"Odd to be in this room without him," he said, glancing about. "Your husband and I planned all of our trips from here." He sat on a large leather chair. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Lady Ashton. I shouldn't speak of such painful things." Devoid of sentimental attachment to my deceased mate, I felt distinctly uncomfortable in the company of his closest friend.
"Never mind. Would you like some tea?" I reached for the bell.
"No, don't trouble yourself. I am here on business."
"Then perhaps you should see my solicitor."
"I've just come from his office. You are aware, of course, of your husband's love of Greece and the Aegean?" he asked, looking directly into my eyes.
"Greece?" I asked, not wanting to reveal more ignorance of my husband's interests than absolutely necessary.
"As I'm sure you know, he spent months there every year. While he was ill in Africa..." Mr. Hargreaves paused, looking at me questioningly.
"Please go on."
"He so looked forward to taking you to Greece and showing you the villa."
"The villa?" I had vague memories of my solicitor's mentioning such a place, but he had not given me any details, assuming I was too overcome by grief to concern myself with such things.
"It was not part of the family property. He owned it himself and wanted you to have it. It's a magnificent place, sweeping views of the Aegean. You'll love it. I think he intended to surprise you by taking you there." He paused again. "When he was sick, it was a subject to which he continually returned: 'Kallista must go to the villa.' I promised to arrange the trip for you."
"You must pardon my confusion," I said, shaking my head. "Who is Kallista?"
Mr. Hargreaves smiled. "I believe that is what he called you in"-again the pause-"private."
My eyebrows lifted in amazement. "He never called me Kallista." I didn't mention that the form of address he used most frequently was, in fact, Lady Ashton, albeit in a somewhat ironic tone.
"It is how he always referred to you," Mr. Hargreaves said quietly. "I assumed it was a pet name. Excuse my impertinence, but I believe he preferred it to Emily."
"I see. And the villa?"
"It's on Santorini, one of the islands in the Aegean. I suggest you go in the spring, when the weather is fine, although Ashton always considered winter there a vast improvement over England." He stood up and walked toward me. "I must apologize again. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to be reminded of him. Using his familiar name for you was thoughtless of me."
"On the contrary, it doesn't bother me at all," I said, still not sure what to make of this habit of my husband's. "For all I care, you may call me Kallista if you prefer it to Emily." I looked directly at Mr. Hargreaves and smiled. He was quite handsome, his dark, wavy hair tousled, contrasting with the perfect elegance of both his clothing and manner. "That is, of course, should our acquaintance become familiar enough to merit the use of Christian names."
"You are as spirited as Ashton described you," he said, flashing a smile. "I shall leave now. Your solicitor has all the papers concerning the villa. As I said, I promised your husband I would ensure that you see it. When you are ready to make the trip, I shall take care of all your arrangements."
I gave him my hand, which he kissed quickly. I watched from the window seat as he sauntered down the steps to the street and across Berkeley Square.
As always after meeting any of Philip's family or friends, I felt overwhelmed. I could not share their grief; I did not know the man. Yet here Colin Hargreaves stood and suggested that Philip actually talked about me. What on earth could he possibly have had to say? My mind reeled. Kallista? Greece? As far as I knew, Philip had few, if any, interests beyond hunting. I had little reason to doubt Mr. Hargreaves, who had stood as best man at my wedding. He and Philip were friends from their early days at school, and Philip always spoke highly of his integrity. Before I could think further on the subject, the butler interrupted me again. My parents awaited me in the drawing room.
"My dear, you really must keep the curtains drawn in the front of the house," my mother scolded, true to her new mission of attempting to reestablish dominance over me.
"Philip has been dead for more than a year and a half, Mother. I can hardly live without natural light indefinitely."
"Prince Albert left this life nearly thirty years ago, and our queen still respects his memory. You would do well to follow her example." My mother, quite possibly Queen Victoria's staunchest supporter, looked critically around the room. "I know Philip was a bit eccentric, but now that he's gone, you surely could update this room. It is as if it is only partially furnished."
Philip had no taste for the cluttered excess currently in favor and had furnished his house accordingly. After our wedding he was delighted to learn that I shared his opinion on the subject. He obligingly removed several of the larger mounted animal heads from the public rooms, and I agreed to leave the remainder of the house untouched.
"In one breath you tell her to mourn the man, in the next to change his house. Really, Catherine, I think you should leave the child alone." My father, whom I had always considered a silent ally, smiled at me reassuringly. "I don't like to be unpleasant, but it is insupportable to me that she should have to be in mourning longer than she knew Ashton."
My mother gasped. "I will pretend that I never heard you say that. You must think of her future. She's young and very rich, not to mention the daughter of an earl. After a suitable period of mourning, she will be able to make an excellent marriage." My mother looked at me. "I have already heard your name mentioned by the mothers of some of the most eligible peers."
"I'd rather not lose my money to the upkeep of someone else's family estate," I said with a sigh. "Besides, why should I marry again? I rather like widowhood." My father laughed until he caught my mother's withering glare.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's much too soon to think of such things. Your heart is still breaking." My mother rang the bell. "You need some tea." I suffered through a cup of the oversweetened beverage she forced on me and avoided any conversation that might prolong their stay. At last I bade my parents farewell, cringing as my mother ordered the butler to have the drapes on the front windows closed. Davis, a consummate professional, gave her a reassuring nod but did nothing without first consulting his mistress. I instructed him to leave them open.
"Very good, madam. If I may?" He continued as soon as I nodded permission. "I must inform you that I've had to let one of the footmen go. A parlormaid, entering the library to dust, saw him rifling through the viscount's desk."
"When did this happen?"
"Yesterday afternoon, madam. The maid was reluctant to come forward. Apparently the man was looking for something he could sell to repay gaming debts. I have searched his room and found nothing. Perhaps you could check to see if anything is missing?"
"Thank you, Davis. I shall check the contents of the desk right away," I said, knowing full well that I had no idea what ought to be in it.
I returned to the library, where, after a cursory glance through the unremarkable contents of the desk, I started searching the shelves for books about Greece and found volume upon volume: histories and classical literature in both the ancient language and translation. Until now I had assumed that these were vestiges of Philip's studies at Eton and Cambridge. I flipped through several of them, not knowing what I wanted to find. Frustrated with my complete lack of direction, I picked up a guide to the British Museum. The book fell open to a page that held a carefully folded note written in a hand I did not recognize. "Your present course of action has placed you in grave danger." The page it marked described a vase on which there was a painting of the great hero Achilles killing the queen of the Amazons. Grave danger indeed.