Page 100 of A Change of Location
“You were traveling at a dangerous speed.”
“Sorry. I’m in a hurry. I guess that’s no excuse,” she added.
“Have you consumed any alcoholic drinks this evening, miss?”
“Half a glass of wine.”
“Half a glass.” His tone and the raised eyebrows communicated disbelief.
“Maybe less. I left the restaurant during the salad course. I was at the Latimer Arms.”
“How long since you were drinking?”
She tried to calculate the time. “Ten minutes. Fifteen. I’m not sure.”
“Please switch off the engine. I need to see your driving permit.”
As she reached inside her purse for her wallet, her trembling fingers brushed the framed miniature. Getting pulled over on a traffic violation was bad enough. If he searched for drugs and found a stolen antique, she was doomed.
The policeman pointed his torch at the Massachusetts driver’s license. She watched him study the information printed on both sides, hoping her organ donor status would count in her favor.
“Miss Ballard, I’m going to administer a breath analysis test to check for alcohol impairment. Refusal is grounds for arrest.”
“Okay. That is... I mean... I don’t refuse.”
He pulled a bright yellow device from a pocket in his hi-vis jacket. Before presenting it to her, he inserted a white plastic tube into a hole at the top. She listened carefully to his instructions, inhaling deeply before she blew into the mouthpiece. She waited, pulses pounding, while he studied the readout.
“Pass. Looks like you were being truthful about the wine,” he acknowledged. “Where are you headed in such a rush?”
“Stanwell House. I work for the executive producer. I’ve got a Hartcliffe Studios-Acorn Films identification badge, if you want to see it.”
“That won’t be necessary. You must be aware that security guards are posted around the property at all hours.”
“I’m familiar with their duty rota.” She’d helped create it.
He handed back her license. “Take it slow, Miss Ballard. This isn’t an American speedway.”
“I’ll be extremely careful, I promise. Thank you.”
She swallowed to soothe her throat, parched from panic.
Because the lane was too narrow for the officer to reverse his vehicle, he followed her all the way to Stanwell’s private entrance. Checking her mirror, she saw him turn into the drive, back out, and drive towards Milverston. The mercifully brief ordeal had shredded her nerves, already shattered by Alistair’s revelation. And she hadn’t even begun her mission.
When she reached the stable yard, her car set off the security light motion sensors. The sudden illumination drew Martin to the kitchen window. He opened the door before she reached it.
His shirt was untucked and he had a dishcloth draped over one arm. “This is a surprise. Do come in.”
She crossed the threshold. Ariel and Jewel trotted over, clamoring for attention. Placing her handbag on the trestle table, she stroked Jewel’s smooth black head and Ariel’s shaggy brownish one.
“Care for a drink?”
“No thanks. I’m driving.” She wouldn’t admit that her extreme caution resulted from being pulled over by a cop. “I won’t stay long.” She removed the miniature from her bag and held it up. “Logan stole this. The intern who went with you to the cider factory with the apples. He’s been sacked. We’re not pressing charges. I realize I’m asking a lot, but I hope you won’t either.”
“No reason.” He plucked the portrait from her unsteady hand. “She’s not mine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. A late Victorian copy of a Georgian piece. The frame is silver gilt, not gold. The image is painted on enamel instead of ivory. These aren’t rubies, they’re paste.” He tossed it in the air and caught it. “See how light it is? You’ll come across plenty of similar items at any car boot sale. That’s probably where your props master found it. Tell him—”
