The Journey Home. Fiona Hood-Stewart

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ