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“Did they ever get to the bottom of what really happened that day?” asked Clive as he overtook a lorry. Jessica glanced to her left and then looked back. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking,” she said. “The coroner’s verdict was accidental death. But I know Seb still blames himself for Bruno’s death.”
“But that’s just not fair, as both of us know.”
“Tell Seb that,” said Jessica.
“Where did your father take you to lunch yesterday?” asked Clive, wanting to change the subject.
“I had to cancel at the last minute. My tutor wanted to discuss which pictures I should enter for the RA summer exhibition. So Dad’s taking me to lunch on Monday, although I must admit he sounded disappointed.”
“Perhaps there was something in particular he wanted to talk about.”
“Nothing that can’t wait until Monday.”
“So which picture did you and your tutor pick?”
“Smog Two.”
“Good choice!”
“Mr. Dunstan seems confident the RA will consider it.”
“Was that the painting I saw propped up against the wall in the flat just before we left?”
“Yes. I’d intended to give it to your mother as a present this weekend, but unfortunately all the entries for the exhibition have to be in by next Thursday.”
“She’ll be proud to see her future daughter-in-law’s painting displayed alongside the RAs.”
“Over ten thousand pictures are submitted to the RA every year, and only a few hundred are chosen, so don’t start sending out the invitations yet.” Jessica looked to the left and back again as Clive passed another lorry. “Do your parents have any idea why we’re coming up this weekend?”
“I couldn’t have dropped a much bigger hint, like, I want you to meet the girl I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”
“But what if they don’t like me?”
“They’ll adore you, and who cares if they don’t? I couldn’t love you any more than I do now.”
“You’re so sweet,” said Jessica, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “But I’d care if your parents weren’t sure. After all, you’re their only son, so they’re bound to be a little protective, nervous even.”
“Nothing makes Mother nervous, and Dad won’t need any convincing once he’s met you.”
“I wish I had your mother’s self-confidence.”
“She can’t help herself, dear thing. She went to Roedean, where the only thing they teach you is how to become engaged to a member of the aristocracy, and as she ended up marrying the fish-paste king, she’ll be excited by the idea of your family being joined to ours.”
“Does your father care about that sort of thing?”
“Hell no. The factory workers call him Bob, which mother disapproves of. And they’ve made him president of everything within a twenty-mile radius of the house, from the Louth Snooker Club to the Cleethorpes Choral Society, and the poor man’s color blind and tone deaf.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” said Jessica as Clive turned off the A1 and began to follow the signs for Mablethorpe.
Although Clive continued to chat away, he could sense that Jessica was becoming more and more nervous as each mile went by, and the moment they drove through the gates of Mablethorpe Hall she stopped talking altogether.
“Oh my God,” said Jessica eventually, as they continued down a wide drive that boasted tall, elegant elms on either side as far as the eye could see. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a castle.”
“Dad only bought the estate because it was owned by the Earl of Mablethorpe, who tried to put my grandfather out of business at the turn of the century, although I suspect he also wanted to impress my mother.”
“Well, I’m impressed,” said Jessica as a three-story Palladian mansion loomed up in front of them.
