Page 31 of A Change of Location
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s my grandmother.” He seized her hand and pulled her aside, closer to the dining room. “I hope she didn’t notice us.”
Hannah looked up at him through narrowed eyes. “You don’t want to be seen with me?”
He shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, my girl. It’s not you, it’s her. If I’d guessed she’d be here, I’d have warned you in advance.” That sounded terrible. “I mean, prepared you. For the experience.” He waylaid a passing waiter and removed two glasses of wine from the tray. “Let’s fortify ourselves.”
“Why do we need to?”
Before he could explain, he was approached by an acquaintance, who offered an effusive greeting.
“Martin, so very pleased to see you! How’re you managing at Stanwell?”
“Perfectly well.” His grandmother could’ve cleared up his confusion about whether he should present a commoner to an earl, or vice versa. Not that it mattered. Reg was usually too inebriated to care about protocol, and no Yank—even a half-British one—would detect a breach of etiquette. “This is Hannah Ballard, from Boston. The one in America. Hannah, Lord Redruth.”
“What brings you to Blighty, Hannah?”
“Moviemaking,” she replied.
Intrigued, Reg asked, “Have I heard of you?”
“Unlikely,” she said with a dazzling smile. “I’m responsible for location shoots, working behind the scenes.”
“Right. Well, you’re certainly lovely enough to be an actress. Eh, Martin?”
He bobbed his head. “Stanwell will be a setting for her company’s next film.”
“Well done,” Reg responded, impressed. “I say, Hannah, my property in Cornwall has been in our family for centuries. We’ve turned most of the house into an exclusive hotel, catering to the high-end trade. Do stop by—as our special guest—and have a look. I’ll wager you’ll want to use Morthana House for a location.”
Politely noncommittal, she replied, “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Reg’s hazy eyes fell on Martin. “I hear you’re doing up one of your properties as a sort of museum.”
“Developing a local history center.”
“Will it pay, after the capital expenditure?”
“We aren’t expecting to turn a profit, not in the short term. It’s a much-needed source of employment and will energize the local economy.”
To his relief, Reg shuffled off to greet somebody else.
Hannah asked, “Is Lord Redface a close friend?”
“Redruth. We barely know each other. When drinking, he tends to forget that.”
“Is there a Lady Redface?”
“At least two. His most recent wife refused to overlook his call-girl habit. There’s an opening for a third, if you’re interested. An earldom. With a hotel attached. How can you resist?”
“Cornwall has call-girls?”
Martin laughed loud enough to draw stares. “If it did, Reg would spend more time there.”
She sampled a shaving of smoked salmon wrapped around a celeriac wedge before asking him the purpose of the Countryside Development Association. “It seems like a misnomer. Country folk in Maine don’t look anything like these people.”
“Membership is hereditary. My grandfather was a founder. My uncle was actively involved. I’m representative of a subset of younger, forward-thinking property owners. Our committees do massive amounts of work, and we let the codgers enjoy the visibility. And take much of the credit. A senior member of the Royal Family is always our patron. It used to be the Queen Mother, who was awfully fond of my late uncle when he was a young man about town. Most of her favorites were gay men. Or gin drinkers. Preferably both. Rufus was ideally qualified.” Lest she suspect him of speaking too disrespectfully, he added, “Not a secret to those who knew him well and loved him. But he never publicly outed himself.”
“Did he have a partner?”
