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‘Chico,’ she whispered, relishing his touch. Brushing against her, he was dealing the most exquisite pleasure...pleasure that should go on and on. She never wanted this to end
. Did she have to wake up? ‘Am I dreaming?’
‘I don’t know. Are you dreaming?’ Chico murmured, smiling against her mouth.
‘Don’t talk,’ she whispered. ‘It distracts me.’ She sighed with pleasure as he continued the gentle, rhythmic strokes so carefully placed, and so dependably accurate. ‘If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up.’
‘You’ll have to wake up at some point.’ As he said this Chico settled deep and did something amazing that made warm sudsy sensation wash over her as the dam broke.
‘I think you’re awake now,’ he observed with amusement when she had finally quietened.
‘Can I go to sleep now, and wake up again just like that?’
She opened her eyes reluctantly when Chico didn’t answer, to see him smiling down into her face.
‘Good morning, Lizzie.’
‘That was such a great way to wake up. And, you, braced on your forearms—that’s not a bad sight, either. Do we really have to get up now?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I have business today.’
‘Business?’ She was wide awake instantly. As awake as if she’d stepped under a cold shower.
Will this business take you away for long? she longed to ask him, but Chico had done enough for her, and hadn’t she vowed to make her own life? What more did she want from him?
Everything?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE HOUSE FELT so empty now Chico had gone, so she got busy. She had business to attend to.
She grew increasingly anxious as the morning progressed, having drawn a disappointing blank everywhere. Most of the institutions that she had hoped to approach with a view to them bailing out the estate, short-term at least, had already closed for the holidays.
By the morning of the third day, Lizzie was in despair. There was no sign of any movement on the financial front, and, worse, no sign of Chico.
She couldn’t allow him to distract her, she determined, firming her resolve, and she would not give up. Rottingdean was a far bigger cause than her own hopes and dreams.
That thought took her through almost to the end of that working day, when, swallowing her pride, she called him.
‘Senhor Fernandez is locked in conference with his lawyers and cannot be disturbed.’
‘Have you any idea when he’ll be free?’
‘None, I’m afraid.’
The voice at the other end of the line was cool and impartial. Why should she expect it to be any different?
Just when she thought bad couldn’t get any worse, it got worse. Her mother called.
‘There’s no point in you coming all this way for the reading of the will. It’s irrelevant now,’ Lizzie tried to explain. ‘There’s nothing left—not for you, not for me, and, more importantly, not for any of the tenants.’
‘Never mind the tenants,’ her mother blazed back. ‘What about your grandmother’s jewellery? She had some valuable pieces. Surely you had enough sense to squirrel some of them away?’
‘All gone,’ Lizzie intoned, staring at the sparkling diamonds in her hand.
She’d seen the will and had cried when she’d read it. Her grandmother had left her everything, no doubt hoping Lizzie would continue with the work of breeding horses and rebuilding the estate that her grandmother had so bravely and so optimistically begun so late in her long life. The first person Lizzie had contacted was her grandmother’s solicitor to check that the will she had in her hand was a true copy of the one he had on file. She also wanted to know if there was any money, any assets, or anything at all that could be sold off to save the estate.
‘You can’t sell any of the livestock, the pictures, or the silver and ornaments, as they go with the house,’ the solicitor said, confirming what Lizzie believed to be the case, ‘but any personal effects handed to you by your grandmother as a gift are yours to keep.’
‘I have some pieces of jewellery I can sell. I will split the proceeds between the tenants.’
She held the jewellery to her face for a moment, imagining she could smell her grandmother’s familiar lavender scent lingering on the sparkling stones. It wasn’t the value, but the memories each piece held that she would miss. But practicality demanded that she sell them, Lizzie reminded herself as she packed each item neatly in a box.
There was always a darkest part of the night, Lizzie reflected as the courier arrived to take her grandmother’s jewellery away. She didn’t just feel a failure; she was a failure who had to sell her grandmother’s precious jewellery. But far worse than that, all her brave words about saving the estate had come to nothing. It was hard to believe the staff had stayed on. They were supposed to have gone by now, as the sale of the house and contents was tomorrow and there was nothing more for them to do. But they were still here, giving Lizzie all their support, which she didn’t feel she’d earned. This level of loyalty and kindness in the face of disaster was typical of everyone on the estate.
Even the moon had gone behind a cloud, Lizzie realised ruefully as she stared out of the window in her bedroom. She had one more night in the old house, burning the last of the logs gifted to her, and remembering happier times with her grandmother.
Her parents—not so much, Lizzie accepted wryly as she hunkered down on the window seat to hug her knees. It was vital to keep a sense of humour if she was going to survive the next few days. She stared out over the lake where moonlight was streaming like a silver banner, remembering that tomorrow the last of the horses would go, even the precious colts her grandmother had bred, and next to go would be all the contents in the house, until finally the house itself was sold. A professional auctioneer from the local town was coming to conduct the sale, and whether it was the developer who bought the estate, or the town council who rushed in last minute to save it—in the unlikely event that Lizzie’s pleading letter had arrived before the council went into recess for Christmas—this would be the last time she looked out over this view.
* * *
She had intended to stay awake all night so she wouldn’t miss a minute of her last night at Rottingdean House, but in the end exhaustion drove her to bed, and she was woken by the sound of an engine—several engines—
The horseboxes! Lizzie remembered, jumping out of bed. They had come to take the horses away. Running to the window, she threw back the curtains and peered out. Several big vehicles were already lined up in the yard. She would have to put the bravest face of all on today. Brave and practical, Lizzie concluded, her thoughts racing. There was work to do. The sale and the scandal of a second bankruptcy wouldn’t just bring serious buyers in droves to Rottingdean, it would bring rubberneckers from all over the county who would trample the good pastureland to mud, unless she did something about it.
She showered and dressed quickly before running downstairs to the yard. But what she saw confused her. Horses arriving? That couldn’t be right.
‘You’ll have to take them back,’ she told the lead driver when he came round to help the grooms to lead the ponies out of their confinement. ‘They can’t stay here. Everything is being sold today.’
‘Sorry, miss, we’ve got our orders. The horses are being delivered, not taken away,’ he informed her as he gestured to his men, who had briefly halted at Lizzie’s arrival, to get on with the job.
‘But who sent them?’
The man shrugged. ‘The new owner? I really don’t know. I just have my orders. Six ponies in my care, and another sixteen in the other vehicles.’
‘Twenty-two ponies?’ Lizzie exclaimed with alarm. ‘And how can there be a new owner when the sale hasn’t even begun?’ She didn’t know whether to be glad that a developer would hardly deliver so many horses to a property he intended to demolish, or concerned that the new owner hadn’t even troubled to look the place over before dispatching what were clearly valuable animals.
?
??As I said, I’m afraid I can’t give you any more details than I already have, because I don’t know anything more,’ the man told her, turning away. ‘These are the stables?” he asked over his shoulder.
‘Yes. And the home paddock is empty, if you want to use it,’ she said, pointing away from the house.
Was Chico the new owner? Her heart began to race. He had been locked away with his lawyers. Snatches of conversation they’d had earlier came back to her. ‘...the estate is in danger of being lost, and I’d like to help so you can keep it in the family. As your grandmother helped me.’ But she had refused Chico’s offer of help, suspecting too many conditions would be attached. Had he just ignored her wishes and gone ahead without telling her?
There was no point being angry that he hadn’t confided in her. Power was money, and, while Chico had plenty, she had none. But she wasn’t going to lie down and give up. Rottingdean would be left in the best state she could manage—and she had an idea how to raise some more money to share amongst the tenants.
There wasn’t much time. The gates were due to open in a few hours in preparation for the sale at midday. She would rally the ground staff, and, with their help, set aside land for paid parking. Hamish could gather his ghillies together and take people on tours of the estate with a view to perhaps adding guided nature trails to the list of attractions at some later date, while Annie could brew tea and start baking.
The Rottingdean café was born, Lizzie thought, feeling upbeat now. Her grandmother’s conservator could give tours of the house, while Lizzie could take children to see the animals and new ponies. Raising sufficient funds in a day to support everyone until they could find new jobs was a bit of a pipe dream, but anything was better than nothing, and she wanted to prove that Rottingdean did have a future, and shouldn’t be torn down. The Rottingdean Experience was about to be launched on an unsuspecting world.
