Creatures of the Chase - Richard. L. M. Ollie
at Laird in the hope that he would come to her rescue, but he quickly looked down and away from her.
‘Enough,’ Develin sighed. ‘Threats, even veiled ones, make for a poor aperitif. Your gown, Miss Churchill, is perfect but something is lacking.’ From the inside pocket of his suit jacket came a diamond and emerald necklace. He stood then moved behind her. ‘If you would be so kind as to draw your hair free of your neck, I can then position this item correctly.’
Sarah did as she was told, closing her eyes tight as she felt first the cold bite of the necklace on her chest, her throat, then his fingers as he fastened the clasp. He moved away to admire the affect. Satisfied, he returned to his chair and rang a small silver dinner bell.
The three of them ate in silence for most of the meal. Although the food was excellent and included several items which Sarah considered her favorites, she found it difficult to consume very much. Develin watched her carefully but declined to make any comment. He was pleased to note, however, that she ate delicately, keeping her fork in her left hand throughout. ‘No doubt’, he mused, ‘a legacy from her English-born mother.’
When the wine was served, he ordered a large glass of cold milk and when she balked at any suggestion of dessert, he smiled knowingly. ‘Miss Churchill does not care for desserts, do you my dear? Perhaps, Charles, if you could arrange a platter of fresh fruit for her instead.’
Sarah was perplexed. When she looked at him, he smiled. ‘You are wondering, I think, how I know so much about you. It’s very simple. Contained in here,’ he indicated the folder, ‘is a complete dossier on you prepared over a four-month period by a reliable firm. It makes interesting reading.’
He reached for the folder. ‘You were born on the 12th of June at Waltham General Hospital. You will be twenty this year. Your father’s name is Anthony Douglas Churchill: your mother, Elizabeth Margaret Churchill nee Winthrope, which explains your middle name. Your mother was four months pregnant when she married your father. After nearly seventeen years of marriage, you remain the only offspring. Your father is a senior executive with Yates and Milne, while your mother has dabbled with some degree of success in real estate.’ He paused briefly as he turned the page. ‘Three years ago your mother died behind the wheel of her car in a horrific crash. She did not die alone. With her were found the remains of a young man - her lover it is presumed, since she spent the last few hours of her life in a motel room in the company of a boy who reasonably fits the description of …’
Sarah jumped up, knocking over her glass of milk in the process. ‘How dare you!’
‘Sit down,’ he snapped, on the verge of losing his temper. ‘This is old news to you so please, spare me your moral indignation. Your mother’s predilection for young, attractive men is understandable. She was a handsome woman ignored by a husband more intent upon his career than satisfying the needs and,’ he paused as he regarded Sarah closely, ‘desires of his wife. Now, sit down so that I might continue.’
She stood rigid, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite. ‘I would like to go back to my room please.’
Develin sighed as he leaned back in his chair before closing the folder and tossing it onto the table. ‘If that is what you wish, my dear.’ He turned to the butler. ‘Charles, I believe Mr. Emery is just outside.’
‘Yes sir.’
Moments later Carl arrived. ‘Mr. Emery, would you please escort Miss Churchill to her rooms and see that she is carefully locked in for the night.’
‘Yes sir,’ Carl replied sharply.
Develin turned his attention once more to Sarah. ‘Before you go, Miss Churchill, there is one thing more I wish to say. It seems apparent to me that the Winthrope line possesses a less than puritanical streak. Despite stringent attempts on your part to prove to the world otherwise, it may be that you are, after all, your mother’s daughter. Good night.’
When she was gone Develin turned his attention to Laird. ‘You are very quiet this evening, doctor. Have you nothing to say?’
‘Sir, she’s just a kid.’
‘Do you think so? You may be a good doctor, Laird, but a terrible judge of females. That “kid” as you call her is overripe for the taking. She oozes sensuality. Scratch that thin veneer and beneath you will find a whore.’
‘I would like to think sir, that beneath I would find a woman.’
‘Is there a difference, Laird?’
‘Yes sir, a woman you love and cherish.’
Develin chuckled, genuinely amused.
Sarah stormed down the hall leading to the staircase, her hands clenched into two fists of pure fury. Carl followed close behind then sprang forward to take her arm as she began her ascent. She pulled away from him violently. ‘Don’t you dare touch me or I’ll scream bloody murder,’ she hissed as she rounded on him, her eyes flashing in rage. ‘Get out of my way, you bastard!’
He backed away from her with a slight bow and a trace of an apologetic smile.
All of this was, of course, reported to Develin.
7
‘He’s a creep, Seefan!’ Sarah announced as soon as they were beyond earshot.
‘Sarah, please,’ Seefan pleaded as she glanced back towards the Conservatory where Carl stood, arms folded across his chest, watching them intently. ‘Mr. Carl, he might hear.’
‘I don’t care, damn it! You know, I’ve been wondering why he kidnaps girls. Now I know. Can you imagine coming face to face with that at a party? God, how I hate that cold blooded bastard!’ She kicked at a row of miniature box hedging plants clustered along the edge of the pathway.
Carl watched her closely. ‘She has a temper and so does he. This could be bad. This could be very, very bad. Christ Dick, what are you thinking?’
Despite the fact that it was wintertime, the garden through which Sarah and Seefan walked was relatively warm, protected from the weather by stout stone and brick walls, creating an artificial environment in which roses in particular, flourished.
After walking for a few minutes, Sarah finally broke the silence by asking, ‘Is he married?’
‘No, he has no wife.’
‘Not even one locked away in an attic somewhere?’
Seefan frowned. ‘I know not what you mean.’
‘You would if you were a Brontë fan.’ Sarah turned away. Hands on hips she studied the length of the stone wall while measuring its height, and its strength. She sighed. ‘And right now all this is beginning to take on the trappings of an excellent gothic horror story. What about you Seefan, why are you here?’
‘I asked to come ... begged to. You see, I was married in India to a man forty years older. I was but a child of fifteen when the marriage was arranged. My husband and Mr. Develin knew each the other in business ways. Five years I stayed in this marriage but my husband was cruel and would beat me for no reason. In hospital I miscarried of a child after such an evil beating and then I could conceive no more. His anger with me grew and I feared for my life. I poisoned him, then I ran. Hindu law, it is not kind to wives who murder their husbands. I waited, knowing that Mr. Develin would soon come to India on his business. He gave me money and travel papers so I could escape the country. That was now almost four years ago.’
Sarah stared open-mouthed.
‘Mr. Develin is, as I said, a most difficult man to understand. He saved my life so now I think it belongs to him yet awhile.’
Sarah tried to frame her question carefully, but Seefan anticipated