Next Door to Murder by Anthea Fraser Page B

ninth Earl of Roxford, came to his feet and reached for Dominic’s hand, grasping it firmly. ‘Sit down, sit down.’
    He was a large man in every sense, over six foot, with broad shoulders and a heavy frame. In his fifties, he’d developed a paunch, and his fair-to-sandy hair was thinning. Though on the few occasions they’d met he’d been dressed formally, Dominic had a mental image of him in tweed jacket and cords, the archetypal country squire.
    â€˜First things first,’ Roxford said firmly. ‘I’ve ordered a good claret – hope that suits you – and I’m going for duck pâté, followed by Beef Wellington. I can strongly recommend both dishes, but if something else takes your fancy, just say.’ He nodded towards the menu.
    â€˜Your choice sounds admirable, thank you.’
    â€˜Excellent. And an aperitif?’
    With a clutch of anxiety, Dominic wondered if this affability stemmed from his host’s belief that he was entertaining his future son-in-law. What, exactly, had Miranda told her father?
    However, as the waiter moved away, Roxford came swiftly to the point.
    â€˜Unfortunate business, with Mirrie.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed,’ Dominic said soberly.
    â€˜I suggest we get the discussion over straight away, then we can enjoy our meal.’ He paused, staring down at the snowy cloth. ‘I was well aware she’d set her cap at you,’ he continued, ‘and, with due respect, I issued all the necessary warnings. Sadly, she chose to ignore them.’
    Dominic began to breathe more easily. ‘She said you knew she was serious,’ he offered, hoping to scotch any misunderstanding.
    The earl nodded, lifted his promptly-delivered aperitif in a silent toast, and drank. ‘Knew,’ he confirmed then, wiping his mouth on his napkin, ‘and told her, in no uncertain terms, not to be a goose. I love her dearly, but I wonder sometimes if she’s a sensible idea in her head. No offence intended, old chap.’
    â€˜I blame myself; I should have been more responsible—’
    â€˜My wife tells me Mirrie saw to that side of things,’ Roxford said obliquely. ‘She took a gamble, and lost. I trust she’ll be wiser in the future.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’ll come straight out with it. My main reason for meeting you is to ask if you’d have any objection to an abortion?’
    Dominic, taken completely by surprise, reached hastily for his glass, gaining a much-needed moment’s grace. ‘Not if that’s what she wants,’ he said cautiously. ‘In fact, when she came to see me . . .’
    â€˜Can you honestly see her as a mother? She can’t even take care of herself. It’s a sad, messy business all round, but this seems the best way, provided you agree. After all, it’s your child, too.’
    â€˜I did say I’d support it, if—’
    Roxford waved this away. ‘Yes, yes, good of you, but that’s not the solution.’ He waited, eyeing Dominic from under beetle brows.
    It was his child, too . Dominic surprised in himself a feeling of regret, realizing to his discomfort that he’d never considered the child itself. Its conception had been simply a mistake, to be rectified as quickly as possible, and he now felt a sense of guilt. Yet, to be realistic, there was no question of his having any future contact with it. It was an innocent victim, a means towards an end; and now that the gamble, as Roxford put it, had failed, it was neither wanted nor needed.
    â€˜How does Miranda feel?’ he asked in a low voice.
    â€˜She’s seen sense, at last.’
    â€˜Then – of course it’s all right with me,’ Dominic confirmed, feeling as though he’d signed a death warrant.
    â€˜Fine. Good chap.’ Roxford sat back in his chair. ‘And here, on cue, comes the pâté. Bon appétit!’
    Rona returned to Oak