Dangerous Deception
Read Dangerous Deception Online
Authors: Anthea Fraser
Contents
Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House
The Rona Parish Mysteries
(in order of appearance)
BROUGHT TO BOOK
JIGSAW
PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN
A FAMILY CONCERN
ROGUE IN PORCELAIN
NEXT DOOR TO MURDER
UNFINISHED PORTRAIT
A QUESTION OF IDENTITY
JUSTICE POSTPONED
PAST SHADOWS
FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS
THICKER THAN WATER
SHIFTING SANDS
THE UNBURIED PAST
A TANGLED THREAD
Anthea Fraser
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First published in Great Britain 1998 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA
First published in the USA 1998 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of
110 East 59
th
Street, 22
nd
Fl., New York, NY 10022
This eBook first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Ltd.
Copyright © 1998 by Anthea Fraser.
The right of Anthea Fraser to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Fraser, Anthea
Dangerous deception
1. Art thefts â Fiction
2. Thrillers
I. Title
823.9'14 [F]
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-5318-9 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-727-1 (ePUB)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk
Stirlingshire, Scotland
âNow spurs the lated traveller apace
To gain the timely inn;'
Shakespeare:
Macbeth
I HAVE often marvelled that so small a thing as a bee was responsible for everything that happened.
But as I was approaching the M4/M5 junction, where I'd planned to turn off for my proposed stay in Somerset, a large bumble flew through the open car window and started circling round my head. By the time I'd directed it outside again, I realised to my frustration that the junction was past and I was heading for Wales.
Resignedly I surveyed the options open to me; either I could turn off on the next A road and join the M5 further south, or I could totally revise my plans, stay on the M4 and see where it led me.
It made little difference; I'd not booked in anywhere and no one was expecting me. In fact, I hadn't wanted to come away at all, and it was only at my uncle's insistence that I'd finally set out.
I decided flippantly that if the registration of the next car I passed contained the letter S, I'd take the A road; if not, I'd continue the way I was going.
It didn't. Abandoning Somerset without a second thought, I headed into Wales.
This would be my first visit, though Uncle and Philip had spent a holiday there some years ago. I remembered them talking about the peace and beauty of the area; it might be worth trying to track down where they'd stayed â a country hotel, up some valley beyond Cardiff.
Glad to have a firm destination in mind, I pulled in to the next service station and extracted my road atlas from the boot. With luck, one of the place names in the vicinity might ring a bell.
I found it almost at once: Dryffyd.
You take the Dryffyd road just past Cardiff
, Uncle had told my parents. I remembered it because it rhymed with âtriffid', and I'd been reading John Wyndham's book at the time.
I closed the atlas with a satisfied little pat, tossed it on to the back seat, and started off again. No warning bells rang in my head. All I remember thinking was that Uncle would be surprised when he received my postcard.
Two hours later, it was with considerable relief that I saw the sign âPlas Dinas Hotel' and turned off the long, dusty valley road. This was the first hotel I'd come to, and whether or not it was the one I was looking for, I was more than ready for a break from my brooding.
For I'd been thinking, almost all the way, about Philip, and the main point of driving across the breadth of England and over the Welsh border had been to forget the whole, miserable business. It wasn't even, I told myself impatiently as I got out of the car, as if I had loved him.
The early September sun burned down, igniting the stone walls into a dazzling whiteness that hurt the eyes. The front door stood open, and I went thankfully inside.
It was dim and cool after the glare outdoors but, as my eyes accustomed themselves, I found myself in a pleasant foyer with a bar in one corner and a staircase rising from the centre. Somewhere out of sight an electric fan whirred busily, stirring the lazy air into a welcome draught.
“Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you?”
A girl detached herself from the shadows at the back of the hall.
Hot and thirsty, I decided to satisfy immediate needs before inquiring about accommodation. “I'd love some tea, if that's possible.”
“Of course; will you have it in the garden? There are umbrellasâ”
I shook my head. “No thanks, I've had enough sun for the moment.”
“I'll bring it to the lounge, then.” She nodded towards the room on the left of the hall.
“Thank you. And is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
“The cloakrooms are down that passage by the stairs.”
“Bronwen!” A head appeared between some double doors behind her. “What did you do with the pile of clean napkins, then?”
I pushed open the cloakroom door and it swung to behind me, shutting off the sound of their lilting voices. It was a relief to wash away some of the strain of the journey. I splashed cold water on my face and patted it dry on the soft towel. No need, here, for make-up â a touch of lipstick was all that was called for. Not for the first time, I thanked Providence for the blessing of soot-black brows and lashes despite my ash-blonde hair. All that needed camouflage were the shadows under my eyes, and I told myself firmly that ten days of rest and country air would do more for them than all the beauty creams in the world.
The room indicated as the lounge was small and cheerful, its paned windows open to any available breeze, though there was no one here to take advantage of it. A copper jug full of poppies stood on the hearth, their glowing colours vivid against the grey stone, and above the fireplace hung a large watercolour â a peaceful scene of hills and valleys. Local, no doubt, I thought, admiring the sweep of cloud-filled sky.
I settled myself in a chair, grateful for the comfort of it after hours of jolting about in the car. I was more tired than I'd realised, and my half-formed decision crystallised. It was pointless to go any farther; even if this wasn't the right hotel â and there was no way of knowing â it was a pleasant, friendly little place, and I was already beginning to unwind. The homely atmosphere would surely help me snap out of my depression.
Bronwen came in with the tray and I said impulsively, “Could you put me up for a while? I'm hoping to spendâ”
My voice tailed off as her face clouded. “Oh, there's sorry I am, miss, but we've no vacancies. Only six rooms we have, and all of them taken.”
“Oh.” Having made my decision, I was acutely disappointed. “Well, it can't be helped. I was trying to find an hotel where my uncle stayed, but I've had more than enough driving for today.”
“There's the Carreg Coed, just up the road. It's bigger than we are, they might have room.”
I hesitated. I'd have to find somewhere for the night, and this could as easily be the hotel I was looking for. “Is it far?”
“Not above five miles. Shall I ring and see if they've any vacancies?”
“That would be a help; thanks.”
As she went out, I turned with belated misgivings to the table in front of me. I'd expected a pot of tea with perhaps some biscuits, but here were warm Welsh cakes with unsalted butter, home-made jam, and slices of crusty currant bread. Out of the habit of enjoying food, I embarked on it half-heartedly, and was surprised to find how quickly I finished it.
I poured a second cup of tea, deliberately postponing my return to the hot car. Well, Uncle Matt, I thought, I've done what you asked. Now what?
“You should get away for a while, Clare,” he had said, frowning worriedly at me. “All this business has taken a lot out of you.”
“I'm all right,” I'd replied a little waspishly. “Anyway, all my friends have had their holidays, and it's not much fun going alone.”
“I'd come with you myself, but unfortunately I can't get away at the moment.”
Which was as well, I'd reflected, because if he had, far from forgetting the matter, it would have totally enveloped me. For Matthew was himself at the heart of it â he and Philip.
I took a quick sip of tea. Philip again. I couldn't get him out of my head today â probably because for the first time I'd had no work to occupy me.
Slowly I replaced the cup. A little therapy seemed called for; if I could steel myself to go back to the beginning, perhaps I'd see everything in perspective and, firmly ruling a line under the past, could forget it and get on with my life.
So, as âthe beginning' stretched back as far as I could remember, I let my mind drift to what, in memory, were the perpetually sunny days of childhood, the picnics, the treats and the holidays. And Matthew had always been a part of them.
From the start there was a special relationship between us, since in addition to being my mother's twin he was also my god-father. And though he'd had plenty of friends, he seemed to enjoy coming to our house, where he'd submit to joining in my games and reading me stories. In short, he was like a second father to me.
Then, just after my fifth birthday and when he was in his late thirties, he married a widow six years older than himself, with a twelve-year-old son. Shock had reverberated through the family.
“He could have had anyone!” I heard my mother exclaim hysterically, when she thought I was in bed. “What is he thinking of, saddling himself not only with that pasty-faced woman but her child as well?”
“It's called love, darling,” my father had replied mildly.
I remembered standing on the stairs in my nightdress, one bare foot on top of the other as my world, rocked about me. For how could Uncle love anyone but us?
As it happened, Aunt Margot won us over at once. She was a gentle, sweet-faced woman, and since she clearly adored Matthew, she was soon welcomed into the family.
Her son, at least in my eyes, was a different matter; I bitterly resented having to share my uncle's affection with another child, the more so since Philip himself appeared to reject it.