Silverbridge (17 page)

The dilated black eyes looked back at Tracy. “Thank you.”

Tracy said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to find out where they took your car. I think a mechanic should go over it to see why the brakes failed.”

His face didn’t change. “Get Ian Poole to look at it. Meggie will give you his number.”

Their eyes locked, and Tracy felt the connection between them so strongly that the sensation was almost physical.

“Don’t worry,” she said, answering what she was certain
were his two main concerns. “I’l
l take care of Meg, and I’ll get the car looked at. You, in the meanwhile, need to rest.”

As if on cue, a nurse appeared at the doorway to announce bossily, “I’m afraid it’s time for you to leave. His Lordship needs quiet.”

“Good-bye, Harry,” Meg said, bending down to give her brother a kiss on his cheek. “I’m so sorry that you’re hurt.”

“Get Tony to take you to see Beth tomorrow,” he ordered. “I d
on’t want you to fall
into a funk about this, Meggie. It won’t be good for your health.”

She scowled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me you will go to see Beth,” he said.

She gave a loud, elaborate sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll go and see her. But I’m okay, really.”

He nodded, and a deep line appeared between his brows, as if the slight movement had produced pain. Tracy, abruptly deciding that she didn’t care what
he would think, bent down and lightly kissed his hair above the bandage. It felt thick and soft under her lips. And then the nurse was ushering her out the door.

I
t was when Meg winced as she got into the front seat of the Mercedes that Tracy realized she was in pain. “Are you certain you didn’t break anything?”

“Yes. They took X rays.”

Privately, Tracy thought it was a miracle that those fragile bones hadn’t snapped right in two. “You were lucky,” she said out loud.

Meg sniffled. “I keep thinking that if I hadn’t been there, Harry could have put the car in low gear even sooner. He waited to make sure I was in the backseat.”

Tracy had turned the engine on, but instead of driving off, she rested her arm along the back of the seat and looked at Meg. “Your life is very important to him. I think he demonstrated very clearly today just how much he loves you. And I think you owe it to him to try to get better.”

Without waiting for an answer, she put both hands on the wheel and began to back out of the parking space.

Silence rei
gned as Tracy drove away from th
e hospital through the slanting rain. Then Meg said in a low voice, “What are you going to do about the car?”

“Find out from the police where it was taken and get it to this Ian Poole. Where can I find him?”

“Poole Garage is in Silverbridge village. Harry and Ian Poole are friends. Ian always looks after our cars.”

“Then, when we get back to the house, I’ll find out where the car is and call and ask Ian Poole to examine
it. If he’s the one who’s supposedly taking care of it, I imagine he’d like to know how the brakes came to fail so catastrophically.”

“It’s an old car,” Meg said.
“
Tony is always after Harry to get a new one.”

“It’s not
that
old, and it’s a Mercedes. If it was properly looked after, the brakes shouldn’t go like that.”

“Well,” Meg said, “they did.”

“
True.” Tracy smiled reassuringly. “And we must be grateful that neither you nor Harry was seriously injured.”

Meg said gloomily, “Now Harry
will
have to buy a new car, and that’s an expense he wasn’t counting on. I should have got Mrs. Wilson to drive me to see Beth.”

“Meg, this accident was not your fault! If there was something wrong with the brakes, they would have failed the next time Harry took the car out, no matter where he was going and who he was with. And the resulting accident could have been much worse—perhaps even fatal. Please don’t try to take the blame for this.”

“I just feel guilty,” Meg said in a small voice.

Tracy’s own voice softened. “I know, and you have to try to overcome that feeling if you want to get better. You are a lovely young woman, and your brother was willing to risk his life for you because he loves you. And he loves you because you are worth loving. The accident happened because the brakes failed, not because of anything you
did.
Keep telling yourself that, Meggie, because it’s true.”

In the same small voice, Meg replied, “I’ll try.”

W
hen Tracy and Meg arrived back at Silverbridge it was to find the first floor of the mansion overrun by
movie people. Scaffolding was being
erected,
and lights and cameras were being positioned. Meg was intrigued by the transformation and went to take a look around all of the rooms while Tracy went upstairs to use the telephone. She had just finished making arrangements with Ian Poole to have Harry’s car towed to his garage, when Tony came in.

He smiled at Tracy. She had not turned on any lamps and, with his silver-blond hair, his golden tan, and his drop-dead good looks, he looked like a ray of sunshine in the gloomy morning room. “Were you washed out of your shoot?” he asked.

“We got one print in before the rains came,” she replied. She replaced the phone book she had been using in a drawer of the antique French desk upon which the telephone stood. “Have you heard about the accident?”

His blue eyes clouded slightly. “Accident? What accident?”

“Harry and Meg were in a car crash this afternoon.”

She could have sworn his surprise and concern were genuine. “Are they hurt?”

“Harry’s in the hospital with a concussion, and Meg has some bruised ribs.”

“My God.” He took a few steps closer to her. “What happened?”

As Tracy recounted the scenario of Harry’s accident, she watched Tony’s face. Nothing on that perfect facade seemed amiss. He looked genuinely concerned, and the questions he asked were legitimate and intelligent.

Finally, “I don’t know why Harry insisted on hanging on to that ancient car,” he said with exasperation.

“Meg says he doesn’t have the money to buy a new one,” Tracy replied.

“Meg may buy that story, but I don’t. He always has the money to buy a new horse.” His lips set into a hard line, and for a brief moment he resembled his brother. “If he would only be sensible and take Robin Mauley’s offer, he would have enough money to buy himself a dozen horses and a brand-new car as well!”

Tracy watched carefully as she said, “He wants to keep his land.”

“I know.” An expression of contempt flitted across Tony’s perfectly tanned face. “Harry is an anachronism. He still thinks land is important. Well, it’s not. The house is but the acreage is negligible. The days of the great land-owning aristocrat are long over—Harry just hasn’t tumbled to that fact yet.”

Before Tracy could form a reply, Meg came into the room. “Tony!” she cried. “Did Tracy tell you about the accident?”

He turned to her, “Yes, she did. Poor little Meggie. How are your ribs feeling?’

“They hurt, but I don’t think they hurt as much as Harry’s head. He looked white as a sheet, Tony.”

Tony did not look overly worried. “He’ll be fine, Meggie. Harry has a hard head.” There was a moment of silence before he added sardonically, “As I have discovered many times, to my sorrow.”

“
Tracy’s having the car checked by Ian Poole to see why the brakes failed,” Meg said.

No trace of alarm showed in Tony’s bearing. Instead he raised his brows, and asked Tracy, “Is that useful? After all, Ian is the one who maintained the car. If he
didn’t pick up that the brakes needed replacing, he’s hardly going to come out and blame himself.”

Tracy had thought of that, but she was willing to bet that Ian Poole wasn’t to blame for Harry’s accident “We’ll wait and see what he has to say.”

Tony shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And he exited gracefully in the direction of his room.

17

H
arry's head still ached when he awoke the following morning, although the ringing in his ears had subsided somewhat. He drank some tea for breakfast but refused the food. All he wanted was to get out of the hospital.

“The doctor will be in shortly, Your Lordship,” the nurse told him. “In the meanwhile, it will be best for you to remain quiet.”

Harry bit back a sarcastic reply.
She’s only doing her job. Be patient.
Out loud he said, “Is this telephone hooked up?”

“Yes, my lord, it is.”

“Good. I have a call to make.”

The expression on the thin, middle-aged face of the nurse said clearly that she did not approve. Rank had its advantages, however, and she didn’t quite have the nerve to tell the Earl of Silverbridge that he couldn’t use the telephone.

Harry had a difficult time reading the numbers on the phone. They didn’t seem to be staying still and had an annoying habit of dissolving as he tried to focus on them. Eventually, however, he managed to dial the number he wanted. The phone was picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello,” Harry said. “This is Silverbridge. Is Ian there?”

A young male voice answered, “Yes, my lord. I’ll fetch him right away.”

Ian must have been under a car or something because it took him almost five minutes to get to the phone. When Harry heard his familiar voice, he closed his eyes. He had to know what had happened to the car, but he was afraid to hear it. “Did you get a chance to look at the car, Ian?” he asked steadily.

“I did,” the mechanic said. “That was no accident, Ha
rr
y. The brake lines were cut.”

Why am I not surprised?

“How can you be sure?”

“First of all, I maintained that car, and I would have noticed if the brake lines were wearing. Second, they weren’t shredded and frayed, the way they would have been through natural deterioration. The cuts were clean, as if done with a knife. I expect whoever did this didn’t slice all the way through, just enough to ensure that the lines would eventually blow when you applied the brakes.”

Harry’s headache seemed to have doubled in intensity. “I see.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He breathed carefully in and out “At the moment,
nothing. This is something I’m going to have to take care of myself.”

Ian was doubtful. “Are you sure? It looks to me as if someone just tried to kill you.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Harry repeated. “How about the car, Ian? Is it salvageable?”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not. The cost of repairing it wouldn’t be worth the money.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Harry replied gloomily. After another brief exchange, he rang off, rested his aching head against his pillow, stared at a long crack in the ceiling, and thought about his situation. Someone had burned down his stable, and someone had cut the brake lines on his car. The probability was that the same person was responsible for both acts of sabotage. It was hard enough to imagine that he had one enemy, let alone two.

It must be connected to the sale of the land,
he thought.
First Mauley had the stable burned down, so that I would need money immediately. Then, when that didn’t work, he tried to do away with me altogether. If I
die,
Tony will be the earl, and Tony would sell the land to Mauley in a shot.

It was hard to believe that a reputable real estate magnate such as Robin Mauley would go to such drastic lengths to get his hands on Silverbridge land. But Harry couldn’t think of any other motive for the acts of sabotage that had occurred within two days of each other. At that moment, the partially closed door to his room was pushed open, and Tracy walked in. Harry’s heart lifted as he looked at her. Once more he felt
the feather-light touch of her li
ps on his hair last night.

He frowned, and said gruffly, “What are you doing here?”

“I dropped Meg at her therapist and thought I’d kill the hour by checking on you. How are you feeling this morning?”

She was dressed in jeans, boots, and a blue sweater, her hair was floating around her shoulders, and Harry thought she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. He said, “I’m all right. Why aren’t you filming?”

“The set won’t be ready until this afternoon, so I volunteered to drive Meg. Tony had a meeting of some sort to go to.”

This was excellent news. “Then I’ll catch a ride home with you, if you don’t mind. I’d rather not wait for Tony.”

She frowned. “You look dreadful. You belong in the hospital for at least another day.”

It was nice to have her worry about him. “I have a headache, that’s all. I can recuperate at home just as well as I can in hospital.”

There was a little silence as she looked at him. “Perhaps you can recuperate,” she said somberly, “but will you be safe?”

He didn’t want to answer that.

She wouldn’t let it drop. “I had Ian Poole go over the car. Have you heard anything from him yet?”

He debated about how he should answer, and said reluctantly, “I talked to him just a few minutes ago.”

“What did he say?”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “He said that it looked like the brake lines had been cut
.
”

“Oh, my God.” She had gone very pale.

“Perhaps you really did see someone prowling around the other night,” he said.

Her eyes flashed. “I told you that I did, but you thought I was making it up.”

“I’m sorry, Tracy. And I’m sorry I was so rude that night.”

She looked at him with uncertainty. His head was killing him, and all he wanted was to kiss her.

“You and I got off on the wrong foot,” he said seriously. “Do you think we could start again?”

She looked at him searchingly, then said, “I’m willing if you are.”

A brisk voice said, “Good morning, my lord. How are we feeling today?”

It was a different doctor from the previous night, and Harry replied evenly,
“We
are feeling quite well, thank you. We have a slight headache but no ringing in our ears.”

Tracy stifled a giggle.

The new doctor, who was as portly and short as the one last night had been tall and elegant, came over to look in his eyes with a pencil light. “Still some dilation,” he said. “Now, if you would allow me to check your blood pressure, my lord?”

He wrapped the cuff around Harry’s arm and pumped. “Hmmm,” he said as he read the dial.

Harry said crisply, “I’m sure my
blood pressure is all right. It
always is. I wish to check out of hospital as soon as possible and go home. Would you please arrange matters for me?”

Centuries of command sounded in his voice, and the doctor responded as Harry had expected. “If you insist,
my lord. It is very important for you to remain quiet, however. A concussion is a serious matter.”

“Yes, yes, I understand.” Evidently his irritable reply did not reassure either the doctor or Tracy, because they both frowned at him. He offered a huge concession: “I will keep to the house for the rest of the day.”

“You will keep to your bed for the rest of today, and for tomorrow as well, my lord,” the doctor said.

“Oh, all right,” he replied, having no intention of doing as instructed. “Just get me out of this place. I don’t like the smell in here.”

The doctor looked affront
ed. “
This hospital is very clean, my lord.”

“I know. It’s the smell of all the cleaning agents that puts me off.”

Tracy smothered a smile, and said severely, “Behave yourself, my lord.” She turned to the doctor. “Are you certain it’s wise to release Lord Silverbridge? As you just said, a concussion is a serious matter.”

Harry scowled.
Whose side is she on here?

“I own, I would prefer him to remain,” the doctor said.

Harry said, his voice very clipped, “I am not staying in hospital. And I want my clothes. Now, if you please.”

“Very well, my lord, if you insist,” the doctor said reluctantly. “I’ll have a nurse bring your things.” He went out.

Tracy said, “I think this is a mistake.”

He said huffily, “I think I am the best judge of how I feel.”

The nurse came in the door with his clothes.

Half an hour later, Harry was installed in the front
seat of Gail’s ren
ted Mercedes. He was feeling ex
tremely seedy, which he endeavored to hide from Tracy.

“We have to pick up Meg,” she said.

“Yes, I know.”

“You should have stayed in the hospital. You look awful.”

He felt awful, which made him angry. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

Her mouth tightened but she did not reply. He watched as she drove through the narrow city streets and approved of the way she handled a car. When she pulled up in front of a red brick Georgian-style building, Meg came running from the porch. “Harry!” she said when she saw who was sitting in the front seat. “How super. Are you feeling okay?”

“I am perfectly fine,” he answered over the pounding in his head.

Tracy said calmly, “Your brother is miserable, Meg, but he insisted upon leaving the hospital. As soon as he gets home he is getting into his own bed and staying there for the rest of the day.”

“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he muttered.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied.

He thought of a few things to say to put her in her place, but felt too rotten to make the attempt.

By the time they reached Silverbridge, he was extremely grateful to crawl into his own bed.

T
he film company was to shoot a scene in the staircase hall that afternoon, and Tracy had to rush to makeup as soon as she returned to Silverbridge. Finally,
dressed in costume and made up correctly, she joined Jon in the front hallway to wait while the lighting crew put the finishing touches to the set.

Jon glanced at her. “I looked for you earlier.”

“I drove Meg into Warkfield this morning.”

He shifted on his feet. “I heard that she and Silverbridge were in an accident yesterday. Is she all right?”

“Yes. He had to spend the night in the hospital, but we brought him back with us today.”

There was a brief silence, then Jon said quietly, “I don’t mean to intrude into your business, Tracy, but I like you very much, and I would hate to see you hurt.”

Tracy felt herself stiffen. “Thank you, Jon, but I am not going to get hurt.”

“It seems to me that you may be falling for Silverbridge,” he continued, his expression very grave, “and that’s a mistake.”

She started to deny any feelings for Harry, then changed her mind and asked, “Why?”

One of the lighting crew shouted, “Move that spot six inches to the left.”

“He’s like the rest of the aristocracy,” Jon said bitterly. “He does what he wants and be damned to anyone else. Take the Dana Matthews case, for example. She committed suicide because of him.”

Tracy thought that she was seeing firsthand an example of the caste system she had spoken about to Gail. Jon obviously disliked Harry because he was upper- class. She said quietly, “Dana was a drug addict, Jon. She overdosed.”

“She overdosed and then she called him for help and he refused to come to her. It was in all the papers.”

That can’t be true,
she thought.

“Look,” Jon went on, “I don’t give a damn about Silverbridge, but I do give a damn about you. Just be careful with him, will you? Don’t let your heart get involved.”

It’s too late for a warning, Jon,
Tracy thought. She looked around the lovely room in which they stood.
Perhaps it was always too late.

“I’ll keep your words in mind,” she said.

He nodded. “Good.”

“That’s it everybody,” the lighting gaffer called. “We’re ready to go.”

“Excellent,” Dave said.

“Actors on the set,” Greg called, and Tracy and Jon went to take their places.

W
hen the afternoon’s filming was done, Tracy went to have dinner with the crew, her mind unpleasantly preoccupied with what Jon had told her.

Why didn’t Harry go to her?

The question haunted her mind the entire time she and Jon were eating dinner with the rest of the film crew in the catering bus. She was quiet enough to draw a remark from Liza Moran.

“Cat got your tongue, Tracy?” the older actress asked in an acid tone.

Tracy had little use for Liza Moran. The woman had the inclinations and morals of a bitch in heat, and more than once the rest of them had been kept waiting because Liza was shacked up with some man and no one could find her. Sally Walsh, the associate producer, was
taking bets that Liza would get through every capable man on the set by the time the filming ended.