The workmen almost certainly brought flasks and packed lunches with them.’
Tom’s only response was a noise that sounded like something a disgruntled bulldog might have made as he spooned some of the rich casserole on to a plate.
‘I understood the Fayre was your party,’ he said. ‘Pink ribbons and all.’
‘Okay,’ she said, opening a drawer and finding knives and forks for both of them, before pulling out a chair and making herself comfortable at the kitchen table. ‘Why don’t you send the bill to me and
‘No?’ he said as he put his own plate on the table, holding her attention while he fetched two glasses and a bottle of red wine that was already open. Then, as he looked up and caught her gaze, ‘Maybe I’ll insist.’
And Sylvie blushed. What an idiot! Anyone would think she was angling for a repeat performance…
Maybe she was.
‘But tomorrow they’re on their own,’ he continued as he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her.
She cleared her throat. ‘Right.’ Then, ‘Will you tell Mrs Kennedy that you’re going to spoil her fun? Or would you like me to do that?’
He shook his head, trying not to smile. ‘Just tell her not to overdo it. Meantime,’ he said, ‘I don’t expect her to wait on me.’
‘Perish the thought,’ she agreed as he filled both glasses without bothering to ask her whether she wanted wine or not and he looked up, apparently catching the ironic tone.
‘What?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I may be wrong,’ she said, getting up and fetching a bottle of water from the fridge and another glass, ‘but I suspect she’s disappointed not to have had the chance to lay out everything in the dining room to show the new “master” what she can do.’ Then, as he scowled, presumably at falling into her trap, ‘And maybe just a little anxious about their future too. They have a pension-that was ring-fenced-but their cottage has been their home for thirty years.’
‘I don’t suppose anyone was worrying about that when the bailiffs were in.’
‘You suppose wrong. My mother was deeply concerned. As far as she was concerned, they had tenure for life and it was one of the things she hoped to straighten out.’ She dismissed that. It was past. ‘I’m not trying to get at you, Tom. I’m just telling you how it is.’
For a moment he just stared at her, then he nodded. ‘I’ll give it some thought.’
‘Thank you.’ Then, ‘Where’s Pam tonight? Isn’t she hungry?’
‘She’s taken the opportunity, with my presence, to go back to London for a couple of days to catch up.’ He raised an ironic glass in her direction. ‘It’s just you, me and the ghosts.’
Okay, maybe she’d asked for that with her ‘master’ crack. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he despised the landed gentry and everything they stood for.
Would no doubt enjoy turning this venerable old manor house into a conference centre, the stables into accommodation for bright young executives. Take pleasure in the thought of them being moulded into team leaders as they played paintball war games in the ancient woodland.
And why not?
It was a new era, meritocracy ruled and she should be using this opportunity to demonstrate her own company’s experience in the field of conference coordination.
She’d relish the chance to expand her business in that direction.
Whatever Josie thought, she had, like Tom, had enough of weddings to last her a lifetime. And she was losing her taste for celebrity parties too. Maybe it was impending motherhood but she wanted to do something a little more grown-up and meaningful with the rest of her life than think of new ways to spend other people’s money. When this week was over she was going to talk to Josie about a partnership, gift her the ‘fun’ side of the business so that she could concentrate on more serious stuff.
She didn’t think that Tom McFarlane would be that impressed if she used the opportunity to pitch for his business, however, so she poured herself a glass of water and, matching his gesture, touched it to his.
‘To the ghosts,’ she said, ‘although I have to warn you that they’re all family. Protective of their own.’ She swallowed a mouthful of water, put down her glass, then picked up a fork and speared a small piece of tender beef. ‘I’ll sleep soundly enough tonight,’ she lied. How likely was that with him just yards away? ‘You, on the other hand, are going to be tearing the place apart and I doubt they’ll take kindly to that.’
‘Then I’m glad you’re here. If they come calling, I’ll seek refuge with you.’
She choked as she swallowed the beef. Then, unable to help herself, laughed. ‘Why on earth would I protect you?’
‘Because this is all your fault.’ He gestured around the kitchen with his fork. ‘If you’d kept your staff under better control, Candy would have had her country estate and Longbourne Court would have been safe for another fifty years.’
She stared at him, shocked out of her teasing. Her appetite suddenly non-existent. ‘You bought this for Candy?’
He didn’t answer her question, but just said, ‘Do you think she would have thought twice about running off with Quentin if she’d known?’
Sylvie lifted her shoulders and said, ‘It was always Candy’s declared ambition to marry a millionaire, Tom, and she came close more than once, as I’m sure you know.’
He shrugged. ‘She could scarcely deny that there hadn’t been a certain amount of history,’ he admitted. ‘Her romances were always given the full
‘As were her break-ups. She had a habit of doing something outrageous, wrecking her chances.’
‘So? What are you saying? That I’m the last in a long line to get her very individual style of brush-off?’
She shook her head. ‘Not exactly.’ She stirred the creamy potato with her fork. ‘I always assumed it was because she thought she could do better. Had someone richer, more interesting, more exciting in her sights. But then she had you, Tom, and she still ran.’
The corners of his eyes fanned into a smile. ‘I do believe you’ve just paid me a compliment.’
‘I do believe I have,’ she replied, matching his smile and raising it. Then, feeling slightly giddy, ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since I saw them together. When they came home.’ The change in her had been extraordinary. ‘She didn’t leave you for someone richer or more interesting, but for sweet, adorable Quentin. A man without anything very much to offer her except love.’
‘And the prospect of a title.’
‘He comes from long-lived stock, Tom. No one inherits in that family until they’re drawing their pension.’
‘Then why?’
‘Why did she marry him? I guess she finally found what she’d been looking for all this time. The missing ingredient.’
Tom frowned.
‘They were in love,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but hearts trumps diamonds. Love trumps everything.’
‘I’m glad for her.’ Maybe she didn’t look convinced, because he said, ‘Truly. We both had what the other wanted, or in her case thought she wanted. But neither of us was ever so lost to reality that we believed we were in love.’
‘Reality is a good basis for marriage,’ Sylvie assured him, moved at his unexpected generosity. ‘There’s so much less possibility of disillusion setting in over the honeymoon cornflakes.’
She’d seen the mess that friends-‘deeply in love’ friends-had made of their marriages.
‘It’s a great theory but it doesn’t take account of the X factor that makes fools of us all.’ Then, ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘Would Longbourne Court have been enough to carry Candy up the aisle?’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Do you regret not telling her?’
‘There’s no right answer to that question.’
‘No, but if it helps, I’ve known Candy since we were both twelve years old and I’ve never seen her so…
‘In that case, I’m glad I didn’t tell her.’ He clearly didn’t have quite the same faith in the power of ‘the real
