Shadow of Reality (2 page)

“Love would overcome any hardship—even boredom?” Richard cast her a sideways glance.

“Of course it would!” She spoke fervently, then blushed at the personal application of her comment. “Besides,” she added hurriedly, “there couldn’t have been many hardships living in a castle.”

Once inside the castle, Elizabeth was even more convinced that life there could have been neither hard nor boring. Wide oak staircases zigzagged in every direction, leading hotel guests and staff to its multitude of corridors, all adorned with the original artwork and furniture of the castle. Victorian loveseats, velvet chairs, and little marble tables filled every nook and alcove. An abundance of fireplaces attested to the original method of heating the building, and out every window a breathtaking panorama reminded the visitors of their hilltop perch.

“Richard Spenser and Elizabeth Allerton.” Richard gave their names to the desk clerk, who shuffled through a file of papers.

“Ah, yes, Dr. Spenser. A tower sitting room and adjoining bedroom with bath for Miss Allerton, a neighboring bedroom with bath for you. I must apologize, you will be in the north wing, which we had closed off for refurbishing. But we did wind up rather overbooked for this week, so the management decided to open a few rooms there rather than disappoint our late registrants. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Richard was just signing the register when a soft gong sounded from upstairs. “Half an hour until dinner,” the desk clerk said.

Richard started to suggest they go straight up to the dining room, but Elizabeth had no intention of appearing at dinner the first night in a skirt and blouse she had been traveling in all afternoon. “You have no idea how quickly I can change,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried off after the porter. They followed him up three flights of the zigzagging stairs, then down a long corridor with an uneven floor before their guide opened a door leading off into another hallway.

“You’re the only ones in this wing so far,” the bellboy commented as he opened the door to the parlor between their rooms. “I hope you like it nice and quiet.”

“This will be fine,” Richard said. Elizabeth glanced around the parlor, complete with a cozy sofa facing a fireplace where a fire had already been laid, then turned to inspect her own room. It was in need of refurbishing, no argument there, but the view, even through the rain pelting the windows, was magnificent. The antique furniture looked genuine and the four poster bed was piled high with two comforters and a bank of pillows.

She turned back to the sitting room. “No television—hurrah! And I love the wind whistling at the windows—makes it all seem more mysterious.” Elizabeth clapped her hands together.

Richard tipped the porter, then picked up Elizabeth’s large case and carried it into her room. He glanced at his watch, then at her. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, heading for his room.

“I can do it in ten.” She shut her door behind him with a saucy toss of her head.

One reason she was so sure of herself was the superb forethought and organization she had put into her packing. She had approached this with the same thoroughness she would have applied to planning a semester syllabus: she’d made a list of each activity scheduled for the week and for each event detailed the outfit she planned to wear, complete with accessories, including the hair ornaments that were so important to the fashionable woman of the thirties. Tonight’s schedule called for the iced aqua crepe evening pajamas she had made from a long skirt that had been hanging in the back of her closet untouched for at least two years. She smiled as she pulled the deeply cowled top over her head. There were advantages to being a laggard about cleaning out one’s closet. Instead of wearing the matching sash at her waist, she twisted it around her short dark hair in a demi-turban and fastened it with a large starburst of pearls and brilliants—a family heirloom. A long rope of faux pearls was the perfect finishing touch. She glanced at her watch—three minutes left. She’d show Dr. Richard Spenser and his stopwatch brain.

Grabbing her toiletries case, she gave a sharp twist to her bathroom door, which didn’t budge. “Oh, come on, don’t stick on me!” She twisted and rattled the knob. “Well, now we know why you were scheduled to be redone.” She restrained her impulse to give the door a parting kick and settled for freshening her make-up in the mirror over her dressing table before making her entrance into the parlor.

Richard was ready, but at least he wasn’t looking at his watch. “Richard, I’ll have to use your washroom; the door to mine’s stuck.”

She was so intent on beating his deadline, she hardly gave him a glance as she hurried across the swirly gray carpet. But ninety seconds later, when she emerged, rubbing in the last drops of her hand cream, she stopped, speechless, before the sight of Richard in a tuxedo. Her first thought was,
He doesn’t look boring in that.

“I trust this is what I was supposed to wear tonight?” He adjusted his black bow tie.

“Yes, well done.” She still stared at him. “I’ve never seen you in anything but tweeds and sweaters…absolutely stunning,” she finished almost under her breath.

“I don’t suppose you’re stunned enough to accept my hand in marriage?” He said it lightly and her negative reply was equally light, but the fact that she knew he meant it made her pause.
Dear God, don’t let me hurt him
.

Ever since Richard had joined the faculty at Rocky Mountain three years ago, shortly after his wife’s death, everyone on the campus had hinted that the results would be inevitable. Certainly, Elizabeth admitted, she and Richard worked together perfectly…and there was no one she admired more…and he had so many of the qualities she would want in a husband…but the fact remained that he didn’t
do
anything for her. She didn’t require swooning in his presence, or losing her appetite, or waking in the middle of the night with his name on her lips, or any other such fictional nonsense. But there should be some quickening of the pulses when he came into the room, shouldn’t there? Some longing to have him put his arms around her, some vision of doing something with him besides discussing literature and curriculum.

Although tonight,
she thought as she preceded him out the door,
he did make me catch my breath
.

They stopped at a table in one of the small sitting rooms near the dining parlor to receive their team assignments. These were the people with whom they would be working all week to solve the mystery. “You’ll be with Blithe Spirit,” the girl behind the table said as she handed them name badges with line drawings of the characters from the Noel Coward play. “All the teams are named for hit plays of the thirties,” she went on. “The maître d’ will show you to your table…you always eat with your group.” They turned to go. “And good luck,” the girl added.

Although the room had been expanded to several times its original size, Elizabeth had no trouble feeling she really was in a Jacobean dining room on an elegant country estate in England. As the waiter led them across the parquet floor, she admired the rich wooden paneling on the walls and the ornately molded plaster ceiling. There were just three empty seats at the large round table near the great, copper-hooded, stone fireplace.

“Oh, good; when we saw you come in we hoped you’d be in our group,” a bright-eyed young woman greeted them. “We love your costumes.”

Smiling, Richard and Elizabeth sat at the table and introduced themselves to their teammates. The buzz in the room indicated that everyone at the other tables was doing the same. The friendly young lady who had greeted them introduced herself as Irene North, an aspiring actress who had many bit roles in well-known television programs to her credit. She then presented her gray-haired father, Benton, a Hollywood attorney. Next to him were Helen and Bill Johnson, from Phoenix, who had their teenage children Cathy and Evan with them. “What a fun thing to do for a family vacation!” The whole family beamed in agreement with Elizabeth’s comment. Next to Richard was a stunning single woman whose sleek black hair reflected lights from the fireplace as she introduced herself as Anita Crocker.

“I wonder which celebrity we’ll get?” Irene indicated four men and three women in vintage dress circulating among the tables in the roles of host and hostess.

“I’ve never been to one of these mystery weeks,” Elizabeth said. “Does anyone know how it works?”

“See the tall man in the white dinner jacket?” Irene directed Elizabeth’s gaze to a bald man with wire-rimmed glasses. He was talking to a team several tables to their right. “That’s Weldon Stark. He wrote the scenario and will be calling the shots all week.”

Elizabeth turned in her chair. “Oh, so that’s Weldon Stark. Have you read any of his books?”

“No, but I’ve seen the three that were made into movies,” Irene said.

“I read
The Cold Corpse,”
Evan Johnson said. “It was awesome; lots of blood.” His sister made a face at him, which undoubtedly was his aim.

“Have you come to one of these weeks before?” Elizabeth asked Irene.

“No, but I’ve read a lot about them. Tonight they act out the murder for us, then we have all week to interview the suspects and look for clues. When we think we have it solved, we work out a skit to present on Sunday morning. The winning team gets to come back next year.”

“Yeah, and
we’re
going to win!” Everyone at the table agreed enthusiastically with Evan’s confident proclamation.

Elizabeth was suddenly aware of the gold-jacketed waiter standing by to take her order, so she picked up her menu hurriedly. The ornate crest of Kilcliffe Manor House, their fictional residence headed the heavy card stock proclaiming their dinner choices. “I’ll have the cold entree—avocado filled with lobster, shrimp, and crab…”

Elizabeth’s voice trailed off as their host celebrity approached. After three attempts from the waiter Elizabeth realized he was still waiting for her to state her preference of vegetables.  “Oh, er—asparagus, please.” The waiter moved down the table, leaving her in oblivious to everything except the man making his way around their table.

To Elizabeth’s mind it was as if her favorite novels had fallen open at her feet and the characters of Albert Campion, Roderick Alleyn, and Lord Peter Wimsey had stepped full-blown from their pages all in one glorious person. Even if she hadn’t been completely infatuated with the fictional heroes upon whom he was modeling his characterization, Elizabeth would have been captivated by Sir Gavin Kendall. His blond, aristocratic Anglo-Saxon looks; the perfectly tailored evening clothes on his tall frame; his easy, flawless manners as he greeted each one at their table…everything about the man seemed to be the total embodiment of all her dreams.

Elizabeth was last to receive his greetings. “I say, it’s most frightfully nice to meet you.” Holding his eyepiece in his left hand, he extended his right to Elizabeth. As his blue eyes met hers and his long fingers closed over her hand, her heart gave a lurch and she knew…

She hadn’t been wrong to hold out for an experience more stirring than she’d had with Richard or any other man she had ever dated.  She had gained something of a reputation for being “picky” or even “cold”, but in her heart she had always known there was something more. There had to be. And here it was. All the things the poets had written through all the ages were true: her heart thumped, her knees felt weak, her lungs forgot to breathe.

She had found the man she’d been waiting for. And, oh, it had been worth the wait.

Chapter 2

A few minutes later

After what seemed like an eternity, Elizabeth’s heart left her throat so she could speak. “Thank you, Sir Gavin—or should we call you Lord Peter?”

“Oh, Gavin, please.” He pulled out the empty chair next to Elizabeth’s and folded himself into it. “The Wimsey/Poirot bit’s just to get me into the role-playing thing. Actually, the chap I play is named Linden Leigh. It should be listed on your program.”

Glad for something to do with her hands, Elizabeth turned to the back of the printed sheet while reminding herself to breathe. “Oh, yes, here’s the whole cast. And one of you did it?”

“Ah, yes, murder most foul, to be enacted before your very eyes tonight.”

While Sir Gavin discussed the roast beef with the waiter, Elizabeth studied the cast of suspects: Sir Linden Leigh, a British mystery writer; Gloria Glitz, a glamorous actress; Nigel Cass, a well-known theatrical agent; Brian Rielly, an international playboy; Suzanna Sweetly, a supporting actress; and Millie Maeda, companion and maid to Miss Glitz.

“Have any ideas?” Gavin returned his attention to Elizabeth.

She laughed. “How can I? I don’t even know who the victim is yet. Do you know?”

“Oh, yes. The cast assembled yesterday for rehearsal and full instructions.”

“Stark’s famous for his intricate plots in his books. I suppose this will be that way, too.”

Gavin raised one eyebrow. “The most comfort I can give you is my assurance that it’s somewhat less complicated than the Talmud.”

The throaty, masculine laughter on her right reminded Elizabeth that there were others at the table. “Oh, Sir Gavin, my colleague, Dr. Richard Spenser, is looking forward to talking with you this week…”

She turned the two men over to each other, happy to let them talk around her—Dante on her right, Wimsey on her left. It was a conversation she would normally have been thrilled to join, but now she needed the time to think. Unfortunately, thinking seemed to be the one thing she was incapable of doing. What was it people always said of Lord Peter? The essence of the English gentleman? Well, here he was—not in the pages of a book, but sitting beside her, in flesh and blood, eating roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

“Excuse me, please. We’re sorry to interrupt, but we wondered if we might take your pictures?” Two women from a nearby table stood before them clutching their cameras. “Your costumes are the best in the room.”

The request seemed to include the three of them, so obligingly, Richard and Gavin stood—with Elizabeth in the middle—and posed and smiled and said “Thank you” and “You’re welcome” about six times.