Last Voyage of the Valentina(24)

When Margo congratulated Fitz, he explained that he had grown up with horses. “I’d get that fence looked at, though,” he said, doing his best to sound like a man of vast experience. “We had a mare once that bolted. Cut her leg on barbed wire. It got infected. Nasty business.”

“Oh dear. One wants to avoid that at all costs. Shame Alba doesn’t ride; otherwise you could both have a good hack before lunch.”

Alba linked arms with Fitz. Miranda’s admiration for him had not escaped her notice.

“I’d like to show him around the estate,” she said.

“Miranda will take you, if you’d like a ride,” Margo persisted in her usual tactless manner. Alba was furious. She wants Fitz for Miranda, she thought angrily. Fitz sensed Alba bristling at his side and declined politely.

“That’s very sweet of you. Another time, perhaps.” Then he shouted at Sprout. “Come on, old boy. Let’s go and check out happy Boris.”

“Happy?” said Alba, crinkling her nose.

“Well, of course,” he replied, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “Of course.”

Margo watched Alba and Fitz walk off in the direction of the orchard and turned toward the house. “What a charming young man,” she said to her daughter.

“Lucky Alba,” Miranda replied with a sigh. “He’s attractive, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Margo agreed. “Not her type, though. She usually goes for pretty boys and fashionable ones too, according to Caroline.”

“He’s ruggedly handsome, I’d say.”

“I hope he knows what he’s in for.” Margo laughed and shook her head. “She’s a headstrong girl. Though, he’s no shrinking violet, is he? He’s tall and broad and strong. I’m sure he can manage her.”

“I’m glad she’s found someone nice.”

“Oh, so am I. A proper person.”

“He’s quite a bit older than her, though, isn’t he?”

“Thank the Lord! No man her own age would cope.”

“Do you think he’ll marry her?”

“One never knows with Alba.”

“Well, I think I’ll ride out on my own then,” said Miranda, moving away.

“I’ll come with you,” said her mother. “Alba doesn’t need me.”

Margo turned to look back up the garden but they had gone. She heaved a sigh and strode into the house to change.



Alba and Fitz returned at lunchtime. Their faces were flushed and their eyes shone. Alba had shown him around the estate. The gardens and the tennis court, the squash court and stables. She had showed him the swimming pool that was empty of water and filled with leaves, and the pond where ducks and moorhens swam among watercress and bulrushes. Then they had wandered up to the woods, where Boris had been only too happy to show off his assets and how well he used them. They had even spotted a couple of fawns in the woods and heard the rasping cough of a muntjac. The bluebells were nearly out and the fertile scents of nature had filled the air and their spirits. Thomas was impressed. Alba never went on walks on her own. He was pleased that she took pride in her home and was keen to show it off. Fitz is a good influence, he thought happily.

Fitz had charmed the Arbuckle family with ease. Miranda watched him while her adolescent body stirred with something dark and primitive and deliciously confusing. Margo was overjoyed that Alba had found a normal man with a normal job. A man she could place. A man from her world. Thomas looked forward to an after-dinner cigar in the company of a man of education. It gave him pleasure to see his daughter so happy and calm, for calm was a stranger to Alba. Gone was the raging child who had turned up that night with a fistful of abuse. But there was one member of the family that Alba and Fitz had not considered.





6




L avender Arbuckle hobbled into the drawing room. Margo looked on in horror while Thomas rose to his feet to allow his mother prime position in his comfortable reading chair. Lavender spent most days hidden upstairs in her suite of rooms, but she had smelled the excitement in the air like a dog smells dinner and had come down to find out what was going on. She wore an elegant tweed suit that dated from the twenties. It hung off her body; she had shrunk with the years and ate so little that her bones stuck out. It was a wonder they didn’t penetrate her old flesh.

“Mother, let me present Fitzroy Davenport,” said Thomas. Fitz jumped to his feet. He bowed and shook her hand. Next to him she looked like a tiny sparrow.

“And who are you?” she asked in a slow, haughty voice, fixing him with her formidable gaze.