Last Voyage of the Valentina(121)

Fitz tooted the horn. The house rose up before them imperious and still, the curve in the roof betraying a secret smile, for it had watched for centuries the ups and downs of the lives within it with quiet amusement. As they drew up, the door opened and Thomas stood there at the top of the steps. Alba was struck immediately by the change in his demeanor. He stood straight with his shoulders back, his head high, his delight at the sight of them unreserved and true. Alba’s legs felt weak. She opened the door and climbed out shakily. Her father was no longer in the doorframe but striding toward her with his arms outstretched. Gone were the shadows that lurked about his eyes and the tension that had vibrated in the air between them. He kissed her affectionately and a lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. “What a tremendous surprise!” he said, shaking Fitz’s hand. “This is wonderful news, dear boy. Wonderful. Come on in and I’ll open a bottle of champagne.”

They followed him through the hall to the drawing room, where the air was warm and scented with cinnamon. The fire roared in the grate. “Where’s Margo?” Alba asked, noticing the lack of dogs.

“Out in the garden. I’ll give her a yell.” Thomas strode into the hall. Cook emerged from the kitchen.

“Is that Alba?” she asked, keeping her sentence short in case the word “murder” slipped out by mistake.

“Yes, isn’t it a lovely surprise!” he exclaimed, walking on through the house.

“I must get on and make some scones,” she muttered, not daring to disturb the young couple in the drawing room.

Alba perched on the club fender and looked at Fitz. “Have you noticed too?”

He nodded. “Has he had a face-lift?”

Alba giggled. “He’s certainly got a spring in his step. Could my letter really have made such a difference?”

“I’m sure it has. The truth about your mother has obviously tormented him for years. Now you know about it, he must feel liberated.”

“And he’s pleased I’m marrying you!” She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Only until he realizes I’m not one of the distinguished Davenports.”

“Oh, he’s too delighted to care!”

At that moment the scurrying of little paws could be heard scratching across the hall floor. Alba lifted her head off Fitz’s shoulder and stood up. The dogs trotted in followed by Margo and Thomas, Margo dressed in brown trousers and a tweed jacket over a cashmere beige sweater. Her cheeks were ruddy and weathered and her nose red. When she saw Alba’s short hair she flinched. “Darling girl, what a lovely surprise. You look gorgeous. You really do.” She studied her stepdaughter with ill-concealed amazement. “How different you look. It suits you. It really does, doesn’t it, darling? You look lovely!” She pressed her cold face against Alba’s before hurriedly pulling away. “I’m so sorry,” she said, clasping her cheeks. “I must be freezing. I won’t kiss you, Fitz, because I’m so cold. I’ve been doing things in the garden. There’s so much to do. Many congratulations! Will you have a summer wedding?” Alba and Fitz sat down. “Goodness, look at the ring. Isn’t it lovely. Is it a family ring?”

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Fitz replied.

“It looks beautiful, Alba, especially on your lovely brown hands. Goodness, don’t you look well.”

Thomas stared at his daughter. He had noticed the change in her face but hadn’t immediately understood why. Now he saw that she had cut her hair. She looked smaller without it, more fragile and certainly less like her mother. He wanted to thank her for the letter but felt the moment was inappropriate. Instead he poured her a glass of champagne. She lifted her eyes and held his for a moment. To her bewilderment she was reminded of Falco and the silent understanding that had passed between them. He had looked at her like that too, as if they were partners in crime, set apart from everyone else by their conspiracy. But before she could dwell on it there was a rustle at the door.

“Am I missing a party? I hate to miss a party.” Lavender, bent and frail, was in the doorway, leaning heavily on a walking stick, her watery eyes scanning the room for the visitor.





30




“A h, Alba,” said Lavender, spotting her granddaughter. “When’s the wedding? I love a good wedding.” She hobbled over in spite of Margo’s attempts to direct her to the leather reading chair. Alba was surprised her grandmother recognized her with short hair. She had never recognized her before. “It’s about time we had a wedding at Beechfield.”