really should lock the cottage door,’ she told her grandfather ruefully as he looked at the laden tray. ‘Anyone could just walk in.’
‘I wouldn’t call you just anyone, my darling,’ he teased as he watched her pour the tea. ‘Besides, anyone could get in anyway, if they were determined enough, Leonie, locked door or no,’ he defended lightly as she shot him a reproving look.
He was right, of course. But that didn’t mean she didn’t worry about him down here in Devon all on his own. Although she knew he wouldn’t thank her for fussing.
A noted historian in his own right, he had continued to lecture until he was well into his sixties, had always been a voice of authority that was listened to, by his students and colleagues alike.
Luke Richmond had asked her what she was trying to prove by becoming a historian like her grandfather. She wasn’t trying to prove anything; she just respected and loved her grandfather very much. The fact that she had also known her choice of career would please him immensely had come into it, of course, but it wasn’t the whole story…
’So, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ he prompted once they both had a cup of tea. “’Just passing” won’t pass muster, I’m afraid,’ he added dryly.
Obviously not, but by driving to Rachel Richmond’s house in Hampshire earlier this morning she had already been almost halfway here; it had seemed only logical to make the rest of the drive to her grandfather’s home in Devon. Besides, for the past week she had wanted to ask him about something…
‘It’s so relaxing here.’ She sighed happily, resting back in her garden chair, birds singing in the trees, the wild flowers already in abundance in the well-cared-for cottage garden that was her grandfather’s pride and joy.
‘It is.’ He too looked around them with satisfaction. ‘How’s your young man?’ he prompted interestedly.
Leonie smiled at the description; at thirty-two Jeremy could hardly be called that. Although, probably to her grandfather, in his eightieth year, that did seem young!
‘Fine,’ she answered dismissively. ‘He’s away on some computer course or other this weekend,’ she added helpfully.
‘Ah. At a bit of a loose end, are you?’ Her grandfather nodded understandingly, blue eyes twinkling teasingly beneath bushy iron-grey brows.
‘Grandfather!’ Leonie chided laughingly. ‘You make it sound as if I only came to see you because I have nothing better to do this weekend!’
‘That’s how it should be with old fogies like me,’ he assured her seriously. ‘Enjoy your life, Leonie, with people your own age. That’s the way it should be. Despite what your mother may tell you to the contrary,’ he added dryly.
They shared a conspiratorial smile; as an only child, Leonie was expected, by her mother at least, to telephone her parents at least once a week, and to visit them in Cornwall once a month. Thank heavens her grandfather was just pleased to see her, no matter how long it had been since her last visit.
‘Actually, I was in Hampshire earlier this morning,’ she began slowly, still not quite sure how to broach this subject when her grandfather had never mentioned it himself. ‘I believe I met an old acquaintance of yours there…? At least, he seemed convinced the two of you had met.’
‘Really?’ her grandfather prompted interestedly before taking a sip of his tea.
‘Yes. You didn’t tell me your social life now involved screenwriters,’ she added lightly, grey eyes glowing teasingly.
He gave a perplexed frown. ‘I’m not sure…’
‘Luke Richmond,’ Leonie told him questioningly; she had far from forgotten the fact that the other man had claimed to have spoken to her grandfather concerning his biography.
Her grandfather looked blank for a moment, and then his brow cleared. ‘Ah—Luke Richmond!’ he repeated knowingly. ‘A rather dour young man as I recall…’ He nodded. ‘How on earth did you come to meet him, darling? Or has your own social life now moved into the world of the movies?’ he added teasingly.
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Grandfather!’ Leonie dismissed laughingly—although she couldn’t say she disagreed with his summing up of Luke Richmond’s nature! ‘I know exactly what you’re doing,’ she assured him wryly, ‘and I’m not going to be distracted. Why didn’t you tell any of us that you had been approached with the suggestion of writing the screenplay of your life?’
He grimaced. ‘Can you imagine your mother’s reaction to that?’ he scorned.
Leonie had no illusions about her mother, knew she was a complete snob—and she had not been at all happy the previous year when Leonie’s book on her father-in-law had come into print.
‘I can,’ she acknowledged dryly. ‘But even so… You could have told me, Grandfather,’ she admonished, giving him a playfully reproachful glance.
Her grandfather grinned, suddenly looking quite boyish. ‘What on earth were you doing in Hampshire this morning with Luke Richmond?’
Leonie looked at him searchingly, trying to gauge his reaction, but her grandfather was turned slightly away from her, making this difficult.
‘I wasn’t exactly with him,’ she said slowly. ‘I—he was a guest at the home of the person I was visiting.’
For some reason, after coming all this way to see her grandfather, Leonie now found herself reluctant to discuss Rachel Richmond with him. Or the fact that she had been stupid enough to be tricked into writing the other woman’s memoirs.
Her grandfather nodded. ‘He seemed like a very capable young man when I met him.’
‘If a little dour,’ she reminded dryly.
Her grandfather shrugged. ‘Only to be expected, I suppose. It can’t have been much of a life for him,’ he added softly. ‘Living in his mother’s shadow, I mean,’ he added at Leonie’s continued silence, turning to give her a rueful grimace.
No, it can’t have been easy for Luke all these years, Leonie acknowledged heavily. By agreeing to write Rachel’s book, she was about to make Luke’s lot in life all the harder to bear!
‘I THOUGHT you were paid to come here and work, not sit dreaming your time away under the apple blossom!’
Leonie didn’t need to turn to know the identity of her accuser—if the words weren’t condescending enough, the sarcasm of Luke Richmond’s voice was all too recognisable!
‘Actually, Mr Richmond,’ she drawled evenly, slowly turning to look at him as he stood behind the garden chair she sat in under the apple blossom, ‘I’m not being paid at all,’ she told him dryly. ‘And your mother suggested I might like to look through these photograph albums, with a view to the possibility of using some of them in the book, while she took her afternoon rest.’ She looked pointedly at the pile of albums on the wooden table in front of her.
Actually,
