Two Lips, Indifferent Red

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Higgins was hovering in the hallway. “Master Kipp—”

“Did you take my duffel to my room? I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I won’t be staying. Please have it brought down.” I’d left my laptop in Sir’s study. I couldn’t go back in there. I ran a hand through my hair, scrambling to come up with a plan.

I’d tell Higgins to call me a cab, and while he was so occupied, I’d slip down to the kitchen and talk to Mrs. Wales. Our cook had always liked me, and perhaps she could go into Sir’s study after things quieted down and retrieve it for me. I forced myself not to think of the Zune stored in a side pocket of the case, or all my grades and work that were on the hard drive.

“And call a cab for me.”

“I was about to say you have a phone call.”

“I’m not taking any calls.”

“Your grandfather—”

At times when things became too stressful in this house, I had known I could go to his home for a week or two or three, until the contretemps was over—I was never missed.

Of course Granddad loved Geoff, but in this case I knew I was loved more, because I looked so much like our mother.

He’d been so angry with me, though, when I’d told him I wanted to study interior design, that I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps and take over his factory after he retired; he hadn’t spoken to me since I’d gone away to college.

I’d been hurt, but in spite of that, I would never refuse to take his call. I went to the phone on the console table in the library. “Yes, Granddad?”

“It’s Beauchamp, Master Kipp.” For some reason it didn’t bother me that Granddad’s butler called me that.

“Well, hello. How’s everything?”

“Not good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your grandfather knows you’ve got your own life, but if you could come to see him—”

“What’s wrong?” I repeated.

“His cancer has recurred—”

“What? What do you mean recurred? When did he get sick?”

“Two years ago. He doesn’t have long. Please…he wants to see you.”

“Of course. Is he at home or in the hospital?”

“He’s at Promise Hospice.”

Martinsburg wasn’t a large city. There was only one hospice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a cab.”

“He’ll…he’ll be pleased to see you. He’s missed you so much.”

I wasn’t about to point out the gifts I’d sent that first Christmas that had been returned—although as it turned out, the money wound up coming in handy—and the phone calls that hadn’t, until finally I’d given up.

“Tell him I’m on my way.” I hung up and then dialed the local cab company; I didn’t have time to wait for Higgins to make the call, and besides, God had given me fingers that worked perfectly well. “This is Kipp Llewellyn. I want a car sent to Llewellyn Manor immediately. And I’d prefer any driver but Alec Stuart.”

I didn’t care if that got him in trouble. Too much had happened, and what I could do without most right then was someone sneering and snarking at me, even if it was only for fifteen minutes.