Page 28 of The Missing Maid
‘Of course,’ her mother said. ‘How many other Olivers do we know?’
‘Several,’ Seb put in mildly. ‘It’s quite a common name.’
Evelyn tutted. ‘Don’t be so rude. There’s nothing common about Oliver.’ She made for the door, shadowed by a silentChesterton. ‘You can both say hello, then make yourselves presentable. Our guests will be arriving soon and I want you both to make a good impression.’
Seb nudged Harry. ‘Oliver Fortescue. Looks like it really is your lucky day.’
Harry felt her cheeks grow warm but she said nothing. She’d had one unsatisfactory update from Oliver since their visit to Holloway – he’d written to confirm he had been in touch with Mildred’s family, and he was awaiting a trial date but that was all. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing that he was at Abinger this weekend. It might give her an opportunity to find out if there was any progress.
Conscious of Seb’s eagle-eyed attention, Harry had to remind herself not to stare as Oliver entered the hall. Half a head taller than Lawrence and utterly at ease in the grandeur of Abinger, she watched him bend to kiss her mother’s cheek, smiling at something she had said, and was instantly seventeen years old again. When she had seen him in London, it had felt like neutral territory but here she seemed to have been ambushed by a jumble of emotions she hadn’t felt for years. He straightened up and saw her. She nodded warily, hoping her face wasn’t glowing the way she imagined, and he nodded back. And then Lawrence was sweeping her into a hug. ‘And how’s my favourite sister? You look as wonderful as ever, all rosy-cheeked charm and mischievous twinkle.’
‘You make me sound like a Christmas ornament,’ she grumbled indistinctly, her face somewhat squashed into his overcoat.
‘Could be worse.’ Releasing her, Lawrence tossed a glance over one shoulder. ‘You remember Oliver Fortescue, don’t you? My old university pal.’
Grinning widely, Seb opened his mouth to reply but Harry beat him to it. ‘Of course. I didn’t realise he was joining us.’
Her eldest brother raised his sandy eyebrows. ‘He wasn’t. But we’re members of the same club. I ran into him yesterday, mentioned I was coming down here for Mama’s blasted dinner party, and he suggested joining me.’
A frown began to dig into Harry’s forehead and she forced herself to look unconcerned. Had Oliver invited himself before or after discovering Lady Finchem would be at Abinger Hall? Surely he wouldn’t come all the way here to make sure Harry didn’t raise the subject of Mildred. ‘Did he?’ she said with a faint smile. ‘How splendid.’
Once again, she felt Seb was about to interject but this time she was saved by Oliver himself. ‘Seb, you old rascal,’ he said, extending a hand to shake. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘I should say,’ Seb replied. ‘Last December, wasn’t it? One of Mama’s festive shindigs.’
‘Probably,’ Oliver agreed. ‘I have a hazy recollection of some excellent cheese and rather too much champagne.’
‘I’m not sure it’s actually possible to have too much champagne,’ Seb said. ‘But here I am waffling away when Harry is simply burning to say hello.’
He turned an impish gaze her way and she returned it with narrowed eyes that told him she would deal with him later. ‘Ah, Harry,’ Oliver said. ‘I hope you’re well?’
‘I am, thank you,’ she said, matching his formal tone. ‘Although I confess I’m a little surprised to see you. What brings you to Abinger this weekend?’
He knew what she was getting at, she was sure, but he did not take the bait. ‘Lawrence mentioned a family party and I couldn’t resist gatecrashing.’
Evelyn appeared at his side. ‘None of that, Oliver. As far as I’m concerned, you are family. Lawrence, why don’t you show Oliver to his room? The rest of you can hurry along too – Chesterton will organise your bags. The Finchems will behere at any moment and I’d rather the hallway didn’t resemble Paddington station when they arrive.’
Harry’s eyes flashed to Oliver’s at the mention of the Finchems but he was following Lawrence towards the grand staircase and seemed not to have heard. She still wasn’t sure how his unexpected presence made her feel. On one hand, it gave her an opportunity to grill him about developments in Mildred’s case but, on the other, she didn’t like the idea of him breathing down her neck every time she so much as blinked near Lady Finchem. And then there was the matter of her brother’s relentless teasing. She would have to speak to him about that.
In other circumstances, Harry would have made an excuse to avoid joining their guests for welcome drinks in the drawing room but she suspected Oliver might do exactly that, which might give her the chance to approach Lady Finchem. She had no idea how she would raise the subject of Polly Spender without incurring the wrath of her mother but she hoped an opportunity would present itself. Unfortunately, it seemed Oliver had anticipated her intentions: when Harry entered the drawing room, he was already there, standing beside the fireplace with a glass in his hand, deep in conversation with her father. Swallowing a disgruntled sigh, she started towards the drinks trolley. If she was going to be bored, she may as well do it with a gin and tonic to numb the pain.
Almost immediately, Evelyn was at her side and steering her towards the window. ‘Harry, darling, do come and say hello to the Finchems.’
‘Can I at least get a drink first?’ Harry asked plaintively.
‘Your father will mix you one. You know how much he enjoys playing bartender,’ her mother said and Harry knew better than to argue.
Phyllida Finchem was sitting in an armchair in the bay window that looked out across the lake. Three men stood nearher. One was older, bearded and grey at the temples, and she assumed this was Lord Finchem. The other two were younger, both dark haired and good-looking; Harry guessed they were somewhere between twenty and twenty-five. These must be the sons her mother was so desperate for her to meet. Lady Finchem rose graciously as Evelyn and Harry approached. ‘Miss White,’ she said. ‘How charming to meet you again.’
‘And you,’ Harry replied. ‘I trust you are well?’
‘Tolerably so,’ Lady Finchem replied. ‘Allow me to introduce you to my husband, Lord Finchem. Henry, this is Miss White, Baron Abinger’s granddaughter.’
The grey-haired man nodded. ‘How do you do?’
‘Very well, thank you,’ Harry said. ‘I hope you had a good journey.’
‘Awful, to be perfectly honest. The roads were dreadful and my driver seems to have forgotten what the accelerator was for.’ Lord Finchem glared at her as though she were personally responsible for the traffic. ‘Still, we’re here now.’
