Alysse Aallyn

Category: Relationships

  • Embattled Love – the diaries of Alysse Aallyn

    28 Feb 81


    Party went well – bathroom finished, house stunningly clean & orderly. I got a bit snarly with Toss because he has literally no idea how to fit tasks into a time frame – whatever he chooses to do takes forever. He can’t prioritize, either. But the food was good, and I could tell Genevieve and Brett had a good time.


    Toss and I got up early and dressed in our dowdiest clothes to go to New Brunswick and breach IRS. T and I did research – who knew I kept an 1978 expense diary? We bristled with estimates & documentation – T said he could get me a refund! I begged him not to even TRY. Called for directions – our contact not even there so a new time set up. Annoying jerk-woman! Spend the day reading Shana Alexander’s Anyone’s Daughter and reflecting on the general weirdness of Mom & Dad.

    Fri 6 Mar 81 -11:15 PM
    Toss is in DC for an attorney fees conference so I am all by myself. Tried calling him an hour ago but I think they went out to dinner; now I’m too tired.


    Exhausted after doing all the work I can stand – letters to everybody. Lots of good news – Toss admits he’s worth a quarter million so he can afford to put another $900 into our account. It also explains why he doesn’t want to take a job he hates! I wouldn’t either! In fact I have a little more money than usual because the fellows were included in the general raise at Guilders. And Toss DID get a refund for me from the IRS which frankly I think was a miracle. I immediately buy $100 worth of spring clothes and sign up for dance class ($65/month.) Where they yell at me for my style (which was to be expected. They were NOT impressed by the likes of Martha Graham.)


    The best news of all is that Lois won her long-running case against her mother’s self-serving trustees – the bank has been officially chastised and DUMPED. Now Lois can develop the property – work for Toss & money for everybody. Unfortunately her first action is to get her sons to sign off on any interest they had in the trust – sign it over to her. This raised my eyebrows but T trusts her.


    Good conversation with Mom & Dad – I hadn’t actually looked at their blueprints for the new island house but I didn’t let on. Invited Mom to study in England with me three weeks this summer – she says she can’t take that much time away from Dad – he would just drink orange juice & sherry & sob.

    Sun 8 Mar 81
    April isn’t the cruelest month – Feb & March are. Oh for it to be over. Depressed phone call from Avril – I told her how much reading theology had helped me. Suffering isn’t purposeless; it’s the beginning of everything. The wake-up call. She was depressed enough to listen.


    Read Beryl Bainbridge’s disappointing Quiet Life and am now plunged into Pearson’s Life of Ian Fleming. There’s a cautionary tale for you. Can it on the gin & cigarettes.

    Wed. 11 Mar 81
    So tired all the time I am DRAGGING myself around. Lois is angry that we’re not paying rent – Toss trying to negotiate “work he does around the place” which keeps him away from writing & the law. Sutton calls to say he’s marrying Pansy.


    Lois demands a “pow-wow” about “the unresolved state of this family” which I think will be more screaming about Sutton and all the Hideous Wrongs he did her long, long, long ago. While we sit there pie-eyed.

    12 Mar 81
    I was right about the pow-wow. She wanted to read us a long letter she’s writing to Sutton about how he’s a bird who fouls his own nest. We know but don’t say this is in response to his marriage announcement. I do tell her she’s acting like they got divorced YESTERDAY and she tells me I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING. Gives more examples from the ancient past of what an awful father Sutton was, abandoning his children etc. etc. I say she should be GLAD SHE’S RID OF HIM if all these things are true. Her argument sounds like he was too awful to be “allowed” to leave her but isn’t she really saying she deserves better?


    Slowly it emerges that she’s really depressed because her advisors tell her she needs a partner with a track record to develop Grover Mill property (not to mention the one she wants to buy in Phila.) Toss says he will be her attorney. My hackles rise. This is a woman who calls black white and praises herself for her honesty all in one breath.


    I tell Toss privately we need to get the HECK out of her house but he’s loving being involved with his grandparents’ stuff.

    Sat 21 Mar 81
    Hoping I’m pregnant. Just don’t want to focus on anyone else. Reading advice book for writers it occurred to me I’ve heard ALL THIS BEFORE – in women’s mags telling girls how to attract men. “Find out what he likes and be that” ;“Careful not to turn him off” ;“Smile” ; and “Be cheerful NO MATTER WHAT.” Also how to get hired in Domestic Service circa 1800. There’s the truth about buyers’ markets.


    I need a press of my own.

    24 Mar 81 (Tues) In the train
    Good day yesterday – I typed 20 p of novel – Toss got a Kidder Peabody check. Determined to send novel to my agent for her opinion NO MATTER WHAT my class says. Made the 9:30 dance class.


    Reading a history of the Alcott family. Pretty sure I’m pregnant – breasts enlarged and period 10 days late! And all this exhaustion!! I’ve been too tired for sex! Also depressed at living in a cramped ancient house full of ugly broken down furniture.

    Wed Ap 1 81
    Have to face it – I just HATE PD James. Why is she revered? Unsuitable Job for a Woman unsuitable for reading. I am very bothered by people’s bad taste. James’ attitude to humanity downright depressing. Guiltily enjoy Christie’s The Pale Horse instead. Wonderful book! Avril and I have long discussion about how impossible it is to diet when depressed. Food is not just love; it’s excitement, color, interest.

    7 Tues Ap 81
    Wonderful news! YES I am pregnant and Toss won prestigious IRE award (with Larry West) on their coal connection series. Just back from celebratory weekend in Kentucky. We’ll be going out to San Diego for awards dinner. Toss feeling elated & secure. Now if I can just make It through this semester…

    18 Sept 81 5:45 PM
    Diary goes to the wall as I grimly assemble a poetry collection for contest – for sacrificial reasons, knowing I won’t win – constant need for naps. Have I been awake at all today? Endless problems over Fordham Life Exp credits making me want to say The Hell With It. How do I get into these fixes – suddenly dependent for “approval” from bureaucrats I despise? There must be another way to live. Plumly’s ugly insistence on “appearance versus reality” raises its hideous head. I am an artist, most at home in the company of artists – but the financial picture cloudy. Still “finding myself” as they say.

    Learning not to care about $ could be tough when I am about to become a mother! Forced to conclude my timing has always been bad. T. unexpectedly inviting me out to dinner really helps with the gloom..

    12:50 AM Sun 20 Sept 81
    Hard day in NYC with Mom & Dad – when they heard my agent wants me to write a romantic novel they immediately began arguing on her side!!! If I had said I was GOING to do it they would have attacked ME! “How long would it take?” “Wouldn’t it be worth it to get out from under?”
    Then it was poor Toss’s turn to be grilled about his & Lois’ newly incorporated property development firm Faircross: “it can’t work.” Our unborn baby referred to as “another mouth in line for the swag.” Then they invited us to the Bahamas.


    Toss. was polite but handled it well. I could see he was offended. Afterwards he told me he didn’t WANT to go to the Bahamas but I DO. What other chance will I get? MY SISTERS ARE GOING!
    T wants me to promise him to never to ask my Dad for money again! (That would suit my Dad!) But there’s a problem. At least SOME OF IT is my money – they keep laying it aside in my name “for tax reasons” but they don’t give it to me to manage because I would spend it. (Which I would.) Toss gets to manage his own money and Faircross is what he’s doing with it. Deciding how to spend it is the whole point. Till then it’s Poor Little Rich Girl. According to their own statements they have 2 months to give me $4000.


    1:10 PM – Toss leaves with our housework half done – has to go to Phila to tell Lois’ frenemy Imogen that she can’t be part of Faircross. He wants her OUT. She has the track record but not the cash. I’m going to finish house and then work on my new, entirely cynical romance Tarnished Vows. I’ve got a whole series planned in my head called The Double Standard elucidating – guess what? If I wrote 5 of them I could make $40,000. Can always use a pseudonym.
    Last night’s Lamaze made me feel ebullient – confident – ready to go at any moment. Wash & brush dogs.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 44. A New Life

    Candi admitted everything. According to the newspapers, who disclosed much more than the police, “Scorned Girlfriend Plots to Confront Wife.” Candi admitted only that her plan was to “get the truth out of Scarlet,” but Miss Bottomley started screaming when Candi entered the house – “I couldn’t shut her up and I just panicked.”


    Mrs. Pourfoyle was indicted for “Malice Murder” – a capital offense. The murder weapon – brought by Candi all the way up from Wyvern House – was a table leg she wielded as a club.

    Candi’s husband David announced he was standing by her. “Husband Claims Home-wrecking Cad Manipulated Lovelorn Girl.”


    Was Ian the one who really wanted Scarlet dead? That was David’s argument! Would Ian be indicted? And how long would the generous, the fantastical, the life-altering disposition of Miss Bottomley’s estate remain private knowledge?


    For these reasons and many more it was no surprise to receive a call from Scarlet’s solicitor, Pelham D’Arcy.


    “Ian agrees to sign the divorce agreement we propose, without changes.”


    “Well, that’s a relief.” Scarlet sighed.


    “He’s worried about being indicted for “transferred malice murder.”


    “You mean they think he suggested killing me to Candi? I’ll never believe that.”


    “The press is painting him as a lady-killer. He’s concerned about losing his job. A quick divorce removes his motive and makes him an eligible bachelor.”


    Eligible Ian. Didn’t women flock to “lady-killers”, no matter what devastating facts they knew? Perhaps, thought Scarlet with her newly-acquired cynicism, they flocked BECAUSE of the “devastating facts.” Doesn’t every woman long to reform a roué? Horribly, I did, thought Scarlet. I fell for that. But she was a different person now. Still, the world thronged with eager victims. Ian wouldn’t be alone for long.


    “When’s he going to sign?”


    “It’s contingent on meeting you alone. I told them it would have to be at our offices.”


    “All right. Let’s get it over with.”


    “I suggest you wear your police whistle.”


    Could Pelham be serious? Surely Ian wouldn’t try anything violent – but she knew he would expect to physically touch her and she shrank from the thought. She knew him that well.


    “Is that a serious suggestion?”


    “I’m very serious. If you don’t bring it, we’ll have to bell you like a cat.”


    “I’m sure Enid will let me borrow it. If he signs, then where are we?”


    “Then we get a decree nisi, which is provisional for one year. They usually rush these things through to get it out of the papers but it depends on the judge. Every now and then you get a Huey.”


    “What’s that?”


    “It’s Bob’s and my shorthand for an impossible judge. I must say the publicity makes this very unlikely.”


    “Why’s that?”


    “It’s an open secret that everyone hates our divorce laws. Literally everyone. They’re just on the verge of either breakdown or reform.”


    Scarlet shuddered. So many things you didn’t think of when you stood before the altar, wide-eyed and innocent!


    “I’ll bring the whistle,” she promised.


    She took care to wear it well-concealed. No point red-ragging Ian. She had never figured out his level of self-control. Was everything he did well-planned, or was he ruled by a raging id? Well, thought Scarlet, I don’t care. I don’t have to care. She imagined a future of trying to explain to Nick why Daddy did the things he did. Why he wasn’t like Pom. Adorable, sensitive, reliable Pom, who talked things out, who listened, who cared. Who changed, day by day, evolving to love better. To live better.


    Ian looked different. Older, battered, his eyes bloodshot. Scarlet thought she smelled whisky underneath the cigarettes. Was he drinking every morning now, or was it just because he was seeing her? His suit hung on him in a peculiar manner, as if he had given up on any real nourishment. He and his solicitor, Mr. Jellicoe, whose suit also was ill-fitting, could have been a vaudeville act – one so fat and the other starving-lean. Then again, perhaps Ian just wanted Scarlet to feel sorry for him.


    Mr. Jellicoe seemed very obliging and impressed by his surroundings. He shook damp hands all around.


    Ian looked at Scarlet with deep hunger. I’m the one who “got away”, she thought. The only one. She was glad of the whistle.


    They were guided to the Partners’ Room. At ten in the morning, no sherry was on offer. Ian refused everything, even water. Scarlet accepted a cup of tea to have something to do with her hands, until she noticed they were trembling. Then she set her teacup down hastily.


    Pelham made a point of seating them at opposite ends of the table. He closed the door softly.
    Ian began. “Scarlet, I want to let you know how sorry I am.”


    He waited for a moment as if to allow her to speak. But what could she say? She had already decided there was no point in being accusatory. When he was her ex-husband and the “occasional” father of her child perhaps they could concoct a relationship. At the moment, the situation was hopelessly fraught.


    He spoke again as if covering her silence. “I never guessed…what she’d do. I didn’t listen to her natterings.”


    There went her resolve about accusations. She was just too angry. The words boiled out of her.
    “You treated her like a joke, but the joke is on every one of us. Poor Candi wanted to be treated like a wife without realizing how cruel you are when you’re sure of someone. You ignore them, you devalue them. You fobbed her off with lies while you went your smug and merry way. I think you secretly enjoyed making her crazy. I think you wanted to see just how crazy she would get. Makes it easier to get rid of them, doesn’t it?”


    She half-expected him to fire up or at least smile that he’d gotten her goat but he hung his head like a shamed schoolboy. Scarlet struggled to contain herself. After a moment, he spoke.


    “Don’t compare yourself with her. You’re nothing like.”


    She could see the oil bubbling beneath his surface. Planning, planning, all along. He schemed to flatter her, fawn on her, throw himself on her mercy. He was testing, testing, for any way in. She should never have bothered giving him her honesty. It was all a game with Ian, and any game with Ian was just too dangerous. She summed up as best she could, “No one likes being lied to. A word of advice: it torpedoes relationships.”


    He rose.


    “You’re right, I’m wrong. I managed everything badly. I want to turn over a new leaf.”


    She rose as well, feeling a bit panicky. Was he planning to chase her around the table?


    “There’s Nick,” she said finally.


    “Of course, there’s Nick. But we won’t be together – with him – all the time.”


    Creepy! We’ll never be together with him at all. If I can help it. She summoned up her strength.
    “I don’t see that. I’m afraid we have little in common.”


    “How can that be? Don’t you remember the two young Oxford students working on St. Euphrosyne, with all our hopes and dreams and ambitions?”


    “I do,” she said. “I thought you didn’t.”


    He seemed calculating as to whether he could to rush her. He leaned forward, light on his feet.

    She pulled out the police whistle.


    At the sight of it he sat down heavily and put his head on the table.


    “Oh, Scarlet, Scarlet.” He began to weep.


    She felt stunned. She had never seen him cry. She was surprised it was even possible. Could he be faking this? Then she suddenly realized with a flash of insight that, from her point of view, the problem wasn’t that his emotions were false, but that they were ephemeral.


    “I’m sorry, too.” She advanced toward the door. “Haven’t we said everything?”


    He looked up, tear-streaked. “Do you hate me?”


    She was startled. She had hated him. That feeling was ephemeral. “No.”


    “Will you tell Nick to hate me?”


    Now she felt irked. “Of course not.”


    He gazed at her slyly.


    “Aren’t you afraid he’ll look on me as the fun dad, the devil-may-care seducer who knows how to get whatever he wants?”


    He’d been arguing inside his own head, cruelly mimicking her voice.


    “I’ll take my chances.” Nick would know Pom. He could choose; trustworthy love or untrustworthy disappointment. Choice – once well-informed – is up to each of us.


    “I’m forgiven?”


    This was strange. Odd word from a self-confessed unbeliever. The trial hadn’t even been held. Was he planning to call her as a character witness?


    “Not yet,” she said briskly. “You haven’t signed this document.”


    She put a hand on the doorknob. “Aren’t we done here?”


    He seemed almost confused, as if she’d spoke an unknown language. He rose awkwardly, holding out his hand. He had the sense to say nothing.


    She took his hand slowly and he immediately grasped it with his other one, as if he wanted her to feel his strength.


    She realized she just didn’t like the man.


    She turned away. She wrenched her hand back and, very unwillingly, he let it go and picked up the pen.


    Then she opened the door upon her new world.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 53. Shattered

    Dawn was just breaking as Scarlet came home. She took a long, hot bath and dressed, but the warmest sweaters and tights could not block the chill that had settled in her bones. The kitchen had become a crime scene. Enid switched her sphere of operations to the tiny kitchen off the ballroom. She could toast bread. Milk could be placed against the cold windowsill to keep it fresh.


    Scarlet crawled into bed with Nick. He still was healthy, wide-eyed, fresh, new and needy. He had no idea how horrible the world really was.


    “She’s gone,” Scarlet told Enid. “The brain injury was just too awful.”


    “What made you wake?”


    “I’m not sure. I had a dreadful dream. Something about Miss Bottomley lost on a raft. I must have heard a sound from downstairs.”


    “Miss Bottomley screamed. I heard it too. That dreadful woman must have attacked her to stop her noise.”


    Candi had lots of reasons for attacking people. All given to her – thought Scarlet grimly, by my dear husband.


    The policeman climbed up the stairs to see the women. He didn’t look like a detective but more like a department store floorwalker with his shiny bald head and a sharp-cut suit.


    “Scotland Yard,” he introduced himself. “Inspector MacBlythe. May I get the details of your story?”


    “We’ll meet you in the sitting room,” sighed Scarlet. She climbed reluctantly out of bed and walked to the chintz settee she had so admired just a few brief weeks ago. She had thought she knew trouble and sorrow then, but in reality she had been only too naïve in the ways of misery. Fatally so. How could she could have ever guessed what depths of viciousness simple selfishness and greed could release!


    The Inspector was not as surprised by the existence of a night guard as the bobby had been. “This place is a treasure house,” he said. “It’s at least a two-man job.”


    “I wish we’d thought of it,” Scarlet wept. “The security man seemed so confident.”


    Enid freshened the tea.


    “What connection are you to Mrs. Pourfoyle?” MacBlythe was coming to the meat of the matter.
    “When I found out she and my husband were having an affair I told him I wanted a divorce. She quit her job and moved into our country house – at least that’s what my solicitor tells me. But last week she came up to London and threatened me as if I was the one blocking the divorce. But Ian’s been the blocker. It seems he’s got other girlfriends, one actually living with him in his flat. Again, according to my solicitor.”


    MacBlythe took down all Pelham D’Arcy’s and Ian’s information, and moved over to Enid. Nick began to cry and Scarlet gladly sprang to her feet to remove him from the room.


    Pelham called when the police had finished with him and requested an interview – “you and Enid both.”


    “Oh, good,” said Enid. “I don’t want to be alone. Let’s have dinner out, afterwards.”


    “I’m too tired for anything but fish and chips,” said Scarlet, who really didn’t want to see people.


    “That’s fine with me.” Dear Enid, obliging as always.


    Bob Thomas and Pelham met them in the Partners’ Room, which had a long table, imposing portraits and deep comfortable wingback chairs. Nick slept angelically in his carrycot. Scarlet imagined someday trying to explain all this to him.


    “Well, this is a terrible thing,” said Bob Thomas, pouring tea all around. From an antique silver set, Scarlet noticed. She and Enid refused sherry. “Is the woman mad?”


    “Temporarily maddened,” contributed Pelham, who was more accustomed to the vagaries of divorce.


    “Well, she’s committed murder, is what she’s done,” said Bob Thomas.


    They all agreed it was an unconscionable thing as they sipped their tea. There was a knock on the door and Pom thrust his head inside.


    “Pom, I’m in a meeting!” gasped Scarlet.


    “I asked Mr. Bronfen to join us,” said Bob Thomas. “Tea? Sherry?”


    Pom accepted a small sherry. He sat next to Scarlet and held her hand tightly, under the table.
    “All three of you – Mr. Bronfen, Mrs. Rumson and Mrs. Wye – are beneficiaries under Miss Bottomley’s will.”


    Light burst onto Scarlet when she realized, he is talking about me! She had forgotten she was Mrs. Wye. Suddenly she was on a par with Lady Lechmere in her attorney’s eyes. She had been upgraded.


    “Oh, my goodness,” she gasped. “But won’t they contest it?”


    “Who?” inquired Bob Thomas calmly. “There are no interested parties. She was literally the last of her line. The property would have reverted to the Crown.”


    “Mr. Inkum-“


    “Mr. Inkum would not dare. The papers he attempted to get Miss Bottomley to sign were so outrageously self-interested he would be drummed out of the profession if anyone complained.”


    Reality began to sink in. She sadly recalled Miss Bottomley’s delighted exclamation, “Do you know, I am a very rich woman?”


    Pom and Enid and Scarlet gazed at each other, dazzled.


    Bob Thomas cleared his throat. “There are six trusts concerning real estate, art, publishing and commercial properties. Mrs. Wye is the discretionary trustee and I am the advisor.”


    And he proceeded to explain.

    Scarlet was openly clutching Pom’s hand as they staggered out of the lawyers’ office.
    “I’m gobsmacked,” said Enid. “What a lovely human being she was.”


    “And how we’re going to miss her,” gasped Scarlet.


    Pom guided them into a nearby bistro – “do you like pizza? You must try it,” and ordered a bottle of chianti.


    “To Miss Bottomley’s foresight and generosity,” toasted Pom.


    Nick’s eyes were big as he looked from each to each in the candle flame.


    “But we couldn’t protect her!’ sighed Scarlet. “It’s because of me she’s dead, don’t you see?”


    “How could you ever have guessed that Candi would do such a thing?”


    “I couldn’t!”


    “Any thug could have broken in and attacked poor Miss Bottomley at any time. She could have been assaulted on the street! She was all alone before we came.”


    “But the time was so short. Too short.”


    “Time is always too short,” said Pom and he squeezed Scarlet’s hand meaningfully.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 41. Puzzle Pieces

    Thus began the busiest week of Scarlet’s life, but at first, the happiest. The weather was sharp and clear emitting occasional puffy snowflakes; the sky was wide and open and even in London one could see forever. The streets were festive with Christmas lights and bustling shoppers. There were visits to the Victoria and Albert museum where Kirby Crousam gave Scarlet, Miss Bottomley and Pom a guided tour. Scarlet had never imagined early, high and late Victoriana could all be equally interesting. They thoroughly enjoyed an auction at Christie’s where Miss Bottomley wanted to bid on everything but allowed herself to be guided to a gorgeous big green and grey Larry Rivers at an excellent price – dinners at Simpson’s, drinks at The Gay Hussar and ices at Largo’s.

    Miss Bottomley even talked them into attending a pantomime where she clapped as excitedly as a child.


    The front door had been endowed with a coded lock and two peepholes – one specifically placed at Miss Bottomley’s height – not that she ever bothered to answer the door any more. Now that she had Enid. All three residents approved and declared this entry was “much less bother”. A “panic button” was installed promising to start up a loud siren signal anytime the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars felt themselves threatened.


    Pom behaved like a perfect gentleman, but he looked less haunted and so Scarlet relaxed into guiltless joy. He studiously avoided body contact with Scarlet but his eyes maintained a reassuring glow of intimate promise. Scarlet was mentally relieved but her body was less cooperative – her whole soul ached for him. According to Pelham, the divorce case proceeded swimmingly: Ian had expressed relief to see from their divorce proffer that Scarlet wanted only maintenance for Nick and was offering nanny-supervised visitation. Scarlet felt confident Enid was not Ian’s “type”, and that if he pretended that she were, Enid would see through his gambit.


    “Between you and me I think he’ll sign,” said Pelham. “He’d be a fool not to with what we’ve got on him. Ian will agree to be the guilty party and only the judge will ever have to know the details of the harrowing time you’ve been through. Should be over fairly soon when they accept our bargain.”


    Scarlet welcomed the days when Miss Bottomley conferenced with Bob Thomas leaving her free to drop into Coltsfoot & Briggins and liase with Mr. Mountjoy. She finally met the elusive Jemima Plympton “pleased to meet you I’m sure” and was given an introduction to the printer, Prollops & Daughters. She was rejoiced at this Dickensian name and accepted it as a very good omen for their future venture! She had already contacted Francesca Joringel, asking to see her manuscript.


    The interview she coveted, however, was with Mr. Beebee, head of the advertising firm Coltsfoot & Briggins had used for, quoting Mountjoy, “donkey’s years.” And what she had found out as Mr. Beebee made his pitch caused her to think nobody but a donkey would ever use this firm, but rather than tell them that, she resolved to ask Pom at the first opportunity if he knew anyone in advertising. She had already discovered through happy experience that his art school connections were invaluable.


    Once again, she was lucky. On her way out, she saw a young woman – she couldn’t have been more than twenty – showing a portfolio to the bored receptionist who almost certainly had no clout whatsoever.


    “I’m sorry,” said the woman frostily in a not-sorry way, “Mr. Beebee’s in meetings.”


    Scarlet held the door open for her as the girl marched dejectedly out.


    “You’re casting your pearls before swine,” Scarlet remarked.


    The girl flushed, “They don’t want to hire a woman, that’s the truth. I doubt they have a single woman working there other than that bloody receptionist.”


    “The more fools they,” said Scarlet. “That’s what keeps them living in the past like a pack of dinosaurs. And the same thing that happened to the dinosaurs is going to happen to them. The ideas they showed me were hideously hidebound. Positively strangled at birth.”


    The girl looked at her with more interest as they stepped into the elevator together.


    “I’m Lalage Sumner-Locke,” she said. “I just finished up at Durham Technical College and my parents gave me two weeks at a hotel as a graduation gift to see if I could get a job in the City.”
    Scarlet knew this naïve introduction would have been counted against her anywhere except in front of a member of The Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.


    “My publishing firm is planning a hardbound reprint of the Miss Clew books of sixty years ago. I wonder if you’d read the books and mock up a advertising plan to get people excited about them.”
    “I think I’ve heard of those!” gasped Lalage. “My aunt read them through regularly every year. I’d certainly love to try my hand.”


    And so Lalage Sumer-Locke came to tea in the Norfolk Crescent kitchen, showed everyone her amusing portfolio and was given ten pounds – “This gives me an extra two weeks!” – and a full set of Miss Clew books.


    “She was lucky to have found you,” commented Enid and the two women cleared up afterwards when Lalage had departed and Miss Bottomley, worn out from a morning with Bob Thomas (“Money’s a terrible responsibility!”) had gone to lie down.


    “I was lucky to find her! What did you think of the portfolio?”


    “I loved the Piccadilly swan lording it over the Mayfair ducks! She’s clever, that one!”


    This cleverness was confirmed when, the very next day, Lalage phoned from the Royal Park Hotel (“My parents said I could stay anywhere with Royal in the title”) and suggested she’d also like to illustrate the books.


    “The illustrations can be part of the advertising,” she said. “We’ll seize on say, ten moments or however many you want – show an exciting scene – and get people caught up in speculation. “Can Miss Clew escape this time? Is Miss Clew’s number up? Can the world exist without Miss Clew?” That sort of thing.”


    “I love it,” said Scarlet. “How are you getting along with the books?”


    “I’m loving them so much I have to put them down and force myself to draw. I’m on The Jade Monkey Puzzle right now.”


    “Keep up the good work,” said Scarlet.


    She was interrupted by Branner of Palace Security.


    “That back entrance going to take us longer, miss,” he explained. “We need to sub-contract a masonry job – mortar’s so friable you can put your fist through it.”


    “So, you’ll be opening up the wall, then? How can you keep us safe?”


    “We’ll hang tarpaulins. And of course, there’s the night guard, ma’am.”


    Forever after, Scarlet was to regret not demanding extra guards. Was it possible to be too happy? It could make you careless.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 48. Girl Talk

    That was how Scarlet, gardenia scented and comfortable in a warm dressing gown, came to be curled up in bed over a tray of hotpot and pie while Enid toasted bread over a roaring fire.
    Enid had divided the “magic wine” between their glasses.


    “I hear there’s plenty more where this came from,” she colloquialized while Scarlet laughed.


    “Feeling better now?”


    “Strangely wonderful,” said Scarlet, “Being Pom’s friends guarantees us the best solicitor, and belonging to the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars somehow protects against fear itself.”


    “Power of groups,” Enid suggested. “Finding one’s footing among the right people.”


    “It’s a paradigm shift, Pom says. I so naively assumed – I don’t know how to explain this – that Ian was always right. It sounds shamefully stupid but in the old US of A girls are trained to mold themselves to the man. It’s his desires, his personality, his future that’s important. We turn ourselves into a sort of mush. We become strangers to ourselves.”


    “It isn’t only in America,” said Enid.


    “Looking back on it, I can hardly believe it was me, agreeing to move into that ridiculous old house in the country. But he bought it without telling me – putting it in his own name, also without telling me – and he wanted it so badly! How was I to know he planned only to park me there?”


    “It’s the English way – country life and city life – and trust me, they have a whole third life “abroad.” My husband seems to think that around foreigners, Englishmen can degrade others without degrading themselves – some leftover right of empire, I suppose. Their obvious theory is that no one will ever believe anything foreigners say.”


    “Horrifying! But it isn’t just the Brits – seems to be the colonizing impulse,” Scarlet considered. “It’s always an excuse to degrade people.”


    “And here’s resources at home – as Esme shows us – so poorly managed they’re going to waste! This big house!”


    “It’s the same thing at the publishers. Their focus was on degradation, never improving or lifting-up. Can it be that only women know how to share?”


    Enid changed course on her second glass of wine.


    “Do you think you’d still be together if it weren’t for that property purchase?”


    “Actually, no. I don’t even have that much comfort. Now I can clearly see that Ian’s been looking for a way to become Machiavelli’s Prince ever since college. What I regret most is that I thought it was sexy. I thought it made him a prize. Everyone congratulated me on winning the trophy. Turned out to be a booby prize and I was the booby.”


    “I’ve said the same exact thing to myself a hundred times,” Enid agreed. “Colin was shopping for a booby! We mustn’t be so hard on ourselves. I was trying to please my parents,” said Enid. “In my day, they kept us so sexually ignorant we studied flowers to earn about marriage! My parents were panicking about finding a man who could reliably launch their grandchildren into the correct class. To them, Colin seemed to be “the one”. I felt nothing when he kissed me, but everyone told me that was because I wasn’t making myself pleasing or exciting enough.


    Colin wasn’t interested in my body. I never claimed to be Brigitte Bardot, I hated being pawed, so I thought I had finally found a man in control of his desires. He was so uninterested in sex that conceiving each child was a full-scale battlefield campaign – you can’t imagine.” Enid shook her head. “We were both pretending. Operating on rote.”


    “I hope he’s a better father than he was a husband,” said Scarlet.


    “To my amazement, he can be. He was very unenthusiastic at first – really didn’t want to accept parenting status, much less become a grandparent. But kids are so winning. They kept bringing him interests to share and he enjoyed widening their world. That part’s been wonderful. And they were at school so much they missed seeing the worst of it. I think having the lawyers lay out clear guidelines will be good for Colin’s relationships. But now, without him to punish me, I punish myself over perpetuating my parents’ mistakes. But our children’s marriages seem solid so far – and much more grounded emotionally.”


    “You’re right about being too hard on ourselves. We should be congratulating ourselves that we got out of it!”


    “Seen the light, as the preachers say,” agreed Enid. “We do seem to be very lucky just now, all of a sudden.”


    “Serendipity, they call it,” Scarlet agreed, touching her sore face. Enid winced empathetically.
    “Do you suppose good fortune like that was always there and we simply didn’t know how to find it?”


    “To some extent,” said Scarlet. “The nanny agency rejecting to represent the exact sort of person I actually needed for the job probably happens all the time. But someone like Miss Bottomley winning the tontine – surely that sort of good fortune is very rare.”


    “Pom’s right about the paradigm shift,” Enid nodded. “It depends how you look at things. Fingers crossed that our luck holds out.”


    As they crossed fingers, Scarlet thought, it all depends on whether the police can talk any sense into Ian.


    “What I know for certain,” Scarlet averred, “Is that your hotpot is perfection.”

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 47. An Assault in Broad Daylight

    Outside the first flakes were starting. The sharp air caught in Scarlet’s throat. Baby Nick’s breath came in short puffs. She saw nobody walking in the street at all.


    That’s paranoia for you, she thought. Being scared of people who aren’t there because of people who are there. She resolved to walk to the grocery store like someone with a right to exist and to move freely, and not like a fearful, naughty schoolgirl playing hooky. But as soon as she turned the corner a man leaped out of the shadows and a hand grabbed her.
    It was Ian.


    “You almost frightened me to death!” she barked. “You’re not supposed to be here – I have a non-molestation order against you!”


    “If I didn’t know it was you – if you insist on creeping about in disguise – how can that be my mistake?” He was unshaven, his eyes terrible. She felt a stab of fear over so much anger. This side of the building was virtually an alley – she should never have taken it but gone the long way around. No one would see her or help her if she needed it.


    She tried acting brave, and didn’t address his implication that he might have thought he was grabbing Enid.


    “Now that you know, leave me alone.”


    “But this court order, Scarlet! What are you playing at? That I’m a danger to you, to our son?”
    Her heart smote her – this would always be her Achilles’ heel. She could never believe he’d hurt Nick. On the other hand, she knew he was desperately committed to getting whatever he wanted when he wanted it – he would be careless of Nick and all too ready to entrust his child to God knows who. And there had been a day – not so long ago, either – when she would have sworn he would never hurt her. How wrong that had been!


    The best defense was offense. “You put Candi in the hospital!” she accused.


    “It was nothing but a couple stitches. She was in and out. I was only trying to stir up a bit of excitement – that woman’s like a planked fish in bed.”


    “You moved her into Wyvern because you’ve got a yen for fish?”


    Ian tightened his hold on Scarlet. “She quit her job! Her husband threw her out after she told him I raped her – I had to figure out some way to shut her up.” His eyes boiled at her – he did look dangerous.


    “Well that didn’t work – she followed you to London and threatened me.”


    “You’re joking. I don’t believe you.”


    Still, he didn’t release her. The greatcoat was so huge he couldn’t really hurt her but simply blocking her motion, imprisoning her, made her feel panicky. She tried shaking him off.
    “And who’s that I hear about living in the flat?”


    He relaxed into his first smile. The old Ian. But it was a wicked grin.


    “I knew this was all about jealousy! Relax, Scarlet, you’ll always be my number one! Don’t we need a nanny? She’s a nice country girl with a modest little job who needed a place to stay and who is used to caring for brothers and sisters. If you decide you don’t like her, say the word and she’ll be gone.”


    “We need to make decisions through our solicitors,” said Scarlet, trying to push the stroller on. She didn’t want to call his attention to the fact that he hadn’t glanced at his son – but it was informative – and she refused to surrender to his clutches.


    Ian shook his shaggy head. He needed a haircut. Maybe he was going for the look of one of the teddy boys at the Aldershot Palais.


    “Scarlet, you’re being ridiculous! You’ll beggar us and nobody wins! If you insist on divorce, all right, but let me see my son! Stay out of my sex life and I’ll stay out of yours. Don’t make me show MY photographs of YOUR boyfriend!”


    “I don’t have a BOYFRIEND. Pom is a FRIEND. My employer is employing him to do a job of work. If you’re willing to get the divorce all you have to do is tell Jellicoe. We’ll meet formally, iron out visitation, the lot. Don’t spring at me in alleys.”


    But he didn’t let her go, and he didn’t look at their son. Instead he pushed her against the wall and began passionately kissing her.


    “Oh Scarlet,” he moaned, “I’ve missed you so much. None of them are any good. No one’s got your spark. Don’t make me travel to America for a replacement! Come back to me, or if you won’t, at least give me husband’s privileges. Do you know how long it’s been?”


    She did know. She had reason to know that it was longer for her than for him. She twisted her mouth away but he crushed her lip with his teeth. Horribly he scrabbled at her clothing – she felt helpless – thinking –this must be what it feels like to be raped. She was powerless – he was so strong, swarming over her, pushing her right up against the stone wall. He found the police whistle and seemed to back up a little, pulling it up to his eye line so he could see what it was.
    “What’s this then?” He asked. “Gift from your admirer?”


    She snatched it from him and blew. The sound was earsplitting. He staggered away, pointed angrily at her and disappeared around the back of the building.


    Scarlet reversed course and rushed back to the front door of 14 Norfolk Crescent. Her thoughts were jumbled and crazy – where was that detective? How about HER detective? Why was nobody taking pictures of THIS? Where was ANYBODY – she certainly had seen no policemen. But Ian seemed to believe that someone might come and that was good enough. She guided the pram up the steps and into Miss Bottomley’s front hall. She threw off the already unbuttoned greatcoat in a frenzy, stripping mitten and hat. Voices still came from the dining room so she pushed the pram towards the kitchen and through the swing door into the warm fug of the friendly room. Nick howled lustily.


    “Ian attacked me,” Scarlet gasped, falling into a chair.


    Enid’s face went white. “We’ve got to go to the police!”


    “I’m not going anywhere. I’m – afraid.” Scarlet burst into tears, laid her head on the table and wept.


    “At least we must call them.” Enid scrabbled for the phone.


    “Your police whistle saved me. Give me the phone.”


    Enid comforted Nick.


    Scarlet called D’Arcy instead.


    “It’s an emergency.”


    Gotobed the clerk put him right on the line.


    “Ian attacked me,” said Scarlet, trying to control her voice. “I was walking Nick, he pushed me up against a wall and started kissing me and tearing at my clothes.”


    “Oh, my God!” said D’Arcy. “How did you get away?”


    “I blew a police whistle.”


    “Well that was fortunate. Do you need a doctor?”


    Scarlet felt her lip. It was swelling, but no blood.


    “I don’t think so. Swollen lip.”


    “Can you make a police report?”


    The thought of leaving the house made tears spring to her eyes once again. “No, I don’t want to.”
    “I can do it for you. May I send Gotobed over to photograph your face? He’ll take the particulars.”
    Scarlet turned this over in her mind. Gotobed was a sweet, elderly man – could she speak to him about this?


    “All right.”


    “Very well then. He’s a cab ride away.”


    She hung up the phone feeling better while Enid alternated between taking pies out of the oven and serving strong mint tea.


    “I didn’t get your lemon curd,” she sniffed, “But your police whistle saved me.”


    “Thank God for that! Did a bobby respond?”


    Scarlet shook her head and sipped her strengthening tea.


    Gotobed arrived with a huge accordion camera and took a couple of snaps. Scarlet was so embarrassed she kept her eyes closed. Apparently, there were also red marks on her throat – bruises developing.


    “The man must have been mad,” said Gotobed.


    “Have you ever been married?” asked Scarlet, instantly regretting the question as Gotobed’s face closed up.


    “I have not been blessed,” he sniffed.


    “Who would care to be blessed by THAT?” asked Enid, lightening the moment as she placed a plate of fragrant mince pie in front of Gotobed.


    Gotobed produced a notebook.
    “When was this incident precisely?”


    “Twenty minutes ago,” said Scarlet. “I was taking Nick on a walk to Sawditch’s to get lemon curd for Enid here and as soon as I rounded the corner – around to the right side there’s sort of an alley – he was on me.”


    “What did he say exactly?”


    She tried to remember while Gotobed wrote.


    “He was angry about the non-molestation order. I told him he shouldn’t be there – we needed to let the solicitors decide and he said they would beggar us. I said something about him putting Candi in the hospital and he said she was terrible in bed.”


    “He said that?” Enid gasped, then as Scarlet flushed said, “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be listening.”


    Scarlet placed a restraining hand on her arm. “No. Stay.”


    Mr. Gotobed said, “You have to stay. We need a second witness.”


    “Then he started kissing me, backed me right up against the wall. I was trying to twist my face away and he unbuttoned my coat and found the police whistle. While he was trying to figure out what it was I grabbed it out of his hands and blew it. He ran away. He never even looked at his son! Nick was right there!”


    Gotobed offered her statement for her to sign. “If you’ll just sign on the witness line, Mrs. Rumson? I’ll take this complaint around to the police and they’ll pick him up. Best pie I’ve ever tasted – ” he added, eying his half-eaten piece regretfully. “But I must be going.”


    “Of course,” Enid agreed. “Shall I wrap some up for you? No? Well, come back any time.”


    He insisted on taking another snap of Scarlet’s face – “It’s darkening up –“ he commented – before he left. Scarlet took Nick gratefully from Enid and buried her nose in his sweet neck..


    A bell rang from the dining room.


    “Their tea needs freshening,” said Enid, preparing a tray.


    Scarlet was not able to get up the stairs without Miss Bottomley seeing her.


    “Scarlet! What happened to your face?”


    Bob Thomas’ concerned features appeared behind her.


    “Ian – my husband – attacked me. Mr. Gotobed’s taking my complaint to the police. I’m going to lie down.”


    Mr. Gotobed emerged from the kitchen, putting on his hat.


    “Just the man,” said Mr. Thomas. “Mrs. Bottomley’s business also requires a witness.”


    “Should I stay?” Scarlet asked unwillingly.


    “No. Gotobed can do it. You go lie down.”


    “Won’t the police want to speak to me?”


    “Not till tomorrow.”


    Nick started his caterwauling again – it was hard for Scarlet to surrender him to Enid but she knew the best thing for her now was a hot bath. Thank God for mothers’ helpers. Every woman needs several, to Scarlet’s way of thinking. She went right upstairs and sank gratefully into a hot tub liberally laced with aromatic gardenia bath salts. Once she was dry she took a sleeping pill.
    When she awoke it was dark outside. “Turning night into day,” she thought. “Now I’ll be up forever.”


    She went into the bathroom. Her own face in the mirror terrified her – was that a BITE? She had no recollection of Ian’s teeth but he had kissed so forcefully she finally understood the term “masher.”
    This would take more cover-up and concealer makeup than Scarlet knew she possessed. In a way, it was a relief to see the dark bruising – it proved she wasn’t “making a mountain out of a molehill” as Ian doubtless would claim.


    There was a knock on the bathroom door. Scarlet opened it slightly to see Enid’s concerned face.


    “May I bring up a bit of food after your bath?” she asked. “We could have dinner together.”
    “Dinner? Isn’t it after nine?”


    “Miss Bottomley went to bed before dinner, she was so exhausted. She says she and Bob Thomas created four trusts!”


    “Good heavens,” laughed Scarlet – “I’m tired just HEARING about it. What happened with the publishing?”


    “She’ll be majority owner! Once again she’ll own the Miss Clew books!”


    “That’s good news anyway.”


    “I missed you both so much it really took the fun out of dinner. I ate cheese and crackers and put my nice hot pot aside. But here I am hungry again, and as you know, hot pot only gets better! And we have the rest of that lovely wine.”


    “Well,” sighed Scarlet – “I don’t want you to take trouble –“


    “Scarlet, there’s a dumbwaiter! As you very well know!”


    “Then it would be lovely,” said Scarlet.


    And it was.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 46. Cavern of Treasures

    They couldn’t finish the wine. To drink such wine just for the sake of drinking would seem sacrilegious. After a single glass each, Pom corked it,


    “For Miss Bottomley’s breakfast.”


    She giggled. “For our next celebration,” she suggested instead and Enid said, “Tomorrow night?”
    Pom rapidly found a working bulb and carried it down to the wine cellar. Scarlet remained at the top of the stairs, but once flooded with light, the cavern was not so intimidating.


    “Look at this,” said Pom, struggling with an ancient door, “I wonder where this goes.”


    “Let’s check by daylight,” Scarlet suggested. “I’m ready for coffee to clear my head.”


    Miss Bottomley had gone to bed. Enid was tidying the kitchen while the dishwasher hummed.


    Scarlet locked the wine cellar door carefully. “We’d better make certain this wine appears on the insurance inventory,” she said. “Must be worth a bundle.”


    Enid poured out coffee. “I appreciated your toast,” she said. “I realized I should have toasted you for rescuing ME.”


    “Miss Bottomley put her finger on it,” Pom agreed. “It was Rescue All Around.”


    “To the Mutual Rescue Society and Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.” Scarlet lifted her mug. And they toasted their new affiliation with excellent espresso.


    “Let me call you tomorrow after I’ve spoken to Kirby Crousam,” Pom told Scarlet as she walked him to the door. “He’s my man at the Albert and Victoria. I know enough to see I’m way out of my league here– we’ll have to call in the big guns.”


    “Big guns indeed,” said Scarlet. “Tomorrow we’ve got the security people coming to look at Miss Bottomley’s setup.”


    And, it would seem, not a moment too soon. They both saw the man who rushed into the phone booth as Pom climbed into his car. Darned detectives!


    Scarlet was changing into pajamas when Nick woke, and she had the pleasure of giving him a bottle. Enid was dead to the world.


    Palace Security – “by appointment to her Majesty the Queen” – showed up at precisely eight a.m. in the person of a Mr. Dyson who looked for all the world like a brigadier general. Turned out, he was retired British Army. Miss Bottomley was not awake but Scarlet walked them through the requirements.


    “We need something easy that Miss Bottomley can master.”


    Mr. Dyson’s eyes glittered. “How about a code? Such as banks use?”


    “Perfect. I’ll ask Miss Bottomley for her favorite number.”


    She was delighted to stun him with the sight of their new Cavern of Treasures.


    “Good Lord,” said Dyson, “We’ll need a new door here. Something metal. Where does this go?”
    “Are you ready to find out?” asked Scarlet. “It will be news to me.”


    Steps led up to the carpark. It was flimsily secured with a padlocked cellar entry.


    “Well, I’m glad to see there’s some security,” said Mr. Dyson. “I suppose this is where the vintners brought in the casks. All this will have to be replaced.”


    Enid rewarded him with a cup of Earl Grey in the kitchen.
“I’d like to introduce a touchy subject,” said Scarlet. “We’ve already had a man try to gain admittance to the house through a ruse.”


    “Shocking, but it makes no difference,” said Dyson, stalwart. “You’ve got an elderly lady sitting on a treasure house – just a matter of time before the cons look to test it. I’ll put a bodyguard on. You’ll like him – easy fellow. The front’s a fast job – can be over in a morning – but the back will take a week. And we’ll have to secure all these windows. The bodyguard can vet the workers for you, make certain everyone’s who they say they are.”


    “Perfect,” said Scarlet.


    After he’d gone, Enid commented, “Is it the divorce causing these ructions?”


    “I’ll say,” said Scarlet. “We’ve both hired detectives.”


    Enid sighed. “Must be nice to be wanted.”


    “It isn’t me he wants, it’s Nick.” Scarlet was aware as she said it that this wasn’t strictly true. Ian wanted something from Scarlet – but what was it exactly? Subjugation? Her admission that he was right and she was wrong? Her conversion to his double standard philosophy of male-female relations?


    Bob Thomas showed up while Miss Bottomley was finishing her late breakfast.


    “Only one glass of wine for me in future,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to getting so much sleep and feeling wuzzy next day. Show Mr. Thomas into the dining room.”


    Since the dining room had no door to the hallway and their conversation could be heard all over the house Scarlet resolved to take Nick for a walk. It would be interesting to see who was spying on the property.


    It was a chilly day with a promise of snow – mother and baby needed bundling up. At the door, Scarlet touched Enid’s heavy greatcoat and grey wool hat thoughtfully.


    “Enid? May I borrow your outdoor things? I want to see if anyone follows me.” It seemed a less embarrassing excuse than, “My anorak no longer fits me” but it was none the less true.
    Enid emerged from the kitchen, her face pink from a morning of baking.


    “Of course you may, if you promise to wear the police whistle you’ll find in my pocket! Clever girl! Can you pick up a jar of lemon curd for me at Sawditch’s?”


    “Will do.”


    It was a wonderful big greatcoat – impossible to tell what kind of body was underneath. In her nondescript wellies and hair tucked up into the wool hat, Scarlet could have been anyone – male or female. To make the impersonation perfect she even slipped on Enid’s big gray mittens, much coarser – and less warm – than her own lambs’ wool lined leather gloves. Last of all she put the police whistle around her neck. Amusingly it made her feel less ridiculous when someone like Enid was taking extra steps to be so careful.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 45. Norfolk Crescent Irregulars

    It turned out Pom had just the same idea. He appeared at the door – six o’clock exactly – with a bottle of good burgundy and a crop of invitations to upcoming gallery shows.
    “These belong on the mantelpiece,” said Miss Bottomley excitedly, using the scraps of pasteboard to ornament her previously under-used drawing room.


    “I see what you mean about these paintings,” commented Pom, as he walked slowly around a large daub depicting haymaking. “This one’s so filthy they seem to be performing farm work after dark.”
    “What’s the point of cleaning them?” Miss Bottomley complained. “They’re SO hideous. Just get rid of them.”


    “I think it’s a Stubbs,” Pom assured her. “Someone will want it. And this furniture is probably worth quite a bit of money,” he opined. “It looks original to me but I’m no expert.”


    These dark, heavy furnishings represented the ugliest pieces of the Victorian era to Scarlet’s mind. The nice Directoire bits were all upstairs.


    “We don’t care anything about money around here,” Miss Bottomley asserted loftily. “My man of business Mr. Bob Thomas assures me I have more than enough and can choose to suit myself and I say this room is too uncomfortable.” Scarlet couldn’t argue. It was a very cold room. “I prefer a good squashy chair from Heal’s. In a nice Liberty print.”


    “You might enjoy looking at the beautiful rosewood tables and chairs made by Dansk,” offered Pom. “Very light and airy. I’ll take you any time you like. As for this stuff, I know a fellow at the Albert and Victoria who would offer an appraisal – they’d be delighted to have them if you don’t want to sell.”


    Miss Bottomley’s face shone. “The Albert and Victoria Museum? That would be lovely! Would there be a plaque – “gift of Esmé Hope Bottomley? That sort of thing?”


    “Certainly,” said Pom. “Exactly that sort of thing.”


    Scarlet had one of those flashes of insight that seemed to come to her around Miss Bottomley.


    “You could say on behalf of The Miss Clew Trust,” she offered. “Get a bit of free advertising.”


    Miss Bottomley’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she clutched Scarlet’s arm.


    “Well done!” she gasped. “You are a good, good girl. Hiring you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Everything in its proper place, isn’t that what Miss Clew always said?”


    “She did!” agreed Scarlet. “When you put the pieces in their proper places, the meaning of the puzzle reveals itself.”


    “I wrote that?” sighed Miss Bottomley. “What a clever, hopeful young woman I must have been.”


    And at that very moment Enid announced dinner.


    It was a rollicking evening of delicious food and pleasant company. Pom’s delicious burgundy was soon exhausted.


    “You know, there’s a wine cellar downstairs,” said Miss Bottomley. “I’ve never been. The key is hanging behind the kitchen door.”


    Scarlet was about to refuse further alcohol but when she saw the way Pom’s face lit up she knew they’d at least be obliged to take a look.


    Hanging as it was beneath aprons, the key was difficult to find.


    “Better take care,” Pom said as the tiny door squeaked open, “These steps look treacherous. I’ll go first.”


    When the light switch failed to perform its job, Pom produced a pen light from his pocket allowing them to proceed downstairs. They were confronted by a cellar full of wine.


    “Oh my God” said Scarlet at the sight of dusty racks going on forever.


    “It’s like the treasures of the Thousand and One Nights,” said Pom and Scarlet added “With Miss Bottomley as our Sharhazad.”


    She chose a bottle at random from the closest rack.


    “Romanée-Conti. It’s a burgundy but I can’t see the year. Will this do?”


    “I hope so,” said Pom. “I’ve never actually worried about being worthy of a wine before. In fact, I would have said such people are idiots. But that’s seems to be definitely what I’m feeling now.”


    “I think it’s Miss Bottomley we have to struggle to be worthy of,” said Scarlet.


    “You’re absolutely right. What a good way to put it.” He squeezed her shoulder.


    “Is there is a store of electric bulbs anywhere?” Pom asked Miss Bottomley when they were back at the table.


    “I’ve no idea,” Miss Bottomley replied.


    “On the second floor are lots of unused lamps,” suggested Scarlet. “Some of them must have working bulbs.”


    “There’s a good plan,” said Pom and Enid offered up her glass.


    “I’ll drink to that.”


    As Pom dusted the bottle he said, “1937. Let’s hope that was a good year for French reds.”


    “Probably the last for awhile,” said Enid. “Considering what was going on in the rest of the world.”


    He opened it with some ceremony, poured out a smidgen for Miss Bottomley and waited attentive as a sommelier.


    She sipped.


    “I’ve never cared for wine,” she said, “But this tastes lovely.”


    It was. Rich and subtle, flavored with sunlight, the wine brought tears to their eyes.


    Scarlet choked up.


    “I’d like to toast our hostess,” she offered, rising to her feet.


    “Oh please,” Miss Bottomley disparaged, “Don’t bother. You’ve brought me so much. I’m so proud to be the founding partner of the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.”


    Everyone laughed at this dedication but Scarlet pressed forwards.


    “But I want to say it. I was at the worst time in my life – I couldn’t allow myself to think quite how bad it really was, because I had Nick to consider. And you – rescued me. Thank you.”


    “Hear, hear,” said Pom and Enid seconded, “Aye, aye.”


    Miss Bottomley’s cheeks were pink. “That three month trial period we discussed? Consider it over – you’re both hired as long as you care to stay, Enid and Scarlet. Think how you’ve helped ME! I was hiding in my kitchen – I think eventually I’d have signed any document Mr. Inkum put in front of me just to get rid of him – and the only thing that stirred me was the thought of my novels lying mangled and bloody two for a penny on a railway stall. And look where I am now!” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you! All three of you!”


    Pom and Enid also rose.


    “We accept,” said Pom. “To us.”


    Solemnly they drank their delicious wine.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 42. Plots & Ploys

    D’Arcy, too, suggested she sit and helped her off with her coat – probably thinking the sweat on her forehead meant she was overheated instead of merely tense. He closed the door behind her with a conspiratorial air.


    “Your husband has acquired an attorney,” he said. “Really it could not be better for us. He seems to have instructed a Mr. Jellicoe, who shares offices with his detective.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It sounds to me as though the cart was driving this particular horse, and we all know what is the result when THAT happens.”


    “It sounds horrible,” said Scarlet faintly. “I can’t imagine.”


    “Disaster, my dear Mrs. Wye, disaster. I suspect here we have the client who thinks he can manage his solicitor – NEVER a good idea.” He looked repressive. That’s Ian for you, thought Scarlet. He considers himself the smartest man in the room.


    “I saw Ian this morning,” she interjected. “His showed up unexpectedly at Norfolk Crescent. To take the car.”


    Pelham’s eyebrows knit worriedly but he said nothing.


    “That was all right with me,” she hurriedly asserted – “I don’t want it and he’s moving into the BBC flat. I told him in future he should make an appointment. Say, to see Nick.”


    “Naturally,” Pelham agreed. “Mr. Jellicoe and I will iron out a schedule. Until we have I suggest you inform your husband there will be no visitation. I will be serving Mr. Jellicoe with our Notice of Potential Harm to a Minor Child.”


    He’ll love that, thought Scarlet.


    “Have you been to the bank?”


    Scarlet looked guilty.


    “Not yet.”


    “You really need to set that up account. Planters Bank around the corner is the one we use. Would you like me to instruct Mr. Gammel, the bank manager?”


    “I wish you would,” said Scarlet hopefully. If there was any way to make this rough course smoother, she would take it.


    “I’ll give him a call. Do step round and ask to see Mr. Gammel at conclusion of our business. Should I know any more about this surprise meeting with Ian?”


    Should I mention Candi? Wondered Scarlet. The fact that Ian insisted he wouldn’t be getting a divorce. But she couldn’t see how that would help.


    “He invited me to help him move into his flat. I declined but I offered to help with a room for Nick. Should I mention the nanny? Could he use mine? My new nanny’s that new client I told you about – the one with the Foreign Service husband. How should I handle this?”


    “Ah, Enid Ransom.” Pelham D’Arcy gave a wolfish grin. “We have a lovely case there. Mrs. Ransom will be coming into a tidy sum. I hope that won’t interfere with her need for employment. It would be too cruel if your good interventions deprived you of a nanny.”


    “I doubt it,” said Scarlet. “Miss Bottomley also hired her as a cook – I think both of them are having the time of her lives. And Norfolk Crescent’s a most comfortable place to live.”


    D’Arcy assumed a serious mien, “Mrs. Wye, I cannot emphasize strongly enough that you NOT go to your husband’s flat. You simply cannot be alone with him. If he assaulted you before the separation is final, such are the marriage laws in this country, we could not prosecute a rape. It would be assumed to be consensual. Every conjugal act sets us back to the beginning of the process, as if you had accepted and forgiven him.”


    Scarlet felt faint. Rape as a method of subjection! Like a cruel colonial power subduing recalcitrant populations.


    “I did think my husband had some ulterior motive inviting me,” she gasped nervously. “I can’t believe he would be…force me.”


    Pelham looked alarmed. “Let’s not wait to find out what he does when he feels desperate,” he insisted, “But assume at the outset that if the worst is possible, the risk is unacceptable.”


    Just what Miss Clew would recommend! Thought Scarlet. She began to see the possibility for a new book: Miss Clew’s Advice to Young Girls. Always carry a hatpin would be Precept #1! In spite of the general tension, she giggled.


    Pelham D’Arcy pulled out the brandy bottle. Evidently, he considered his client on the verge of becoming hysterical. It had probably happened many times before.


    “I’ll do as you suggest,” Scarlet agreed hastily, but declined the brandy. It was eleven thirty in the morning, and on an empty stomach, brandy probably promoted hysteria.


    “Have there been occasions in the past” – D’Arcy gasped, pouring himself a snifter, “I realize I should have enquired earlier – when your husband has been – punitive?”


    Scarlet blushed uncomfortably. “He is customarily quite pushy,” she said finally. “He hasn’t had occasion to feel…deprived. I was the one being deprived…as soon as he got a girlfriend.”


    Pelham tossed back his brandy. Obviously he found discussing marital intimacies the toughest part of his job.


    “Live and learn,” he said finally. “We frequently handle suits for restitution of conjugal rights and I confess I usually consider the problem from that point of view. But given the situation, you must have nothing to do with your husband. Consider yourself at risk. Any further questions?”


    “No. Thank you very much – for all you have done.” I’ll get right over to the bank.”


    She left as Pelham D’Arcy was placing his call to Mr. Gammel.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 41. Candi’s Game

    Dr. Spock’s Commonsense Book of Baby and Childcare was in the Medical section. She was immersed in its pages, reading almost in a state of bliss the doctor’s opinion that mothers were always the best judges and should “follow their instincts” – God Bless America! – when her elbow was roughly grabbed, and she was jerked around face to face with Candi Pourfoyle.


    Candi looked terrible. She seemed to have given up the Cleopatra eye makeup, instead wearing peculiar white eyeliner and white lipstick that only made her sleepless face look bonier – positively skeletal.


    Her voice was rough as she pulled Scarlet closer.


    “Why don’t you just give him up?”


    Scarlet studied her pityingly. “I have given him up.”’


    “Then divorce him.” There was a definite note of desperation in Candi’s voice now as she scrabbled for a tissue in her bag. Scarlet saw pill bottles.


    “I AM divorcing him,” said Scarlet, “You must speak to Ian. He’s the one who doesn’t want a divorce.”


    Candi’s face collapsed before this terrible truth. She smeared her makeup with the tissue as she dabbled at her eyes. This was a far cry from the confident seductress who’d visited Wyvern a few short weeks before. Was this what Ian did to women? Or was this what Ian so, so subtly suggested women should do to themselves?


    Scarlet pulled away from this depressing spectre, fearing that she herself had looked like this, only days ago.


    “He says he can’t divorce you,” gasped Candi. “I’m warning you, you can’t get away with that.”


    “You can stop worrying,” Scarlet told her. “Whether Ian likes it or not, we are definitely getting a divorce.”


    It’s none of my business if he lies to his girlfriend, she thought, stepping with relief into a stream of foot traffic headed for the cashier’s box. She would expect nothing less of the new Ian she had come to know. He said whatever was convenient for the moment, but made no effort to bring his lies into a consistent story. And soon she was once again free, outside in the brisk London December, clutching her parcel, signaling a cab and giving the address of her solicitor.

    Bob Thomas immediately poured her out a welcoming cup of tea, ushered her into a chair and acted as if he had all the time in the world.


    “Miss Bottomley hired me to help edit her novel series,” she told him. “I wonder whether you know that.”


    His broad face expressed confusion. “It wasn’t mentioned,” he said shortly. Scarlet was not surprised that poor Miss Bottomley had not thought to mention her authorship of a long sold series as any part of her current assets.


    “Our Miss Clew – published sixty years ago? I don’t know if you recollect the titles.”


    “Ladies novels?” His face became if anything more impassive. “I’m sorry, no.”


    Scarlet thought of David Pourfoyle’s enthusiastic recommendation, which had started her on the long path leading her to this very office, but she couldn’t explain it to Mr. Thomas. Instead, she shared with him just the facts he needed to know.


    “Let’s say they are highly regarded by the literati. Miss Bottomley was forced by pecuniary imperative to sell the series to Coltsfoot & Briggins, Publishers, forty years ago and now they are suggesting an updated re-issue. Miss Bottomley doesn’t trust them to edit the series – er – respectfully, you understand – and suggested she submit her version first, to which they agreed.
    I went to see Mr. Mountjoy yesterday and we had what I can only describe as a ghastly meeting. He showed me other series they have done – Rod the Spy if you recognize that –“ horrifyingly, his face lit up. It seemed that he did. She took a strengthening cup of tea and pressed on in spite of the fact that she feared this was about to go all wrong.


    “And I came away with no faith whatever that these publishers are going to preserve any of the wonderful charm and special interest of those books – which I may say are personally beloved by many, many people, including me.”


    Luckily, he didn’t insert a dismissive comment. His attentiveness emboldened her. She sharpened her point. “I also noticed that these particular publishers seem to be in dire need of cash.”
    Mr. Thomas said, “Most publishers are. Dicey business, publishing. They’re in the fashion business more than anything.”


    Scarlet felt cheered and suitably strengthened. “When I returned to Norfolk Crescent, I told Miss Bottomley I thought she ought to buy an equity stake in those publishers and bring out her books her own way. She was delighted with the idea.”


    At last Bob Thomas slid a memorandum pad towards himself and began taking notes.


    “Capital idea,” he said. “Miss Bottomley sorely needs a losing business. All her current rentals are bringing in money hand over fist. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I make some preliminary inquiries – sound them out so to speak to see what such a stake might cost without letting out who wants to know, and when I see Miss Bottomley tomorrow afternoon – I’m coming by tomorrow afternoon with some documents for her to sign – she can let me know how she wishes to proceed.”


    “Marvelous,” said Scarlet, rising immediately, “She’ll be so pleased. I can’t thank you enough.”


    Really, she was just grateful he hadn’t thrown her out on her ear. I mean why on earth should this solicitor discuss Miss Bottomley’s business with her?


    As she was putting on her coat Pelham D’Arcy thrust his head around his door.


    “Mrs. Wye, could you stop by for a moment?” he requested. “I’ve got something I’d like to discuss.”