Vivian tsked. “Imagine James Liu betraying his parents like that. We heard they feel so ashamed, they’re thinking of closing the restaurant. Naturally, we can’t allow that, so Lady Barbara has organized a community dinner at the church hall tonight—Chinese takeaway. We want the Lius to know the village supports them. Will you join us?”
“I’m sorry—I’m having dinner with Tom.” I pulled my feet up on the soft chair and hugged my knees. Nothing on England’s sceptr’d isle was going to rob us of our evening together.
“That’s a shame. Barb has an announcement.”
“You can tell me in the morning.”
“I can’t wait that long.” Vivian mimed unzipping her lips. “An anonymous benefactor has given the National Trust a substantial donation to be used for the renovation and permanent upkeep of Finchley Hall.”
“Substantial? You must mean monumental. Do you have any idea who it is?”
“The donor wishes to remain anonymous. It’s a secret.”
“Nothing is secret for long in this village. Come on, Viv. Who it is?”
“We don’t know.” She raised one eyebrow. “Or let’s just say we do know, but we don’t.”
“Wait a minute—it’s that collector from Bury St. Edmunds isn’t it? The one who sends Lady Barbara flowers every week. Charles, with the title even I would recognize.”
“Just don’t say I told you. He sent Barb a huge bouquet of white roses this morning. She’s over the moon.”
“That’ll make the national news.”
“The collapse of Hapthorn Lodge made the news. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Yes, I was. And so were the others. I was deciding how much I should tell Vivian about that awful experience, when we heard a knock at the door.
Fergus woofed.
Vivian jumped up to answer it. “If it’s those pesky reporters, should I tell them you’ve come down with a fever—or you’re too shattered to talk?”
I laughed. “Just tell them I have no statement to make.”
Vivian returned with a puzzled look on her face. “It’s for you, Kate. She says she’s Tom’s sister-in-law.”
I went to the door.
Sophie was wearing a lapis-blue silk wrap dress with silver high-heeled sandals. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a golden curtain. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Of course. Come in.”
Sophie turned to Vivian. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a minute?”
“I shall withdraw.” Vivian left the room, closing the door behind her. It occurred to me she might eavesdrop, but I heard her footsteps on the stairs.
“Please sit down, Sophie. Have you decided on a house in the area?”
She sat on the edge of the sofa and crossed her shapely legs. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to say goodbye.”
“Oh? Where will you go?”
“London for now. Then maybe somewhere warm for a while. Or a cruise. I’m not ready to settle down.”
“Liz must be disappointed.” I couldn’t help myself.
Sophie laughed. “It was her idea I come. You’d probably worked that out. For a while I thought it might be the best thing, but rural Suffolk isn’t for me.”
“Liz was hoping you and Tom would get together.”
“I can’t pretend it wasn’t tempting. Tom is a gorgeous man. But I can’t see myself as the wife of a policeman, can you? Besides, I would never have lived up to my sister.”
“In Tom’s eyes?”
“In Liz’s eyes. She thought Sarah was perfect.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Sarah wasn’t perfect, Kate. Don’t get me wrong. She was a wonderful woman—kind, smart, generous. A terrific wife and mother—smashing cook. But she wasn’t perfect.”
“No one is.”
“No. But sometimes we are perfect—for someone. I hope one day I find someone who thinks I’m perfect. In the meantime, I’m going to have some fun.”
She uncrossed her legs and stood. “He’s in love with you, Kate. I’m sure you know that. Don’t let Liz stand in the way of your happiness.”
The Trout, an ancient pub outside Saxby St. Clare, was low-ceilinged, cozy, and quiet. Tom and I had finished a wonderful dinner in the tiny dining room. At present we were curled up on an ancient leather sofa near the fire, drinking cognac from small lead-crystal snifters.
“I ordered a chilly night so we could enjoy the fire,” Tom said.
“Mmm. Very wise.” I kissed the side of his neck, breathing in the woodsy scent of his cologne and thinking of starry nights and bonfires. “Remember the last time we were here?”
“I do remember. You’d just met Ivor Tweedy.” He slid his hand down the back of my hair.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.” I teared up.
“Kate—Ivor’s all right isn’t he?”
“He’s fine. It’s not that.” I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Yesterday he told me he wants to give me the shop. Not right away—when he’s gone. And in the meantime, he wants me to join him as a partner.”
“Did he, indeed.” Tom gave me that half smile that always shorted out my mental synapses. “And what did you say?”
“I’ll tell you. But first, tell me what you’ve learned about Peter Oakley.”
“There’s a lot more to discover, but we’ve been able to piece a few things together. Selling drugs was Peter’s thing in the beginning. He’s an addict.”
“Oh—I suppose that accounts for his changeable moods.”
“When he met Martin—Colin Wardle—they went big time. On Colin’s trips to the Continent, he would hook up with suppliers and conceal packets of powder and pills in the antique furniture. The rest was Peter’s operation, distributing the drugs to small-time dealers in East Anglia—like the two charmers in the leased van.”
“How did Peter and Colin meet?”
“Colin had become involved with an antiques auction house in London. He’d learned quite a bit from Wallace Villiers and knew how to sound more knowledgeable than he really was. Most of the stock auctioned off was legitimate, but the principals weren’t fussy about provenance. Colin began accepting stolen goods and either selling them through the auction house or privately to dealers in the home counties. Soon he began selling abroad as
