chest heaved as he took in a deep breath and turned an enigmatic smile my way. “Mrs. Hayworth. Would like a before-dinner drink? Wine, perhaps?”
“Thank you. That would be nice. And please call me Rita.”
“If you wish.” He angled his head toward the back of the house, but didn’t raise his voice. “Maisie. Would you bring Mrs., I mean, Rita a stem of black blend?” A reply came from deeper within the house, so soft it was almost inaudible, but apparently it was heard by Lochlan. “Yes. That will do. Thank you.”
“Rita had lunch at the pub today,” Maggie offered conversationally.
“Did you?” Lochlan smiled. He trained his attention on me in a way that made me feel like I was being assessed for a position with the NSA.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure you already know the fish and chips are to die for. Speaking of food, I’m smelling something that’s making me salivate.”
Maisie, or at least I presume so, walked in with a tray that held a glass of wine, a Scotch whisky, and what looked for all the world like a bottle of blood. Maisie, a middle-aged woman in a blue jean skirt, flowered shirt, and hand knit cardigan lowered the tray to me with a smile.
Having overheard me, she said, “It’s pot roast with carrots, roasted potatoes, three kinds of onions, brown gravy, and sugar snap peas on the side.”
“That sounds heavenly,” I said. As I reached for the wine, I let my gaze slide to the label on the dark red liquid. Lindisfarne Red Mead.
Maisie set the opened bottle and glass next to Maggie. “Shall I pour, Mrs. MacHenry?”
Mrs. MacHenry?
“For all the charms no,” Maggie said. “I can still heft a full bottle.”
Maisie and Maggie shared a brief laugh that almost seemed like a private joke before Maisie proceeded to deliver Lochlan’s Scotch. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes,” she told the solicitor. He nodded. She left the room.
“So,” Lochlan began after what appeared to be a satisfying sip of Scotch. “This is your first trip to Britain.”
It wasn’t a question, which raised a question. “It is, but how did you know that?”
“You’re inheriting a substantial legacy, Rita. I’ve been entrusted with the duty to keep that legacy intact and thriving. Naturally, I must properly vet the recipient.”
“How can inheritance be ‘vetted’? Unless it’s conditional? And who exactly is the benefactor? I didn’t know I had relatives in England.”
“So many questions.” He smiled. “And who could blame you? We’ll linger over dinner until all your questions have been answered. Feel free to ask anything.”
“I will. So, you had me investigated.”
Maggie sat back with her glass of dark red liquid in a way that suggested the conversation had become a dialogue from which she’d withdrawn for the time being.
“I did,” he said without apology or hesitation. “Did you meet the proprietress of our pub?’
“I did.” I answered in kind. “And I had lunch with Fie Mistral. Some people called him mayor, but he denied that it’s a real title or office. Am I still being investigated?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Just making conversation. I’m curious about your trip.”
“I’m curious about what you learned about me. And why you thought I’d reassume my maiden name when my divorce is final.”
“I learned that you’re an extraordinary person who has lived an excruciatingly ordinary life.”
My mouth fell open. “Wow. Don’t pull any punches, Lochlan.”
“As to why I thought you’d prefer the name, Hayworth? My wife was adamant about that. She could not think of a single reason why you’d prefer to bear your late husband’s name if you had a choice. She was sure you’d shed that burden at the earliest opportunity.”
I blinked. “He’s, um, not my ‘late’ husband. He’s not even officially my ex. Neither of us has filed divorce papers.”
“Of course. A slip of the tongue. Was Ivy right? About your name?”
“Well… yes.”
“There you have it then. I’d love to hear thoughts about your journey from London to Hallow Hill.”
“So would I, but I was too terrified to form thought.”
“Terrified?” He looked confused. In my peripheral vision I saw Maggie’s interest rally.
“I’ve never been in a self-driving car before and, even if I had, I’m pretty sure the way Romeo speeds into curves instead of slowing down is the stuff of nightmares. Then there’re the trucks…”
“Lorries,” Maggie corrected.
“Whatever. Things on wheels that are way too big for these little narrow roads and speed by so close that you’d better have your side mirrors tucked in if you want