Aunt Dimity Takes A Holiday Part 18

Lord Elstyn put a hand on his son's shoulder, whispering, "My boy . . ."

If I could have pulled out a magic wand and made everyone but those two disappear, I would have. The moment was sacred. It belonged to one father and one son, and no one else should have been there to witness it.

Bill was on the same wavelength. He rose quietly and motioned for the others to follow him out of the study. They would have, if Gina hadn't raised her voice.

"No," she said, then repeated more determinedly, "No. It's too late for reconciliation. The papers are signed. Simon will a.s.sume control of Hailesham's a.s.sets upon Uncle Edwin's decease."

"No, he will not," Simon growled.

"Don't meddle," Gina snapped. "You don't know how hard I've worked to make this happen."

"It's a pity you didn't discuss it with me," said Simon.

Gina flung the file folder on the desk in exasperation. "Why are you being so obstructive? You love Hailesham. I know you do. It's what you've always wanted."

All eyes turned to Simon. He gazed across the room at his wife, staring at her as if she were a stranger. Finally he smiled.

"You're right," he conceded. "I do love Hailesham." He put his hands in his trouser pockets, strolled slowly to the windows, and let his gaze rove from the workshops to the stables. He inhaled deeply. "I love the house, the woods, the gardens, but, above all, I love the tradition. It's a tradition that goes back some eight hundred years-for eight centuries the land's been handed down from father to son, without interruption." He looked over his shoulder at his wife. "Did you seriously believe that I, of all people, would be the one to break the chain?"

Gina's look of blazing hatred seemed to scorch the air. "If you refuse," she said, "you're on your own."

Simon shrugged. "I've been on my own for years." He turned his face to the windows. "It won't hurt to make it official."

Gina reached for the folder, but Claudia darted forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed it from the desk. "Yours, I think, Uncle Edwin," she said. "Your papers. Your decision."

Lord Elstyn turned to Gina, saying, "I'm sorry."

"You will be," she said evenly, and marched out of the study.

A moment of silence followed her departure. Then Lord Elstyn laid the folder on the desk, opened it, and began tearing up the closely written sheets of paper it contained.

Derek put a hand out to stop him. "Father," he said hesitantly, "you know I can't come back. I can't be Anthony again. I have my own life and it's a good one."

"You have a son," Lord Elstyn pointed out. "In two short weeks, he'll come of age."

I felt a rush of trepidation for Peter. He was at home sailing the high seas, paddling dugout canoes, manning vulcanologists' outposts. He was too young to trade the carefree adventures of the open road for the heavy responsibilities of family leadership.

Peter folded his hands in his lap and tapped the tips of his thumbs together. His gaze was focused inward, as if he were contemplating the diverging paths that stretched before him. He seemed to reach a decision. He stood, sauntered past his father and grandfather, and came to a halt at Simon's side. Both men gazed out at the courtyard.

"Heard you might be in need of new digs," Peter said conversationally.

"I doubt that Gina will let me back into the old one," Simon observed.

"Don't suppose you'd care to live here," said Peter.

Simon took a shaky breath and bowed his head.

"On a permanent basis, I mean," Peter clarified. "I've got a few commitments to keep over the next couple of years. It'd be comforting to know that Grandfather has someone-someone close at hand-on whom he can rely absolutely while I'm away."

Simon opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

"I'll need to learn the ropes when I come back, of course," Peter went on. "Should take years and years. The rest of my life, in fact. I'm rather counting on you being here to teach me." His steady gaze came to rest on Simon's face. "I've always counted on you to be here."

"I . . ." Simon struggled for composure. "I'll do my best, Peter. I swear to you, I'll do my best."

"Right. Good. Well, that's settled then." Peter's hand rested lightly on Simon's shoulder, then he turned to address the others. "I promised Nell I'd tell her what happened here this morning, but so much has happened that I'm not sure I can do it on my own. Would anyone care to lend a hand?"

"We'll all come," said Emma, and everyone murmured their a.s.sent.

"Excellent." Peter strode forward, gathering his shaken family as he went. "Though my promise strikes me now as a bit ridiculous. Knowing my sister as I do, I've little doubt that she'll end up telling us what happened."

His comment provoked a muted ripple of laughter. Peter seemed to know that old wounds healed best when given a judicious dose of sunshine.

Derek waited until the others had gone, then turned to gaze at Simon, who remained standing at the windows.

"Simon," he said softly, "where do I begin . . ."

Simon drew a breath and let it out slowly. "Use your skills," he said. "Start rebuilding some old bridges."

Derek nodded gravely, turned, and left the room.

I stayed behind with Simon.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," he answered, "but apart from my ribs, which are still rather tender, I believe that I may be better than I've been in ages." He took his hands from his pockets and held them out to me. "You said something-was it only yesterday? You said that a life without risk isn't worth living. Perhaps I've taken my first step toward rebirth."

"Sounds painful." I took his hands in mine and held them tightly. "If you need any help along the way . . ."

"I'll ask for help"-he pressed my hands to his heart-"from my friend."

Epilogue.

Simon collected a few personal items from his home, then moved into a suite of rooms at Hailesham Park. Though his son is a regular visitor, his soon-to-be-ex-wife is not. Lord Elstyn has already found a new attorney.

Lord Elstyn has found a new hobby as well. Emma coaxed him into the greenhouses one wintry day and persuaded him-no one knows how-to repot a geranium. He's taken a hands-on approach to gardening ever since, and it seems to have given him a new lease on life. When the tourists come in the spring and see a tall and stately gentleman wheeling barrows of compost down the paths, they'll find it hard to believe that he ever had a heart problem.

The problems besetting Derek's heart are more complex and will take longer to work out. He's trying hard to forge a new relationship with Simon as well as his father, and with goodwill on all sides, I' m confident he'll succeed.

The doctors have asked Derek not to visit Winnie. She was deemed incompetent to stand trial and confined to a secure nursing home, where she coddles the cat and keeps her room-and everyone else's-immaculate. I don't think she'll ever be released.

Claudia will never become a doctor, but she's put her social standing to good use by holding fund-raisers to support a cancer hospice. Her husband the MP cites her accomplishments with pride in his news releases, and the Westwood Trust now counts her as one of its most active and dependable patrons.

Oliver took me up on my invitation to visit the cottage. He spent Thanksgiving weekend helping Annelise chase after the boys while I basted the turkey, and he returned a week later, to bring Annelise a book she'd mentioned in pa.s.sing. Since he's not the kind of man to rush a courtship, I figure I'll have until St. Patrick's Day to find another nanny.

Peter returned to New Zealand to finish his whale survey, but Emma tells me that his next project will take him no farther than the Shetland Islands, where he'll spend the summer counting seals-and keeping his finger on the family pulse.

After two weeks of recuperation at Hailesham, Nell went back to Paris. When she failed to materialize at Christmas, Kit gave the boys rides in Rosie's sleigh, and young Rainey Dawson, a neighbor's granddaughter, won the coveted role of the Virgin in the nativity play. We're all hoping the Honorable Nell will come home at Easter, on the arm of Pierre or Jean-Luc or Francois.

On the whole, Dimity enjoyed her visit to Hailesham Park. She was particularly proud of me for resisting the obvious temptations. When I admitted that it had been touch-and-go for about a millisecond, she asked what had held me back.

I smiled as the answer came to me, ready-made. "Why would I settle for a n.o.ble heart, bags of charm, and a pair of beguiling dimples when I have all of that and so much more with Bill?"

My answer seemed to satisfy Aunt Dimity, though I haven't heard from her in a while. When we last spoke, she told me she'd need at least a month to recover from our five-day holiday.

Winnie's Treacle Tart.

1 9-inch pie sh.e.l.l.

FILLING.

1 cups light corn syrup combined with 1 teaspoon.

mola.s.ses.

1 cups fresh soft white bread crumbs.

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice.

teaspoon ground ginger.

1 egg, lightly beaten.

Prepare, but do not bake, your favorite pie sh.e.l.l.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

In a large bowl, combine the corn syrup-mola.s.ses mixture, bread crumbs, lemon juice, ginger, and egg. Stir until the ingredients are well combined. Pour the mixture into the pie sh.e.l.l, smoothing it out with a spatula. The sh.e.l.l should be about two-thirds full.

Bake in the middle of the oven for 20 minutes, or until the filling is firm to the touch and the crust golden brown.

Cut the tart into wedges and serve at once.

end.