looked momentarily horrified. She wound her arms round his neck, smiling coquettishly.
‘Please say yes,’ she wheedled.
Guy had learned from his father that there was littlepoint in protesting when a woman had made her mind up about something.
‘No problem,’ he said amiably. ‘Just tell me when and where and I’ll tip up on the day’
At six o’clock on the dot, Madeleine Portias glided into the small sitting room. She was wearing a dove-grey cashmere sweater, wide-legged tweed trousers and soft suede loafers. Three gold bangles on her left wrist emphasized her tiny bones. She looked the epitome of elegance.
Guy was hovering. Nervously, Richenda thought, which was interesting, because she’d never seen him nervous. She herself had dressed in a simple black wrap dress, her hair smoothed into a low chignon. She was wary of looking too showbiz. Someone had once mistaken her for Martine McCutcheon, and it had been an early warning for Richenda. Too much make-up and not enough clothing and she might one day be mistaken for a Slater sister if she wasn’t careful.
Guy opened a bottle of champagne and Madeleine proposed a very gracious toast.
‘I hope you’ll be as happy together here as Tony and I were.’
The three of them exchanged kisses and hugs and smiles. A little awkwardly, because none of them could be quite sure what the others were thinking. Then Madeleine perched herself gracefully on one of the sofas, and indicated Richenda should sit opposite. Then she turned to Guy.
‘Darling, please go and do something useful in the kitchen. There’s a fish pie in the Aga. Why don’t youmake a salad to go with it? I want to talk to Richenda.’
The bracelets jangled as she shooed her son away. She turned to Richenda with a smile.
‘Now, I need to talk to you about your wifely duties.’
Richenda looked at her aghast. Her future motherin-law wasn’t going to talk to her about sex, surely?
To her amazement, Madeleine broke into peals of delighted laughter.
‘Heavens, don’t look like that! I’m not talking about bed. I’m sure you’ve been road-tested already, knowing Guy’
Richenda coloured furiously, not knowing where to look.
‘I mean that as the lady of the house there are certain things expected of you. And I’m afraid that the responsibility will fall on you, once Guy takes over at the helm. I’ll be here to guide you, of course. But you will be the one they all look to. And it can be quite a daunting task, I can tell you. Almost a full-time job in itself.’
She smiled brightly. Richenda looked at her warily, not sure what the message was.
‘What sort of things?’
Madeleine opened a leather notebook, drawing a tiny pencil out from the spine.
‘First and foremost is the village fête. We have it in the grounds here every July, and I’m afraid it’s a political minefield. You have to be very diplomatic; make sure none of the committee members railroad you. Just be firm…’
Richenda nodded. She thought she could handle the village fête committee.
‘The annual crisis is who to get to open it. It’s usuallya toss-up between a celebrity gardener and a children’s TV presenter. But obviously that won’t be a problem any more. You can wield the scissors.’
Madeleine flashed her a quick smile before referring back to her list.
‘Then the May Day bank holiday the gardens are traditionally open to the public. Via the National Gardens scheme. I’ll introduce you to Malachi. He does all the planting here. He’s a bit of a law unto himself. And he spends half of his time inside. Very light-fingered, I’m afraid. Not that he’d ever steal anything from us, so don’t worry about that. The important thing is he’s a genius in the garden. Though no doubt you’ll have your own ideas.’
Richenda looked alarmed. She didn’t have a clue about gardening; didn’t know a dahlia from a dandelion.
‘Then there’s the Boxing Day meet.’
Richenda frowned.
‘I don’t know that
‘Please say yes,’ she wheedled.
Guy had learned from his father that there was littlepoint in protesting when a woman had made her mind up about something.
‘No problem,’ he said amiably. ‘Just tell me when and where and I’ll tip up on the day’
At six o’clock on the dot, Madeleine Portias glided into the small sitting room. She was wearing a dove-grey cashmere sweater, wide-legged tweed trousers and soft suede loafers. Three gold bangles on her left wrist emphasized her tiny bones. She looked the epitome of elegance.
Guy was hovering. Nervously, Richenda thought, which was interesting, because she’d never seen him nervous. She herself had dressed in a simple black wrap dress, her hair smoothed into a low chignon. She was wary of looking too showbiz. Someone had once mistaken her for Martine McCutcheon, and it had been an early warning for Richenda. Too much make-up and not enough clothing and she might one day be mistaken for a Slater sister if she wasn’t careful.
Guy opened a bottle of champagne and Madeleine proposed a very gracious toast.
‘I hope you’ll be as happy together here as Tony and I were.’
The three of them exchanged kisses and hugs and smiles. A little awkwardly, because none of them could be quite sure what the others were thinking. Then Madeleine perched herself gracefully on one of the sofas, and indicated Richenda should sit opposite. Then she turned to Guy.
‘Darling, please go and do something useful in the kitchen. There’s a fish pie in the Aga. Why don’t youmake a salad to go with it? I want to talk to Richenda.’
The bracelets jangled as she shooed her son away. She turned to Richenda with a smile.
‘Now, I need to talk to you about your wifely duties.’
Richenda looked at her aghast. Her future motherin-law wasn’t going to talk to her about sex, surely?
To her amazement, Madeleine broke into peals of delighted laughter.
‘Heavens, don’t look like that! I’m not talking about bed. I’m sure you’ve been road-tested already, knowing Guy’
Richenda coloured furiously, not knowing where to look.
‘I mean that as the lady of the house there are certain things expected of you. And I’m afraid that the responsibility will fall on you, once Guy takes over at the helm. I’ll be here to guide you, of course. But you will be the one they all look to. And it can be quite a daunting task, I can tell you. Almost a full-time job in itself.’
She smiled brightly. Richenda looked at her warily, not sure what the message was.
‘What sort of things?’
Madeleine opened a leather notebook, drawing a tiny pencil out from the spine.
‘First and foremost is the village fête. We have it in the grounds here every July, and I’m afraid it’s a political minefield. You have to be very diplomatic; make sure none of the committee members railroad you. Just be firm…’
Richenda nodded. She thought she could handle the village fête committee.
‘The annual crisis is who to get to open it. It’s usuallya toss-up between a celebrity gardener and a children’s TV presenter. But obviously that won’t be a problem any more. You can wield the scissors.’
Madeleine flashed her a quick smile before referring back to her list.
‘Then the May Day bank holiday the gardens are traditionally open to the public. Via the National Gardens scheme. I’ll introduce you to Malachi. He does all the planting here. He’s a bit of a law unto himself. And he spends half of his time inside. Very light-fingered, I’m afraid. Not that he’d ever steal anything from us, so don’t worry about that. The important thing is he’s a genius in the garden. Though no doubt you’ll have your own ideas.’
Richenda looked alarmed. She didn’t have a clue about gardening; didn’t know a dahlia from a dandelion.
‘Then there’s the Boxing Day meet.’
Richenda frowned.
‘I don’t know that
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