'Well, this is it,' he told me. 'The end of the property.'
'Where?' I looked for a fence, and found none.
'Just beyond that row of trees. It used to go much farther, of course, but most of the land's been sold off over the years. It would be foolish to own that much land these days, I think. And selfish.'
It all depended, I thought, upon one's sense of proportion. After all, the manor lands stretched practically to my back door, and it had just taken us half an hour to ride from the Hall to the westernmost boundary of the property.
After a moment Geoff turned his horse to follow the line of trees, and with a graceful step my mare fell in behind, moving as cautiously as a thoughtful pony balancing a small child. I let the reins lie loose upon her neck, and enjoyed the scenery.
'It's so lovely, Geoff,' I said, watching a hawk trace lazy circles high over our heads. 'How can you bear to leave it as often as you do?'
He shrugged, and half turned in his saddle to speak over his shoulder. 'I don't know. I like variety, I guess. My home in France is just as beautiful. I don't think I could stand being tied to one place my whole life. Besides, this has always been more my father's house than mine.'
I was silent, thinking over something he'd said. 'Why France?' I asked him.
He turned again. 'I beg your pardon?'
'Why did you buy a house in France? Do you have family connections there?'
'Not really,' he replied. 'Though I suppose if I carried the family history across the Channel I'd find a whole army of de Mornay cousins populating the countryside. The first de Mornay was a Norman, after all. No, I bought the house because I liked it. It has a gorgeous view of the Mediterranean, and there's a harbor close by where I can keep my boat. And the sun shines all the time,' he added, 'which puts it a notch above Exbury, in my book.'
'I thought you said you liked variety,' I reminded him with a smile, and he shook his head staunchly.
'Not when it comes to weather.'
From the corner of my eye I caught the glimmer of a shadow moving among the trees to the right of us. Excited, I called Geoff s attention to it a split second before a stag—a majestic, powerful stag with branching antlers—broke clear of its cover and went bounding across the field in front of us. When it had disappeared into another cluster of trees I turned to Geoff, my eyes still shining, and found him watching me with a quizzical expression.
'Who's Richard?' he asked me calmly.
'What?'
'You called me Richard just now.'
My smile was not quite natural. 'Did I? I can't imagine why. Sorry.'
'Old flame, is he?' He clung to it, persistent.
'Something like that.' I nodded, trying to turn it into a joke. 'Why, are you jealous?'
Instead of smiling back, as I had expected, he kept his eyes hard on my face for a long moment before answering.
'I'm not sure,' he said slowly. After another moment the smile came, the one I had been waiting to see. 'Come on,' he invited, turning his horse toward the tall chimneys of Crofton Hall, 'I'll race you back to the stables.'
The heavens took pity on me, and by some miracle I managed to remain upright for the thundering gallop back. In the stableyard I dismounted with dignity, my knees still shaking at the thought of how nearly I had escaped sailing over the mare's head into the manure pile when we'd finally stopped running.
'Stiff?' Geoff eyed me assessingly as the groom led our horses away.
‘A little.' Which was an understatement. I was hobbling like a bandy-legged cowboy, and I knew it. 'It has been a while since I've ridden.'
He smiled knowingly. 'You did fine. Better than fine, actually.' He took hold of my elbow and steered me toward the house. 'Come on, let's see what we can find in Freda's kitchen.'
What we found, quite unexpectedly, was Iain, rocking back on a kitchen chair with his boots propped against the table rail underneath, smoking a cigarette in an attitude of wholly masculine satisfaction.
'What was that?' Geoff asked, pointing at the suspiciously empty plate 6% the table in front of his friend.
Iain grinned. 'Steak and kidney pudding,' he said, 'with homemade chips, a salad, and blackberry crumble.'
'You bastard,' Geoff said with a slow smile. 'How do you do it?'
Iain tilted his jaw indignantly. 'I've been working hard all day, my lad, not cantering about the countryside like the bleeding gentry. How was your ride, by the way?'
'I stayed on top of the horse,' I answered. 'It was a success.'
We didn't see much of Iain these days, it seemed. Now that the truly warm weather had arrived, he was too busy working his farm and the orchard to make it into town on a regular basis. I found I missed him, and his undemanding presence.
'How are the sheep?' I asked him, in my turn.
'Stupid as ever. I thought I'd take a break from them today and get some work done on the rose garden, here.'
Geoff sent him a fatherly look. 'We have a gardener to do all the slogging, Iain. You don't need to worry about it, you'll only wear yourself out.'
'When your gardener learns to do the job properly, I'll stop worrying,' Iain promised dryly. 'Besides, I thought I'd try something a little different this year. I'll be wanting your opinion on it, if you can spare the time.'
'When?'
Iain shrugged his broad shoulders. 'How about now? It shouldn't take long.'