Page 160 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Oh, you know I’m never going to get married. I’m not the sort.’

‘You only think that because you haven’t met the right man. When you do, you’ll be the sort all right.’

‘We’ll see. But, actually, there is something I wanted to ask you.’

‘I knew it! Ask away, then, while I’m in a good mood.’

She told him about the lodgings, and he asked a lot of probing questions. They had reached the bridge before he had finished. ‘What does your aunt say? Have you asked her?’

Alice stopped on the bridge and looked down into the black water. There were patches of ice at the sides of the river where the vegetation halted the flow. ‘She doesn’t mind,’ she said. ‘I think she’d be glad to have one less person to bother about – assuming Rachel is going to be there after Christmas.’

Giles frowned. ‘I thought we’d got Rachel all squared away. Thank goodness Aunt Caroline is willing to chaperone her, if she’s going to be back on the market.’

‘On the market?’ Alice said, wrinkling her nose. ‘What a horrid expression.’

‘Well, you know what I mean. All right, this lodging thing, if it really is respectable, I suppose you can do it. You’re a sensible girl – not like your sister.’ A splash distracted his attention. ‘Oh, my God, has that stupid dog really jumped into the water? It must be freezing! Hi, Tiger! Here! Heel! Get out of that, you old fool!’

The dog was already scrambling up onto the bank and shaking himself vigorously. ‘He’s found out how cold it is,’ Alice said. ‘He’s coming.’

‘Yes, and he’ll be ready for his second shake just as he reaches us,’ Giles grumbled.

The service was everything a Christmas service should be. All Alice’s favourite carols were sung, the rector’s sermon was cheerful and not too long, the church was full of greenery, with splashes of red from the holly berries. There was the smell of pine and candle-wax, the smell of incense, and the choir singing the descants and bass lines to leaven the hearty bellowing of the congregation.

Afterwards there was a blockage at the church door, of everyone who wanted to talk to everyone else, or exchange a word with the rector without going out into the cold. Kitty and Grandmère and Rachel were absorbed into a group of ladies in smart hats, Richard was buttonholed by Mort Gregory from Shelloes Farm to talk about skimmed milk for pigs, and Giles was kidnapped by the Bexleys from the Grange who wanted to talk about the Shacklock ball and their own intended lawn meet on Boxing Day. Alice might have enjoyed talking about the latter, but she was conscious of the dogs being tied up in the porch, mouthed to Giles that she was going home, and slipped out.

Tiger and Isaac were enraptured to see her, and Tiger didn’t seem to be suffering from his icy dip – he’d got out so quickly the water probably hadn’t penetrated his thick coat. She untied them and walked out into the graveyard and, taking the path to the side gate, came upon the choir streaming out on their way home.

And suddenly Axe was there. She stopped dead, he saw her and stepped out of the flow, then came the few steps towards her, almost reluctantly, as though pulled by a rope. The dogs jumped and tugged at their leashes, wanting to get to him. Every living thing wanted to be near Axe Brandom. He was like a big fire in the dark of night – instinctively you edged closer.

And then they were only a foot apart, staring at each other. She thought he looked tired, and rather pale around the edges. A skinned sort of look. ‘You’ve had a haircut,’ she said, idiotically.

‘No, not recently,’ he said.

She had forgotten his voice, the richness of it. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

‘How are you, Lady Alice?’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘Are you well?’

He didn’t answer that. ‘You’ve been in London all this time?’

She was about to answer, and then saw that he knew she hadn’t. She’d been back many times. She’d hunted. But she’d never gone to see him. She had decided that it was best for both of them if she cut him from her life. And mostly it had been easy. He suspected that, and was sad.

‘How’s Dolly?’ she asked, to avoid anything harder. ‘And Della?’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘They miss you.’ I miss you.

‘Have you got any animals at the moment?’ He usually had some creature he’d rescued – young and abandoned, or hurt – that he healed, raised, fed and set free.

‘Two baby owls. Nearly ready to be let go.’

‘I suppose you trap mice to feed them,’ she said.

‘Everyone’s got to eat,’ he said. And then, ‘I kill ’em quick. I don’t give ’em alive now.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She had objected to the practice. It warmed her perilously that he’d cared enough to stop it. She understood that, telling her, he was making her a gift. ‘I – I haven’t been to see you,’ she began with difficulty.

‘I know,’ he said.