‘And marrying a devil,’ Santiago de la Cruz whispered in Laura’s ear, sneaking up behind her, hand in hand with Penny.
‘Is he, really?’ Laura asked, watching Henry kiss Eva lovingly on the neck. ‘They look awfully happy together.’
‘It’s a new year,’ said Penny, shrugging. ‘Maybe Henry’s turned over a new leaf?’
Santiago laughed loudly. ‘Maybe pigs will fly.’ Kissing his wife adoringly, he added, ‘You’re far too nice, darling. Unfortunately, not everybody else is.’
Over at the cocktail bar, Seb grabbed his wife’s hand.
‘Come on, darling,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Henry and Eva are here. We must go and say hello.’
Seb was too busy playing host to notice the tense look on Kate’s face, or the way the colour had drained from her cheeks the moment Henry walked in.
‘You go. I’ll talk to them later,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘They’re being mobbed as it is.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Seb, holding up a short, red-coated arm and beckoning his little brother over. ‘Henry! Eva! How was Sweden?’ he shouted, as they made their way over.
‘Great,’ said Henry, hugging his older brother with unusual warmth.
‘It was lovely,’ said Eva.
Trapped, Kate did her best to maintain her regal composure. It wasn’t easy. The last time she’d seen Eva she’d been running away through the woods, half dressed, after her ill-judged tryst with Henry. The entire debacle felt like a bad dream now, looking back. To this day, Kate really had no idea why she’d done it. She’d been so utterly shocked when Henry made an advance that day at the hunt – shocked and, if she were honest, flattered. She’d never got along with her brother-in-law, and she was well aware that Henry looked down on her socially; that he felt Seb had married beneath him. That had always stung, probably because Kate (a raging snob herself) knew it was true. As much as she loathed Henry, she’d always longed to be accepted by him. And, of course, there could be no denying he was wildly attractive. Not to mention charismatic. One minute they’d been arguing heatedly, calling one another names. And the next, just like that, Henry had been tearing at her blouse like a wild animal and pinning her to the ground and … well, she’d simply been swept away in a moment of madness.
But then Eva had caught them. And what should have been a transitory moment had been captured for ever, preserved in the amber of all of their memories like an unwanted fossil.
Kate was no longer worried about Eva spilling the beans to Sebastian. If she were going to do that, she’d have done it at the time. But, even so, seeing her face to face for the first time was always going to be awkward.
‘How was your Christmas?’ Henry asked Seb, still smiling. Kate couldn’t understand how he could be so relaxed. ‘Did we miss any excitement in the valley?’
‘Excitement?’ Seb looked at Kate, perplexed. ‘I don’t know about that. What do you think, darling? Did they miss anything?’
Having avoided Eva’s eyes for as long as she could, Kate was forced to look up now. ‘Not really,’ she said stiffly.
‘Lady SB and I lead a quiet life, you see.’ Seb winked jovially at Eva, oblivious to the tension between her and Kate. ‘Not like you two jet-setters.’
‘Perhaps it’s not as quiet as you think,’ said Eva, looking pointedly at Kate, who felt her stomach give way and lurch unpleasantly down to her feet.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Seb.
‘Only that Kate must have been working like mad to pull off such a beautiful party,’ Henry interjected smoothly. ‘Right, darling?’
Slipping his arm around Eva’s waist, he gently pressed into the small of her back, guiding her away. ‘Shall we catch up later?’ he said casually to Seb. ‘I must go and say a quick hello to Richard.’
‘Of course,’ beamed Sebastian. ‘Jolly good. They seem on good form,’ he said to Kate as Henry and Eva wandered off. ‘Nice of them to notice how much effort you went to. I must say, Kate, the house looks marvellous. It really does.’
‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ said Kate, kissing her husband on the top of his balding head, like a mistress rewarding a well-behaved dog. ‘I love you,’ she added, truthfully.
‘Good heavens! What a thing to say.’ Sebastian laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too much American television, my dear,’ he added fondly. ‘We’ll have to do something about that.’
Dinner was disappointing. Some sort of limpish salad with goat’s cheese, followed by overboiled beef with new potatoes.
‘Old potatoes, more like,’ Santiago de la Cruz complained loudly. ‘Who the hell did the catering? Little Chef?’
Pudding, an unimaginative but edible chocolate mousse with raspberries, was the highlight. Luckily, as Gabe Baxter pointed out, the wine never stopped flowing and, as soon as the meal was over, couples in various shades of drunkenness began hitting the dance floor.
Richard Smart literally yanked Eva out of Henry’s arms and onto the dance floor.
‘She’s had enough of your groping, mate,’ Richard informed Henry jokingly. ‘She needs at least one dance with a real man.’
‘I agree,’ Henry shouted back as they disappeared into the throng. ‘But I think Gabe Baxter’s busy.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Richard.
Henry noticed Lucy sitting alone a couple of tables away, lost in thought. In a simple black evening dress and minimal make-up, hers wasn’t a striking, punch-you-between-the-eyes beauty like Eva’s. But, as ever, there was something about her, a quiet confidence that was both sensual and compelling. Sensing Henry staring at her, Lucy glanced up. Their eyes locked. For a few seconds neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Henry walked over and held out his hand.
‘Shall we dance?’
His voice was dry and scratchy with desire. Or nerves. Or both.
‘OK. One dance.’ Tentatively she let her fingers brush his.
They moved to the edge of the floor, as the band struck up Chet Baker’s ‘There Will Never Be Another You’. Lucy had to remind herself to breathe as Henry’s warm body pressed against hers.
‘So,’ she asked him, ‘how was Sweden? The two of you look very happy.’
‘We are.’ Henry was so close, his breath tickled her neck as they spun around the dance floor. ‘It was a good trip. And you and Richard? How was your Christmas?’
‘Good, very good,’ Lucy blurted. ‘Things are great.’
They danced on in silence for a moment.
‘I was pleased to get your text,’ Henry said at last.
‘That was a mistake,’ Lucy said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have sent it.’
Henry looked at her, wounded. ‘So why did you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lucy shot back, wounded herself. ‘Why did you sleep with your sister-in-law?’
Henry’s feet kept moving but every other muscle in his body froze.
‘Richard told you,’ he muttered, shaking his head.
‘Richard tells me everything,’ said Lucy.
‘Really? Well that makes one of you,’ Henry said angrily. He knew he had no right to be taking his frustrations out on Lucy. Screwing his brother’s bitch of a wife had been his fault, his mistake. But the more people knew, the more likely it was that Seb would find out. Henry didn’t know why, exactly, but the thought of hurting his brother crushed him like an insect under a stone.
‘You are such a hypocrite, you know that?’ Lucy hissed back at him with tears in her eyes. ‘All the risks we took, all the betrayal. I was just another notch in the Saxton Brae bedpost.’
‘That is not true.’ Henry tightened his grip on her arm. ‘You meant a lot to me. You still do.’
‘Liar!’ said Lucy, more loudly than she’d intended.
The couple dancing next to them shot her and Henry a questioning look.
When Henry spoke again, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
‘You were the one who said it was over, remember?’
‘So we could do the right thing! Make it up t
o Richard and Eva!’ Lucy sobbed. Henry winced at the pain etched on her face. ‘But instead you run out and celebrate by fucking your own brother’s wife!’
Pulling free from his grip, Lucy walked off the dance floor and disappeared into the throng of guests.
‘It wasn’t like that!’ Henry called after her. But she was already gone.
‘Everything all right?’ Eva materialized beside him, flushed and panting after an energetic dance with Richard. ‘Where did Lucy run off to?’
‘The Ladies, I think,’ said Henry.
‘Oh. Well, let’s dance then,’ Eva beamed, coiling herself around him like a golden snake and pulling him deeper onto the floor.
Henry felt sick to his stomach.
Outside, Lucy ran down the drive, allowing deep, desperate breaths of cold night air to fill her lungs.
How had she been so stupid? So utterly, pathetically stupid! She’d betrayed a man she’d loved her whole adult life – a good man – and for what? For a few snatched hours of sex with a selfish child.
Oh God.
Feeling utterly wretched, she ran until her legs gave out, then walked, across the lawns and down to the stable yard, as far away from the house and lights and music as possible. Eventually, finding a less-than-totally sodden hay bale in one of the empty stalls, she sank down onto it and put her head in her hands, exhausted.
Breathe in. Breathe out, she told herself. You aren’t dying. The children aren’t dying. You must get a grip.
Just then she heard a noise. It began as a sort of low wail, of the kind an injured animal might make, then rose up into a high-pitched screech.
Lucy stopped, straining her ears to listen, but silence seemed to have fallen again. Then suddenly there was a nervous stomping of hooves and the sound was repeated, louder this time, the screech short but desperate, like a chimpanzee’s alarm call.
‘Hello?’ Staggering out into the darkness, Lucy made her way past the various stables in turn. ‘Is anyone there?’
‘Here!’ The voice was faint and exhausted, but clearly audible just a few stalls down. ‘I’m in here!’ Running towards it, Lucy pulled open the stable door and was almost flattened by an enormous, terrified mare, clattering past her and taking off at a canter towards the open fields.
In the vacated stable, crouched on all fours in the far corner, was Jen Clempson, the vicar’s wife, clearly in the advanced stages of labour. Her pink tent-dress was hiked up around her hips and her face was wet with sweat and contorted with pain, although a clear expression of relief swept over her face when she saw Lucy.
‘Fucking hell!’ said Lucy. ‘I’ll go and get help.’
‘No!’ Jen waved at her frantically. ‘There’s no time. Stay.’
The groan started again as her contraction hit. It sounded like a plane taking off. Feeling useless and more than a little panicked, Lucy knelt down beside Jen and stroked her forehead, gently pulling back her hair. It felt warm and sticky. Pulling back her hand, Lucy was horrified to find it was covered with blood. Jen had a deep gash all along her hairline and a swelling the size of an egg at the front of her skull.
‘What happened?’ Lucy gasped.
Once the contraction finished, Jen answered, her breath coming in short rasps. She’d slipped out to say hello to the horses. Maya, the mare who’d almost killed Lucy on her way out, used to be one of Jen’s patients and the vet in her had been curious to see how she was doing. When she got here, a sharp contraction had made her cry out and the horse had taken fright and lashed out, landing a hoof on Jenny’s skull and knocking her out for a few minutes at least. When she came to she had been too dizzy to stand and in full-on labour. She’d been here for over an hour by the time Lucy found her.
‘You really need an ambulance,’ said Lucy.
‘No phone,’ panted Jen.
She must have left her mobile up at the party. Stupidly, Lucy had done the same. ‘I can run back to the house in two minutes,’ she told Jen. ‘I’ll be back before—’
Jen shook her head, wincing with pain. ‘Baby could be here in two minutes. Please, when you see the head just … put your arms out.’
‘Put my arms out?’
‘Try and catch it like a rugby ball. And make sure the cord’s not around the neck. Oooooaaaaaaagh!’
Everything happened so quickly after that, Lucy had no more time to think. She couldn’t see the head. It was too dark to see anything much. Reaching down to the business end, she’d barely had time to do as she was told and hold out both her arms when a hot, wet, slippery object shot out of Jen’s body like a bullet from a gun and landed in her hands.
‘The neck,’ said Jen, exhausted. ‘Check the neck! The cord …’
‘It’s fine,’ said Lucy. ‘There’s nothing around the neck.’
As if to prove it, the baby suddenly gave a jerk and cried loudly.
‘What is it?’ asked Jen, still too weak to turn over or to move at all.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Lucy, who was staring down at the writhing, yelling life in her arms in profound shock.
‘Boy or girl?’
‘Oh God. I don’t … er …’ Lucy reached down. ‘It’s a girl.’
Jen didn’t react.
‘Did you hear me?’ Lucy asked. ‘I said it’s a girl.’
Jenny groaned incoherently.
Moving gingerly down from her haunches into a more stable sitting position, Lucy cradled the baby in her arms, grabbing a handful of straw to cover her and holding her close to her chest for warmth. The umbilical cord was still attached, but Jen seemed unable to move and Lucy wasn’t sure how one was supposed to cut it.
‘Luce? Is that you? I’ve been looking everywhere.’
Richard appeared behind her with a torch, standing in the stable doorway like the Angel Gabriel. Lucy didn’t think she had ever been so pleased to see a person in her life. Out of nowhere, she burst into tears.
‘Rich!’
‘Jesus Christ!’ he said, surveying the scene and simultaneously taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, instantly in doctor mode. He knelt over Jenny. ‘Is she conscious?’
‘I don’t know. She’s been in and out. I heard her screaming,’ said Lucy. ‘I wanted to get help but there was no time. She has a head injury.’
‘You did the right thing,’ Richard assured her. Taking the baby from her, he wrapped her tightly in his dinner jacket and laid her in the straw. Then, passing Lucy his phone, he said, ‘Call an ambulance. Then go up to the house and get help. Water, towels, anything. And someone should call the vicarage.’
‘Right,’ said Lucy, already dialling 999.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The dramatic arrival of the vicar’s daughter was the talk of the valley for months to come, earning the hunt ball at Hatchings its place in the Swell Valley history books, much to Lord and Lady Saxton Brae’s delight. After a nasty scare with a brain bleed, Jen had made a full recovery, and both mother and baby had been at church last Sunday for the first time, with Call-me-Bill hovering proudly, like an over-attentive mother hen.
‘Did you know they’ve called her Diana?’ Seb informed Henry delightedly over dinner at Hanborough. ‘After the goddess of hunting.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Henry, popping his brother’s balloon. ‘They named her after the vicar’s granny.’
‘Did they?’ muttered Seb, shovelling in another forkful of venison stew. ‘Damn good name anyway.’
Eva was away in the Maldives on a three-week shoot for Lisa Marie Fernandez’s new swimwear collection, leaving Henry home alone. Flora was back from New York now, but she seemed to be making a point of avoiding Henry whenever she was up at the castle. Lucy was also away, on a mini-break with Richard. Despite the legions of builders swarming all over the property, Hanborough was starting to feel big and lonely, so much so that Henry had taken the unprecedented step of inviting his elder brother over solo for a boys’ dinner.
He was already regretting it.
‘Lucky your friend Ric
hard showed up when he did. I gather he only went out to the stables to look for his wife, who’d wandered orf,’ said Seb. ‘If she’d gone in a different direction, that gal might have died.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘That was lucky.’
He hadn’t seen Lucy since the night of the ball, and although the temptation to contact her was stronger than ever, so far he’d resisted. Somehow Flora’s presence in the castle made him feel permanently guilty, like being haunted by the ghost of your own conscience.
‘What was Smart’s wife doing down there, do you think? Mike Brunner told me she’d been upset earlier, after she’d danced with you. Did she say anything?’
‘No,’ said Henry. ‘She was fine. And Mike Brunner’s a wanker. I expect she just wanted some air.’
The conversation moved on to other topics, mostly related to Hanborough and the restoration.
‘You’re still keen on this girl, are you? Flora?’ Seb asked, helping himself to a second generous tumbler of malt from Henry’s decanter.
‘What do you mean, “keen”?’ Henry asked, sounding more defensive than he’d meant to.
‘You still like her work,’ Seb explained. ‘Rate her as a designer?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Henry.
Seb sniffed disapprovingly. ‘I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you’ve got to admit things have changed rather, from what you originally said you wanted. The new great hall, for instance. And all those white bedrooms in the South Wing. Not to mention that monstrosity outside.’
‘Ah. The barn,’ Henry sighed.
‘Don’t you find it rather modern? Rather urban.’
Seb turned the word over in his mouth like a stale piece of food.
‘For a castle dating back to the Conquest, it’s hardly in keeping,’ he added, dabbing venison juices from his mouth with a napkin.
‘I agree,’ said Henry.
‘You do? Then why on earth …?’
‘Because Eva likes it,’ Henry explained. ‘She wanted some more contemporary elements in the designs for Hanborough, a way to put her own stamp on the place. Flora may have helped with the sketching and what not, but she’s not really responsible for the changes.’
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