Double, Double, Toil and Truffle (Bewitch by Chocolate ~ Book 6) Page 19

“I’ll leave the choice to you.”

  “Ah... in that case, I thought the sauvignon blanc from Marlborough sounds nice... or perhaps the Côte de Beaune pinot noir...” James moved closer to point out the wines on her menu.

  Caitlyn stiffened and jerked away from him as he leaned close to read over her shoulder. James drew back and looked at her. Caitlyn caught that expression of hurt rejection in his eyes again and felt awful.

  “Caitlyn...what is it?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  For a moment, she was tempted to blurt out everything. But then she remembered what she had told Pomona earlier. James would never believe her outlandish story and she couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking she was lying to cover up an embarrassing personal odour problem.

  Hastily, she pinned a bright smile on her face and said, “What do you mean?”

  James frowned at her. “You’re acting like... well, like you find me repulsive and can’t stand me to come near you.”

  “That’s... that’s ridiculous.” Caitlyn gave a weak laugh. “You must be imagining things.”

  James started to reply but was interrupted by a waiter coming up to their table and asking:

  “Would you like some drinks to start, sir?”

  James hesitated, his eyes still on Caitlyn, and then, to her relief, he turned to the waiter and began discussing the wine list. She sat back, wishing she could sink into a hole in the ground and disappear. How had the romantic date of her dreams turned into such a nightmare? She had daydreamed for so long and so wistfully of going out for dinner with James Fitzroy, imagining what she would wear, what he would say, how they would laugh and banter and look into each other’s eyes... and now that it was finally happening, she couldn’t believe that it was turning into a total disaster!

  She had to have a bit of time alone, to calm down and figure out what to do. Rising, she slung her handbag over her shoulder, mumbled an excuse, and left the table, looking for the Ladies’. The main dining room was L-shaped, and Caitlyn threaded her way between the tables and around the bend of the L, towards the back of the restaurant where the toilets were likely to be. She saw a sign beside a door at the far end of the room and began making her way towards it.

  Then she stopped and stared.

  Sitting at a table in the far corner, partially screened by a large potted palm, were a man and a woman talking earnestly over a candlelit meal. Somehow, though, Caitlyn doubted they were here on a romantic date.

  It was Vera Bottom and Gerald Hopkins, the witch hunter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ACTING MORE ON INSTINCT than rational thought, Caitlyn darted sideways and sidled up to the potted palm, so that she was next to their table but shielded from view by the thick, bushy fronds. Thankfully, most of the diners seemed to have been seated on the other end of the L—around the corner, on the side where James was—and the tables at this end were mostly empty, so there was no one nearby to see her odd behaviour. She was also relieved that Vera and Gerald Hopkins barely noticed the furtive movement beside them: they were too engrossed in their conversation. For a moment, she wondered if she had been mistaken and they were here on some sort of date—after all, romance wasn’t just the privilege of the young, and although Gerald was probably twenty years older than Vera, age gaps meant a lot less as you got older.

  Then, as she caught the sound of their words, she stiffened. Her first instincts had been right: this was no romantic tryst. Vera and Gerald Hopkins were here to discuss business—the business of witches.

  “...you don’t know how overjoyed I am to find someone who shares my views at last!” Vera was saying. “I mean, some of the women in Tillyhenge agree with me, of course, but so many of the other villagers—including my own brother!—think that I’m wrong, that I’m even depraved to say such things. But I’m not! We need to protect ourselves, we need to find a way to hunt down witches, even if it means resorting to witch trials like they used to—”

  “In that, you have my full agreement,” said Gerald Hopkins. “The world has become a corrupt place where those practising black magic are able to flaunt their powers and even be admired for their abilities. In fact, under these ridiculous modern laws, those who dare to expose witches and their malevolent intent are the ones who are condemned and prosecuted! It is high time that the practices necessary to seek out and destroy witchcraft are restored, before we are all lost.”

  Caitlyn blinked. In any other situation, she would have thought that she had strayed onto the set of a period film and that Gerald and Vera were simply actors, speaking their parts as characters from the seventeenth century. But she knew that they were deadly serious. And it was frightening.

  Of course, she knew that there were many people who were still superstitious, and she herself had sometimes performed those harmless gestures like “touch wood” to ward off so-called bad luck. But it was really more of a social ritual than anything else—the way you said “Bless you!” after someone sneezed because it was the polite thing to do, not because you really believed that their souls had been accidentally expelled from their nose! She found it hard to believe that people in this day and age, with modern science and the internet, could really still believe in the dangers of witchcraft.

  Gerald Hopkins leaned forwards, clenching his fist. “I have spent my whole career trying to convince the authorities, those in power and with influence, about the necessity of eradicating witches from society, but all they do is laugh and call me crazy.” He paused, then said, in an ominous tone, “Well, not anymore. I refuse to be sidelined and ridiculed any longer. If I cannot convince others to take action, then I will take action myself.”

  “Yes, Minerva Chattox was a good start,” said Vera, nodding eagerly. “But it’s not enough. There are still witches in Tillyhenge, as I am sure you know. That old woman in the chocolate shop, for instance—she has been an evil presence in the village for years! You won’t believe the tricks she’s used, trying to tempt us into eating her chocolates... In fact, I think she might even have been in cahoots with Minerva Chattox. Don’t witches always belong to covens? They probably plotted together to hex good, honest villagers such as myself, who would not yield to their bewitchment. Have you heard about the strange sickness which has struck down the cows on my brother’s farm? That’s due to a witch’s curse, I am sure!”

  Ooooh! Caitlyn clenched her own fists, anger bubbling up inside her as she listened to Vera’s words. She wanted so badly to step out from behind the potted palm and bang the silly woman’s head against the table, to try and knock some sense into her! She took a deep breath and held on to her temper with effort, concentrating instead on Gerald Hopkins’s reaction. Her heart had jolted when she heard Gerald talk of taking action against witches himself, and Vera had commented: “Yes, Minerva Chattox was a good start.” Did that mean that Gerald Hopkins was the murderer after all? And Minerva had been the unfortunate first victim of his private crusade?

  She eyed the old witch hunter, trying to read the expression in his hooded eyes, but she could see no clear emotion—no flicker of shame or satisfaction—that might indicate his involvement in the murder. He was leaning back in his chair now, listening gravely as Vera continued to talk:

  “...I’m sure that if we don’t rid Tillyhenge of witches for good, evil and misfortune will continue to befall us!” She looked at Gerald Hopkins pleadingly. “That is why I asked you to meet me. We need to make plans; we need to take advantage of the current confusion and chaos, and strike while they are still complacent and unprepared—”

  “Tonight.”

  Vera stuttered to a stop. “T-tonight?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, there is no time to lose. I had my concerns, but it was not until I arrived at Huntingdon Manor that I realised how far young Fitzroy has strayed. It is time he is made aware of his obligations, as the present holder of the title.” A cold smile curled his lips. “It will give me great pleasure to teach him...”

  “Lord Fitzroy? You can’t rely
on him,” Vera snapped. “Ever since that girl came—the one who is supposed to be the Widow Mags’s long-lost granddaughter—he has been completely bewitched by her. She must have cast some sort of spell over him. He was already far too sympathetic to the Widow Mags, anyway—just like his father before him—but since Caitlyn Le Fey arrived in Tillyhenge, it’s become worse.”

  “Then it is time to remedy things,” said Gerald Hopkins grimly.

  “How... how are you going to do that?” asked Vera, looking thrilled and scared at the same time.

  “The same way as last time.”

  Caitlyn had heard enough. She rushed across the dining room and back to her table, sliding into the chair next to James so suddenly that he looked up in surprise.

  “Caitlyn! I thought—”

  “James, we have to leave! We have to get back to Tillyhenge,” said Caitlyn breathlessly.

  “I beg your pardon?” He stared at her in astonishment.

  “They’re going to harm the Widow Mags—we have to stop them!”

  “Who?”

  “Vera Bottom and Gerald Hopkins! They are holding their own witch trials and the Widow Mags is going to be their next victim!”

  “What?” James frowned. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? Nobody is conducting witch trials. They belong to a period of history that’s over—”

  “You might think so, but there are others who don’t agree,” said Caitlyn impatiently. “I heard them just now... over there...” She pointed across the room. “They’re sitting at a table just around the corner, on the other side of the restaurant, and they were talking about Minerva. Gerald Hopkins practically admitted that he’d murdered her!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped James, his grey eyes beginning to harden. “I told you—Gerald is not a murderer.”

  Caitlyn was taken aback and felt a surge of frustration and annoyance. She knew that James was reluctant to think ill of an old family friend, but surely he could at least consider her suspicions?

  “Why can’t you be a bit more open-minded?” she demanded. “You can’t just assume that. You hardly know Gerald—”

  “I do know him. I’ve known him since I was a boy. He was one of my father’s oldest friends—”

  “That doesn’t mean that you truly know him. You’re just letting sentimentality blind you to the truth! Anyone can see that Gerald Hopkins is a fanatic with an obsessive hatred of witches and a desire to see them all destroyed—and he is not above using violence to achieve his ends.”

  “I think you’re the one who is blinded by prejudice,” retorted James. “I understand that you’ve taken a dislike to Gerald—fair enough—but your animosity towards him is making you behave in a ludicrous manner.”

  “Why are you so determined to believe him and not me?” cried Caitlyn, hurt and angry.

  “I’m not!” said James, his face darkening in anger as well. “I just don’t—” He stood up. “Fine. Where is he? I’m going to speak to him myself.”

  He stalked to the other side of dining room, with Caitlyn hard at his heels. Their raised voices had already attracted a lot of attention from nearby tables, and now several patrons watched them with avid curiosity as they crossed the room. The waiter, who had been approaching their table with two glasses of wine, stopped in surprise, then came after them.

  Caitlyn ignored them all. She hurried ahead of James, eager to point out the two conspirators, but as they rounded the corner, she saw with dismay that the table in the corner was empty. Gerald Hopkins and Vera were gone!

  “Where are they?” asked James, looking around.

  “They... they were here,” Caitlyn insisted. She pointed at the corner table. “Over there, at that table. James, you have to believe me!” She called to the waiter who had followed them: “Is there a back way out of the restaurant?”

  “Yes, madam.” The waiter pointed to the doorway which led to the toilets and the back of the restaurant. “We have a small carpark for customers behind the restaurant; it means they don’t have to walk around to the front. It is also easier for taxis as one cannot stop in the street—”

  “They must have left that way,” said Caitlyn, turning back to James. “They looked like they were finishing their meal anyway. They must have got up as soon as I rushed back to our table. They’re probably on their way to Tillyhenge now!” She started towards the doorway leading to the toilets and the back of the building. “We must hurry! They might still be in the carpark. We’ve got to see where they’re going—”

  “Caitlyn, stop.”

  She faltered and paused at the cold tone. The waiter took one look at the expression on James’s face and retreated to a discreet distance, whilst several diners, who had turned around in their seats to watch, hastily turned back again. Caitlyn looked up into James’s grey eyes and her heart contracted in her chest. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so angry and disillusioned.

  “This is rather an elaborate plan just to get out of having dinner with me, don’t you think?” he asked tightly.

  “I—what?” Caitlyn stared at him. “I’m not trying to get out of—”

  He held a hand up. “Please. No more lies. You’ve been acting odd all evening—first you try to cancel the date, then you jerk away if I come near you and do everything you can to keep me at a distance. I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable and strained. You’re obviously regretting accepting the dinner invitation and are desperate to cut the evening short.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I know I’ve been away and there were things left unsaid between us, but I thought... I was under the impression that you—” He broke off and shook his head in bitter confusion. “But I suppose I was wrong.”

  “No, James, I—”

  “If your feelings had changed, I wish you had simply said so, instead of embarking on this ridiculous charade.”

  “What? No, I... they haven’t... I mean...” Caitlyn stammered, blushing and furious. “You’ve got it all wrong... I wasn’t trying to keep you away—I mean, I was, but not for the reasons you think and—” She broke off, giving the empty table another agonised glance. We’re wasting time and the Widow Mags could be in danger. “Oh God, I haven’t got the time to explain now! Later I’ll tell you everything, but right now, I need to see where they went!”

  Without waiting for him to answer, she darted towards the doorway and ran out of the dining room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  AS CAITLYN HAD SUSPECTED, the doorway led to a passage which ran towards the back of the building, past the doors marked “Ladies” and “Gents”, and out into a small carpark. She arrived just in time to see a black Bentley swing past her and head towards the exit. It paused to allow a taxi to turn into the carpark and the latter’s sweeping headlights illuminated the passengers in the Bentley: Gerald Hopkins and Vera Bottom.

  Where are they going?

  Caitlyn stared after the car in helpless frustration, then her eyes fell on the taxi which had stopped next to her to let its passengers disembark. A middle-aged couple got out. Caitlyn hesitated, throwing a look back towards the building. She could run back in and ask James to drive her, but by the time she convinced him—if she convinced him—she would have lost sight of the Bentley. No, it will waste too much time. She turned instead to the taxi and grabbed the passenger door just as the man was about to shut it. Slipping into the car, she said breathlessly to the driver:

  “Follow that Bentley!”

  “Eh?” The driver turned around to look at her stupidly.

  “The black Bentley that just left the carpark—follow it!” cried Caitlyn.

  It always seemed to work in movies, with taxi drivers instantly throwing themselves into hot pursuit, no questions asked, risking life (and licence demerit points) in a thrilling life-or-death car chase. In real life, though, it seemed that taxi drivers were more prosaic and curious.

  He gave Caitlyn a sceptical look and said: “Now look ’ere, miss—are you takin�
� the mickey?”

  “Taking the what? Oh... no, I’m serious! Quick! We can’t let that Bentley out of sight!” Caitlyn pointed frantically at the red taillights disappearing down the side street.

  He scratched his head. “Friends o’ yours?”

  Arrggh! Caitlyn wanted to scream. What did it matter? “No... yes... I mean...sort of. Look, can you please just follow that car?” she begged. “I’m not playing games. I just... I really need to follow that car.” She dug into her handbag and pulled out several notes. “I’ll pay you very well.”

  The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the money, but he still looked a bit doubtful.

  “All right, luv, but what’s the ’urry? You’re actin’ like it’s life an’ death or somethin’.”

  Caitlyn took a deep breath with effort. She realised that the driver was more likely to comply if she appeared “normal”—it was her dramatic urgency which had got him uncertain and suspicious. She said, in a calmer voice:

  “They were sitting next to me in the restaurant and they left something important. I need to return it to them but I don’t know where they live so... Please! If we don’t hurry, we’ll lose them,” she pleaded.

  To her relief, the driver finally turned around and swung the taxi out of the carpark. But the delay had cost them. There was no sign of the black Bentley anywhere on the side street. Caitlyn bit her lip. There were so many ways it could have gone—back around to join the main street, down one of the adjoining side streets, towards the centre of town, or back towards the motorway and deeper into the Cotswolds countryside. Without knowing, they might waste their time aimlessly driving in circles.

  “Looks like we’ve lost ’em,” said the driver apologetically. “D’you want me to take you back to the restaurant?”

  “No,” said Caitlyn, making a decision. “Take me to Tillyhenge, please.”

  ON THE WAY, CAITLYN dug her phone out of her handbag and tried to call the Widow Mags. Her grandmother didn’t have a mobile phone but there was a landline in the chocolate shop. This, however, rang without being answered until Caitlyn gave up. The lack of response made her uneasy, but she told herself not to be silly and panic: her grandmother could have been in the bathroom or even gone to bed early and might not have heard the phone.