Last Voyage of the Valentina(23)

“You’re first-class, Fitz!” she exclaimed, embracing him. “You’ve already won them over and you know what? They think better of me because of you. Suddenly I’m being treated like a grown-up.” Fitz savored the sensation of her body against his, her arms wrapped around his waist, before she pulled away.

“You are a grown-up,” he said, watching her saunter over to the window. He peered into his empty suitcase, surprised that it had already been unpacked.

“That’s Mrs. Bromley. She’s the housekeeper. A shadowy figure one rarely sees, like a little field mouse,” Alba added when she saw the puzzled look on his face.

“Does she always unpack?”

“Of course, for guests. Sadly not for me though, and I need it more than you do, because I’m chaotic.” She laughed huskily. “No field mouse to scurry about in my room.”

“Will I find anything?” He opened a drawer to discover one pair of pants and one pair of socks neatly placed together like an old married couple in bed.

“That’s a tough question. I don’t know the way her mind works, assuming that she has one, of course. She’s a fossil.”

“At least I know where my pants are!” he said with a chuckle, then opened the wardrobe to find his jeans draped over a hanger.

“Wouldn’t it be awful if we really did end up together? They’d discover you’d lied.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Fitz seriously but Alba was giggling as if the mere idea was preposterous.

“I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, tossing her ponytail. “I’m not changing and I’m not chasing a bloody horse around a muddy field, either. Really, Fitz, that was beyond the call of duty. You know she has bloody pigs in the woods?”

“Pigs?”

“Yes, wild boars. Six sows and two boars in a pen that takes up about an acre. She thinks they’ll make her money. They’re always breaking free and believe me, you don’t want to encounter Boris on a dark night. He’s fearsome. He also has the biggest balls you’ve ever seen.” She raised her eyebrows playfully.

“Don’t make me feel inadequate,” Fitz replied with a chuckle.

“Then don’t make me run around after a bloody horse. I think you’re enjoying this role-play much too much.”

Alba swept out of the room. Fitz changed into his jeans and a gray sweater. Alba was right, he was enjoying the act enormously. It wasn’t hard. Thomas and Margo were easy to please. It wasn’t difficult either to hold Alba’s hand and pretend that her heart belonged to him. Sadly, though, it was only an act and, at the end of the weekend, he would drop her off in Cheyne Walk and return alone to Clarendon Mews. Hopefully he would find out enough about her mother for her to travel to Italy and discover more for herself. He would have served his purpose and she’d have no further use for him. He’d have to continue his bridge fours with Viv and endure the sight of Rupert whistling down the pontoon in anticipation of Alba’s unique brand of hospitality, any intimacy with him having evaporated like the mists that hang over the Thames. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and left the room. As long as he was in this house he was Alba’s boyfriend and he would do his best not to let reality ruin it for him. He had no intention of turning into a pumpkin before it was absolutely necessary.

Margo and Miranda waited in the hall with Alba. Margo had tied a scarf around her head and put on a pair of brown corduroy trousers. Alba lingered by the window while her stepmother and half sister discussed the problem fence and Summer’s extraordinary intelligence.

“It’s becoming a pain,” said Margo stridently. “Peter will simply have to go through every inch of it and mend the weak spots. We can’t have her running off like this. One day she’ll run into the road and cause an accident! Ah, Fitz,” she said, her ruddy face breaking into a large smile. “You really are a sport!”

“It’s a pleasure,” he replied. “Besides, it’s such a beautiful day. It’s a shame to waste it inside.” Miranda’s cheeks flushed when he settled his eyes on her.

“I hope she hasn’t gone far,” she mumbled, then turned and followed her mother out of the house. Alba rolled her eyes at Fitz.

“You’re mad,” she said affectionately. “I said they’d love you, didn’t I? You’re their sort of person.” Fitz knew she didn’t mean it as a compliment.

Catching Summer was no easy task. She had headed off up the drive and was almost in the lane, chewing the cow parsley greedily. At first Margo gave the orders. Even Alba had to make up the circle in their attempts to corner her. No hanging around gates for Alba. She shot Fitz a furious look; if he hadn’t suggested they help she would still be sipping wine in the drawing room. Sprout and the terriers raced around barking at Summer, but she simply tossed her head and cantered off triumphantly. When Margo’s strategy failed, Fitz took over. His prime concern was not Summer but Alba, whom he wanted desperately to please. He ordered her to go back to the field and hold the gate wide open. Then he, Miranda, and Margo, instead of trying to catch the stubborn mare, encouraged her to trot back to the field on her own by simply walking toward her in a line with their arms outspread. Her natural instinct was to move away from them. Little by little, with patience, they managed to usher her back. To Miranda’s amazement, Summer cantered into the field and Alba closed the gate behind her gleefully. It had taken time, but there was a large grin on Alba’s face. It had been worth it.