Looking on, Joe’s mind was suddenly filled with the image of his young son. Already a useful horseman, Jackie would have overcome his shyness and joined in the fun, Joe hoped. He turned with a sigh from the sunlit innocence of the scene, catching a wistfulness chiming with his own in the eyes of Cecily. She too was looking with the fondness of old age at the romping children. All from the village. No contribution from the empty nest at the Hall. She caught his gaze on her and, understanding, gave him a wry smile.
Hanging back, Joe braced himself to observe and then meet Truelove’s guests. He thanked Lily silently once more for her phone call. All three were expected by him and he had even had time enough to calculate reasons for their appearance. None he could come up with was edifying.
From her manner, Cecily could well have been expecting these very guests with keen anticipation for a month.
“Mama, may I present Mr. Guy Despond and his daughter, Miss Despond: Dorothy. The Desponds are over on a visit from New York. Miss Joliffe you will remember, of course …” Truelove went through the many introductions with flawless manners and easy good humour.
Guy Despond, art dealer extraordinaire and cosmopolitan charmer, was suave and eager to enthuse about the horses. He was ready for any rural challenge, clad as he was in tweed knickerbockers, matching jacket, flat peaked cap and brogues. The man had taken over-enthusiastic advice from a Savile Row tailor, Joe thought. Or the Prince of Wales.
Daughter Dorothy was less set on being charming. She had what Joe’s mother would have called a knowing eye—a pair of them, in a fetching shade of pale grey, and they were ranging over everything from Lady Cecily’s pearls to the butler’s buttons. Her hair was thick and a very pretty light brown. With the help of a stout straw hat, the expensive marcel wave had survived the journey in an open Bentley very well. Her emerald green suit was exactly what a rich young lady with access to the salons and modern style of New York and Paris would have chosen to wear for an outing to the country. Serviceable, unrestricting and eye-catching. Her manner was reserved but not unfriendly.
As the new guests moved off into the house, guided by Styles and a phalanx of footmen, Cecily edged close to Joe, raised her eyebrows and hissed, “Heavens! If I’d had warning of this I’d have had the Canalettos nailed down!”
“I understand the gentleman to be a most welcome and congenial guest at the grandest houses in the land, your ladyship,” Joe said smoothly.
She grunted. “The fellow’s as rich as Croesus. Nothing wrong with that but they say he’s got the instincts of a magpie. Nothing precious is safe from a keenly judged offer if it catches his collector’s eye.”
“Will you require me to count the dessert spoons before he leaves, madam?” Joe asked in the tone of a stage butler.
“Not funny, Joe! A visit from that man can leave one of your grand houses looking as though a plague of locusts has blown through. I have a delicious little Lancret over in the Dower House … a Monet … a Seurat … Can I be certain that they are safe from his attentions? He’s a harbinger of doom and decay, Joe. The last step before the bailiffs are called in, for some. My friend Miranda Carstairs sold him her great-grandmama by Reynolds one week and the next she was calling in the Removers. Why is he here? What can James be thinking of?”
Cecily’s agitation was palpable. Joe set out to calm her. “I rather think you should look elsewhere for a reason for this visit. A chat with the delightful Miss Despond may reveal a completely different motivation,” Joe suggested blandly.
Cecily stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t mean …?”
“A very eligible young lady, I understand from my reading of the Tatler. A girl with one or two broken engagements behind her on both sides of the ocean and in Europe. ‘Choosy’ is the word normally associated with her if you’re her friend, ‘fickle’ if you’re a disappointed suitor. Indeed, it’s rumoured that the editor of the Times keeps a few inches of the ‘Forthcoming Marriages’ column in reserve in every edition to enable him to respond swiftly to Miss Despond’s changes of plan.” Joe sent up a silent prayer of thanks to his omniscient newshound friend, Cyril Tate, from whom he now took his script: “Since her mother’s death, Dorothy has travelled constantly with her father in the very highest circles, mingling with the cream of rich, art-loving society,” he confided. “She’s twenty-five and presently unattached.”
This exhausted Joe’s stock of knowledge but it had been enough. He watched conflicting emotions chase each other across Cecily’s expressive features. Astonishment, alarm and, finally, intrigue.