Guide Season of Fear (Cab Bolton, Book 2)

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Bolton, who resembles anything but a detective those of us of a certain age might be reminded of television cop Amos Burke in some ways has some prior ties to Diane. And grim it is. Bolton slowly discovers that while the Common Way professes to be an alternative to the two mainstream political parties, there is a dark underbelly to it.

This is gradually uncovered by a somewhat unusual young woman on the campaign staff named Peach Piper. Peach is no stranger to death on the campaign trail, given that Lyle, her oldest brother, was murdered by the same killer who assassinated Birch. Is Peach unlucky? No, but death follows her even as she pursues an enigmatic trail that Justin has left for her. Bolton is caught in the middle of a number of adverse political factions that are jockeying for position. Royal Opera House tenor, 42, is axed after 'groping a female member of the chorus on stage in Tokyo in front Winning the lottery DOES make you happier after all, academics find despite tales of woe from newly made On Her Majesty's stylish service: She's the docker's daughter who makes the Queen shine and roar with Taxi driver, 34, who was playing football with friends in the rain was electrocuted by a faulty floodlight What should I do if I'm abroad and trying to get home or my hotel asks for more money?

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She would only say, years afterward, "Lady Haddonfield was my first friend in London. She still is my friend. I believe it was a bargain made between them tacitly but with perfect and cold-blooded calculation and understanding.

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Anna wanted to meet everybody, to be everything, to swallow the whole world. Lady Haddonfield could help her. What Lady Haddonfield wanted was simple and straightforward enough. It was the greatest need of women of her class in those days, and perhaps all through English history.

She simply wanted money. In the period of the long armistice between the wars the well-born Englishwoman's desire for money was sharpened by terrific death duties and devastating taxes. A good many of them in the so-called upper classes became as voracious as girls in a Port Said brothel. It was not that Lady Haddonfield was poor. She was not one of those destitute "Gentlewomen in distress" who advertised in the Times that for a consideration she would introduce strangers to titled people.

On the contrary, the Marchioness of Haddonfield was wealthy and politically one of the most powerful women in England. She was, one might have said, a woman who had very nearly everything. She was born the daughter of a peer and cabinet minister. At nineteen she had married the Marquess of Haddonfield, a rich man with one of the great English titles. At fifty she was a handsome woman who loved politics and intrigue and was considered the greatest hostess of the Tory party, so great a hostess that she had been credited with corrupting at least two leaders of the Labor party and of leading them into collaboration with the Tories.

But she was also a woman of boundless ambition and she intended, if it were humanly possible, that her husband should one day be Prime Minister. The only fly in the ointment was that Lord Haddonfield did not share her ambitions and was not a very intelligent politician. As the Marchioness of Haddonfield and a political woman she had great obligations, not the least of which was the maintenance of Haddonfield House, one of the last of the great London houses to hold out against the leveling process.

There were also great estates in Perthshire and in Gloucestershire which taxes had long ago turned from assets to liabilities. And there were charities that were an ancient tradition of the Haddonfield family, such charities as virtually the total support of the St.

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Agnes Lying-in Hospital. To abandon these would have been a very bad political move. So, although the bookkeeping of the Haddonfields involved vast sums of money, the outgo was as vast as the income and there were times when a hundred pounds actually made a great difference one way or another. The great Lady Haddonfield did not actually advertise in the London Times as a gentlewoman in distress who could introduce strangers in England to persons of title for a consideration, but that was exactly what she was doing in the case of Anna.

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The only difference was that instead of the "consideration" being a few pounds, it was somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand pounds; and the whole thing was handled far more subtly than a cash transaction. Anna Bolton simply gave that sum to Lady Haddonfield's charities, thus relieving the lady of that obligation, and increasing Lady Haddonfield's income by the same amount. It was a neat arrangement and both women got what they wanted by it. Twenty to thirty thousand pounds to charity was a sum Anna could well afford since she had an immense fortune, lived in rented houses or in hotels, and had no expenses save the money she spent on herself.

Money did not mean much to her because there was so much of it. Knowing everyone, devouring the whole world was far more important. I have gone at some length into the story of Lady Haddonfield because it explains why in that world between the two wars almost anything was possible and why strange and improbable combinations of people came into being.

It was all part of the story of a world in its death agonies, when all barriers were down and trickery and barter and desperate measures were the only rules. It was a world that kept pulling itself up by its own bootstraps, driven always by the sense of its own doom. Haddonfield House was one of the last magnificent remnants of Georgian London.


The Haddonfields could no longer afford to keep it open the year round and had long since made it a practice to lease it to rich foreigners during "The Season. It was warm that evening and the great doors stood open, revealing the broad stairway which led up to the drawing-room and ballroom. I thought, "How much longer will it last? As I walked up the stairs I thought, "And Annie from the wrong side of the tracks will be standing there at the top of the stairway.

Will she pretend not to know me as an old schoolmate? She did not know I was coming.

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She had not invited me. She probably did not even know I was in London. I was being brought by the Hillyers. Did she even know that I had become mildly famous as a correspondent with my own by-line in the Times? I had not seen her in ten years and then only for a moment in the lobby of the Ritz in New York. We came to the top of the stairs.

Fear on Four - The Face

I'm very glad to know you. I came with the Hillyers. I was dining there. I realized that the line was being held up. Ruby was talking to Anna and I was aware of Anna standing there triumphant and handsome and hard. I was aware too that she had heard the name of David Sorrell, that she remembered it and took a quick glance to make certain. I know now that while she was making small talk with Ruby she was deciding what course to take, to remember me or pretend that she had never heard of me before.

The course she took would tell me whether or not she had deliberately traded the talents she had for this bejeweled mess of pottage that surrounded her. Lady Haddonfield went right on talking to me. There is so much you must know about what is going on on the Continent.

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I was a newspaper man of some authority who might one day be useful in forwarding her ambitions for her husband. Also I might be able to tell her inside things about what was going on in Russia and Germany that might be of great use to her. She was not a woman to overlook things.

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  • But the presence of the waiting people in the line behind me became very obvious, and turning to Anna, she said, "This is Mr. I knew those blue eyes of Annie's--that they could be warm and kindly or as cold as ice. I had seen them change in a second when that awful pride of hers was hurt. Now as they met mine they were perfectly blank of all expression. In them there was not the faintest sign of recognition or embarrassment.

    They betrayed nothing whatever. Then she turned to the woman behind me and I went on into the ballroom, thinking without bitterness, "If that's the game you want to play, it's okay with me. I won't betray you. Rather than any sensation of resentment, I experienced one of admiration at her performance. She had come a long way. She had become, in a sense, a new person. She was no longer wild, bad, proud Annie Scanlon.