The Woman From Paris by Santa Montefiore Page B

odora spring’s greatest gift. As she stood with her eyes closed, sniffing the heady perfume, she slowly became aware that someone was watching her. She opened her eyes with a start, then a blush flowered on her cheeks and intensified when she realized that the man standing in the doorway of his conservatory was none other than Dr. Heyworth.
    She wrung her hands and smiled apologetically. “Oh dear, you must be wondering what I’m doing in your garden?” she mumbled, hurrying across the lawn to explain herself.
    “You like my daphne?” he said with a grin.
    “Oh, I love your daphne. You know, I’m not sure whether ours is out yet. I must check. It’s my favorite shrub and the first thing to come into flower.” She realized she was talking very fast, trying desperately to act as if her unexpected appearance in his garden was the most natural thing in the world.
    “I should think yours is out now.” He frowned apprehensively as she reached him, and Antoinette realized that her face must betray her earlier tears in the church. “Are you all right, Lady Frampton?”
    “I’ve just been to see George,” she replied, shoulders dropping.
    “Ah.”
    “Then I sat in church for a while. It’s very peaceful in there. It made me feel a lot better. It’s good for the soul to reflect quietly in a place like that, when no one else is there. Well, they were about to come inside . . .”
    Dr. Heyworth raised his eyebrows. “They?”
    “Reverend Morley and my mother-in-law,” she replied hastily. “I didn’t want to face them on the path, so I sneaked around the back and managed to get away without being seen. At least, I’m pretty sure they didn’t see me. That’s why I’m in your garden.”
    Dr. Heyworth chuckled in amusement, and she knew she wasn’t making any sense at all. “You know, most people use the front drive,” he said.
    She stared at him, not knowing what to say. Then he laughed so hard his whole face creased, and she felt the laughter bubble up from her belly, too, taking her by surprise because she hadn’t laughed like that in a very long time. “Oh dear, you must think me very odd,” she said, holding her stomach.
    “Well, as you’re here, would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” It was quite possible that Reverend Morley and Margaret were still chatting at the church gate, so it would be difficult to get to her car without being seen.
    “I’d love to,” she replied, following him inside.
    “Good. Let’s go and put the kettle on.”
    *   *   *
    Rosamunde was by now very worried about Antoinette. She had been gone for hours, and it was getting dark. How long did it take to put flowers on your husband’s grave? She put down her needlepoint and looked at her watch. It was after seven o’clock. She strained her ears for the sound of the car drawing up on the gravel, but only a few late roosters were twittering in the lime trees.
    Harris appeared in the doorway and asked whether she’d like a drink. “Yes, please, sherry, and make it a large one. What do you think Lady Frampton is up to, Harris?”
    “I suspect she’ll be back soon. I wouldn’t worry. In my experience, no news is good news.”
    “Well, that’s certainly true. I think—” At that moment the lights of a car flashed in through the window. “Oh good, that must be her now.” Rosamunde got up and hurried into the hall, feeling greatly relieved. Harris went ahead to open the door. However, it wasn’t Antoinette who climbed the steps with such haste, but Margaret.
    “Good evening, Lady Frampton,” said Harris, not looking at all surprised.
    Margaret gave a snort. “Where’s Antoinette?” she demanded.
    Rosamunde looked anxiously past her for her sister’s car. “She’s not here,” she replied, perplexed.
    “Her car is outside the church, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I thought she might have walked back, forgetting that she had left her car on the verge. You know, grief can do funny things to