Alysse Aallyn

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  • 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 50. Pom Pom Pom

    Walking towards the kitchen Scarlet found herself wondering at the joy she felt from Pom’s sheer presence, the lightness he imparted to her step. Quite the opposite of Ian whose mind seemed to have hardened into such an inscrutable wall and whose dry, dusty heart had been devoured by pride and greed . Her spirits literally hit the floor when he was around. Scarlet eerily felt that she and Pom seemed always to be thinking the same thoughts – she could literally feel his ideas quivering in the air, yearning for contact with her to make them visible to the world at large.

    Miss Bottomley was drawing on her gloves, getting ready for her banking trip.


    “It’s just my own things here,” she said, gesturing at her modest bedroom – more like a nun’s cell than anything the rest of the house contained. “And I like the kitchen furniture. So once again your idea was sound: just tell him anywhere but here – unless you’re attached to the furniture in your own room, of course. You can exempt anything you’d like to personally own.”


    “I am fond of the desk in my room,” said Scarlet. “Thanks. You’ve been very generous.”


    Mr. Crousam paid Pom and Scarlet no further attention as he wandered from room to room, making notes. They could spend the whole morning together.


    “We’ll have to think up a new excuse after this,” said Pom and Scarlet laughed and squeezed his hand.


    “How about those auctions Miss Bottomley is so eager to attend?”

    “Good plan,” Pom agreed. “Do you think we could get away with one auction and one gallery visit per week?”


    “Or perhaps two,” said Scarlet and Pom pulled her back behind a Coromandel screen and kissed her. Ecstasy!


    “Oh, I wish you hadn’t done that,” Scarlet gasped huskily as she fell against him.


    “Why’s that?” he murmured, playing with her hair.


    “Because it changes everything.”


    But Pom was kissing her face and Scarlet was kissing back. Time itself melted, goals melted, there was no future, only this eternal sense of glorious happiness – Pom loved her, she loved him, she was the luckiest girl in the world.


    “Why are you crying?” he asked gently, wiping away tears with his lips.


    “Because this is a disaster,” she cried, “I’m in the middle of a complicated divorce – if I have a lover – if I have a boyfriend – aren’t I as bad as Ian?”


    “Surely not,” he said. “Your husband is rejecting love. We are finding it.” But he halted long enough to allow her to back away from him, straighten her clothing and question frantically, “Can’t we pretend this never happened?”


    “But it’s the truth,” said Pom. “I love you and you love me. I want to shout it from the housetops.”


    “Don’t you dare. It can’t happen if I want Ian to sign the divorce agreement I need, can’t you see? Let’s agree to put this on hold. No love talk –“ she gasped, “And no touching.”


    He backed away, putting his hands up. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’ve waited thirty-three years to find you, I can wait a few more months.”


    “It will go much faster than that if Ian sees he has no choice,” sighed Scarlet, then asked, “Thirty-three years?”


    “That’s how old I am,” said Pom. “Are you appalled?”


    “No,” said Scarlet. “I’m – hopeful. But I’m also frightened. Frightened.”


    He held up his hands, kissed her forehead and left.


    No sleep for Scarlet that night, as tossing and turning, she contemplated a divorce on Ian’s terms. She’d experienced marriage on his terms and it hadn’t been tolerable. She must not let him get the upper hand.


    The new world Pom offered was spectacular, exciting and completely unexpected. In the moment of his warm erotic presence she had wanted him totally – they had been near a bed, she would have fallen into it. And she was certain the experience would have been wonderful, their attunement was so perfect. But she had also been looking forward to her job, her new life in Miss Bottomley’s house as a single woman and she didn’t want to forgo those exciting experiences either. No, it was just too soon with Pom. She hadn’t yet learned how to properly care for Nick or care for herself, and she had just acquired s new charge: Miss Bottomley. The only way forward was slowly, one thing at a time. But as her hand reached down to touch herself she couldn’t help but vibrate to the promise of joy she had experienced.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 49. An Appointment With the Past

    And they both managed a full night’s restful sleep.


    Scarlet was breakfasting alone at the dining table, scanning the papers when the phone call came.
    “You’ll never believe what Ian told the magistrate,” said D’Arcy. “By the way, our detective lost him at the BBC – there are just too many entrances – so he very sensibly dispatched himself to your current place of residence. He obtained one long distance photo of Ian backing you up against a wall – no kissing, but the buttons of your coat undone.”


    “What did Ian say?”


    “He said you were disguised as the nanny! Is that possible, Scarlet?”


    Scarlet flushed. She had not expected this. “I did borrow the nanny’s greatcoat. And hat.”
    “Why on earth?”


    “I wanted to get a good look at any loiterers.”


    “Please leave that to us and don’t do it again. We are presenting ourselves as the innocent parties here – if a judge gets a whiff that the two of you are playing some marital game he’ll toss the whole case out as collusive.”


    “I’m sorry,” said Scarlet. “I guess I didn’t think. So, what did the magistrate do?”


    “Well, he absolved Ian of contravening a court order but of course one isn’t supposed to slam nannies against walls, either. Since the detective testified to some kissing, Ian said he was having a “try-on.” It certainly doesn’t help his case and he was unarguably too close to your residence. The judge has added the nanny to the order and repeated “Stay away.” On the whole, I think we can call this a win.”


    A hammering at the front door vaulted Scarlet to her feet. Must be the security crew.
    “I must go. Is that all?”


    “That covers it. You be a good girl, now.”


    Scarlet promised, too distracted to argue that girlhood felt very long past now and never to come again.


    A woman wearing an old-fashioned duster stood on the doorstep, arm akimbo.
    “I’m here to see why I was fired. Mollie Jarviss of Jarviss Cleaning.”


    “I’m sure we didn’t fire you,” said Scarlet, who had been expecting the security men. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll sort this out?”


    She seated Mollie in the dining room and found Miss Bottomley toasting her toes in the kitchen, “keeping Enid company” which seemed to be her favorite new pursuit. She was wearing Scarlet’s bulky red anorak.


    “I hope you don’t mind,” she apologized, “it just fits me so well, it’s so hard to stay warm and it’s so comfortable.”


    “Not in the least,” said Scarlet. “You can have it. It doesn’t really fit me anymore. Clearly, I need new outerwear. By the way, was there any problem with the cleaning company that you can remember?”


    “Our cleaning company? I can’t think of any,” said Miss Bottomley. “I never saw them. But they certainly seemed honest, quiet and best of all from my point of view – they were fast.”


    “Mrs. Jarviss is claiming she was fired.”


    “I didn’t fire her,” snorted Miss Bottomley, “I fired Mr. Inkum. Bob Thomas and I did.”


    “So you won’t object if I re-hire her?”


    “Not in the least. I wouldn’t care to audition anyone new at this late stage.”


    Scarlet carried the good news to Mrs. Jarvis.


    “It’s Inkum who’s been let go,” she averred. “We’ll be paying you from now on.”


    Relief melted Mrs. Jarviss’ face, followed by embarrassment.


    “That’s all right, then,” she said. “I apologize if I was forceful. I thought we’d been found wanting but nobody told me. Fix anything the customer doesn’t care for is my motto. My girls are honest and hard-working.”


    “That’s great, then. Miss Bottomley is well satisfied.”


    “Four o’clock today, then? Two pounds ten.”


    “Certainly,” said Scarlet, trying not to show how surprised she was at such a low figure for this vast place. She escorted a much-subdued Mrs. Jarviss to the door. “We’ll see you this afternoon, then.”
    If it was once a week, she thought, there wouldn’t be a need to give Mrs. Jarviss the code. But she must remember to get a cheque from Miss Bottomley.


    The security men were pulling up at that very moment.


    “Good morning,” said Mr. Dyson. “This is Bert, who will work on keying your front door. John Truax here will oversee the job at the back.”


    Bert was all business in a gray oil-stained boiler suit He immediately knelt to study the door locks with scarcely a glance at Scarlet. Truax was more personable. He looked ex-military with his shoulders bulging out of his turtleneck and tweed jacket.


    “Miss Bottomley’s favorite number is 881,” whispered Scarlet. “Some childhood address.”


    “That’s where we’ll start, then. If you could walk us to the back?”


    Miss Bottomley was delighted by the company and offered tea all round, which the men did not take up. Elevenses, they averred, at eleven, would be welcome.


    “I will need a chair, if that’s all right,” said Truax. “For my post.”


    It was certainly all right.


    Three trucks had already pulled up in the forecourt.


    “I wish I could watch,” said Miss Bottomley regretfully, “But I must get ready for Mr. Thomas. We’re going to the bank.”


    “Nick and I can keep watch,” said Enid.


    Scarlet thought it was really the handsome Truax who had drawn Enid’s attention.


    “I have some things to do upstairs,” said Scarlet.


    But it was not to be. The front door bell summoned her yet again. Who’s the housemaid now? Wondered Scarlet but her disgruntled expression changed when she saw Pom and a sweet-looking young man standing before her on the doorstep.


    “Finally, someone I want to see!” she gasped. Pom and the stranger broke into smiles immediately.
    “Kirby Crousam,” Pom introduced, “From the Victoria and Albert. We went to art school together.” They had to step over locksmith Bert to enter.


    Scarlet bit her tongue to avoid telling poor Mr. Crousam that he didn’t look old enough to be running his own affairs, much less anyone else’s. The boyish-looking man produced a very professional portfolio with pages of checklists. He insisted on a complete tour.


    “Oh, my goodness,” gasped Crousam, “I can’t believe my eyes. Wells Antiquarian chairs, St. George cabinets –and this washstand – simply priceless!’


    “I thought it was a prie-dieu or something,” muttered Scarlet.


    “No, this rather strange piece of marble was simply laid on top. I suppose they thought they were repurposing it. But the upholstery looks original.”


    “Well, no one has ever sat there,” said Scarlet, while Pom echoed, “Who would WANT to?”
    “It’s true these pieces are thoroughly out of fashion now,” Crousam agreed. “But they are living history. All the more reason they should be protected.”


    “They belong in a museum,” said Scarlet, and Kirby Crousam flushed with pleasure at a comment which in her country would be more of an insult. Scarlet’s conscience smote her and she offered Kirby Crousam a cup of tea.


    “After I’ve finished that would be most welcome,” said Crousam.


    “After you’ve finished you may be ready for dinner,” said Pom. “There are three floors of this stuff.”


    “I feel like I’m dreaming,” said Crousam. “It’s a treasure trove!” Closer up, Scarlet saw the network of wrinkles. He looked more like a jockey, really – boyish at a distance but seen close-to he was prematurely aged, more like a chimneysweep .


    “How can everything possibly be in such perfect condition?” Crousam continued. “It’s a curator’s dream come true.”


    “Well, the old lady who lived here before Miss Bottomley seemed to prefer luxury cruise ships.”


    Kirby turned up the carpet to study the weave.


    “It usually comes down to some old party too frightened to make a will.”


    Pom flashed his charming smile. “And whose relatives were all too shy –“


    “Or too snooty –“ teased Scarlet –


    “To get married or have children and so when the old lady died the whole property went to another old lady the first old lady had never even met.”


    “How Dickensian,” murmured Crousam.


    “And our heiress old lady was a novelist who believed in finding the proper place for everything,” Scarlet finished. “These pieces should be where people can enjoy them.”


    “And learn from them. The museum would be so honored to receive any of these pieces. We have such a small endowment – people don’t realize – but sometimes we can raise funds for certain items -“


    “I think you’ll find Miss Bottomley wants to be as generous as possible. Why don’t you get in touch with Bob Thomas of Thomas & D’Arcy – he’s her man of business.”


    “Of course,” said Crousam, making a note. “Are there any rooms I shouldn’t enter?”


    “I’d say the kitchen and the rooms behind it. Those are Miss Bottomley’s private quarters,” said Scarlet. “Why don’t I let you know when she’s available?”

  • 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 44. Dolly Birds

    Scarlet felt less surprised about the story Pelham had shared about some woman “setting up base camp at Ian’s town residence.” Too young and too footloose to be Margalo but Scarlet felt confident that the BBC doubtless pullulated with skimpily attired, pretty young things, all skimpily paid of course, in desperate need of a London bolt-hole with “all found”; girls who would adore offering comfort to a handsome, lonely man whose wife had abandoned him. What had Ian called them? Dolly birds? Unfortunately, judging by Candi’s hospital records, these poor women failed to reckon with just how “abandoned” Ian actually was!


    A two storey “maisonette” (with balcony!) in central London – that girl probably felt fortunate indeed. He could have his cake and eat it too – nanny, housekeeper and girlfriend all mixed together! So probably unpaid? Worse and worse, poor thing. And it sounded just like Ian, thinking himself so clever for dangling before Scarlet just how easily and cheaply she could be replaced.
    The most bothersome aspect of all this news was how little it seemed he really knew the girl he had married! Scarlet found this new picture of Ian repellant rather than inciting. She couldn’t imagine Pom putting some girl in hospital!


    But if she was honest with herself, hadn’t Ian’s aura of danger been a large part of his attraction when they were in college? She knew her rivals thought so. But around children such explosive potential seemed suddenly very unappealing. Maybe I just grew up, thought Scarlet.


    Scarlet might be a mystery to her husband, but Scarlet felt she understood Candi all too well. It was Scarlet whom Candi yearned to supplant, Scarlet whom in fact she wanted to be. She had made that very clear in Foyle’s – she was angling to become Mrs. Wye. Poor Candi may have felt that throwing over her job and even being injured by him made Ian “owe” her something. Candi didn’t realize that it was Scarlet’s personal power that she envied, and not the power Scarlet acquired as a wife, if any. But it’s my “power” as a confident, educated woman with a sense of my own value, she thought.


    Candi didn’t know herself – or Ian – or even marriage – well enough to realize she’d made the worst possible decision. Scarlet wondered if she should reach out to David Pourfoyle, Candi’s abandoned husband. He must be a wreck. In hindsight, all these actions and reactions seemed so easy to categorize. Look at the mistakes Scarlet herself had made – allowing herself to become the “country wife” – a benefit more honored in fantasy than reality. In Ian’s eyes women cheapened themselves by becoming “convenient”. And Candi hadn’t even insisted on a ring! How could she – married to someone else.


    The phone rang again, and since Scarlet was sitting right there, she answered it.


    “Er – Scarlet?” Pom’s unmistakable voice.


    Scarlet felt an enormous gush of relief.


    “It’s for me,” she said to Enid’s, “And who’s that now?”


    Enid signed off with a harried, “Very well then.”


    “Your life appears to be heating up,” said Pom. “Who was that, if I may enquire?”


    “It’s a long story. I hired a nanny and she turned into a godsend. In fact, she’s been rather – taken over by Miss Bottomley.”


    “So you’re still in nanny straits?”


    “No, Mrs. Rumson can tackle both jobs – quite well, so far, I believe. She’s the most fantastic cook! Miss Bottomley’s eating like a rescued castaway.”


    “Well, she really is one, isn’t she? Anyway, I phoned to say I’m back in town – Freddie did a bang-up job on my car – and wondered if we could dine? Or does divorce case forfend?”


    I’ve got to get my emotions under control, thought Scarlet. She was rocketing between the ecstasy of seeing him again – the embarrassment of feeling the depth of that need – and her dashed hopes over Pelham’s lawyerly injunction.


    She was rescued by a brilliant idea.


    “I say,” she proposed, “What do you know about art?”


    “A lot,” said Pom. “I hope.”


    ‘Would you be willing to do a job for Miss Bottomley?”


    “Anything at all.”


    “Why don’t you come to dinner tonight and make an aesthetic inventory of her paintings? She’s got a lot here.”


    Pom sounded intrigued. “An aesthetic inventory?”


    “Certainly.. She inherited all this stuff and she has insurance policies and inventories and that sort of thing, but she doesn’t care about these works and she never looks at them. Perhaps they would be better off in some museum and she could decorate her walls with…something more modern. Something of her own choice, that gives her meaning and pleasure.”


    “Oh, I see. What a fun idea! I couldn’t charge money of course. This would be strictly friend-to-friend. I mean, otherwise my conflicts of interest would be too opprobrious.”


    Scarlet laughed. “Too, too opprobrious.”


    “Shall we say seven?”


    “We’d better say six. There’s old ladies and infants to consider. Unless you can’t.”


    “Oh, but I can.”


    And just like that, Scarlet was happy again. Lovely Pom!


    She found Enid and Miss Bottomley in the kitchen playing the card game “crazy eights.”


    “I do love this game,” said Miss Bottomley enthusiastically.


    Nick was just starting to fuss so Scarlet picked him up, snuffling up his delightful talcum-y smell. She was certain that he recognized her and was gazing up at her trustingly.


    “I wonder if I might invite Pom to dinner,” she inquired shyly.


    “Oh, your delightful friend! I do like him so.” Miss Bottomley smacked an eight down on the table and declared “Hearts. You’ll like him too,” she told Enid.


    “Do you think he’d like spaghetti Bolognese?” inquired the chef.


    “I know for a fact he loves anything Italian.”


    “What fun!” exclaimed Enid. “Would you like me to take Nick?”


    “No, I need fresh air. I think I’ll take him walking. Miss Bottomley, Pom is willing to take a friendly look at your pictures and perhaps suggest some moderns you might buy. Would you like that?”


    “Scarlet, you have the best ideas!” declared Miss Bottomley. “These daubs are so DREARY. Do you know in my bedroom there was a picture of a cow. I ask you! Who would want a picture like that? I had it moved of course – exchanged for boring old flowers but that’s hardly better. It would buck everyone up to see a bit of color. The previous owner’s taste seems all dark green and mud brown. Dreadful stuff.”


    And expensive to insure, thought Scarlet.


    “I’m so glad you feel that way,” she said, taking Nick to get changed. “It would be fun looking for new stuff. Perhaps we could attend some openings and shows.”


    “Auctions!” Miss Bottomley brightened. “Let’s go to auctions! Auctions are so thrilling, don’t you find?”

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 43. Rupture

    Mr. Gammel the bank manger had been appropriately primed. Scarlet opened a trustee account for her son and one for herself. She did feel relieved – and rich – as she pocketed her new chequebook, even though she had yet to actually get a paycheck. The thirty pounds deposited in each account – she only hoped Ian would cover the checks when they were presented and that depended entirely on his mood – could not yet be accessed.


    Enid had prepared a lovely lunch – in the dining room for a change. Her eyes shimmered.
    “Salmon mousse!” she exclaimed. “Look how beautifully it came out. Miss Bottomley’s kitchen has every amenity – conveniences I’ve only heard about and am looking forward to discovering the use of. I’m having as much fun as a bride!”


    In Scarlet’s memory, her “fun” as a bride was quite different, but Enid had spent her morning sorting pots and pans and implements in Miss Bottomley’s kitchen while Baby Nick waved his legs and the elderly author looked on, bemused.


    “Nick was as good as gold. He had his bottle and now he’s having a sleep. I spoke to your lovely solicitor Mr. D’Arcy and he’s promising to set me right with my finances. It will be such a relief not to have to sound pathetic and uncertain when I speak to the children. My husband can well afford an adequate disposition.”


    It was quite a Mediterranean lunch. Salmon mousse ornamented with black and green olives, a green salad with sliced tomatoes and buttered whole meal bread. Tea to drink – Miss Bottomley’s favorite Earl Grey. No alcohol in sight, Scarlet gratefully noted.


    “Mr. Thomas seemed interested about our plan about investing in publishing,” said Scarlet succinctly, shaking out her napkin as she addressed Miss Bottomley. “He said you need another business!”


    Miss Bottomley perked up visibly. “Isn’t it wonderful, being rich!”


    The ladies agreed that it certainly seemed to be.


    “He’ll do a bit of research and come by tomorrow afternoon to discuss it with you.”


    “Good plan,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “Scarlet, how can I ever thank you enough? Enid, dear, will you mark it in my book? By the phone?”


    Scarlet would have thought that keeping Miss Bottomley’s “books” was her job, but she didn’t argue. Perhaps it was best to see how things shook themselves out. After all, if Miss Bottomley really did buy a stake in Coltsfoot & Briggins, Scarlet might find herself working there. At least temporarily. Having Enid care for Nick and Miss Bottomley at the same time would clearly be the beau ideal. If, that is, she was trustworthy as she seemed. A big “if.” But she certainly appeared to be, so far.


    Scarlet’s offer to do the dishes was roundly turned down.


    “No, thank you,” said Enid. “I feel Miss Bottomley’s generous pay entitles me to make the kitchen my dominion. I don’t mind it a bit. In Morocco and India, we had servants and they wouldn’t let me do anything. I found it horribly frustrating. We have the most elegant commercial dishwasher and I’m dying to use it! Would you care for coffee?”


    There seemed no point waking Nick merely to carry him upstairs so Scarlet took her coffee upstairs instead.


    She was kicking off her shoes and looking forward to an exhausted nap when the phone rang.
    “Mr. Pelham D’Arcy for Mrs. Wye,” announced the careful clerk Mr. Gotobed. Enid came on the line.


    “What is it?”


    “It’s for me,” said Scarlet shortly.


    “That’s all right then.” Enid hung up noisily.


    “Good news about Mrs. Rumson,” said Pelham as soon as he took up the line. “I wanted to reassure you that Jim Bogswell made a couple of calls and there’s no black marks against her. I think you made a good hire. Nothing damaging known.”


    Scarlet felt relieved to the point of tears. “That’s marvelous. You can’t think how knowing that relieves me. Mrs. Rumson’s doing such a fantastic job here – and Miss Bottomley’s having the time of her life. I would feel dreadful if I brought a wolf into the fold.”


    “It seems the wolves are all outside,” Pelham warned sententiously. “We are numbering and fighting them off, one by one. Now, don’t ring off. Bogswell had some other news. It seems your husband has more than one girl-friend.”


    That more than explained Candi’s anxiety! Apparently Candi’s upgrade to “house-help” created a vacancy! Now that the poor woman found herself in Scarlet’s old job, maneuvering her way around a prevaricating, untrustworthy male, she as being acquainted with the stresses and strains of the position. Scarlet’s conscience smote her – she hadn’t even mentioned Candi’s threat to Pelham. Should she bring it up now? But D’Arcy was in full cry.


    “He’s got some woman staying at the flat. Bogswell’s trying to find out more about her.”


    “That was quick work,” said Scarlet. “He only told me this morning he was just beginning the move in.”


    “Taradiddle,” said Pelham shortly. “Our source says some young woman – early twenties – has established base camp.”


    Well then why on earth had Ian invited her over? To make her jealous? She couldn’t put it past him.
    “And there’s more.”


    “More girls?” No wonder Candi was feeling desperate!


    “More facts. I believe I mentioned that Mrs. Pourfoyle gave up her employment and moved to Verne on Wye?”


    “You didn’t say she’d quit her job!”


    “Oh, yes. Gave in her notice. And she had –“ he cleared his throat – “A recent hospitalization.”


    Scarlet couldn’t parse his heavy emphasis. “Some kind of miscarriage?”


    “It seems,” Pelham said with the delicacy of an elephant, “She experienced a rupture.”


    “A physical rupture?”


    “Correct. Requiring stitches.”


    Scarlet was imagining Ian had socked Candi in the eye when Pelham continued, “Er – gynecologically.”


    “Oh, my God!”


    “Precisely. Was your husband excessively adventuresome in the bedroom?”


    “I believe I used the word “pushy”,” Scarlet said somewhat coldly. This was what people warned you about with divorce attorneys.


    “Ah, yes. Forceful.” He seemed to be making a note. “Well, let me tell you this news puts our case in very good standing. We are certainly entitled to a no-contact order at the very least. I will notify you of further developments.”


    “Thank you,” gasped Scarlet and fell back on her pillows, all chance of a nap gone.
    Would she ever sleep again? Poor Candi! Stitches! Hospitals! She would discover first-hand that Ian really had no sympathy for the sick, the disabled, or the “hors de combat.” Candi was truly, now, a “whore de combat.”


    Scarlet had never imagined feeling sorry for the woman, but it seemed her rival had unleashed a whirlwind. This was a vision of the country gent as member of the Hellfire Club. Could it be that Ian divided “wives” and “girlfriends” so thoroughly in his own mind that it liberated his aggression if the woman had no legal claim on him? If so, poor Candi! She seemed like the unlucky sorcerer’s apprentice who couldn’t manage her own spell and was now being threatened by her own creation.
    In which case, why not wash her hands of him? Militate for a better position? But how could she when she had given up both husband and job?

    In fact, it was apparent to Scarlet that now that Candi had given up her London work she was dramatically worse off – at Ian’s mercy in fact. How could Candi have not foreseen this? She had always bragged about her gallery job as if it were a wonderfully lucky break. Plainly she considered Ian an even luckier break, only to discover the man was all smoke and mirrors. What was the matter with women?


    At the center of all this was Ian, wreaking havoc and feeling entitled to wreak more. In a way, this piece of unholy medical information erased much of Scarlet’s guilt over a “non-contact” order. She needed to come out the other side, with a good arrangement to focus Ian’s good behavior around his own son, as well as terminating Scarlet’s dependence on such an undependable man.

  • 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.