Silverbridge (6 page)

“You’re wasting your time talking to me, Mr. Mauley,” Meg said. Her facial bones were almost visible through her skin in the sunlight. “Harry is the one who owns Silverbridge, and I have to tell you that once he makes up his mind about something, a bomb won’t move him.”

“Once he hears this offer, he’ll change his mind,” Mauley said confidently. “Will you tell him about the hotel, Lady Margaret? Will you tell him we are prepared to double my original offer?”

Meg blinked.
“Double
it?”

“That is what I said.”

Meg’s sky-blue eyes were wide. “I shall certainly tell him, Mr. Mauley.”

“Thank you. That is all I ask.” He smiled, once more showing those baby-sized teeth. “Lady Margaret. Miss Collins. I wish you good day.”

“Good day,” Tracy returned and stood in silence next to Meg as the real estate mogul got into his expensive car and drove away.

Then Meg said, “Harry will be crazy if he rejects this offer.”

Rather to her surprise, Tracy discovered that her sympathy lay with Harry. “Certainly one can understand that he wouldn’t want to give up all this.” She gestured toward her surroundings.

“Oh, he would keep the house, the stables, and enough of the grounds to make an appropriate setting,” Meg assured her. “It’s the eight thousand acres of woods and farmland that Mauley wants to buy.”

“Eight thousand acres is a lot of land,” Tracy said slowly.

“I know. There aren’t many pieces of property that large left in nice areas like this. That’s why Mauley
keeps hounding Harry. He’s never going to find property as good as this for his golf course.”

They had been walking toward the stable while they were speaking, and as they reached it, Tracy asked, “What kind of farming is done on the property?”

A young man wearing low-slung jeans and work boots came out of the stable carrying a bucket of water. He stared at Tracy the whole while he was dumping the water on the grass that encircled the cobblestoned stable yard.

Meg said, “We have quite a lot of beef cattle, and we also grow wheat and barley and hay. My brother Tony says that in today’s world there’s no way you can keep a big house going on agricultural rents and pr
ofits alone. But Harry is a farm
er at heart—he went to
the Royal Agricultural College
—and he won’t give up.”

Very slowly, the young man retreated to the stable, his eyes on Tracy the whole way.

“I can sympathize with him,” she said. “I have a particular dislike of golf courses myself.”

“But why?’ Meg asked in astonishment. “It will be very pretty. Mauley is planning a championship course, with expensive villas close by, and now there will be a Percy hotel as well. Everything will be beautifully landscaped.”

The young man came back out of the stable carrying another bucket of water as Tracy answered,
“
I’m just not a big fan of golf, I guess.”

“Tony said he would teach me to play,” Meg said. “But the best part of the whole deal would be that Harry wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore.”

Tracy was looking at the stable building before her
and didn’t reply. The large sliding wood door stood wide open, revealing a wood-paneled interior with a wide aisle and high ceiling. From her position she could see a series of Dutch doors along the outside of the building. Only one equine head was hanging out, however.

“How many horses live here?” Tracy asked, dropping the subject of the golf course.

“
Ten at the moment,” Meg said. “Five of the horses belong to Harry and five of them are here for training.”

Slowly Tracy walked into the stable and looked down the aisle. All of the inside stall doors were polished to a rich chestnut gleam and most sported a brass plate with a horse’s name engraved on it. The stalls were big and bedded deeply with straw. The boy with the water buckets was mucking out one of them.

Meg said, “Most of the horses are out at pasture now, but Moses is inside today. He’s my old pony. Would you like to come and meet him?”

“I’d love to.”

“Let’s go around to the outside, then. We can see him better.”

Tracy followed Meg back out of the stable and around the side of the building, where the stalls all had a second door. The roan pony was resting his chin on the bottom part of his Dutch door, and when he saw them coming, he nickered.

“This is Moses,” Meg said, as they stopped in front of the stall. “He taught me to ride. Isn’t he adorable?”

“He’s darling,” Tracy said sincerely as she regarded the fat roan pony who was so obviously looking for treats. “Hi there, cutie.”

As the pony nuzzled her hand, looking for a carrot, Tracy looked at the paned glass window, which was set above the Dutch door for more light, and then at the stone trim that edged the door and window and made an arch above them both.

I suppose I can see why Lord Silverbridge didn’t like having this elegant building called a ba
rn
,
she thought with a flicker of reluctant amusement.

Meg was holding the pony’s face and looking at his right eye. “It’s still a little runny, but it definitely looks better. Harry put some goop into it yesterday and this morning. It seems to be helping.”

“My mare had a terrible eye infection once,” Tracy said. “I ended up trailering her to Cornell, and if I had waited one more day she would have lost her vision. You have to be careful with eyes. They can blow up all of a sudden.”

“That’s what Harry said.” Meg bestowed one last pat on the pony’s neck.

“What is that other building that looks like the stable?” Tracy asked.

“Oh, that’s the indoor riding school,” Meg replied. “It’s quite famous, actually. My ancestor, the tenth earl, had it built after he returned from fighting against Napoleon. Unlike Europe, there were hardly any indoor schools in England at the time. The English, you know, like to ride outdoors—galloping after hounds and all that. But my ancestor had learned the classical way of riding in Portugal, and that’s why he built the school. Would you like to see it?”

“Ve
r
y much,” Tracy replied, and they turned their
steps in the direction of the elegant stone building that so surprisingly housed a riding arena.

A
n hour later Tracy walked back to the house alone as Meg elected to stay and help Ned bring horses in for the farrier. Halfway through the lime plantation she passed the path that Meg had told her led to the woodlands that belonged to Silverbridge. “There are bridle paths all throughout the woods,” Meg had said. “I ride there occasionally. Perhaps you’d like to come with me one day?”

“I would love to,” Tracy had answered.

She glanced at her watch, thought that a walk through the woods would be very pleasant, and turned in that direction. Once she was under the canopy of trees, she knew that she had made the right decision. Bluebells carpeted the ground on either side of the bridle path with their intense color, yellow cowslips and paler primroses grew around the trunks of the trees, and patches of cuckoo flowers gathered along a little stream that followed the bridle path. Overhead, a flock of small brown birds flew from tree to tree, calling to each other.

How horrible to cut all this down for a golf course,
Tracy thought. She bent to pick one of the bluebells that grew so lushly and when she straightened up, Lord Silverbridge was on the path before her, astride a splendid gray horse.

It was a moment before she realized that this was a different man. He was dressed in Regency costume and his golden hair was cut in the Regency style. But the resemblance to Lord Silverbridge was astonishing.

She stared at the horseman in stunned surprise. He looked back at her, but Tracy had the distinct feeling that he didn’t see her. Then he turned his horse and galloped away. For about twenty seconds, Tracy could hear the footfalls of the horse on the bridle path. Then there was silence.

Tracy stood there, her hands gripped together tightly, her heart hammering so hard she thought it would burst.

Who was that?

But no matter how often she asked herself that question, she could not come up with a reply.

6

A
t two o’clock Friday morning, Tracy was awakened by banging on her door. She got out of bed, thrust her feet into slippers, and ran into the sitting room. From outside the door came the sound of voices yelling, “Fire! Fire!” She pushed open the door and the hotel manager was standing outside, a towel pressed to his face. The hallway was filled with smoke. “Miss Collins!” he said. “Thank God. I’ll show you to the stairs.”

“I know where they are,” Tracy replied, coughing and waving her hand in front of her face as if she could push away the smoke. “You had better continue waking people up.”

She ran down the corridor in her slippers, her eyes half-closed, trying not to breathe in the smoky air. She reached the stairs at the same time as Jon, who was coming from the opposite direction. The enclosed stairwell was still relatively free from smoke and they both
ran down the stairs, Tracy right behind Jon. Tracy asked, “What happened, do you know?”

“No,” he flung over his shoulder, “but considering the amount of smoke, it must be serious.”

They reached the ground floor, and Jon said, “Step back,” as he cautiously opened the stairwell door and peered out. “It’s smoky, but I don’t see any flames. Let’s
go.
”

They ran the twenty feet to a side exit and were safely out into the chill of the night.

Fire engines were pulling up in front of the hotel, their sirens blasting, as Tracy and Jon moved to join the huddle of pajama-clad people gathered together on the front lawn. “Gail?” Tracy called, anxiously scanning the group. “Are you here?”

A small figure wrapped in a fleecy red robe and carrying a computer case and her purse separated from the crowd. “Tracy! Thank God.”

Tracy gave a shaky laugh. “Am I glad to see you.” The two women shared a convulsive embrace.

Most of the people on the lawn had been sleeping in the single rooms on the first floor and consequently had been evacuated first. As Tracy and Jon turned to look at the house, several more pajama-clad guests came around the side of the building. Among them was Dave Michaels, who was pushing his glasses up on his nose and blinking furiously as he hurried across the lawn.

“Thank God!” he said as he spotted Tracy and Jon. He came up to join them, looking very thin and bony in his T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, and hugged both of his stars in
extravagant
relief that his movie was safe.

“What happened?” he asked after he had collected himself. “Does anybody know?”

“I think the fire started in the kitchen,” Gail volunteered.

“That’s what I heard,” another voice said.

“Look!” said someone else, and the group on the lawn turned fascinated and horrified eyes toward the flames that had sudden
ly leaped out two of the first-
floor windows.

“I think that’s my room,” Gail said hollowly.

Tracy reached out an arm and once more hugged her secretary. “You’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”

A few more escapees came trailing across the lawn, and Tracy was relieved to see that the rest of the movie crew had made it out.

By this time, the fire personnel had trained hoses on the building. The manager was talking to the fire chief and when the manager came to join the gathering of his restless guests, the first thing he did was announce, “Everyone is out.”

A sigh of relief swept through the crowd.

Then a woman’s voice demanded shrilly, “It’s two in the morning. Where are we supposed to go for the rest of the night?”

“There’s a shelter in Warminster,” the manager said. “The Warminster Rescue is opening it up for us and providing tea and coffee. We’ll soon have you warm and comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” The voice sounded even shriller than before. “In a shelter? Surely you can’t be serious?” Tracy was not thrilled about the idea of a shelter either, and asked the manager if there were any area hotel rooms open.

“I’m afraid everything is booked for the weekend, Miss Collins,” the man replied apologetically. “There’s a big point-to-point tomorrow.” He was referring to an event for jump riders that consisted of a cross-country race from one point to another.

A man said furiously, “All my clothes are in my hotel room. I have a meeting in the morning. What am I supposed to wear?”

The shrill woman began to cry.

Jon said calmly, “None of us has any clothes. I think going to Warminster is an excellent idea. It’s a large town, and we will be able to replace at least some of our wardrobes there.” He turned to the Wiltshire Arms, which now had fire blazing out of its upper windows as well. The sky was filled with black smoke, and the smell was acrid in the air. He said somberly, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to salvage anything from here.”

“It doesn’t look that way,” Dave agreed. He turned to the hotel manager. “Can you take Miss Collins, Mr. Melbourne, and the rest of the movie crew in the hotel van? Our own drivers and cars aren’t on the premises, and I don’t want to keep Miss Collins standing about here in the cold.”

The manager assured him that he could do that and, as he went to get the van, Tracy looked once again at the burning building. It was frightening to think that fire could take such a hold in so short a time.

“I don’t have my car keys,” a man said agitatedly. “They’re back in the room.”

“I’m sure you can go with someone else,” Jon said, and another man responded, “He can come with us.” Tracy smiled at Jon. Most of the actors she knew wouldn’t have evinced the slightest interest in a small, bald, pajama-clad man who had forgotten his car keys.

There was a flash of light, one that was all too familiar to Tracy, and over Jon’s shoulder she saw the photographer. Suddenly she was swept by fury.

“You little shit!” she yelled. “If you take one more picture of me, I’m going to have you arrested!”

“Temper, temper, Miss Collins,” replied Jason Counes, the photographer who had been stalking Tracy for six months. “Freedom of the press, you know.” Tracy was so angry t
hat she started for the man, in
tending to smash his camera. Jon grabbed her after she had taken three steps.

“Calm down, Tracy,” he said in a soothing voice. “Look, the van is here, and we’re going.”

Tracy was shaking. The abrupt awakening and fear from the fire had stripped away the wall she usually erected between herself and her hatred of the smarmy photographer who would not leave her alone.

Jon kept his arm around her and began to lead her in the direction of the van. After throwing one last glare in the direction of Jason Counes, she went.

B
y the time the refugees got to Warminster it was after three in the morning. The promised shelter consisted of cots and blankets in the basement of a school. Two women were brewing coffee in the kitchen. A
silver-haired woman in a fur coat over her nightgown began to cry.

“Oh please,” Gail said unsympathetically. “You might have been burned to death, lady. A night in a shelter should look good to you.”

The woman replied angrily, “I’ll have you know that I am not accustomed to sleeping in a basement, young woman.” She sniffed. “It smells like mildew in here.” The shrill woman agreed.

“Frank,” said someone else, “do something!”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” her husband replied. “It’s three in the morning, for God’s sake.”

Tracy’s emotions were still turbulent from her encounter with her nemesis, and she said acidly, “Guess what, people? I am not accustomed to sleeping in shelters either. But this is what we’ve got, and we might as well stop whining and make the best of it until the morning.”

The silver-haired woman’s equally silver-haired husband unexpectedly said, “Miss Collins is right, Eunice. Buck up, will you?”

“I am not going to lie down on one of those disgusting cots,” Eunice announced. “God knows who may have slept there before. For all I know, the mattresses have bugs.”

This was a sentiment with which Tracy heartily agreed. “Then we’ll all sit around the table for the rest of the night and drink coffee,” she proclaimed.

It was a plan of action that appealed to most of the other guests, and the majority of them wrapped themselves in the cot blankets and sat around the large Formica table drinking the coffee and tea brewed by the
shelter volunteers and trying to figure out what to do in the morning.

Everyone agreed that clothing was the most important thing, and Tracy proposed that they have a local department store send over underwear, sneakers, slacks, and shirts. “At least then we can go out to shop for whatever else we may need,” she said.

“I don’t have my credit card with me,” a man said unhappily.

“I’ll take care of the clothes,” Tracy said. “It will be easier.”

Everyone was happy with this arrangement, and Gail made a list of everyone’s sizes. As daylight dawned, the Americans (Gail and Tracy) were the only ones to take advantage of the single tepid shower and, promptly at nine-thirty, Gail called the local department store. The manager was delighted to be able to accommodate Tracy Collins, and by ten o’clock Tracy had shed her silk pajamas and was wearing a turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers.

While most of the other newly clad guests headed for the stores to buy more appropriate clothing, the movie people got into company cars to drive to Silverbridge for the day’s filming.

As soon as they arrived on location, Dave put Greg in charge of finding new lodgings for the dispossessed cast and crew. The assistant director spent a very discouraging hour on the phone to various hotels, which were all booked for the next two days. He then drove to check out personally the few bed-and-breakfasts that had reported openings. At two o’clock he returned to Silverbridge.

He found the director watching the camera operators practice moving the camera to keep up with the actors. Everyone else was standing around. Greg went up to Dave, and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” Dave moved to stand beside the chair that had been set up for him, a chair that was presently occupied by Meg. Each day she had made herself progressively more comfortable on the set and, because she never intruded but only watched, Dave had reached the point where he scarcely noticed her.

“There are no rooms to be had in any of the area hotels,” Greg said grimly
. “Because of the big point-to-
point this weekend, everything that is decent is booked.”

Dave groaned and began to polish his glasses with a handkerchief. “There has to be something available! Did you tell the hotel managers that you wanted a room for Tracy Collins?”

“Yes, I did. But apparently a flock of aristocracy is arriving for the race, and no one was willing to bump them.”

Dave polished harder. “There must be something that’s open!”

“I’ve found a B&B in Littleton that has three rooms and two B&Bs in Marlton that have two rooms each. But the rooms are tiny and don’t have private bathrooms. I really don’t think we can ask Tracy to sleep in them. Jon either, for that matter.”

“Shit,” Dave said. “What are we going to do?”

Greg pulled at his ponytail and looked unhappy.

Meg said, “I have an idea.”

The two men looked at her.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Excitement bubbled in her voice. “We have extra bedrooms. Perhaps Tracy and Jon could stay with us.”

The two men looked at each other.

“There’s nothing available in the area,” Greg said. “We would have to go over an hour away to find anything remotely suitable.”

Dave finished polishing his glasses and returned them to his face. He frowned as he looked at Meg. “Do you think your brother would agree to such an arrangement?”

Meg said promptly, “If you’re willing to pay him what you were paying the Wiltshire Arms, I rather think he might.”

There was a pause as Dave continued to frown, and Greg pulled once more at his ponytail. Then Dave said, “All right, Lady Margaret. Would you be kind enough to ask him and let me know what he says?”

Meg removed her fragile frame from Dave’s chair. “I’ll go and find him now.”

“Great. Thanks,” Dave said. Then, as Meg moved out of earshot, he rolled his eyes. “Lord Silverbridge is going to end up being half the bloody cost of this picture.”

Greg said nervously, “Don’t you think I should look at the setup before we make a deal, Dave? The bathroom arrangements in these old places are sometime
s fairly primitive. And Tracy…”

Dave groaned. “All right, I suppose you’d better take a look at the bathrooms. But I don’t know how we’re going to tell His Lordship and Lady Margaret that you don’t find their home suitable to house a movie star.”

“We shall just have to hope that it is,” Greg said. “Because there really isn’t much other choice.”

M
eg went first to the stables, but Harry wasn’t there. Next she tried his office, which was a wood-paneled room next to the kitchen. He had left the door partly open, and Meg stopped for a moment in the doorway to look at her brother.

Harry, wearing a brown wool sweater, was seated at a mode
rn
desk, his back to her, his eyes on his computer screen. The afternoon light slanting in from the high window over the computer lit his tawny hair and, as she watched, he muttered something under his breath, then slammed his open hand on the desk. The spaniels, which were lying on either side of his chair, raised their heads at the sound.