The Journey Home. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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nostalgic.
Scotland seemed to have carved a special niche in his heart, and ever since that first spontaneous visit, he’d become a regular guest here. Dalkirk was the closest thing to a home he’d known in years, for the Kinnairds had adopted him as part of the family, with Chloë teasing in a sisterly fashion and Diana hovering, her maternal instincts aroused.
As he watched Chloë climb back into the large leather sofa, curling her small legs beneath her, he realized how much he’d truly come to care for them all.
“A penny for ’em,” Chloë said, watching him closely from under her thick dark lashes.
“Just thinking about you Kinnairds. You’ve been real friends to me,” he said, pulling on the cigar.
“Jack, darling, we adore you. The old place wouldn’t be the same without you!” She lifted her glass, smiling at him affectionately. “And I have someone to tease whenever I come home. Anyway, why wouldn’t we be real friends?”
“You’d be surprised.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Most people only invite me to their homes when they want something. They can’t cut straight to the chase, so they go through the BS of having me to their home, wining and dining me, before getting to the point. But the first time Peter invited me here, he genuinely wanted me to come, and I felt it. You guys have made me feel at home ever since.”
“Well, you are rather a decent chap. If you weren’t so odiously overbearing, I’d have a go at you myself,” she said teasingly.
“Forget it. I’m a rolling stone.”
“You pretend to be but I don’t believe you are at heart. You can be quite sweet at times, when you want,” she added perceptively.
“Chloë, give me a break. I’ve had a long day. I only got back from Dunbar a couple of hours ago. Serena drove me.”
“What, that horrible creature?”
“No shit!”
“Swear away, don’t worry about me!” Chloë said blithely. “Though I agree with you about Serena. Behind all that elegance and class, India’s a very lovely, sensitive person. And a lot of fun, too, when she wants,” she continued as though the subject hadn’t changed.
“She seems to know her business back to front.”
“We have been observant, haven’t we?” she teased. “What was Serena doing there anyway? Getting ready for the spoils, no doubt.”
“Looks like it. Apparently she’s inherited Dunbar.”
“That’s very possible. Lady El may have left it to her. Maybe she thought Serena might as well have Dunbar. After all, Indy’s never really been attached to the place. I’ll go over early tomorrow to give her moral support. She’ll need it with Serena around. By the way, that brings something to mind,” she said, a mischievous grin replacing the sad look of seconds earlier. “What happened that night at the party in September? I saw the two of you slipping upstairs.”
“That’s none of your business. I will only say that it was a regrettable incident that I’m not proud of. Anyway, a nice girl like you shouldn’t be talking these things over with guys.”
“It’s not guys, it’s only you,” she said disdainfully.
“Thanks a lot. Just don’t you start opening your big mouth to Peter and Di.”
“Promise.” She crossed her heart, looking pensive all of a sudden. Jack watched as her eyes turned misty, and she gazed into the flames.
“New man in your life, Chlo?”
“How did you know?” she exclaimed, almost spilling her drink.
“It’s written all over you.”
“Jack,” she said, eyeing him seriously, “I think this time it’s the real thing.”
“Shoot.”
“He’s…different, you know, not like the other chaps I meet.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “That’s what you said about the last three.”
“There! You see? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, now you’ll be horrid,” Chloë exclaimed crossly.
“He’s bought the magazine. He’s diversifying his interests,” she added grandly.
“And what are those?”
“He’s in oil and all sorts of things. He’s from Texas.”
“What does he want with a gossip magazine?” Jack asked, curious.
“He wants to expand it. In fact, he’s offered me the job of chief editor in New York,” she said casually, knotting the fringe of the cushion. “I don’t know, though. I love London, but everything is happening over there. Lots of Brits in the business on Madison Ave., you know.”
“Do you come in the package with the paper?”
“What a horrid thing to say,” she exclaimed, aiming the cushion at him. He dodged it. She brooded for a second then asked, “Did Indy look miserable? I talked to her yesterday, and she sounded pretty down in the dumps. Not her usual self at all. Lady El was so super, we’ll all miss her.”
“I don’t know.” He replied, his tone noncommittal, “I learned about her mother’s death by pure fluke. If I hadn’t put my foot in it, she probably wouldn’t have mentioned it. She was the perfect hostess.”
“Typical!” Chloë exploded. “I wish she’d loosen up. It was that marriage to that prick, Christian, that made her clam up like that.”
“She’s married?” He felt an inexplicable stab of disappointment.
“Not anymore, thank God,” she added darkly, taking a long, thoughtful sip of her drink.
“How long were they married?”
“A couple of years.”
“What happened?”
“Now who’s being nosy?”
“Mere curiosity.”
Chloë frowned. “He dropped her like a hot potato for a German heiress, a Princess von something-or-other, when he found out that Lady El had pretty well got through Indy’s father’s fortune. Hopeless with money, poor Lady El. I can’t think why India’s father didn’t leave it in trust for them, but anyway, he didn’t. So that was that as far as the dashing Comte de Monfort was concerned.” She looked up, her eyes full of anger. “The coward didn’t have the guts to tell her outright. He wrote her a long rambling letter—he even had the bloody nerve to say he owed it to his family to preserve the family fortunes and the purity of their lineage. Can you believe it?”
“What a jerk,” he said, feeling unaccountably angry on India’s behalf.
“Yes, and now all she ever does is work. I could murder Christian for what he did. It was the last straw. It affected her more than she’ll admit. That’s why she’s thrown herself into La Dolce Vita so intensely. That and the fact she needed to make money or she would have lost Chantemerle.”
Jack listened intently, dying to ask more, but knowing it would only excite Chloë’s curiosity.
She yawned. “I’d better go and phone Indy, poor darling, then I’m off to bed. I’m exhausted.”
“Good night, brat.” Jack rose and handed her the fur coat.
“Brat indeed,” Chloë sniffed as she picked up her bag.
“You need a guy who can keep you in line, young lady.”
Chloë stuck her tongue out at him and left.
Jack turned back into the room, smiling. He picked up a book left open on the table next to the sofa and glanced at it. It was the latest Grisham.