the lobby, Bryn’s office was wood-panelled, the carpet thick and the furnishings solid and practical but obviously made and finished with expensive care.
The whole building spoke discreetly of prosperity and excellent workmanship—not new but magnificently modernised and maintained without spoiling its original character. While building their little empire from one country sawmill to a huge timber enterprise, and diversifying into paper production and even newspapers, the Donovans hadn’t lost sight of their history.
It was fifteen minutes before Pearl declared they mustn’t take any more of Bryn’s time. He got up to see them out, Rachel standing back to let Pearl go first. As she made to follow, Bryn closed a hand lightly about her arm, murmuring, “Thank you.”
Rachel shook her head to indicate she hadn’t done anything, but when he smiled at her she felt a momentary warm fizz of pleasure before they followed his mother through the outer office and he pressed the button for the elevator.
Pearl asked him, “Will we see you this weekend?”
“Not this time, I’ve made other plans.”
“Oh—with Kinzi?” She gave him an arch glance of inquiry.
“Yes, actually.”
Rachel, her gaze fixed on the rapidly changing numbers signalling the elevator’s rise from the ground floor, was relieved when a “ding” sounded and the doors whispered open.
Rachel worked most of Saturday, but Pearl insisted she take Sunday off, adding, “You’re welcome to use the car.”
“I’ll just go for a nice long walk, see what’s changed. I need the exercise.” Accustomed to working out at a gym, she had neglected her physical fitness since coming here.
Much of the farmland she remembered had been cut into smaller blocks occupied by city workers who hankered after a country lifestyle or whose daughters fancied a pony. The village of Donovan Falls, once a huddle of rough huts about Donovans’long-vanished sawmill, and later a sleepy enclave of old houses with one general store, had grown and merged into the surrounding suburb.
The little pioneer church the Donovans and the Moores had attended sparkled under a fresh coat of paint. And the falls named for Samuel Donovan, who had used the power of the river for his mill, were still there, the focus of several hectares of grass and trees donated to the community by Bryn’s father, a memorial plaque commemorating the fact. People picnicked under the trees, and children splashed in the pool below the waterfall.
Watching the mesmerising flow make the ferns at its edges tremble as the sun caught tiny droplets on the leaves, Rachel wondered what Bryn was doing.
Whatever it was, he was doing it with a woman called Kinzi. At first she’d thought—not admitting to hoped—that “Kinsey” might be male, but Pearl’s knowing, interested expression had dispelled any chance of that.
On the journey home from their trip into the city Rachel had suppressed a persistent curiosity while Pearl hummed a little tune to herself in brief snatches and engaged in only small bites of conversation. Rachel had an irrational idea that she was mentally counting potential grandchildren.
And there was no reason to feel ever so slightly irritated about that.
In the afternoon she caught up with her family and friends by e-mail, and on Monday was glad to get back to sorting through the Donovan records.
Pearl helped where she could, explaining family connections or identifying people in photographs. But she was outside dead-heading plants when the phone rang. Rachel picked up the extension in the smoking room and answered.
“Rachel?” Bryn’s deep voice said.
“Yes, your mother’s in the garden. I’ll call her.”
“No, I’ll catch up with her later. Everything all right?”
“She’s fine and the work is going well.”
“Did you have a good weekend?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
There was a short, somehow expectant silence. Was he waiting for her to reciprocate and ask how his weekend was? The thought hollowed her stomach.
Then he asked, “What did you do?”
Briefly she told him, not supposing he was really interested.
He said, “Next weekend I’ll take you riding. Unless you’ve made other plans.”
“I haven’t thought about it yet—”
“Good. Sunday, around ten. See you then.”
He’d put down the phone before she could refuse. And she didn’t really want to.
He must have mentioned the plan to his mother, because after talking to him that night, Pearl told her, “Bryn said you’re riding together on Sunday. It’ll be nice for him to have a companion. I don’t think Kinzi rides at all.”
“His girlfriend?” Rachel’s voice was suitably casual.
Pearl sighed. “Maybe something will come of it this time. They’ve been seeing each other for quite a long time.”
On Sunday Bryn turned up with a long-legged, green-eyed redhead. Her hair was cut in a short, straight, jagged style that would have cost a modest fortune. A primrose cashmere sweater and skinny jeans hugged a figure that most women would give a whole mouthful of teeth for, and high-heeled ankle-boots brought her near to Bryn’s height. A short denim jacket finished the deceptively casual outfit.
Kinzi gave Rachel a dazzling smile on being introduced and announced she was here to keep Pearl company while Bryn and “Rachel, isn’t it?” went off to “do your horsy thing”. On a rueful note she added, “The only time I got on a horse the brute threw me.” She laughed, a surprisingly hearty sound. “I know about getting back on and all that, but I thought, why should I? You don’t ride, do you, Lady Donovan?”
Pearl shook her head. “It’s kind of you to sit with an old lady, my dear. But not at all necessary. And please, let’s dispense with the title.”
Rachel had to choke back laughter at the uncharacteristic, almost querulous tone of Pearl’s little speech. Meeting Bryn’s slightly pained expression, belied by the amused appreciation in his eyes, she knew he hadn’t missed it, but Kinzi didn’t seem to notice.
Whether his bringing Kinzi along had been her own idea or Bryn’s, Rachel was very sure Pearl Donovan didn’t, and probably never would, think of herself as an old lady.
Perhaps it was the look she turned on her son that made him say, “Ready, Rachel? We’ll get going then.”
She had put on jeans and sneakers with a sweatshirt and was relieved to see that he, too, was casually dressed, although he wore riding boots.
In the car she told him, “Did your mother mention she had some visitors this week?”
“She asked them to come?”
“I don’t
