assistance on the conversation front.
‘I was just telling your son,’ Mrs Norris said as she accepted a glass of wine from Mrs Sutton, ‘that there’s to be a kissing booth at the fête this year. Might you run it for us?’
‘Of course,’ Lady Mary agreed. ‘Have you any candidates to sit in the booth?’
‘Well, Bibi’s put herself forward; but I hardly think it appropriate,’ Mrs Norris sniffed.
‘On the contrary, that’s a marvellous idea!’ Lady Mary beamed. ‘Bibi’s a lovely girl, she’ll be very popular. And raising money for the local children’s ward is our goal, after all.’
‘True,’ Mrs Norris said, doubt plain on her face.
‘What about you?’ Bibi said suddenly, and turned to Dominic.
He nearly choked on his Pouilly-Fuissé. ‘Me?’
‘You’re a rock star, after all. You’d make a fortune for us. All the girls will line up to kiss Dominic Heath.’
‘That’s brilliant!’ Lady Mary exclaimed. ‘You must do it, darling.’
‘No,’ he said mulishly. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘But you’d be helping the village,’ his mother coaxed, ‘and you’d be helping the children’s ward of the local hospital.’
‘Think of the publicity,’ Bibi pointed out. ‘“Rock Star Aids Local Children’s Ward”.’
Dominic hesitated. He could certainly do with a bit of good publicity. Besides, how hard could it be, getting paid to kiss a bunch of local teenage girls?
‘All right, I’ll do it. But only for a couple of hours.’
Although it clearly pained her to do so, Mrs Norris thanked him for his generosity. ‘I’ll let you know the details later, Rupert…I mean, Mr Heath.’
She did not allude again to his regrettable musical career, nor did she address him further. Loathing emanated from her like heat shimmering above a barbeque grill.
And Dominic was glad. It meant he could sit back, get pleasantly fuzzed, and let the conversation eddy and swirl around him without the bother of joining in.
Shadows grew long on the east lawn as he and his mother finished off the bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé. Bibi and Mrs Norris, after a few more minutes of polite conversation, murmured their apologies and left. Neither Liam nor his father had returned from London.
‘Well, Mum, it’s time I left as well.’ Dominic stood and bent forward to kiss his mother‘s cheek. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow, and I’ll bring Gemma.’
‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, darling. It might be best if we all meet for tea at the hotel instead.’
His expression darkened. ‘Why can’t I bring her here?’
‘Now, Rupert, don’t spoil things by scowling at me like that! Of course you must bring Gemma here. Just…not yet. Your father will be in too much of a strop over your return to deal with any more drama.’
He scowled, fully prepared to be mulish, but thought the better of it. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he agreed grudgingly.
‘Of course I am. Let’s plan for lunch at the tearoom tomorrow at noon, shall we?’ Her words were brisk. ‘I’ll get to meet Gemma, and she can meet me.’ Lady Mary eyed him shrewdly. ‘And we can take one another’s measure.’
Dominic said his goodbyes and made his way through the rose garden and around the side of the manor house, back to his Maserati. Shadows stretched across the drive as he thrust on his sunglasses and climbed in and started the engine. Although he’d wanted to get the meeting with his father over with, he was relieved it hadn’t happened.
It was sure to be unpleasant. Anything to do with Lord Locksley invariably was.
Dominic manoeuvred the car around the front sweep of the drive and headed back to the hotel. His old man could trace his lineage to the Elizabethans, and he had Mansfield Hall, his title, and the family herald to prove it. He was aristocratic to the bone.
He was also intolerant, close-minded, prejudiced, and elitist. And those were his good qualities.
Moodily, Dominic changed gear as he rounded a bend in the drive. He decided to open the Maserati up. Driving in London, the car seldom moved above a crawl; it needed a good, hard run. He floored the gas pedal and the sleek red car leaped forward.
Dominic imagined himself racing across the finish line at Le Mans to waving flags and cheering crowds. He saw the adulation on the faces of the onlookers. He saw a couple of gorgeous, busty models waiting to drape the winner’s ribbon around him. He saw…
… an ancient estate wagon coming straight at him from the opposite direction. He cursed and wrenched the steering wheel sideways to avoid a collision; as he slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt, the estate wagon skidded and veered off into the ditch in a cloud of dust.
Furious, the driver flung open his door. ‘You young idiot!’ he raged. ‘You nearly killed us. What the devil do you mean, flying through here at such a high rate of speed? This is a private drive! Are you quite mad?’
Dominic emerged from his car and met the man’s irate glare. He was glad for the half bottle of Pouilly he’d just consumed. ‘No harm done, there’s not even a scratch on your fender.’
‘That’s scarcely the point, is it? You might have killed us!’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘You…what do you mean by this?’ the man sputtered. ‘Who the devil are you?’
‘You don’t know who I am? Really? I know it’s been a few years, but still.’ Dominic removed his sunglasses and said evenly, ‘Not much of a welcome home, is it, Dad?’
‘Rupert?’
His father stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless.
‘Hello, Dad.’
‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’
‘Mum asked me to come. She said Mansfield’s in a bad way.’
His father snorted. ‘Indeed? She told you I meant to disinherit you, more likely, and so you thought to run me over before I changed the will.’
Dominic counted, slowly, to five. ‘Sorry, no. By the way, I’m fine, thank you for asking. Oh, wait, that’s right – you didn’t ask.’
‘Why should I? I already know how you are,’ Lord Locksley shot back. ‘All I need do is flick through the tabloids to fully acquaint myself with your latest exploits.’
Liam Locksley got out of the car and came round to stand next to his father. His scowl
