‘Hang on, is that IsabelDelemaine?’ Sage demanded, suddenly realizing why the frosty woman had looked so familiar. ‘Thanks for the heads-up, you completegoat! My son is trampling mud through the house of Isabel Delemaine? From the radio? Good God. Help me catch them both, Cas –hurry!’
Casper visibly baulked as Sage opened the door.
‘You can jump Becher’s Brook but this makes you nervous?’ She shot a pointed look at her brother before following the remnants of earthy feet into a large monochrome hall and tilted her head for him to follow.
They found a seething Isabel in a sparse and immaculate kitchen, reluctantly holding onto a wriggling Scamp in one pink, manicured hand, a mournful-looking Hal in the other. Sage rushed forward and bundled her son up into her arms, her cheeks burning with mortification.
‘I amsosorry, Isabel. I’m Sage, Casper’s sister. We – that is, my son and I – we’ve just got off a flight, so I’m afraid we’re both a bit of a mess. I recognize you, of course, you were actually on the front page of the magazine I was reading on the plane – gosh, what a coincidence!’ Isabel’s face remained expressionless. Sage gulped and continued.
‘Anyway … Cas kindly picked us up from the airport, although he didnottell me we’d be dropping in to see you.Hal is not normally quite this feral. I really am very sorry. He’s normally fairly well-behaved, actually. Typical, really!’ she continued, with a nervous laugh. ‘Erm … have you got a brush or something so I can get the marks out of your lovely rug? Or a hoover might work better? Please, just point me in the direction of your cleaning cupboard, or …’ she trailed off lamely, wondering if she ought to kiss this unfriendly woman. Deciding that yes, it probably was the correct thing to do, she sidled up to Isabel unenthusiastically and placed an awkward kiss on her smooth cheek. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘Issy? Don’t be such a crosspatch, darling. Where’s the hoover?’ Casper asked in exasperation, hanging onto the scruff of Scamp’s neck as the writhing terrier began to whine.
Isabel finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.
‘The vacuum cleaner is in the cupboard under the stairs, but just leave it – Moira can clean it up when she gets in. You’ll probably just make it worse.’ This last remark seemed to be directed at Sage, who nodded agreeably and, mentally bracing herself, tried a different tack.
‘Can we possibly use your loo? I’ll try to clean up the little pickle in there.’ Looking down at Hal’s filthy plimsolls, she had no idea how she was going to do so, but letting him trample around the pristine house in his current state was not an option. At least there were clean shoes for him in the car.
Isabel looked as if she wanted to refuse this request very much indeed but after glancing at Casper, who responded with raised eyebrows, she finally conceded with a reluctant nod.
‘There’s a downstairs toilet in the main hall.’ She pointed towards the door through which they had entered the kitchen.
Sage hurried out, addressing Hal in strict tones until they were no longer within earshot of the kitchen, after which she spoke more softly and reassured the bewildered child by holding him closely. A white marble staircase swept up one side of thehall and led to a long gallery that stretched the length of the house. A black grand piano took up much of the opposite wall. The only nod to homeliness were several enormous framed photographs, all in black-and-white and of Isabel in various states of undress, accompanied in some by an assortment of extremely famous rock stars. Sage rolled her eyes, feeling the disapproving gaze of each Isabel following her as she opened a succession of doors that led first into a sparse black-and-white drawing room, then a rigidly organized black-and-white utility room until at last she found herself in a small black-and-white downstairs loo.
‘I think we had better get rid ofthese, for a start.’ She pulled the dirty shoes off Hal’s small feet, relieved that his new, warm socks were still clean and dry. She washed his grubby hands and, too worried to use the pristine white towel, used her own hand to wipe off the hot chocolate that was still smeared around his mouth. Valiantly, she tried to tame his mop of hair with her fingers and, planting a kiss on his head, she quickly glanced at the looking glass. She was relieved to see that, amazingly, she did not look too much of a fright, except for her purple, and now yellowing, bruised eye. Her brown skin looked healthy, her hair was almost restrained in a French plait and her new coat, which was flatteringly cut, covered her crumpled travelling clothes.
‘Mumma, did I do something bad?’ Hal asked in a small voice, his doe eyes shining with unshed tears as he gazed up at his mother for reassurance. ‘She said I was a “nasty little brat” – Mumma, what is a brat?’
‘A brat? I don’t know. Maybe she said, a bat? A fruitbat?’ Sage, wanting to make him smile, picked him up and held him out as though he were flying. Hal laughed and her heart lifted but she still inwardly seethed.
Sage left through the front door, carrying Hal under one arm and his dirty shoes in the opposite hand. Having reached thesanctuary of the car, she heaved a sigh of relief. What did Casper think he was doing? What an uptight cow.
It was not long until Casper appeared. He opened Hal’s door and placed Scamp, who was still wriggling, on his lap before wearily getting into the driver’s seat.
‘That went well!’ he said brightly, and catching each other’s eye, they both lapsed into guilty peals of laughter.
‘Casper—’
‘I know what you’re going to say, Sage, but don’t, please. Issy has a softer side, she’s just rather, erm …’ He searched for the words. ‘High maintenance.’ He looked at his sister, beseeching her not to say the cold, uncomfortable truth. Out of filial love, she bit her tongue. He went on, ‘Bumpa was only bemoaning both of our choices in partners last night. I haven’t the energy to do it all again with you now.’
‘You spare me, and I’ll spare you.’ She smiled at him. ‘I just hope you don’t get your heart broken too.’
Sage’s swollen, purple eye was lit up by a shaft of light. Casper felt another stab of fury towards Santiago Deverill. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel.
Sage, not wanting to upset her brother, quickly changed the subject. ‘Do let’s get moving now, Cas. Where are we, anyway? How far to North Place?’
Sage had butterflies in her stomach; it was time to go home.
As they drove into Newmarket, Sage’s heart soared, nostalgia pounding through her veins. Strings of horses were streaming along the pavements and over the zebra crossings, making their way from their yards to the gallops on the Heath. As children, Sage and Casper had ridden out from their grandfather’s yard, North Place, with first lot early every morning before school. Their mother, Iris, had done so too, and even their grandmother, Betsy, had joined them most mornings until Iris had died. Betsyno longer rode the flat racehorses very often, but still exercised her home-bred point-to-pointers and was often seen beguiling unsuspecting friends and family to join her on the – frequently, highly silly – animals.
Heading up the hill past the Heath, on which Sage could see the scores of working thoroughbreds in their gold-red-and-black woollen exercise rugs, it felt as though time had stood still; nothing seemed to have changed. As they approached home, she eagerly looked up ahead towards the familiar old gateposts, each surmounted by a noble, stone greyhound, and saw the handsome copper plaque engraved with NORTH PLACE that shone beside the wrought-iron entrance gates.
On arrival, Casper pressed a button on his key ring and the heavy gates began to open slowly, powered by discreet electric motors.
‘That’s new!’ Sage said, leaning forward in excitement. ‘They didn’t do that when I was here two years ago. Is Bumpa finally bending to technology?’
‘Oh, this is nothing,’ said Casper with a derisive snort, as he edged the vehicle through the gates. ‘Just wait until you see his new car – he’s really spent some lolly this year. He also paid a fortune for an automatic watering system … you know, where the horses’ buckets get refilled like a trough. Then the old bugger realized he couldn’t monitor the amount of water the horses were drinking, so he turned it off and went back to buckets. The stable lads weren’t overly thrilled, as you can imagine! He’s had some really good results these past few years – and his owners have been paying their bills, which helps. He and Gammy are now spending it, you’ll see.’