Page 83 of Return Ticket

He would take Gabriella home, and then he would come back here and wait.

It eased the sick feeling he’d had in his stomach since he’d walked outside of New Scotland Yard and seen how thick the fog was.

The sense of impending doom wasn’t gone, but even if the worst happened, and a woman was killed tonight, James was glad there was a chance he could make sure she would be the last.

chapterthirty-three

Gabriella stood uncomfortablyin the hall.

It smelled of vinegar and lemon, and she could see her face in the polished end post of the massive staircase on her left that swept up and curved to the right overhead.

The door to the house had been opened after a long delay by a young woman a few years younger than herself, dressed in a bright orange ensemble Gabriella guessed would be called loungewear.

It was made from stretchy fabric, and if she were a betting woman, she’d say it was designed by Mary Quant. It was, no doubt, unspeakably expensive.

The woman had stepped out onto the porch when Gabriella had explained the situation, trying to see the accident for herself, and then, faced with the impenetrable fog, invited Gabriella in on a wave of Faberge Tigress perfume.

“The telephone is in my father’s study. I’ll have to go and ask him if you can use it.” She strolled away, unhurried, and Gabriella had to clamp down on her urge to tell her again that it was an emergency. That someone was injured.

The room the woman had come out of was to the right of the front door, and she’d left the door slightly ajar.

Gabriella caught a glimpse of a man lounging back on a pale gold sofa within. He shot her a grin, and got lazily to his feet.

Something about him screamed smug self-satisfaction, as if he’d never met a consequence he wasn’t able to dodge, and she stepped past the room, heading further down the hall in the direction the woman had taken.

“Who’re you?”

The voice came from above, and Gabriella looked up. A young girl was peering at her through the balusters, about halfway up the stairs.

“Gabriella Farnsworth,” she said. “There’s been an accident on the road in the fog, and I need to call an ambulance.”

“Did Victoria let you in?” the girl asked, rising to her feet and running lightly down the stairs.

“I’m not sure who let me in. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit.”

The girl reached the bottom and laughed out loud at that. “I’ll get Daddy. He’s a doctor, and the telephone’s in his office.” She ran past Gabriella, and a moment later she heard two feminine voices arguing up ahead, then someone hammering on a door.

“Daddy, there’s an accident on the road. They need to call an ambulance!” The girl’s voice was urgent.

“Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you wanted, Victoria?” The shock and exasperation in the man’s voice was clear. “Where’s the woman who came in.”

“She’s waiting in the front hall,” the girl said. “Where Victoria left her.”

Gabriella heard the door to the parlor creak open behind her, and she glanced around in time to see the man sneaking out.

She turned fully in his direction.

He paused at the front door, lifting a finger to his lips as if they were in on a prank or joke, silently asking her to keep quiet.

She gave in to the temptation to put him on the spot.

“It’s nice of you to go out and see if you can help,” she called, just as all three members of the household appeared.

Gabriella turned back to look at them.

“What’s Robbie still doing here?” The man with the two girls sounded shocked. He was large and bluff, wearing shirtsleeves and tweed pants. The young girl was holding his hand. Victoria hung back a little, fiddling with the collar of her jumpsuit.

“Victoria’s been canoodling with him in the front parlor forhours,” the girl said.

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