His mobile phone rang. It was in the kitchen. He put his beer down, it spilled. He bounded up the steps into the lodge, tripping on the top step (it was higher than the others) and in the split-second it took him to raise the phone to his ear, he saw that the caller was Sam.
‘Darling,’ he said, ‘I’ll come and open the gate. It’s the single gate, second in the lane. I won’t be a minute,’ and breathlessly, the phone still clamped to his ear, he ran down the steps, sashayed around Monty who was barking and jumping up, and was in the lane and running through the woods to the gate.
‘Max!’ her voice said.
‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘Max, listen, please.’ He stopped in the middle of the lane. A rabbit loped off in front of him. She was whispering – not actually whispering, but her voice was soft and sounded strange.
‘What’s the matter?’ he said. He felt alarmed, something was wrong. Had she wrapped her little Mazda round an oil tanker?
‘Max, I’m so, so sorry.’ Cold concrete poured into his lower gut.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. But Claire ...’
‘Claire?’
‘My daughter ...’
‘Of course, I’m sorry.’
‘She’s arrived.’
‘From New York?’
‘Yes. From New York. She’s left her husband. She’s here now.’
‘You’re still in London?’
‘Of course. She turned up a few hours ago. I couldn’t get to the phone any earlier, she’s in such a state.’ In the distance he could hear Monty barking. ‘I’m really, really sorry. I so wanted ...’ Max knew he should say something, but he couldn’t imagine what. ‘You do understand, don’t you?’
He realised he had turned and was heading back towards the lodge and Monty. He remembered Charlotte when her heart was broken, when all she wanted was to curl up at home with her dad and feel sorry for herself, and all that was expected of him was to be there. Of course he understood, but it didn’t make it any easier. The smell of the wood-smoke came through the stillness of the evening and he knew he couldn’t manage all four lobster tails himself. Perhaps Monty would like a couple of them. He wasn’t sure about the food, but he knew he could manage the red wine, and the sauvignon, and the pink champagne all on his own.
‘Of course I understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve been there myself. Nothing’s more important than family.’
‘The Golden Hand’, the second book in the Duntisbourne trilogy, is due for publication in Spring 2013.
Acknowledgements
The creation of the world of Duntisbourne Hall would not have been possible without both the direct and indirect help and influence of the friends and colleagues with whom I worked in one of the major stately homes of England, but I owe a far greater debt to my husband Chris, who has shown infinite patience throughout the plotting of this story and glittering imagination in the creation of many of the more ridiculous ideas in this book. I would also like to thank Adrian Lewis who created the Welsh mottos for the Earls of Duntisbourne, Chief Inspector Mick Vance for making sure that the arrest scene wasn’t solely sourced from television drama and Margaret Histed, my excellent editor. And I must thank other members of the family who have individually contributed to the project: my son Sam, who wrote the music for the original website about the Hall; my other son Ben who read several earlier drafts and has given me invaluable advice about the craft of writing; and my daughter Katie, whose faith in my ability to succeed has never wavered.
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Copyright 2012 © L.P. Fergusson
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The right of L.P. Fergusson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any subsequent amendments thereto.
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