here is my beautiful other half?’ Tessa, buried in one of the big wingchairs in the library, threw the folder of balance sheets on the floor, jumped up at the sound of her brother’s voice, and ran to him.

Lorne Fairley stood leaning against the doorframe, looking every inch the actor he was, handsome and debonair. ‘Hello, darling girl,’ he said in his beautifully modulated actor’s voice.

‘Oh Lorne, you made it! Thank God you’re here!’ She flew into his outstretched arms and he held her tightly, filled with relief that she appeared to be perfectly calm and in control after her ordeal. They stood together in a long and loving embrace, as close to each other emotionally as they had always been. They were of similar height, had the same blond colouring and sculpted, pristine features. There was no mistaking that they were twins, carried the Fairley genes of their late father, Jim Fairley, their mother’s first husband.

Tessa, who had been born a few minutes before Lorne, considered herself to be the elder and never let him forget it; Lorne, sincere, good-natured, loving, and easy-going, simply laughed when she pulled rank. From childhood he had called her ‘the Ancient One’, much to her irritation even to this day.

‘I’m so sorry you had to come back all the way from Turkey, but–’

‘My few days of holiday were almost over,’ he interrupted, standing away from her, his eyes roving over her face before he kissed her on the cheek. ‘And to be honest I was getting bloody bored. Anyway, I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch, we’re always there for each other, aren’t we?’ Putting his arm around her shoulders, he walked her over to the sofas and went on, ‘I gather Ma’s not coming back just yet.’

‘No, she’s not. I insisted she kept to her schedule, stayed on in New York with Shane.’

‘I know. I spoke to Dad and he said everything was under control here, so they weren’t making any changes in their plans. And how’s my sweet Adele?’

‘She’s fine, Lorne, none the worse for what happened, thank heavens.’ At the thought of her daughter Tessa broke into smiles, and added, ‘She’s such a happy child.’

‘And where is the little tyke? I want to see her at once.’

‘She’s taking her afternoon nap, so you’ll have to wait a bit.’

They sat down together on one of the sofas and Lorne peered at her again. ‘What’s the latest on that bloody awful husband of yours?’

‘He’s about to become my ex!’

‘So fast?’ Lorne stared at her, a sceptical look crossing his face. ‘Don’t tell me he’s being acquiescent for once?’

‘No, he’s very demanding and arrogant, and naturally the divorce will have to take its course. But our solicitors, his and mine, are doing a lot of talking, and incidentally his are pretty annoyed with him for snatching Adele the way he did. Obviously it puts him in the wrong, and they don’t like that one bit.’

‘It was a ridiculous stunt he pulled. As you well know, I’ve never really liked him, Tessa, and I’ve always thought he was two bricks short of a full load.’

She began to laugh. ‘You remind me of Jack Figg with all your old-fashioned sayings. They’re forever on his lips.’

‘They always were. Where do you think I learned them? At the knee of the master himself. Whom I just saw when I drove in. He was his usual warm and loving self, but he’s a tough bugger, Tess, and thank God for that. He told me he’s making this place impregnable and if the number of chaps around here installing things are anything to go by, I believe him.’

Tessa nodded. ‘He told me he’s staying on until Monday, then he’s going back to Robin Hood’s Bay for a couple of days. He’ll be back in the middle of next week. Anyway, I thought I’d cook for us all tonight, I want Margaret to have the evening off. She and Joe have been so worried. All this trouble…it’s sort of…done them in a bit.’

‘I’m not surprised, and talking of Margaret, I went to the kitchen when I got here and asked her to make me a sandwich. I stepped off the plane at Heathrow and drove straight up here. And I’m famished. So come on, let’s go see what she’s managed to rustle up. And as far as tonight’s concerned, I can’t wait for one of your gourmet specialities.’

As they crossed the Stone Hall together they ran into Margaret who was coming to find them. ‘There you are!’ she exclaimed, and, addressing Lorne, she explained, ‘I’ve put your sandwiches in the morning room, along with a pot of tea for you both.’ She nodded and hurried off towards the kitchen, thinking about Lorne. He had always been her favourite, and she was pleased he was back at home to look after his sister, if only for a short while. She always wished he would stay longer, he was so special to her, like her own, in a sense. He was the kindest, sweetest of men and his fame as an actor had not changed him one bit. He was the same as he’d been as a boy when she’d bounced him on her lap.

Until last winter the morning room had been an office which Emma Harte had used for many years whenever she was at Pennistone Royal. But this past December Paula had finally decided it was wasted space, and had transformed it into a charming spot for breakfast and casual meals.

As they went in, Lorne glanced around, thinking how cool and restful it looked on this hot August Saturday. The walls were a soft apple-green and there were rafts of white everywhere; the lovely, curving bay window was treated to airy, puffed-up balloon shades made of a green-and-white striped silk, while the chairs around the walnut table were covered in a green-and-white checked fabric.

‘Mother did a great job with this room,’ he remarked as they sat down at the circular table which Margaret had just set. ‘I’m going to take her up on her very generous offer to redo my flat.’ Staring at the plates of sandwiches, Lorne now shook his head and smiled. ‘She’s a wonder, that woman! Look, Margaret’s made all of my favourite nursery sandwiches.’

‘Yes, she always did spoil you,’ Tessa said succinctly, giving him an old-fashioned look.

Lorne did not rise to the bait, merely grinned, took an egg salad sandwich and munched on it, watching his twin as she poured tea into his cup and added a slice of lemon. She had sounded so upset and terrified when she had called him on Thursday; she had reached him in Turkey, where he was spending a few days with friends before starting a new film at Shepperton Studios outside London.

Even if he had been having the best time in the world, he would have left immediately, once he knew his twin sister needed him. As it was, he was fed up, itching to head back to London, which he had done with alacrity after her phone call. Because of the heavy holiday air traffic he had not been able to get a direct flight. So he had jetted to Paris, spent the night at the Paris O’Neill Hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, and flown to London today.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her; they were extremely close. Yet he was fully aware of Tessa’s faults…her extreme rivalry with Linnet for supremacy at the Harte stores, her terrible jealousy of their half-sister, which he considered to be totally unreasonable. And then there was her snobbery about being a Fairley, her desire to be known only as Fairley. This he found a bit silly. After all, they were Hartes and McGills and Amorys as well, and in fact they owed everything they had to their great-grandmother Emma Harte, and to their great-grandfather Paul McGill.

Lorne wished Tessa could see things his way but apparently she couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, he wasn’t sure of which. She was obstinate in her views, vociferous in her opinions, but he had ceased long ago to chastise her. There was no point really, since he was convinced she would never change. He had long ago made up his mind not to waste his breath needlessly. And he continued to adore her as he had since their childhood, accepted Tessa as she was, tried not to make judgements about her. Or anyone else, for that matter. His motto had always been live and let live.

However, he now stared at his twin in surprise when she announced: ‘Linnet was on top of everything, Lorne. She really was. I don’t know what I would have done without her.’

‘You’re suddenly singing a different tune!’

‘Don’t be mean.’

‘I’m not being mean, just truthful, my pet. You’re the one who’s constantly complaining about Linnet. I realize that you’re determined to be the supremo at Harte’s, but there’s a place there for Linnet, too.’

‘I know, I know. Don’t go on about it, Lorne. I’m really grateful that Linnet had the presence of mind to do the things she did, like get Jack Figg on the job, for instance. You see there was no one here when Mark snatched Adele…well, only Wiggs and his gardeners.’

‘Where the hell was everybody?’ Lorne’s voice had risen and he looked even more taken aback. ‘This place is teeming with people usually, it always has been since our childhood. Odd that everyone was gone that morning, don’t you think?’

‘Nothing sinister, Lorne. Just a coincidence. Margaret had decided to go shopping, Joe had driven over to East Witton on estate business, and Elvira was on her day off…’ Tessa paused, sat back, and thought for a moment about her encounter with Elvira earlier. In a way it still bothered her that the nanny had waited so long to mention Mark’s conversation with her on the roadside.

‘What is it? Something’s troubling you, Tess.’

‘No, I’m fine. It’s just that Elvira told me this morning that Mark had been waiting for her on the main road outside Pennistone Royal–’

‘How the hell did he know she’d be leaving when she did?’

‘Because it was Wednesday, and she always has that day off. Anyway, apparently he flagged her down, she stopped, and he asked her where I was, where Adele was, said he was on the way to visit us.’

‘And she told him, gave him all the details.’ Lorne nodded and a reflective expression settled on his face. ‘They weren’t in cahoots, were they? Do you trust her?’

‘I’m quite certain they weren’t in cahoots, and yes, I do trust her. She’s a creature of habit, Miss Elvira is, and she has never changed her day off. Always Wednesdays. Everything else is done in the same way, almost by rote in a sense, although it’s not really that–banal.’

‘And Evan? Where was she? You did say she’s staying here.’

‘She’d gone over to Lackland Priory to have lunch with Uncle Robin.’

‘And where is the dastardly Jonathan, the elusive Jonathan?’ Smiling acidly, not waiting for her answer, Lorne declaimed, in a highly exaggerated upper-class English accent, ‘They seek him here, they seek him there, those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven, or is he in hell, that damned elusive Pimpernel?’

Tessa began to laugh; her brother had always had the ability to bring a smile to her face, and she loved listening to him when he put on his actor’s face and voice and adopted appropriate mannerisms. ‘Jonathan’s in Hong Kong, according to Jack, who just had him tracked by one of his top operatives. But as Jack pointed out, where he happens to be is meaningless, of no consequence in this Age of Communications in which we live. Mr Ainsley can direct the traffic from anywhere.’

Lorne nodded his understanding. ‘Mark and Jonathan, what a pairing up that is, very hard to believe. My God, Mark’s a bloody fool, Tessa, when one thinks about it. How could he let himself get…conned by Jonathan?’

‘You just said it yourself, Lorne. He’s two bricks short of a full load.’

Lorne picked up his cup, took a swallow of tea and remarked, ‘I wouldn’t want to be in Evan’s shoes…Jonathan must detest her.’

‘Absolutely true, I’m sure. She’s very, very close to Gideon, you know. I think they might–’ Tessa sat back, gave her twin a long knowing look, and finished, ‘be very serious about each other.’

‘I thought they were, at Dad’s sixtieth birthday party, didn’t you?’

She simply inclined her head, suddenly filled with a strange aching feeling, a sadness really, when she thought of Shane’s birthday celebration. She had been alone that night, without an escort, having so recently left Mark, and she felt empty inside, awkward and somewhat lost. It had been her cousin Toby Harte who had come to her rescue, who had looked after her, just as he had done when they were little. They had been close all of their lives; Toby truly understood her. Wasn’t it funny how life worked out? He was in a mess himself, just as she was, getting a divorce from Adrianna. Divorce. She rolled the word around in her head like a small glass bead. She hated the idea of failure; she had failed at marriage. But she wasn’t going to fail at motherhood. Oh, no. Whatever it took, whatever it cost her, she was going to make sure Adele had a happy childhood and a wonderful life, and certainly without any interference from Mark Longden.

Tessa picked up her cup, took a sip of tea, and with a small shock she noticed her hand was shaking. Swiftly replacing the cup in its saucer, she turned her head and gazed out of the window, her mind awash with memories of Mark and the early years of their marriage.

She had had such great hopes for it. How had it gone so very wrong? Was it somehow her fault? Had she not pulled her weight? Why had Mark fallen under the influence of Jonathan Ainsley, a man whom he knew the entire family despised? Was he motivated by greed? Dissatisfaction with her? Or was he, very simply, a weak man?

Unexpectedly, her silver-grey eyes filled. She tried to choke back the tears, felt a burning sensation at the back of her throat and tried to swallow…now the tears were falling unchecked, spilling out of her eyes. Bringing a hand up to her face, she attempted to hide behind it, but didn’t succeed.

Instantly Lorne noticed how upset she had become, and he was filled with a mixture of dismay and concern for her. Leaping to his feet, he went and stood next to her, bent down, placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘Oh, little pet,’ he said, using his childhood name for her, ‘don’t, don’t, Tess, he’s just not worth it. Nobody is, you know.’ When she remained totally silent, he added, very softly, ‘Did you give him your heart, Tess?’

Clearing her throat, she wiped her face with both hands, and shook her head, then looked directly at her brother. ‘I’m fine, do go and sit down, Lorne dear, and finish your sandwiches.’ Sighing to herself, she remarked, ‘And no, I didn’t…give him my heart.’

‘But you did fall in love with him,’ Lorne asserted, returning to his chair.

‘I suppose I did. Well, I thought I was in love with him. Maybe it was just an infatuation.’

‘Perhaps it was, I’ve been there.’

‘Oh. You’re thinking of your last girlfriend, are you? Did you give Miriam Delaney your heart?’

He smiled at Tessa, and it was a rueful smile, very fleeting, barely settling on his mouth before it was gone. ‘Oh yes,’ he said.

‘So what happened?’

‘She trampled on it.’

‘I’m so sorry. I knew you cared deeply for her, were very much in love with her. I hadn’t realized it was so one-sided.’

‘Neither did I, at first.’ He shrugged, then lifted his hands in a Gallic gesture. ‘C’est la vie, chérie.’

A small silence fell between them, but it was an easy silence, and they were as comfortable with one another now as they had been since childhood. On the same wavelength, thinking the same thing.

Suddenly Tessa said, ‘I’ll never get married again. It’s not worth it.’

‘I do sincerely hope you don’t mean you’re going to remain celibate for the rest of your life. Surely you don’t mean that?’

‘Why not? There are worse things.’

Leaning across the table, Lorne exclaimed, ‘Listen to me, Tessa Fairley, I’m not going to permit you to lead a bleak, empty, unfulfilled life without love. You must be fair to yourself. I agree that marriage might be too much for you, after your recent hassles with Mark, but there has to be a lover. I won’t let you spend the rest of your life alone without a man in it, a loving, caring man who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Actually, if it’s anything to do with me, I’ll see you have a string of devoted lovers,’ he finished on a teasing note.

Tessa had the good grace to laugh, and she also managed to push her troubles to one side. ‘And that goes for you, too. Put Miss Delaney behind you and find yourself a gorgeous girl. Perhaps you’ll meet somebody wonderful in Paris when you’re over there filming. A beautiful mademoiselle perhaps.’

Lorne was relieved that her mood had lightened, and he caught hold of her hand, kissed it. ‘Now you’re sounding better, much better indeed. Like your normal self.’

‘This is an extraordinary studio, India,’ Linnet exclaimed, glancing around. ‘Dusty did a wonderful architectural job…you did say he designed it himself, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right,’ India replied, sounding preoccupied as she let her eyes roam around the room, taking in everything. There were a lot of blood splatters on the floor near the painting, and she hurried over to check the portrait and saw, with great relief, that none of the blood had hit it.

It was at this moment that she noticed the knife on the floor where the young woman had dropped it, and she said, ‘Look, Linnet! Over there! It’s the knife.’ She pointed to it and immediately added, ‘I mustn’t pick it up or touch it. Her fingerprints have to be on it, not mine.’

‘You’re right about that,’ Linnet emphatically agreed. ‘And I just want to say this, India. I thought the two policemen were nice to us, but just a little bit suspicious of you, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes. Constable Charlton was suspicious of my story, I agree. But not Hobbs. I know those who are closest to a victim, especially of the opposite sex, are usually suspected of being the perpetrator. So they most probably do have me in their sights.’

Linnet glanced at the big clock on the wall. ‘Those two will be arriving soon. Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Jack Figg to drive over, be here for you in case you need him?’

‘No, no, honestly, it’s fine. My prints aren’t on the knife, and I know that when Dusty comes round he’ll tell exactly the same story I’ve told. Because it’s the truth. Also, Paddy Whitaker will be back by four, or thereabouts. And maybe he can throw some light on what happened. He’s the house-manager I mentioned earlier–’

‘Isn’t that simply Dusty’s more plebeian name for a butler?’ Linnet asked, an auburn brow lifting.

India half smiled. ‘You’re correct in that assumption. Anyway, Paddy had to go to Manchester this morning, but I heard him tell Dusty he’d be returning around teatime.’

‘And where did you say the housekeeper was?’ Linnet probed, and continued to prowl round the studio, filled with curiosity.

‘I explained before, it’s her weekend off,’ India answered, sounding slightly impatient, ‘that’s why we’d been looking forward to being here together. Alone.’

‘So you think the house-manager might know who the young woman was, or rather, is? Isn’t that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes,’ India answered, quietly, her sharpness receding. ‘If it was somebody from Dusty’s past…or present. But she could have been a total stranger, you know.’

Linnet glanced across at her cousin and shook her head. ‘That’s stretching it, love. Why would a stranger attack him? Or rather, attack the painting?’

‘Perhaps she was a deranged fan.’

‘India, really! He’s not a film star or a rock star. Fans of artists aren’t–stalkers, for God’s sake. They don’t go bursting into studios and stabbing people, or rather stabbing paintings.’ Linnet threw her an odd look, shaking her head, nonplussed.

‘She could be a deranged fan. Or a former girlfriend, a lover, even. But I trust Dusty and he would have told me if there was anyone important still hanging around in his life. I just know he would, Linnet.’ India’s voice had risen several octaves.

‘Okay, okay, don’t get upset. I trust you and your judgement, India, so if you say he’s above board and all that, then of course I’ll take your word for it.’ Moving towards one of the tall side windows, Linnet continued, ‘I think I’d better call Julian, he’ll be wondering what’s happening.’ As she spoke she pulled out her mobile and punched in her fiancé’s number.

India half smiled, nodded, and walked over to the portrait, stood looking at it, her head on one side. Her thoughts went to Dusty in the hospital, strung up with wires and drips and God knows what else. He had rushed to protect this painting, and that’s why he was where he was at this moment. He could have died for it, actually, and the terrible thing was it was still in the early stages, incomplete. He had only been working on it for three days, and he could have surely started it all over again, couldn’t he? Perhaps he had acted on impulse, his reflexes automatic and in high gear.

Thankfully he was going to be all right; the doctors had told her that before she had left the hospital to come to the studio. The ‘crime scene’, the police called it, but there was nothing here of great interest to them, nothing of real importance, except the jackknife on the floor where the woman had dropped it, and Dusty’s blood. Just before she had left Harrogate District Hospital, they had allowed her to see Dusty in the ICU. She had stood alone by the side of the bed, looking down at his drawn face, swept free of all colour, chalk white, as if his essence had been drained away. Well, it had, she supposed. The blood loss had been acute; he had had to have transfusions. Fortunately the artery had been successfully repaired. Since he was still unconscious from the anaesthetic, she had simply leaned over him, touched his face gently with two fingers, whispered that she loved him. And then the nurse had put her head around the door and beckoned for her to leave the room.

India’s sense of relief was enormous, and her anxiety had begun to ease. He was going to live. And so, after seeing him, she had been quite willing to drive over to Willows Hall and open up the studio for the police.

Who was the woman? This question hung there in mid-air, as it had for hours. Was she a stalker intent on doing harm? Or a former lover? And would she come back to do more damage?