supper Anna had a quick bath, then pulled on pyjamas and fleece dressing gown and went to work on her hair, praying that a good night’s sleep would do something for the circles under her eyes. But once she was settled against stacked pillows later she felt a lot better, as she always did the moment she was through the door of Keeper’s Cottage.
True to his word, John Morton arrived at nine next morning to find his daughter at the table, reading yesterday’s paper. She smiled smugly as she held her face up for his kiss.
‘There!’ She showed him the remains of her toast and marmalade. ‘I’ve eaten breakfast. Have you?’
‘Far too much.’ He patted his spare midriff ruefully.
‘What’s Tom doing?’
‘I told him to have a lie-in for once, but he’s up now. When I left he was wolfing down everything the Red Lion had to offer.’ John glanced at the paper Anna had been reading. ‘I thought I’d cancelled that.’
‘It’s mine. I brought it with me.’ She handed him a cup of tea. ‘Sit down for a minute, Dad. There’s something I want to say.’
His dark eyes narrowed anxiously. ‘That sounds ominous!’
‘Not really.’ She braced herself. ‘It’s just that if Ryder Wyndham gives me permission I’d like to do my convalescing here at the cottage.’
Her father frowned. ‘But this place is a bit isolated, Anna. Are you sure it’s a good idea?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘I feel much better already, after just one night here.’
He eyed her closely. ‘You certainly look more rested.’
‘For the first time in ages I slept like a baby.’ Anna looked at him in appeal. ‘Dad, you and Tom both saw Gramp more recently than I did, thanks to my stay in hospital. I really need this time here to say my goodbyes to him.’
He nodded slowly in agreement. ‘I’m sure an old friend like Ryder won’t object.’ He downed his tea and stood up. ‘Right. I must get back. Several people arrived last night, but quite a few more are booked in for today, so I’d better be on hand with Tom when they turn up. I’ll be back for you at—’
‘No, you won’t, Dad! There’s no point in doubling back from the village to collect me. I’ll drive over and meet you both there.’
He shook his head. ‘Stubborn to the last! We’ll wait for you outside the church, then. And wear something warm.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
Anna kissed him goodbye, then cleared away the breakfast pots and went upstairs to deal with the bright hair inherited from the mother who’d died when Anna was eight. Of pneumonia, she thought with contrition. No wonder her father was concerned. But, unlike her delicate mother, she was normally as fit as a fiddle. By the time she’d vegetated here for a few days—subject to the Squire’s approval, she reminded herself acidly—she’d be strong as a horse again and ready to get back to her job.
At ten-thirty she was ready in the slim black suit worn with a silk camisole over one of the lacy vests Clare had waiting when Anna was discharged from hospital. She added a long black overcoat, brushed a stray tendril back into her upswept knot of hair and put on dark glasses. She locked up carefully and then on impulse picked a posy of snowdrops from a flower bed, and threaded them through a buttonhole.
When Anna arrived at the church it was no surprise to find a long line of cars there before her. Hector Morton had been much respected as well as universally liked. A decent turnout was only to be expected. Anna smiled as her brother, sober-suited and his thatch of dark hair tidy for once, hurried to give her a rib-cracking hug as he helped her out of the car.
‘You look pale but gorgeous with it,’ he said, holding her away to look at her. ‘I like the celebrity shades.’
‘Camouflage in case I cry.’ She eyed him in approval. ‘You look pretty good yourself, Tom. After the long hours you moan about I thought you’d be wan and haggard.’
‘I was when I got here, but the cure was simple—a night’s sleep followed by the biggest breakfast of my entire life,’ he informed her, grinning. ‘And, unless that’s a very clever paint job, you look a damn sight better than you did in hospital.’
‘I’m absolutely fine now,’ she said firmly as they joined their father.
John kissed her cheek. ‘You look lovely, darling.’ He took Anna and Tom aside as the hearse glided to a stop outside the lych-gate. ‘We follow him down the aisle,’ he said in an undertone.
Faced with the harsh reality of the flower-crowned coffin, Anna heaved in an unsteady breath, grateful for Tom’s supporting arm as they entered the church. From that moment on the entire service passed in one long act of self-control. She sang the hymns her grandfather had chosen and even managed to listen without breaking down when her father spoke with humour and deep affection about Hector Morton, beloved father, grandfather and lifelong friend to many of those present.
In the churchyard later Ryder Wyndham stood slightly apart from the other mourners, watching as Anna took snowdrops from her buttonhole to let them drift down on the coffin in silent goodbye. When she looked up at last she gazed at him for a moment through the dark, concealing lenses, then inclined her head in slight, unsmiling acknowledgement and turned away.
Shaken by the silent exchange, Anna would have given much to drive straight back to the cottage there and then. Instead she walked across the village green to the Red Lion and took her place beside her father and Tom to welcome an assortment of relatives and friends. She responded to kisses and condolences, assured people that she was well now and listened to affectionate reminiscences about her grandfather. Her tension mounted steadily until at last, during one of her regular checks to make sure no elderly relative was left alone, she saw Ryder Wyndham approaching.
‘How good of you to come,’ she said formally and held out her hand very deliberately to prevent him from kissing her cheek, as most other people had done.
He shook the hand briefly, his handsome face grave. ‘Hector was my oldest friend, Anna. I shall miss him very much.’
‘So shall I.’
‘Hi there, Squire,’ said Tom as he came to join them. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Far too long, Doctor.’ Ryder smiled warmly as he shook Tom’s hand. ‘You should take a break and go fishing with me again.’
‘Nothing I’d like better,’ said Tom promptly. ‘Look, we’re staying here tonight. Why not come over for a drink and a chat later when it’s quiet?’
‘Thank you. I may well do that.’ Ryder turned to Anna with concern. ‘You’re very pale. Let me get you some brandy.’
‘She’s just out of hospital. This was a huge strain for her today,’ said Tom, eyeing her closely. ‘How do you feel, love?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ she assured him and smiled politely at Ryder. ‘I’ll pass on the brandy, thanks, but I would like a word with you. Could you spare me a few moments tomorrow at the cottage—Mr Wyndham?’
His jaw clenched at the formality. ‘Of course,
