life’s that much poorer without him in it, the world a lesser place now that he’s gone.
Furthermore, you’d better start behaving in an appropriate manner as befits his daughter. You’re only making a fool of yourself, starting in on me. Try to show a bit of dignity, Luciana. And grow up!”
I let go of her arm abruptly and walked away quickly, leaving her standing alone.
Crossing the long hall, I went up the staircase. I was shaking inside and close to tears. I needed a few moments alone to compose myself.
The door of Sebastian’s upstairs study was ajar. I pushed it open and went in, glad to escape the crowd downstairs and wanting to recoup -after my little skirmish with Luciana.
How hateful she was. She had not changed; when we were growing up she forever targeted me, tried to make my life miserable. Seemingly she still had that need.
Moving across the floor, I went to one of the windows, parted the lace curtains, stood looking out at the back gardens and the stables beyond.
For a split second, in a flash of memory, I saw us out there in the stable yard-Jack, Luciana, and me.
We were all astride our horses, waiting for Sebastian, who was mounting his gelding. Without warning, my horse Firebrand had bolted, almost throwing me, and would have done so if I had not managed to hang on tenaciously. Sebastian had galloped after me and had helped me to rein in the horse.
Only later that day did Jack tell me that Luciana, then eight years old, had been responsible. He had seen her giving Firebrand several hard prods with her riding crop, which had caused my horse to take off like lightning. I might easily have been killed.
Even though we were both shocked that she had done such a wicked and dangerous thing and should be punished for it, we had not told Sebastian. We did not dare. He would have exploded, been harsh with her. It had been our secret, one of many we shared as children. Jack and I had been best friends, and he had never failed to stand up for me, or take my side. He too had suffered at Luciana’s hands and, in consequence, he was forever wary of her.
Long ago I had come to understand that she had many problems when it came to her father, the chief ones being jealousy and extreme -possessiveness. Even in death. That was quite apparent to me. Very simply, she had not wanted me to be present today. If the truth be known, she had probably not wanted Jack there either. Nor her husband.
Continuing to stare out of the window, I could not help thinking how sad and lifeless the stable yard looked. Once it had been full of bustle with horses, dogs, grooms, stable boys, and children milling around. But for years now it had been deserted.
After my mother died in 1976, Sebastian’s passion for horses had lessened. A year later he had started to sell them off, and he had given away quite a number. By the time we were married his bloodstock had dwindled down to almost nothing, and the few horses he kept were for us to ride when we went to the farm at weekends.
Also around this time Sebastian’s involvement with his charity work had increased to the point where it occupied him constantly. He had his hands full with IOocke Industries and the foundation; we were tray -eling more and more, and doing good, helping others, had become his -main passion.
Aldred, his major domo of many years, died in 1981. After that everything changed at the farm. By the time we were divorced, all of the horses had finally gone. What was once a thriving horse farm of -some repute had become just another charming old farmhouse sitting -in the midst of hundreds of magnificent acres.
In the last few years Mrs. Crane had been in charge, acting as house keeper when Sebastian was in residence, caretaker in his absence.
By the time she took over, all of the old outdoor staff had left, except for Harry Blakely, the arborist who looked after the trees. The gardens were tended by a team of part-time gardeners who came from a local nursery to
Furthermore, you’d better start behaving in an appropriate manner as befits his daughter. You’re only making a fool of yourself, starting in on me. Try to show a bit of dignity, Luciana. And grow up!”
I let go of her arm abruptly and walked away quickly, leaving her standing alone.
Crossing the long hall, I went up the staircase. I was shaking inside and close to tears. I needed a few moments alone to compose myself.
The door of Sebastian’s upstairs study was ajar. I pushed it open and went in, glad to escape the crowd downstairs and wanting to recoup -after my little skirmish with Luciana.
How hateful she was. She had not changed; when we were growing up she forever targeted me, tried to make my life miserable. Seemingly she still had that need.
Moving across the floor, I went to one of the windows, parted the lace curtains, stood looking out at the back gardens and the stables beyond.
For a split second, in a flash of memory, I saw us out there in the stable yard-Jack, Luciana, and me.
We were all astride our horses, waiting for Sebastian, who was mounting his gelding. Without warning, my horse Firebrand had bolted, almost throwing me, and would have done so if I had not managed to hang on tenaciously. Sebastian had galloped after me and had helped me to rein in the horse.
Only later that day did Jack tell me that Luciana, then eight years old, had been responsible. He had seen her giving Firebrand several hard prods with her riding crop, which had caused my horse to take off like lightning. I might easily have been killed.
Even though we were both shocked that she had done such a wicked and dangerous thing and should be punished for it, we had not told Sebastian. We did not dare. He would have exploded, been harsh with her. It had been our secret, one of many we shared as children. Jack and I had been best friends, and he had never failed to stand up for me, or take my side. He too had suffered at Luciana’s hands and, in consequence, he was forever wary of her.
Long ago I had come to understand that she had many problems when it came to her father, the chief ones being jealousy and extreme -possessiveness. Even in death. That was quite apparent to me. Very simply, she had not wanted me to be present today. If the truth be known, she had probably not wanted Jack there either. Nor her husband.
Continuing to stare out of the window, I could not help thinking how sad and lifeless the stable yard looked. Once it had been full of bustle with horses, dogs, grooms, stable boys, and children milling around. But for years now it had been deserted.
After my mother died in 1976, Sebastian’s passion for horses had lessened. A year later he had started to sell them off, and he had given away quite a number. By the time we were married his bloodstock had dwindled down to almost nothing, and the few horses he kept were for us to ride when we went to the farm at weekends.
Also around this time Sebastian’s involvement with his charity work had increased to the point where it occupied him constantly. He had his hands full with IOocke Industries and the foundation; we were tray -eling more and more, and doing good, helping others, had become his -main passion.
Aldred, his major domo of many years, died in 1981. After that everything changed at the farm. By the time we were divorced, all of the horses had finally gone. What was once a thriving horse farm of -some repute had become just another charming old farmhouse sitting -in the midst of hundreds of magnificent acres.
In the last few years Mrs. Crane had been in charge, acting as house keeper when Sebastian was in residence, caretaker in his absence.
By the time she took over, all of the old outdoor staff had left, except for Harry Blakely, the arborist who looked after the trees. The gardens were tended by a team of part-time gardeners who came from a local nursery to
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