“We are hiding out,” Cassie admitted, “but not from the law.”
“Hold on, Cassie,” said Peter. “If we start the story in the middle, it’ll become irretrievably tangled. Let’s start from the beginning and go on from there.” He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Cassie and I have been working for the Seal Conservation Trust for the past year. We’ve been conducting population and migration studies with a team of students and scientists at an observatory in the Outer Hebrides. Everything was going along splendidly until nine days ago, when Grandfather decided to trumpet my accomplishments to the press.”
I leaned toward Damian. “Peter’s grandfather is Edwin Elstyn, the seventh Earl Hailesham.”
“Ah.” Damian nodded knowingly, as though a piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He looked at Peter and said, “You’re that Peter Harris. The one mentioned in the letter.”
“You saw the letter?” said Peter.
“I did,” Damian acknowledged.
“Letter?” I said, looking confusedly from him to Peter. “What letter?”
“Don’t you read the Times?” asked Damian.
“Lori avoids newspapers whenever possible,” Peter explained. “She finds them depressing.”
“They are depressing,” I muttered.
“They’re also filled with useful information,” said Damian. He turned to Peter. “Your grandfather must be very proud of you.”
“He is, bless him.” Peter heaved a forlorn sigh and spoke to me. “Grandfather’s so proud of me that he wrote a letter to the Times. He wanted the world to know that not all children of privilege are brainless wastrels whose pointless lives revolve around cocaine, clubs, and haute couture. He held me up as a shining example of how some of us are doing useful work, far from the limelight. He thought more attention should be paid to those of us who are involved, hands-on, in worthy projects, and concluded by saying that praise should be given in public to those who’ve earned it.” Peter sighed again. “Grandfather meant well, but I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.”
“My dad chimed in the next day,” said Cassie, rolling her eyes.
“Who is your dad?” I inquired.
“Festhubert Thorpe-Lynton,” she answered. “I’m Cassandra Thorpe-Lynton. Dad’s in the House of Lords. He read Lord Elstyn’s letter aloud in Parliament and followed it with a long-winded speech extolling the unsung virtues of privileged youth.”
“In which Cassie featured prominently,” Peter added.
“And from there things simply spiraled out of control,” Cassie went on. “No one wanted to be shown up. Every peer with a hardworking son or daughter came out of the woodwork to make a statement for the public record. Those without could do nothing but sit and steam.”
“Cassie and I were suddenly at the center of yet another debate about the role of the nobility in the modern world,” said Peter, cringing.
“We don’t get newspapers at our observatory,” Cassie went on, “so we had no idea of the whirlwind that was beginning to swirl around Lord Elstyn’s letter and my father’s speech.”
Peter nodded. “It came to our attention a week ago, when boatloads of reporters—”
“And photographers,” Cassie inserted.
“—came flocking to our research station to grab a story,” Peter finished.
Cassie pressed a hand to her breast. “I’m the peer’s do-good daughter.”
“I’m the hope for Britain’s future,” said Peter, laughing.
“And, naturally, we’re hopelessly in love.” Cassie buried her face in her hands, though she, too, was laughing. “It’s been simply too ghastly for words.”
“The story must be all over Finch by now,” I commented.
“It is,” said Peter, and his laughter died. “I rang Mum and Dad on my mobile as soon as I realized what was happening, but they knew about it already. They’ve had a knot of paparazzi lurking at the end of their drive for nearly a week.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “If the paparazzi sneak up the drive, Bill will be happy to help Emma and Derek sue them for trespassing. In fact, he’ll be ecstatic. He’s always wanted to take a tabloid twit to court.”
Damian regarded the two young people somberly. “I imagine the media invasion made it difficult for you to work.”
“It was impossible!” Peter burst out. “The idiots zoomed around the observatory in their rented boats, frightening the wildlife and our colleagues. We prayed that a storm would drown them or at least drive them back to the mainland, but our prayers went unanswered.”