Читать книгу The Journey Home - Fiona Hood-Stewart - Страница 11

The visceral attachment to Dunbar that India was experiencing had caught her wholly by surprise. Considering she’d never lived or spent any long periods of time here, she was unable to fathom why everything felt so strangely familiar. She hadn’t been back much since her childhood, yet she felt at home, as though part of her being had remained fettered here all these many years. It was like a colorful tapestry and she a silken thread, woven into the intricate pattern that reached deep into Dunbar’s soul.

She wandered through the picture gallery and gazed up at the portrait of Lady Helen, her great-grandmother. Something in the soft hazel eyes spoke of wisdom and understanding, as though Lady Helen were telling her not to worry, to go on her way in peace. India found herself smiling back.

Moving silently in the early-morning hush, she went from room to room, etching each detail to memory. This was a special moment, possibly one of the last she would ever spend here.

The thought of the estate being sold made her cringe. Walking through the house with Jack yesterday had brought home just how much Dunbar really meant to her, and she wondered for the umpteenth time what its final destiny would be. Even if Serena inherited, would she be prepared to keep up the property, to put in the time and work it would take? She considered her half sister for a moment and sighed. Probably not. If the past was anything to go by, Serena would sell and be out of there before she could say Jack Robinson.

She reached her mother’s bedroom, gently twisting the handle of the large oak door. The tranquillity within the lavender-scented room remained intact, as though Lady Elspeth were merely out for a while. The bottle of Yardley’s scent she’d perfumed her handkerchiefs with stood on the skirted dressing table. Beside it stood the Charles of the Ritz face creams, next to the crystal container of cotton wool.

India trailed her fingers nostalgically over the chintz counterpane, stopping to gaze around the room, reliving for a heartfelt moment the ever-present images of her mother. Then she looked through the frosty panes at the fresh snow covering the lawn. The white blanket shimmered under the silver rays of winter sunshine, playing a silent game of hide-and-seek with the ponderous clouds traveling south toward the hills beyond. It was a peaceful sight and she stood for a while gazing at the Dunbar oak, standing regal and alone.

William, the first Dunbar to settle here, had planted the tree in 1280. Suddenly she remembered her mother repeating his pledge, which had been handed down from generation to generation: While the oak tree stands, a Dunbar will always walk this land.

India drew her eyes away sadly. If the property were sold, William’s vow would be broken. The scene reminded her of the Constables and other paintings hanging on the drawing-room walls. One in particular came to mind, and she wondered how many of them would have to be sold to cover the taxes and death duties she knew would be crippling.

As she was about to leave, India caught sight of the small writing desk Lady Elspeth had used for her private correspondence. An uncapped fountain pen lay on a sheet of half-written writing paper. She crossed the room and picked up what appeared to be an unfinished letter, realizing with a start that it was addressed to her.

My dearest India,

I am sending this off to you today, for I am most distressed. I am suffering from a dreadful dilemma and need to speak to you urgently. Please come to Dunbar as quickly as you can. I’d call, but I’m afraid I will be overheard. You need to be aware—

The letter was cut short, as though Lady Elspeth had been interrupted. India frowned, glancing at the date. The letter had been written on the day of her mother’s death. What could possibly have been troubling Lady Elspeth so deeply? What was this fear of being overheard? India took the note and, folding it carefully, slipped it into her jacket pocket, frowning. She couldn’t allow herself to think about this now. Later, after the funeral, she’d try to piece things together.

The house was still quiet as she descended the main staircase and headed to the breakfast room, trying to shake off the troubling sensation the note had left.

Reaching the door, she took a deep breath and straightened the skirt of her black Chanel suit, hoping Serena was still in bed, and that she might have the place to herself before the onslaught later that morning.

But no such luck awaited her. Serena lounged at the table, one leg flung carelessly over the arm of the next chair. She looked up as India entered.

“Good morning.” She waved languidly to a chair at the table and lit a cigarette. “Have some breakfast, God knows we’ll need it. Kathleen was in here a few minutes ago bumbling on about Ian and that lawyer Ramsey being here at ten. You know, I don’t know how Mummy stood Kathleen around her the whole time. She can be such a bore. The way she goes on, you’d think she owned the place,” she added resentfully.

India murmured good morning, then sat down, listening to Serena with half an ear. She wasn’t hungry, but the last thing she needed was her tummy rumbling throughout the reading of the will.

She opted for toast and went to the sideboard, placing two pieces of bread in the toaster. Serena seemed preoccupied, but over the years India had become used to her sudden changes of mood. One minute Serena could be effusive, the next sarcastic. Now she seemed far away.

India watched the toast pop up, thinking how odd it was to have the same parent, yet feel so distant. It made her suddenly sad, especially now that only they remained.

“Toast,” Serena exclaimed suddenly, making India jump. “Not a bad idea. Pop in a piece for me, will you?” She stubbed out the last of her cigarette in an empty glass of orange juice, and reached down her leg. “I tripped on that wretched carpet in the hall. It’s all ragged at the edge. Almost broke my leg. In fact, I think I’ve twisted my ankle.” She grimaced and rubbed her shin gingerly. “Funny finding Jack Buchanan here,” she continued as though the subject were one and the same. “Do you know he hardly even thanked me when I dropped him off at Dalkirk? I thought it was damn nice of me to go out on such a filthy night. Some people are thoroughly bad-mannered—but I suppose they’ve never been taught otherwise. By the way, what did you think of him?” She glanced at India. “He’s Peter Kinnaird’s partner, you know. Stinking rich, of course. I’m surprised someone hasn’t nabbed him yet.”

“Perhaps he’s involved,” India remarked, returning to the table and handing Serena the silver toast rack.

“Not him! He’s very much the ladies’ man. That I can assure you,” she said with a sly smirk. “Not your style though, I shouldn’t think. He’s more the let’s get straight to it type, which I’m sure you’d disapprove of.”

“It’s nothing to me what or who he is,” India replied indifferently.

“Just don’t get your fingers burned, darling. I saw the way he was eyeing you. He’s tough as nails, you know, but between you and me, he’s a damn good fuck.”

India set her teacup back in the saucer with a snap. “Serena, I don’t care if he’s God’s gift to women. All that concerns me right now is Mummy’s funeral and what’s happening later on this morning. I think you might show a little more respect.”

“Oh, la-di-da. Excuse me for offending your sensibilities.” Serena cast her a sarcastic look. “Anyway, what matters now is getting the will business dealt with,” she exclaimed in a very different tone.

“Do you have any idea how things stand?”

“No. Ramsey keeps harking on. He says we mustn’t mention the difficult straits the estate’s in. As if I would. I’m the last person to want a rumpus. I’d be out on the street if it weren’t for the bank loaning me money because I stand to inherit Dunbar.” She lit another cigarette and mused. “I’m going to have enough to do here as it is without a bunch of panicked tenants and staff on my hands.” Serena flicked back a strand of her long blond hair with a disdainful sniff.

India said nothing. She knew very little about the intricacies of running an estate, but imagined they must not be easy. Serena spoke as though she already owned the place, and India wondered with a pang if she’d be a good caretaker. It would make sense if Serena inherited. After all, she was a part of this closed little social enclave, where she herself was—or at least had been made to feel—an outcast.

“The home farm has to be dealt with. As for the shoot—But I shouldn’t be boring you with things that you know nothing about. I’ll just have to get on with it, I suppose—unless I decide to sell,” she added casually.

“Sell?” India asked, dismayed despite herself. “But there have been Dunbars here for over seven hundred years, Serena. I gather things aren’t in great shape financially, but surely everything should be done to try and hold on to the property. I think that’s what Mummy would have expected.”

“I don’t know if I’m prepared to go to all the trouble and expense of keeping the place. Plus, think of the money I’d make. You don’t have to worry about that sort of thing, do you?” Serena raised a haughty eyebrow.

Up until that morning India hadn’t thought seriously about the will, her mind too consumed with the shock of her mother’s death, but her hackles rose at Serena’s blithe disregard for the estate she apparently already assumed was hers. “If you mean, can I get by with what I make? Yes, I can. It’s taken me a few years but things are running pretty smoothly at La Dolce Vita, and this last job in Brazil finally got rid of the mortgage on Chantemerle. But that has nothing to do with this. I don’t know that I want to sell Dunbar.”

Serena looked astonished. “Who says you’ll have anything to do with it? You don’t really think Mummy would expect me to share Dunbar with you?”

“I see no reason why not,” India answered levelly. “You seem to forget that I have as much of her blood as you.”

“Yes, unfortunately. Mummy was a traitor to me and to her class. She had no business marrying your father, and much less having you. She owes me Dunbar.”

India controlled her temper with an effort, finally understanding Serena’s veiled sarcastic comments over the past years. She stood up and went to the fireplace.

“It must be lovely to waltz through life so completely convinced of one’s innate superiority, Serena, but forgive me if I don’t curtsy and kiss your ring. You have no right to speak to me like that,” she said, her voice controlled.

“I’ll tell you exactly what gives me the right. I was born before you and my father was a nobleman. You are nothing but a bad mistake, one that Mummy regretted but was too proud to do anything about. I suppose you think that if you inherit Dunbar you’ll become one of us. But you won’t, you know. You’ll always be an outcast.” She gave a short, harsh laugh.

“Surely you don’t think I care what society thinks of me?” India gave an astonished laugh. “I stopped worrying about fitting in years ago. What I’m worried about is Dunbar, about the land and the people, like Mrs. Walker and old Tompson, who’ve worked here for thirty-some years and now have nowhere to go. Surely that must mean something to you, Serena?” India struggled to master her fury, swallowing the bile that rose bitterly in her throat and clenching her fists till her knuckles turned white. “And as for rights, I am as much a part of this family as you, whether you like it or not. This is the home of my ancestors, too, and there is no reason why I shouldn’t have exactly as much say when it comes to Dunbar’s future.”

“You’re either nuts, India, or you simply don’t understand these things.” Serena shook her head pityingly and reached for more coffee.

“Good morning, ladies.” The sound of a guttural male voice made India spin on her heel. Maxi, Serena’s German boyfriend, stood in the doorway, pasty and stiff with his formal bow and immaculate dress. His blond hair was cut short, with geometrical precision, and slicked back from his forehead. He’d obviously had his ear glued to the door, she realized angrily.

She looked him over, studying the supercilious twist of his lips, the watery blue eyes void of expression, wondering, not for the first time, what Serena could possibly see in him. And she refused to discuss their family affairs in front of strangers.

“I’m going upstairs,” she announced, not bothering to conceal her dislike.

“Temper, temper,” Serena murmured as India prepared to leave. She turned to Maxi, laughing. “India actually thinks Mummy might have left her Dunbar,” she exclaimed with an amused smirk as he moved over to the table and sat down.

At least he had the grace to appear uncomfortable, India noted. But she didn’t like the ease with which he settled at the table, looking for all the world as though he owned the place.

“Don’t be late for the reading of the will,” Serena threw at her. “A mere formality I’m sure, but one that has to be gone through. Then we’ll know exactly how things stand, won’t we, India dear?”

“Yes, we shall,” India replied curtly, staring Serena straight in the eye. “But let me make one thing perfectly clear. He’s not to be here for the reading of the will. This is a family affair.”

“How dare you speak like that to poor Maxi, when he was so kind to Mummy.” Serena’s voice rose angrily.

“Hmm. Tell me, Serena, why was Mummy so anxious for me to come here? Why did she write to me, requesting I come in person?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, India. But I’ll have whoever I want in this house.”

“Not until we know whose house it is.” She turned and faced Maxi, who stared at her with undisguised disdain. “I think you’ve both been trying to pressure Mummy to sell Dunbar, and that’s why she was so upset.”

Serena rose abruptly, and the two women faced each other. “Don’t you dare speak to me or any of my friends like that. Pressuring Mummy indeed.” Serena leaned forward, blond strands falling wildly about her face. “You say one more word and—”

“I’ve taken about as much rudeness from you as I’m prepared to stand, Serena,” India replied, knowing she was losing her temper, but beyond caring. “I won’t have you insulting Mummy’s memory on the day of her funeral with your abominable behavior. At least you could pretend you care.”

“How dare you? How dare you speak to me in that tone?” Serena’s voice rose to an even higher pitch.

“I should have spoken to you like this years ago, but I never did because I didn’t want to upset Mummy, and I had the misbegotten idea that someday we might actually get on together.”

Serena cast India an angry look and returned to her seat at the head of the table.

“Serena, darling, calm down, my dear.” Maxi walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sure you understand that this is a family affair and that you have no business here. It’s nothing personal,” India said, addressing him as calmly as she could.

“He’s not leaving. I have every right to have him here. We’re getting married, after all. At least I can hold on to a man.”

“You’re wasting your time, Serena. I refuse to rise to your bait.” India turned on her heel and walked from the room, closing the door loudly behind her.

She sighed with relief, unclenching her fists, and headed quickly up the stairs and along the passage to her bedroom. There she lay down on the bed, determined to calm down before the reading of the will, careful not to wrinkle her clothes. The Chanel suit was special, a gift from Lady Elspeth a few years back when money had been no object. India smiled. Her mother had always been so chic, she’d want her to look her best today.

She thought suddenly of Jack and what Serena had said, wondering if he had slept with her. And what did it matter if he had? It was really none of her business. Today she had vital issues to deal with, issues which could change her life, and the lives of those who had served her family so faithfully. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, conscious that all she could do was wait and prepare to deal with the worst.

Mr. Ramsey, the gray-suited family solicitor, put on his tortoiseshell glasses and addressed the room at large.

India sat on the sofa next to her cousin Kathleen, who, over the past few years, had been Lady Elspeth’s faithful companion. At forty-seven, Kathleen was plump and cheerful, her rosy cheeks wide and round below a pair of twinkling hazel eyes. Her hair was short, nondescript and graying, and the faded tweed skirt and jacket she wore were as threadbare as the sofa they were sitting on. Mrs. Walker sat on India’s left, sniffing now and then into a large handkerchief. Ian, India’s second cousin, sat opposite, his thin frame stiff, his dim blue eyes glancing disapprovingly at Serena, who sat next to him looking bored with the whole proceeding. She obviously considered this a triviality in the bigger scheme of her taking possession of Dunbar. Thankfully, there was no sign of Maxi.

When the family arrived, Kathleen had assumed the role of hostess, warmly welcoming Mr. Ramsey and suggesting suitable seating arrangements. She’d asked Mrs. Walker to bring out some of her famous scones, and then busily set about pouring tea for everyone. Serena had sulked in the corner of the sofa, pretending India didn’t exist. Not that it mattered, she reflected impatiently. After the morning’s scene, she hardly wanted to acknowledge the relationship herself.

After the tea and scones had been consumed, a hush fell over the room as the solicitor cleared his throat.

“We are assembled here today for the reading of the last will and testament of Lady Elspeth Caroline Moncrieff, formerly Hamilton, nee Dunbar.” Mr. Ramsey’s voice droned on for several minutes as he read through the legal formalities.

Some special bequests were made to Kathleen and Ian, and also to the old family retainers, Mrs. Walker and old Tompson.

India wondered if Mrs. Walker would want to stay on now that her mother was gone. She’d been very fond of Lady Elspeth. India glanced down at the gnarled hands clutching the hankie and her heart sank. It would kill Mrs. Walker not to be fussing around the kitchen, scolding, making scones and worrying about what was happening in the village.

When the main section of the will had been reached, Mr. Ramsey peered at India and Serena over the rim of his glasses.

“To my daughters, Serena Helen Hamilton and India Dunbar Moncrieff, I bequeath my entire estate, to be divided equally between them. Dunbar House, and the property pertaining to it, shall be owned and operated by them both. In the event one of my daughters wishes to retain ownership of the aforesaid property, she will acquire the other’s share at fair market value.”

Serena sat up with a jerk. Rising abruptly, she interrupted Mr. Ramsey. “What do you mean both? You’ve read that wrong. Here, give it to me!” She rushed forward, grabbing the will from the astonished Mr. Ramsey’s hand.

“Serena!” Ian jumped up. “Control yourself, for goodness’ sake!”

“My, this is quite an unexpected turn of events,” Kathleen said distractedly, her face very pale. She stared shrewdly at Serena and then laid a hand on India’s knee. “I’ve always thought she had a loose screw, but this…”

India sat perfectly still, oblivious to Serena’s ranting, letting the information sink in. She owned Dunbar—albeit in co-ownership with Serena—but it was hers. Elation ran through her as the full meaning of Mr. Ramsey’s words registered. She did belong here after all.

“I’ll contest it, I tell you! I’ll get it revoked, do you hear?” Serena waved the sheaf of papers wildly. “Mummy would never have left Dunbar to her!”

Mr. Ramsey spoke up. “Lady Serena, this is a legal proceeding, I must ask you to be seated so that we may continue in an orderly fashion. These matters can be discussed at another—”

“Oh, shut up! You connived this with her. You’re to blame, you—”

“Serena, that’s quite enough. Control yourself.” Ian took a firm grip of her arm. “If you can’t get a hold on yourself, I think you’d better leave. Your behavior’s deplorable,” he added in a low voice as he conducted her back to the sofa. “I’m sorry about this, Ramsey. But I think we may proceed without further fear of interruption.” He cast a meaningful look at Serena as she sat down, disgruntled.

The reading of the will continued with the disposition of special items of jewelry Lady Elspeth had been particularly fond of.

India’s eyes watered as her mother’s final bequests were made. “To my dearest daughter India, I leave my Van Cleef & Arpels diamond necklace and bow brooch, the sapphire and diamond Chaumet ring given to me by her father on the occasion of our engagement…” Everything had been very fairly divided between the two girls. India wondered how her mother had been able to hold on to such expensive jewelry. The Marchese probably, she realized fondly. Giordano, Lady El’s longtime friend and admirer, would have died twice rather than allow Mummy to part with her jewelry.

The forbidding look on Mr. Ramsey’s face told her there was bad news to come. Maybe the necklace and the brooch would have to be sold, however much it would hurt her to part with them. She knew Mummy would understand. Dunbar and its retainers were more important than anything now.

Kathleen was talking rapidly, her face somewhat strained. “Serena’s livid at the way things have been left,” she commented in a loud whisper. “Silly girl, to think she deserves Dunbar all for herself. Now she’s joint owner with you and doesn’t have the money to buy you out. Serves her jolly well right. Are you in a position to buy her portion?” she inquired casually.

India shook her head. “No. We’ll have to make do as best we can.”

“You can count on me for any help you may need, my dear. As you well know, I was very fond of your dear mama. I feel dreadful that I wasn’t here when she died. Of all the silly times to have been visiting Great-Aunt Moira.” She shook her head sadly. India noticed that she seemed even paler than before. What a shock her mother’s death must have been for Kathleen.

“Thanks.” India turned and smiled, genuinely grateful for the kind offer. “Of course, you will stay on here, won’t you, Kathleen?”

“That’s so sweet and generous of you, India.” Kathleen squeezed her hand fondly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I hope I’m not being too proud when I say I know the place better than anyone. I believe I may be of some help to you. Of course, it’s no easy task to run an estate. God only knows what I would have done if my father had lived and I’d inherited,” she said with a sigh.

Mr. Ramsey finished speaking and Serena began grumbling again. “She had no right to leave things this way. I mean, let’s face it, we all know India isn’t one of us. She can’t possibly want Dunbar. She wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to manage it. She shouldn’t even be here in the first place!”

“Stop making a bloody fool of yourself, Serena,” Ian exclaimed, his face white with anger. “Aunt El had every right to leave things however she pleased, as Ramsey here will tell you. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant.”

“That’s correct, Sir Ian. By Scottish law Lady Elspeth could leave her property to whomever she pleased, for there is no entail on the property any longer. That ended when the late Sir Thomas died, and there were no more male heirs alive to inherit. Now, if Lady Kathleen’s father had outlived Sir Thomas, then things would have been different and the entail would have ended with her.” Mr. Ramsey shook his head. “To think he died only three days before his poor brother. A terrible thing it was.” He hesitated an instant, then continued. “This will was rewritten only a few days before Lady Elspeth’s death. I came here myself to make the changes.”

“I knew you were responsible for this,” Serena said, turning on him again angrily. This time Ian grabbed her by the arm and marched her from the room.

A general sigh of relief followed Serena’s departure.

“Well! That gets her out of the way. So much for the theatrics. Pay no attention to her, India. The will is perfectly legal, as Mr. Ramsey has said. She’s just jealous,” Kathleen said decisively. “All the Hamiltons are mad as hatters. Serena’s no exception, believe me.” She pressed India’s hand again in a kindly fashion and smiled bravely.

Kathleen’s forthright remarks helped alleviate the tension in the room, and India was thankful for her cousin’s support. It was true that Kathleen knew as much as anybody about Dunbar, and her assistance would be invaluable in the months to follow.

Ian came back, and the screeching of wheels on gravel confirmed his next words. “She’s gone to Edinburgh to consult a solicitor. Shocking behavior, I’m afraid. The poor girl’s lost it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Ramsey, I don’t know what’s come over her. The way she spoke to you was scandalous. I shall see to it she apologizes.”

“Och, don’t worry, Sir Ian, I’ve seen this kind of thing before. It’s very sad really. People create expectations they never should have had in the first place, and are upset when faced with the truth.”

“Very true, Ramsey. I think Serena already considered herself Lady of Dunbar. A dashed nerve, really, when you think of it,” Kathleen commented dryly.

“I agree. And don’t you let yourself be jostled around by her, young lady,” Ian continued, pointing at India. “You have every right to be here and she knows it.”

India smiled at him, appreciating the kindness and solidarity that her cousins were showing. She realized, with a touch of regret, that perhaps her father’s prejudice had kept her from developing some wonderful family relationships.

But she was an outsider in their world, and realistic enough to know that finding the true roots and home she’d always longed for was an illusion. It was a society that would not easily accept her. She might not like Serena’s words, but there was a disturbing ring of truth to them that made her doubly appreciative for Kathleen’s and Ian’s offers of support.

“Thanks, Ian, and you, too, Kathleen, you’ve both been wonderful. But, in a way, Serena’s right. Maybe Mummy should have left Dunbar to her. She probably is far more able to deal with matters than I am.”

“Hogwash! All she wants is to be able to say she owns the place or to sell it. She doesn’t give a damn about the estate or the people on it. Serena is only interested in one person and that,” Ian said flatly, “is Serena.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Kathleen agreed. “For as long as I’ve known her she’s been a selfish, egocentric you know what. I think the whole thing goes deeper. The Hamiltons are an ancient family, but they’re poor as church mice. Serena lived off her father’s trust and Lady El’s generosity, and hasn’t done a day’s work since she stopped modeling. I think she planned to sell Dunbar. Now that India’s involved, that won’t be the case, will it?”

“You may be right,” Ian agreed thoughtfully. “If that fellow she runs about with had any say, she’d be up and selling like a shot. The von Lowendorf family never got back on their feet financially after the war, and Maxi seems to have a taste for wealthy, single women. Kath, you remember that rich widow from Manchester he was chasing before he hooked up with Serena?” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, if you do decide to sell, India, she’ll have to content herself with half the proceeds.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary. I feel we should do our utmost to keep Dunbar,” India murmured.

“I don’t understand how she ever got this insane notion that Dunbar belonged to her in the first place,” Kathleen exclaimed.

“Wishful thinking,” Ian replied grimly.

The party got up and headed to the drawing room, where a cold luncheon was being served. The meeting with Mr. Ramsey concerning practical matters would have to wait till after the funeral, which was to be conducted later in the hall. Afterward, they would drive Lady Elspeth to her final resting place in the little graveyard on the hill, and India would be left to deal with the future as best she could.

“I won’t have it,” Serena exploded, steering her old Volvo along George Street at a spanking pace.

“Calm down, Serena. This isn’t a time for nerves. It is a time for thinking,” Maxi replied soberly. Things were not going as planned.

“What do you mean, calm down? Something has to be done about this, dammit.”

“We’ll find a solution, my dear,” he said in an even tone. “There is always a solution. Remember, revenge is a meal best eaten cold. And so it shall be.” He gave a crack of cheerless laughter.

Serena took her eyes off the road and glanced at him crossly. “Well, I hope you’ve got some bright ideas, because except for contesting the will outright—and from all I’ve gathered it’s legal—there’s not much I can do.”

“You’d be surprised. Let things take their course. It’s still early. Things need to fall into place. In the meantime, we’ll be thinking, watching, observing. The secret to success lies in the details, not in the obvious.”

His quiet voice calmed her, and she began to think that perhaps he was right. “Stupid creature. It’s not fair—”

“Hush. Be very careful what you say. Even moving cars can have ears.” Maxi took a surreptitious glance around, as though some device might be hidden in the ancient upholstery of the Volvo.

“Oh, come on, Maxi, do stop being ridiculous. This is Scotland, not a spy movie.” She veered down Frederick Street, annoyed with the traffic. “I suppose I’ll have to get back for the funeral. And you’re jolly well coming,” she added. “I’m damned if I’ll have her dictating who comes and goes from Dunbar. Who the hell does she think she is anyway?”

Maxi stayed silent for a few moments as they drove along Prince’s Street and past the Scots monument, where Serena was obliged to come to an abrupt halt for a group of tourists in bright anoraks, waiting to cross the road.

“I think it would be wiser to placate her for the moment,” Maxi said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” Serena almost rear-ended the car in front as they passed Marks & Spencer. “I’ll have whomever I choose in my own house. I—”

“I know, I understand,” Maxi soothed, “but you can’t antagonize her. Let her think you’re playing her game. Make up the quarrel with her. Remember, you need her agreement if you’re going to sell. Don’t overdo it, though, or she’ll suspect something,” he added. “Just enough to let her relax. She will, you’ll see. She’s that type, stupid and unsuspecting. It’s often so among the bourgeois class. If you’re intelligent about this, meine liebe, you can wrap her up nicely.”

“What about Buchanan? What if he makes an offer? We’ll need her to agree.” Serena ground her teeth audibly, furious at the situation. “I can’t believe Mummy did this behind my back.”

“A mere contretemps,” he said with a disdainful flick of his long smooth fingers. “Nothing that can’t be dealt with, my dear. I think you should go to the funeral and play the game. Be indifferent but not unpleasant. After that, we’ll see.”

“Are you sure?” Serena queried doubtfully, casting him a resentful glance. “You said everything was going to work out fine and look what a pickle that’s left me in,” she finished bitterly.

“You’ve lost a small battle. What matters is who wins the war. As long as she believes she has the upper hand you’re fine. As for the American, you’ve already set things in motion by suggesting he come and visit the house. Just make sure you have all the information he requested on hand. Americans like to work fast and efficiently, which could be to our advantage if you play your cards right. He won’t suspect anything since you made it clear you’d inherited the property. By the time any concrete offer is made—if he makes one—the solution will have presented itself, believe me.” He squeezed her hand with a reassuring smile.

“It goes against the grain but so be it.” Serena shrugged and shifted gears without pressing her foot down properly on the clutch. Maxi grimaced. “I’ll drop you off at the hotel, and go back to Dunbar.” She glanced at her watch. “I haven’t much time if I’m going to make the funeral.”

“Excellent. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be waiting—and thinking.”

“Yes, well, you’d better do a lot of that. The whole thing’s most unsatisfactory, and damn inconvenient.”

“Serena, again, I have to warn you. You can never be too careful,” Maxi urged her anxiously. “The less said, the better.”

“Oh, all right,” Serena mumbled irritably. Everything was getting on her nerves today, including Maxi. She waited impatiently as he got out of the car, not bothering to wave goodbye as she weaved her way back into the midday traffic, her mind set on her plans. He was probably right. It would be unwise to make decisions in the heat of the moment.

The image of India, all natural grace and determination, made her swear under her breath. The girl’s very existence was an insult, and she hated her mother for it.

India sat at the dressing table, pulling the hairbrush through her hair, a wan face staring back at her from the oval mirror.

Dunbar. She’d never actually thought of owning it, yet now the remote piece of her mother’s world had become an integral part of her existence, one whose future would have to be decided.

Only when she’d met with Mr. Ramsey after the funeral would she know the truth of how things stood.

“Indy?” Chloë peeked round the door, and then rushed across the room. The two girls embraced, holding each other tight.

“Thanks for coming, Chlo.” India smiled at her through eyes filled with unshed tears.

“You didn’t think I’d stay away, did you? I’m so sorry, Indy. We’ll all miss Lady El,” Chloë said, a quiver in her voice. “Here, take this.” She handed India one of the glasses that she was balancing precariously.

“Oh, thanks. I can use this.”

“I don’t think Lady El would mind, do you?” Chloë asked wistfully.

“Not in the least. She’d be the first to recommend it,” India said with a sad smile, taking a long sip of the gin and tonic before sitting down again on the stool. “God, Chlo, what a mess this whole thing is.”

Chloë sat down on the bed and threw off her shoes. “Tell me what’s been happening. Have they read the will yet?”

“Yes. Serena and I have inherited everything fifty-fifty. She’s livid, of course. Thinks she should get the lot. She seems to believe that her noble origins give her special rights.”

“I thought she—” Chloë stopped abruptly and frowned.

“You thought what?” India swiveled on the padded chintz stool and looked questioningly at her friend.

“No, nothing. I just thought perhaps Lady El might leave Dunbar to Serena and you all the Swiss stuff. You’ve never been very connected here.”

“You’re right, but it’s the oddest thing, Chlo. Ever since I’ve been back, I’ve had this feeling. I can’t quite explain it, but I feel as though I’m a part of the place.” She shook her head and glanced at her dear friend. “It’s uncanny.”

“What about Switzerland?” Chloë asked, her expression serious.

“Pretty well gone as far as I can gather. Mummy’s house is mortgaged to the hilt—apparently to pay for debts here. I think all that’s left is her jewelry.” India shrugged sadly. “And that’ll probably have to go, too, if we’re going to keep this place up.”

“Are you seriously thinking of keeping Dunbar?” Chloë asked, looking at India curiously.

“I don’t know yet.” India frowned thoughtfully. “I haven’t a clue how things stand. After the funeral we’ll have a talk with the solicitor to find out the true state of affairs, but I don’t think they’re good. By the way, keep that to yourself. We don’t want a panic.”

Chloë nodded soberly. “Indy, you’d better think this one over very carefully. It’s a huge responsibility to take on, you know. I see Peter and Di. God knows what things would be like if Peter weren’t so successful. Any money that comes out of the estate seems to go straight back in, and more.” She sighed, meeting her friend’s eyes, her own filled with sympathy. “It’s rotten for you, darling. I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

“You being here today is enough, Chlo. You’ve no idea how alone I’ve felt the last few days, though Ian and Kathleen have been absolutely super.”

“That’s something at least,” Chloë answered gloomily. “I can’t believe you’re thinking of keeping Dunbar though. I don’t think it’s very realistic.”

“Probably not, but I’m sick of always being realistic, Chlo. My life seems to consist of being practical, always doing what has to be done. Anyway, this is more a gut thing. When Ramsey read the will and told me I had inherited half the place, I felt all warm inside.” She smiled sheepishly at her friend. “You’ll probably think I’m crazy, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I have the feeling that I’m meant to be here.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always had a mystical side to you, Indy. And I wish you good luck if it’s what you think you should do. By the way, I saw Jack last night. He told me he’d met you.”

India met her gaze and smiled. “We had a bit of a run-in, did he tell you?”

“Sounded quite exciting to me. He’s rather good-looking, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so. A bit full of himself though. Acts as though he’s the bee’s knees.”

“Oh, come on, Indy, it’s me you’re talking to, remember?” Chloë looked at India and made a face.

“Okay. On a scale of one to ten, I suppose you could say he’s an eight. Satisfied?”

“Eight? You must be balmy. The man’s an Adonis, as rich as Croesus, plus dreadfully sexy.”

“If he’s so great, why don’t you have a go at him yourself then?” India inquired.

“I love him dearly, but like a brother. We’ve become very fond of him over at Dalkirk. A bit like that stray Diana picked up in the village…”

“Really, Chlo, how can you compare the man to a stray dog?” India laughed weakly and shook her head.

“Well, he is, in a way. Alone, if you know what I mean. He lost his wife twelve years ago. It must have been awfully sad, though he never talks about it.”

“Actually, he told me about his wife.”

“He did?” Chloë raised a quizzical eyebrow and climbed off the bed. “He’s usually pretty closed about that.” She glanced at her watch. “I suppose I’d better go back downstairs. Don’t be long, Indy, will you? After all, you’re the hostess now.” She put her shoes back on and went over to give India a kiss. “You’re not alone, you know. We’re all worried about you.”

The two girls hugged again. “Thanks for being here. You’ve no idea how much it means to me. Better take this glass with you, Chlo. I don’t know if Mrs. Walker would approve of us imbibing under the circumstances. And tell Kathleen to hold the fort, I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.”

“Right.” Chloë gave her a peck on the cheek, picked up the glasses and left the room.

For a while she stared dreamily into the long mirror, seeing much farther than her own reflection, thinking of Dunbar, her life and her future. Then all at once a picture formed of the lawn on a fresh summer’s day, children running across it and—She turned abruptly away, for the image of Jack, hoisting a child on his hip, had suddenly appeared in the vision. She must be delusional to be thinking of a man she’d met only yesterday and whom, in all likelihood, she would never see again. But the daydream lingered.

She grabbed the long mink coat she would wear to the burial, then left the room and made her way slowly down the main staircase, wondering if the ancestors who gazed down at her so severely from the heavily framed portraits were reading her mind. Perhaps they were already expressing their disapproval at the possibility of the property being sold. Yet keeping Dunbar was not something she could easily work into her life. It was not a house you merely moved into. With it came a world of responsibility and deep personal commitment to all those who were inextricably part of the house and the land.

As she glanced up at the wall, a pair of twinkling blue eyes seemed to peer down at her from one of the paintings on the stair. They belonged to a little boy of about seven or eight, with thick dark hair and a mischievous curve to his mouth. He stood in a satin outfit—resembling the Blue Boy—next to a fair, rather pudgy child, who appeared older. There was something oddly familiar about him.

For a moment India stood perfectly still, experiencing the same electrifying sensation she had felt yesterday by the oak tree. She tried to identify it, to capture it in some shape or form. She glanced at the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. The date read 1730. Once again she could have sworn that she wasn’t alone, and that she knew that face.

For an instant she listened intently, but the only sounds were the muted voices of the guests mingling in the oak room. Deciding it must just be her imagination, she continued down the stairs, bracing herself for the hours ahead. But the feeling lingered, warm and reassuring, and she reached the hall strangely comforted.

The funeral service began at two o’clock sharp. The guests stood silently round Lady Elspeth’s coffin, which was lying, covered in wreaths, in the center of the vast stucco hall.

India listened to the ceremony in a daze, soothed by the beauty of the flowers Lady Elspeth had loved so dearly. She felt her mother’s presence, as though Lady Elspeth had come to say her final goodbyes, her spirit hovering above, giving India a feeling of peace.

Serena had returned and made an effort to be polite during lunch, although she seemed uninterested in the proceedings.

“It’s an awf’y sad day, Miss India, but the flowers do her proud. That one in the middle came from Edinburgh this morning,” Mrs. Walker said, pointing to a particularly lovely wreath standing before the coffin.

Chloë, who was standing next to her, stepped forward. White lilies intertwined with baby’s breath were set delicately within the foliage, but the gold lettering on the white satin ribbon was hard to distinguish.

“India, look,” she said in a hushed whisper. India stepped forward and read the inscription.

Thinking of you. Jack Buchanan.

She felt her heart quicken. He’d remembered. She looked around, as though expecting to see him, but of course he wasn’t there. It was a private service. Perhaps the wreath wasn’t even meant for her, but for Serena’s benefit. She took a surreptitious glance at her sister, wondering if she’d seen it.

“He didn’t say anything to me last night or this morning,” Chloë whispered.

India’s eyes wandered back to the wreath, and she was reminded suddenly of her father’s funeral, and of how lonely she’d felt. But today was different. Here people lived and died watched over by their ancestors, each generation assuming the responsibility of preserving and bettering that which was bequeathed them, and which they, in turn, would pass down to their heirs.

Yet if Dunbar fell into the hands of strangers, almost eight hundred years of history would end. She remembered Jack’s words—It would make a fabulous hotel—and shuddered inwardly. The mere thought of Dunbar becoming some sort of hotel or institution was unbearable.

She took a last glance at the wreath. There was definitely something appealing about Jack. Perhaps it was his air of self-assurance, or his devil-may-care look, as though he was accustomed to wielding power without abusing it. Whether or not it was meant for her, the wreath had been a thoughtful gesture and his kindness touched her.

The mourners stepped back to allow the pallbearers through. They raised the coffin to their shoulders and carried it reverently down the wide stone steps, following the piper who had begun his lonely Highland lament.

Chloë took India’s arm and together they followed in silence to where the family and other friends were getting into their cars. The funeral cortege made its way sedately down the drive. They would accompany Lady El on her last journey, through the Midlothian countryside, past the hills and meadows she had loved so well, to the small graveyard on the hill where she would finally be put to rest.

The day was sunny but cold. A wintry nip could already be felt in the air, and the trees were fast losing the last of their wilting foliage. Small gusts of wind scattered the dead leaves across the patched remains of last night’s snowfall.

Then they were walking, the piper leading them down the narrow cemetery path, his tartan plaid blowing in the blustery wind, the mournful lament bringing hot tears to the mourners’ eyes. Then, with Kathleen, Ian and Serena, India lowered the coffin into the ground in a medieval act of ritualistic finality.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. From this earth they had come and to it they would return. And sudden loneliness gripped her as the rope went limp in her hand.

After a while they made their way back among the ancient moss-covered tombstones, India grateful for Chloë’s support, knowing it would have been so much worse without her.

It was then she saw him. A tall dark figure in a black cashmere coat standing at the cemetery gates.

India hesitated, thinking perhaps he’d come for Serena. But as she approached and he walked toward her, she knew why he was there.

He was there for her.

As Chloë and she passed through the wrought-iron gates, he reached silently for her hands.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low and concerned, his thick dark hair ruffled by the wind, his tan incongruous among the pale British faces surrounding them.

“I’m fine. Thanks for coming,” she whispered, keeping a grip on herself.

“I wanted to.”

She realized that Ian and his wife, Francesca, were watching, uncertain whether to approach. But Chloë smiled at them.

“Let me introduce you to Jack Buchanan, Peter’s partner.”

“Nice to meet you. Sorry it’s on such a sad occasion.” Ian shook hands with Jack. “I hope we’ll have the chance to meet again. India, are you coming with us or are you—”

“Yes, I’m coming with you,” she replied, glancing at Jack.

“I’ll walk you to the car.” He drew her arm into his. India was bewildered, her thoughts as muddled as her feelings. Here she was, at her mother’s burial, her pulse racing because of a man she barely knew. It was almost sacrilegious.

The others had moved away but Jack’s eyes never left hers.

“I’m on my way to the airport, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Thanks, it was awfully kind of you.”

“Take care of yourself,” he said, leading her to the car where Ian, Chloë and Francesca were waiting. He opened the door and for a moment they faced each other, eyes locked.

Then India felt her throat constricting. “Thanks for coming, Jack, I—Thanks.” She tried to smile, not knowing what else to say, and got quickly inside.

Slowly the cars began the return journey, followed by the haunting strain of the pipes. India could still feel the warmth of Jack’s comforting grasp. Suddenly the tears she’d been holding back fell silently down her cheeks, loss and loneliness overwhelming her as she gazed blindly through the window. The vehicles moved gently down the country lane, off toward Dunbar.

Jack watched the rain streaming down against the plane’s windows, drenching the tarmac as the Gulfstream readied for takeoff. He’d removed his coat and taken out the papers he’d be working on. As usual, Jonathan, his steward, had brought him a Glenfiddich on the rocks.

He stretched his legs as the plane picked up speed, reflecting upon what could have prompted him to go there this afternoon. Why had he gone to a cemetery—a place he avoided on principle—to see a woman he barely knew, and whom he might never see again? He smiled to himself. It was rare that he acted out of sheer impulse. Would they ever meet again? Possibly. There were a number of places their paths could cross. He might even be in Buenos Aires at the same time she was. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She’d looked so sad, he’d felt like taking her in his arms and holding her close. The thought made him jerk his head up.

The plane took off, rising swiftly into the leaden sky, the rain beating harder as they gained height.

Soon they were traveling south. Jack looked down at the countryside below, peering closely, trying to distinguish through the blur what he was sure must be Dunbar, standing like a dollhouse below. Excitement stirred in his veins. Dunbar was quite distinct now, even through the rain. It was magnificent. He could hardly wait to get hold of the specs Serena had promised him.

Taking a sip of whiskey, he began making some ballpark estimates of what the renovation might cost. By the time he reached London he was in a fair way to having a game plan together, and his determination to acquire Dunbar increased. Something deep inside told him he couldn’t let it go. And all at once Jack knew he’d go every inch of the way to making it his own.