Seduction of Dynasty Plus E-Book

Emma Calin

• Herausgeber: Gallo-Romano Media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Bargain book bundle – includes the steamy romance novel ‘Dynasty’ PLUS ‘Seduction of Taste’, an illustrated companion recipe book.  Read the romance – feel the passion – taste the love!  A sexy aristocrat. A wild-child inner city cop. A crime wave of passion.      Feisty London street cop Shannon Aguerri walks a dangerous line between her methods and justice. After one-too-many maverick missions the bosses lose their nerve. When she's moved out from the city she rapidly discovers there's way more going on in the sleepy country village than meets the eye. The son of a local aristocrat arouses suspicion of drug crime activity... but his widower father arouses more animal instincts!  As a loner Shannon has attracted men but nothing has stuck. When she meets Spencer, the hunky Earl of Bloxington, there is an immediate rapport between them.  Already in the mix however, is an upper class rival who has long plotted her way into the Earl's bed. The jealousy is an evil shade of green and the anger is a violent scarlet. Will she stoop to blackmail to thwart Shannon and Spencer's romance? After a body is found in a ditch, life in the village turns sinister. Shannon has a hunch. Her instincts point to a local family. She needs conclusive proof and is determined to get it whatever the cost. Will Shannon risk her heart and career on yet another high risk unauthorised investigation? Can she get justice for an innocent boy? Dare a kid from the gutter dream of being a countess? The recipes for love... Food is the music of love. It sets the tone and the pace. It provides those moments when tastes and textures shared at the table form a metaphor for the physical appetites of love and lust. ‘Seduction of Taste’ incorporates a total of thirty one recipes and dishes featured in the romance novel ‘Seduction of Dynasty’. From appetizers and main courses to suggestions for sandwich fillings at a traditional afternoon tea. Late night suppers and romantic meals for two. Each recipe is a family favorite – prepared, eaten and enjoyed by the author. There are color illustrations and links from the text of the story to the recipes and from the recipes back in to the story. Read the romance, feel the passion, taste the love! With over 50 five-star reviews, 'Dynasty' is  another of Emma Calin's kick-ass female cop 'Passion Patrol Series', combining thrilling crime mystery with suspense romance.  Until now ‘Seduction of Taste’ was a separate title but now you can get them baked together as one in this gourmet bargain bundle. If you enjoy James Patterson, Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter and Kendra Elliot,  you'll love a series that combines all of their best traits in fast-paced, pulse-pounding roller-coaster adventures full of passionate steamy romance, danger, love and... hot tea... yes really! Buy this thrilling crime action page-turner and combined cookery book and share a cuppa and more with witty London street cop Shannon Aguerri  - feel the passion and satisfy your hunger tonight! WARNING: Contains explicit romance and hot food. The complete Passion Patrol Series: Combat Dynasty Seduction of Taste Seduction of Dynasty Plus – Gourmet Book Bundle Edition Crowns Santa  Wealth Coming Summer 2019: Power Coming Autumn 2019: Desire

Leseprobe

SEDUCTION OF DYNASTY PLUS

A Book Bundle Including

Dynasty & Seduction of Taste

(Previously published as ‘Passion Patrol 2 – Shannon’s Law’ & ‘Cop’s Kitchen’)

Hot Cops

Hot Crime

Hot Romance

Hot Food

By

Emma Calin and Oscar Sparrow

DYNASTY PLUS

First published 2019

By Gallo-Romano Media

Copyright © 2019 Emma Calin & Oscar Sparrow

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of authors’ rights is appreciated.

All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

http://smarturl.it/LeadFromDynastyPlus

Dedication

Nicola, Jo, Dave, Kate,

Matt, Will, Izzy,

James, Teddy,

Isabella and Charlie

Table of Contents

Introduction

DYNASTY

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

SEDUCTION OF TASTE

Introduction

Breakfast

Shannon and Spencer’s Venetian Breakfast

Mrs Travis’ Kedgeree

Aperitifs

Cricket Match Aperitif Pimm’s

Cricket Match Appetisers - Devils on Horseback

Cricket Match Appetizers - Tomato and Mozzarella Skewers

Airport Lounge Appetizers - Blue Cheese and Chives Blinis

Airport Lounge Appetizers - Smoked Salmon Blinis

Main Meals

Selena’s Working Man’s Meat Pie

Fabio’s Spaghetti con le Cozze

Detective Superintendent Mitchell’s Toad in the Hole

Emma’s Quick Chicken Curry

Emma’s Quick Dahl

Danny’s Chip Shop Battered Fish

Cricket Match Evening Reception - Whole Baked Salmon

Cricket Match Evening Reception - Coronation Chicken

sides

Triple Cooked Ultimate Chunky Chips

Cricket Match Luncheon - Mustard Mash Potato

Cricket Match Buffet - Minty Summer Rice Salad

desserts

Cricket Match Luncheon Dessert - Sherry Trifle

Cricket Match Dessert - Hazelnut Roulade

Cricket Match Dessert - Pavlova

Cricket Match Dessert - Lime and Mascarpone Torte

Afternoon Tea

Mrs Travis’ Sandwich Fillings

Mrs Travis’ Victoria Sandwich

Bloxington Manor Afternoon Tea - Chocolate and Ginger Squares

Bloxington Manor Afternoon Tea - Mini Strawberry Tarts

Cricket Match Tea - Banana White Chocolate Chip Muffins

Cricket Match Tea - Chocolate Cake

supper

Mrs Hornet’s Corned Beef Hash

Shannon and Spencer’s Late Night Snack Supper

Cauliflower Crisp – bonus track!

A Message From Emma

Review Request

A FREE book for you

More books by Emma Calin

About Emma Calin

Find Emma online

Publisher

INTRODUCTION TO SEDUCTION OF DYNASTY PLUS

Welcome to my bargain book bundle where you get a feast of two books for less than the price of one!

The first section of this edition is the steamy romance suspense novel ‘Dynasty’. The second part is the companion recipe book ‘Seduction of Taste’.

To help you navigate the book, you’ll notice in the text of the romance novel, highlighted words and phrases with hyperlinks (underlined). These are all meals or food eaten in the story. Click on these words to jump to the recipe for this tasty morsel. You’ll find a photo of the food, ingredients and easy-to-follow instructions. When you want to go back to the romance, select <JUMP TO STORY> just below the recipe title. Equally, you can scan through the contents section for the recipe book and find dishes by category – e.g. Appetizers, Mains, Sides etc. If you’re cooking and want to pop back to the story and remember where the food came in the book – use the same <JUMP TO STORY> link..

It was fun writing these books and pulling all the recipes from my old, well-thumbed scrapbook. A challenge too, to prepare them and photograph them for the book.

I hope you enjoy this double-helping and that you find both the story and recipes deeply satisfying, adding a bit of extra spice to your life.

DYNASTY

By Emma Calin

Chapter 1

Above the sound of pealing bells from St Bartholomew’s church, the rasp of a motorcycle engine caught her ears. WPC 388Z, Shannon Aguerri, drew back into the shadows of the tree line that skirted the village green. She reduced the volume of her police radio and walked calmly towards the source of the noise. By now she could hear shouts and laughter. She made her way through a woodland copse, glad she’d worn trousers.

At the edge of a clearing she saw them. Three teenage lads were smoking and drinking from cans of beer or cider. A fourth boy was riding an old motor scooter in circles while swerving around trees and brambles. She watched them in the deepening dusk of the late July evening. It was only her second day as a village constable and at last she had some sort of mission. Although Brixton lay only a dozen miles to the north it was as if she had changed continents for the second time. The first had been when she had left the North Peckham Estate to join the police.

These soft white boys were no more than sixteen. Two days ago she would merely have driven by on the way to a report of robbery or burglary. So far, these lads represented all she’d seen of organized crime and anarchy in Fleetworth-Green. It was time to make a move.

“Yo!” she called out.

The boys looked around, still not spotting her. She walked out into the clearing.

“Yo! I said. Can you all see me now?”

They all froze and stared at her.

“Yeah, it’s the cops. Ain’t any of you gonna run off?”

They all glanced at each other, tossing away cans and cigarettes. She caught a whiff of ganja on the still air. So, there was a drug issue in paradise perhaps. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all?

“Underage drinking, drugs, and I bet one of you nicked that bike,” she said.

“No, no, it’s my bike,” said the lad sitting astride it.

Shannon shrugged.

“Ah well, just the drink and drugs then. Two out of three ain’t bad is it?”

She was sure that at least a couple of them would run. By now they would have figured that she couldn’t chase all of them. Instead of escaping they simply stared at her. She studied their mesmerized features and gave a theatrical shrug.

“No point in running now is there? I’ve seen all your faces. I’ll grab one of you and he’ll grass up the others,” she said.

“You’re not PC Flowers,” stammered a boy.

“I’m not PC anyone. I’m a WPC. You’ll be able to see that when you sober up.”

Another lad sniggered.

“Nothing to laugh at, young man. You lot are in the shit,” she said.

The motorcyclist had turned off the engine. Shannon spotted the key in case she had to grab it. He appeared more confident than the others.

“I’m entitled to a lawyer if I’m arrested and I refuse to answer any questions,” he said in a posh accent.

“A lawyer would be a good idea. Do you always call the same one when you get locked up?” she asked.

Her response seemed to unsettle him.

“What?” he said.

“Well, that’s what all the big tough criminal masterminds do on TV, innit,” she said.

He didn’t reply. There was a sound to her left as one of the group ran. Another quickly followed. A third lad, visibly trembling watched them go and hesitated, trying to assess Shannon’s mind.

“Just run then. I don’t want you to wet yourself standing there,” she said.

With that he bolted, tumbling and scrambling through undergrowth in panic. Shannon turned to the motorcyclist and snatched the key.

“Just you and me then,” she said.

“You’re not chasing them,” he said.

“No, no, I’m not, am I? Since you and your lawyer won’t be answering any questions you must be happy to take the rap all alone. So, there’s no point is there?”

The lad looked dismayed.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbled.

Shannon smiled and shook her head.

“Ah, this life, eh? Not fair. Dear, oh dear. I can tell you’re not the kind of guy who’s gonna grass up his mates, even though I could torture it out of you,” she said.

“Torture?” the boy gasped.

Shannon smiled again.

“You’re gonna have to work on your sense of humor. I’m not asking you for names. I’m not gonna knock on their doors so that’ll give you a big wedge of cred and you’ll owe me,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “So what’s your name?”

“Ben,” he replied.

Shannon let an awkward silence embarrass him.

“Big Ben?”

“Benjamin Chamberlain-Knightsmith.”

“Date of birth?” she asked.

“Twenty-fourth November, 1997,”

“You’re fifteen?”

He nodded.

“So where’s the bike from?”

“My father. He has a workshop. It’s a bit of a project. He’s a brilliant engineer. He says the Mods used to have scooters and grandfather was a Mod,” said the boy, seeming to grow more cheerful.

“I bet your dad doesn’t know you’ve got it,” said Shannon.

A silence answered her.

“I’ll take that for a ‘No’ then. Who’s at home? Your mum?”

“She died,” he said simply.

Shannon gave him a quick smile and a nod of understanding. She kicked herself for being cocky with her remark about the fairness of life. He already knew that hard fact.

She pulled her radio from her belt and ran a PNC check on his name. A response came back.

“There’s a trace. Cautioned for possession class B last year.”

Shannon studied the boy. He was obviously quite privileged and respectable. All the same at fifteen he had a small record for possession of drugs and no mother. In her experience, this lad could go either way.

“Your dad’s at home then?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s home?”

“Well, you’re in the garden, you know, the grounds. The house is over there,” he said, pointing through the trees into the distance.

“The grounds?” Shannon questioned. “I didn’t see any fences.”

“Father doesn’t believe in shutting people out,” said Ben.

“Let’s go then. I’ll have to check out the scooter story with your dad. Lucky I didn’t see any drinking or smoking so I’ve solved that crime wave,” she said.

Ben looked up at her with almost an open-mouthed expression of shock.

“You’re a bit different,” he said.

“Not PC Flowers you mean?”

“Not just that, I mean....”

The lad stumbled to a halt.

Shannon smiled at him.

“You mean I’m a kinda half-black woman.”

He smiled back.

“Yeah, there’s that too. But mainly you’re cool.”

“Not many people told me that in Brixton. Come on. Get pushing the bike. How far is it?”

“About a mile,” said Ben groaning.

“Think of it as punishment in the community. It’s the modern fashion. If you still think I’m cool when we get there I’ll know you meant it.”

Without further complaint he took the handlebars and started to push. Soon they were out of the wood at the edge of a large paddock that ran down to a lake. On the other side of the water the ground rose through open lawns to a huge mansion. Shannon stared at it.

“Christ! Is it real?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s Bloxington Manor and this is the Bloxington Estate. My father is the 11th earl,” said Ben.

“And who’s the guy who was a Mod and had the Vespa?”

“That was Grandfather, Sir Rupert Spofforth. He was my mother’s father. He still lives in Chelsea.”

Shannon couldn’t believe what she could see. The place was pure breath-stopping magnificence. She didn’t know too much about such things but she guessed the grounds had been created by the likes of Vanburgh or Capability Brown. They had reached a road and walked together in the deep dusk. Late swallows were giving way to bats almost brushing her face as they swooped around them.

“Our bodies attract bugs and the bugs attract bats,” said Ben, seeming to pick up Shannon’s innocence and discomfort when it came to the countryside. She wanted to use the walk to good effect. A peacock flapped up into a tree with an enormous shriek.

“Jesus, what the hell was that?” she asked.

“Peacock. They’re all over the place,” said Ben.

“Like drugs in the village?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been cautioned for possession and one of your mates was smoking skunk.”

Ben didn’t answer.

“This is off the record Ben, and you owe me,” she said, allowing a little edge to creep in to her voice.

“Yeah, there’s stuff everywhere,” he mumbled.

“OK. What little region of everywhere would I go to if I wanted to score?”

Ben sighed and looked down.

“I’ll tell you something—but please don’t….”

“I’ve told you, Ben. This is between you and me, OK? Your friend was smoking skunk and don’t think I don’t know the smell.”

He nodded. She could tell that he was wrestling with a big decision. He stopped the bike and looked at her with tears in his eyes.

“I want to tell you. I want to tell you everything but you won’t believe me. I’ve never taken any drugs. I know I’ve got that record but it wasn’t fair....”

Shannon’s heart went out to the boy. She’d been wrong to push him. In the inner city this kind of thing was routine. In truth the lad was probably terrified.

“The kid with the weed lives out on a new development outside Fleetworth-Green. I only know his first name is Ashley. He’s a bully and Mr Big-twat at school. He steals the skunk from his parents. That’s all I know. The house is in the corner on the right and it’s got a flint stone facing and those windows in the roof,” he said in a big rush.

Shannon reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Thanks for that, Ben. You’re a star and I promise you no one will ever know you told me that. Not even your father, although really I should tell him you’ve helped me.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Shannon reflected on her good luck. If the skunk smoker was stealing the stuff from his parents then maybe they were in the business. Luckily he’d run off. She guessed he wouldn’t be owning up and alerting his mum and dad any time soon.

The imposing facade of Bloxington Manor now filled her vision. In the center was a columned classical entrance with massive stone pillars. To either side brick-built Georgian-windowed wings stretched away in perfect symmetry.

“The stables are at the back,” said Ben, wearily trudging along with the scooter. They followed the drive to an enormous cobbled courtyard which was surrounded by stables. From the half-doors several horses’ heads gazed out with an air of calm nobility. A brand new metallic black Range Rover towing a matching horse-box sat in the middle of the yard. Shannon glanced at it and noted the number plate “JA51 LAW.” A pool of light spilled from a large open door at the far end of the stables. She caught the sound of an angle grinder and saw the blue flickering flash of an arc welder.

“My father will be in there,” said Ben.

Chapter 2

She stepped inside. An old-fashioned racing car was on a garage-style ramp and a tall broad guy was welding the underside. He wore a full face protective mask and blue overalls. She knew not to look at the intense light from the sparks. At a quick glance he was working on aluminum. So, he knew what he was doing. She was happy to study the engineer. He was about six foot three. He was broad and powerful. His boiler suit was open showing a tanned dark-haired chest and some belly hair arrowing down through the waistband of his boxers. His body was strong and sexy. When he paused she spoke.

“Good evening, Sir. Looks like you’re welding aluminum.”

He stepped out from under the ramp and flipped up the mask to reveal a handsome aristocratic face smudged with oil. Crow’s feet around his eyes stood out where dirt hadn’t penetrated. She guessed he was about forty.

“Good Lord! Are you some kind of police officer?” he barked in deep loud voice.

“I like to think so. I’m gonna keep trying anyway,” said Shannon with a smile.

“Where on earth are you from?”

“The village, Fleetworth-Green. It’s just beyond the trees over there,” she said, well aware she was being mischievous.

“I know where the bloody village is,” he said with an exasperated tone.

“Are you going to say that I’m not PC Flowers?”

“Yes, you certainly are not PC Flowers.”

“We’re agreed then,” said Shannon.

“Look. What the hell is this?”

She could tell he was hovering between anger and laughter. She had to tease. She just had to.

“It’s a police raid. Hands behind your back while I put the cuffs on,” she said, smiling all the while.

“What, what? Who the hell are you?”

“Sir, I was joking.”

“Where is PC Flowers? He’s the only man I deal with.”

“Where have all the flowers gone, eh?” Shannon remarked.

“What? What?”

“I’m WPC Shannon Aguerri, your new local bobby on the beat.”

“No one told me,” he blustered.

Slowly he pulled off his welding gloves to reveal big strong-looking hands and forearms. He wiped his face with a rag. Shannon held his angry stare, noting his deep brown eyes and long straight nose like that of a Norman knight. She could tell that he was softening as he took in her coffee skin and blue eyes. She smiled and knew he couldn’t resist a small smile in return.

“And you are the local police officer?”

“Yes. Fresh out of the box from Brixton. Someone important thought you guys needed me.”

“Brixton?” he said, almost aghast.

“Yeah, Brixton Academy, Brixton Market, Brixton riots and don’t forget Brixton Prison.”

“This is astonishing. No one told me,” he said.

“I’ll mention it to the Commissioner,” she said.

“I could tell the bloody Home Secretary.”

“And I’ll tell Boris Johnson and he’ll go on TV and tell everyone,” said Shannon, enjoying the sport.

Without warning he let out a bellow of laughter.

“Yes. Bloody Boris would, wouldn’t he?”

For a second he stared at her and appeared to have a light-bulb moment.

“I get it. Good Lord. You’re a ‘stripogram cop.’ This is Jazzy’s idea of a birthday surprise. You bloody near had me fooled,” he said chuckling with hearty mirth.

“Father, she’s the village cop,” said Ben who had walked in behind her.

Shannon smiled broadly.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Sir,” she said. “Anyway, is it your birthday? No party?”

“No,” he said with a kind of plainness that conveyed a sorrow.

“Are you this young man’s father?”

“Yes.”

“He was in the woods on a Vespa scooter. He claims it belongs to you.”

“Yes. Yes it does,” he said, turning his attention to Ben. “Is this so? It’s not a dirt track machine. Have you damaged it?”

Ben shook his head and studied the floor. Shannon was aware of the clatter of horses’ hooves.

“Sir, I just wanted to check he hadn’t stolen it.”

“Stolen?” said a sharp posh female voice from behind her.

“Ah, Jazzy,” said the earl with a smile. Shannon glanced at Ben, noting that his face had clouded. She caught the boy’s eye and gave a small wink.

The woman came and stood beside the hunky guy in overalls.

“I hope you have not dared to question a minor without all the proper protocols, Officer,” she said.

Shannon looked her up and down. She was slim and elegant even if she did have over-large teeth. She was dressed in riding jodhpurs and a beautifully cut black jacket. Wisps of blonde hair trailed from her riding helmet.

“Who are you?” asked Shannon with deliberate formality.

“I am Jasmine de Montfort. I’m a barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers. You will know of us I think. Although at your rank you won’t be dealing with top level cases,” she said with an icy smile.

“I dunno. I’ve locked up all kinds of toffs but so far, no barristers. One never knows though, does one?” replied Shannon.

“Toffs! Toffs! What is your name and number, Officer? I think you need to be aware of the limits of your authority.”

Shannon held her stare for a moment.

“The numbers are on my shoulder. Is that your ‘Chelsea Tractor’ four-by-four out there?”

“How dare you?”

“It’s easy, Madam. Is it yours?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“The number plate is illegal. The letters are mis-spaced. You know it and I know it.”

Shannon glanced at Ben’s face. His expression barely hid some kind of joy.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. It reads JA51 LAW. I guess you are trying to make it read ‘Jazi’? It’s all a bit vulgar to my mind,” said Shannon.

Ben let out a howl.

“You are impertinent!” said Jasmine de Montfort.

“And you are risking a sixty-quid ticket if you drive that out of here, Madam,” replied Shannon.

Although Jasmine de Montfort, barrister-at-law at the Marlborough-Fortescue Chambers didn’t actually stamp her foot, her boiling rage looked near to explosion. Shannon smiled and carefully drew out her notebook and made a show of recording some official matter. In fact she sketched her version of a volcano. Poor Ben squealed again.

The earl glanced awkwardly between all of the faces.

“Spencer, what the hell is going on?” asked Jasmine.

“Jazz, perhaps you should leave me to speak with the officer,” he said.

His tone was firm and Shannon saw at once that Jasmine was not going to contradict him in front of her, although she continued to look down her nose at Shannon as if she wanted to spit.

“I’ll be in the house,” she said, strutting off across the yard.

“Ooh, my little pony’s not too happy,” said Shannon.

It was all too much for Ben who appeared to go into a fit of laughter that could physically harm him.

“My little pony. My little pony,” he repeated.

“Ben, get across to the house. We’ll speak later,” said Spencer.

Shannon shot a last smile at the lad. She didn’t know the set-up here but it wasn’t happy and there was room for improvement. She sensed she was on a case. She let out a sigh.

“I guess I didn’t handle that too well,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been rude.”

He smiled and seemed relaxed.

“Oh, frisky fillies can rear up a bit I suppose,” he said.

This time it was Shannon’s turn to be gobsmacked. Just where the hell was this guy from?

“I’m not any kind of frisky filly,” she stated.

“No—I’m sorry—but you introduced my little pony didn’t you.”

“Yes, that’s a fair comment,” said Shannon.

He beamed at her with the most genuine warmth she had ever seen in a human face.

“Do you truly believe in fairness?”

“Well, that’s a question, Sir. Yes I do, but I guess I accept a lot of compromise.”

He nodded and smiled again.

“So what was Ben up to?”

“Just hanging out with some mates and riding the scooter. You know, he’s a good lad, but maybe in the wrong company he could go astray.”

She watched his expression change.

“I don’t feel I need the police to tell me his character,” he said.

“I’m not telling you the police view. I’m telling you as me, as a woman, as a frisky filly.”

He smiled at her again and she smiled back.

“I guess that’s touché,” he said.

She watched him take up his tools to re-start his work. She saw him notice her eyes on his body and appear almost shy.

“You should keep those overalls buttoned up, Sir. Bare skin is very sensitive to a hot spark,” she said.

“You know about welding?”

“My dad’s a mechanic. He started in Antigua. I used to go down the arches with him when I was a kid and my mum was out at work in the hospital. He sat me in the corner but I was always helping out if I could,” she said, warming to the memory.

“That’s amazing. You know, a cop and, you know, just someone like you knowing about cars,” he said.

She sensed the fragile innocent boyishness in him that had called to her heart when talking to Ben.

“What’s your project here?” she asked.

“Ah well, she’s a D-type Jaguar that raced at Le Mans in the fifties. I’m hoping to take her back there.”

“Can I come?” she said.

“You?”

“My dad rates me as a top dog oily rag.”

“Really. You’re very—”

“I know. Forward, I suppose. Don’t ask, don’t get, Mister, innit?” she replied.

“Innit?” he questioned.

“Innit – chav-speak for ‘is it not,’ ‘n’est-ce-pas,’etcetera,” she said.

He stared at her and she let her eyes soften, expand, and accept him. She breathed in deeply, knowing that the swell of her chest drew his gaze and him into her.

“Well, thank you, Officer,” he said slowly.

“Goodnight and sleep tight,” she replied.

“You won’t turn into PC Flowers, will you?” he said.

“I won’t change if you don’t,” she said, “and you can tell Miss High Horse Legal Knickers that I won’t be stopping her car tonight. In case she’s afraid I’ll lay siege to your castle.”

“Yes. Thanks,” he said, replacing his welding mask and picking up his tools. And yes! He was laughing as he turned away. She knew that he knew she knew. A little buzz in her belly thrilled her as she stepped outside. A little voice whispered that it was time to go back on the pill.

The night air was sweet and filled with sounds of vibrant mysterious life. The scent of newly cut grass and roses filled her senses. She walked slowly back to the empty police house. The lives of these two guys, a father and his motherless son, had touched her. She knew that. She had connected from within herself. In the vital fragrance of the night some juice of her was flowing down an umbilicus that had always been waiting to ambush her soul. Some emotion was pouring helplessly out of her and some kind of love and connection was pouring in. Above her were cold stars and beneath her feet was the stored warmth of a summer’s day that her physical body could still feel. Her mind, her ability to reach both beyond and within herself, was the essence of conscious life. It had taken merely the question in the eyes of a being who needed her. She knew she would never quite be the same again and that the word “lost”’ had no meaning or leverage until someone found you. From then on, nothing other than that has any meaning.

Chapter 3

She dressed in her one-piece skin-tight Lycra cycling shorts and top. Her only underwear was her pulse monitor chest strap. Her skin was a deep honey satin loveliness that she selfishly flaunted. It was a gorgeous summer’s morning and she felt a rare exhilaration as if she were a child again. In the city she would have worn her earphones and pedaled hard to David Guetta’s “Nothing But the Beat,” or the raunchy tracks from a favorite album by “Purgatory Hill.” Today she wanted to be aware of the world and its beauty. Seven years at Brixton had worn her down and perhaps she deserved a short time in the sun. She got out her Trek mountain bike, grabbed her iPhone, police warrant card, helmet, and dark glasses. Very few people would recognize her as she sped by on her bike. Before any serious training, there was one place she wanted to check out.

Ben had given a good description of the house. She rode south along the main road towards the end of the village. About a mile into the open countryside she saw a new development. A show house with flags was still at the entrance. A large sign read “Badger’s Knoll. A luxury gated environment of exclusive homes.” Luckily the gates were open. She swept in to find a single crescent of enormous individually gated houses. CCTV cameras covered every angle. Each one was constructed as a pastiche of some original style. There was a Georgian, a Tudor, a Cotswold stone, and an incongruous mishmash of a place with country cottage flint facing, a classical Romanesque entrance and Palladian-style dormer windows. Shannon was no student of style but to her it was some kind of architectural bus crash. A nameplate on the lawn read “Bluegrass.” She smiled. They had to be kidding, right! She was certain this was the house Ben had described. On the drive was a white soft-top Audi. Behind, there was a black Chrysler 300C with darkened windows and chrome wheels. She quickly memorized the registrations and swept back out through the electric gates. Once she was out of sight she put the numbers on her iPhone and wheeled her bike back to the show home to look in the sales window. Prices started from two million and went up to four and a half if you wanted your own unique design. Considering the house, she was looking for a banjo-playing 18th century Greek farmer’s boy with a bling fixation. At least, Sherlock Holmes would have seen it that way. But Shannon already knew. She absolutely bloody well knew that these folk were villains. She felt her old surge of adrenalin. Somehow she was going to nail this lot. Wow! She felt like a cop and, since last night, she was feeling like a woman.

She rode like the wind, joyful at her life. She felt her blood pumping and the strength in her legs. She knew she had a type of arrogance in her nature. She was slim, full breasted, and toned but all that had always been just for her. She had been a picture in her own album. Suddenly she wanted to be what she was for someone else. She checked her pulse-rate monitor. She was running 175 and feeling strong. For the first time ever she eased back to a slower pace and smelled the air.

In the sky above, aircraft turned and stacked waiting to land at London Heathrow. The ceaseless thrum of traffic from the M25 orbital motorway wore at her soul like a constant sea eroding the cliffs of their beauty. Fleetworth-Green seemed almost set aside from time. She could hardly believe she was here. Three days ago she had been in court giving evidence in the case of a guy who had burgled at least a hundred homes just to feed his craving for crack cocaine. He was an emaciated shell of a being on his way to the grave. She knew why she was a cop. It wasn’t for society. It was for that hopeless guy, and not too many people knew that or wanted to know.

She made a grand sweep of her patch, riding off road wherever possible. By the time she arrived back at the police house she was soaked in sweat and breathless. She saw a police patrol car in the small car park. A balding middle-aged police inspector was knocking at her front door.

“You can never find a bloody copper when you want one. If you’ve had a few too many drinks and you’re just trying to drive home the bastards are everywhere,” she said.

The inspector turned and stared at her.

“Do you need the police?” he said.

“We all need the police, Guv’nor. I’m Shannon. I expect you’d like a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes, thanks. I’m Inspector Lilly from Z District HQ at Croydon,” he said.

“Blimey, PC Flowers, Inspector Lilly—what a bunch, eh? Good job I’m not a Rose.”

Inspector Lilly appeared to be bemused, yet maintained his limp smile. She took pity on his wordless confusion.

“Lovely to meet you, Guv,” she said.

She saw him stiffen a little. The term “guv” was a normal and respectful form of address for a senior officer in the Metropolitan Police. Perhaps at this distant edge of the Empire things were more formal. She unlocked the door and led him through to the kitchen. The house was almost bare. She had a bed, a sofa and the curtains that PC Flowers had left behind. It was possible the police had issued curtains. She hadn’t checked to see if the pattern was of truncheons, handcuffs, piles of official forms or Alsatian dogs. The front room had been converted into an office with a desk and two swivel chairs. Shannon handed him a cup of tea and followed him.

“Shannon, it’s great to have the chance to meet you and have a chat,” he began.

She sensed his nervousness despite his superior rank. She watched warily as he fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a thick file.

“Well, Shannon, firstly welcome to Z District and to Fleetworth-Green. I guess—I expect you’ll find it a bit different,” said the inspector, leafing through the papers. Shannon could see that it was her complete service record.

“Seven years takes a few trees and a bit of ink,” she said, nodding at the file and trying to relax the poor guy. She could tell he was on an errand he didn’t really relish. She noted that her presentation in tight lycra presented him with all kinds of eye contact issues.

“Yes, indeed. Well, this is a very special kind of place,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m amazed to be here. When I saw you I thought you’d come to tell me there’d been a mistake,” she said with a broad smile.

“Really?”

“No, not really really, Guv. I mean there I was scrapping with a guy who had tried to jump the ticket barriers at Brixton tube station when I got a call on the radio. Half an hour later I’m in the L District commander’s office looking at that very file on his desk. He tells me I’m transferring with immediate effect,” she said.

Inspector Lilly cleared his throat and made a big show of reading the file. Shannon affected her most angelic and innocent look.

“Yes,” he began slowly, “but I believe there had been some kind of incident hadn’t there?”

“Oh—yes—there had been a bit of—you know—politics. It was all just a misunderstanding and I had to take it on the chin.”

Inspector Lilly leaned back, gave a chuckle, and looked at her kindly.

“I think you’re a bit modest. You know exactly why they transferred you, don’t you? I haven’t had the time to read all this stuff. So why don’t you just tell me,” he said.

She smiled at him. He was a well middle-aged guy and not looking for dramas. For all that he would have seen most things in his time. She knew she could keep him onside.

“Guv, I was a bit out of order. I mean, looking back I can see that. I got a tip off from an informant that a geezer had a shooter in his flat. The story was that he was just moving the weapon on and would only have it for a couple of hours,” she said.

“So what did you do?”

“I hammered round there, put the door in, and nicked him,” she replied casually.

“No consultation, no risk assessment?” said the inspector.

“I didn’t need a risk assessment, Guv. I knew it could be dangerous. But, I knew the geezer was too soft to use it. He was a nobody, bigging himself up to impress some real villains.”

“You had a trainee community patrol officer with you, I think—some lad with six weeks in the job.”

“Yeah, six weeks in the job and six years in an insurance sales call center. That’s what I call extreme aggro. After that a man is ready for anything,” she said.

The inspector let out a sigh.

“Shannon, you know you can’t just steam in like that. SCO19 and Scotland Yard deal with firearms incidents—not a general purpose car driver with a civilian trainee. Officers at the highest level make this kind of decision. You know that. Did you just want fame or death or some sort of spark to set off community riots?” he said seriously.

She looked back at him. He had a point.

“Guv’nor, I know you’re right. There was a bit of ego in the mix, and I didn’t want drug-pushing scumbags to have yet another bloody shooter because the plods are having a conference.”

“Plods?” he replied with an edge of irritation.

“You know what the police are like these days, Guv,” she said.

He shook his head but couldn’t resist a smile.

“Shannon, I admire your spirit and courage, even though it’s reckless. Some police officers love you. The police service does not and I’m being quite frank about that. If the wheel comes off your wagon you’ll be crashing all alone. I guess you know that. Let me tell you this. These days we’re afraid of our own shadows. In two years I’ll be out of the job. I’m on your side up to a point but procedures are what we do,” he said.

She nodded.

“So, here I am then, Guv’nor—a nice girl, carefully building my career profile,” she said.

“Exactly Shannon, that’s wonderful. Now, what I’m going to say to you is in total confidence.”

The inspector’s face took on an air of profound sincerity. He spoke slowly. “Fleetworth-Green is a remarkable and unique place. I believe you’ve already been to Bloxington Manor, the residence of the 11th earl.”

“Indeed, Guv. Spence the welder himself,” she replied, picturing his appearance in overalls.

“Spence the welder?”

“Yeah. He’s a handy engineer. He was welding the floor pan on a really sexy old Jag racing car.”

“Do you call him Spence?” said Inspector Lilly, seemingly astonished.

“Not yet. We’ve only just met,” she said.

“All of Fleetworth-Green belongs to his Grace, including this police house. The earl wants this place to be an English village. Take a look around. There is a post office, proper shops, a village green, a cricket pitch and pond. The local pub, The Hunter’s Inn, serves warm English bitter beer and steak and kidney pudding. They do not offer Super Sizzling Hunter’s Burgers, a cone of chips, onion rings with a choice of pre-packed plastic dips. There’s no hypermarket, no DIY extravaganza warehouse or retail computer outlet.”

Shannon tried to assume to same serious air, but something snapped inside her.

“And der am not dee fried chicken for me and Tiger Woods,” she said in patois with a laugh.

Inspector Lilly looked to heaven and shook his head.

“And there are no racist remarks or comedy clubs either,” he said.

Shannon let out a sigh.

“Only joking, Guv. Anyway, none of it stopped his boy getting nicked for possession did it?”

“That was a strange business, Shannon. He had a tiny bit of resin. A young bobby in Kingston did a stop and search. I guess he was just unlucky,” said the inspector.

Shannon took in the information without comment. She recalled how the boy had said he was innocent and that she wouldn’t believe him. There was something here and something in the way Inspector Lilly phrased his remarks. A big “something” she would find out.

“And his mother died?” she asked.

“Yes, a skiing accident. It was a tragedy. The earl was devoted to her. They were from the same kind of family stable. It was a perfect alliance of temperament and nobility.”

“Really, does that sort of thing happen?” said Shannon, perhaps wondering if devotion actually meant duty and property.

“Yes, it happens. The Bloxingtons aren’t quite like us,” he said.

“Anyway, now he has Jasmine de Montfort?” said Shannon, trying not to spit the words.

“Ah, yes. She was a wonderful friend to Saskia. She has presented another small issue I have to raise with you. I believe you’ve met?”

“One has made a close encounter of the turd kind,” she replied in a faux posh accent and raising an eyebrow.

Inspector Lilly put his hands to his face.

“Shannon! You’re a bloody loose cannon. You seem to love this irreverence for everything and everyone. Anyway, yes, apparently there is a problem over her number plate.”

“No problem, Guv. It’s illegal and I offered informal advice. I expect she’s changed it now for a proper one.”

“I bloody doubt it. You know that too! Good God, you’re not the sort of cop to care about petty crap like this are you?” he said, almost pleading.

“She has an attitude issue, Guv. I guess she’s made a complaint.”

“Nothing formal. She called the superintendent and he rattled my cage.

“Look, if she puts her snooty head in my mouth I’ll bite the bloody thing off. It’s only a sixty-quid fine. That’s nothing for her,” said Shannon.

Inspector Lilly looked genuinely worried.

“Guv’nor—respect man—I won’t piss on her strawberries just for the sake of it. She’s an arrogant cow and some high pressure grab-it-all lawyer. She’s no friend of the police service,” she said.

“Shannon, in Fleetworth-Green no one pisses on the strawberries, but I think we understand each other.”

Shannon reached across the desk and patted his hand which held her file. Deep down, she was thinking of nothing other than Spencer Chamberlain-Knightsmith and the male atmosphere of his presence.

“Guv, you’re safe, OK. I’ll sound off to you, but I’ll play the game. You’ve done your mission.”

Inspector Lilly looked relieved. Her approach had been unusual and familiar but it had done the job. Watching him fidget uneasily she knew he had even more to say. He began slowly with even deeper gravitas.

“Thank you, Shannon. Now, there are other even more important factors. Again, I am speaking to you in the deepest confidence,” he began.

She adopted her most sombre mood, remembering when the family dog had been put down at the age of eighteen. She knew that this would fix her face in receptive seriousness.

“His Grace is very well connected. He entertains friends at the Manor. I mean friends of the most important kind.”

He paused to look into her eyes to check that she was fully aware of what he was saying.

“Christ! You don’t mean Dizzy Rascal, One Direction, or the prime minister, do you?” she said with a simple smile.

“No! You know I don’t mean them. I mean well above them. People of life-changing ultimate importance. You know....”

Shannon stared into his anguished face. She played it straight.

“Not Simon Cowell?” she gasped.

“No. I mean royals. I mean real power, property and tradition. The Earl of Bloxington is an insider. One of his ancestors was groom of the bed-sock to King Charles II or some such. All of the Estate is an image of Old England. It’s heritage on acid, Shannon. He’s a big wheel in the world heritage roundabout. He is a top guy with UNESCO—I assume you know about UNESCO.”

“Either they played at Reading Festival or it’s a supermarket,” she said with a laugh, “but it can mean United Nations culture and stuff.”

“Yes. World leaders, royal families, people at the ass-piercing pinnacle of importance. They all come to Fleetworth-Green to visit his Grace and to breathe in the ambiance of traditional England,” he said.

“Wow, Guv’nor. And the Queen doesn’t even have number plates on her car,” she replied with a wide genuine smile.

“Do we understand each other Shannon? I kinda think we do. Please, no doors kicked in or maverick missions. Be at the parish council meetings. Express sorrow at lost pets and help to put up posters. Try all the stalls at the fete. Be nice to his Grace, Spencer Chamberlain-Knightsmith, 11th Earl of Bloxington. Keep your bloody head down and enjoy the view,” he said, obviously relieved.

“I’m allergic to cats, but no worries with corgis,” she said.

“Then that is wonderful Shannon,” the inspector replied warmly. He relaxed and finished his tea.

“Yorkshire Gold,” she said.

He glanced again at her skin-tight Lycra triathlon costume and almost seemed to sigh wistfully. She was enjoying this. He pulled his eyes back to her face.

“Thief-taking and animal cunning are old arts, Shannon. All that’s gone in today’s modern police service. It’s all about political correctness, following the rules and at all costs deflecting blame from yourself. Shannon, I hate it. I’ve had enough. Vicious scumbags can laugh at us a lot of the time but that’s the way it is. You show me respect and I’ll show it to you,” he said.

“Well, respect back to you, Guv. I’m gonna buy a tweed suit and jodhpurs,” she said.

“You’d look stunning,” he said.

Then, standing up, she put up her open palms offering a high-five. Inspector Lilly slapped his hands onto hers—and winked.

Chapter 4

She had kept her powder dry and her tongue still. In the calm waters of the Fleetworth-Green harbor there were rocks. There was a drug dealer’s hideaway palace and an innocent lad with a record. She had no evidence but she didn’t need it. For now, she had a home to build. As yet the house was not a mess. It was simply bare. A few days ago she had been living in a police section house in Kennington. A room, a warm meal and a shower had been the three pillars of her life—depending on what you meant by life. Those few days ago it had been enough. Now she was salty and stiff from the bike ride. She ran a bath, hoping that the warmth would soothe the slight chill in her soul. She was a long way from her roots in every sense. Her role as a village cop gave her freedom but also imposed a type of solitary confinement. For sure South London was a gritty sweaty jungle, but it was home.

She relaxed in the warm water. Her initial pulse of anger at Jasmine de Montfort’s complaint soaked away. At the end of the day she held the power and she could choose when to do battle. Police preoccupations with petty offenses had always irritated her. She had no doubt that Jasmine was a conniving, spiteful little bitch. Spence the welder could do far better than a sour cow like that. She lay back thinking of his big hands and strong forearms as he had pulled off his working gloves. She could feel the warmth of his body and feel his skin through his open overalls. His arms were around her as they kissed. The workshop and the odor of a male working body aroused her in a strange way. As a maturing teenager she had spent a lot of time in the garage under the arches where her father and other mechanics worked. They did physical, muscular, competent things, chatted her up, sharpened her street wit, and had awakened her to the power of her own sexuality.

At last she opened her eyes. She had almost imagined him to be there. A fulfilling pleasure flowed through her as she dozed a little. They were walking together through dappled sunlight under a canopy of trees. Peacocks strutted about displaying their prowess. There was no world beyond and no one could steal her dreams.

Refreshed, she went to the office and googled D-type Jaguars, aluminum welding, and the family tree of the Earls of Bloxington. Wealth had poured in from sugar and banking. Wealth had poured out via gambling, stock-exchange losses and troublesome divorces. Nell Gwyn had stayed at the Manor, as Inspector Lilly had hinted. The first earl’s wife, Henrietta, had been a maid of honour to Queen Catherine of Braganza, the childless barren wife of King Charles II. Rumour had hinted at the time that Henrietta’s first child, Horatio, later to be the second earl, was in reality the son of the king. Whatever the truth of the matter, Bloxington Manor and all the estates had been a most generous wedding gift to the new earl, Percy Chamberlain-Knightsmith who had been a brave military commander. As a dashing colonel he had marched to London in 1660 with General Monk to set up the Cavalier Parliament which restored Charles II to the throne. A short while later he was contracted in marriage to Henrietta, was ennobled as Earl of Bloxington, and founded the current dynasty.

This was massive stuff for Shannon. She was a streetwise girl from the North Peckham Estate. Her father was a black car mechanic and her mother was a white Irish hospital cleaner. All she had in common with the English aristocracy was the opposite ends of the sugar industry. Then there was the matter of a sexy, lonely guy and a motherless boy complicated by an evil witch. Sure, they all had history, but that stuff was for books and the future was a blank page. Maybe not quite, but the rules were for time-servers right?

It was her day off but her social calendar was blank. She placed checks on the vehicles and the address at Badger’s Knoll. Then, it was well beyond time to phone her best mate, Mel.

“Yo! Officer, come quick,” she said.

“Wassa problem, Sugar?” came the reply.

“I need a man,” she said.

“But I’m a gay man.”

“You’re a man. Tell me what I’ve gotta do to fake it. You’ll never notice,” she said.

“Sugar, I’d notice. Believe me, there’s some things you can’t fake.”

“You’re so bloody fussy.”

“I’m gay. We’re like that.”

“When you come see your baby love?” she said laughing.

“Do I need a passport?” asked a deep male voice.

“I’ll meet you at the border. I’m the sheriff in these parts.”

“OK, you gotta date, Sugar. Tomorrow at 7:30. I’ll bring a curry and cold beers.

“Madras from the Raj Poot?” she asked with a squeal of joy.

“Sure! What else, me lady?”

“Add some more beer and sleep over. I’ve gotta cool cop flophouse,” she replied.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you more and I’m going large on that,” she said.

“I need that love, Sugar. A white gay cop has needs in Brixton. I miss you.”

She hung up and held back a tear. Mel was the sweetest, toughest, humane, educated, and compassionate guy in the world. A big smile filled her heart. He was one hell of a dedicated detective. His one and only lover hadn’t quite made it to freedom in the AIDS revolution ten years before. She had met him over the month-old corpse of a lonely suicide in a squalid bed-sit in Streatham. She had been out on her own for a couple of weeks and he was a hardened pro who had just caught the call on the radio figured out the scene. The case was hers. He could have driven by. He had not. She loved him. The smell had been awful. She had wanted to gag, run away, be a burger flipper or stock broker.

“Normally after a mess like this I go for a Balti, but this calls for a Vindaloo,” he said.

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah. Don’t bring a boyfriend. I might steal him,” he said.

With that Shannon had started to laugh. She didn’t have a boyfriend—just like now!

She sat wondering where or if she had gone wrong. She had no problem attracting men. So far nothing had worked. She was a cop who didn’t fit with mainstream cops. She was a cop civilians didn’t fit around. She was a mixed race girl with a mind for checkers in a snakes-and-ladders world. Her best friend was a 42-year-old gay white guy. She was allergic to cats, and the tall, dark, car welder of her dreams hung out with the royal family. Ah well, this was a job for Shannon Aguerri. Good job she’d been in the area when the call had come in.

She was still dressed in her white toweling dressing gown when the doorbell rang. She knew it would be most unprofessional to open the door in that state. The bell rang again urgently. If a cat was lost or a kid had nicked a chocolate bar from the village stores it was her duty to respond. She opened the door. A tall guy in a white-collared shirt and twill trousers stood before her. His belt was old and weathered. His shoes were cracked but expensive chestnut-colored brogues. He was holding an envelope. She took a deep breath, pulled the gown around her and raised her eyes to his.

“Miss Ag....”

“Ag-Where-ee,” she said.

“Yes, Constable Aguerri.”

Shannon stared into the face of Spencer Chamberlain-Knightsmith. She didn’t know his normal complexion in daylight but she thought he might be blushing.

“Should I call you his Grace?” she said.

“No, no. It would be your Grace, if you had to say it—and you need not. No, you must not. I don’t want it.”

“OK. I won’t ever,” she said.

“Yes, that’s good,” he mumbled.

“Now you will think I’m a stripogram cop.”

He smiled his eyes into hers.

“I’m so sorry about that. Look, I’ve just popped by with a card to say welcome to Fleetworth-Green. I’d be delighted if you could come to tea at the Manor.”

“I accept.”

“Oh—when?”

“Today, of course. I’m not dressed. Can you call back in an hour? I haven’t got a car.”

“I’m disturbing a lady. I’m so sorry. I’ll have you collected.”

“Can’t you come?” she asked with an innocent raising of her eyebrows. He looked back openly into her face. His eyes were kind, shy, and searching. He had a sense of chivalry, humor, and vulnerability which she would tease but never mock. She didn’t look away, longing her soul to show in her expression.

“Yes, of course, if you’re sure it would be OK,” he said.

“How OK can OK be?” she asked.

He thrust the envelope awkwardly at her. She took it, noting just her first name Shannon handwritten on the front.

“Thank you,” she said.

“And thank you,” he replied with a small nod of his handsome head.

OMG, he was fit! Before she could see him again she had a small mission. She threw on a track suit and jogged to the village stores. Luckily no one knew who she was. She selected a birthday card. The selection was pretty naff. She wanted something funny or at least a Purple Ronnie. In the end she chose a picture of a Labrador gun dog with simply the words “Happy Birthday.” She scampered back to the house and added her own thoughts; “To my one-year-elder welder.” She hoped he would laugh. Her hand hesitated as she signed “Shannon.” Could she, should she add a kiss? She knew she shouldn’t. So, she did and sealed it. She opened his card to find a picture of the village green and cricket pitch. Inside he had written “Welcome to our community. I hope to have the chance to meet you soon. Best wishes, Bloxington.”

Then it was back in the shower. The afternoon was warm and perfect. She dressed in a sleeveless short flared black dress splashed with red and cream roses. In her happiness, it reflected summer and her mood. She chose a floral perfume to match this moment of her life. Exactly one hour had passed when she saw a green Land Rover pull up outside. It was far from new and went with the whole atmosphere of Fleetworth-Green. He jumped out as she approached, and went to the passenger door, holding it open.

“I’m afraid the transport is a little basic,” he said.

“It’s a Series 2. These are the best ever Land Rovers according to my dad,” she said, patting the wing.

“Oh, he’s certainly right.”

“He’s a mechanic,” she said, swinging her smooth, toned, deep-olive legs into the vehicle allowing him to see a big tease of thigh. She caught his eye as he pulled his attention away. She smiled warmly.

“I thought I might show you some of the estate,” he said.

“That would be wonderful, Sir ... um ... What do I call you?”

“My name is Spencer.”

“And I’m Shannon. That makes you half a shop and me half an airport,” she said.

The earl fell silent and went back to the driver’s seat, obviously troubled. He glanced at her and then started the engine. Suddenly he let out a loud exclamation.

“I get it. Ha, ha. Yes. Marks and Spencer. Shannon Airport,” he said chuckling.

“I’m just a bit nervous,” she said. “I gabble a load of nonsense sometimes.”

“It’s such fun, Shannon, you know, to make up jokes. Anyway, thanks for saying you were nervous because so was I, but I wouldn’t have just said it.”

Before he pulled away he turned to her. In the same instant she turned to him. As all the rushing moments of the world sped on they both stood back from time and took in the picture of the other. She let her mind transmit herself to him. She lowered her lids and took in a breath to hold him there and feel him. This was a big lost boy of a man. He was innocent of the life that would mature him. He was a grand concrete dam constructed by others never to burst. That was the essence of him to the world. Behind the wall, the deep waters were warm for a swim.

He started the engine.

“Your name Ag-Where-ee. I believe it’s of Spanish origin,” he said.

“Yes, Basque originally. I come via West Africa, Antigua, Dublin, and Peckham.”

“You have a coat of arms,” he said.

“Do we? How do you know that?”

“Um, I looked you up,” he said a little sheepishly.

She smiled. She wondered if he’d figured her name was a random tag somehow grabbed in the chaos of slavery and its dissolution.

“I looked up your stuff as well. D’ya think we were having a simultaneous google?”

He gave a little snort. “Is that indecent?”

“Only if you fake it,” she said.

He shot her a glance and smiled shyly.

“You sure aren’t PC Flowers,” he said. “Thank you so much for dropping everything like this.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve no one to please but myself.”

“Oh,” he replied.

“No one at all,” she added, just to be clear on the matter. She gave a little nod, aware that he was looking at her.

He cleared his throat.

“Shannon, you made quite an impression on Ben.”

“I’m sorry I made him push the scooter all the way home. I did think of jumping on the back and telling him to ride it,” she said.

He laughed and then fell silent. It was obvious he wanted to say more.

“Spencer, he’s a good lad. You know that.”

“Can I just talk to you?” he said suddenly. “Ben has had a couple of issues....”

“Yeah, but kids do. Christ, I was completely out of control at his age. I know he got stopped for a bit of blow, but if the stuff is about they all try it. If you ask me he was just unlucky to get caught. Has he ever claimed to you that he was innocent?” she asked.

“He hasn’t said much. He thinks one of his mates put it in his pocket when the police stopped them. I really don’t know if that could be true.”

“Well, it could be—but why not just drop it? Why make things more complicated by trying to get it into someone else’s pocket?”

Spencer nodded and appeared to think for a while.

“Cops are different aren’t they, Shannon? You approach things with a criminal mind, if I can say such a rude thing.”

“You’re right. It’s not rude to say that. You’re Lord of the Manor. You see things from there. All I’ll say, Spencer, is that I believe him. I could speak to the officer who nicked him.”

“And?” he questioned.

“And, I might have a peek at the file, just to be certain,” she replied. “All I can say is that a stop on a kid like Ben on his way to the cinema doesn’t often happen. I’m guessing there is a bit more to it. Maybe he’s not telling us everything.”

She shrugged and looked at him as he watched the road ahead as they passed through the center of the village. His profile was strong and his eyes deep set under dark brows.

A big vehicle was heading towards them at very high speed.

“Christ—a maniac!” he shouted.

Shannon studied the door mirror and read the registration plate backwards. It wasn’t too tough. She knew it already.

“It’s from one of those new houses at Badger’s Bog,” she said.

“What! Ha! Badger’s bloody Bog. The place is an eyesore. It’s a cultural Chernobyl. The farmer’s son-in-law is one of those developer creatures and in the end he got planning permission. I’ve had to buy the whole farm to stop any more hideous desecration of the countryside.”

Shannon noted his intense anger. The speeder was in the black Chrysler 300. The driver looked like a female of about fifty with large earrings, brassy expensive hair, and a salon perma-tan. Just maybe there had been a dark haired girl in the back, half hidden by the smoked windows.

“It’s from that house called “Bluegrass,”” she said.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Cos I’m a right old pro, Spencer. Like you with your welder.”

He grinned and returned to his theme.

“Ben told me what had happened last night. Perhaps you should have told me there was alcohol and cannabis involved.”

“Maybe you’re right but it’s brilliant he told you himself. I assured Ben it was between him and me. He didn’t have anything himself. To be honest he seemed a bit of an outsider. My guess is he took the bike to show off, you know, to get accepted as a bit of a tearaway.”

“That’s a lot of guessing and what if he hadn’t told me?”

“Then you’d never have known from me because I told him I wouldn’t. You could’ve been some right stuffed shirt and completely overreacted. He’s trusted your wisdom by telling you. It wouldn’t have been fair to deny him the chance to tell you the whole story. I’m a cop and my first job is to build up trust with these kids. D’ya see that?”

“I do, but I hadn’t thought of it that way,” he said.

She knew he had a point. She cursed the fact that she couldn’t tell him that her story edit was in exchange for some information. A deal was a deal and she had stuck with it. In any case, she had trampled every protocol for the questioning of minors. Doubtless Jasmine de Montfort would be able to advise him of her errors.

His mood lightened again.

“What sort of saddo would call that place Badger’s Knoll? It’s a sneer at what they’ve destroyed,” he said.

Shannon giggled.

“Saddo. You’re not a guy to say that.”

“It’s Ben. I try to keep up. You know, join in a bit. He thinks you’re ultra-street-chick cool.”

“I think he’s a gallant charming young man,” she said in her poshest clipped accent.

“And you’re certainly not a gal to say that,” he said, beaming a huge perfect smile.

They passed through the village. He slowed down and turned right through imposing iron gates bearing the Bloxington coat of arms. The private road passed through trees and opened out into a meadow of wild flowers and long grass. She saw the lake ahead of them and the front face of the Manor on the far side. He steered the Land Rover off the road and bumped down to the edge of the water. He switched off the engine and bounded out like a spaniel to come round to open her door.

“The sun is lovely and there’s a seat. It’s my favourite view,” he said, offering his strong bare arm to steady her as she swung out her legs. He kept his gaze into some polite distance. She took the offered forearm. He was firm and steady.

“Well thank you, kind Sir,” she said.

He looked back into her eyes as she reluctantly let go and brushed down her dress. He led the way to a wooden bench. She sat beside him.

“Wow! What a view,” she said.

“Shannon....” he began.

“Yes, Spencer, I know,” she teased.

“Really, what do you know?”

“You never did this with PC Flowers.”

He smiled with the warmth of the sun. His laughter lines deepened to reflect some kind of joy.

“I wasn’t going to say that, but whatever I was going to say was just to cover up that I was thinking that very thing,” he said.

Her hand went forward to touch his arm. His hand started to come to meet hers but he drew it back and gazed silently over the lake. She held back her touch but the safety catch of a hair trigger was off.

“All this for one man,” he said.

“I didn’t see any fences and the gates were open. You let folk just wander in,” she said.

“You know that?”

“Ben told me. He loves you. He’s proud of you, Spencer.”

The big lost man put his head in his hands.

“Shannon, this is wrong. Oh God. We just can’t talk like this.”

“We’re doing OK so far. You wanted to talk about Ben,” she said, longing to reach out for his hand, but holding back.