the food was set out indoors on the large kitchen table. Everyone came and helped themselves, then drifted outside again to eat ‘all frisky’ and enjoy the sunshine while it lasted. Everyone, that is, except Mona.
Anna noticed her slip out of the kitchen into the hall, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. She hastily piled some food on to an extra plate and followed her into the large square sitting room. In the soft light that filtered through its small mullioned windows, the horse brasses lining its walls winked at each other surreptitiously.
‘I brought you some lunch,’ Anna said, sitting down on the sofa next to her sister.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Come on, at least it’s not Barbara’s handiwork, I’ve spared you her cheese straws. And you’re better not drinking on an empty stomach.’
Mona gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Don’t you mean I’m better not drinking at all?’
‘Don’t you ever ask yourself that?’ Anna said quietly.
‘It’s all right for you, you don’t have a husband who hates you, or children who never do as they’re told, or in-laws who are spending your inheritance as if there’s no tomorrow.’ Mona’s large baby-blue eyes filled with tears. ‘And tonight with Rick Wentworth will be the ultimate humiliation!’
Anna looked at her in alarm. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’
But Mona could see no further than her own concerns. ‘The Musgroves will treat him as if he’s one of them – a huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ country yokel – and they’ll play those awful party games. What if the press turn up? Think of the embarrassment, it’ll be “Rick Wentworth caught in a compromising position with Mrs Barbara Musgrove and an orange” splashed all over the national papers, complete with photos. I’ve told Charles a million times, we should have had the party at Kellynch, done things with style and good taste.’
Anna looked down. There’d been precious little style or good taste the one time Walter and Rick had met. She’d seen her father in a temper before, of course; no surprises there.
Rick, however, was a different matter. She’d thought she knew him so well – but this man, with his reckless, almost uncontrollable anger, had been a complete stranger. The Rick she knew was persuasive, yes, and passionate; but gentle with it. And surprisingly romantic. The first time they’d made love, he’d–
Oh God, it was still so real, she could even smell the rose petals.
In the heavy silence Mona drank undisturbed, while Anna stared unseeingly at her lap and wondered if she could bear to meet the man she’d once loved.
Chapter Nine
Earlier that day, Sir Walter Elliot’s mind had been occupied by far more important reflections, as he reassured himself that – for a man in his position – mirrors were a necessity of life, whatever Minty might say.
He had just had an extra one installed in his dressing room, the free-standing cheval type, properly bevelled and oak-framed. He felt a huge sense of achievement now that he could view his appearance from 360 degrees. Lisa was enchanted and wanted the same arrangement in one of her dressing rooms; they’d decided it would be better in the second, more spacious one. Her original dressing room had proved too small when she returned after those traumatic few months in London, and moving her surplus clothes into the room next door had been the obvious solution. He vaguely remembered it being Anna’s bedroom – but she’d never live here again, so that was no longer a consideration.
His morning ritual completed, Walter adjusted the cuffs of his peach silk shirt and slipped on his taupe linen jacket, turning this way and that to admire the full effect. The expression ‘Clothes maketh the man’ was as true today as it had always been. How many men of fifty – he always rounded down, not up – looked this good?
He gave a little sigh. Inevitably, heads would turn at Luigi’s later, when he went to lunch with Lisa and
Anna noticed her slip out of the kitchen into the hall, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. She hastily piled some food on to an extra plate and followed her into the large square sitting room. In the soft light that filtered through its small mullioned windows, the horse brasses lining its walls winked at each other surreptitiously.
‘I brought you some lunch,’ Anna said, sitting down on the sofa next to her sister.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Come on, at least it’s not Barbara’s handiwork, I’ve spared you her cheese straws. And you’re better not drinking on an empty stomach.’
Mona gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Don’t you mean I’m better not drinking at all?’
‘Don’t you ever ask yourself that?’ Anna said quietly.
‘It’s all right for you, you don’t have a husband who hates you, or children who never do as they’re told, or in-laws who are spending your inheritance as if there’s no tomorrow.’ Mona’s large baby-blue eyes filled with tears. ‘And tonight with Rick Wentworth will be the ultimate humiliation!’
Anna looked at her in alarm. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’
But Mona could see no further than her own concerns. ‘The Musgroves will treat him as if he’s one of them – a huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ country yokel – and they’ll play those awful party games. What if the press turn up? Think of the embarrassment, it’ll be “Rick Wentworth caught in a compromising position with Mrs Barbara Musgrove and an orange” splashed all over the national papers, complete with photos. I’ve told Charles a million times, we should have had the party at Kellynch, done things with style and good taste.’
Anna looked down. There’d been precious little style or good taste the one time Walter and Rick had met. She’d seen her father in a temper before, of course; no surprises there.
Rick, however, was a different matter. She’d thought she knew him so well – but this man, with his reckless, almost uncontrollable anger, had been a complete stranger. The Rick she knew was persuasive, yes, and passionate; but gentle with it. And surprisingly romantic. The first time they’d made love, he’d–
Oh God, it was still so real, she could even smell the rose petals.
In the heavy silence Mona drank undisturbed, while Anna stared unseeingly at her lap and wondered if she could bear to meet the man she’d once loved.
Chapter Nine
Earlier that day, Sir Walter Elliot’s mind had been occupied by far more important reflections, as he reassured himself that – for a man in his position – mirrors were a necessity of life, whatever Minty might say.
He had just had an extra one installed in his dressing room, the free-standing cheval type, properly bevelled and oak-framed. He felt a huge sense of achievement now that he could view his appearance from 360 degrees. Lisa was enchanted and wanted the same arrangement in one of her dressing rooms; they’d decided it would be better in the second, more spacious one. Her original dressing room had proved too small when she returned after those traumatic few months in London, and moving her surplus clothes into the room next door had been the obvious solution. He vaguely remembered it being Anna’s bedroom – but she’d never live here again, so that was no longer a consideration.
His morning ritual completed, Walter adjusted the cuffs of his peach silk shirt and slipped on his taupe linen jacket, turning this way and that to admire the full effect. The expression ‘Clothes maketh the man’ was as true today as it had always been. How many men of fifty – he always rounded down, not up – looked this good?
He gave a little sigh. Inevitably, heads would turn at Luigi’s later, when he went to lunch with Lisa and
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