One Magic Moment (23 page)
The Claymore was too tall to fit, so he supposed he had no choice but to simply take his chances with it. It was a reproduction, so the thought of losing it didn’t trouble him overmuch. The realization that he’d been robbed of the sword his father had given him upon the occasion of his knighting, however, was substantially more gut-wrenching than he would have suspected it might be.
His father had given him his other sword as well, so perhaps he was being overly sentimental where he shouldn’t have been. It was metal, nothing more, and the gems were useless to anyone who might have wanted to sell them. They were faceted with the tools of a medieval gemsmith. To recut them to modern standards would have radically diminished their value.
Nay, the worth to him was in the memories attached to the sword. He’d cherished the blade, even though his father had gifted it to him a year to the day before he’d thrown him out of his hall—
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present, which wasn’t, as it happened, much more of a pleasant place to be than loitering uncomfortably in memories of his past.
Who would want a sword?
More curious still, why would anyone have thought he might possess one?
The only person who had seen him with a sword in his hands was Doris Winston, and he immediately dismissed her as a suspect. Even the lad who had accosted Tess might have fancied a more authentic-looking blade, but he wouldn’t have known to look for it in a closet. If that fool had been bent on revenge, he would have likely trashed the entire cottage.
Nay, there was something else afoot.
He shut and locked his window again only to discover that the lock was broken. He cursed succinctly, then went and fetched a small crowbar from the shop. He wedged the window shut, hoping he wouldn’t soon have a fire and need to escape. He collected his preferred guitar for classical pieces, then locked up the safe and replaced the false front. After a final look about his house, he locked the door behind him and walked away. The Claymore would either be there when he returned, or it wouldn’t.
He thought that perhaps he should have taken Grant’s suggestion to hook up the surveillance cameras. Too late now.
He wondered if Tess had them in her hall and if not, would she think him daft for suggesting she have them installed first thing Monday morning.
He drove to Sedgwick with less apprehension about the keep and what it represented than great unease over what he might be drawing to it with his presence. He could only assume that whoever had nicked his sword was lying in wait for him, not Tess.
Though the loss of her purse couldn’t be discounted.
He sighed, parked well away from potential door damage, then fetched his guitar and made his way across the bridge and into the courtyard. He didn’t bother with the front door, though he did take the opportunity to look rather thoroughly about the courtyard for anything untoward. He saw nothing, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have another look later.
He walked into the kitchen to find Tess and Peaches up to their elbows in supper.
“Oh, good,” Peaches said, sounding vastly relieved, “the cavalry has arrived.”
John tucked his guitar into the corner, shrugged out of his jacket, and walked over to the stove. “What’s amiss?”
Tess looked rather less serene than she usually did. Copious amounts of hair had escaped her clip, and she was slightly out of breath.
“The caterers mistook tomorrow for today, and we have nothing to eat.”
“Bangers and mash?” he suggested.
She glared at him, and he held up his hands in surrender.
“What can I do?” he asked. “Run to the market?”
“They’re closed,” Peaches said gingerly. “Tess is whipping up some pasta, and we have enough salad things to make do. I’m working on dessert.”
He considered. “I could go entertain them for a bit, if you thought that would do any good.”
Tess closed her eyes briefly. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He motioned for her to turn around, then he pulled out her clip and did his best to gather up all the hair that escaped from her chignon. He clipped it to the back of her head, kissed the top of that head, then went to fetch his guitar. “Are you sure you can manage, just the two of you?”
“Unless you have a catering staff hiding in your shop,” Tess said, blowing the hair out of her eyes, “I don’t think we have a choice.”
John considered, then pulled his mobile out of his jacket and stepped outside to make two phone calls. He left the sisters to what would be a blessedly brief stint by themselves before true reinforcements came, then made for the great hall.
He looked at the guests milling around, apparently quite happy on their own, and set his guitar down near the hearth. He was in the process of fetching a chair when he heard someone call his name.
Dave Thompson, as Fate would have it.
It was a very small world.
He put on his best company manners and walked over to shake hands with one of England’s most successful businessmen. The man had his fingers in so many pies, John half suspected he likely didn’t remember them all. Then again, knowing Dave as he did, the blighter could likely recite on demand exactly where every shilling of his substantial fortune was residing.
“Dave,” John said politely, “what a pleasant surprise.”
Dave laughed at him. “Pleasant? Who are you kidding? Kenneth let me hear the raw track with all your warm-up vulgarity. I know exactly what you think of me.”
John smiled deprecatingly. “I didn’t want to ruin my reputation as a hard-bitten grunge-band bassist by letting anyone know I play the guitar, much less anything more esoteric.”
“It’ll be our secret.”
“Until you spread it around,” John said dryly.
Dave put his hand companionably on John’s shoulder. “John, my friend, this might come as a bit of a shock, but there are people in the world who actually
want
me to produce their records.”
want
me to produce their records.”
“Bad manners are part of my charm.”
Dave laughed. “So I’ve seen.” He looked around the hall, then back at John. “This is a lovely place. What, may I ask, are you doing here?”
“Friend of the owner,” John said easily. He paused. “How would you like to do me a favor?”
“Ah, you in my debt,” Dave said, rubbing his hands together with an evil chuckle. “Ask away.”
“Miss Alexander’s caterers mistook the date and have left her doing all the prep herself. I called in a few locals to help out, but I don’t suppose you could smooth things over with the rest of this rabble until we can set things right, could you?”
“Are you going to help by allowing them to listen to the finest jazz guitarist in all the UK?”
“He couldn’t be here, so you’re stuck with me,” John said with a brief smile, “but yes, I’ll do my best.”
“Then I’ll see what I can do for you whilst you consider just how heavy a price I’ll exact from you when I’m at my leisure,” Dave said pleasantly. “And you know, John, if it’s too much trouble, we could just order takeaway.”
“No need,” John said. “Tess is a fabulous cook, though you may not see much of her as hostess.”
“I’ll put on an apron and do the honors,” Dave said. “Go play, my boy, and I’ll see to the rest.”
John was happy to do so. He caught sight of Tess on the edge of the great hall and walked over to her. It was only as he saw her that he realized he’d forgotten what he’d seen at his house. He wasn’t at all sure he would tell her about it, but he would most certainly make sure he had a closer look at her hall before he left her for the night.
He took her by the arm and pulled her down the passageway. He smiled.
“Not to worry. Dave, the blighter who left that lute for me at Studio Five, is one of your guests. He offered to pitch in and distract your guests until supper is ready.”
“What sort of Faustian bargain did you make with him for that?” she asked breathlessly.
“He’s still considering the price,” John said dryly, “but I’ll pay it willingly. And so you know, Adam’s abandoning the pub to help out. Doris Winston is bringing a pair of her granddaughters to carry supper out to the table.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, with feeling.
“We’ll see how grateful you are later, when I’m free to take advantage of it.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, John.”
He heard voices from the kitchen and knew help had arrived, and not just to save Tess from overwork in the kitchen but he himself from doing something stupid such as pulling her into his arms and kissing her. He settled for kissing her hand very briefly, then sent her off to the kitchen to supervise whilst he went about the purchase price of her peace of mind.
B
y
the end of the evening, he had done his fair share of hobnobbing with the rich and cultured of London and watched Tess do the same. She was, he could admit without hesitation, very good at what she did. She gave Peaches all the credit for supper, praised village helpers for their aid, and effortlessly left everyone commenting on such a lovely evening. By the time the last of the guests had departed, Doris and her granddaughters were long gone and Peaches had finished tidying up the kitchen. He stood in front of the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back, just as he’d stood innumerable times in his father’s hall.
y
the end of the evening, he had done his fair share of hobnobbing with the rich and cultured of London and watched Tess do the same. She was, he could admit without hesitation, very good at what she did. She gave Peaches all the credit for supper, praised village helpers for their aid, and effortlessly left everyone commenting on such a lovely evening. By the time the last of the guests had departed, Doris and her granddaughters were long gone and Peaches had finished tidying up the kitchen. He stood in front of the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back, just as he’d stood innumerable times in his father’s hall.
He watched Tess stop just in front of him. She looked beautiful but exhausted. He smiled gravely, then reached out and drew her into his arms.
“We shouldn’t begin this,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said, putting her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. She sighed deeply. “I’m not sure how to thank you.”
“Breakfast tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow isn’t Wednesday,” she said, the smile plain in her voice.
“I couldn’t care—” Her phone rang, startling him. He pulled back and looked at her in surprise. “It’s almost midnight.”
She looked at her mobile. “It’s Terry Holmes,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “He knew I had a party tonight, so perhaps he was waiting for it to end. It must be important for him to call this late.”
“Who is Terry Holmes?” he asked.
“The president of the Tynedale reenactment group,” she said. “The ones from the other night. Maybe he has bad behavior to apologize for.”
“At least one of his club members certainly does,” John said pointedly.
She shot him a quick smile. “I’ll make it quick.”
He watched her pace back and forth in front of the fire, stopping now and again when she apparently heard something that surprised her. John couldn’t deny that he was curious about what that bloke might say. He didn’t imagine he should hope for it, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the man might have tidings about one of his members having acquired a fine new sword.
He finally sat down, then caught Tess’s hand and pulled her down to sit on his lap. She was halfway there before she realized what she was doing. She shot him a warning look, then pulled away and went to sit in the chair across from him. He shrugged. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He did, however, pull her chair close enough to his that he could capture her feet with his own.
“No, I’m not teaching next week,” she said slowly. “When is the festival? Well, I suppose either Wednesday or Thursday would work.”
John focused on what she was saying and had the words sink in. “No,” he said firmly.
“Hang on, Terry,” she said. She put her thumb over her phone and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you going alone.”
She frowned. “John, it’s a medieval faire at Warewick Castle. How dangerous can it be?”
“Go Thursday,” he said firmly. “I’ll take you.”
“John—”
“Thursday, Tess.”
She looked at him, clearly puzzled, then shrugged. “All right.” She turned back to her call. “Terry, how about Thursday?” She listened for a moment or two, then smiled. “I’ll be there. Thanks for the chance.”
John watched as she ended the call and set her phone down on the floor. “What chance did he offer you?” he asked politely.
She took a deep breath. “He wants to introduce me to the president of the living history society that sponsors that faire. Apparently there’s been some interest in trying to combine lectures with living reenactors.”
He smiled at the light in her eyes, something he had yet to see in conjunction with her business of hosting parties. “A potent combination.”
“And a very safe one,” she said pointedly. “Are you going to tell me why I need a keeper?”
“Because I don’t want you interacting with those fools unless I’m with you, and I’m in studio Tuesday and Wednesday,” he said. “Or it could be that I just want to spend time with you.”
“Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”
He only looked at her.
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