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hope, I shall be eating a meal. Isn't that what one usually does when one
comes to a restaurant?' he parried dryly.
'Very funny.' Fergus smiled without humour. 'Might I ask exactly what is
your interest in Darcy?' Brown eyes narrowed speculatively.
You might ask,' Logan gave an abrupt inclination of his head.
'Well?' Fergus pushed further.
Logan took his time answering, sipping his wine appreciatively, all the time
his gaze remaining locked with his cousin's. 'What makes you think there is
one?' he finally answered evasively.
Fergus's mouth twisted. 'She was sitting at the table with you when I
arrived, the two of you were obviously deep in conversation about
something.' He shrugged broad shoulders. 'I don't think that is the behaviour
of complete strangers.'
'Or even perfect ones,' Logan returned dryly, lifting up a dismissive hand as
Fergus seemed about to snap a reply at what he perceived as Logan's
facetiousness.
Maybe it was, but the remark had reminded him too much of his
conversations with Darcy for him not to have made that connection...
'She works for the outside catering company of Chef Simon,' he answered
his cousin economically. 'We met yesterday when she catered for a
luncheon at my office.'
'That's all there is to it?' Fergus pressed.
'Yes, that's all there is to it!' Logan echoed impatiently. 'But even if it
weren't—since when have you been my keeper, Fergus?' he charged.
Fergus seemed about to bite out a reply himself, but then thought better of it,
drawing in a controlling breath instead. 'When did you last see Aunt Meg?
Your mother,' he added softly.
Logan's mouth quirked. 'I know who she is, Fergus,' he replied caustically.
'Well?'He sighed. 'Fergus, I am not someone standing in the witness box
suffering your own particular brand of cross- questioning!'
'I don't do that for a living any more, Logan, and you know it,' his cousin
dismissed.
'Then you're giving a good impression of it,' Logan barked.
'I can assure you, I have my reasons for asking,' Fergus returned calmly.
'Have you seen anything of Aunt Meg during the last three weeks or so?'
Logan shifted impatiently. 'My mother is in her mid- fifties, and I am in my
mid-thirties; neither of us feels the need to report back to the other on a
regular basis!'
'Logan, I'm not criticising your actions as regards your mother—'
'I should hope not,' he rasped, eyes narrowed. 'Because if you were I would
feel compelled to ask when you last saw Aunt Cate. Your own mother,' he
added pointedly.
Fergus was prevented from answering immediately as the waitress arrived
with their starters.
The fish Logan thought he had ordered turned out to be Chef Simon's pate!
He was losing it, he decided, if he couldn't even remember what food he had
ordered. And all because of a young girl who reminded him of one of the
deer on his grandfather's estate; extremely nervy, they had glossy red coats
and huge limpid eyes, too.
'Do you want to get to the point, Fergus?' he asked his cousin more amiably
after tasting the pate and finding it was delicious.
'The point is, you haven't spoken to your mother recently?' Fergus also
seemed more relaxed after tasting the deep-fried Brie that was his own
starter.
Logan shrugged. 'Not for several weeks, no,' he confirmed.
'Then your being here this evening is just a coincidence?' His cousin
grimaced.
'I've already said so, haven't—? What do you mean, coincidence?' Logan
said. 'What does my mother have to do with Chef Simon?' He felt sure he
wasn't going to like the answer to that particular question!
Fergus drew in a deep breath. 'Well, as you know, I've been to see
Grandfather— Oh, no!' he groaned, glancing towards the door. 'That's all
we need!'
Logan had turned too, aware that something momentous seemed to be
taking place at the entrance to the restaurant. A short silence amongst the
other diners was quickly replaced by the babble of excited voices as they
easily recognised the woman who had just swept into the room.
The actress, Margaret Fraser.
At the very same moment, Logan easily recognised the woman who had just
entered the restaurant, and also became aware of Darcy finally bursting out
of the kitchen— perhaps he had been premature in his assumption the
couple in the kitchen were kissing and making up...? Her eyes were
glittering with unshed tears, her face was fiery-red— whether from anger or
those unshed tears, he wasn't sure.
Darcy glanced to neither left nor right as she strode purposefully towards
the doorway, although she stopped in her tracks as she too recognised the
woman standing there looking so regally beautiful.
'You!' Darcy burst out with audible disgust, grey eyes definitely gleaming
with anger now. 'Well, I hope you're satisfied,' she continued. 'You have
