hostess this afternoon and see that our guests are amused. Mizhael will make any arrangements. Now, if you will forgive me â¦â
He rose, so they did too. One of the maids came across with a tray, picked up the remains of his meal and followed him out.
âSo, what will we all do?â said Taeela brightly, already playing the hostess for all she was worth. âWhen the rain stops, His Excellency will catch fish for our supper, yes?â
âI donât guarantee to catch any,â said Nigelâs father, joining in her game.
âYou will catch three fine fish for my supper, your Excellency. I wish this. Mizhael will tell the cook that you bring ⦠are bringing them.â
âYour wish is my command.â
âGood. And Mrs Ridgwell and Nigel will look for birds. I will come too. We will ride my horses. What birds do you wish to see, Mrs Ridgwell?â
âOh, anything. It doesnât matter.â
âCome on, Mumâ said Nigel. âYouâre talking to the Khanazhana. If she says you would like to see a great pink hoopoe, someone will make sure it happens.â
âI donât think they get hoopoes up here, darling.â
âCome on, Mum!â
âOh, well. A black-throated kingfisher, I suppose. Theyâre very local, but there might be some here.â
âYou shall see a black-throated kingfisher. I will speak to Mizhael,â said Taeela, laughing. âNow Iâll stop being the Khanazhana. Iâm Taeela. Iâm Nigelâs friend.â
âWell, in that case Iâm Lucy and this is Nick. Thatâs what Nigelâs other friends call us. What about when your father is here?â
âAh ⦠Perhaps you ask him, uh, Lucy.â
âAs soon as I get the chance.â
Theyâd lunched very late, and the rain and wind had begun to ease by the time theyâd finished. A guard and driver were waiting for Nigelâs father with a Jeep, and he was off before the last drops fell. When the sky cleared Taeela, in full riding kit and looking like an advertisement in a glossy country magazine, met Nigel and his mother in the front hall, and they were driven the few hundred yards to the stables, where three absurdly handsome ponies were waiting for them, along with a couple of bodyguards, a woman and a man, with two more ordinary-looking horses.
Nigel had ridden a bit in Chile, and his mother had apparently been horse-mad when she was a kid, but then got interested in too much other stuff to keep it up. Taeela, of course, rode like a princess, because that was what her father expected of her.
They followed a trail up through the trees, and out onto the open mountainside like the one on the video of the snow ibex, a vast slope twinkling with little rivulets after the rain and strewn with boulders, tussocks of scrawny grass clinging to whatever soil had lodged there, and scattered clumps of stunted bushes. Their emergence surprised a large bird that must just have caught some small mammal and started to tear it apart. It looked round with shreds of meat hanging from its beak, then lumbered into the air and soared away with the limp carcass dangling from its talons. A steppe eagle, Nigelâs mother decided.
The track turned and led them slantwise across the slope. The air up here seemed magically clean. They could see for uncountable miles in every direction except to the south-west, across the lake, where about ten miles away the next instalment of the storm was working its way towards them.
There were plenty of birds to see, active after the rain. Taeela must have longed to put her beautiful horses through their paces and show her guests what they could do, but she kept to a sedate walk beside Nigelâs mother, halting when she wanted to use her binoculars, borrowing them so that she could look too, and asking questions about the birds. Nigel, still stiff from his swim, was happy not to have to do anything more demanding.
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