‘We’ll get a bloody gardener.’
She realized suddenly – giggling suddenly – that he knew no more than she did. Never mind his dad’s big house: servants and horses and cocktails on the terrace, that wasn’t the real country. Well, they could learn together. It would be an adventure. If they hated it, they could move back to the city. Not to Soho. He was right about that.
‘We could get a kitten,’ she said, playing along. ‘I’ve always wanted a kitten.’ Something to hold her down, to keep her in. Make her sit still for a while.
‘We could make more babies,’ he said. ‘If you’d like that.’
Would she? She wasn’t sure. ‘We’d have to get married.’ That would mean church. Bells. Photographers.
‘Well, yes.’ He was counting on it. Taking it for granted. ‘You’ll want to change your name, after all,’ he said.
Yes, but not in a way that brought everybody out to watch; that took away the point of the thing. Tony Fledgwood marrying Grace Harley? That would be news beyond measure. She could think of a way to blunt it, though. Pro tem.
‘Tony?’
‘Mmm?’
‘. . . Do you think you could call me Georgie?’
House of Bells Page 26