One Magic Moment(10)
Author: Lynn Kurland
“Then either find a different mechanic or stop knocking mirrors off your car,” Peaches advised. She paused, then spoke carefully. “You know, we could solve this mystery quite easily if I rifled through that book in your gift shop on de Piaget genealogy—”
“No.”
Peaches blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Tess, be reasonable.”
“I don’t want to know,” Tess said firmly.
Peaches shrugged. “Well, you probably don’t have anything to worry about anyway. It’s not like you’re going to start running into him everywhere you go. I’m sure he has other interests besides medieval geopolitical studies.”
Tess shot her a sharp look. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Peaches asked, obviously unimpressed. “Don’t talk about things that make you uncomfortable? Please, Tess. It’s facing the things that make you uncomfortable that are generally most necessary for your growth. And just so you know, people pay me big bucks for that kind of advice.”
“Have any of your clients had a sister—and I can hardly believe I’m saying this—time travel back to the thirteenth century to marry a guy whose twin looks to be living down the road—” She held up her hand. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.” She took a deep breath, then stepped forward and put her arms around her sister. “She loved you more than she loved me, but in spite of that, this is killing me.”
“She loved us both equally,” Peaches said. “And if it makes you feel any better, it’s killing me, too.”
Tess released her sister in surprise. “You haven’t said anything.”
“I’ve been too worried about you.”
Tess could only shake her head. “I haven’t even managed to ask you why you came back to England or what you’ll do with your business in the States while you’re here.”
“I thought I might like an extended stay in your luxurious castle. I think I can force myself to take care of business over the phone while I’m fondling your tapestries. But mostly,” she said with a grave smile, “I just came to make sure you weren’t losing it.”
“Thank you,” Tess said quietly. “And forgive me. I’ve been incredibly selfish to worry more about myself than you.”
“And yet I still love you,” Peaches said. She turned Tess toward the door and gave her a little push. “Go to London and forget about him. I’ll answer the phones and keep the marauders at bay for you.”
“I owe you,” Tess managed.
“And the price will be very high,” Peaches promised.
Tess doubted that, but she would have paid it just the same without hesitation. She went to get her coat and keys, grateful for a reason to get out of the castle for a bit and think about something besides medieval things.
Or medieval men.
Not that she needed to worry about those sorts of guys. Not really. The odds of again seeing John de Piaget—who despite another set of odds she didn’t want to calculate couldn’t possibly be the medieval brother of Montgomery de Piaget—were indeed very slim. She could conduct all her business in the village by phone and she could certainly manage to avoid losing any more side mirrors for a while. Maybe John would get tired of the provincial nature of the village and decide he should move somewhere else with fancier cars to fix. She was perfectly safe.
Within minutes, she was on her way toward the station. Unfortunately, she’d only been on the main road for a couple of minutes before she discovered that someone was tailing her. It was that black sports car again. She was tempted to give the guy the finger, since that’s what he was accustomed to from her—
Her tire blowing startled her so badly, she yelped. She looked quickly for a place to pull over. She’d never been more grateful for anything than she was for a little farmer’s turnout that allowed her to get herself off the road.
She jumped again when she realized her friend had pulled in so tightly next to her that the driver was going to have to crawl out his passenger door to get out—though why he’d stopped she couldn’t have said. It wasn’t possible that some rich guy in a suit would want to help her. Maybe he was going to scold her for her bad behavior earlier in the week. Well, she had a thing or two to say to him about his driving habits, so maybe they could just have it out right there in a patch of nettles. She girded herself for battle and crawled out of her car.
She watched the Aston Martin’s far door open, then saw a dark head emerge. And she thought she just might have to sit down.
John de Piaget straightened, then walked around the back of what was apparently his car and then hers.
“Ah,” she attempted.
“Spare tyre?” he asked briskly.
“In the boot,” she managed, clutching her keys as if they’d been all that kept her from falling into some bottomless abyss. And when he held out his hand for those keys, she had to force herself to surrender them. “I can fix it myself,” she said in a lastditch attempt to save herself and her sanity.
“I imagine you can,” he agreed, walking around to the trunk of her car, “but I’ll do it instead.”
She pulled the hood of her slicker up over her head to ward off what was less of a rain than it was an early morning mist and went to see what he would find to use. Her car wasn’t new and it hadn’t been hers until she’d moved into the castle, but it had served her well enough. The truth was, she’d never had to look in the trunk for rescue tools.
John was simply staring down into her trunk. She peeked around the trunk lid and saw that there was definitely no spare tire inside. There was, however, her box of new side mirrors. He stared at them for another minute or two, shook his head, then looked at her.
“Need anything from inside your car?”
She had a hard time concentrating on his words. She was just too darn distracted by his face. “What?”
“Your gear from inside your car,” he said, sounding as if he were dredging up a fair amount of patience.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think you want to wait here until I can get a new tyre for you. What do you need for the day?”
“Ah, my bag,” she began.
He only waited, as if her next move should have been obvious. It might have been, if she could have done something besides stand there and stare at him, mute.