The Legacy by John Coyne

Author:John Coyne [Coyne, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0425043843
Publisher: Berkley Books
Published: 1979-04-13T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

IN THE GRAND HALL, Maggie stood at the elaborate bar, pouring Pete a double. He was upset about Maria, and the Scotch probably wouldn’t help. She wished they had some dope, but they had been afraid to take a chance on carrying anything through English customs. Clive would have grass, she knew, and she made a note to ask him about it later. Then she poured herself a glass of Scotch and went back upstairs. Adams met her on the second-floor landing.

“Oh, Miss Walsh. I was coming to find you.” The nurse stood at the top, blocking her way down the hall.

“I was getting us a drink; the accident was very upsetting.” As angry as she was with Adams, she found herself apologizing for helping herself to the liquor.

“Miss Walsh, Mr. Mountolive would like to see you now.”

“Oh, fine, I’ll get Pete.” She tried to move by, but Adams blocked her way again, and took the glasses from her. “He wishes to see you only, Miss Walsh.” She spoke softly, but there was no question of her purpose. She was not someone who expected to be disobeyed.

“Well, isn’t he coming down for dinner?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” The nurse did not offer more of an explanation. “It will only take a few minutes. We’ll leave the drinks here.”

They went through the Portrait Hall, dark now, and past the ancestral portraits, then up the rear staircase to the top floor. It was the older part of the house, Maggie could see, a separate wing that must have predated the main sixteenth-century mansion. The hallway was smaller, darker, and she felt chilled by the dampness of the stone walls.

“The others are here,” Adams whispered, stopping at the end of the hall. Then gently she opened the door and stepped back so Maggie could precede her into the bedroom.

The weekend guests of Jason Mountolive glanced up nervously as she entered and then looked away. Maggie could feel the tension in the room.

She looked around the bedroom. It was larger than the other rooms of the house, paneled in the same dark wood. But across the middle of the room was a glass wall that reflected their images back to them. There was no furniture, except six chairs facing the glass partition. To the right was a stainless-steel and black leather nursing station with monitoring equipment.

“What’s going on here?” Maggie asked, taking in the elaborate intensive-care equipment.

“Would you all please take your seats?” Adams asked.

“Where’s Mr. Mountolive?” Maggie turned toward Adams who now was seated at the nurse’s desk. “You said he wanted to see me.”

“Margaret . . . Please make yourself comfortable . . .” It was Jason Mountolive she heard, but his voice was tired and weak, amplified by a speaker. Maggie spun around, expecting to see him behind her. But there was only her own reflection in the dark glass.

“Jason . . . Mr. Mountolive,” she protested.

The other guests seemed as puzzled as she, but they followed Adams’ instructions. As they settled down, facing the glass partition, the nurse lowered the lights in the room.

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