In the Blood. Philip Loraine
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IN THE BLOOD
Philip Loraine
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain in 1994 by Collins Crime
Copyright © Philip Loraine 1994
Philip Loraine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780002325066
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2017 ISBN: 9780008266240
Version: 2017-06-28
CONTENTS
Lydia Ackland was nearly blind when she fell downstairs and was killed. Her grandchildren have always accepted the official verdict—accident. Besides, they have their own problems: beautiful Kate is ending a love-affair; her brother Daniel is painfully crippled.
But then that letter comes to light. Only days before her death, somebody wrote and warned their grandmother that she was ‘opening a disastrous Pandora’s Box’ and should ‘let sleeping, and perhaps dangerous, dogs lie’. The letter goads Kate and Daniel into asking lots of questions.
First, who wrote it? And why does the answer, once discovered, point to their arrogant Uncle Mark, who, with his ambitious wife Helen, has inherited Longwater, the vast family estate, and the vast fortune that goes with it.
Why were Mark and Helen banished from England in their youth, and what are the secrets behind their long European exile? Kate follows their footsteps through Italy and Corsica, while Daniel continues to ask questions in England. Within days, both their lives have been threatened, confirming their suspicions that all is not as it seems—and perhaps never has been …
It wasn’t surprising that various objects had slipped down the gap at the back of the shelf and so into the cavity between the wainscotting, on top of which the shelf rested, and the wall behind it. This wall was damp, the panelling had warped, causing the gap to grow wider over the years; hence the arrival of Kevin and Ted from J. Frawley & Son, Builders; hence clouds of plaster dust and the splintering of rotten pine.
‘Ho,’ said Kevin, ‘got some treasure trove here,’ and he produced from behind the skirting-board a turquoise-blue comb with several teeth missing, a rusted pair of nail-scissors, two pencils, half a ballpoint pen, the china lid of a Gentleman’s Relish pot, several safety-pins, a tangle of string and a handful of pieces of paper: bills, shopping lists, a picture postcard of Notre Dame, envelopes and a letter or two: the detritus of years, laced with dusty spiders’ webs. The shelf, just by the kitchen door, had always been a good place for putting things so that you’d know where they were.
Kate Ackland took an old tray from the rack and piled the ‘treasure’ on to it. Her brother, Daniel, supported by his crutches and the wall, said, ‘That one on top, that’s Grandmother’s writing.’ Since the grandmother in question had lived here at Woodman’s for several years this wasn’t surprising. Kate took the tray into the living-room and put it on the table, thinking how strange it was that after so long she could still be amazed at the dexterity of her crippled brother’s movements; he swung himself from his crutches into the wheelchair with an economy of effort which was almost graceful, at the same time propping the crutches against the wall where he could reach them with ease.
She left