I told him I sometimes went to stay with Fiona. Small world, he said. We spent the whole evening together and ... well ... the whole night. It was sudden, like lightning. Don’t tell Perkin. Why does one tell total strangers things one never tells anyone else? Sorry, forget it.”
“Mm,” I said. “What happened when you woke up?”
“It was like a roller-coaster. We spent all our time together. After two weeks he asked me to marry him and I said yes. Blissful. My feet never touched the ground. I went to the races to watch him ... he was spellbinding. Kept winning, saying I’d brought him luck.” She stopped, but she was smiling.
“Then what?”
“Then the jumping season finished. We began planning the wedding ... I don’t know. Maybe we just got to know each other. I can’t say which day I realized it was a mistake. He was getting irritable. Flashes of rage, really. I just said one day, “It won’t work, will it?” and he said, “No” so we fell into each other’s arms and had a few tears and I gave him his ring back.”
“You were lucky,” I commented.
“Yes. How do you mean?”
“To come out of it without a fighting marriage and a spiteful divorce.”
“You’re so right.” She turned into Tremayne’s drive and came to a halt. “We’ve been friends ever since, but Perkin has always been uncomfortable with him. See, Nolan is brilliant and brave on horses and Perkin doesn’t ride all that well. We don’t talk about horses much, when we’re alone. It’s restful, actually. I tell Perkin he ought to be grateful to Nolan that I was free for him, but I suppose he can’t help how he feels.”
She sighed, unbuckled her seat belt and stood up out of the car.
“Look,” she said, “I like you, but Perkin does tend to be jealous.”
“I’ll ignore you,” I promised.
She smiled vividly. “A touch of old-fashioned formality should do the trick.” She began to turn away, and then stopped. “I’m going in through our own entrance, Perkin’s and mine. I’ll see how he’s doing. See if he’s stopped work. We’ll probably be along for a drink. We often do, at this time of day.”
“OK.”
She nodded and walked off, and I went around and into Tremayne’s side of the house as if I’d lived there forever. Yesterday morning, I thought incredulously, I awoke to Aunty’s freeze.
Tremayne had lit the log fire in the family room and poured his gin and tonic and, standing within heating range of the flames, he listened with disillusion to the outcome of Nolan’s trial.
“Guilty but unpunished,” he observed. “Newfangled escape clause.”
“Should the guilty always be punished?”
He looked at me broodingly. “Is that a character-assessment question?”
“I guess so.”
“It’s unanswerable, anyway. The answer is, I don’t know.” He turned and with a foot pushed a log farther into the fire. “Help yourself to a drink.”
“Thanks. Mackie said they might be along.”
Tremayne nodded, taking it for granted, and in fact she and Perkin came through from the central hall while I was dithering between the available choices of whisky or gin, neither of which I much liked. Perkin solved the liquid question for himself by detouring into the kitchen and reappearing with a glass of Coke.
“What do you actually like?” Mackie asked, seeing my hesitation as she poured tonic into gin for herself.
“Wine, I suppose. Red for preference.”
“There will be some in the office. Tremayne keeps it for owners when they come to see their horses. I’ll get it.”
She went without haste and returned with a Bordeaux-shaped bottle and a sensible corkscrew, both of which she handed over.
Tremayne said, as I liberated the Château Kirwan, “Is that stuff any good?”
“Very,” I said, smelling the healthy cork.
“It’s all grape juice as far as I’m concerned. If you like the stuff, put it on the shopping list.”
“The shopping list,” Mackie explained, “is a running
“Mm,” I said. “What happened when you woke up?”
“It was like a roller-coaster. We spent all our time together. After two weeks he asked me to marry him and I said yes. Blissful. My feet never touched the ground. I went to the races to watch him ... he was spellbinding. Kept winning, saying I’d brought him luck.” She stopped, but she was smiling.
“Then what?”
“Then the jumping season finished. We began planning the wedding ... I don’t know. Maybe we just got to know each other. I can’t say which day I realized it was a mistake. He was getting irritable. Flashes of rage, really. I just said one day, “It won’t work, will it?” and he said, “No” so we fell into each other’s arms and had a few tears and I gave him his ring back.”
“You were lucky,” I commented.
“Yes. How do you mean?”
“To come out of it without a fighting marriage and a spiteful divorce.”
“You’re so right.” She turned into Tremayne’s drive and came to a halt. “We’ve been friends ever since, but Perkin has always been uncomfortable with him. See, Nolan is brilliant and brave on horses and Perkin doesn’t ride all that well. We don’t talk about horses much, when we’re alone. It’s restful, actually. I tell Perkin he ought to be grateful to Nolan that I was free for him, but I suppose he can’t help how he feels.”
She sighed, unbuckled her seat belt and stood up out of the car.
“Look,” she said, “I like you, but Perkin does tend to be jealous.”
“I’ll ignore you,” I promised.
She smiled vividly. “A touch of old-fashioned formality should do the trick.” She began to turn away, and then stopped. “I’m going in through our own entrance, Perkin’s and mine. I’ll see how he’s doing. See if he’s stopped work. We’ll probably be along for a drink. We often do, at this time of day.”
“OK.”
She nodded and walked off, and I went around and into Tremayne’s side of the house as if I’d lived there forever. Yesterday morning, I thought incredulously, I awoke to Aunty’s freeze.
Tremayne had lit the log fire in the family room and poured his gin and tonic and, standing within heating range of the flames, he listened with disillusion to the outcome of Nolan’s trial.
“Guilty but unpunished,” he observed. “Newfangled escape clause.”
“Should the guilty always be punished?”
He looked at me broodingly. “Is that a character-assessment question?”
“I guess so.”
“It’s unanswerable, anyway. The answer is, I don’t know.” He turned and with a foot pushed a log farther into the fire. “Help yourself to a drink.”
“Thanks. Mackie said they might be along.”
Tremayne nodded, taking it for granted, and in fact she and Perkin came through from the central hall while I was dithering between the available choices of whisky or gin, neither of which I much liked. Perkin solved the liquid question for himself by detouring into the kitchen and reappearing with a glass of Coke.
“What do you actually like?” Mackie asked, seeing my hesitation as she poured tonic into gin for herself.
“Wine, I suppose. Red for preference.”
“There will be some in the office. Tremayne keeps it for owners when they come to see their horses. I’ll get it.”
She went without haste and returned with a Bordeaux-shaped bottle and a sensible corkscrew, both of which she handed over.
Tremayne said, as I liberated the Château Kirwan, “Is that stuff any good?”
“Very,” I said, smelling the healthy cork.
“It’s all grape juice as far as I’m concerned. If you like the stuff, put it on the shopping list.”
“The shopping list,” Mackie explained, “is a running
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