‘Wine country. Know it well.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I had the good fortune to spend the best part of a summer there, about seven or eight years ago. A friend of mine, Gene De Martini—Gino, God rest his generous soul—owned a small winery close to Buena Vista on the east side of town. His kids run it now. I just love the place.’
‘I don’t know them personally, but I know the winery. They’re getting quite a reputation. They won a couple of medals recently and they just opened a tasting room.’
‘Good for them. I must drop them a line sometime.’
‘I’ll certainly look them up when I go back.’
‘Don’t you miss it? That beautiful weather—your friends?’
Jamie’s expression suddenly clouded and she looked away. For what seemed like a long time, he waited for her answer. At last she turned back to face him. She had regained her poise but Kingston knew that he had stirred up memories she preferred not to recall.
Trying to avoid his gaze, she lightly brushed a finger under one eyelid then looked up with a forced smile. ‘I think about it from time to time,’ she said, ‘but I haven’t been away long enough to be homesick. Besides, everything here is so new and this place is so demanding that I haven’t had much time to think about home.’ She offered a little smile. ‘Sooner or later, I’m sure I will, though.’
Kingston knew when a change of subject was called for. He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and smiled. ‘So, Jamie, tell me how a nice young American woman came to acquire such a big chunk of Somerset?’
She picked up the teapot, pouring Kingston’s tea and then her own, as if buying time before answering his question. She slid the cup and saucer towards him, then a small glass dish with lemon slices. ‘I hope it’s strong enough for you,’ she said.
Kingston watched and waited as she stirred two teaspoons of sugar into her cup.
She settled into the armchair, resting the cup and saucer in her lap. ‘When we talked on the phone, I believe I told you that I’d inherited this place.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Kingston was consumed with curiosity to know more about her good fortune but with their acquaintanceship barely started he didn’t want to risk the slightest chance of appearing forward or nosy, traits not entirely foreign to him. He had been hoping that, given her own good time, she would tell him her story. That moment might be now.
‘It all started about six months ago,’ she said. For a second or so she looked away, staring out through the casement windows where the skies had darkened and the leaves were starting to swish against the panes. ‘I received a letter from a lawyer in Taunton—David Latimer. It was quite short, actually. Said that I’d been left the estate and all its assets and would I get in touch with him, which I did the next day. I thought it must be a horrible mistake or some kind of joke but right off, he confirmed that it wasn’t. When he told me the size of the estate—what it was all worth and how much money was involved—I nearly died. I couldn’t believe it.’ She paused then laughed. ‘I remember telling him jokingly that it came just in time because I was facing a fifteen-hundred-dollar repair job on my car.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Pretty soon, you’ll be able to go out and buy a Bentley, if you like.’
‘What an amazing story,’ said Kingston.
‘It certainly is. I still have to pinch myself sometimes to make sure I’m here—that it’s all happening.’
‘This was an aunt … an uncle?’
‘Neither. No one related to me, as far as I know. That’s what made it even more far-fetched.’ She took a sip of tea, holding the cup in both hands.
‘How extraordinary.’
‘I know. Isn’t it crazy? I still don’t know who the man is.’ She paused, a slight tilt to her head.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sorry. What I should have said is that I know who he is but I haven’t the foggiest idea why he named me as heir to this lot,’she said sweeping an arm round to take in the room.
For a moment Kingston held his cup poised in midair. ‘How curious. Who is this chap?—I should say, was, I suppose. ’
‘Captain Ryder—James Grenville Ryder. His ancestors built this place over two hundred years ago. Up till now, Ryders have always lived here. He was the last, though. The end of the line,’ she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
‘You don’t know anything at all about him?’ asked Kingston, breaking off a piece of warm scone.
‘Very little. He came back here some time after the war. I’m not sure exactly when, but David Latimer seemed to think it was in the early sixties.’