Marianne noticed a smile – granted, it was tiny, but it was still a smile – flicker across his lips.
“All right,” she said. “I’m leaving.” She ducked under his arm and slid in behind the wheel and started the engine back up. “Goodbye. And – thanks again. For everything.”
The hard lines of his face eased, and he leaned down to say something more. But she never knew what he was about to say.
“Hey – what the hell are you doing over there?” Brian called out as he and Danny rounded the corner and saw them. “That’s my bloody car!”
“
His
car?” Marianne bristled. “The nerve–”
“Go,” Matthew ordered her, and slammed the driver’s door.
“But–”
“Go!” He slapped the side of the car as if to urge her forward.
With trembling hands, Marianne gripped the wheel and obeyed, gunning the gas pedal, and the estate car shot forward. Brian and Danny pelted towards her with murder in their eyes; but a group of inebriated college students got tangled up between them and slowed them down.
As the two men reached the car park, shouting and waving their fists, she turned the estate car onto the main road with a squeal of tyres and took off as if the devil himself were hot on her heels.
***
On the way home, Marianne repeatedly glanced in her rear-view mirror, half afraid she’d see flashing police lights behind her. But the trip back to Barton Park and the Hollands’ new home was uneventful.
“Did you have a nice time?” her mother asked as she made them a cup of chamomile tea.
“It was fun for about twenty minutes. Then I saw the two men who stole Lady Violet’s car sitting in the pub, nice as you please.”
“What?” Mrs Holland whirled around with the teapot in hand, aghast. “Oh, my. What on earth did you do?”
Marianne grinned. In her hair curlers and bathrobe, her mother was a comical sight. “
I
didn’t do anything. But with a little help from Matthew, I got the car back. I drove it home; it’s parked outside now.”
Her mother sank down at the table and regarded her daughter in horror. “But, Marianne – anything might’ve happened. They might’ve had guns!”
“They didn’t. At least, I don’t think they did. I spotted the car behind the pub; and since I still had the key on my ring, I got in and drove off. It was as easy as that.”
“You’ll be the death of me yet, Marianne Holland. You’re far too impulsive.” She stood up to finish pouring their tea. “But I’m glad you got Lady Violet’s car back.” She turned around suddenly. “And what about my Fiat?”
“Matthew – I mean, Dr Brandon,” she corrected herself, “is bringing it back tonight with Aidan, the assistant vet.”
They paused at the sound of two cars pulling up outside, engines idling, followed by doors slamming and low voices calling out.
“That’ll be them now,” Marianne added. “Shall I ask them in for tea?” she teased, knowing her mother would sooner parade naked down the aisle of the local church than let the two veterinarians see her dressed in curlers and a bathrobe and slippers.
“I should say not,” Mrs Holland retorted. “But you should invite them both to dinner soon, so we can thank them properly for returning the car. I don’t know a man born who wouldn’t welcome a nice roast beef.”
“I’ll invite them tomorrow,” Marianne decided. “How about next Sunday afternoon? And shouldn’t I invite Mr Willoughby as well?”
“Of course you should,” her mother agreed. “He rescued you after your fall, did he not? Yes, it’s a wonderful idea. I’ll make a Sunday roast,” she said, her eyes alight with anticipation, “with Yorkshire pudding, and lashings of gravy, and rhubarb crumble for dessert…”
Chapter 16
To Marianne’s surprise, Dr Brandon accepted her mother’s invitation to Sunday dinner with alacrity.
“I haven’t had a proper roast in – well, in a very long time,” he said as he leaned over the reception counter the next
“All right,” she said. “I’m leaving.” She ducked under his arm and slid in behind the wheel and started the engine back up. “Goodbye. And – thanks again. For everything.”
The hard lines of his face eased, and he leaned down to say something more. But she never knew what he was about to say.
“Hey – what the hell are you doing over there?” Brian called out as he and Danny rounded the corner and saw them. “That’s my bloody car!”
“
His
car?” Marianne bristled. “The nerve–”
“Go,” Matthew ordered her, and slammed the driver’s door.
“But–”
“Go!” He slapped the side of the car as if to urge her forward.
With trembling hands, Marianne gripped the wheel and obeyed, gunning the gas pedal, and the estate car shot forward. Brian and Danny pelted towards her with murder in their eyes; but a group of inebriated college students got tangled up between them and slowed them down.
As the two men reached the car park, shouting and waving their fists, she turned the estate car onto the main road with a squeal of tyres and took off as if the devil himself were hot on her heels.
***
On the way home, Marianne repeatedly glanced in her rear-view mirror, half afraid she’d see flashing police lights behind her. But the trip back to Barton Park and the Hollands’ new home was uneventful.
“Did you have a nice time?” her mother asked as she made them a cup of chamomile tea.
“It was fun for about twenty minutes. Then I saw the two men who stole Lady Violet’s car sitting in the pub, nice as you please.”
“What?” Mrs Holland whirled around with the teapot in hand, aghast. “Oh, my. What on earth did you do?”
Marianne grinned. In her hair curlers and bathrobe, her mother was a comical sight. “
I
didn’t do anything. But with a little help from Matthew, I got the car back. I drove it home; it’s parked outside now.”
Her mother sank down at the table and regarded her daughter in horror. “But, Marianne – anything might’ve happened. They might’ve had guns!”
“They didn’t. At least, I don’t think they did. I spotted the car behind the pub; and since I still had the key on my ring, I got in and drove off. It was as easy as that.”
“You’ll be the death of me yet, Marianne Holland. You’re far too impulsive.” She stood up to finish pouring their tea. “But I’m glad you got Lady Violet’s car back.” She turned around suddenly. “And what about my Fiat?”
“Matthew – I mean, Dr Brandon,” she corrected herself, “is bringing it back tonight with Aidan, the assistant vet.”
They paused at the sound of two cars pulling up outside, engines idling, followed by doors slamming and low voices calling out.
“That’ll be them now,” Marianne added. “Shall I ask them in for tea?” she teased, knowing her mother would sooner parade naked down the aisle of the local church than let the two veterinarians see her dressed in curlers and a bathrobe and slippers.
“I should say not,” Mrs Holland retorted. “But you should invite them both to dinner soon, so we can thank them properly for returning the car. I don’t know a man born who wouldn’t welcome a nice roast beef.”
“I’ll invite them tomorrow,” Marianne decided. “How about next Sunday afternoon? And shouldn’t I invite Mr Willoughby as well?”
“Of course you should,” her mother agreed. “He rescued you after your fall, did he not? Yes, it’s a wonderful idea. I’ll make a Sunday roast,” she said, her eyes alight with anticipation, “with Yorkshire pudding, and lashings of gravy, and rhubarb crumble for dessert…”
Chapter 16
To Marianne’s surprise, Dr Brandon accepted her mother’s invitation to Sunday dinner with alacrity.
“I haven’t had a proper roast in – well, in a very long time,” he said as he leaned over the reception counter the next
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