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He pushed his laptop away and sat back in the chair trying to straighten out his skein of thoughts and regrets. ‘Kids are selfish, aren’t they? I spent my holidays here, school and university—unless my mother was suffering one of her occasional fits of maternal solicitude, but I was so wrapped up in the past I never took an interest in the present. Never saw how Grandfather was struggling, never tried to help.’ He suppressed a deep sigh of regret.
‘History is all well and good but it’s not very practical, is it? Grandfather suggested I go to the local agricultural college and do estate management, come and work here. I brushed him off, convinced I was destined for higher things.’
‘You were right.’ She was perched on the arm of the old leather chair, legs crossed, and his eyes ran appreciably up the long bare limbs. She was wearing the black tweed shorts, this time teamed with a bright floral shirt and her trademark hat was a cap pulled low over her forehead.
‘Was I?’ He had been sure then, sure throughout his glittering career. But the past few months had shown just how flawed his ambition had been. ‘Hawksley needed new blood, Grandfather was struggling and my father was never going to step in. My grandfather was too proud to ask me directly and I was too busy to notice. But maybe I could have helped him turn things around—and been on the ground to stop my father’s gross negligence.’
It was more than negligence. His father’s wilful use of estate capital had been criminal.
‘How could you have stopped it?’
‘The money funding his extravagant lifestyle came from a family trust. It was never intended for private use, certainly not on his scale. Just one look at the accounts would have alerted me.’ And he could have stepped in.
‘I was far too busy chasing my own kind of fame.’ The taste in his mouth was bitter.
She swung her legs down and hopped to her feet. ‘Just because he suggested estate management doesn’t mean he was desperate for you to live and work here. He was proud of you no matter which path you chose.’
‘I wish I believed that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I guess we’ll never know.’
‘I know.’ She went over to one of the shelves, pulling a hardback book out. ‘This is yours, isn’t it? The first one? Look how well read it is, the spine is almost broken. So unless you spend your evenings reading your own words I think your grandparents must have read it. Several times.’
He took the book from her outstretched hands. He had given it to them, signed it and handed it over unsure if they would ever read it. The hardback was battered, corners turned, the pages well thumbed. A swell of pride rose inside him. Maybe they had been proud of his chosen career. He looked over at Daisy. ‘Thank you.’
‘I knew this library was all for show. If you ever looked at a book you’d have seen it for yourself,’ but her eyes were bright and the corners of her full mouth upturned.
‘Anyway—’ she walked back to the tray ‘—I have a small bone to pick with you, my Lord. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’
Seb gaped at her in shock. ‘How did you know?’
‘Incredible detective skills and a handy copy of your birth certificate. In my family birthdays are a very big deal.’ She turned with a shy smile, her hands behind her back. ‘And I must warn you I have very high expectations for mine, just ask my sisters, so if we are going to be a family—’ the colour rose high on her cheeks and her eyes lowered as she said the words ‘—then your birthday has to be a big deal as well. So. Happy Birthday.’
With a flourish she pulled her arms from behind her back. One held a plate complete with a large cupcake, a lit candle on the top, the other a shiny silver envelope.
He stood, paralysed with surprise. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a card and cake. These are usual on birthdays.’ Her colour was still high but her voice was light. ‘You’re supposed to blow the candle out.’
He just stood there, unable to move a muscle, to process what she was saying. ‘I haven’t had a birthday cake since I was ten. I was always at school, you see.’
Her eyes softened. ‘The procedure hasn’t changed. You blow, the flame goes out, I clap and then we eat it. Simple.’
He made a huge effort to reach out and took the plate of cake, holding it gingerly as if it were a bomb about to explode. The small flame danced before his eyes. He didn’t want to blow it out; he wanted to watch it twist and turn for ever. ‘And the card?’
‘That you open. And then we get changed. I have a surprise for you. And I am quite convinced it is going to blow your socks off.’
