In Their Footsteps. Tess Gerritsen
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sort of honor, considering how he…died.”
“Perhaps it was just an oversight,” said Jordan. “Papers getting mislaid, that sort of thing. MI6 does try to honor its dead, and Leo sort of fell through the cracks.”
“The way Mum and Dad did,” said Beryl. “They died in the line of duty. And they never got a medal.”
“Line of duty?” said Reggie. “Not exactly.” He lifted the champagne glass unsteadily to his lips. Suddenly he paused, aware that the others were staring at him. The silence stretched on, broken only by the clatter of an oyster shell on someone’s plate.
“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?” asked Beryl.
Reggie cleared his throat. “Surely…Hugh must have told you…” He looked around and his face blanched. “Oh, no,” he murmured, “I’ve put my foot in it this time.”
“Told us what, Reggie?” Jordan persisted.
“But it was public knowledge,” said Reggie. “It was in all the Paris newspapers…”
“Reggie,” Jordan said slowly. Deliberately. “Our understanding was that my mother and father were shot in Paris. That it was murder. Is that not true?”
“Well, of course there was a murder involved—”
“A murder?” Jordan cut in. “As in singular?”
Reggie glanced around, befuddled. “I’m not the only one here who knows about it. You were all in Paris when it happened!”
For a few heartbeats, no one said a thing. Then Helena added, quietly, “It was a very long time ago, Jordan. Twenty years. It hardly makes a difference now.”
“It makes a difference to us,” Jordan insisted. “What happened in Paris?”
Helena sighed. “I told Hugh he should’ve been honest with you, instead of trying to bury it.”
“Bury what?” asked Beryl.
Helena’s mouth drew tight.
It was Nina who finally spoke the truth. Brazen Nina, who had never bothered with subtleties. She said flatly, “The police said it was a murder. Followed by a suicide.”
Beryl stared at Nina. Saw the other woman’s gaze meet hers without flinching. “No,” she whispered.
Gently Helena touched her shoulder. “You were just a child, Beryl. Both of you were. And Hugh didn’t think it was appropriate—”
Beryl said again, “No,” and pulled away from Helena’s outstretched hand. Suddenly she whirled and fled in a rustle of blue silk across the ballroom.
“Thank you. All of you,” said Jordan coldly. “For your most refreshing candor.” Then he, too, turned and headed across the room in pursuit of his sister.
He caught up with her on the staircase. “Beryl?”
“It’s not true,” she said. “I don’t believe it!”
“Of course it’s not true.”
She halted on the stairs and looked down at him. “Then why are they all saying it?”
“Ugly rumors. What else can it be?”
“Where’s Uncle Hugh?”
Jordan shook his head. “He’s not in the ballroom.”
Beryl looked up toward the second floor. “Come on, Jordie,” she said, her voice tight with determination. “We’re going to set this thing straight.”
Together they climbed the stairs.
Uncle Hugh was in his study; through the closed door, they could hear him speaking in urgent tones. Without knocking, they pushed inside and confronted him.
“Uncle Hugh?” said Beryl.
Hugh cut her off with a sharp motion for silence. He turned his back and said into the telephone, “It is definite, Claude? Not a gas leak or anything like that?”
“Uncle Hugh!”
Stubbornly he kept his back turned to her. “Yes, yes,” he said into the phone, “I’ll tell Philippe at once. God, this is horrid timing, but you’re right, he has no choice. He’ll have to fly back tonight.” Looking stunned, Hugh hung up and stared at the telephone.
“Did you tell us the truth?” asked Beryl. “About Mum and Dad?”
Hugh turned and frowned at her in bewilderment. “What? What are you talking about?”
“You told us they were killed in the line of duty,” said Beryl. “You never said anything about a suicide.”
“Who told you that?” he snapped.
“Nina Sutherland. But Reggie and Helena knew about it, too. In fact, the whole world seems to know! Everyone except us.”
“Blast that Sutherland woman!” roared Hugh. “She had no right.”
Beryl and Jordan stared at him in shock. Softly Beryl said, “It is a lie. Isn’t it?”
Abruptly Hugh started for the door. “We’ll discuss it later,” he said. “I have to take care of this business—”
“Uncle Hugh!” cried Beryl. “Is it a lie?”
Hugh stopped. Slowly he turned and looked at her. “I never believed it,” he said. “Not for a second did I think Bernard would ever hurt her…”
“What are you saying?” asked Jordan. “That it was Dad who killed her?”
Their uncle’s silence was the only answer they needed. For a moment, Hugh lingered in the doorway. Quietly he said, “Please, Jordan. We’ll talk about it later. After everyone leaves. Now I really must see to this phone call.” He turned and left the room.
Beryl and Jordan looked at each other. They each saw, in the other’s eyes, the same shock of comprehension.
“Dear God, Jordie,” said Beryl. “It must be true.”
FROM ACROSS THE BALLROOM, Richard saw Beryl’s hasty exit and then, seconds later, the equally rapid departure of a grim-faced Jordan. What the hell was going on? he wondered. He started to follow them out of the room, then spotted Helena, shaking her head as she moved toward him.
“It’s a disaster,” she muttered. “Too much bloody champagne flowing tonight.”
“What happened?”
“They just heard the truth. About Bernard and Madeline.”
“Who told them?”
“Nina. But it was Reggie’s fault, really. He’s so drunk he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Richard looked at the doorway through which Jordan had just vanished. “I should talk to them, tell them the whole story.”
“I think that’s their uncle’s responsibility. Don’t you? He’s the one who kept it from them all these years. Let him do the explaining.”
After a pause, Richard nodded. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Maybe I’ll just go and strangle Nina Sutherland instead.”
“Strangle my husband while you’re at it. You have my permission.”
Richard turned and spotted Hugh Tavistock reentering the ballroom. “Now what?” he muttered as the man hurried toward them.
“Where’s Philippe?” snapped Hugh.
“I believe he was headed out to the garden,” said Helena. “Is something wrong?”
“This whole evening’s turned into a disaster,” muttered Hugh. “I just got a call from Paris. A bomb’s