Gem: Lancastria?

Naida Reynolds

Description

The sinking of the British troop ship, HMT Lancastria, by a German bomber, on 17 June 1940, was the single greatest loss of life in Britain's maritime history. Seventy-three years later, the tragedy of the HMT Lancastria comes back to haunt Gem and Wyatt Grantham when two skeletons are discovered at Grantham Hall in the sleepy English village of Ticking Bottom. While Gem, Wyatt, and their mates try to unravel a mysterious connection between the skeletons and the Lancastria, Wyatt's former lover, the glamorous movie star, Emerald, appears with her own agenda - to throw a spanner into the Grantham's marriage - prompting Gem to question their relationship - and her trust in her husband.

Sujets

• Histoire
• Military history
• World War II

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 20 mai 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781622878925
• Langue: English

Extrait

Gem: Lancastria?

First Edition Design Publishing
Sarasota, Florida USA
Gem: Lancastria?
Copyright ©2015 Naida Reynolds

ISBN 978-1622-878-91-8 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-878-92-5 EBOOK

LCCN 2015TBD

April 2015

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .
Gem: Lancastria?
A novel by
Naida Reynolds
Chapter One
May 2013
Amos Macinski surveyed the area between the four stakes projecting from the grass in the rear lawn at Grantham Hall, and shook his head in disapproval.
“This flower bed will be too large for this area,” he voiced one of his many objections to the project. “The children will soon be walking. They will need space to run and play.”
“They’ll have all the meadows and Ticking Bottom to explore,” Moss Becton retorted. “Let them loose on the front lawn, the side lawn. You could put a dozen tennis courts between here and the woods, and the twins would still have space to run. No need for them to be near my flowers until they’re old enough to lend a hand to the work.”
The Grantham Hall gardener carefully wound twine around the first stake and then stretched it across the expanse of lawn to the second stake. “They’ll be wanting a pony soon. All children want a pony, and the beast’s leavings will do nicely for the garden beds.”
“They can’t yet walk, they don’t need a pony,” Amos Macinski argued. “This flower bed will be too small for the Victorian Garden that Wyatt wishes to have in the rear garden. Also it is the wrong location and it’s too close to the oak tree.”
“They can’t yet walk then they don’t need space to run back here,” Becton insisted, winding the twine around the third stake. “Pick up a shovel and put your back into a bit of physical labour for a change,” he frowned at the Grantham Hall estate manager.
“It’s your fool project - not mine,” Amos Macinski pushed his straw hat a bit back from his forehead in a pointed gesture of disinterest.
“Go off with you then,” the gardener sent him a scowl as he wound the twine around the fourth and last stake.
“I have a few minutes to waste watching your efforts,” the estate manager chuckled.

“Don’t fuss over James,” Paul Andriani, the self-professed ‘Power of Grantham Hall’, took the whimpering child from his mother’s arms. “It’s only teething. Finish your breakfast, Gem, and then get on with your work. You haven’t finished a chapter on Medieval European Cathedrals in weeks, have you? You won’t be completing your new book any time soon if you refuse to concentrate on the project. I’ll be taking the children to Whitethistle Cottage for the day. A load of manure will be delivered there this afternoon, and I don’t wish it to be deposited on the front lawn.”
“You fuss over James more than his mum does,” Bailey Lyndon, a confident twenty-one year old blonde, said dryly, as she entered the breakfast room at Grantham Hall. “Nannies shouldn’t fuss and coddle their charges,” she snipped.
The breakfast room, with large windows on two walls, was decorated with small crème coloured painted tiles featuring white daffodils, pink hollyhocks, red roses, and leaves and trailing vines in various shades of green. Three small green stained glass chandeliers hung above a large, dark green wrought-iron table that easily seated six, but which quite often functioned for twice that number of occupants because the spacious and elegant formal dining room did not have the same cosy atmosphere as had the breakfast room. That morning, however, the room seemed crowded to Gem and Wyatt Grantham when two factions of the household staff began their frequent sparring banter.
“Assistant house managers shouldn’t advise nannies how to do their jobs,” the Power grinned at her without rancour. “Wyatt, put Gemmy in her feeding chair,” he briskly ordered the owner of Grantham Hall. “It’s Monday. Shouldn’t you consider putting in an appearance at your office at least once this week? I don’t recall you making it to London last week. Grantham Enterprises International doesn’t run itself.”
Gem choked on her tea and grinned at her husband of some twenty-one months, and he winked at her, his beautiful smile reaching to his blue-rimmed, light grey eyes.
“Ms Holton has all under control,” Wyatt replied casually to his children’s nanny. “Are you permitted to boss me? I get enough of that from Manton.” He shifted his daughter from his lap to her chair. “Gem and I thought we’d stroll the brood about T. B. this morning.”
And have a quiet chat, Gem silently suggested, reflecting on the text message she had received a few minutes earlier.
“I thought Manton wanted you to visit the Paris office this week,” the Power said pointedly, not easing up on his directives. “You don’t ignore requests from your CEO.”
“Fine,” Wyatt frowned, and folded his serviette to place next to his plate. “I’ll go to Paris to take a lunch meeting with Manton,” he relented with nothing even resembling enthusiasm.
“Are you a social secretary as well as a nanny and business commandant?” the assistant house manager needled the man wiping the chins of babes.
“When needs be,” he said easily. “That’s why I am the Power here.”
“Well don’t you dare tell me how to do my job,” the young woman countered as she stacked tableware on a tray to ferry to the kitchen. “And why are you here puttering about the Hall getting in my way instead of being off at a real job somewhere?”
“I don’t believe their working relationship is improving,” Gem whispered to her husband as they slipped from the breakfast room.
“It has only been a little over a year,” Wyatt chuckled, gazing into her deep violet eyes. He smiled at her - the smile that left her breathless and loosened butterflies within her. “Mr M and Mr Becton have been at the Hall for over three decades and they are still oil and water. Yet we all manage to survive life here.”
“Always have been and ever shall be,” Gem giggled quietly, and then she sighed. “Oh, I don’t want to think about medieval cathedrals today.”
“According to the Power,” he referred to the nanny’s self-decided title, “you haven’t thought about cathedrals for weeks,” he laughed, and tugged at her light blonde braid that hung down past her shoulder blades. “You have photos and sketches of all the Medieval European Cathedrals. Simply sort and put it all together,” he teased. “Scribble a few captions. Done.”
“If it is so easy, you do it then,” she replied with mock sweetness.
“Apparently I’m to have lunch in Paris. Eat your heart out,” he teased again.
“Enjoy your frog legs,” she shot back, knowing full well how much he detested French cuisine.
Wyatt suddenly drew Gem along the hall and into the great room. “Bailey has a good point. Why is Andriani still here?” he murmured.
She hesitated at the query. “I have no idea,” she candidly admitted.
As far as she knew, Paul Andriani wasn’t a trained nanny, although he seemed to be a crackerajack at that profession. Paul Andriani was actually a former undercover master agent for the Agency, a clandestine government department so far under radar that few people, aside from the Prime Minister, knew of its existence. The Agency was a Network of couriers, agents, and undercover master spies whose mission was to detect, deflect, discourage, and defuse hot spots of intrigue, government coups, underground criminal activities, and subversive groups around the world.
The Agency’s equivalent, but restricted to the United Kingdom proper, was Technical Operations or T.O., which operated under the guise of the premier private investigation firm The Eyes and Ears of Great Britain and the U.K.
Gem knew that Paul Andriani, as an Agency master agent, had lived an alternative life for many years as a master criminal until his identity had been discovered, thus putting his life in extreme danger from former unsavoury colleagues, and necessitating the permanent demise of his criminal alter ego, John Staunton. Paul Andriani had transferred his professional association to Technical Operations and limited his activities to the U.K.
Gem had been an Agency courier for some years, and was currently a Consultant to T.O. and the Agency. Her supervisors were Paul Andriani and his life partner, George Choate. For reasons known only to him, Paul Andriani had requested a furlough from T.O. to assist Gem and Wyatt Grantham as nanny to their children upon the arrival of the twins. He managed the children and the nursery, and put his hand in at Grantham Hall, in the quiet village of Ticking Bottom, whenever and wherever he deemed his talents were needed. His presence was felt at the Hall every day although he no longer lived on the premises, residing now with his partner at Whitethistle Cottage, a stone’s throw from Grantham Hall – if one had a good arm for throwing stones.
“I thought he would help with the twins for a time after they were born. He’s been here a year,” Wyatt interrupted her thoughts. “The man was once a suave government undercover agent. Now he’s a Mary Poppins Major Domo.”
“Mrs M seems to appreciate his presence here,” Gem referred to the Grantham Hall manager, Ada Macinski.
“We all appreciate him, save for Bailey, but he’s rather over-qualified for the position as nanny. Shouldn’t he be out protecting the country from agents and spies from the other side?”
“He does random assignments for T.O. Perhaps he’s dedicated to protecting our family.”
“We are prot