I slept straight through dinner. The lingering scent of roast beef wafted up to me as I descended the staircase, but the sound of animated discussion drew me to a sitting room just off the entry hall. I recognized Anthea’s voice along with Nell’s and Lucy‘s, and their conversation seemed to indicate that they’d spent the afternoon trekking around the farm.
I stood for a moment unnoticed in the doorway. The sitting room was as inviting as the kitchen and as generously proportioned. The walls were hung with framed watercolors of horses, and the mantelpiece was chocka-block with trophies, rosettes, and ribbons. An eclectic collection of furniture added to the cheerfully cluttered atmosphere—an island of chintz-covered chairs and a cushy sofa filled the space before the fireplace, with a sprinkling of unmatched ottomans, paisley cushions, and tables of assorted shapes and sizes. Heavy drapes had been drawn across the windows to keep out the cool night air.
One corner of the room had been turned into a kind of study, with another Irish-pine bookcase to match the one that held dishes in the kitchen, and a long dining-room table serving as a desk. The table was littered with pens and pencils and a score of well-thumbed books, but an ancient Remington typewriter held pride of place, surrounded by piles of paper that I thought must be Anthea’s biography of Julia Louise, the one Lucy had mentioned back in London. A peculiar sensation crept over me when I saw another portrait of Julia Louise on the wall in front of the typewriter. She was dressed in gold brocade, with a choker of diamonds and pearls, and it was hard to shake the feeling that she was watching me.
Anthea sat between Lucy and Nell on the couch in front of the fireplace, with a photograph album opened in her lap. Lucy still wore her casual clothes, but Nell had, predictably, decided to dress for dinner. She’d changed into a blue velvet dress with long sleeves and a crocheted collar; Bertie, who sat in her lap, wore a dashing black cape lined in red silk.
“Lori,” Anthea said, coming over to greet me. She’d let her gray hair down and exchanged her riding clothes for a spectacular flowing gown of sea-foam green. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. I’m sorry for that shout-up in the village as well. Selling a horse always puts me in a foul temper. I simply hate to let one of my darlings go.”
“You must be famished,” Lucy put in, joining us. “I’ll ask Swann to bring a tray in here for you, shall I? He and your man Paul are doing the washing up.”
“Swann’s tickled to have another man about the place,” Anthea told me as Lucy left the room. “I’m afraid your father-in-law wasn’t much use. Too preoccupied with...” She waved toward the work space in the corner. “Bores poor Swann speechless, which is quite a feat. Now, you must come and hear what Nell’s been up to while you were resting.”
Nell had evidently gone horse-crazy. She couldn’t say enough about the chestnut mare and foal Swann had introduced to her, and the excitement of Anthea’s return on the big bay gelding made her trip over her words. I’d never thought I’d see Nell’s cornflower eyes fill with rapture at the mention of currycombs, but Swann’s tour—as well as his sunny disposition—had made a convert of her.
Lucy returned, and Swann followed soon after, bearing a tray filled with the warmed-over remnants of the roast-beef-and-Yorkshire-pudding feast he’d prepared in our honor.
“Paul’s gone up,” Swann announced, placing the tray on a table Lucy had pulled in front of my chair. “I’m yours for the evening, ladies, though I warn you: One whisper in praise of the dragon and I’ll vanish.”
“Poor Swann,” said Anthea with mock solemnity. “He suffers from overexposure to you-know-who.” She pointed to the portrait over the typewriter, then held her hand out to her husband. “Pax, my dear. I hereby declare a moratorium on family history—for the moment.”
Swann took Anthea’s hand, and she drew him down beside her on the couch, while Lucy curled up in a chair by the fire and Nell launched into another hymn in praise of horseflesh. I started in on the roast beef and contributed little to the ensuing conversation, preferring instead to observe my host and hostess.
They made a splendid couple. Swann was attentive but not fawning, Anthea affectionate but not doting, and though they reigned over separate kingdoms, Swann seemed to take as keen an interest in the stableyard as Anthea did in the affairs of the house. They listened to each other, laughed with fresh delight at stories they’d probably heard a thousand times, and left me feeling curiously elated. If this unlikely pair could achieve such a perfect partnership, surely there was hope for Bill and me.