and its magnificent enameled clock. The picture was executed in the same style as those that hung in Painter's Cottage.
If I want to leave before September… I'll just leave! she thought, reassuring herself that she wasn't signing up for a stint in the Royal Army. After all… some might consider her quite a wealthy woman now. She could do anything she wished.
As she continued to stare at the oil painting executed by Luke's eighteenth-century ancestor, an inexplicable feeling of gloom seemed to close in around her.
"I-I really must first touch base with my attorney in Los Angeles," she said in a low voice, struggling to control the strange tightness gripping her throat. "Could I impose on you to use your telephone before we tour the house?"
Lucas's puzzled look signaled that he sensed a distinct change in the atmosphere. However, he merely pointed to the old-fashioned black instrument with a rotary dial that sat on his desk.
"Certainly. Help yourself. Let me just have a word with Mrs. Quiller so she can tidy up in ten minutes or so, and you can have some privacy."
"Thanks…" Blythe replied faintly. "I'll use my calling card, of course. I was told that cell service is a little iffy in these parts."
"There's talk of putting up a mobile phone tower on a hill above the next village," Luke replied with an apologetic shrug, "but there's been an awful controversy about it. Farmers worried about radio waves zapping their sheep, and so forth."
Without considering what time it was in California, Blythe laboriously dialed 0101 to reach the international operator, feeling annoyed, suddenly, by the lack of a touchtone phone. Fortunately her call was quickly put through.
Lisa's receptionist answered. It was morning in Los Angeles and Blythe was informed that her lawyer was preparing to leave for a deposition across town.
A curt voice came on the line.
"Yes…?"
"Oh, Jesus, Lisa… I'm sorry," Blythe blurted. "I got your message about remaining here in Cornwall through September, and I wanted to know why you thought it necessary."
"Where are you now?" Lisa asked abruptly. "Is anybody with you?"
"Well, there's the lord of Barton Manor, of course… in another room somewhere in this drafty pile," Blythe replied in a voice edged with sarcasm. Was she just another bothersome client to Lisa Spector, now that the lawyer had been paid her fat fee?
"Is it awful?" Lisa asked, sounding as if any problems that Blythe might be having in far-off Cornwall would be an unwelcome addition to whatever else had landed on her desk that day.
"No… as a matter of fact, it's quite wonderful," Blythe replied tartly, "but four months of pastoral pleasures may be just too much for a recovering cowgirl like me."
"Blythe…there's a good reason you should stay there," Lisa said in her most lawyerly tones.
"Four months?" she demanded. Then, attempting to sound utterly in control of her emotions while, at the same time, making a revelation that surprised even her, she added, "Look, Lisa… I've been having these odd bouts of what I guess is depression since the moment I arrived. Nothing to do with the scenery or the natives, really, but the thought of spending four months completely out of touch with everything I—"
"Your sister and Christopher got married… right after his courthouse appearance," Lisa interrupted.
Blythe gripped the edge of Luke's desk with her free hand.
"The white stretch limo," she blurted. "He took her to a church in it?"
"He took her to the airport in it," her lawyer replied evenly. "Right behind you, apparently. They flew to Mexico. Presto! Mrs. Christopher Barton-Stowe the Second."
Blythe was sickeningly aware of the generous portions of Cornish clotted cream churning in her stomach.
"Blythe? Are you there? Surely you can't be too shocked with the bambino on the way and all
If I want to leave before September… I'll just leave! she thought, reassuring herself that she wasn't signing up for a stint in the Royal Army. After all… some might consider her quite a wealthy woman now. She could do anything she wished.
As she continued to stare at the oil painting executed by Luke's eighteenth-century ancestor, an inexplicable feeling of gloom seemed to close in around her.
"I-I really must first touch base with my attorney in Los Angeles," she said in a low voice, struggling to control the strange tightness gripping her throat. "Could I impose on you to use your telephone before we tour the house?"
Lucas's puzzled look signaled that he sensed a distinct change in the atmosphere. However, he merely pointed to the old-fashioned black instrument with a rotary dial that sat on his desk.
"Certainly. Help yourself. Let me just have a word with Mrs. Quiller so she can tidy up in ten minutes or so, and you can have some privacy."
"Thanks…" Blythe replied faintly. "I'll use my calling card, of course. I was told that cell service is a little iffy in these parts."
"There's talk of putting up a mobile phone tower on a hill above the next village," Luke replied with an apologetic shrug, "but there's been an awful controversy about it. Farmers worried about radio waves zapping their sheep, and so forth."
Without considering what time it was in California, Blythe laboriously dialed 0101 to reach the international operator, feeling annoyed, suddenly, by the lack of a touchtone phone. Fortunately her call was quickly put through.
Lisa's receptionist answered. It was morning in Los Angeles and Blythe was informed that her lawyer was preparing to leave for a deposition across town.
A curt voice came on the line.
"Yes…?"
"Oh, Jesus, Lisa… I'm sorry," Blythe blurted. "I got your message about remaining here in Cornwall through September, and I wanted to know why you thought it necessary."
"Where are you now?" Lisa asked abruptly. "Is anybody with you?"
"Well, there's the lord of Barton Manor, of course… in another room somewhere in this drafty pile," Blythe replied in a voice edged with sarcasm. Was she just another bothersome client to Lisa Spector, now that the lawyer had been paid her fat fee?
"Is it awful?" Lisa asked, sounding as if any problems that Blythe might be having in far-off Cornwall would be an unwelcome addition to whatever else had landed on her desk that day.
"No… as a matter of fact, it's quite wonderful," Blythe replied tartly, "but four months of pastoral pleasures may be just too much for a recovering cowgirl like me."
"Blythe…there's a good reason you should stay there," Lisa said in her most lawyerly tones.
"Four months?" she demanded. Then, attempting to sound utterly in control of her emotions while, at the same time, making a revelation that surprised even her, she added, "Look, Lisa… I've been having these odd bouts of what I guess is depression since the moment I arrived. Nothing to do with the scenery or the natives, really, but the thought of spending four months completely out of touch with everything I—"
"Your sister and Christopher got married… right after his courthouse appearance," Lisa interrupted.
Blythe gripped the edge of Luke's desk with her free hand.
"The white stretch limo," she blurted. "He took her to a church in it?"
"He took her to the airport in it," her lawyer replied evenly. "Right behind you, apparently. They flew to Mexico. Presto! Mrs. Christopher Barton-Stowe the Second."
Blythe was sickeningly aware of the generous portions of Cornish clotted cream churning in her stomach.
"Blythe? Are you there? Surely you can't be too shocked with the bambino on the way and all
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