Alysse Aallyn

Tag: Writing Community

  • 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.

  • 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.”

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 40. Machinations

    That is, until she saw Ian.


    His face was all smiles. He was looking very smart and every bit the country squire in green coat and moleskin breeches. She was glad she’d taken care with her own appearance, but she couldn’t disguise her dismay at the sight of him.


    His arms moved to hug her but she refused to halt her stride and so he fell into step beside her.
    “I’ve come to pick up the car,” he began, and she cursed herself for not having thought of it.
    “It’s around back,” she told him ungraciously.


    “You don’t want a car in London,” he said, “The parking alone is a nightmare.”


    And Candi must want the car in the country, thought Scarlet, but she managed to say nothing.
    Ian fell openmouthed at the sight of the large cobblestoned back court of Miss Bottomley’s residence. Parking was clearly no problem.


    “You’ve certainly fallen on your feet,” he murmured. There was enough room for ten cars.


    “You’re right,” she said, unlocking the car, “I don’t want a car in London.”


    He stood awkwardly by the driver’s side.


    “I just wanted to see where you live and perhaps catch a glimpse of Nick.”


    Her heart smote her. She should have been ready for this! If she had walked through the kitchen to reach the back court instead of out of the front door she would have driven off without even seeing him! What would Enid and Miss Bottomley have done then? But it was no part of her plan to keep the child from his father.


    “I really think you need to make an appointment,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat, “While things are so awkward. Anyway, I must be on my way – I’ve got to see my lawyer.”


    She couldn’t resist this last.


    “I’ll drop you,” he said amiably.


    That would put her at the solicitor’s office far too early.


    “I have to go to Foyle’s first,” she admitted so he said, “Get in. I’ll take you.” Mr. Bossy or Mr. Agreeable? She couldn’t be sure, because she no longer trusted him.


    Into the silence he injected, “You’re looking well.”


    “I’m feeling well,” she lied after her sleepless night. But she appreciated the compliment. I’m as starved as Miss Bottomley, in my own way, she thought. Lots of deprivation and loneliness going round.


    “So…are you all moved in?” He made conversation.


    “It was furnished,” she responded.


    “And probably pretty well judging by the neighborhood.” He whistled. “How’s the editing job?”


    She tried not to laugh. “It’s quite involving. Exciting and unexpected.”


    He seemed amazed she’d acquired anything but drudge work.


    “And the old lady? How’s she holding up?”


    “I got someone to look after her,” said Scarlet, struggling not to sound smug but feeling it. Would he ask about the nanny? I mean, here she was, so SOMEONE must be looking after Nick. Did he understand? Did he care?


    Apparently not. He evidently thought a house of old ladies and old lady minders could look after an infant. I despise this man, thought Scarlet a bit angrily. I actively despise him!


    “Well, I’m moving into the BBC flat,” he said. “It’s dreadfully big for me.”


    Should she remind him he needed a room for Nick and possibly for a nanny as well? She should ask Enid if she’d consider staying with Nick elsewhere. Would Nick be swarmed instead by Ian’s girlfriends – Scarlet felt certain that to the extent he thought about it at all, THAT was his plan, to fob Nick off on a series of impressionable girls. That wouldn’t do at all, but she knew Pelham would want her to say nothing. But there was SO MUCH she wanted to say! About his detective, for example! Trying to horn his way into Miss Bottomley’s! But she realized there was no point – he’d disavow knowledge, certainly. Anyway, why question a committed liar?


    “Would you like to…help furnish the place?” He asked this respectfully, almost shyly. “I could use your assistance.”


    Scarlet stared at him. He’d had plenty of ideas about Wyvern House! So why the sudden dearth – the need for her help and intervention now?


    She experienced an unnerving thrill of power. Was that his goal? Or was he admiring her, courting her even, for refusing to lie down and accept ill treatment?


    She hadn’t considered this possibility – that once she no longer wanted him he would want her again – but she realized she should have. It had been true of all her boyfriends in the past. Probably some quirk of the male character – they always wanted to be the one to walk away.
    “I’ll help you do Nick’s room,” she offered.


    He pulled up to Foyle’s while traffic flowed around them. “This is fine,” she said, and jumped out of the car before he could argue. Parking really was a nightmare around Foyle’s – buses were everywhere. Once through the glass revolving door she watched him grinding gears as he swept into the roundabout. She wanted to make certain he was really gone.


    And then she saw a redhead step out of a cab – a strawberry in sunglasses – surely that wasn’t Candi? It looked like her! She pulled away from the glass as if fearful of contamination.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 39. Strategy

    When she opened the front door at Norfolk Crescent the delicious scent of roasting lamb assailed her nostrils at the same time as laughter struck her ears.


    In the kitchen, she was surprised to encounter a mini-cocktail party – Enid chopping vegetables while Miss Bottomley looked on, enjoying a glass of red wine. Her withered-apple face glowed.


    “I hope you had success?” she enquired. “Enid’s been regaling me with tales about Morocco.”


    “There’s just a bit of hummus left,” said Enid. “Really you must try it.”


    Scarlet was more interested in the wine.


    “Sawditch is ordering couscous!” Miss Bottomley said. “Enid promises to cook us a mush-wee!”


    “A meshwi,” Enid corrected, handing Scarlet a glass of wine. “How did your publishing encounter go?”


    “Sadly, the man is a complete dunderhead,” said Scarlet, throwing the books on the table. “THIS is the sort of thing they publish! They expect us to accommodate ourselves to this ghastly drivel!”


    Enid looked thoughtful but Miss Bottomley seemed so crestfallen Scarlet sat right down to comfort her before taking a single sip.


    “They’re doing it for money,” she said. “They are on their beam ends – the place looks desperate – and remember, you are a very rich woman!”


    Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. “Buy the series back? Of course!”


    “These wonderful books deserve republishing, but I’m suggesting a lot more than that. What if you buy the publisher?”


    Miss Bottomley looked appalled.


    “Buy a PUBLISHER?”


    “Your money is currently all in property, which you’ve stated you don’t really care that much about.”


    “That’s true enough,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “But what if these dunderheads – as you call them – are correct and my books are such old hat no one will want them?”


    “Impossible!” roared Enid and Scarlet enthusiastically together.


    Scarlet said, ‘This Mr. Mountjoy is overlooking an entire market of mature women. They are the most enthusiastic readers of books, and Miss Clew has so much to offer them. Isn’t there a revival going on of the Golden Age of Crime?”


    “But buying a whole publishing company – “


    “Or you could simply become an investor. Bob Thomas will know how to set it up.”


    Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. Obviously “Bob Thomas” had become a magic name for her.


    “You’re right,” nodded Miss Bottomley. “Bob Thomas will know. Let’s call him.”


    “Call him tomorrow,” said Enid, spilling wine on Rod the Spy as she swept him off the table.

    “Dinner’s ready!”


    The dinner was delicious enough, but for some reason Scarlet had trouble sleeping, and Nick, too was wakeful. Enid seemed to sleep like a rock – at least Scarlet didn’t hear her or encounter her on the way to the bathroom. That’s all right, thought Scarlet stolidly, I can handle the nights if Enid can handle the days. But she was worried. How did she know Enid was who she said she was? Even if her past was impeccable, what if she was, say, an alcoholic? Who had she really brought into Miss Bottomley’s home? She was surprised – shocked wouldn’t be too much to say – at the vulnerability of this old lady. She had handled the hiring of an editor much more expertly – though of course I think so, Scarlet admitted, because she hired me. Obviously, others might quibble.


    Enid put Scarlet’s fears to rest in the morning with her vigor and drive. She made crepes with fresh fruit for breakfast – Miss Bottomley sat at the table expectant and eager as a child. Enid managed Nick and the cooking effortlessly enough, Scarlet had to admit. A pile of clean diapers was already whizzing around the modern dryer.


    “Could you pick up a copy of Dr. Spock’s childcare book while you’re out?” Enid requested. “It had a wonderful recipe for infant’s milk I seem to remember. Probably get one at Foyle’s.”
    Any excuse to go to Foyle’s was welcome.


    “I’ll take the afternoon,” Scarlet promised. “Pelham D’Arcy has an appointment available for you at three-fifteen.”


    “That would be suitable,” Enid agreed. “I most concerned to protect the children from knowledge of – er – their father.”


    “I’m sure your husband wants that too,” Scarlet comforted her, hoping it was true. Enid, who knew her husband best, didn’t argue.


    Scarlet phoned Bob Thomas and asked if she could have a short word with him – he suggested she join him for his “elevenses.”


    Scarlet dressed carefully, called, “See you later!” from the door and found herself out on a fashionable London street on a brisk winter’s day with the most blissful sense of freedom she had experienced since Nick’s birth.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 38. A Chat With a Publisher

    Miss Bottomley seemed amazingly welcoming to this new body arriving to stay beneath her roof. Scarlet didn’t even manage to sink the fact that Enid was a fan into the conversation before Miss Bottomley was asking her new acquaintance, “Do you know anything about cats?”


    Enid Rumson, as it turned out, knew quite a lot about cats and she was full of suggestions for why The King of Wessex might be off his feed. She didn’t think a diet of cream and pancetta was helping him expel his hairballs properly and suggested serving a “fatty fish” as a curative or, if desperate, olive oil.


    “We have both,” said Scarlet.


    “Oh, God bless you!” cried Miss Bottomley, wringing her hands, and Scarlet showed her the pile of tinned sardines Pom had insisted on throwing into the cart – because, as he said so wisely, “You never know.”


    The King allowed himself to be tempted and was soon hawking and gulping while all three women gazed at him fondly.


    “We can certainly use YOU around here,” Miss Bottomley said thankfully to the new recruit.
    “By the way,” offered Scarlet, “Mrs. Rumson is a great fan of your work.”


    “Call me Esmé,” said Miss Bottomley, offering a hand.


    Scarlet did her best not to feel offended. This sign of favor had not yet been extended to her! On the other hand, Enid was older, and not directly in Miss Bottomley’s employ so perhaps it made sense.


    Enid was suitably impressed by her quarters.


    “You can stay on the third floor if you’d like a private bath,” Scarlet offered.


    “No, thank you,” said Enid, “I want to be as close to this dear little boy as I can get.”
    It took a couple of trips to get all four of her ancient, heavily loaded suitcases upstairs.


    “Sorry,” puffed Enid, “You see, it’s because I’ve already decided that I’m never going back.”


    Scarlet, equally out of breath, said, “It’s fine. I’ve been wanting to get back into trim. These stairs are so much less expensive than a health club.”


    Now that she had someone to watch Nick she told Miss Bottomley that her first order of business would be to arrange a meeting with Mr. Mountjoy of Coltsfoot and Briggins so that Scarlet could find out exactly what his plans were.


    “In the meantime, I’ll make dinner, shall I?” suggested Enid. Nick was enjoying a bottle in the carrycot. They were standing in the kitchen at the time. “I love cooking and at the Embassy I never got the chance. I can tell you I’m very tired of mutton, olives and couscous.” Enid turned to Miss Bottomley and asked, “What’s your favorite meal?”


    Mutton, olives and couscous sounded heavenly to Scarlet but Miss Bottomley gazed at Enid reverently. “Shepherd’s pie,” she sighed. “With minced lamb. Order anything by phone and you will see they just deliver.”


    “Oh, do they? Shall we then have apple tart to follow? I’m a dab hand with pastry.” She flexed her burly arms.


    Miss Bottomley turned eyes swimming with tears to Scarlet. “As long as Enid is our cook, please consider her compensation covered by me.”


    “It’ll never interfere with looking after the baby,” Enid promised, and Miss Bottomley agreed, “Babies come first. Everyone knows that.”


    As Scarlet turned away to hide her glee she heard Miss Bottomley confide to her new chef, “You know, it turns out that I am quite a rich woman.”


    Nigel Mountjoy had an opening that very afternoon, and it’s no wonder, thought Scarlet, after puffing up the six flights to Coltsfoot & Briggins’ three room suite beneath the eaves, because business seemed definitely to be on the slide. The partner’s (Mr. Briggins’) door was closed, (“he prefers to work from his club”), the receptionist’s desk was empty (“Miss Plympton only works half-days”) and in case she missed these symbols of deterioration, Mr. Mountjoy, a sad-eyed hound-dog of a man in his fifties, treated Scarlet to a long disquisition on the essential, desperate unprofitability of publishing.


    “We’ve had a modest success Westernizing adventure yarns,” he told her, as he spread a series called “Reverend Rod to the Rescue” across his desk. In the new version, Reverend Rod had dropped holy orders and become, it seemed, a free-lance spy as well as something of a ladies’ man. Scarlet tried to conceal her revulsion by sipping the lukewarm Earl Grey tea Mr. Mountjoy had made himself. Seemingly no one had ever told him that the water needed to actually boil and she feared he was probably applying this same makeshift attitude to literature.


    “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said enthusiastically. “Not to put too fine a point on it, I knew the old girl wasn’t up to it. She’s almost ninety for heavens’ sake and hasn’t written a thing for years! It’s a miracle she’s not gaga, but confusion is setting on apace if you catch my drift.


    We usually put these things out to bid – it’s astonishing how little money is required to set a writer to work – but there’s no reason at all why you might not do as well.” (And Miss Bottomley would be paying for it! thought Scarlet. Win-win from his point of view.)


    “I’ve taken the liberty to jot down some requirements.” He proffered a handwritten page.
    “First, twenty chapters instead of the twenty-five she used to have. Boil the thing down. Speed is of the essence. Have every chapter end with a cliffhanger – our Rod the Spy fellow is very good model there. Here, take a copy. Gratis. This fellow Clovis is quite willing to do Miss Clew but we felt it requires the feminine touch.


    Then, language. Our target audience has an O-level education – no point using words they’ll only have to look up. They want something that can be read in a couple of railway journeys.”


    He opened up The Poltergeist Problem to a random page and pointed to the word “deleterious.”
    “See what I mean? Nothing double or triple-barreled like that, use your thesaurus to find some other term” – he shuffled through a well-thumbed Roget’s – “There you go. “Bad.” First word out of the gate! Everybody knows what that means!


    Secondly, update the era. Get rid of the Victorian stuff – nobody wants those dreadful memories – we’ve been fleeing them ever since the First War. Make Miss Clew younger, and she doesn’t need to be a spinster. Get it? I’m giving you a free hand here – insert some romantic interest. Keep it light – a different chap for each book would be ideal. No reason she can’t be a bit of a siren – that attracts the male reader as well as the ladies, see.


    It’s a stroke of luck that you’re American – perhaps Miss Clew could have an American mother – appeal to our cousins across the pond. We’ve had no luck getting Rod picked up there but this could break the ice between us and our Boston counterparts – they’ve been freezing us out if I may be so honest. They want to get into “youth” textbooks and religious publishing – we’ve got no market for that sort of thing going here.


    Most of all, mood. Keep it upbeat! It’s the modern tendency to be devil-may-care, not take things too seriously.”


    He tried to smile when he said this but his droopy face couldn’t cooperate – the result was ghastly, even sinister, like a funeral director mewling mawkishly about “loved ones.”


    “I just re-read the series recently – well, not all of them, I confess, there’s a limit to what a fellow can stand – and it’s very difficult going. The woman has – not to put too fine a point on it – an axe to grind. Everybody’s always in the wrong. World saturated with evil – that awful revivalist point of view. People today don’t read to be told life’s some sort of grim masquerade, but to have fun, learn something new and feel a part of some previously unknown but thrilling world that takes them right out of their worries, cares and fears. Follow me? I’ve always found this little volume helpful.”
    He extracted a slim book from the bookcase behind them, Pack Up Your Worries.


    “This is non-fiction, of course, but we’ve had an amazing success with this modest little book published a dozen years ago – right after the war. It keeps the lights on around here, I don’t mind telling you.”


    As if disagreeing, the lights flickered at just that moment.


    Mr. Mountjoy cracked the book open to pages of lists in what Scarlet considered suspiciously large type. The thing was more like an “expanded pamphlet” than a real book.


    “Here, take this copy. I’ve benefited from this advice myself, everyone has. It’s common sense really, no self-pity, no wallowing, each day a fresh voyage of discovery. Appeals to people right across ages, classes, this fellow’s amazing. Sorrowfully Bonamis died a few years ago – he was an untreated diabetic – but we’ve the rights to his name if you’d like to attempt to carry on. You Americans are wizards at this sort of thing. According to him it’s your surface mind you should be cultivating. Ignore the “depths” – whatever dark things are lurking down there. Just the opposite of that fellow Freud, who’s done a lot of damage in my opinion. Keep your chin up, see? Whistle a happy tune even when you don’t feel like it – because modern science has conclusively proven that it’s possible to cheer yourself up by overlooking all the depressing stuff you can’t do anything about anyway.”


    Her pushed the book at her and opened his datebook.


    “I’ve had a lot of experience with the ghostwriting racket and I can tell you the secret is not to wander too far in the wrong direction. Why don’t we meet once a week to see what you’ve got and we’ll discuss. If you wander off the path I can set you right. Think of me as your tutor talking about essay ideas and looking over your first attempts with a view to a “First Class” ranking for the pair of us.”


    He beamed at her, showing a gap between his front teeth that made him resemble a gargoyle. It was all Scarlet could do to keep from blanching.


    “How about Monday? Fresh from the weekend, eh?”


    “How about the following Friday?” Scarlet gasped, trying not to choke.


    “No Friday – nobody’s here on Fridays – the place is a desert. Thursday, then? Four o’clock? I think we can spread out a bit more when Miss Plympton is gone.”


    “Fine,” said Scarlet with no intention of ever seeing this man again if she could possibly help it.
    “Don’t forget to take your books,” he sent her off, rubbing his hands together. ‘This has been a MOST productive meeting.”


    Scarlet would have thrown the books into the nearest trash can if she didn’t need them to show Miss Bottomley. Who would believe any of it, otherwise?


    As she clung to a strap and braced herself on her Tube journey – the work day was just ending and seats were invisible – she wondered at how far she had come already. How long ago was it – days really – that she would have jumped at the chance to be that writer or that receptionist slaving for that pittance! What a different world Miss Bottomley had opened up for her! And the best thing about it was that she clearly needed Scarlet every bit as desperately as Scarlet needed her.

  • Devoured Heart – romantic suspense by Alysse Aallyn

    Chapter 37. The Nanny

    After all this excitement Miss Bottomley wanted to return home for a nap, so Scarlet cabbed alone to the nanny agency. Nick was unhappy in the stroller and needed skin to skin contact, so she was forced to carry and jiggle him as she told the receptionist she had arrived for her appointment with Miss Gorgon.
    Miss Gorgon’s name wasn’t actually Miss Gorgon – it was really something like Bourgoyne – but she was apparently so shocked, so downright appalled by everything Scarlet said that she would be Miss Gorgon in Scarlet’s memory forever after.
    No nanny could be found for a newborn this late in the game – newborn nannies were engaged as soon as a due date was decided. No nanny would enter someone else’s home – a residence owned by someone other than the employer’s for a temporary three month stay! Miss Gorgon was insulted by the very idea.
    Such a thing was QUITE out of the question. Scarlet was recommended to try Talliver’s who handled nursemaids, companions and au pairs. She MIGHT find something suitable there. Mrs. Rumson was going there also, so if she hurried, perhaps they could go together.
    “Mrs. Rumson!”
    Miss Gorgon called into the waiting room where a plump middle-aged woman with reddish silver hair and an unfashionable and too-tight tweed suit was sitting on a side bench drinking muddy tea from a thick china cup. At the sight of Miss Gorgon she slid her feet guiltily back into her shoes.
    “Mrs. Wye is going to Talliver’s also,” said Miss Gorgon. “Perhaps you could guide her.”
    And slamming the door, she visibly washed her hands of the pair of them.
    “I hope it’s no trouble,” said Scarlet, trying to figure out Mrs. Rumson’s place in the scheme of things. If she was the office go-fer, why the uncomfortable shoes?
    “Not in the least,” said Mrs. Rumson. “Allows me to start practicing my “companioning” right away, so to speak. You know, fetching and carrying, holding tickets and maps, reading guidebooks aloud – I’m a very experienced traveler. Oh, what an adorable baby! He’s so new!”
    “Eight weeks,” admitted Scarlet.
    Mrs. Rumson sighed with ecstasy. “May I hold him?”
    Scarlet gave Mrs. Rumson a second – then a third – look.
    “Certainly,” she said, handing him over.
    Mrs. Rumson – “Call me Enid” – handled him so expertly Nick didn’t mind or even seem to notice the change. Scarlet snapped the stroller shut with some relief. It was SUCH a problem on the stairs.
    “And why are you going to Talliver’s, if I may ask?” inquired Enid, as they descended.
    “Because I’ve just been told I can’t have a nanny,” said Scarlet. “And do you know, I don’t really WANT a nanny. I want someone trustworthy to watch this baby so I can do a job of editing.”
    “Well,” said Enid boldly and perhaps a tad hopefully, “Perhaps what you need is a companion.”
    This was rapidly turning into a job interview.
    “Have you had lunch?” inquired Scarlet.
    “I have not,” agreed Enid. “But won’t you be late for your appointment?”
    “I don’t have an appointment,” Scarlet admitted. “I feel I’m on my “last chance” so to speak. And I don’t like the feeling.”
    “Welcome!” laughed Enid. “Last chance” isn’t such a bad place. I’ve been there quite awhile by now.”
    They hied themselves to the nearest restaurant, a self-serve cafeteria with an Oriental theme and special on meat pie and sprouts.
    “I should have a salad,” sighed Enid Rumson, “But it’s been SUCH a day. I feel I must fall on my food before I fall on my sword.”
    Scarlet admired the expert way she handled tray and baby – she showed no inclination to give Nick back and Nick didn’t seem to mind. Scarlet would have almost felt jealous if she hadn’t been in search of exactly such a person. Enid bravely ordered the special, Scarlet chose the baked beans on toast with coffee. Scarlet insisted on paying and they found a quiet corner table.
    “Have you been companioning long?” Scarlet enquired officiously.
    “Not in the least – I’ve never actually companioned at all. Bourgoyne’s told me it’s all that I’m good for so I’m just starting out in the game. I actually wanted to be a nanny – I love babies – had five of my own – but Miss Gudgeon told me I didn’t qualify. Whereas with all my travel experience –“
    “You had five children?”
    “Yes. Only one daughter in England – she’s at college for physiotherapy – the rest are very far flung. No surprise since they grew up all higglety-pigglety. Such is the life of the foreign service.”
    “You were in the foreign service?” The coffee really wasn’t bad. Scarlet was feeling better every moment.
    “Yes and no. That is, my husband was – is – and there’s quite a lot of work – unpaid, naturally – for wives to do. I’m just back from Morocco, actually.”
    “Morocco?”
    “I hope you don’t think me odd for bringing this up – thank goodness you’re an American – they have such a free and easy way – but I just discovered –“ she paused delicately, a lost pastry crumb falling unnoticed to her substantial bosom – “that my marriage is a sham. I can’t decide how to tell the children – so I told them instead that I just needed a complete rest – but I fear –“ she took a long sip of coffee – “This coffee is good – I fear my husband doesn’t really care for women.”
    She gave Scarlet a meaningful look. Scarlet’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. Enid nodded.
    “He says he’s tried us, he didn’t like us and I don’t think he’s ever coming back,” she confided. “I think Bert has found his – nirvana was the word he used. Among the young Arab boys.”
    Scarlet put a hand on Enid’s, noticing the mark of an absent ring as she did so. And Enid – who was quite sharp – noticed her noticing.
    “Sold my wedding set first thing,” she said. “For money in my pocket –hotels and trains, you understand.”
    “Surely…” Scarlet was shocked by this, “Your husband’s income at this point is more than adequate for two.”
    “Correct. But he’s not in the mood to share. He has – other expenses – according to him. Especially if I leave and he has to cover – er – hostessing.”


    “But he wouldn’t want word of his – er – peccadillos getting out.”


    Enid looked shocked. “But that’s blackmail! I would never do that! Think of the children!”
    “Not blackmail exactly,” Scarlet soothed. “It’s just that you shouldn’t end up being punished for wanting the values of your wedding vows.”


    “What an American way of putting it,” sighed Enid faintly, taking up a big glob of pudding.
    ‘You need a good matrimonial attorney to point this out to him,” Scarlet went on, itching to get this case under Pelham d’Arcy’s purview. On the face of it, it certainly looked easier than hers. “And I know just the one.”


    Enid flushed very red. “I really have no money left,” she gasped.


    “It’s perfectly all right,” said Scarlet. ‘Your husband will pay.” And PAY, she thought, righteously. “Are you staying at a hotel?”


    “I parked my bags at the Paddington left luggage,” said Enid. “I thought it was the best plan to come to the agency first thing, in case they wanted to send me out of the city.”


    She looked a bit dashed as she admitted this fact, but for the most part she was braver and more confident than Scarlet thought she herself would be in the same situation.


    “We are in similar circumstances,” Scarlet confessed. “My husband just announced he plans to enjoy a mistress. Preferably several.”


    “What a cad!” Enid remarked. “Funny how often men seem to wait to make that announcement until they’ve rendered us utterly helpless.” She leaned forward. “But we’re not helpless, are we? I will certainly see your matrimonial – er – agent. But what I’d really like is for you to explain about this job you have going.”


    “Are you – by any chance – familiar with a book series about a detective named Miss Clew?”
    “I grew up with them!” A happy light of reminiscence broke over her face. “My brother actually called me “Our Miss Clew” when I was growing up, because I was always very nosy. Wanting to know everything about people. Life’s such a mystery, isn’t it, to the young? And I went on to I miss the biggest one right in front of my face! You know I actually wished my husband DID keep a mistress – that’s how bad things were. It’s terrible to be told your partner has always found you secretly disgusting and had to force himself to carry on and think of England. Are you the new Miss Clew?”


    “Miss Clew is very much alive,” said Scarlet. “I’m taking you to meet her and then you can decide if you want the job. It’s just three months to start with but it’s live-in. Looking after Nick so I can help Miss Bottomley get on with modernizing her work.”


    “I’ve landed on my feet, haven’t I?” gasped Enid, “What a fairy godmother you turned out to be!”
    “Just one thing,” said Scarlet, “I’m calling you a “nanny” instead of a “companion”, if you don’t mind. Miss Bottomley is elderly and I don’t want her to feel –“


    “Oh I quite understand,” agreed Enid. “Battlefield promotion for me! Nanny it is!”


    Scarlet was convinced she had chosen exactly the nanny she really needed. Better for Enid in the long run. She was certain to get a settlement from her husband – Scarlet felt sure her story was not a new one for Pelham D’Arcy – and she would make a much better nanny than a travelling companion, since she was clearly built for comfort, not for speed.