Betrayal at Blackcrest by Wilde Jennifer;

Author:Wilde, Jennifer;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Romance

11

I stepped out the back door and went down the short flight of steps. It was after one o’clock, and the sun was high. It poured dazzling light over the yard. The oak trees spread heavy purple shadows over the green grass. I walked beneath the groaning boughs and entered the tunnel of honeysuckle vines. Here it was cool, the leaves rustling. I could hear bees buzzing drowsily among the blossoms. My heels made a loud rapping noise on the flagstones.

I pushed open the rusty gate, passed through the small opening, and walked along the stone fence. I had taken a long shower and changed into a white linen dress with large green polka dots. I wore a thin white straw band in my hair, and my white straw purse had a green silk scarf dangling from its clasp. I felt fresh and revitalized, glad to be getting away from Blackcrest for the afternoon.

I turned a corner and walked along the bow of broken basement windows. Blackcrest did not seem formidable in the sunshine, only old and tottering. The huge gray stones were dusty. The vegetable gardens were shabby. I walked along the flagstone path, musing, and then I saw Derek Hawke and another man standing beside the stone toolshed. Hawke was talking angrily in a low voice, and although I could not distinguish the words, I could feel the vigorous rage behind them.

The other man had graying hair and a tanned, leathery face. A pair of faded gray overalls covered his short, muscular body, and his strong brown hand rested on the end of a garden hoe. His face was passive. He listened to Hawke without flinching, but his black eyes showed pain. I knew that he must be Neil’s father.

Hawke slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand and tossed his head. His voice rose. I caught the word “outrage” as I moved on down the path. I was thankful that the shrubs soon concealed me from the two men. I hurried on toward the garage, eager to be gone.

I had opened the garage door and was taking my keys out of my purse when I heard footsteps behind me. I tensed. I knew who it would be. I turned around, trying to remain cool and calm. Derek Hawke came toward me with long, leisurely strides. He was wearing brown boots, piped brown pants, and a dark green corduroy jacket with leather patches at the elbows. His white shirt was open at the throat, and the wind had blown his dark hair into a tangled mass over his forehead.

“Leaving us, Miss Lane?” he asked.

“Temporarily. I have errands.”

“I was sorry you couldn’t join us for lunch today. I half-expected you to come down to breakfast, too, though I suppose you working girls like to sleep as late as possible.”

“Betty brought coffee to my room,” I said.

“You’ve made quite a hit with her, it seems. Special service. You have a way with you that wins people over—first Andy, now Betty.

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