The Chase: A Novel (17 page)

“Like now? Last night I understand; I was naked underneath.” What was he talking about?

He groaned.

She was pleased. “But I have jeans on, Ian, so don’t go telling me your T-shirt is an attempt at seduction!” She had to laugh.

He crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “Okay. I won’t. So put on a bra.”

“Excuse me?” she said in disbelief, no longer laughing.

“Don’t tell me you are not strutting around braless on purpose.”

“I came out of the shower, and who the hell wears a bra when they’re going to sleep?”

“It’s six o’clock at night!”

“But we’re staying in! I didn’t sleep on the plane! I’m going to bed! Besides, I’m no Pamela Anderson!” She could hardly believe he was distracted by such a simple issue.

“You’re about one million times better than any Pamela Anderson. Christ! I’m going for a walk. I’ll bring back something to eat. Try to get decent, will you? Or you’ll make me a very crotchety old man before my time.”

Claire stared as he marched out of their room, slamming the door. Then she ran to it and cracked it. “You don’t have to be crotchety, you know. We can always renegotiate.”

He ignored her, walking downstairs.

And breathless, Claire closed the door, leaning on it, filled with giddy delight. He thought her a seductress.

It was a first.

“I have a hangover,” she said in a thick, unhappy tone.

“That’s what you get for drinking an entire bottle of champagne while I was out looking for food.”

“That’s what men do. Bring home the bacon. Gather berries. Hunt mammoths. And I did not drink the entire bottle.” God, her head hurt. The sun was way too bright. Claire closed her eyes tightly.

“I had one glass.”

“Well, you upset me.”

He turned off the motorway onto a two-lane country road. “That was not my intention, Claire, and you know it.” He glanced at her. “And I don’t think you were upset. You loved our little deal.”

“I cannot trade quips with you today,” she said, almost meaning it.

“Thank God,” he said, and clearly he meant it.

Claire groaned to herself.

“Should I pull over?” He sounded amused and not at all concerned. He was enjoying her hangover.

“I am not going to barf.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I need food.”

“But you passed on breakfast.”

“I’m a vegan.”

“Since when? Two seconds ago?”

“Since last night.” Claire opened her eyes and found a PowerBar in her purse. She hadn’t even eaten last night, because jet lag combined with the champagne had caused her to fall asleep by the time he had returned. Or had she passed out? In any case, the effect was the same. She hadn’t heard him come in, and the next thing she had known, the alarm clock was going off and a grinning Ian was not so gently rousing her.

Claire dug into the peanut-butter-flavored PowerBar. She had not been able to face the smorgasbord of eggs and sausage an hour ago. She hadn’t even been able to take a sip of coffee. Now coffee sounded great. “Can we find a cup of java?”

Ian patted her back. “Feeling a bit better, are we?” “Don’t gloat.”

He laughed. “I’m not gloating. I’m commiserating. This is our turnoff. If you’re lucky, Lady Elgin will have coffee in the house.”

Claire saw a white sign with Welsh words that she could not sound out, much less read. “Why does she live way out here when Elgin Hall is outside of London?”

“The National Trust owns Elgin Hall, and it’s open to the public a few days a week. Most of these old aristocratic families are broke, and they can’t afford to keep up their ancestral homes. Her family seems to go back to the earliest Marcher lords. Why she lives out here, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s more affordable.”

They entered a long, winding private drive. The grounds were unkempt and overgrown, with clusters of towering elms and oaks, and here and there what once might have been gardens and were now patches of bushes and weeds. Claire imagined the grounds as they might have been a half a century ago. Undoubtedly the area had been a vast and magnificent sweep of lawns and gardens. They passed a gleaming pond. Claire blinked in surprise when she saw a pair of swans gliding upon it.

A charming stone manor with a timbered roof and two corner towers came into view. A car was parked in front, but other than that, there was no sign of activity or life. Ian whistled as he parked their Fiat next to it. “An antique Rolls. That baby’s worth a small fortune.”

“She needs a new paint job,” Claire remarked as they got out of their rental car.

“And probably a complete overhaul under the hood,” Ian said, studying the car. “I can’t help wondering how old she is.”

Claire looked at him. She knew he was hoping that the car dated back to the war—and that Lionel Elgin had ridden in it. “You’re a romantic guy, aren’t you?” she said.

“Not really,” he responded as they went up to the front door.

“You don’t have to believe in true love or knights in shining armor to be romantic.”

“Let’s not debate the definition of the word,” Ian said. The door opened.

Claire hadn’t known what she expected. What she had not expected was this gray-haired little old lady with the surprising bright brown eyes, who had to be the mistress of the house.

As surprised, Ian said, “Lady Elgin?”

She was smaller than Claire. She smiled, revealing perfect dentures. “Mr. Marshall? Do come in. I have been waiting all morning for you.”

Lady Elgin led them into a large living room, offering them a choice of tea or coffee and telling them that she had been so looking forward to their visit. The room was falling apart and badly needed new flooring and fresh paint, but Claire took one look at the antiques, then another look at the frescoed ceiling, and a third at the original art on the wall. There were even two crystal and brass chandeliers. The rugs would probably go for tens of thousands of dollars. She felt as if they had truly stepped through the window of time into another era and another way of life.

Then Claire saw the sterling silver tray of baked pastries that had been placed on one of three coffee tables in the room. Her stomach growled at the sight of so many scones and muffins. Clearly she was on the mend. “Please, Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Hayden, do sit down,” Lady Elgin said happily.

Claire sat down on a pale green chair with claws for feet, tufts of stuffing coming through the faded silk upholstery. A servant who was old enough to be Claire’s mother poured coffee as Ian sat down on a cream-colored damask settee. The servant used a cane. Lady Elgin took a chair similar to Claire’s and smiled. “Please, do have a bite to eat. It’s so pleasant to have visitors from the United States.”

“Thank you,” Claire said. “I cannot be shy.” She picked up and bit into a raisin scone that was as close to heaven as she could get on that particular morning.

“Your friend is hungry,” Lady Elgin remarked to Ian, appearing pleased.

“My friend drank too much champagne last night,” Ian said pleasantly, but he did send Claire a grin.

“Oh, I do so love champagne,” Lady Elgin said with a sigh of nostalgia. “I remember when we were first married and Randolph spoiled me with La Grand Dame.”

Claire made a mental note to send her a bottle along with a thank-you card. “You have a beautiful home,” Claire said when her mouth was no longer full. “I’ve never actually been in a home like this—it’s almost like there are ghosts in the room with us, there’s so much history permeating everything.”

Ian gave her an incredulous look.

“I’ve always loved this place,” Lady Elgin said. “It’s so peaceful here. If there are ghosts, they are happy ones. My memories are of my childhood and those first few years of my marriage, before Randolph disappeared.” She sobered.

Claire raised both brows and glanced at Ian—they had a very willing subject.

Ian said, “Childhood memories are often the best memories. Lady Elgin, can we ask you a few questions? I’d also like to show you a few photographs.”

“Of course. That’s why you came. To ask me about that traitor, Lionel.” She was eager and unblinking and amazingly calm.

“I am sorry for the grief his treason must have caused you and your family,” Ian said. He took out a small state-of-the-art tape recorder. “May I record our conversation?”

“Of course.” She beamed at him and then at Claire.

Ian turned it on while Claire reached for another scone. “You’ll get fat,” he remarked.

She smiled, because she knew he was teasing her. “Then we can cancel Beijing.”

“I don’t think so.”

She was very pleased.

“The two of you are traveling to China?” Lady Elgin said with apparent delight. “How wonderful. I have always wished to visit the East.”

“Actually, we’ll probably substitute SoHo for Beijing,” Claire said.

Lady Elgin blinked in confusion, and Ian said, “Lady Ellen Elgin, stepmother of Lionel Elgin, April twenty-sixth, 2001, nine-thirty
A.M
.” He smiled at her, but before he could speak, she said, “You know, there was so little family grief when the rumors began. I do thank God that Randolph was not alive to hear those rumors. I myself did not care. In fact, Lionel’s treachery hardly surprised me.”

“Randolph, your husband,” Ian said.

“Yes.”

“You speak as if you know that he died. I thought he disappeared, and his disappearance was never resolved?” Ian asked.

“I know something terrible happened to him,” Lady Elgin declared stoutly. “It was absolute hollyhock that he ran off to join the Germans. My husband was a patriot, Mr. Marshall, from the day the war began. I told that to everyone, I might add.”

Claire saw Lady Elgin was indignant, even after all these decades, and touched her hand lightly. “They never solved his disappearance?” she asked softly.

“No, they never did,” she said, calming down. “Before the war, he was somewhat admiring of Hitler. But so many of us were! You see, it was the communists who were the real threat in the thirties. Once we went to war, Randolph was Hitler’s most avid opponent.” She nodded decisively. “He was a fan, a friend, and a supporter of Churchill. The prime minister even dined with us once at Elgin Hall.”

“I believe you,” Claire said. She glanced at Ian, and he gave her a look that she understood: he wanted her to take over the interview. Claire smiled at Ellen Elgin. “Lady Elgin, do you have any ideas of what happened to your husband that summer? It was 1940, I believe?”

“Yes, it was 1940. I last saw him on a Friday night in early August. He went out rather early in the day, as he usually did. I assumed he was off to the club and the Lords. But he never came home,” she said, eyes wide. “It was just horrible. Briefly, the police seemed to think he had been murdered, but they never found his body. To this day, I wish they had discovered what really happened to him.”

Claire patted her hand again. “I am so sorry that you had to live with such an unresolved tragedy your entire life,” she said, meaning it.

Lady Elgin sighed. “One survives,” she said simply.

“Yes, one does. I lost my husband recently. It was very unexpected. One does go on.”

“I am sorry,” Lady Elgin said, meeting her gaze. “But you were no longer in love with him, were you?”

Claire started. Then she glanced at Ian, growing uneasy. “No, I was not.”

Lady Elgin smiled at Ian before looking back at her. “I do believe that there is a reason for everything, my dear.” This time, she patted Claire’s hand.

Claire could not believe that this little old lady had put two and two together so easily. She could feel herself flushing. Were her feelings so obvious? “Tell us about Lionel.”

“There’s not much to tell. He was a peculiar boy and an even more peculiar young man.”

“Peculiar how?”

Lady Elgin shrugged. “He was very cool, very remote. I doubt red blood ran in his veins.”

“You didn’t like him,” Claire said, a bit surprised. After all, they were family.

“No, I did not. Few, if anyone, did.”

Claire nodded. “Were you at all close? He was your stepson.”

“We were not close,” she said stiffly. “He was too odd. Let me see. He was nine, I believe, and I was eighteen when I married Randolph. I do recall trying to befriend him initially, but he laughed at me for my kindness. Not overtly, but the laughter and the scorn were in his eyes. I do hope he is dead,” she said as if commenting on the color of the flowers on the side table.

Claire’s radar went up. “Why?”

“Well, do they not claim he was a spy for the Germans during the war?”

“Yes, they do,” Claire said. But she sensed that Lady Elgin’s antipathy went deeper than that.

Ian suddenly said, “Did you ever meet my uncle, Lady Elgin? He was an American in the RAF, and he was in love with—and eventually married to—Lionel’s cousin, Rachel Greene.”

She blinked and smiled. “Eddy Marshall? Of course I met Eddy, but only once. They spent Christmas Eve here, and that was the first time I’d seen Rachel in years. Oh, they were such a lovely couple, and they were so in love! She was so pretty and so kind, and she was in the women’s auxiliary air force, you know, and he was so dashing and so handsome. It was just wonderful seeing them together.” She hesitated. “Lionel did not like him. I feel certain it was because he had feelings for Rachel.”

Claire looked at Ian, who stared back at her. Then Claire faced her hostess. “What do you mean?”

“Lionel clearly did not like Eddy. That evening was so tense. I could see he wasn’t pleased to learn that Rachel had married him secretly. I think, in his own odd way, Lionel loved her himself.”

Claire was still. So was Ian. Then Ian said, “I hadn’t realized their marriage was secret.”

Lady Elgin nodded. “I am sure it had to do with her being Jewish. I only met her father once, but he was a difficult man. Very set in his ways.”

Claire almost fell off her chair. Ian seemed equally stunned. “Rachel Greene was Jewish? But. . . how was that?”

“My husband’s sister ran off with Rachel’s father, and was disowned.”

“Wow” Claire said, her mind spinning. She could barely begin to imagine the Romeo and Juliet story of Rachel’s parents, and then Rachel must have gone through the very same thing.