Home is Where the Heart Is (18 page)

Rhianna
shrugged. “I’m not the slightest bit interested. Have a heart, Fi! I’m just getting over one broken relationship and - so far as I’m concerned - men are a lost cause…Anyway, whatever would Dave say?”

Fiona
grinned as she thought about her current boyfriend.

“Oh, Dave’s not the jealous type. Besides, he knows we’re solid. Now, let’s have a brain-storming session to see if we can come up with some brilliant ideas for some more workshops.”

*

Letitia Delroy picked up the phone and listened intently as Lawrence told her about his recent trip to the gallery.

“So,
what conclusion did you come to, Laurie?”

“She’ll
do,” he told her. “You’ll like her.”

He
had no intention of telling Letitia of the impact Rhianna had made on him. He had a sudden vision of her slim, well-proportioned figure, hair like spun gold and expressive, deep-blue eyes - like sapphires, he’d decided.

Letitia
let out a sigh of relief. “And what’s this gallery like?”

“I’ve
told you, Tish. It’s in a cottage in the high street – two rooms knocked into one. Quite small, but adequate. Both girls have an eye for display and their website is pretty good too.”

Letitia
smoothed her white hair nervously. “And did you, er, see any sign of the portrait?”

“I’m
afraid not. There were no portraits there at all - just some rather colourful landscapes by a local artist and a few animal sculptures, oh and some superb local photographs that Rhianna had taken of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations.”

“Well,
perhaps Joe sold it. You didn’t ask?”

He
laughed. “No, Tish, I didn’t ask. How could I, without explaining my real purpose for being there? You’ll just have to be patient.”

“Do
you think she’ll come to see me?” Letitia asked now.

“Look, don’t get your hopes up,” he told her. “I’ve sussed things out like you’ve asked me to. Rhianna Delroy is a young woman who knows her own mind. I could tell that from our very brief acquaintance. Other than that, I can’t say. We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

Letitia
sighed. “Well, thank you for everything, Laurie. It would be wonderful if she came.”

“Yes,
I hope she does,” Lawrence told her sincerely. “Look, keep me informed. Let me know what’s happening, won’t you? If she does decide to visit you, then I’ll make a point of being there too. I’d like to see what transpires.”

And he’d like to get to know Rhianna Delroy better. He had had his own reasons for that.

*

Fiona rang Rhianna that evening. “Rhia I’ve looked up the Brookhurst Post Office. It’s all perfectly bona fide. You’ve nothing to worry about in that respect. And, listen, to this. I’ve also had a go at looking up
Delroy
. It seems that your grandfather
was
born in Kent. Reginald Delroy married a Letitia Horton and they had one son, Joseph, who must have been your father.

“Spooky,
isn’t it, to find you’ve got a grandmother after all this time when you thought she was dead – it’s like a voice from the grave! Exciting though!”

That
wasn’t the word Rhianna would have used for it. She felt a little shiver run down her spine. What was she going to do now? She had two options - to ignore the situation or suss it out. If she did nothing it would always be at the back of her mind and, one day, she would wish she’d done something about it.

On
an impulse, she decided to ring Mrs Blackett the following morning. She seemed to be a perfectly normal lady who had been expecting Rhianna’s call.

“I’ll
look forward to seeing you on Thursday,” she told her.

Rhianna could only hope she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

*

It was a slow journey to Brookhurst because several of the roads were poorly signposted. The twisting lanes were so narrow that there was no room to manoeuvre. She was stuck behind a tractor for what seemed like an eternity.

The only reason she could come up with for making this madcap journey was curiosity and an overriding desire to get away for a while and shake off all remaining memories of Marcus.

As Fiona had said, it was time to move on. Rhianna intended to recharge her batteries, and throw herself into the business; there would definitely be no place for men in her life from now on!

A
couple of times she lost her way and had to double back along lanes no wider than tracks. The shadows were lengthening. Just as she was beginning to think she would never find the village, she went through a wooded area and suddenly, over the rise of a hill, she spotted some ragstone houses nestling down below and smoke spiralling into the grey sky. Signs of habitation at last!

A
van suddenly shot out of a side turning and hurtled towards her. She swerved, narrowly avoiding it. Shaken, she saw the sign post read,
Brookhurst
2
miles
. The natives round here aren’t very friendly, she decided. She heaved a sigh of relief when she finally reached Brookhurst. She parked near to the post office and, walking back the short distance rattled the handle. The sign read
OPEN
- but it was shut. She frowned. It was only about four thirty. Now what? A woman crossed the road towards her.

“Is
she closed? That’s odd; I was in there a little while ago. My daughter-in-law works in the shop.”

“I’m
supposed to be staying with Mrs Blackett,” Rhianna told her.

“Oh, yes you’ve come to see Mrs Delroy, haven’t you? Mavis said. I’m Irene Blake, by the way.”

Irene
peered through the post office window. “Oh dear Lord! I think that’s Mavis lying on the floor. Quick! Let’s see if we can get in round the back.”

Filled
with a dreadful premonition, Rhianna followed Irene along a narrow passageway that led to the back of the shop. Her suspicions were confirmed. The gate was hanging off its hinges and the backdoor was open.

A
muffled sound, accompanied by a bumping noise, came from the kitchen. Lizzie was tied to a chair, a scarf bound tightly round her mouth.

“Lizzie.
Oh, my dear girl what have they done to you?”

Rhianna went to the aid of Mavis Blackett who was lying half behind the counter. She bent over her, trying to remember her first aid.

“Mrs
Blackett’s unconscious – think she’s been hit over the head,” she called out and, whipping out her mobile, phoned for the police and an ambulance.

Much
later, after the ambulance had taken Mavis Blackett and Lizzie to the hospital with a policeman and Irene Blake following behind, Rhianna gratefully accepted the cup of tea offered her by the remaining police-woman.

“So
tell me about this white van you saw at the crossroads. Take your time.”

Rhianna
explained all over again what happened.

“I’m
supposed to be staying here tonight,” she said anxiously. “It’s getting a bit late to go home now. Besides, I’ve arranged to see Mrs Delroy. She’s elderly so I can’t expect her to accommodate me.”

“Well,
let’s see if the proprietor of the
White
Unicorn
can put you up.”

As Rhianna followed the policewoman into the bar of the pub, she was uncomfortably aware that all eyes were turned on her as everyone waited to hear what had happened. Fortunately, the policewoman explained briefly adding, “this young lady had arranged to stay with Mrs Blackett but, of course, that’s out of the question now. Is it possible for you to put her up?”

Was
it her imagination or did the proprietor’s expression change when the policewoman mentioned Mrs Delroy?

He
ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Well, I’d best have a word with the missus. We don’t usually have guests during the winter months, but I reckon we could make an exception in the circumstances.”

“Friend
of Mrs Delroy’s, are you Miss?” enquired a portly, red-faced man sitting on a bar stool.

“No,
my parents were. Actually we’ve never met.”

“I
see – well, I expect she’ll be glad of a bit of company. She’s rather housebound these days. Doesn’t get out much at all.” He turned to the police woman. “Wasn’t there an incident up at
Wisteria
Lodge
, last week?”

“There
was a bit of a problem, yes, but I’m not at liberty to divulge any details.”

Rhianna
wondered what exactly she’d got herself into. Brookhurst wasn’t turning out to be quite the idyllic, peaceful spot she’d imagined. She’d stay the one night, visit Mrs Blackett at the hospital and see Letitia Delroy as arranged and then consider going home.

“I
think I’ll pay Mrs Delroy a visit whilst I’m in the area. Want to come with me?” the policewoman asked Rhianna.

“Oh,
I - um - actually, I think it might be best if I left it until tomorrow morning.”

The
policewoman nodded. “Well, we can at least speak with her on the phone.”

“Sorry,
I’m afraid I don’t have her number. She didn’t give it to me - only Mrs Blackett’s.”

She
received some strange glances and supposed it did sound odd.

The
proprietor found the number and everyone listened as the police-woman explained briefly what had happened.

“Now,
I’m coming up to see you in a few minutes, Mrs Delroy. I’ve got a young lady here who’s called Rhianna Soames – says you’re expecting her. You are? That’s fine.” She passed the phone to Rhianna.

“Hello,
Mrs Delroy, it’s Rhianna. I’m absolutely fine, thank you. I’m going to be staying at the
White
Unicorn
. How about I come to see you tomorrow morning around eleven thirty?”

Once
the policewoman had gone, Rhianna found herself the centre of attention. “So tell us your version of events,” the man on the bar stool invited. “It sounded pretty nasty to me. Was she coshed over the ‘ead?”

Rhianna
decided not to go into details. “She did have a head wound, yes. Anyway, she’s in safe hands now and Lizzie Blake has got her mother-in-law with her, so everything’s been taken care of.”

Presently,
when Rhianna moved her car into the pub car park she discovered there was a police cordon outside the post office.

“Crime
scene now,” Ron the proprietor said dourly. “Nothing much happens here and then we get two incidents in the space of a week.”

“We’re not safe in our beds no more,” the man on the bar stool commented cryptically looking up from his beer.

Ron
handed Rhianna a drink. “Here get that down you, lass. You look as if you could do with it. It’s on the house. Unfortunate introduction to your stay in Brookhurst. Hope the experience won’t put you off. Don’t know what the world’s coming to!”

Chapter Two

Ron’s wife, Iris, appeared shortly afterwards and showed Rhianna to her room. It was very basic accommodation but spotlessly clean and besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers, Rhianna reflected. She unpacked her few belongings, had a wash and brush-up and, feeling peckish, went in search of food.

To
her disappointment, all she was offered was a bowl of soup and some sandwiches with a small side salad. It seemed hot meals were off the agenda. After sending a text to Fiona, she decided to have an early night.

She
didn’t expect to sleep and was thankful for the book she’d brought with her, even though it was a murder mystery! She found herself listening to every little sound. Her head was buzzing with the day’s events. Something had made her tell everyone her name was Rhianna
Soames
and she could have sworn there had been one or two looks exchanged. She supposed it had been a mistake to give a false name to the police!

*

In the cold light of day, Rhianna reluctantly got out of bed and, grabbing her dressing-gown and wash-bag, padded along to the bathroom which was adequate but hardly luxurious. She was towelling herself down after her shower when the door handle rattled impatiently. She hurriedly finished off and, scooping up her things, opened the door to practically canon into someone.

The
man standing there - tall, broad-shouldered and naked to the waist - looked vaguely familiar and then their eyes met and she gasped as she met the cool-green gaze of the man from the gallery.

He
raised his eyebrows. “Sorree, I didn’t realise anyone else was staying here.”

“That
makes two of us,” she grunted, wondering if he’d recognised her. His eyes swept over her and she instinctively pulled her robe more closely about her, unable to avoid noticing his firm skin and rippling muscles.

“Haven’t
we met before?” he asked suddenly.

“You
came into my gallery last week,” she told him. It would be senseless to deny it.

“Oh,
of course. Forgive me – but well, what a coincidence!”

“But
was it?” she asked herself, as she hurried back to her room. A slight shiver ran through her. Had he followed her to Brookhurst and if so what could possibly be his motive?

*

Lawrence whistled to himself in the shower. He was naturally sorry about the post office raid but it was amazing to think that, as a result, Rhianna Delroy was now staying under the same roof as him. That had to be providential. He thought of the trim shape revealed by the figure-hugging dressing-gown, remembered the fleeting moment when she had brushed her arm against his. He’d caught a slight waft of some flowery fragrance, felt the softness of her skin.

Whatever
was he thinking of? Women were off the agenda as far as he was concerned. They caused far too many complications and he was certain that this one would be no exception.

*

Rhianna hurriedly got dressed and applied a modicum of make-up. Her mind was on overdrive. This was extremely weird. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the visitor from their gallery had turned up here. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but she was determined to find out.

She
hurried downstairs and hesitated, wondering where breakfast would be served. As she entered the bar, the man she’d just been thinking about looked up, immaculate now in a spotless white shirt and dark jeans, a sweater draped casually round his shoulders. She found it hard to believe that he was already sitting there, halfway through eating a bowl of cereal.

She
sat herself at an adjacent table and studied the breakfast menu Ron bought her.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” her breakfast companion asked conversationally.

She
said the first thing that entered her head. “Oh, it was a favourite haunt of my late father’s. Call it a nostalgia trip, if you like. I’m going to be visiting an old friend of his.”

“Nothing
to do with art then?” he asked casually.

She
shook her head. “Not on this occasion – what about you?”

“Oh,
I’m having a bit of a busman’s holiday. I’ve promised to update Ron’s web-site and I’m also looking at property in the area, with a view to settling here.

“I
lived here a while back for a short time and like the place. It holds a certain attraction for me – rural but not too far from civilisation. Great place for painting too.”

Personally,
Rhianna thought February was a strange time to come and visit, but perhaps he was doing Ron a favour. He picked up his newspaper and that seemed a signal that the conversation was ended. She ate a leisurely breakfast and was pouring a second cup of coffee when he got to his feet.

“We
haven’t introduced ourselves,” he said extending a hand, “which seems odd when we’re sharing a bathroom.”

A
slight colour tinged her cheeks, as she had an image of his naked torso and, she lowered her eyes away from his amused gaze. It was as if he could read her thoughts!

“I’m
Lawrence Lorimer – Laurie to my friends.”

“Well,
I’m sure you know who I am.” She hesitated, not sure whether to introduce herself as
Soames
or
Delroy
. In the end she just said, “I’m Rhianna, but my friends call me Rhia.”

He
gave her a devastating smile. “Please to meet you, Rhia.”

Rhianna bought some flowers at a garage on the way to the hospital, which was quite a drive away. When she arrived, she realised that she’d had a fruitless journey.

“I’m
afraid Mrs Blackett’s not up to receiving visitors at the moment,” the young nurse told her. “Besides, the police are still waiting to question her when she’s well enough.”

She
took the flowers from Rhianna.

“I’ll
see that she gets these. Who shall I say they’re from?”

“
Rhianna Soames.”

The
nurse looked startled. “Well, it was your name she spoke when she first came round. You must have been on her mind.”

When
Rhianna got back to the hospital car park, she encountered Irene Blake and Lizzie.

“Oh,
I’m so glad we’ve run into you. Lizzie and I wanted to thank you for all you did yesterday. Didn’t we, Lizzie?”

Lizzie,
who looked pale, but otherwise unscathed, nodded.

“They’ve
discharged me but Mavis is still very poorly. It’s a funny thing but before she was hit over the ‘ead that criminal was asking after you.”

“Me
-”  Rhianna exclaimed horrified. “Are you sure?”

Lizzie
nodded. “He definitely said he wanted to speak to the
Soames
woman - wouldn’t believe Mavis when she told him you hadn’t arrived.”

A
cold chill filled her. Whoever could have known she would be here? And then she thought of Lawrence Lorimer!

“We
thought we ought to warn you dear, just in case – perhaps you should tell the police,” Irene added.

“Oh,
I intend to,” she assured them and hurried off to her car. Her mobile trilled and she snatched it from her bag. It was Fiona.

“
Rhianna! Thank God! I’ve been so worried. Are you OK? I was at a concert with Dave last night and didn’t pick up your message until this morning. I’ve only just heard the news about the post office raid. I’ve been imagining all sorts of things.”

“Fiona,
if you would just let me get a word in edgeways! I’m absolutely fine, just a bit shaken. I got lost on the way down and it all happened just before I arrived.”

“I
thought you might be dead!” Fiona wailed dramatically.

“No,
I’m alive and kicking, although poor Mrs Blackett is still in hospital. It’s all very weird, Fiona.”

“You
can say that again. So where are you staying? Are you coming home soon?”

“At
the pub, and no, not for the moment.”

“Have
you spoken with the woman claiming to be your grandmother yet?”

“No,
I’m going up there presently. At the moment I’m at the hospital. They wouldn’t let me see Mrs Blackett. She’s too poorly. The police are waiting to interview her.”

Rhianna
told her friend what Lizzie had said.

“That’s
decidedly spooky. They must have got it wrong. Why would anyone be looking for you? I mean, who even knows you’re there? Oh, there’s a customer. Quick! Tell me the name of the pub where you’re staying.”

“The
White
Unicorn
- ask for Rhianna
Soames
. Come to think of it I’ve given a false name to a policeman!”

“You’ve
what?” shrieked Fiona.

“And
Fiona, listen, I haven’t told you the oddest bit yet. That chap who came into the gallery - the tall, good-looking one. He’s turned up here. I keep thinking he must have known I was coming here, although I can’t figure out how… Fi, are you still there?”

But
Fiona had rung off and Rhianna just hoped she’d caught the name of the pub where she was staying.

By
the time Rhianna got back to Brookhurst, it was still only ten forty five. She had an inspiration. She’d take a look at the church which she’d discovered was just outside the village, near a picturesque duck pond and a large green. It was within easy walking distance.

The door was unlocked and creaked protestingly as she entered. There was no-one about and she spent a few minutes wandering about. It was fairly dark inside, apart from the wintry sunlight which filtered through the stained glass windows making dancing rainbow patterns on the floor.

She
discovered a couple of brass memorial plates set in the stone wall near the altar, bearing the name of
Delroy
. She gazed at them in fascination, wondering if they really could be her ancestors.

Suddenly
she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling round she saw a middle-aged man coming towards her in clerical robes. He smiled.

“Hallo,
sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m the vicar, here. We don’t get many visitors this time of year. Were you wanting to do some brass rubbing?”

She
took a deep breath. “Actually, no. I’m staying at the pub – supposed to be meeting up with Letitia Delroy shortly.”

He
looked surprised. “Oh, that’s nice. She doesn’t have many visitors.” He stretched out his hand, “Tim Holt.”

“
Rhianna Soames.”

His
eyes widened. “Did you say
Soames
?” There was a strange expression on his face but then he smiled. “Welcome to St Peters’. Look, this is the one place where I can actually invite you to take a pew! Are you related to Christina?”

She
shook her head and sat down beside him.

“Christina?”
she echoed, puzzled. Who on earth was Christina, she wondered. “Not as far as I’m aware. So were the
Delroys
an influential family round here?”

“Once
a long time ago they were significant land-owners, I believe, but now there’s only Reg Delroy’s widow.”

“Actually,”
she told him, making up her mind suddenly to come clean, “that’s my real purpose for being here. My real name is Rhianna
Delroy
. I’ve come to find out if I’m Letitia Delroy’s granddaughter.”

Tim
Holt stroked his chin thoughtfully. As a vicar he thought he’d heard everything, but this was a complete surprise. His kindly brown eyes gave nothing away. The girl seemed genuine enough.

“Indeed. Tell you what, why don’t I make us both a coffee? You look as if you could do with one and then you can tell me all about it. We’ve a small kitchenette through there and can even run to a filter.”

“I’d
like that - except I’ve arranged to see Letitia Delroy at eleven thirty.”

“Oh,
it won’t matter if you’re a bit late, my wife’s with her at the moment. She pops in from time to time. Tell you what, I’ll give her a ring, tell her you’re with me.”

Over
coffee and ginger cookies she told Tim briefly what she was doing in Brookhurst. After all, surely she could trust a vicar and a church seemed the appropriate place for confessions and sanctuary.

“Well,
that’s quite a story,” Tim said when she’d finished. “It’s just unfortunate Letitia saw fit to ask you to use the name
Soames
.”

“Why?” she asked puzzled;

For
answer he took her by the arm and led her out of a side door into the churchyard. They paused before a family grave and she read the inscriptions on the headstone.