The Art of Inheriting Secrets(47)

“Nice.” The party of peacocks had just popped into my mind. Now I had to really think about it. “A cauldron of bats.”

He held up a hand to high-five me. “Good one.” When our palms slapped and dropped, he said, “So you’re staying then. In England, that is.”

“For a while, anyway.”

The slightest smile touched his lips. “Good.”

“We’ll see. It might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“I don’t think so. I have faith in you.” Looking back over his shoulder toward the house, he gestured across the landscape. “Imagine what it could be like if Rosemere was grand again.”

For a moment, I could see it, the rooms bustling, filled with light and rare, lovely things. “I hope so.” I pointed down the hill. “Do you want to see the garden?”

“I don’t mean to be too personal, but I can’t help noticing that you’re rather limping. We can save it for another day, eh? Let me give you a ride home.” He glanced toward the densely gathering clouds. “Fancy a little Indian food?”

“Hmmm. Do you know a good place?”

He grinned. “C’mon. You can tell us all about it over supper.”

I almost, almost reached out to take his hand. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. And yet . . . no. I had to keep reminding myself that he was seven years younger than me. I’d broken up with my fiancé of eight years only a couple of weeks ago. My mother had died. My life was insane.

And yet he felt like the calm in the center of a storm. “Let’s go this way first—to the stables. I’m going to make one of these over into a flat for myself.”

“You don’t want to live in the house?” His grin said he knew I wouldn’t.

I shuddered for effect. “Jocasta suggested that I make over the kitchen and live there, but oh my God, can you imagine?”

He inclined his head. “What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know—everything.” I widened my eyes. “It’s creepy as it is. Would you spend the night there?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. It likely wouldn’t bother me.”

“Oh, I double dare you. How many ghosts live in that place?”

“They’re all your relatives, though, aren’t they?”

“But I’ve never met them and would rather not make their acquaintances unless they have actual living bodies.”

He laughed, and I felt a hundred feet tall.

As I opened the door to the flat, again I thought of a dog by the fire and meals at a big wooden table, and again it felt exactly right. “It’s going to take a couple of months, but I think this is it.”

“It’s fantastic. A little isolated, though, isn’t it?”

“No, all the farmers are right down the road. Rebecca’s five minutes away.”

“Rebecca.”

“What?”

“She’s a sly one. I don’t trust her.”

“I had dinner with them last week.”

“No doubt there was gossip and gin.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Chicken shawarma and white burgundy, actually, and her husband has read your book.”

“Mmm. You were talking about me?”

“Well, sort of.” Turning my back to him, I wandered toward the far window and peered out. “Just to defend the idea that the house might be worth saving.”

“It is worth saving.” He came up beside me. “I would guess Rebecca doesn’t think so.”

“I don’t know. They both seemed to think it was a white elephant.”

“They want the title, I’d guess. If you give up, they can swoop in and become the earl and the countess.” He tapped a wall, looked at the ceiling. “That ceiling will need replacing.”

“Why don’t you like her?”

“I dunno. Don’t mind me. Probably more class baggage I’m carting around.”

“But you’re my friend.”

“Yeah.” The calm eyes rested on my face, and I would have sworn they touched my lips, my neck. “That’s because you look like Kate Winslet.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.” Suddenly, maybe because I’d seen Titanic with my mom, I was seized by a thought that hadn’t gelled before. “Wait.” I stopped, utterly still, as the truth washed over me.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.” I shook my head. “My mother had to have known that once she died, all of this would come out. I thought she’d been hiding it and I just accidentally found out, but she knew better than that. She knew that I’d find all the paperwork in her office and contact Haver.”

Samir nodded. “That does make a lot more sense.”

“So what am I supposed to be figuring out? Is it some kind of a test?”

“Would she do that?”

I bit my lip, thinking. “She might. She liked hiding things in plain sight. In her paintings.” I thought of her in her studio and a key on the back of an easel, hanging there with a note that read “Happy Birthday.”

“It’s a treasure hunt,” I said. “Of course. She loved them. Set them up for my birthday and Christmas and sometimes just an ordinary day. Sometimes they were really hard.”