‘God, how terrible! I’ll call immediately. Then I’m heading there myself. I should make it in five minutes if I leave now. I’m at Uncle Ronnie’s house.’
‘Thanks, Linnet.’ India clicked off, and glanced at Dusty. His eyes were closed and he seemed to have slumped down in the seat, looked out of it. And blood was seeping through the towels onto his hand and trickling down his arm.
As she started up the car again, India noticed that her hand trembled and she had to take several deep breaths to steady herself. Now was not the time to panic. Or lose her nerve. She knew he was about to go into shock, if he hadn’t already, and speed was of the utmost importance. Gripping the wheel, she edged out onto the road which led into Harrogate, was filled with relief when she saw that it was empty, except for a lorry and a cyclist. She put her foot down on the accelerator and concentrated on driving, exceeding the speed limit.
She made it to the hospital in exactly nine minutes, and as she slowed down at the hospital gates she could see several people clustered at the Emergency Entrance door; three nurses and a couple of doctors, she thought, all standing next to a stretcher. Linnet was with them, looking pale and extremely anxious.
Slowing to a standstill, India braked and alighted, motioned to the doctors, then ran around to the passenger door. Before she had even opened it they were rushing towards her with the stretcher, and Linnet was not far behind.
India stood to one side, allowed the professionals to take over, to lift Dusty out of the car, but she said to one of the doctors, ‘My friend thought the knife struck his artery, maybe even severed it.’
He stared at her, frowned. ‘Is he a doctor?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he’s an artist. But he studied anatomy in art classes.’
‘I see.’ He nodded and added, ‘He’s probably correct. Right now he’s in shock and there’s obviously enormous blood loss. Try not to worry,’ and with that he ran after the stretcher which was already being trundled at top speed into Emergency by the hospital staff.
Linnet came over to her, took hold of her arm, and said, ‘Let’s go inside and sit down. I gave them as much information as I could, but they’ll want to talk to you, India, I’ve no doubt.’
She nodded. ‘I know. I suppose they’ve already called the police.’
‘It’s routine, isn’t it, with something like this?’ Linnet murmured, eyeing her closely.
‘I expect so.’ India suddenly began to shake uncontrollably and brought her hands up to her face. ‘It was so awful. Terrifying, Linny.’
After opening the Emergency Entrance door, and leading her over to a chair, Linnet sat down next to her cousin, and asked in a low voice, ‘What the hell happened? Who stabbed Dusty?’
‘A woman. I don’t know who she was, so don’t ask, and I certainly wasn’t able to question Dusty, under the circumstances. Perhaps he knew her, I’m not certain. She burst into the studio and just went berserk when she saw me.’
India now told Linnet everything that had happened less than an hour ago, not pausing for breath until she had finished, and then she let out a long shuddering sigh. ‘Oh God, Linnet, I hope he’s going to be all right. What if he dies? God, I couldn’t bear it if anything happens to him.’ India took hold of Linnet’s arm, stared at her intently and burst into tears.
At once Linnet put her arm around India and brought her close, soothing her softly. ‘Dusty will make it, darling. He’s young, strong, and they can work miracles today. Modern medicine’s quite incredible.’
‘But he’s lost so much blood. It just…spurted out of him. It was frightening to see–’ She broke off, and her face underwent a sudden change. Then she exclaimed, ‘I could give him blood, if he needs a transfusion. Would you do it, too, Linnet, if it were necessary?’
Momentarily startled by this request though she was, Linnet said, after the merest pause, ‘Yes, of course, if he needs it.’
India now sat up a little straighter, and her face seemed to lose some of its tension. Giving Linnet a half smile she murmured in a very low voice, ‘I love him very much, you know. I’ve never felt like this about any other man. He’s the only one I’ve ever wanted to marry.’
This announcement did not startle Linnet; she had known, right from the outset of India’s involvement with Dusty Rhodes, that she had fallen heavy and hard for the artist, and Linnet was pleased for her. Her only worry had been his well-known reputation as a bit of a carousing and volatile rabble-rouser, but India had assured her this was all a big put-on by Dusty. On the other hand, hysterical women wielding knives was another thing altogether, and smacked of an unsuitable, and perhaps even an unsavoury background. And this thought troubled her. Other women who had been rejected could cause untold problems.
Linnet looked up as a voice said in careful tones, ‘Lady India, could you come and give us some details about Mr Rhodes, please.’
India rose at once, and said, ‘Certainly,’ and followed a woman in a white coat holding a clipboard and a pen. A moment later two police officers walked into Emergency, and Linnet groaned inside. There was no question in her mind that they had come to talk to her cousin about Dusty’s stabbing. Of course they had. And if Dusty died then it would be murder they were talking about.
The woman in the short white jacket holding the clipboard turned out to be Mrs Anita Giles from Administration, and after introducing herself to India she led the way to her office off the Emergency Entrance lobby.
Once they were seated, Mrs Giles explained, ‘Now, Lady India, if you could fill in the gaps for me I’d be very appreciative. Your cousin Miss O’Neill just gave me the name Russell Rhodes and said he’d been stabbed. I’m making the assumption that Mr Rhodes is the well-known artist. Am I correct?’
‘Yes, you are, Mrs Giles. His full name is Russell Cecil Rhodes, and he lives at Willows Hall in Follifoot. He’s forty-two years old. Is that the kind of thing you want to know?’
Mrs Giles nodded, continued to write on the form attached to her clipboard; once she had jotted down these salient facts, she asked, ‘Does Mr Rhodes have any medical problems that you know of?’
‘No. At least, I don’t think so. He’s very fit as far as I know. He exercises, watches his diet, drinks very little.’ India smiled when she saw Mrs Giles raise her brow, and added, ‘His reputation for being something of a roué is quite false, I can assure you of that. Somewhat self-engendered, if you know what I mean, and wildly exaggerated.’ Leaning forward, India asked, ‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he? I mean, he said he thought an artery had been severed.’
The woman’s face was quite unreadable when she said, ‘Everyone at the hospital will do their very best for him, Lady India, and I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t even hazard a guess under the circumstances. Now, could you tell me exactly what–’
At this moment there was a knock on the door, and Anita Giles stopped in the middle of her sentence and said, ‘Come in.’
The door opened to admit two policemen. ‘Hello, Mrs Giles,’ one of them said; the other simply nodded, smiled across at her.
‘Good afternoon, officers. This is Lady India Standish, a friend of Mr Russell Rhodes, who is the victim of the stabbing reported earlier. Lady India brought him to the hospital.’
India immediately stood up, went and shook hands with the two policemen, who introduced themselves as Constables Hobbs and Charlton.
‘If you’d be so good as to leave us alone with Lady India,’ the one called Hobbs said, staring hard at Anita Giles, nodding at the door.
‘Oh yes, of course. I do realize you wish to speak to her ladyship alone.’ Smiling at India, she hurried out of the small office, softly closing the door behind her.
India said, ‘There’s not much I can tell you, Constable Hobbs.’
‘Just give us the details, Lady India,’ Constable Charlton suggested, and gestured for India to sit down.
‘Thanks, but I’ll stand,’ she answered, and told them, ‘Mr Rhodes is a well-known
artist, as I’m sure you know, who lives at Willows Hall in Follifoot. He has his studio there, and he’s painting my portrait…for my father, the Earl of Dunvale. A short while–’
‘You’re related to the late Mrs Emma Harte!’ Hobbs exclaimed, eyeing her with sudden unconcealed interest.
‘Yes, I’m her great-granddaughter. And her other great-granddaughter is Linnet O’Neill, my cousin, who’s waiting outside.’
‘Both my mother and grandmother worked at the Harte store in Harrogate,’ Hobbs explained with a small smile, and then continued, ‘So Mr Rhodes was painting you and suddenly someone came in and stabbed him, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, it isn’t what I’m saying at all,’ India answered briskly. ‘We had stopped because I’d been sitting for over two hours without moving, and I needed to stretch myself, and Dusty, er, Mr Rhodes, was also a little stiff. He said he wanted to do some stretching before continuing. Anyway, we were doing our exercises and chatting when the door of the studio flew open and this young woman came in. I don’t know who she was, and I’m not certain that Mr Rhodes did either.’
‘And she rushed up and stabbed him, is that it?’ Charlton asked, sounding sceptical.
‘Oh no, she saw me and started shouting at me, calling me names. She was a bit out of control. And then her eyes lighted on the portrait, and she seemed to go berserk, ran forward, grabbed a knife from the work table and made a beeline for the portrait, the knife raised.’
‘And she slashed the painting, before stabbing Mr Rhodes?’ Hobbs asked, his brows drawing together in a frown.
‘No, no, it didn’t happen that way at all! Dusty and I, well, we were both sort of stupefied, yes, that’s the best word. We were utterly stupefied, in fact, and suddenly he obviously realized she was heading for the portrait, and he ran forward, stood in front of it, to protect it, and that’s how he got himself stabbed. The woman meant to damage the painting, not Mr Rhodes. It was an accident.’
‘I see,’ Hobbs murmured thoughtfully and glanced across at his colleague. Hobbs said to India, ‘We hope to speak to Mr Rhodes soon, once he comes out of the operating room.’
India clenched her hands, digging her nails into the palms, her anxiety rising. ‘Have the doctors told you anything, Constable Hobbs? He’s not going to die, is he?’
‘I dunno,’ Hobbs said, shaking his head. ‘I hope not. Dr Palmerton is a wonderful surgeon. If anybody can make Mr Rhodes right, he can. But we’ll just have to wait, won’t we?’
CHAPTER NINE
‘Where is my beautiful other half?’ Tessa, buried in one of the big wingchairs in the library, threw the folder of balance sheets on the floor, jumped up at the sound of her brother’s voice, and ran to him.
Lorne Fairley stood leaning against the doorframe, looking every inch the actor he was, handsome and debonair. ‘Hello, darling girl,’ he said in his beautifully modulated actor’s voice.
‘Oh Lorne, you made it! Thank God you’re here!’ She flew into his outstretched arms and he held her tightly, filled with relief that she appeared to be perfectly calm and in control after her ordeal. They stood together in a long and loving embrace, as close to each other emotionally as they had always been. They were of similar height, had the same blond colouring and sculpted, pristine features. There was no mistaking that they were twins, carried the Fairley genes of their late father, Jim Fairley, their mother’s first husband.
Tessa, who had been born a few minutes before Lorne, considered herself to be the elder and never let him forget it; Lorne, sincere, good-natured, loving, and easy-going, simply laughed when she pulled rank. From childhood he had called her ‘the Ancient One’, much to her irritation even to this day.
‘I’m so sorry you had to come back all the way from Turkey, but–’
‘My few days of holiday were almost over,’ he interrupted, standing away from her, his eyes roving over her face before he kissed her on the cheek. ‘And to be honest I was getting bloody bored. Anyway, I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch, we’re always there for each other, aren’t we?’ Putting his arm around her shoulders, he walked her over to the sofas and went on, ‘I gather Ma’s not coming back just yet.’
‘No, she’s not. I insisted she kept to her schedule, stayed on in New York with Shane.’
‘I know. I spoke to Dad and he said everything was under control here, so they weren’t making any changes in their plans. And how’s my sweet Adele?’
‘She’s fine, Lorne, none the worse for what happened, thank heavens.’ At the thought of her daughter Tessa broke into smiles, and added, ‘She’s such a happy child.’
‘And where is the little tyke? I want to see her at once.’
‘She’s taking her afternoon nap, so you’ll have to wait a bit.’
They sat down together on one of the sofas and Lorne peered at her again. ‘What’s the latest on that bloody awful husband of yours?’
‘He’s about to become my ex!’
‘So fast?’ Lorne stared at her, a sceptical look crossing his face. ‘Don’t tell me he’s being acquiescent for once?’
‘No, he’s very demanding and arrogant, and naturally the divorce will have to take its course. But our solicitors, his and mine, are doing a lot of talking, and incidentally his are pretty annoyed with him for snatching Adele the way he did. Obviously it puts him in the wrong, and they don’t like that one bit.’
‘It was a ridiculous stunt he pulled. As you well know, I’ve never really liked him, Tessa, and I’ve always thought he was two bricks short of a full load.’
She began to laugh. ‘You remind me of Jack Figg with all your old-fashioned sayings. They’re forever on his lips.’
‘They always were. Where do you think I learned them? At the knee of the master himself. Whom I just saw when I drove in. He was his usual warm and loving self, but he’s a tough bugger, Tess, and thank God for that. He told me he’s making this place impregnable and if the number of chaps around here installing things are anything to go by, I believe him.’
Tessa nodded. ‘He told me he’s staying on until Monday, then he’s going back to Robin Hood’s Bay for a couple of days. He’ll be back in the middle of next week. Anyway, I thought I’d cook for us all tonight, I want Margaret to have the evening off. She and Joe have been so worried. All this trouble…it’s sort of…done them in a bit.’
‘I’m not surprised, and talking of Margaret, I went to the kitchen when I got here and asked her to make me a sandwich. I stepped off the plane at Heathrow and drove straight up here. And I’m famished. So come on, let’s go see what she’s managed to rustle up. And as far as tonight’s concerned, I can’t wait for one of your gourmet specialities.’
As they crossed the Stone Hall together they ran into Margaret who was coming to find them. ‘There you are!’ she exclaimed, and, addressing Lorne, she explained, ‘I’ve put your sandwiches in the morning room, along with a pot of tea for you both.’ She nodded and hurried off towards the kitchen, thinking about Lorne. He had always been her favourite, and she was pleased he was back at home to look after his sister, if only for a short while. She always wished he would stay longer, he was so special to her, like her own, in a sense. He was the kindest, sweetest of men and his fame as an actor had not changed him one bit. He was the same as he’d been as a boy when she’d bounced him on her lap.
Until last winter the morning room had been an office which Emma Harte had used for many years whenever she was at Pennistone Royal. But this past December Paula had finally decided it was wasted space, and had transformed it into a charming spot for breakfast and casual meals.
As they went in, Lorne glanced around, thinking how cool and restful it looked on this hot August Saturday. The walls were a soft apple-green and there were rafts of white everywhere; the lovely, curving bay window was treated to airy, puffed-up balloon shades made of a green-and-white striped silk, while the chairs around the walnut table were covered in a green-and-white checked fabric.
‘Mo
ther did a great job with this room,’ he remarked as they sat down at the circular table which Margaret had just set. ‘I’m going to take her up on her very generous offer to redo my flat.’ Staring at the plates of sandwiches, Lorne now shook his head and smiled. ‘She’s a wonder, that woman! Look, Margaret’s made all of my favourite nursery sandwiches.’
‘Yes, she always did spoil you,’ Tessa said succinctly, giving him an old-fashioned look.
Lorne did not rise to the bait, merely grinned, took an egg salad sandwich and munched on it, watching his twin as she poured tea into his cup and added a slice of lemon. She had sounded so upset and terrified when she had called him on Thursday; she had reached him in Turkey, where he was spending a few days with friends before starting a new film at Shepperton Studios outside London.
Even if he had been having the best time in the world, he would have left immediately, once he knew his twin sister needed him. As it was, he was fed up, itching to head back to London, which he had done with alacrity after her phone call. Because of the heavy holiday air traffic he had not been able to get a direct flight. So he had jetted to Paris, spent the night at the Paris O’Neill Hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, and flown to London today.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her; they were extremely close. Yet he was fully aware of Tessa’s faults…her extreme rivalry with Linnet for supremacy at the Harte stores, her terrible jealousy of their half-sister, which he considered to be totally unreasonable. And then there was her snobbery about being a Fairley, her desire to be known only as Fairley. This he found a bit silly. After all, they were Hartes and McGills and Amorys as well, and in fact they owed everything they had to their great-grandmother Emma Harte, and to their great-grandfather Paul McGill.
Lorne wished Tessa could see things his way but apparently she couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, he wasn’t sure of which. She was obstinate in her views, vociferous in her opinions, but he had ceased long ago to chastise her. There was no point really, since he was convinced she would never change. He had long ago made up his mind not to waste his breath needlessly. And he continued to adore her as he had since their childhood, accepted Tessa as she was, tried not to make judgements about her. Or anyone else, for that matter. His motto had always been live and let live.