Danger Zone (26 page)

Karen didn’t answer.

Linda’s eyes met Karen’s in the mirror. “I perceive that I’m not amusing you.”

“I’m sorry, Lin. It’s just... it’s been three weeks.”

“If you say that once more, I’m going to make you stand in a corner and face the wall. You keep announcing ‘It’s been three weeks’ like the town crier giving the time. Along with ‘I should go home’ and ‘I have to get a job.’ It’s boring, darling.”

“I’m worried.”

“I know, and I’m as concerned as you are. But you know very well that you’re trapped here as long as Colter is on this mission. If you tried to leave that person watching this house would have something to say about it, and we don’t want to arouse his interest, do we? So you might as well relax and wait it out and try to enjoy yourself in the meantime.”

“How can I enjoy myself when Colter is... I don’t know what he is, or where.”

“And that’s exactly my point. Why fret about something over which you have no control?” Linda tugged at the bodice of her strapless gown. “This thing is killing me already; I’ll never last the evening. Oh well, no matter, maybe it’ll give me an excuse to bow out early. I’ll say my underwire is coming undone.” She chuckled, turning her head to admire an earring.

“I keep thinking every day that something will happen soon,” Karen said unhappily.

Linda shrugged. “Springing people out of jail takes time. He can’t just march up to the gates and say, ‘Release your prisoner immediately; Karen is waiting for me.’” She went to the window and peered out across the lawn. “Maybe we should ask our friend the spy to the party.”

“What if something’s gone wrong?” Karen asked, still pursuing the same line of conversation.

“Then our watchdog friend wouldn’t still be with us,” Linda replied logically. “He’s waiting too, just like we are. Right?”

“Right,” Karen agreed resignedly.

“So cheer up and help me get through this. It’s time we went downstairs and faced the gathering of ghouls Margaret has assembled. Wait until you meet Peter Mainwaring.”

“What’s his story?” Karen asked, following Linda out of the bedroom and into the hall.

“He has none. That’s why I can’t wait for you to meet him. The man does nothing but mumble and stare into his sherry glass like a zombie. Which he could easily be mistaken for, incidentally, except for the rise and fall of his chest, indicating breathing and forcing me to conclude that he is, in fact, alive.”

“I suppose Margaret has seated you next to him.”

“No, darling, she’s seated
you
next to him,” Linda informed her, with obvious enjoyment. “Let it be a challenge to you. I have heard that he can occasionally be drawn out on the subject of horses, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it.” They walked down the staircase and heard the sound of chatter floating toward them from the salon on the first floor.

“Linda, I know nothing about horses.”

“That should make you a good match for him since he knows nothing at all.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, I assure you, he is. This is really a choice group, a definite coup for Margaret, who has in her time been known to orchestrate the most deadly assemblies since the Montague boys attended the Capulet ball.”

“Nobody interesting will be here?”

“Interesting? Well, George Mortimer’s mother shot his father about ten years ago, if you call that interesting. Of course, no one discusses such an unfortunate incident—very bad form, you understand.”

“Is that really true?” Karen asked, momentarily nonplussed.

“Certainly. There’s also the matter of Lucy Forrester’s insane husband, but again, don’t bring it up over the savory.”

“‘Insane husband’?” Karen said faintly. They had paused in the front hall and were conversing in hushed tones.

“Crackers, darling, absolutely mad as a hatter. Locked up in one of those expensive loony bins lined with cotton wool and hidden behind a stand of Lombardy poplars. I hear he still thinks it’s World War II, and every time a fire siren goes off he crawls under the bed to hide during the air raid.”

Karen bit her lip.

“Oh, you may well laugh at our little eccentricities. If you think that’s funny, I won’t tell you about Margaret’s brother, the painter, who moved to Paris when he was twenty and has been painting the Louvre ever since.”

“His painting is in the Louvre?”

“No, dear, just what I said. He’s been painting the exterior of it, great beastly canvases filled with acrylic gobs that no one can stand to look at, much less buy.”

“But how does he live?”

“On his trust fund, of course—how does anyone live? Just don’t mention him to Margaret. He’s a sore spot in a family that has quite a few of them, take my word for it. Her parents, who comprise another subject I won’t get into, managed to raise the most amazing goblin brood you ever saw in your life. Margaret is a brick by comparison with the rest of them. Stick to the weather and the food and the shocking conditions of our British rail system. That should exhaust her mentally in no time and let you off the hook, as you Americans say.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Karen murmured.

“Of course you are. If I can stand it so can you. They all look harmless; you’d never guess what was going on if you judged by appearances. Just make polite chat, like the well bred young lady you are, and they’ll all be wild for you.” She tugged on Karen’s hand and managed to hustle her along the hall.

Karen had to agree that Linda’s assessment of the situation was correct. Margaret’s guests were perfectly behaved and said the right things, and if Karen hadn’t heard the gossip in advance she never would have guessed the truth. Peter Mainwaring
was
a bore, but all she had to do was nod enthusiastically when he made an infrequent comment in an accent she could barely decipher and he seemed satisfied. Karen knew so little about British politics, “the Royals,” or the races, which were the main topics of conversation, that she was forced into the role of agreeable dummy, seconding everything anyone said. Her jaw ached from smiling. She was taking a break, standing by the ormolu clock in the front hall while the after dinner drinks were served, when Linda found her.

“Ah-ha,” Linda said. “Just as I suspected. You managed to tear yourself away from Peter, you clever girl.”

“Please don’t make me go back in there yet. I’m ready to do a tap dance down the center of the table to give them something new to talk about.”

“I take it you’ve already covered the trompe l’oeil Zuber wallpaper and the Turkish carpet,” Linda said sarcastically.

“I can give you chapter and verse on the wallpaper. It depicts India during the sixth century, was made from the original blocks cut during the early nineteen hundreds, and was hidden in a cave during the blitz, which explains the moss stains on the seams.”

“My, you have been listening. Margaret is very proud of that paper, outbid a couple of old crones from the historical society to get it, though I can’t think why. It seems a moldy depiction of a child’s nightmare to me. Even the bananas look wrong, like yellow balloons.”

“I’ll see it in my dreams tonight,” Karen sighed.

“Psst, they’ve found us,” Linda hissed dramatically as Margaret, wearing her nailed on smile, appeared in the doorway of the dining room and gestured for them to join her.

They went back in to the party. Karen accepted a glass of sherry, taking a sip while Linda, wearing a numbed expression, listened to a Mrs. Merriwether tell her about her daughter’s special school. Karen was certain that it was a wonderful school, perfectly suited to the child’s exceptional abilities, but didn’t stay to hear about it. She wandered off to a corner to occupy herself by licking the top layer off a selection of petits fours. There she was joined by George Mortimer, who proceeded to inform her of the evils of refined sugar while she was wolfing down the fondant icing. She put the last confection on a tray and smiled at him weakly.

“Excuse me, I have to speak to Linda,” Karen said evenly. George nodded and turned to his companion to continue his lecture.

Karen went to her friend’s side and took her arm.

“May I see you for a moment?” she said between her teeth.

Linda excused herself from Mrs. Merriwether.

“The only school that dreadful brat should go to is a Borstal,” Linda observed darkly, referring to her recent conversation.

“Linda, I have to get out of here,” Karen said. “Tell them I went upstairs with a headache, tell them I died, anything.”

“You’re not going to leave me alone with this crew,” Linda said, outraged. “And to think what I’ve done for you.”

“Linda, please,” Karen insisted, near tears. “I can’t even concentrate on what they’re saying.”

“Nobody could concentrate on what these people are saying,” Linda observed crossly.

“I’m going,” Karen said.

“I don’t think so,” Linda said softly, looking over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you’ll want to leave just yet,” Linda went on, gesturing toward the door.

Karen turned, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Standing just inside the sliding cherry panels to the hall was Colter.

Chapter 9

Conversation in the room began to die out as more of the diners caught sight of the apparition in the doorway. Finally a stunned silence fell as Colter’s eyes bypassed the others and settled on Karen, who stood transfixed, relief and joy welling up within her.

Colter was wearing a navy double-breasted pea jacket, open down the front, with the collar turned up to his chin. Under it was a royal blue Shaker sweater, paired with tight faded jeans and well worn boots. There was a patch of gauze on his forehead, tied in place by a narrow strip of cloth, and his left hand was bandaged, wrapped in tape to his wrist. The formally attired partygoers stared at him with a mixture of fascination and disdain, but he seemed unaware of them, his attention fixed on the woman he had come to see.

“I’m sorry, madam, I tried to stop him, but he said he knew Miss Linda...” Field was saying nervously in the background to Margaret, who stood by, unsure what to do. The intruder certainly looked questionable, but if she threw him out she risked breaking the cardinal rule of British etiquette: “Thou shalt not make a nasty fuss in front of thy guests.”

Suddenly, as if on cue, Colter opened his arms, and Karen ran into them.

He embraced her so tightly that he lifted her off her feet, swinging her in an arc. The diners looked on in shock, unable to believe what they were seeing.

Margaret was appalled. Linda’s American friend had really been less trouble than she’d first anticipated, but this was too much. Throwing herself at this person who’d barged into a private home and a private party, dressed like some navvy from the docks... It was unforgivable. She glanced around worriedly at her company, but they were too fascinated with the scene unfolding before them to pay much attention to her discomfiture.

Karen clung to Colter as he set her down and lifted her chin with his good hand.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi, yourself,” Karen replied, half laughing.

“You all right?” he asked, smiling into her eyes.

“I’m wonderful,” she answered. “But what about you?” She reached up to touch the dressing on his head.

“I’m fine.” He smoothed a tendril of hair back from her brow. “Now.”

Karen closed her eyes, willing back the tears. He embraced her again, cradling her against his side. Karen sighed, at peace for the first time since he’d left.

Linda coughed behind them and they both turned to look at her. They had forgotten their audience.

“Hello, Colter,” Linda said archly, nodding to him.

He nodded back, breaking into the grin that made him look like an errant but irresistible teenager. “Thanks for taking care of my girl,” he said to her.

“It was my pleasure,” Linda replied.

Margaret, beginning to recover, inched forward cautiously. Linda stepped in front of her, taking Karen’s arm and leading her a few paces away.

“Get him upstairs to your room immediately,” she said in Karen’s ear.

“But what about the party, your stepmother?”

“I’ll handle Margaret,” Linda said firmly. “Just take him out of here before one of these frustrated matrons attacks him. They haven’t been in the same room with that much vigorous masculinity since the canteens during the war, and in a moment they’re going to stop being stunned and start salivating.”

Karen chuckled. “Linda, you’re awful.”

Linda patted her hair. “Yes, I know, and I find it a full- time occupation. Now go before one of these overstuffed grande dames passes out from the strain.”

Karen glanced around her. “They do look terribly shaken, don’t they?” she said, giggling.

“I’m surprised dear Margaret didn’t lose all those expensive jackets on her teeth.”

“Won’t she tell you to ask Colter to leave?” Karen said with concern.

“She had better not try,” Linda answered grimly. “This is still my house and you two are my guests, and there’s an end to it.”

Karen wasn’t going to argue the point any further. She went to Colter and took his hand.

“Linda has asked us both to stay,” she said evenly, holding his glance with her own. “Do you want me to show you upstairs?”

He nodded, going along with her. They left the dining room together, walking down the hall to the foot of the staircase. Behind them they heard the rustle of clothing and the murmur of subdued voices as the guests emerged from their trance.

“What the hell’s going on?” Colter said to her as soon as they were out of earshot. “Are they calling the bobbies on me, or what?”

She threw her arms around his neck. “You’re spending the night,” she informed him happily.

“With you?” he said warily.

“No, silly, with the Queen Mother. Of course with me.”

“Well, all right,” he responded, bending his head to kiss her.

It was as if he’d never been away. The taste and feel of his mouth was the same and the urgency of his lovemaking remained unchanged. When he pushed her back against the wall and dropped his hands to caress her bare shoulders, Karen pulled away.