Page 46 of The Treasure House

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, kid?”

“Yeah.” She did.

He laughed and shook his head. “Come on, then. Let’s get you a racquet and you can show me your killer instinct.”

Freddie de Marche was good at tennis, but he was also good at making it fun and not just beating the hell out of her like her brothers did. They had a few volleys that left Marly breathless and laughing.

“That was great,” she said, deeply satisfied after three matches. He’d won all of them and seemed surprised she wasn’t upset about it.

“I’m used to losing,” she told him without rancor. “But only to brothers. When I play kids my own age, I wipe the court with them.”

“Even though your technique is appalling.”

“I’ve never had lessons,” she told him as they returned their racquets and crossed the lush lawns. “I’ve just got—”

“Killer instinct, I know.” He put his hands in his pockets and slowed his steps to match hers. “Sorry your brothers didn’t take you out on the yacht.”

“I told you they wouldn’t.” Marly glared at the sparkling bay.

“Well, in their defense, you are quite drownable.”

“Can you take me out on a yacht? Or at least in one of those canoes?”

“It depends on what your cousin wants to do. I don’t think she’ll forgive me if I ditch her all day.”

“But all they do is sit around,” Marly moaned. “And look at all this.” She swept an arm to the boats and the volleyball net and the croquet court. “There’s so much fun to be had.”

Freddie laughed. He seemed genuinely amused by her. “Patience, pixie stick. We’ve got all day.”

“No, we don’t.” Marly dragged her feet. “Because they want to get back early to curl their hair or their eyelashes or whatever for the dance.”

“Well, there you go. We can go for a sail while they do that. Then I’ll drop you home. Unless you need time to curl your eyelashes or whatever too?”

“Seriously?” She was surprised he was volunteering to take her out for a sail.

“Sure. Despite being a pain in the ass, you’re quite good company. I was a bit worried I’d be bored here this summer,” he confessed, “and yet I’ve already been blackmailed by a criminal prodigy. And my sisters won’t play tennis anymore—they don’t like to perspire in public—and everyone else at this place seems roughly the age of Methuselah.” He laughed. “Although don’t expect this to continue after today. I don’t make a habit of playing tennis with kids.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t make a habit of playing with molesters.”

“Drop the m-word now, kid. I invited you here and played tennis. I’ve kept my side of the bargain.”

“I’ll downgrade the m-word to potential m-word, how about that?”

“And after the sail?”

“I’ll drop it completely,” she promised. “Provided you give me a dance tonight. Because no one else will and I want to try dancing at least once. Proper dancing I mean, not the kind you do at school. My mother says dancing is the closest thing to heaven and I’m determined to prove her wrong.”

He snorted. “Cilla or Sylvie might dance with you?”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Fine. I’ll dance with you if nobody else does.” He stopped dead. “Oh God damn it.”

“What?”

“It’s my father.”

Mr. Stanford de Marche looked like a man who’d be more comfortable in a uniform, Marly thought. He was a stiff sort of man, with a military haircut, a ramrod-straight back, and a complete inability to engage in small talk. Marly quite liked him. Freddie, on the other hand, couldn’t cope with him at all. He went from being all lazy to being itchy and snappy and generally out of sorts.