't at all sure she was

joking. `My point exactly,' he said, twitching the keys out of her hand. `I'll drive.'

Pippa and Giles were in high spirits. Mrs Morecambe had been given the evening off and Pippa was revelling in having the kitchen to herself. Or at least, she would have been, she informed Gideon and Rachel on their arrival, if she could only get Giles out from under her feet.

`Now you've come,' she said thankfully to Gideon, `you can go off together and admire cases of dusty old bottles down in the cellar with the spiders, while Rachel and I put the finishing touches to the meal. I'll apologise in advance for the red wine sauce. It's had to be white wine as that's all I could find in the larder and Giles wouldn't let me have anything from his precious store.'

`For cooking?' her brother exclaimed, scandalised. `I should think not! You don't know what you're asking. Come on, Gideon. Let's leave these Philistines to their crude arts and occupy our minds with higher things!'

He headed for the door, leaving Gideon to shrug helplessly and follow, as Pippa spluttered with indignation behind him.

`I take it you won't be interested in the product of these crude arts,' she called after them.

Giles' voice floated back accompanied by laughter. `Oh, I expect we'll force ourselves.'

Giles Barrington-Carr's wine cellar was deep in the bowels of the old Priory and quite as dusty and spidery as Pippa had suggested. Remembering the neat, almost surgical cleanliness of Rosetti's cellar, Gideon was struck by the contrast. Now he came to think of it though, there had been an armchair and a filing cabinet in the corner of Rosetti's cellar, and his wife said he spent a lot of time down there. Giles' cellar definitely didn't lend itself to thoughts of relaxing in armchairs.

He proudly displayed for Gideon's benefit several dozen bottles adorned with the name of some revered French chateau that he'd frankly never heard of, and promised they'd sample the contents of one of them with their meal.

`Even the Philistines?'

`Well, I suppose they could have a little, glass,' Giles conceded. `How do you know, when you pay thousands for a case of wine, that it's any good?' Gideon asked, his mind, as so often, running on unconventional lines. `Or even,' he said, going a step further, `that there's any wine in them at all? It might be Ribena or something.'

Giles looked askance. `They do come with provenance.'

`Yes, but who's to say the wine is really as good as it's reputed to be? It's a bit like abstract art. It's given so much hype by the promoters that everyone's afraid to admit they don't know what the hell it is, and that it's hideous anyway.'

`But you'd know when you tried it, wouldn't you?' Giles pointed out. `The wine, I mean.'

`Yes, but who's to say that your taste is the same as Joe Bloggs' in the next chateau?' Gideon persisted. `One man's vinegar might be another man's nectar.'

Giles looked at him suspiciously. `You're arguing for the sake of it, aren't you, you bugger? Just trying to wind me up!'

`It's good sport,' Gideon agreed. `But seriously, I've had homemade wine produced in a year or so on somebody's kitchen table that was as good as anything I've had with a fancy name on it, that's spent decades maturing in oak vats or whatever you call them.'

Giles looked disgusted. `You're as much a Philistine as my sister. I'm obviously wasting my time trying to educate you.'

`Think of it as a challenge,' Gideon said helpfully, wishing at the same time that Giles' cellar actually did have an armchair. His sore muscles were aching. `Actually, I saw another wine cellar yesterday, not as venerable as this one, perhaps, but it was a working one with all the gubbins for production of the noble juice.'

`Yes, Pippa told me. At the vet's place, wasn't it? Does he have his own vines, or does he use concentrate?'

,I don't honestly know. I shouldn't have thought he had time

for vines but I suppose his wife might have, she seemed the efficient sort.'

`And pretty, according to my sister,' Giles remarked with a sidelong look.

`And taken,' Gideon said firmly.

`Yeah, shame. Anyway, I'm going to try making wine myself in the old pantry. I might even set up a vineyard.'