The Second Time I Saw You: The Oxford Blue Series #2 (4 page)

I listen to all this, trying not to laugh. Talia is the Hunts’ head groom and one of my allies at Falconbury, along with Helen the housekeeper. I get on well with the servants.

‘You must have a brain and some balls for my brother to get so worked up about you because, believe me, he could have
any
girl he wanted.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

She lifts her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh fuck. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

I smile. ‘I’m joking, Emma.’

‘Oh, really?’ Her eyes widen as if she just discovered an exotic new species in me. ‘I didn’t think Americans did irony.’

‘Well, irony is this American’s middle name.’

‘You’re funny …’ She hesitates. ‘And most of all, you’re not that vile bitch Valentina. I am so glad she
couldn’t come today, or I might have had to push her into the grave.’

‘I don’t think she’s quite that bad,’ I say, playing the most reluctant devil’s advocate on the planet. I’m also still processing the fact that I gave Alexander ‘mentionitis’ and that he ‘got worked up’ over me.

‘Bollocks! She’s a witch. You do know she kicks Benny when Alexander’s not around? I’ve seen her do it once and Talia’s seen her hit him too.’

‘I don’t think she’ll be making donations to the Dogs Trust any time soon …’ I begin, not daring to let on I saw Valentina hit Benny with her riding crop before the hunt last term. However, my curiosity about Valentina is piqued and since we’re talking now I decide to explore a little further.

‘Alexander told me she couldn’t make the funeral. Her grandfather’s sick, isn’t he?’

Emma snorts. ‘Not
that
sick. I think it’s all a lie. Valentina just didn’t want all this shit to deal with, and I’m delighted about that.’

Privately, I must admit I was far too thrilled for decency myself when I heard Valentina wasn’t going to be here.

‘Did you see the bouquet she sent? The thing was so huge they couldn’t fit it in the hearse. I heard Rupert say it had been flown in from her place in Positano specially and delivered by her own driver to the house. Typical of her to be way over the top.’

‘I think I saw it outside the church.’

‘Did you read her card?’ Emma makes a fingers-down-throat gesture.

Actually, I did and the fulsome message attached made me cringe. ‘I don’t think I noticed it.’

There’s a silence and I wonder whether to dare ask her to come down to the wake again when she springs up off the bed and stands opposite me, her arms folded again.

‘Suppose I could try and stand it down there for a few minutes.’ She stops. ‘Mainly because I’m hungry and there’ll be food soon. I don’t want to ask the staff to bring me something up here. They’re busy.’

I try not to look relieved and delighted. ‘I’m starving too. We can go down together.’

‘I need the loo first and I want to wash my face.’

While she visits the bathroom, I cross to the window where the half-finished outfit hangs limply from the dummy. Unlike the guest room, Emma’s overlooks the side of the house and the stables. I suppress a shudder at the thought that this must remind her of her father’s death; maybe she can even see the horse who threw him. She comes out a few minutes later, and with her pale face free of the mascara and dark lipstick, she’s even more ethereally beautiful. She shares the same aristo good looks as Alexander while also not resembling him that much. I guess she takes after her mother, but even after a tour of Falconbury’s galleries when I was last here, I can’t recall seeing a portrait of Lady Hunt.

She shuffles awkwardly across the room and picks up a grey hoodie from the floor, with the words ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce’ on it. Well, at least, it’s Shakespeare …

‘Alexander won’t care what I wear now, will he?’

I’m surprised she’s bothered to ask – the purple crushed-velvet Goth coat she wore to the funeral attracted pursed lips from some of the older mourners. Personally, I thought it was in keeping with the whole High Gothic air of the village church and Falconbury itself. ‘All he really cares about is you coming to support him,’ I say, crossing my fingers she won’t sneer or change her mind.

The relief in her eyes is obvious.

‘I never set out to cause Daddy any trouble, you know. Or Alexander … It just sort of happened …’ She lifts her huge dark eyes to mine, and looks younger than her years and the picture of innocence, like some pre-Raphaelite heroine. So why do my antennae twitch?

‘You haven’t caused Alexander any trouble. Why would you think that?’ I say.

‘I don’t know, really. Maybe you’re right. I suppose I’m just being silly …’ She flashes me a smile that turns into a grimace. ‘Let’s go and get this over with before I change my mind.’

Heads turn as we enter the ballroom, where the waiting staff are laying out a buffet on long tables covered in white cloths. All my efforts persuading Emma to join the wake are made worth it by the look of relief and pleasure on Alexander’s face.

‘I’m glad you decided to come down,’ he says.

Emma shrugs. ‘I could smell food.’

Any frustration he may feel is well hidden and subtly, and he slips her hand in his. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

When he squeezes her hand, Emma bites her lip, and I know she’s fighting back tears. God, I want to cry again, remembering Alexander’s arm around her at the graveside, him granite-faced and her quietly weeping into Alexander’s handkerchief.

‘Where’s Benny?’ I ask, in desperation to save Emma from any more tears.

Alexander replies as Emma dabs her eyes. ‘He ran off towards the kitchens. I think he’s hoping for some treats, wouldn’t you say, Emma?’

She wipes a hand over her face and says, ‘Any opportunity to steal food.’

Alexander is suddenly accosted by an older man in a spectacularly OTT uniform, who knits his bushy
eyebrows together as he growls condolences at Emma and seems dumbfounded by me. I’m not sure what’s disturbed him more: Emma’s hoodie or my accent.

Emma rolls her eyes and steers me behind a huge aspidistra plant near a door in the panelling. ‘Why do people have to have
so
much booze at a funeral? Helen was doing her nut about how many bottles of whisky Robert had ordered this morning,’ she says, curling her lip at the mourners knocking back the drinks.

‘I guess it gives people something to focus on and it’s a horrible cold, damp day, and many of them have come a long way.’

‘I wish they hadn’t. I wish Dad could have a normal funeral like normal people, and not have all these hangers-on and strangers flooding the house. I hate it.’

‘I can see what you mean, but your father was a well-known man. Lots of people want to pay their respects to him.’

‘Respects? That’s such a stupid phrase. They just want to be seen to be doing the right thing, and I’ll bet not many of them truly respected him.’

‘I think they probably did.’

‘You didn’t, did you? Alexander told me he behaved like a shit to you. That’s what Dad was good at. Behaving like a shit, to me sometimes and to Alexander all the time.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it.’ She folds her arms and looks at me angrily so I qualify my claim, which I have to admit might have been over-generous to the general.
‘I hardly knew him but from what Alexander told me, he loved you very much.’

‘I suppose so.’ She pouts but I guess I should cut her a whole load of slack today. And what do I know? I’ve no siblings, younger or otherwise, and at twenty-one, I’ve definitely no clue how to deal with a bereaved and angry teenager. That’s Alexander’s job, though God knows how he’s going to do it. I don’t think being in special forces will be much help.

The uniformed man has his hand on Alexander’s arm.

‘Yuk. Alex must want to barf. He fucking hates that man.’

Sure enough, Alexander has stepped away from the man and is standing stiff as a board. ‘Is he an old army colleague of your father’s?’

Emma stares at me and I half think she’s going to laugh at my ignorance, which would be a change from the truculent pout. ‘No. He’s the Lord-Lieutenant.’

‘I see,’ I say, not seeing at all. At best, I’m a novice in the subtleties of English titles and picking up on my confusion, Emma decides to help me out – kind of.

‘It’s some boring ceremonial thing. I don’t know what he actually does and I don’t care. I bet Alex is desperate to get this whole thing over with. I know I am.’

She sounds bored but then I see her lip wobbling. ‘Oh fuck, Aunt Celia’s coming over. Please, can we get out of here?’

‘I don’t think we should, Emma.’

‘Alex won’t mind. You must hate it here just as much as me.’

‘It’s not my favourite way of spending a day, I’ll admit, but your brother asked me to be here and I don’t mind.’

She glares at me and despite her delicate, almost elfin features, the determined set of her chin reveals more than a hint of the Hunt stubborn streak. Alexander glances at us and I try to pour some oil on the troubled waters, not that I expect it to work.

‘OK. Here’s the deal. If you can stand to speak to Aunt Celia for half an hour, it would help out Alexander, and then I’ll ask Alexander if it’s OK for me to come out with you to take Benny for a walk. I don’t think he’ll mind that.’ God, listen to me, speaking to Emma like she’s about ten and I’m her mother, but the strategy seems to have worked.

‘We can go into the stables.’ Her face brightens. ‘Talia keeps a stash of vodka in the office. Dad would never have it in the house and there’s only whisky on offer today, which tastes like cat’s piss to me. I fucking hate it.’ There are a lot of things that Emma fucking hates today, but who can blame her? Following her father’s coffin into church, listening to the eulogies and then standing by the grave while he was interred must have been the worst experience of her life, apart perhaps from when her mother died.

Aunt Celia bears down on us like a galleon in full sail. I’ve met her before and it didn’t go well. Fortunately for
me, and unfortunately for Emma, her attention is focused on her niece.

‘Emma! You poor, poor darling. What you must be going through! Come here.’ Emma is swamped in a mega-hug and I cringe on her behalf, but it gives me the chance to find Alexander, who’s barely got a few yards from his original position. After grabbing two tumblers from a passing waiter, I wait patiently as he nods tersely to a couple I recognize from the ball. Eventually they walk away and I hand Alexander his glass.

‘I thought you might need this.’

He blows out a breath. ‘You have no idea.’

He drinks a good third in a couple of gulps, while I sip mine. It’s probably some ludicrously expensive single malt but it still makes me shudder. If I could slip some of Immy’s secret stash into my glass, I would do, but it’s in my coat pocket in the hall cupboard. Alexander must have noticed my grimace. ‘Sacrilege,’ he says. His tone is sombre but there’s a flicker of irony in his eyes that, strangely, encourages me.

He downs the rest of the tumbler and calls after one of the staff. ‘Can you get me another of these, please? And make it a proper one, this time.’

The waiter nods and leaves, presumably to find the bottle.

He scans the room, frowning again. ‘Where’s Emma got to?’

I nod in Aunt Celia’s direction. ‘She’s being consoled by your aunt.’

‘God help her then, but at least she’s left her bedroom. I don’t blame her wanting to hide away but it would be better for everyone if she could stand to speak to a few people, even for a little while. They deserve that much from us.’ He pauses then asks, ‘I know she claimed she only came down because she was hungry but what else did you do to persuade her?’

Somehow, I don’t think Alexander will understand that we bonded over a pair of boots. ‘I don’t know, but she can only stand so much more of this. She wants to leave again.’

He sighs. ‘I can understand that, and I suppose she’s made an effort.’

‘She promised to stay a bit longer. I … uh … struck a deal with her.’

‘What kind of deal?’

‘I said I’d go out for a walk with her and Benny if she showed her face for half an hour. I hope that was OK.’

‘It will have to be.’ He touches my arm and his eyes tell me he’s pleased. Even in the sombre suit and black tie, with a face that’s grey with lack of sleep and grief, he looks pretty devastating. Is it wrong to stand here in the midst of such misery and want to make love to him? I think back to the way we leaped on each other when he came to my room at the start of term and forgive my rogue thought: there truly is nothing like sex to make you feel alive.

‘I don’t think I did much and she … er … feels that some comfort may be found in the stable block.’

He rolls his eyes and at first I think he’s going to be angry with me, but then he sighs. ‘Talia’s cocktail cabinet … I might have guessed.’

‘You know about it?’

‘Everyone knows about it. The grooms are legendary for their parties. Can you make sure Emma doesn’t get too pissed?’

Just then the waiter returns with a tumbler that’s almost full to the top with whisky.

‘What about you?’

‘Oh, you can make sure I get absolutely pissed out of my mind.’

Robert, the butler, approaches. He’s wearing traditional mourning dress like Anthony Hopkins in
The Remains of the Day
and I want to laugh but that’s enough inappropriate thoughts for one funeral. Am I a bad person or have the nerves and tension got to me? It already feels like a very long day and it’s only halfway through.

‘Sorry to disturb you, my lord, but are you ready for us to announce lunch now?’ he asks in a low voice.

‘Of course, Robert, and thank you for all you’ve done so far. I don’t know how we’d have managed without you and Helen. I’ll thank the rest of the staff personally when this is all over but can you please pass on my appreciation in the meantime?’

Robert strikes me as a man who would rather die than blush, but even he struggles to hide his surprise and pleasure at this praise, which I’m guessing was not
so forthcoming from General Hunt. ‘It’s a privilege to be of help to the family, sir.’

This statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and it hits me again that the Hunt staff seem genuinely to like and respect Alexander and Emma. I can’t feel cynical about it, even though the whole ‘serving’ thing may seem ludicrously outdated in the twenty-first century. Robert lingers, as if he wants to say more, but can’t find the words.

‘I don’t like to trouble you with this, sir, not today, but there’s been a man on the house phone for you. I told him it was the funeral and he apologized but he did ask if you might call him as soon as you could. I think it’s someone from the regiment. Said his name was Armitage.’

Alexander purses his lips in frustration. ‘You did right to tell me. Excuse me,’ he says to me and strides towards the door to the hallway. So the regiment are on the phone already, even today. I wonder how Alexander can possibly cope with studying for his master’s, running Falconbury and his work. I’m still not sure whether he’s in special forces or military intelligence, but whatever it is, I hope the army will give him compassionate leave for a while. What happens after that time, I don’t know. He’s always made it clear he wouldn’t give up the service to run Falconbury. He and his father conducted their own personal war over the issue. I have no idea where that leaves him now.

After another attempt at the whisky, I swap my half-f glass for some orange juice and catch a glimpse of Angus’s curly head. He’s one of Alexander’s more human friends, a lively, funny Scottish doctor. I first met him at a masked ball before I started seeing Alexander properly. Warmth rises to my cheeks when I also remember reeling with Angus at the Falconbury hunt ball. I’d had far too much to drink and I think I may have practically dragged Angus on to the floor. He had to leave later to attend an urgent call at the hospital. I’m not proud of what happened after that with another friend of Alexander’s.

Emma is helping herself to some food from the buffet table and my stomach rumbles a little. Before I can join the line at the table, Rupert appears at my side. If I ever want to curb my appetite, I only have to look at him.

‘So you decided to grace us with your presence again?’ he sneers.

It was only a matter of time, I suppose, yet his proximity still makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and not in a good way. How I want to wipe that arrogant smug expression from his face, but I keep my voice cool. ‘I can’t believe you’d want to create any more trouble for Alexander on a day like this.’

‘I’ve no intention of causing trouble for my cousin. My aim is to make his life easier.’

‘That would make a change.’

The smell of his cologne assaults my nose and there’s
something feral about the glint in his eyes. ‘I come in the spirit of reconciliation, since you and Alexander are so obviously an item again,’ he says.

‘He asked me to support him today; I came. That’s all.’

He sniggers. ‘So you’ll be leaving as soon as the wake is over?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘On the contrary, anything that may affect Alexander’s ability to make decisions is my business. My father’s an executor of General Hunt’s estate.’

I’d sure like to execute Rupert right now. ‘I was aware of that.’

His forehead creases in surprise.

‘Alexander told me,’ I add, with a smile of triumph. So much for vowing not to spar with Rupert today, but the guy must be the most obnoxious man in England, and he’s on a mission to rile me in any way possible.

He arches his eyebrows dramatically. ‘Well, well. You two are even closer than I thought.’

So many replies to this remark crowd into my head, but the truth is, even I can’t work out which of them is true. ‘This really isn’t the time.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, I thought any time is the right one for Lauren Cusack. You seem to take advantage of every opportunity.’