CHAPTER NINETEEN #3
Sage let this sink in for a moment. She was really feeling rather stewed now, her muscles beginning to slowly loosen.
Almost a quarter of a bottle of whisky was having quite an effect on her nervous system.
Another flash of lightning rent the volatile sky.
Mesmerized by the rain hammering against the window, she felt suddenly lightheaded and anaesthetized from her earlier fears.
Life was not so bad after all. Perhaps she had reacted too hastily.
It might turn out all right in the end. It might not though.
She made an effort to focus on Kestrel. ‘Hemighthavechangedhismindshhincethen.’
Kestrel leant forward and looked at her owlishly, his eyes blinking slowly at her. Sage wondered at her words; they didn’t sound quite right. Hmm. She’d better give it another try.
‘Hemighthavechanged …’ No, that was definitely not right.
Sage sucked in a long, sobering breath and tried once again, this time in a whisper and placing deliberate emphasis on each word.
‘He might … have changed … his mind.’ Bingo.
Success. She would just have to talk in muted tones all night. Fine.
‘Like hell he has.’ Kestrel beamed at her comprehendingly, latched on to the sotto voce theme and replied in an echoing whisper.
‘When Rafe was eight years old, he decided he was going to be a point-to-point jockey. Did he become the Midlands Area leading rider at just sixteen years old in his first season? Yes, he did.’ Kestrel chortled and then shushed himself, proceeding once more in the voice of a church mouse.
‘Shortly after, Rafe then announced he was going to get his helicopter pilot licence before his driving licence. Did he? Yes, he did. Then he had his heart set on training racehorses. I believe he now has one or two rapid beasts galloping about and eating their heads off in a Newmarket yard, no? The point is, my dear, once Rafe has set his mind on a certain course of action, not a lot can dissuade him.’ Kestrel sank back into the chair again, quietly triumphant.
‘Let’s hope … that is true … this time.’ Sage didn’t dare allow herself to be convinced by Kestrel’s assurances, but she felt more optimistic.
‘Can you help me lay the table?’ Mrs M appeared, carrying a heavy terracotta soup tureen.
Mary followed her, a silver ladle held between her thumb and forefinger.
She was wearing a low-cut sequin dress that highlighted her bony chest and boyish figure.
Her face had been meticulously painted; her thin lips were scarlet and she had drawn on heavy eyeliner, making her eyes look quite feline.
‘I see that you don’t bother to dress for dinner any more, Kestrel,’ Mary said dismissively, with a cursory glance at Sage and Kestrel. They were both still in jeans and jerseys, sitting in their chairs and clutching their drinks like naughty children.
‘I didn’t realize how late it was,’ Kestrel said sheepishly, still whispering. He stood up and swayed gently, holding a chivalrous, albeit slightly shaky, hand to Sage.
‘Thank you.’ She got unsteadily to her feet. ‘Is there time to change?’
‘Honestly, you two!’ Mrs M hid an indulgent smile from the glowering Mary. ‘No, no – don’t fret about that now. Dinner is ready. Just finish laying up, and I will go and get the bread.’
Mary sat down in Kestrel’s usual seat, her body as stiff as a rod, her sharp eyes following Kestrel and Sage’s wobbly progress as they silently laid the table with exaggerated care. She did not even pretend to help.
The storm had passed and the air cleared, making the house even colder. Sage tried to clear her head by sipping water and eventually they sat down to eat, with a snide, ‘So you eat with the staff now?’ from Mary.
‘You’ll mind yourself, Mary,’ murmured Mrs M, raising her eyebrow at the sharp-tongued young woman.
Sage, unable to stop shivering, was sitting on her hands, embarrassed at their trembling.
She was beginning to understand why Kestrel loathed his sister as Mary continued to snipe at him throughout the three courses.
Kestrel clumsily attempted to brush it off but Sage could see that the onslaught was taking its toll; his face was drawn and his brow deeply furrowed, his hands also shook as he lifted his glass to his lips but not from cold, and he had eaten nothing, pushing his food miserably around his plate.
By the time the plates were cleared, Sage’s head had stopped spinning.
Mary, who herself had eaten very little, chain-smoked throughout.
Mrs M left with the pudding bowls, keen to escape to the kitchen.
Mary’s eyes flashed maliciously as she stood up and pushed back her chair; she was enjoying herself.
‘Do you really not remember me?’ she asked Sage in a low, lethal voice. ‘We’ve met before, in Panama.’
Sage felt a thrill of fear at the mention of Panama and tried to put her jumbled thoughts into order. She took a steadying gulp of ice-cold water.
‘You’re Santiago Deverill’s wife.’ Mary said it in such a way that panic rose inside Sage. Were she and Hal now in danger again? She felt an urge to bolt upstairs to check on her son.
‘Is that why you’re here? You know Santiago?’ Sage braced herself to stand her ground.
Mary turned her attention to Kestrel. ‘The main reason I’m here, Kestrel, is because the sale of the castle has fallen through.
The trustees have been trying to get in touch with you but of course you’ve been as uncontactable, drunk and hopeless as ever.
The lawyers say you’re in real financial trouble.
You can’t ignore them for ever, you fool!
It’s serious – you may now have to sell this place, too.
You’d better take your ostrich neck out of the sand for once in your life. You’re pathetic.’
Sage listened to the tirade in dismay, her focus returning and her temper flaring.
The entire evening had been uncomfortable and she had watched Mary’s merciless bullying of Kestrel for long enough.
It had gone too far. Sage would show him that he did not deserve to be treated so badly.
She wished, fervently, that someone had helped her in Panama, but it was easier to protect Kestrel than it ever had been to stand up for herself.
She slowly pushed back her chair, knock-kneed and wobbling slightly, but her protective lioness instincts had kicked in, giving her the strength to draw herself up to her full height and look Mary straight in the eye.
‘You have lashed and jabbed at Kestrel from the moment you arrived, belittling him and pulling him apart at every possible moment. Your brother is the kindest, most generous, sweetest man – but if you carry on at him like this, you will damage him irrevocably and very likely lose him for ever. What is the point of being so cruel? Why be so vicious and nasty? Why take such obvious delight in trying to kick a man when he’s down?
It’s revolting.’ Sage smiled reassuringly at Kestrel.
‘Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find a way through this mess.
If a problem can be solved with money then it’s not a real problem.
It’s the ones that can’t be solved by throwing cash at them that you have to panic about.
’ She turned back to a slack-jawed Mary and hurled her parting thoughts across the table in fury.
‘I very much hope that I won’t have to see you in the morning.
I have neither the need nor the inclination to know you. ’
As she turned on her heel to stalk out, a slow clap sounded out from the shadows in the doorway.
‘Bravo, my love.’ It was Rafe.
He had come.