Dollhouse fic: Valentine's Day Part Two
Mar. 6th, 2010 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseThis is a multi-chaptered fic. The Index Post which includes summary, ratings, and warnings, is here
TWO
(earlier)
Dominic had been with her for two years when she called him into her office.
"Something has come up," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky to him as it did to her. "I have to go – away. For a few days."
He frowned, crossed the room to stand by the desk.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
She could feel the tears well up, unbidden, and glanced away. "I need you to…to keep an eye on the Dollhouse while I am away."
He should have nodded, said, "Yes, ma'am," and left. She expected him to. Yet he didn't. He crouched down to peer up into her face.
"Ms DeWitt?" He touched her knee, sending a flurry of conflicting emotions through her; how dare he, how good it felt, it was comforting, it would tip her over the edge…
"Adelle?"
She clenched her jaw, ready to grind out the dismissal she knew was the most appropriate response to this situation. She should tell him to leave, but she wanted him to stay. They'd been professional until this moment, but even the accustomed aloofness had mellowed into an easy familiarity.
Instead of any of the many things she should have done, she put her hand over his, feeling how warm his skin was, which drew her awareness to how cold she was.
"My father," she said, still unable to look at Dominic. "He's dead."
"I'm sorry," Dominic said after a respectful silence.
Adelle smiled coldly and finally tipped her head to look into his pale blue eyes.
"I'm not." She made to stand and he pulled back, rising smoothly to his feet and taking a step back to give her room to move. "Tea, Mr Dominic, is called for in this situation. Will you join me?"
Of course he wouldn't dare reuse, and he watched as she busied herself in the intricacies of the task; boiling the kettle, warming the pot, selecting the tea.
They sat on the paired sofas, staring at the pot once Adelle had placed it on the table.
"You know, they say a watched pot never boils," Adelle said softly. She lifted the lid of the green pot and stirred the contents with a silver spoon. "Of course, you can force things along."
Dominic nodded.
"How did it happen?"
"Heart attack. He'd been abroad, only been back in England a matter of hours. At least he had the decency to die back home or the paperwork would have been an appalling mess to deal with."
"And when is the funeral?" Dominic asked.
Adelle replaced the lid and tipped the pot, pouring a tiny amount of liquid into the china cup. Satisfied with the colour, she filled in almost to the brim and then filled a second cup. Dominic took the cup and held onto it, though he didn't drink from it.
Adelle leant back against the sofa, pursing her lips and blowing gently on the tea to cool it.
"In three days time. I have to fly back to England tomorrow. I'll be on the first flight I can get on after the funeral so you won't have to do without me for too long."
He wasn't fooled by her light tone.
"Why the rush?" After all it was a ten hour flight, and it seemed almost insane to return so quickly.
"Trying to get rid of me, Mr Dominic?" She arched an eyebrow, but her heart wasn't in the banter and they both knew it.
He stared at the tea a moment. "I just thought you might like to spend a little more time with your family. It isn't any of my business, but if I may ask, are you close to them?"
"No." Adelle shook her head. Her hair was loose about her shoulders today and the curls bounced with her movements. "The DeWitt clan is a cold, calculating, vicious snake pit of a family – and as a cold, calculating vicious bitch myself, I should know. I have no desire to attend the funeral but propriety demands it; appearances have always been important to my family. Perhaps that's why I fit in so well here."
With her free hand she gestured to the Dollhouse in general. Dominic nodded in understanding.
"Is there are likely to be any difficulties?" he asked.
"With the will"? Adelle shrugged. "There will be one, and it will probably be contested, but not by me. I want nothing more from the family, least of all my father."
Dominic put the cup down, his tea untouched. "I rather meant in terms of your safety."
"The DeWitts mostly argue with lawyers," Adelle said with a laugh. "Of course Bethany did give Royce a concussion at Penelope's wedding; I think that's the most violence one of the DeWitt gatherings has ever witnessed."
"Still," he pushed. "You have enemies; you said yourself, there might be issues concerning the will. I…I don't like the idea of you disappearing off to a foreign country for two days without any security!"
Adelle laughed, this time with genuine feeling. "It's England, not the Middle East," she said.
"Even so; you're the head of a Dollhouse."
He might have relished the opportunity to be in charge of the Dollhouse for a time, should have been concerned with making sure the house was safe. Yet he was seemingly more concerned for her; almost offering to go with her. All she need do was ask. Unless she was misreading him emotionally unbalanced as she was despite her dislike for her father – no, she was good at reading people.
"You would prefer I take a security detail?" Adelle asked, trying to discern how personally motivated his concern was.
He shrugged, nonchalant. "It would be your call," he said neutrally. "Too many guards might arouse suspicion, they could cause more trouble than they'd prevent."
"Perhaps just one," Adelle said. They were both aware of the negotiation now; she had to ask outright, and it had to seem the right thing for them to do. That way there could be little blame assigned for anything that happened on either side of the Atlantic while she was away.
"Perhaps," he said, "you could request an escort from the London Dollhouse. Retired-Sergeant Gary Travers would protect you with his life the way he guards Isabella and the London House."
"Yes, I suppose he would." Adelle closed her eyes, tired of the dance now. She wanted him with her and he wanted to be there. To hell with it. She swallowed, put down her cup.
"However I don't know Travers. I know and trust you. I would feel very safe with you at my side." Adelle shrugged. "Besides, I don't need the London house any more involved in my business than it otherwise is. Would you come with me, Mr Dominic?"
"Of course, ma'am."
Adelle nodded. "Teresa Fernandez from the Toronto Dollhouse could fill in for us for a few days, and Markus owes me a favour."
Neither she nor Markus would easily forget how Adelle's swift actions had prevented his Dollhouse from being destroyed. He owed her, as Topher would say, "Big time". Loaning her his own Head of Security was the least he could do.
"Very well," Dominic said. "You will arrange with Markus, then? I'll draw up a full report for Teresa."
He stood and made for the door.
"Mr Dominic?"
He glanced back at her. "Yes?"
"We'll stay the two nights, then. It will give me a chance to show you a little of my homeland."
He smiled politely. "That would be nice."
---
Markus had been, as expected, compliant to Adelle's request and Teresa had arrived early the next day. Dominic briefed her and gave her all of his access codes – he'd change them as soon as he got back.
Adelle could have commandeered a private jet but she felt that this wasn't really company business, and that first class was adequate comfort. The flight left at five pm and they'd arrive in England the next day.
Halfway through the flight, Adelle put one hand gently on Dominic's arm. His eyes were closed but she was certain he wasn't really asleep, a fact proven when his eyes snapped open and he reached instinctively for a gun that wasn't at his hip – arrangements had been made that a weapon would be available for him in England, along with paperwork that gave him the right to carry it. Adelle wasn't sure what the paperwork would say; possibly she'd been elevated to the status of visiting dignitary, because the gun laws in the UK were highly proscriptive.
"It's all right," she said softly. "I just wanted to talk about what happens when we get there."
She didn't want her family to know she'd brought a bodyguard; many of them would think she was showing off, somehow. They were all important and possible targets, they would argue – what made her so special. Nor did she want to pass Dominic off as her boyfriend; that would lead to more debate than she could handle, not to mention Penelope in particular would think that gave her free rein to interrogate the American mercilessly.
"I'll tell my family that you a colleague and a close friend," she said. "They know I work for the Rossum Corporation, but they think I manage the LA offices of a scientific research company." Not so far off the mark, she thought wryly.
"If I'm the CEO, you ought to be Head of Operations. They don't know much about science, so you can probably field any questions with some management speak about targets and global markets, plus our work is highly confidential. Hint that we're providing for the military; that will impress a few of them."
"Military," Dominic repeated. "Anything else?"
She moistened her lips. "I can't constantly refer to you as Mr Dominic," she said. "Not if we're friends. Nor can you call me 'ma'am'. You must address me as Adelle."
He stared at her a moment as if wondering if she were joking. "Yes, ma- Adelle. Of course."
She nodded, pleased. "Good. So, Laurence, tell me about your work."
"It's very boring, really, unless you're a science geek," he lied easily. "I make sure the scientists don't blow up the labs and that they produce some marketable results."
"Really. What sort of results?" Adelle purred, aiming to mimic Bethany as much as possible, the family member most likely to dig into Adelle's personal life by any means necessary.
"Oh, you know. We make the ingredients for other things. Drugs, vaccines, floor polish, hair dye. If your latest painkiller is more effective, that's our work you're enjoying."
Adelle raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Who are your buyers?"
Dominic shook his head. "client confidentiality," he said apologetically. "But some of the industry leaders come to us for product development. I don't mean to sound clandestine about it, but it's a cut-throat business and given the applications of some of our work…let's just say it's need to know.
"Anyway, enough about my work. What about you?"
Adele laughed. "Oh, very good. Very good indeed Laurence. We're going to do fine." She looked around. "I need another drink though. I cannot face my family sober."
He studied her and she tipped her head.
"What is it?"
"You should tell me a little about your family, if I'm to fit in," he said.
She chewed on her lower lip a moment. He had a point, but she was used to keeping her private life private and her feeling buttoned down. Still, she'd trusted him enough to bring him this far, so she'd just have to trust him a little more. She accepted the glass of brandy from the steward and sipped at it.
"Yes, you're right," Adelle said. "You need to know a certain amount about me and my kin. Where would you like to start?"
"Your father – what was he like?"
Adelle stared out of the window. "A cold hearted misogynistic bastard," she said, though her tone was neutral. "I'm the eldest; then there's my sister, Imogen. That was all my mother wanted, but my father, Harvey, pressured her to try and give him a son. For a time she resisted, but eventually, she got pregnant again. She was depressed throughout the pregnancy and when my brother was born, she couldn't bear to hold him, nor look at him.
"I was eight, was supposed to reading in my room, but I'd snuck down to the kitchen and heard him yelling at her. Harvey was furious. He told her that if the child – that's what he called his precious son, George, 'the child' – didn't get any motherly affection he would grow up into a sociopath." Adelle gave a soft laugh.
"My mother said 'He'll be perfect for this family then'. It was probably the most truthful thing she ever said to him." She sighed. "Despite her protestations, six years later she had one more child, my youngest sister, Cara. Her depression never really lifted though, although for the year before Cara was born, she did at regain some semblance of normality, at least from what I saw. I was away at school for the most part.
"Two years later, the vehicle my mother was driving ran off the road and down a cliff-face and into the river below. The police said she was probably dead before the river, that she didn't drown…." Adelle downed the rest of her drink in one swallow. She hadn't spoken of this to anyone for a very long time. After a pause, she said, "An accident, on the surface, but…"
Dominic lowered his voice reverentially. "You think she drove off the road on purpose."
"I wouldn't blame her if that's what happened," Adele said. "Particularly since it was my father's prized gunmetal grey 1961 Bentley S2 Continental she was driving at the time."
If you were planning to go out, do in style. It was the unofficial motto of the DeWitts.
"I'm sorry," Dominic said.
"It was a long time ago," she said and ran her hand through her hair, tucking it back behind her ears. She'd left it loose again, and it was being badly behaved, despite copious amounts of product. She longed to wash it, to take a long hot shower. She longed more for this while thing to be over and that she were already on her way back to LA.
The steward brought her another brandy and downed it in one go.
"Laurence, it will cause comment if you don't drink. So don't abstain completely," she said, waving her empty glass at him. "Just don't get drunk. I'm not anticipating trouble but we're erring on the side of caution. That's why you're here."
"Wouldn't dream of it, m – Adelle."
She smiled. "Perhaps a drink will make you relax and not blow your cover by calling me ma'am," she suggested.
"It won't happen again," he promised.
"Get some sleep," she said. "It'll be about 10:40 am when we get there so it will be a long day."
---
Dominic had been relieved when Adelle asked him to accompany here. While her absence would have given him the chance to dig about in the files without arousing suspicion, his position as Head of Security meant that he would, in theory, look at any file any time he wanted. It wasn't that big a deal.
Keeping Adelle safe however, was something he took just as seriously as his undercover work for the NSA. If she were ever killed, her predecessor would look askance at the man who had allowed it to happen, and he'd find himself out of his job and back at the NSA in disgrace, probably demoted to reading suspicious emails than ever seeing a field assignment again.
Besides, he liked Adelle. Some of her morals were questionable, but whose weren't? He was as guilty as she was, that was the truth of it. You couldn't be a boy scout and keep the country safe. Sometimes lines had to be crossed, and anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.
Hell, what had started as caution had turned to respect, and that respect to like, and now he knew that it was more than that. He was attracted to Adelle DeWitt, and didn't dare make a move. There was too much risk of her firing him for inappropriate behaviour.
Considering his deceit, he'd been angry at himself for having trouble remembering to call her Adelle rather than ma'am. It was ingrained to refer to her respectfully, but it more than that too; he thought of it as her title, even as a form of admiration and affection. One, he told himself sternly, that needed to be put aside for a few days. Adelle, he got to use her name, he should enjoy it. Adelle. He'd looked it up once, on one of those baby-naming sites. It meant noble one. It seemed fitting seeing how she carried herself.
The file on Adelle hadn't gone much into the intricacies of her family background beyond mother: deceased and father: businessman (at the time) because her current involvement with Rossum was of more interest than anything in her past. It had mentioned that the DeWitt family had been a name to reckon with in the United Kingdom for many generations.
They'd made it through the Heathrow customs unscathed and had been met by Rogers, who worked for one of Rossum's subsidiaries in the UK – conveniently a lucrative government contract meant the company in general, and Rogers in particular, had contacts who could cut through a wide range of legal red tape.
Rogers had secured a weapon and the promised permits, though he warned Dominic there would "hell to pay" if he was caught with the weapon in a public place. Of course, if Dominic had need to draw the gun, hell had already probably broken loose.
Rogers had also arranged for them to use one of his cars and drivers for them for the duration of their stay; he'd chosen a Rolls Royce Phantom Coupé. The car had a high gloss mahogany interior, grey soft leather seats and chrome fittings. Clearly Roger was doing quite well as a Rossum employee.
They travelled in silence in the luxury vehicle, Dominic finally deciding to leaf through the provided newspapers. The journey lasted an hour and a half; despite some speeding on the motorway, the driver had to slow for traffic as they had pulled onto the A roads.
Dominic saw Adelle's breathing quicken as the car pulled up outside an nice looking house. The last building he'd seen had been five minutes ago. The DeWitt estates were apparently impressive and sprawled over half of the Hampshire countryside.
"I wish we were in London," she said almost frantically. "I could show you the sights, in London. And there are places to go…"
He understood. She didn't mean a lack of places to visit (Winchester cathedral, just over ten miles to the east, was apparently an impressive Gothic edifice that was worth seeing); rather she meant there was a lack of anything else within walking distance. There had been a pub in the tiny village that they'd passed about ten minutes ago on their way to the estate, and there were walks to be had, of course, but there was no anonymity here. In a busy city, he and Adelle could have slipped out and been drowning her sorrows in any number of pubs or clubs within a ten minute walk. The countryside was freedom to city dwellers, trapped by the rules, the smog, the fenced in roads, the busy traffic; yet when all one wanted was to disappear, the countryside made them unique, visible, trapped them by a lack of escape routes and places to hide out.
"It's fine," he told her firmly. "Some other time."
She shot him a look, saw he wasn't meaning anything other than a reassurance by the comment.
"Oh, God, we should just turn the car around and go home," she said, hitting her head back against the seat and clenching her eyes and teeth. A moment passed, two; then she recovered her much-prized composure and sat up straight.
"Into the lion's dens, then," she said, swung the door open.
Dominic had let himself get confused by the way the British drove on the left or he would have taken the right side of the backseat when getting in, so that he could have exited the vehicle first and helped Adelle disembark. He quickly let himself out of the left hand door and walked quickly around to stand at her elbow.
A woman was already headed towards them, shorter than Adelle, with brown hair in a braid that sat over one shoulder.
"Bethany," Adelle said in a low voice. "She won't interrogate us out here in front of the driver so don't worry about her right now."
If he remembered correctly, Bethany was the DeWitt inclined to violence, but Dominic took Adelle at her word. He had a gun nestled against his hip once more, a comforting weight, and even without it, he was sure he could handle one delicate looking woman.
Bethany reached them and she and Adelle embraced, the sort of social hug that had no warmth and was carried out only for appearances' sake.
"Adelle," Bethany said. "I am so sorry."
"He was a bastard and we all know it," Adelle retorted. "Bethany, this is Laurence, a colleague and close friend from Los Angeles. Laurence, my cousin, Bethany."
Dominic held out his hand, though Bethany eyed him carefully as if wondering whether to hug, curtsey, or shake hands. Finally, she took his hand, though gently as if she thought him made of glass, and shook it just once.
"It's so kind of you to come, Laurence," Bethany said. "It is so trying to deal with tragedy alone."
Adelle gave a "hmph" of dissent. "Your husband is with you, I assume."
Bethany rolled her eyes. "Brick is either golfing or drunk or both right now," she said. "We're staying in Winchester. Didn't want to crowd you." She moved to instruct the driver as to the destination of the luggage.
Adelle touched Dominic's elbow and he crooked his arm automatically. She led him to the front door, apparently wanting to get back inside before Bethany could follow.
"Brick?" he asked.
Adelle laughed. He wondered if she was just being relaxed, was getting hysterical at the thought of having to deal with her family for two days, or was merely somewhat intoxicated from the four martinis she'd downed on the plane.
"Because, she says, he is as thick as such. The fact that he's stout and rather ruddy of complexion doesn't help."
The hallway was long and whitewashed. There was a mirror on one wall and a coat-stand. A small wooden key cabinet hung nearby and a large country landscape oil painting took up the rest of the wall. The opposite side of the hallway held a carpeted stairwell, with a few black and white portraits in ebony wooden frames. A closed door suggested under-stair storage.
Adelle led the way into a spacious lounge. The area was dominated by the fireplace, brick and iron, with inlaid decorative panels either side of ceramic tile. A set of fire tools sat to one side. A large hearth rug covered the wooden flooring. Two loveseats sat, one either side of the fireplace.
A young woman sat on the right hand sofa. She was dressed completely in black, long skirts and a soft sweater with sleeves that almost covered her arms. The dark material contrasted with her honey blonde hair which sat loose around her shoulders. She looked up as Adelle entered and stood.
"Addie."
Adelle crossed the room quickly and embraced her tightly. "Oh, darling. I came as soon as I could."
For a moment the woman clung to Adelle. Dominic stood silently, checking out potential exits for security reasons; the small front bay window might do if one cared to clear the sill of the three yellow vases cluttering it. The arch to the back of the room, its sliding doors both open, led to a dining area. Behind the large polished mahogany table with its eight seats were French windows, would were a far better opportunity for a swift exit – or entrance.
A pile of correspondence lay on the table. Dominic strained to look without moving from his current position. Bills, maybe or legal papers. A sympathy card or two, he thought.
At last the women had finished hugging.
"Cara, this is Laurence," Adelle said. "I told you about him."
He fought to keep the surprise from his face. What exactly had Adelle told this woman?
"This is my sister, Cara," Adelle said. He'd have guessed that from placing the younger woman's age somewhere in her mid to late twenties.
Cara leant in close again. "Does he know?"
Adelle shook her head.
"I'll explain later." She gestured behind Dominic. "Help yourself," she said. "And two brandies, please."
He found a tall mahogany cabinet behind him. After a moments hesitation, he noted glasses on shelves behind glass fronted doors at the top, and a handle that let him pull down a flap, like a writing desk. Inside the cabinet, instead of writing equipment however, was an impressive array of spirits.
"There's beer in the fridge," Cara added. "Bitter, lager. Um, Guinness; that's stout. I don't know what you drink. British beers are stronger than American ones," she added, though as a matter of pride or a warning he wasn't sure.
He poured three brandies to keep it simple and took two to the women.
"This is a nice house," he offered, mostly for something to say.
Cara sniggered as she took the glass.
"Not what you were expecting?" Adelle asked. "This is the cottage. It has an addition to the rear, and five and a half of acres of land. Not overly impressive, but it is the family home. There is also a flat in Kensington, a house in Bristol, a farmhouse in Cornwall, a townhouse in York, a waterfront condo in Cardiff and half a hotel in Edinburgh."
"That is, we own half of the hotel," Cara said seriously, "not that it's only half of a hotel."
Dominic, his own brandy now in hand, smiled. "I got that."
Cara bowed her head and tucked a strand of hair back nervously behind her ear. Dominic wondered if he'd made a faux pas and sought to change the subject.
"I like the beams," he said, pointing above his head, and making a mental note to be careful upstairs in case the ceilings were any lower up there.
"Original features," Adelle agreed. "Very desirable."
They were silent for a moment. Bethany entered, rubbing her hands briskly.
"I've had your luggage taken upstairs," she said. "You're in the cream and pink room, Adelle. I've put your guest next door in the cream and beige."
"Thank you," Adelle said.
"Right, I need to be off. I've got to check in with the caterers," Bethany said. "Shall I make you tea before I go?"
"No, thank you." Adelle smiled without warmth at Bethany until the woman took the hint.
"See you tomorrow then. The limos will arrive at ten am."
Bethany left. Dominic took another sip of the brandy.
"Why is she staying in Winchester?" Adelle asked when she heard a car driving away.
Cara rolled her eyes. "She said all the bedrooms smelt damp. Your windows are probably wide open. I've shut ours twice already. Even the addition isn't up to her standards."
"Sanctimonious bitch," Adelle said.
"Well, she's been helpful, I suppose," Cara said. "She made most of the arrangements."
"Well, she would, wouldn't she?" Adelle muttered darkly.
"There'll be time for a decent breakfast," Cara volunteered. "We went shopping on our way in so there's food at least."
"Where have you been, then?" Adelle asked.
"Father had me overseeing paperwork at one of the offices in Edinburgh," Cara said. "Bullshit really, but you know what he says; I mean, said, about my job prospects."
Dominic gave her a sideways glance and Cara elucidated. "Too pretty to be taken seriously, not pretty enough to make a living from it, too educated for most men or any basic work but not educated enough to have a *real* job. My degree is in English Literature and he never stopped denigrating it."
A man entered from the rear of the house, white and blue check shirt half-tucked into his scruffy blue jeans. Mid to late twenties, Dominic thought, with stubble that he clearly wore to make him look older, and blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
"Hey," the man greeted. "You must be Adelle."
Adelle nodded her head. "Dylan," she said. "I'm sorry we haven't had the pleasure before now."
Dylan shrugged. "I'm pretty much what you see is what you get," he offered. His accent wasn't the same as the women's. "Photos, webcams, it's all the same."
Adelle smiled. "Laurence, this is Dylan Caruthers. He's Cara's fiancé."
Dominic didn't miss the shadow that crossed Cara's face at that. Adelle was unaware of any discomfort on her sister's part, continuing smoothly, "Dylan, this is my close friend and colleague, Laurence Dominic."
"Pleased to meet you, Larry," Dylan said cheerfully, sticking out his hand.
"Don't do that," Adelle said quickly and coldly.
"Shake hands?" Dylan withdrew his hand, brow creased in a puzzled frown. "That rude where you come from?"
"Nicknaming people without their consent is largely considered rude," Adelle said. Dominic began to tell her that he didn't mind but he had no desire to undermine her, and besides, he hated being called Larry.
Dylan shrugged again. "Sorry. Laurence. My bad. Now Cara's going to tell you it's because I'm Australian and make my country of origin the scapegoat for all my shortcomings." He gestured with a nod of his head to the kitchen. "Want a beer?"
Dominic did want to see the kitchen and check out the security of the rear of the property, including the later addition to the building. He glanced to Adelle who nodded and, giving his best fake smile, Dominic said, "Sure.
---
"He's cute," Cara said appreciatively as the men left the room.
"Cara, where's Imogen?" Adelle asked, not willing to be drawn on the subject of Dominic's appearance.
Her sister pulled a face. "Not coming. Off in Namibia or somewhere."
"It looks very bad for her not to be here," Adelle said. She drained her brandy and moved to make another.
"Imogen doesn't really care though, does she?" Cara asked. "She used the family name to get her business off the ground and now she has enough capital to spend it on her charitable works. She'll just say there was no way she could get back in time." Cara handed Adelle her own glass to be replenished.
"I wish George was in Namibia," she sighed. "He's bound to make a scene tomorrow."
Adelle nodded fervently. "I wish George were many places," she said, "Most of them deeply unpleasant and escape proof."
"What about the will?" Cara asked.
"Who cares?" Adelle replied. "I don't want or need anything further from him, and you're surely to get enough to live comfortably on. Besides, you'll soon have access to Dylan's money."
"I'd have liked one of the properties," Cara said. "Though Dylan fancies buying a smallholding somewhere quiet. Somewhere in Wales, he says."
"Dear Lord," Adelle said. "And is he going to muck out the animals?"
"Oh yes. And chop wood, he says." Cara accepted her second brandy. "He's rather looking forward to chopping wood. He says that's how he got so muscled in the first place. That, and sheep shearing. Though I think he might be joking about the sheep."
---
Dylan grabbed a can of lager and was keen to show Dominic the outside of the house, pointing in various directions with his free hands to indicate the boundaries of the acres belonging to the DeWitt property.
"So, you and Adelle?" he mused.
Dominic shook his head firmly. "It's not like that."
Dylan shrugged. It seemed to be his default setting. "S'okay. I don't mean to be nosey. Well, a little. It's sort of expected though in the DeWitt circle. I swear, since I got engaged to Cara, I think they know more about me than I do about myself. I have nightmares, sometimes, where I'm tired to a chair while Bethany and Penelope and George and Brick interrogate me."
Dominic strained to see across the fields. There was a water in the air, not quite rain, and the hazy sunshine was trying to banish the would-be drizzle. There was the distant bleating of a sheep. God, this really was rural wasn't it.
"Have you and Cara been together long?" he asked politely.
"A while." Dylan swigged at the lager, pressed his check sleeve to his lips. "She doesn't love me," he said suddenly. Dominic glanced over at him, but Dylan was staring into the distance. Somewhere, ducks took flight, honking their displeasure at whatever had disturbed them.
"I love her," Dylan went on. "And she likes me. But I'm more of a business proposition than anything. She'll marry me to consolidate her assets with my own, and to give her some protection from the family – from George, really – especially now her father is gone. But she doesn't love me. Not really."
Dylan licked at his lips and he was the jovial, shrugging, scruffy playboy again.
"I just wondered. You and Adelle. You look at her like she's precious."
"She is." Apparently Dylan wasn't as unobservant as Dominic would have thought.
"But she looks at you like Cara looks at me." Dylan swigged at the beer again. "You know. Close," he said. "But no cigar."
---
Adelle took the long hot shower she'd been hankering after, and changed into comfortable trousers and a pastel pink sweater. Her damp hair sat loose on her shoulders.
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
"Come in," Adelle said.
Dominic did so, closing the door behind him. He had taken the opportunity to shower too, but he'd dressed in another suit, a charcoal grey pinstripe with a pale blue shirt.
"Laurence, I know what you might have seen in the movies, but the English do know how to dress casually," she said, teasing just a little.
"I didn't pack anything casual," he admitted. "Is there anything you need me to do?"
"The security meets your expectations?"
He shrugged. "It's adequate, I suppose. And I'm armed. That counts for something."
"Good." Adelle sat on the bed, near the pillows, and patted the duvet next to her. "Sit down. I need to talk to you about Cara before we go back downstairs."
Dominic sat, obediently. "She's not really your sister."
Adelle stared at him for a long moment. "She's my half-sister, actually. Where did you hear otherwise?" she asked at length.
"I didn't," he admitted, interlacing his fingers and tipping his head, making him look as he were considering it as a serious philosophical point. "I was just guessing. The secrecy, the fact she doesn't look that much like you, the way Dylan said she needed protection from your brother."
Adelle pursed her lips. "He said that? Then he's not as idiotic as he sometimes appears to be."
Dominic nodded. "I think he likes to play the fool. It would be easy to underestimate him."
"But you would never do that," Adelle noted.
"To be fair, he seemed to want to open up to me," Dominic said.
Adelle considered this a moment. "The Dewitt family is rather insular," she said. "It might be easier to bond with another outsider than to breach the impenetrable circle."
"He said," and Dominic hesitated a moment. He waited as if expecting an interruption, glanced at the closed door to assure himself of their privacy, then went on, his voice slightly lowered, "He said he loves Cara but she doesn't love him."
Adelle sighed. "That may well be, but while I love Cara the most of my siblings – the best of all my family, and I have no shame in saying so – we are not so close I can dissuade her of anything. Nor would I, since marriage to Dylan will be of considerable benefit to her. He is more connected and financially secure than he appears."
"I didn't…I just thought you should know." Dominic looked unsure.
"It's all right. I appreciate you bringing anything about my family to my attention. I won't be here long, but you'd amazed the damage one pissed off DeWitt – by blood or marriage – can do with one well placed statement to the right person at the right time. I need my wits about me, and I'm glad you're watching my back. And Cara's."
Dominic stood and moved around the bed, looking out of the window. "Who else knows about Cara?"
"My father never did, to the best of my knowledge," Adelle said. "That Cara wasn't his may have been the reason my mother decided to have one more child. After my mother died, my aunt Abigail took custody of her personal effects; jewellery, diaries and so on. She promised to keep them safe until we were older, and could appreciate them.
"Abigail knew and when I was sixteen, she told me, gave me the diary that proved my mother had been having an affair. I told Imogen, and when she was older, we told Cara. I think that may have been one of the last occasions all three of us were together.
"We never told George. He inherited a lack of respect for women from Harvey; though my father did rather dote on Cara, for some reason. George believes he will – and should – inherit almost everything of my father's estate. We all know that in fact Cara stands to be made rather wealthy. I think George suspects, but he can't easily prove it, but if the will doesn't go enough in his favour, I think he'll cry foul. Maybe order a DNA test.
"So, with Abigail gone, and Imogen absent, you and I, Cara and Dylan are the only ones who know. Dylan had to be told, once he was engaged to her. He has a right to know some of what he will be getting into."
Dominic turned to face her. "I will treat this with the utmost confidentiality," he promised.
"I know you will, or I would never have confided in you." Adelle stood. "You've earned my trust, Laurence."
She glanced at her watch. "Now, not to be stereotypically British, but it is time for tea."
---
There was a cup of tea. There was looking at photo albums from Adelle's childhood, much to her embarrassment. There was more tea. There was, courtesy of Dylan making a drive out to the village, fish and chips.
"I hope you weren't expecting anything posh," Cara told Dominic. "Adelle might be regal but I'm not, and I'm not feeling up to cooking."
Adelle rang their driver and had him take them all into the village later, for drinks at the pub. Dominic thought he'd never seen Adelle look more lovely as she did that night, firelight shining on her hair as they huddled near the wood burning fireplace, more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.
With just Dylan and Cara, she could be herself, he thought, and considered himself privileged to see the real Adelle DeWitt. It rankled him a little that he couldn't let his guard down in the same way, could never just be himself with her, but he pushed the irritation away. Even if complete honesty were an option, he was on guard duty right now, still unobtrusively keeping an eye on the patrons of the bar and the comings and goings from the pub.
When they went back to the cottage it was, predictably, time for more tea, then Cara and Dylan went off to their room.
"What time shall I be ready in the morning?" Dominic asked.
Adelle was finishing her tea, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at the half-full moon.
"Limos are here at ten. A family crisis will probably happen at around nine. We'll need breakfast before we can deal with that. Let's say seven thirty. Have a lie-in," she said.
When he didn't depart she glanced over her shoulder.
"You think a beast will come over the moors and grab me?" she asked. "An enraged sheep, perhaps?"
"I think I'm your bodyguard," he returned, "and if something did come over those fields, I'd be remiss in my duty if I was asleep upstairs while you were being attacked."
Adelle smiled and closed the kitchen door. "Very well. Bed time, then."
Dominic lay in his cream-and-beige bed, which matched the beige carpet, the cream walls, and the beige-and-cream curtains, and wondered if this was what it would be like to be inside a mug of cappuccino.
He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Adelle's predicted family crisis. He found it easier to deal with situations that could be handled with violence or the threat of the same. Maybe he could just stand at Adelle's shoulder and glower menacingly at anyone causing problems.
He watched the clock tick past one am, and two am, before he finally slept.
Part Three
Part One / Index
TWO
(earlier)
Dominic had been with her for two years when she called him into her office.
"Something has come up," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky to him as it did to her. "I have to go – away. For a few days."
He frowned, crossed the room to stand by the desk.
"Are you all right, ma'am?"
She could feel the tears well up, unbidden, and glanced away. "I need you to…to keep an eye on the Dollhouse while I am away."
He should have nodded, said, "Yes, ma'am," and left. She expected him to. Yet he didn't. He crouched down to peer up into her face.
"Ms DeWitt?" He touched her knee, sending a flurry of conflicting emotions through her; how dare he, how good it felt, it was comforting, it would tip her over the edge…
"Adelle?"
She clenched her jaw, ready to grind out the dismissal she knew was the most appropriate response to this situation. She should tell him to leave, but she wanted him to stay. They'd been professional until this moment, but even the accustomed aloofness had mellowed into an easy familiarity.
Instead of any of the many things she should have done, she put her hand over his, feeling how warm his skin was, which drew her awareness to how cold she was.
"My father," she said, still unable to look at Dominic. "He's dead."
"I'm sorry," Dominic said after a respectful silence.
Adelle smiled coldly and finally tipped her head to look into his pale blue eyes.
"I'm not." She made to stand and he pulled back, rising smoothly to his feet and taking a step back to give her room to move. "Tea, Mr Dominic, is called for in this situation. Will you join me?"
Of course he wouldn't dare reuse, and he watched as she busied herself in the intricacies of the task; boiling the kettle, warming the pot, selecting the tea.
They sat on the paired sofas, staring at the pot once Adelle had placed it on the table.
"You know, they say a watched pot never boils," Adelle said softly. She lifted the lid of the green pot and stirred the contents with a silver spoon. "Of course, you can force things along."
Dominic nodded.
"How did it happen?"
"Heart attack. He'd been abroad, only been back in England a matter of hours. At least he had the decency to die back home or the paperwork would have been an appalling mess to deal with."
"And when is the funeral?" Dominic asked.
Adelle replaced the lid and tipped the pot, pouring a tiny amount of liquid into the china cup. Satisfied with the colour, she filled in almost to the brim and then filled a second cup. Dominic took the cup and held onto it, though he didn't drink from it.
Adelle leant back against the sofa, pursing her lips and blowing gently on the tea to cool it.
"In three days time. I have to fly back to England tomorrow. I'll be on the first flight I can get on after the funeral so you won't have to do without me for too long."
He wasn't fooled by her light tone.
"Why the rush?" After all it was a ten hour flight, and it seemed almost insane to return so quickly.
"Trying to get rid of me, Mr Dominic?" She arched an eyebrow, but her heart wasn't in the banter and they both knew it.
He stared at the tea a moment. "I just thought you might like to spend a little more time with your family. It isn't any of my business, but if I may ask, are you close to them?"
"No." Adelle shook her head. Her hair was loose about her shoulders today and the curls bounced with her movements. "The DeWitt clan is a cold, calculating, vicious snake pit of a family – and as a cold, calculating vicious bitch myself, I should know. I have no desire to attend the funeral but propriety demands it; appearances have always been important to my family. Perhaps that's why I fit in so well here."
With her free hand she gestured to the Dollhouse in general. Dominic nodded in understanding.
"Is there are likely to be any difficulties?" he asked.
"With the will"? Adelle shrugged. "There will be one, and it will probably be contested, but not by me. I want nothing more from the family, least of all my father."
Dominic put the cup down, his tea untouched. "I rather meant in terms of your safety."
"The DeWitts mostly argue with lawyers," Adelle said with a laugh. "Of course Bethany did give Royce a concussion at Penelope's wedding; I think that's the most violence one of the DeWitt gatherings has ever witnessed."
"Still," he pushed. "You have enemies; you said yourself, there might be issues concerning the will. I…I don't like the idea of you disappearing off to a foreign country for two days without any security!"
Adelle laughed, this time with genuine feeling. "It's England, not the Middle East," she said.
"Even so; you're the head of a Dollhouse."
He might have relished the opportunity to be in charge of the Dollhouse for a time, should have been concerned with making sure the house was safe. Yet he was seemingly more concerned for her; almost offering to go with her. All she need do was ask. Unless she was misreading him emotionally unbalanced as she was despite her dislike for her father – no, she was good at reading people.
"You would prefer I take a security detail?" Adelle asked, trying to discern how personally motivated his concern was.
He shrugged, nonchalant. "It would be your call," he said neutrally. "Too many guards might arouse suspicion, they could cause more trouble than they'd prevent."
"Perhaps just one," Adelle said. They were both aware of the negotiation now; she had to ask outright, and it had to seem the right thing for them to do. That way there could be little blame assigned for anything that happened on either side of the Atlantic while she was away.
"Perhaps," he said, "you could request an escort from the London Dollhouse. Retired-Sergeant Gary Travers would protect you with his life the way he guards Isabella and the London House."
"Yes, I suppose he would." Adelle closed her eyes, tired of the dance now. She wanted him with her and he wanted to be there. To hell with it. She swallowed, put down her cup.
"However I don't know Travers. I know and trust you. I would feel very safe with you at my side." Adelle shrugged. "Besides, I don't need the London house any more involved in my business than it otherwise is. Would you come with me, Mr Dominic?"
"Of course, ma'am."
Adelle nodded. "Teresa Fernandez from the Toronto Dollhouse could fill in for us for a few days, and Markus owes me a favour."
Neither she nor Markus would easily forget how Adelle's swift actions had prevented his Dollhouse from being destroyed. He owed her, as Topher would say, "Big time". Loaning her his own Head of Security was the least he could do.
"Very well," Dominic said. "You will arrange with Markus, then? I'll draw up a full report for Teresa."
He stood and made for the door.
"Mr Dominic?"
He glanced back at her. "Yes?"
"We'll stay the two nights, then. It will give me a chance to show you a little of my homeland."
He smiled politely. "That would be nice."
Markus had been, as expected, compliant to Adelle's request and Teresa had arrived early the next day. Dominic briefed her and gave her all of his access codes – he'd change them as soon as he got back.
Adelle could have commandeered a private jet but she felt that this wasn't really company business, and that first class was adequate comfort. The flight left at five pm and they'd arrive in England the next day.
Halfway through the flight, Adelle put one hand gently on Dominic's arm. His eyes were closed but she was certain he wasn't really asleep, a fact proven when his eyes snapped open and he reached instinctively for a gun that wasn't at his hip – arrangements had been made that a weapon would be available for him in England, along with paperwork that gave him the right to carry it. Adelle wasn't sure what the paperwork would say; possibly she'd been elevated to the status of visiting dignitary, because the gun laws in the UK were highly proscriptive.
"It's all right," she said softly. "I just wanted to talk about what happens when we get there."
She didn't want her family to know she'd brought a bodyguard; many of them would think she was showing off, somehow. They were all important and possible targets, they would argue – what made her so special. Nor did she want to pass Dominic off as her boyfriend; that would lead to more debate than she could handle, not to mention Penelope in particular would think that gave her free rein to interrogate the American mercilessly.
"I'll tell my family that you a colleague and a close friend," she said. "They know I work for the Rossum Corporation, but they think I manage the LA offices of a scientific research company." Not so far off the mark, she thought wryly.
"If I'm the CEO, you ought to be Head of Operations. They don't know much about science, so you can probably field any questions with some management speak about targets and global markets, plus our work is highly confidential. Hint that we're providing for the military; that will impress a few of them."
"Military," Dominic repeated. "Anything else?"
She moistened her lips. "I can't constantly refer to you as Mr Dominic," she said. "Not if we're friends. Nor can you call me 'ma'am'. You must address me as Adelle."
He stared at her a moment as if wondering if she were joking. "Yes, ma- Adelle. Of course."
She nodded, pleased. "Good. So, Laurence, tell me about your work."
"It's very boring, really, unless you're a science geek," he lied easily. "I make sure the scientists don't blow up the labs and that they produce some marketable results."
"Really. What sort of results?" Adelle purred, aiming to mimic Bethany as much as possible, the family member most likely to dig into Adelle's personal life by any means necessary.
"Oh, you know. We make the ingredients for other things. Drugs, vaccines, floor polish, hair dye. If your latest painkiller is more effective, that's our work you're enjoying."
Adelle raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Who are your buyers?"
Dominic shook his head. "client confidentiality," he said apologetically. "But some of the industry leaders come to us for product development. I don't mean to sound clandestine about it, but it's a cut-throat business and given the applications of some of our work…let's just say it's need to know.
"Anyway, enough about my work. What about you?"
Adele laughed. "Oh, very good. Very good indeed Laurence. We're going to do fine." She looked around. "I need another drink though. I cannot face my family sober."
He studied her and she tipped her head.
"What is it?"
"You should tell me a little about your family, if I'm to fit in," he said.
She chewed on her lower lip a moment. He had a point, but she was used to keeping her private life private and her feeling buttoned down. Still, she'd trusted him enough to bring him this far, so she'd just have to trust him a little more. She accepted the glass of brandy from the steward and sipped at it.
"Yes, you're right," Adelle said. "You need to know a certain amount about me and my kin. Where would you like to start?"
"Your father – what was he like?"
Adelle stared out of the window. "A cold hearted misogynistic bastard," she said, though her tone was neutral. "I'm the eldest; then there's my sister, Imogen. That was all my mother wanted, but my father, Harvey, pressured her to try and give him a son. For a time she resisted, but eventually, she got pregnant again. She was depressed throughout the pregnancy and when my brother was born, she couldn't bear to hold him, nor look at him.
"I was eight, was supposed to reading in my room, but I'd snuck down to the kitchen and heard him yelling at her. Harvey was furious. He told her that if the child – that's what he called his precious son, George, 'the child' – didn't get any motherly affection he would grow up into a sociopath." Adelle gave a soft laugh.
"My mother said 'He'll be perfect for this family then'. It was probably the most truthful thing she ever said to him." She sighed. "Despite her protestations, six years later she had one more child, my youngest sister, Cara. Her depression never really lifted though, although for the year before Cara was born, she did at regain some semblance of normality, at least from what I saw. I was away at school for the most part.
"Two years later, the vehicle my mother was driving ran off the road and down a cliff-face and into the river below. The police said she was probably dead before the river, that she didn't drown…." Adelle downed the rest of her drink in one swallow. She hadn't spoken of this to anyone for a very long time. After a pause, she said, "An accident, on the surface, but…"
Dominic lowered his voice reverentially. "You think she drove off the road on purpose."
"I wouldn't blame her if that's what happened," Adele said. "Particularly since it was my father's prized gunmetal grey 1961 Bentley S2 Continental she was driving at the time."
If you were planning to go out, do in style. It was the unofficial motto of the DeWitts.
"I'm sorry," Dominic said.
"It was a long time ago," she said and ran her hand through her hair, tucking it back behind her ears. She'd left it loose again, and it was being badly behaved, despite copious amounts of product. She longed to wash it, to take a long hot shower. She longed more for this while thing to be over and that she were already on her way back to LA.
The steward brought her another brandy and downed it in one go.
"Laurence, it will cause comment if you don't drink. So don't abstain completely," she said, waving her empty glass at him. "Just don't get drunk. I'm not anticipating trouble but we're erring on the side of caution. That's why you're here."
"Wouldn't dream of it, m – Adelle."
She smiled. "Perhaps a drink will make you relax and not blow your cover by calling me ma'am," she suggested.
"It won't happen again," he promised.
"Get some sleep," she said. "It'll be about 10:40 am when we get there so it will be a long day."
Dominic had been relieved when Adelle asked him to accompany here. While her absence would have given him the chance to dig about in the files without arousing suspicion, his position as Head of Security meant that he would, in theory, look at any file any time he wanted. It wasn't that big a deal.
Keeping Adelle safe however, was something he took just as seriously as his undercover work for the NSA. If she were ever killed, her predecessor would look askance at the man who had allowed it to happen, and he'd find himself out of his job and back at the NSA in disgrace, probably demoted to reading suspicious emails than ever seeing a field assignment again.
Besides, he liked Adelle. Some of her morals were questionable, but whose weren't? He was as guilty as she was, that was the truth of it. You couldn't be a boy scout and keep the country safe. Sometimes lines had to be crossed, and anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.
Hell, what had started as caution had turned to respect, and that respect to like, and now he knew that it was more than that. He was attracted to Adelle DeWitt, and didn't dare make a move. There was too much risk of her firing him for inappropriate behaviour.
Considering his deceit, he'd been angry at himself for having trouble remembering to call her Adelle rather than ma'am. It was ingrained to refer to her respectfully, but it more than that too; he thought of it as her title, even as a form of admiration and affection. One, he told himself sternly, that needed to be put aside for a few days. Adelle, he got to use her name, he should enjoy it. Adelle. He'd looked it up once, on one of those baby-naming sites. It meant noble one. It seemed fitting seeing how she carried herself.
The file on Adelle hadn't gone much into the intricacies of her family background beyond mother: deceased and father: businessman (at the time) because her current involvement with Rossum was of more interest than anything in her past. It had mentioned that the DeWitt family had been a name to reckon with in the United Kingdom for many generations.
They'd made it through the Heathrow customs unscathed and had been met by Rogers, who worked for one of Rossum's subsidiaries in the UK – conveniently a lucrative government contract meant the company in general, and Rogers in particular, had contacts who could cut through a wide range of legal red tape.
Rogers had secured a weapon and the promised permits, though he warned Dominic there would "hell to pay" if he was caught with the weapon in a public place. Of course, if Dominic had need to draw the gun, hell had already probably broken loose.
Rogers had also arranged for them to use one of his cars and drivers for them for the duration of their stay; he'd chosen a Rolls Royce Phantom Coupé. The car had a high gloss mahogany interior, grey soft leather seats and chrome fittings. Clearly Roger was doing quite well as a Rossum employee.
They travelled in silence in the luxury vehicle, Dominic finally deciding to leaf through the provided newspapers. The journey lasted an hour and a half; despite some speeding on the motorway, the driver had to slow for traffic as they had pulled onto the A roads.
Dominic saw Adelle's breathing quicken as the car pulled up outside an nice looking house. The last building he'd seen had been five minutes ago. The DeWitt estates were apparently impressive and sprawled over half of the Hampshire countryside.
"I wish we were in London," she said almost frantically. "I could show you the sights, in London. And there are places to go…"
He understood. She didn't mean a lack of places to visit (Winchester cathedral, just over ten miles to the east, was apparently an impressive Gothic edifice that was worth seeing); rather she meant there was a lack of anything else within walking distance. There had been a pub in the tiny village that they'd passed about ten minutes ago on their way to the estate, and there were walks to be had, of course, but there was no anonymity here. In a busy city, he and Adelle could have slipped out and been drowning her sorrows in any number of pubs or clubs within a ten minute walk. The countryside was freedom to city dwellers, trapped by the rules, the smog, the fenced in roads, the busy traffic; yet when all one wanted was to disappear, the countryside made them unique, visible, trapped them by a lack of escape routes and places to hide out.
"It's fine," he told her firmly. "Some other time."
She shot him a look, saw he wasn't meaning anything other than a reassurance by the comment.
"Oh, God, we should just turn the car around and go home," she said, hitting her head back against the seat and clenching her eyes and teeth. A moment passed, two; then she recovered her much-prized composure and sat up straight.
"Into the lion's dens, then," she said, swung the door open.
Dominic had let himself get confused by the way the British drove on the left or he would have taken the right side of the backseat when getting in, so that he could have exited the vehicle first and helped Adelle disembark. He quickly let himself out of the left hand door and walked quickly around to stand at her elbow.
A woman was already headed towards them, shorter than Adelle, with brown hair in a braid that sat over one shoulder.
"Bethany," Adelle said in a low voice. "She won't interrogate us out here in front of the driver so don't worry about her right now."
If he remembered correctly, Bethany was the DeWitt inclined to violence, but Dominic took Adelle at her word. He had a gun nestled against his hip once more, a comforting weight, and even without it, he was sure he could handle one delicate looking woman.
Bethany reached them and she and Adelle embraced, the sort of social hug that had no warmth and was carried out only for appearances' sake.
"Adelle," Bethany said. "I am so sorry."
"He was a bastard and we all know it," Adelle retorted. "Bethany, this is Laurence, a colleague and close friend from Los Angeles. Laurence, my cousin, Bethany."
Dominic held out his hand, though Bethany eyed him carefully as if wondering whether to hug, curtsey, or shake hands. Finally, she took his hand, though gently as if she thought him made of glass, and shook it just once.
"It's so kind of you to come, Laurence," Bethany said. "It is so trying to deal with tragedy alone."
Adelle gave a "hmph" of dissent. "Your husband is with you, I assume."
Bethany rolled her eyes. "Brick is either golfing or drunk or both right now," she said. "We're staying in Winchester. Didn't want to crowd you." She moved to instruct the driver as to the destination of the luggage.
Adelle touched Dominic's elbow and he crooked his arm automatically. She led him to the front door, apparently wanting to get back inside before Bethany could follow.
"Brick?" he asked.
Adelle laughed. He wondered if she was just being relaxed, was getting hysterical at the thought of having to deal with her family for two days, or was merely somewhat intoxicated from the four martinis she'd downed on the plane.
"Because, she says, he is as thick as such. The fact that he's stout and rather ruddy of complexion doesn't help."
The hallway was long and whitewashed. There was a mirror on one wall and a coat-stand. A small wooden key cabinet hung nearby and a large country landscape oil painting took up the rest of the wall. The opposite side of the hallway held a carpeted stairwell, with a few black and white portraits in ebony wooden frames. A closed door suggested under-stair storage.
Adelle led the way into a spacious lounge. The area was dominated by the fireplace, brick and iron, with inlaid decorative panels either side of ceramic tile. A set of fire tools sat to one side. A large hearth rug covered the wooden flooring. Two loveseats sat, one either side of the fireplace.
A young woman sat on the right hand sofa. She was dressed completely in black, long skirts and a soft sweater with sleeves that almost covered her arms. The dark material contrasted with her honey blonde hair which sat loose around her shoulders. She looked up as Adelle entered and stood.
"Addie."
Adelle crossed the room quickly and embraced her tightly. "Oh, darling. I came as soon as I could."
For a moment the woman clung to Adelle. Dominic stood silently, checking out potential exits for security reasons; the small front bay window might do if one cared to clear the sill of the three yellow vases cluttering it. The arch to the back of the room, its sliding doors both open, led to a dining area. Behind the large polished mahogany table with its eight seats were French windows, would were a far better opportunity for a swift exit – or entrance.
A pile of correspondence lay on the table. Dominic strained to look without moving from his current position. Bills, maybe or legal papers. A sympathy card or two, he thought.
At last the women had finished hugging.
"Cara, this is Laurence," Adelle said. "I told you about him."
He fought to keep the surprise from his face. What exactly had Adelle told this woman?
"This is my sister, Cara," Adelle said. He'd have guessed that from placing the younger woman's age somewhere in her mid to late twenties.
Cara leant in close again. "Does he know?"
Adelle shook her head.
"I'll explain later." She gestured behind Dominic. "Help yourself," she said. "And two brandies, please."
He found a tall mahogany cabinet behind him. After a moments hesitation, he noted glasses on shelves behind glass fronted doors at the top, and a handle that let him pull down a flap, like a writing desk. Inside the cabinet, instead of writing equipment however, was an impressive array of spirits.
"There's beer in the fridge," Cara added. "Bitter, lager. Um, Guinness; that's stout. I don't know what you drink. British beers are stronger than American ones," she added, though as a matter of pride or a warning he wasn't sure.
He poured three brandies to keep it simple and took two to the women.
"This is a nice house," he offered, mostly for something to say.
Cara sniggered as she took the glass.
"Not what you were expecting?" Adelle asked. "This is the cottage. It has an addition to the rear, and five and a half of acres of land. Not overly impressive, but it is the family home. There is also a flat in Kensington, a house in Bristol, a farmhouse in Cornwall, a townhouse in York, a waterfront condo in Cardiff and half a hotel in Edinburgh."
"That is, we own half of the hotel," Cara said seriously, "not that it's only half of a hotel."
Dominic, his own brandy now in hand, smiled. "I got that."
Cara bowed her head and tucked a strand of hair back nervously behind her ear. Dominic wondered if he'd made a faux pas and sought to change the subject.
"I like the beams," he said, pointing above his head, and making a mental note to be careful upstairs in case the ceilings were any lower up there.
"Original features," Adelle agreed. "Very desirable."
They were silent for a moment. Bethany entered, rubbing her hands briskly.
"I've had your luggage taken upstairs," she said. "You're in the cream and pink room, Adelle. I've put your guest next door in the cream and beige."
"Thank you," Adelle said.
"Right, I need to be off. I've got to check in with the caterers," Bethany said. "Shall I make you tea before I go?"
"No, thank you." Adelle smiled without warmth at Bethany until the woman took the hint.
"See you tomorrow then. The limos will arrive at ten am."
Bethany left. Dominic took another sip of the brandy.
"Why is she staying in Winchester?" Adelle asked when she heard a car driving away.
Cara rolled her eyes. "She said all the bedrooms smelt damp. Your windows are probably wide open. I've shut ours twice already. Even the addition isn't up to her standards."
"Sanctimonious bitch," Adelle said.
"Well, she's been helpful, I suppose," Cara said. "She made most of the arrangements."
"Well, she would, wouldn't she?" Adelle muttered darkly.
"There'll be time for a decent breakfast," Cara volunteered. "We went shopping on our way in so there's food at least."
"Where have you been, then?" Adelle asked.
"Father had me overseeing paperwork at one of the offices in Edinburgh," Cara said. "Bullshit really, but you know what he says; I mean, said, about my job prospects."
Dominic gave her a sideways glance and Cara elucidated. "Too pretty to be taken seriously, not pretty enough to make a living from it, too educated for most men or any basic work but not educated enough to have a *real* job. My degree is in English Literature and he never stopped denigrating it."
A man entered from the rear of the house, white and blue check shirt half-tucked into his scruffy blue jeans. Mid to late twenties, Dominic thought, with stubble that he clearly wore to make him look older, and blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled.
"Hey," the man greeted. "You must be Adelle."
Adelle nodded her head. "Dylan," she said. "I'm sorry we haven't had the pleasure before now."
Dylan shrugged. "I'm pretty much what you see is what you get," he offered. His accent wasn't the same as the women's. "Photos, webcams, it's all the same."
Adelle smiled. "Laurence, this is Dylan Caruthers. He's Cara's fiancé."
Dominic didn't miss the shadow that crossed Cara's face at that. Adelle was unaware of any discomfort on her sister's part, continuing smoothly, "Dylan, this is my close friend and colleague, Laurence Dominic."
"Pleased to meet you, Larry," Dylan said cheerfully, sticking out his hand.
"Don't do that," Adelle said quickly and coldly.
"Shake hands?" Dylan withdrew his hand, brow creased in a puzzled frown. "That rude where you come from?"
"Nicknaming people without their consent is largely considered rude," Adelle said. Dominic began to tell her that he didn't mind but he had no desire to undermine her, and besides, he hated being called Larry.
Dylan shrugged again. "Sorry. Laurence. My bad. Now Cara's going to tell you it's because I'm Australian and make my country of origin the scapegoat for all my shortcomings." He gestured with a nod of his head to the kitchen. "Want a beer?"
Dominic did want to see the kitchen and check out the security of the rear of the property, including the later addition to the building. He glanced to Adelle who nodded and, giving his best fake smile, Dominic said, "Sure.
"He's cute," Cara said appreciatively as the men left the room.
"Cara, where's Imogen?" Adelle asked, not willing to be drawn on the subject of Dominic's appearance.
Her sister pulled a face. "Not coming. Off in Namibia or somewhere."
"It looks very bad for her not to be here," Adelle said. She drained her brandy and moved to make another.
"Imogen doesn't really care though, does she?" Cara asked. "She used the family name to get her business off the ground and now she has enough capital to spend it on her charitable works. She'll just say there was no way she could get back in time." Cara handed Adelle her own glass to be replenished.
"I wish George was in Namibia," she sighed. "He's bound to make a scene tomorrow."
Adelle nodded fervently. "I wish George were many places," she said, "Most of them deeply unpleasant and escape proof."
"What about the will?" Cara asked.
"Who cares?" Adelle replied. "I don't want or need anything further from him, and you're surely to get enough to live comfortably on. Besides, you'll soon have access to Dylan's money."
"I'd have liked one of the properties," Cara said. "Though Dylan fancies buying a smallholding somewhere quiet. Somewhere in Wales, he says."
"Dear Lord," Adelle said. "And is he going to muck out the animals?"
"Oh yes. And chop wood, he says." Cara accepted her second brandy. "He's rather looking forward to chopping wood. He says that's how he got so muscled in the first place. That, and sheep shearing. Though I think he might be joking about the sheep."
Dylan grabbed a can of lager and was keen to show Dominic the outside of the house, pointing in various directions with his free hands to indicate the boundaries of the acres belonging to the DeWitt property.
"So, you and Adelle?" he mused.
Dominic shook his head firmly. "It's not like that."
Dylan shrugged. It seemed to be his default setting. "S'okay. I don't mean to be nosey. Well, a little. It's sort of expected though in the DeWitt circle. I swear, since I got engaged to Cara, I think they know more about me than I do about myself. I have nightmares, sometimes, where I'm tired to a chair while Bethany and Penelope and George and Brick interrogate me."
Dominic strained to see across the fields. There was a water in the air, not quite rain, and the hazy sunshine was trying to banish the would-be drizzle. There was the distant bleating of a sheep. God, this really was rural wasn't it.
"Have you and Cara been together long?" he asked politely.
"A while." Dylan swigged at the lager, pressed his check sleeve to his lips. "She doesn't love me," he said suddenly. Dominic glanced over at him, but Dylan was staring into the distance. Somewhere, ducks took flight, honking their displeasure at whatever had disturbed them.
"I love her," Dylan went on. "And she likes me. But I'm more of a business proposition than anything. She'll marry me to consolidate her assets with my own, and to give her some protection from the family – from George, really – especially now her father is gone. But she doesn't love me. Not really."
Dylan licked at his lips and he was the jovial, shrugging, scruffy playboy again.
"I just wondered. You and Adelle. You look at her like she's precious."
"She is." Apparently Dylan wasn't as unobservant as Dominic would have thought.
"But she looks at you like Cara looks at me." Dylan swigged at the beer again. "You know. Close," he said. "But no cigar."
Adelle took the long hot shower she'd been hankering after, and changed into comfortable trousers and a pastel pink sweater. Her damp hair sat loose on her shoulders.
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
"Come in," Adelle said.
Dominic did so, closing the door behind him. He had taken the opportunity to shower too, but he'd dressed in another suit, a charcoal grey pinstripe with a pale blue shirt.
"Laurence, I know what you might have seen in the movies, but the English do know how to dress casually," she said, teasing just a little.
"I didn't pack anything casual," he admitted. "Is there anything you need me to do?"
"The security meets your expectations?"
He shrugged. "It's adequate, I suppose. And I'm armed. That counts for something."
"Good." Adelle sat on the bed, near the pillows, and patted the duvet next to her. "Sit down. I need to talk to you about Cara before we go back downstairs."
Dominic sat, obediently. "She's not really your sister."
Adelle stared at him for a long moment. "She's my half-sister, actually. Where did you hear otherwise?" she asked at length.
"I didn't," he admitted, interlacing his fingers and tipping his head, making him look as he were considering it as a serious philosophical point. "I was just guessing. The secrecy, the fact she doesn't look that much like you, the way Dylan said she needed protection from your brother."
Adelle pursed her lips. "He said that? Then he's not as idiotic as he sometimes appears to be."
Dominic nodded. "I think he likes to play the fool. It would be easy to underestimate him."
"But you would never do that," Adelle noted.
"To be fair, he seemed to want to open up to me," Dominic said.
Adelle considered this a moment. "The Dewitt family is rather insular," she said. "It might be easier to bond with another outsider than to breach the impenetrable circle."
"He said," and Dominic hesitated a moment. He waited as if expecting an interruption, glanced at the closed door to assure himself of their privacy, then went on, his voice slightly lowered, "He said he loves Cara but she doesn't love him."
Adelle sighed. "That may well be, but while I love Cara the most of my siblings – the best of all my family, and I have no shame in saying so – we are not so close I can dissuade her of anything. Nor would I, since marriage to Dylan will be of considerable benefit to her. He is more connected and financially secure than he appears."
"I didn't…I just thought you should know." Dominic looked unsure.
"It's all right. I appreciate you bringing anything about my family to my attention. I won't be here long, but you'd amazed the damage one pissed off DeWitt – by blood or marriage – can do with one well placed statement to the right person at the right time. I need my wits about me, and I'm glad you're watching my back. And Cara's."
Dominic stood and moved around the bed, looking out of the window. "Who else knows about Cara?"
"My father never did, to the best of my knowledge," Adelle said. "That Cara wasn't his may have been the reason my mother decided to have one more child. After my mother died, my aunt Abigail took custody of her personal effects; jewellery, diaries and so on. She promised to keep them safe until we were older, and could appreciate them.
"Abigail knew and when I was sixteen, she told me, gave me the diary that proved my mother had been having an affair. I told Imogen, and when she was older, we told Cara. I think that may have been one of the last occasions all three of us were together.
"We never told George. He inherited a lack of respect for women from Harvey; though my father did rather dote on Cara, for some reason. George believes he will – and should – inherit almost everything of my father's estate. We all know that in fact Cara stands to be made rather wealthy. I think George suspects, but he can't easily prove it, but if the will doesn't go enough in his favour, I think he'll cry foul. Maybe order a DNA test.
"So, with Abigail gone, and Imogen absent, you and I, Cara and Dylan are the only ones who know. Dylan had to be told, once he was engaged to her. He has a right to know some of what he will be getting into."
Dominic turned to face her. "I will treat this with the utmost confidentiality," he promised.
"I know you will, or I would never have confided in you." Adelle stood. "You've earned my trust, Laurence."
She glanced at her watch. "Now, not to be stereotypically British, but it is time for tea."
There was a cup of tea. There was looking at photo albums from Adelle's childhood, much to her embarrassment. There was more tea. There was, courtesy of Dylan making a drive out to the village, fish and chips.
"I hope you weren't expecting anything posh," Cara told Dominic. "Adelle might be regal but I'm not, and I'm not feeling up to cooking."
Adelle rang their driver and had him take them all into the village later, for drinks at the pub. Dominic thought he'd never seen Adelle look more lovely as she did that night, firelight shining on her hair as they huddled near the wood burning fireplace, more relaxed than he'd ever seen her.
With just Dylan and Cara, she could be herself, he thought, and considered himself privileged to see the real Adelle DeWitt. It rankled him a little that he couldn't let his guard down in the same way, could never just be himself with her, but he pushed the irritation away. Even if complete honesty were an option, he was on guard duty right now, still unobtrusively keeping an eye on the patrons of the bar and the comings and goings from the pub.
When they went back to the cottage it was, predictably, time for more tea, then Cara and Dylan went off to their room.
"What time shall I be ready in the morning?" Dominic asked.
Adelle was finishing her tea, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking at the half-full moon.
"Limos are here at ten. A family crisis will probably happen at around nine. We'll need breakfast before we can deal with that. Let's say seven thirty. Have a lie-in," she said.
When he didn't depart she glanced over her shoulder.
"You think a beast will come over the moors and grab me?" she asked. "An enraged sheep, perhaps?"
"I think I'm your bodyguard," he returned, "and if something did come over those fields, I'd be remiss in my duty if I was asleep upstairs while you were being attacked."
Adelle smiled and closed the kitchen door. "Very well. Bed time, then."
Dominic lay in his cream-and-beige bed, which matched the beige carpet, the cream walls, and the beige-and-cream curtains, and wondered if this was what it would be like to be inside a mug of cappuccino.
He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Adelle's predicted family crisis. He found it easier to deal with situations that could be handled with violence or the threat of the same. Maybe he could just stand at Adelle's shoulder and glower menacingly at anyone causing problems.
He watched the clock tick past one am, and two am, before he finally slept.
Part Three
Part One / Index
