Dead Reckoning by Patricia Hall Read Free Book Online

his watch.
    â€œI’ve an unexpected meeting at five thirty,” he said. “But we’ve time for a chat.”
    â€œThis is just a business trip, then?” Laura asked.
    â€œAye, just a couple of days, all being well. You know one of the big mills is in trouble, terminal trouble from what I hear, if some beggar doesn’t put a rescue package together.”
    â€œAnd you’re involved in the rescue package? For Earnshaws?” Laura said incredulously.
    â€œAye, well, summat like that,” Jack said, tapping the side of his nose ostentatiously. “And don’t you go mentioning that to anyone at that rag of yours either. That’s strictly confidential, that is.”
    â€œThere’s hundreds of jobs threatened if they close that mill,” Joyce said sharply.
    â€œI dare say,” Jack said. “But that goes for you too, Mother. I don’t want you tipping off your union mates that summat’s in the wind. Not a word to anyone, right?”
    â€œMost of my union mates are long dead,” Joyce said bitterly. “And the young ones don’t seem to have the faintest idea how to take the bosses on and win.”

    â€œThat’s not what I hear about Earnshaws,” Jack said. “Any road, never mind about business for now. If anything comes of what I’m here to talk about you’ll be the first to know, Laura. How’ll that do?”
    â€œFine,” she said without much enthusiasm. Like her grandmother, she seriously doubted that anything Jack would be associated with was likely to benefit the workers even fractionally more than it would benefit Jack Ackroyd.
    â€œYou and Frank Earnshaw go way back, don’t you?” Joyce said, still prickly with suspicion.
    â€œI rented space from him in that white elephant of a mill years ago, when I was getting started.” Jack said. “It’s been on its last legs for as long as I can remember.”
    â€œHow’s that wife of yours?” Joyce said, changing the subject and shifting her position awkwardly in her chair. Laura guessed that her arthritis was painful but knew she would never complain. She had also suspected for years that Joyce had never fully approved of her daughter-in-law, a woman who seldom answered back and the last person to cope with a man as overbearing as Jack Ackroyd.
    â€œShe’s very fit,” Jack said. “She sent her love to you both and wants to know when you’re coming out to see us. A trip would do you the world of good, Mother. It’s still in the sixties in the afternoons, at this time of the year, and a nice breeze off the Atlantic. And what about you Laura? Still seeing that copper of yours, are you? Bring him with you, if you like.”
    Laura nodded, bending to sip her tea to hide her annoyance.
    â€œAnything in it, then?” Jack persisted, oblivious to the rising tension around the tea table. “Is he going to wed you, or not? He seems to be taking his time about it.”
    â€œI’ll send you an invitation to the wedding, if and when,” Laura said through gritted teeth, her cheeks flaming.

    â€œLike that is it?” Jack blundered on, with a meaningful look in Joyce’s direction. “I’ve said before you could do better for yourself than a bloody detective. After all the money I laid out on your posh education.”
    Laura got to her feet abruptly, almost spilling her tea.
    â€œHe’s an Oxford graduate, you idiot,” she hissed as she made her way to the cloakroom, watched by a dozen pairs of censorious eyes as the duennas of the Clarendon lounge paused to take in the scene, forks of creamy confections halfway to their pursed crimson lips. With the heavy door shut behind her, Laura splashed her face with cold water and attempted a smile at her reflection in the mirror. Why do I let him wind me up like that? she wondered. She combed her unruly curls and more coolly contemplated the undoubted