seen fit to ignore it.
Carrying their drinks, they threaded their way back across the sitting room to a vantage point near the door. Sebastian leaned back against the wall with one foot propped behind him and surveyed the room with lively interest. “Now,” he said, “Guessing game time. Let’s see if you can place the rest of the group.” Four people stood bunched in front of the mantel, drinks in hand, attention half on the conversation and half on the room, in the manner of those accustomed to cocktail gatherings. “Scoping things out, aren’t they? Making sure they’re not missing something more interesting.” Sebastian took a sip of his drink, and waited for Kincaid to pin the face to the description.
“Um,” said Kincaid, rising to the challenge, “the tall, fair man with the Savile Row tailoring. The M.P.?” Slender, with sleek hair cut to perfection, he had prominent cheekbones that lent distinction to the planes of his face. Even the nails on the hand holding the glass gleamed with careful buffing. When Sebastian nodded, Kincaid continued. “It’s not just the looks. He has that air of being on public display, of expecting to be watched. Now, the woman with the frizzy hair and the drooping denim dress. Not his wife, surely? The health store owner. Maureen, wasn’t it.” Sebastian grinned in approval.
A weedy-looking middle-aged man with thinning hair and spectacles seemed to be monopolizing the conversation. The others’ faces expressed varying degrees of disinterest and outright boredom. “Mr. Lyle, from Hertfordshire. Right? And the dark-haired woman with the long-suffering expression must be his wife.”
“Bravo. Right so far. Can you polish them off?”
“You make them sound like hors d’oeuvres.” Kincaid scanned the room obediently, enjoying the test of his memory for names and descriptions.
At a table near the window sat a bulky man, his thinning hair perhaps compensated for by the great ruff of soft, brown beard covering his chin. He played a game with two small children, and though their faces were intent on a board, he seemed uncomfortable in his jacket and tie. His fingers pulled at his collar and his shoulders moved restively inside the coat. “The rest of the Hunsingers, without a doubt.”
Sebastian hadn’t heard him. His attention was focused on a girl, standing alone against the wall. She still carried an extra layer of padding, baby fat that softened and blurred her features and made Kincaid think of an unset pudding. The ring of dark shadow surrounding her eyes gave her a nocturnal look, and her spiky, violet- streaked hair seemed a natural extension of her sullen pout. Kincaid nudged Sebastian and spoke softly. “Angela? Maybe you’d better go and see if you can cheer her up. I’m sure I can look after myself.”
“Right,” said Sebastian. “See you.”
Kincaid regretted it almost immediately. Bearing down on him from around the sofa came the woman in the denim dress, armed with a resolute smile. She must have been waiting her chance, he thought, looking around for an escape. A woman standing hesitantly in the doorway caught his eye. She wore a jumpsuit of a silky fabric, cream-colored, splashed with roses, a perfect foil for her striking, angular looks. The missing scientist, he thought, but before he could take a step toward her, Maureen Hunsinger was upon him in a tidal wave of good intention.
Hannah found the party well in progress, and as she entered the lounge, arranged her face in what she hoped was an expression of pleasant anticipation. She made for the bar and fixed herself a whiskey, not able to remember when she had felt the need for Dutch courage.
Next to her, pouring a large cream sherry, stood the fluffier MacKenzie sister, her soft gray hair fanning out in an erratic halo around her face as if she had blown in on a gale. Leaning toward Hannah, Penny lifted her glass and whispered conspiratorially, “A special treat. And what,” she continued with an air of innocent confidence, “do you think of our newest addition, Miss Alcock? We met him at the shop this afternoon, a charming young man, so polite. Cassie says he’s with the government, something dreadfully dull. You wouldn’t think it to look at him.”
Hannah followed her gaze across the room, where a tall man leaned against the wall, pinned like a moth by a well-endowed woman in an appalling dress. He didn’t look like a civil servant. Nice looking, mid-thirties, or perhaps a bit older, with rumpled, toffee-brown hair and a slightly irregular nose. He listened to Maureen with an expression of amused interest, yet Hannah sensed a watchful quality about him, a stillness that set him apart.
“Kincaid,” said Penny. “His name is Duncan Kincaid.” Hannah looked away and chided herself for indulging in such a ridiculous flight of fancy when she had more pressing concerns. Then, as though aware of her regard, Kincaid turned and met her eyes, and smiled. A Cheshire Cat grin, equal parts mischief and sweetness, and utterly disarming.
Cassie appeared at Hannah’s side with her usual silent efficiency, first heralded by the sharp, crisp scent she wore. It reminded Hannah of burning leaves.
“You and Miss MacKenzie met this morning, I think? Let me introduce you to some of the other guests.”
Cassie performed her duties as professional hostess to perfection, as Hannah had known she would. The meeting she desired so fiercely would be accomplished as easily and effortlessly as any chance encounter. She must not, by some slip of the tongue or uncontrolled gesture, give herself away. Her abdominal muscles were clenched so tightly that she was hardly breathing. She forced herself to relax and inhale deeply, forced herself to say, with a smile as brittle as Cassie’s own, “Yes, I’d like that.”
CHAPTER 3
The tranquil air was thick with the smell of wood smoke and cooking. Kincaid sniffed appreciatively as he walked along the short path from the car park of the Carpenter’s Arms, and his stomach grumbled in response. Maureen Hunsinger’s discourse on the benefits of seaweed and tofu had left him with traitorous visions of steaming steak-and-kidney pie, crisp fried potatoes and apple crumble covered with cream. Cassie had recommended this as the favorite haunt of well-heeled locals, and as Kincaid pushed open the heavy door he could see why. Tarted up the place might be, but the wood fire blazing in the massive stone fireplace at the bar’s end beckoned invitingly. He bought a pint of the local ale at the bar and moved to warm his back at the fire, in no hurry now to eat.
Sunday was a slow night for custom and the lounge was quiet. Kincaid sipped his beer and looked around the room with interest. A few regulars chatted with the bartender about the next day’s racing at Catterick.
At the far end of the lounge, a woman was seated at a small table, reading glasses perched on her nose as she studied a menu. He recognized Hannah Alcock, although he hadn’t met her at the party. Cassie had managed to introduce him to most of the others, but Hannah slipped away early, and alone. She was intent now upon her menu, and thinking he’d not find a better time to remedy the omission, he made his way across the room toward her.
Hannah Alcock looked up in surprise as he stopped at her table and introduced himself. He thought he saw a brief flicker of disappointment cross her face before she smiled at him, but the impression was so fleeting he put it down to his imagination. She slipped her glasses off her nose and quickly folded them into her bag. “A small vanity,” she apologized. “The specs are a necessity of age, and I’ve not got used to them. Join me?”
“Thanks. They say near vision is the first to go, then before we know it we’ll be wearing bifocals. Cheerful thought, isn’t it?”
“God forbid.” She laughed. “In that case my vanity could become a serious inconvenience. I know who you are, from the party. Penny MacKenzie was quite taken with you.”
“The feeling was mutual. Penny’s a dear, but I don’t seem to have made much progress with her sister. She makes me feel as if I’ve forgotten my lessons, or my shirttail’s untucked.”
Hannah laughed. “I know what you mean. Is this your first visit?”
“Yes, and only by my cousin’s generosity. And you?”
“Yes. I drove up this morning. It seemed a good idea,” she paused and Kincaid had the feeling she had been about to say something else, “to try a different sort of holiday. I’ve always-”
“Excuse me, Miss. Your table’s ready.” The waitress glanced at Kincaid, uncertain. “Will this gent-”
Kincaid stood up, feeling foolishly inane. “Don’t let me keep you-”
Hannah reached up to touch his wrist. “No, no. It would be silly for us both to eat alone. Share my table. I’d like the company, really.”
“If you’re sure…” was about all the polite refusal he could muster, suddenly depressed by the thought of his
