Page 12 of A Change of Location
He laughed. “Not always. Tomorrow will be bright and dry.”
“It certainly couldn’t get wetter.”
“Indeed, it could. And assuredly will. You’re experiencing what we call a mild spring shower.” The heavy drops battering his windshield contradicted him. “Did driver training in your parents’ Morris Minor stand you in good stead?”
“So far, so good. I stay off your terrifying motorways as much as I can. Despite the fact I often drive in Boston, which has the craziest drivers in the entire United States.”
“I can easily believe that. Quite shocking.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Ten years ago, very nearly. Reckless motorists and deep potholes and towering buildings. That sums up my experience.”
“No cruise on a Swan Boat in the Public Garden?”
He shook his head. “Never saw one.”
“You must’ve been there during the off season. They stop running in September.”
“Late autumn, which to us felt like winter. I hadn’t any time for sightseeing. I definitely wasn’t in the mood. In retrospect, worst year of my life.”
“Mine too,” she confessed.
The aftermath of Chase’s trial and sentencing. The unraveling of family relationships.
She tugged her thoughts from the past and tried to discern the landscape between swipes of the wipers as her lordly driver sped along.
He halted at the metal gate set between a pair of tall stone pillars. “Visiting dignitaries arrive at the main entrance.” Picking up a remote-control device from the center console, he pressed the number pad and the iron bars parted. When he’d passed through the opening, he tapped the pad again to close the gate.
The distinctive façade, recognizable from the photos Hannah had studied earlier, loomed ahead. A coat of arms was carved in stone above the archway. “Enormous indeed. As described.”
“Compared to Castle Latimer, practically a hovel.”
“You have a castle, too?”
“Had. I sold it.”
Like his modest automobile, this revelation confirmed his insolvency. “That’s too bad.”
“No loss. A mid-Victorian monstrosity inconveniently located in the remotest reaches of Cumbria. A popular shooting estate, from Edwardian times up to the First World War, when people traveled in their private rail cars and had armies of servants to make them comfortable. The luxury hotel company who owns it now did it up beautifully. With an exclusive world-class golf course. And a spa.” His palm struck the steering wheel. “Damn—forgot an umbrella. Not the best way to make a favorable impression.”
She pulled her pashmina over her head, and together they hurried through the rain. He poked at another security keypad and ushered her through the tall oak door.
Drawing back her shawl, Hannah gazed upon the mellow splendor of a Great Hall dating from Tudor times. A minstrels’ gallery enclosed with a railing stretched across the room, directly opposite a tall oriel window, rows of clear panes and above them a line of heraldic shields in colored glass. Straight-backed Jacobean chairs with carved arms and legs stood against the wood-paneled wall, and leather armchairs flanked the massive fireplace. Paintings of soldiers on horseback lined the walls, and weaponry arranged in complex patterns decorated the area above them.
“You’re well prepared for any trouble that comes along,” she observed, slashing the air with her arm.
“It’s here now—trouble on four legs.” A gangly, furry creature plummeted down the carved staircase and raced across the stone-paved floor. “Meet Ariel.”
Hannah stood her ground. Greeting the caramel-colored dog by name, she extended a friendly hand. After some curious snuffling, Ariel waved her tail, an invitation to pet her elongated head. “What breed is she?”
“Numerous. A complete and utter mongrel. Which is to say, a lurcher. Yes, yes, I’m home again. We were apart for all of twenty minutes—however did you survive, my darling?” He knelt so the dog could lick his chin.
If he talks like that to his girlfriend, and caresses her as gently, Hannah mused, she must be in a constant state of bliss.
Rising, he said, “Ron laid a fire in the drawing room so I can show it off. I don’t often use it, with just the two of us living here.”
Ron? Hannah’s speculations about his significant other abruptly shifted from girlfriend to boyfriend. Or male partner. Or husband.
