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‘It’s not...we’re not...’ Faith swallowed. ‘It wasn’t how I imagine they made it look. Not really. And anyway, it didn’t end well.’
‘But it is ended?’ her father asked. ‘That’s a pity. He’s done incredibly well, really, given what he started with.’
Faith rather thought that Dominic had done incredibly well for anyone, but that wasn’t her main concern. She could see her father calculating what he could do with access to a fortune like the Beresfords’. How there might be the chance of a little loan, something between friends. She’d seen it before. But not again.
‘No. It’s definitely over,’ she said.
‘Ah, well.’ He shifted on the bed, kicking up his feet. ‘Your mother tells me you’re not planning on staying.’
‘That’s right.’ Faith sat down on the dressing table stool and took a sip of her too sweet tea. ‘I’ve just finished a job down in London. I should be able to pick up another one fairly quickly.’ As long as they didn’t want references from Dominic. Or Marco... ‘Once I’m sorted, I’ll move out again. But I might be able to send some money home, to help out.’ It would just go onto the gin budget, she knew, but at least she might feel a little less guilty.
‘What sort of a job?’ her father asked, curiosity in his gaze. When she gave him a look, he threw up his hands to protest his innocence. ‘It’s not like we have any idea what you’ve been doing for the last few years. Or even where you’ve been, except for the news that you apparently somehow fell in with Beresford.’
Guilt pinged at her middle again. Okay, so they’d been lousy parents for the most part, and it hadn’t really occurred to her that they might be worried about her whereabouts, but she could have at least dropped them a postcard, or something.
Except they’d have dragged her back. Although, right now, she wasn’t sure if that might not have been a good thing. She’d never have met Dominic. Never ended up in this hideous mess.
But she could never really wish not to have met Dominic.
‘I’ve been working as a tour guide,’ she said, reaching for her mug again. ‘In London, and in Italy.’
‘A tour guide?’ Her father looked fascinated. The idea of work had always been interesting to him. Just a shame he’d never had the desire to actually do any himself. ‘Showing people around things?’
‘And organising their hotels, their travel, looking after their needs, their trips and so forth. Yes.’
‘Sounds like being a servant,’ her father said, and laughed. ‘Did you have to wear a uniform?’
Faith nodded. Who was he to suggest that her job was below her station? At least she was doing more than sitting around drinking in a decaying relic of an earlier era. ‘I did. And actually it was fun. I liked it, and I’m good at it. So I’ll find another job doing the same sort of thing, uniform and all if required, and send some money home for the drinks cabinet. Okay?’
‘Whatever makes you happy, buttercup,’ he said, instantly making her feel bad for acting so defensive. It really was just like old times. ‘Only I was just thinking that it might be you don’t have to go all that far to find that new job of yours.’
Faith felt her parental sixth sense tingle. This wasn’t going to be good. ‘I was thinking London...close enough to visit, right?’ Not that she intended to. But if she could borrow the car to get to the station, she could commute from Fowlmere until she had enough cash to find a place of her own.
Her father shook his head. ‘I’ve got a better idea. You want to be a tour guide? You can do that right here. At Fowlmere!’
Faith thought of the entrance hall, with its dingy lighting and faded and fraying curtains in the windows. So different to the bright open halls and lovingly restored features at Beresford Hall. ‘Dad, I really don’t think anyone is going to want to tour Fowlmere at the moment.’ The whole house was in the same state. Who paid money to see mould and decay?
‘Not yet, maybe, but I’ve got a plan.’ He tapped the side of his nose.
Faith bit her lip to hold in a sigh. Just what she needed. Another one of Dad’s plans.
‘Perhaps, in the meantime, it might be better if I—’
‘You want to go to London; I understand that.’ Dad waved a hand around. ‘That’s fine. I need you in London. You can come to my meetings with me.’
‘Meetings?’ Dad’s meetings only usually took place in the pub, with men who knew exactly which horse was going to come in, really this time, honest.
