Murder in Abbot's Folly by Amy Myers Read Free Book Online Page B

glimpses of Roy, Tim and Jennifer at intervals, but not of Laura. What was she worrying about? she asked herself. The anxiety that she had noticed in the Fettis family or the fingerprints? The latter had no relevance to the future of Stourdens, if that was to be the subject of the speech. They belonged to the past not to the future. She could see microphones and cameras installed on the terrace, and people were beginning to gather there.
    She and Luke went over to join Peter and Elena just as the magic hour struck, but if she was expecting a simultaneous dramatic entrance by Laura and her family, she was disappointed. Instead Tim appeared, but went back into the house without making any public statement. Then nothing. As the minutes passed, it became clear that this was not merely a late arrival, and a ripple of restlessness spread through the crowd. Finally, the tall figure of Roy Fettis appeared from the door of the house, but there was no Laura, no Jennifer and no Tim. Just what was going on?
    Roy looked confused and ill at ease, and he had to clear his throat several times before he managed to speak. Something was wrong, and the crowd realized it as the level of murmuring rose. At last he said simply, to Georgia’s astonishment, ‘My wife is not well enough to speak to you this afternoon. She begs that you will excuse her until a later date.’ With that, before he could be questioned, he almost scuttled back into the house. The silence of surprise was followed by more murmurs and then by raised voices as people began drifting back towards the refreshment tents.
    â€˜I don’t believe it,’ Luke said crossly. ‘What a way to do it. Why on earth couldn’t he read her speech if she’s ill?’
    â€˜Something must have happened.’ Peter frowned. ‘Interesting. How do we find out? The Clackingtons might know, but I can’t see them. Or Philip and Jake. Jill might have heard something. I know it’s nothing to do with Bob Luckhurst’s death, but it’s intriguing, since we know today is all about Jane Austen.’
    â€˜Tea,’ Luke said firmly. ‘The only solution.’
    â€˜Splendid,’ Elena said. ‘Peter?’
    â€˜Why not? Let’s go.’
    Georgia demurred. Now that she had stopped dancing, a headache was beginning to rage, and a stuffy tea tent was not the answer. She clutched at the excuse that there was still Abbot’s Retreat to see. She would go nowhere near the folly, but the garden would be safe. No fingerprints there. In the Retreat she could be on her own, away from the Clackingtons, away from Elena – and away from any immediate obligation to talk. Just rest for a while.
    Her hopes were dashed. Elena had either overheard her quiet few words of explanation to Luke, or had simply followed her. ‘I’ll come too, darling,’ she said happily as she caught Georgia up.
    Georgia’s heart sank. She could hardly say no, although it was all too clear that Elena was aching for a mother-to-daughter chat. Was Georgia up to coping with one? No, especially if the question Elena wanted to ask was whether she was pregnant or not. Or maybe she was wrong. Perhaps Elena wouldn’t be concentrating on Georgia’s life but her own. She would be eager to discuss the matter of her returning to Kent to live.
    Georgia braced herself. ‘That would be nice,’ she said.
    Elena was shorter than she was, and slenderer, and years of living in France had given her a poise and sophistication that Georgia felt today at least she could not begin to match. And yet for all that elegance and for all her self-centredness, Elena had an inner fragility that Georgia knew she could no longer ignore. It was Elena who was the child now.
    â€˜Georgia, there’s something I want—’ Elena began as she walked beside her.
    â€˜To talk about your return to Kent? That’s splendid. Where are you thinking of settling?’