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He turned his face to kiss her, softly at first, then more insistent, pressing his naked body against hers.
Lara groaned and rolled away.
‘Down boy, I’m late for Aunt Olivia already. She won’t be pleased.’
He muttered something in Dutch which Lara guessed would also displease her aunt. She looked at the bedside clock: she really was late. She reluctantly slid out of bed and looked around for her discarded clothes while Stefan lay there watching her.
‘Are you sure you’re happy going all the way to Oxfordshire? I mean, after what happened to your boat?’
‘Stefan, I’m a big girl.’
The truth was, Lara was still nervous about it, but she couldn’t let it stop her.
‘At least let me drive you there,’ said Stefan. Lara was retrieving a boot from under the bed and looked up.
‘I didn’t know you had a car.’
‘I don’t. But we’ll work something out.’
Lara laughed and bent to kiss him.
‘That’s sweet, but I think I’ll be fine on the bike. Look, I think Eduardo wanted to meet tomorrow. Why don’t you both come to mine? I can cook – sort of, anyway.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I want to have people over. I need to fill the boat with some fun and laughter.’
‘Well, if it’s fun
you’re after,’ he said, with a wolfish grin, making a grab for her.
‘You’re going to have to wait for more of that,’ she laughed, backing towards the door. ‘But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Promise?’
‘You can count on it.’
It took just over an hour to get to Foxhills on the bike.
Lara lowered her speed to dip between the open iron gates and roared down the avenue of limes, an arch of vibrant, textured green leaning over the gravel drive. As the house appeared through the trees, Lara finally eased back on the throttle and slowed, a sign of respect for the elegant old house. This was the point in the journey that always made Lara think of the day almost twenty-five years ago when her grandmother, Rose Avery, had brought her here to Foxhills. ‘A new life,’ Granny had said, meaning it kindly, but Lara had known that it meant her old life – in that rambling Pimlico pile full of her father’s curiosities and the unwavering love of her parents – had gone forever.
She could also remember waving David and Ramona Avery off on their annual sailing trip to celebrate their anniversary. It had been the first week of the school holidays, as it always was, and Granny Rose would plan fun things for them to do whilst Lara stayed at the Avery’s Holland Park home: an afternoon tea at the Savoy, a West End musical. That year it had been Joseph and his Technicolour Dreamcoat and Lara had waited at the stage door to get her programme signed, but Lara had never got to show her parents.
Lara pulled up at the side of the main entrance, standing the bike up next to Nicholas’s vintage Jaguar. He rarely drove the car, but it was kept buffed and polished next to the door, a prop for an imaginary photo-shoot.
Lara pulled off her helmet and looked up at Foxhills’ tall windows, almost believing she might be able to see herself as a girl standing there, looking out in vain for her parents’ return. Nothing of course: just glass and reflections.
Lara had spent those first horrible few weeks with her grandparents here at the main house, but in accordance with her parents’ will, Nicholas was to be her legal guardian and she moved a quarter mile across the estate to Nicholas and Olivia’s farmhouse. It was just as well. Within the year, her grandfather Richard had died, by the time Lara got to the sixth form, Granny Rose had gone too – and the big house had passed down to Nicholas.
Lara shook off the memories and walked around the side of the house, slipping off her leather jacket and leaving it draped around a decorative urn: she was well aware how Olivia loathed her motorbike – it wouldn’t do to get off to a bad start, it was going to be difficult as it was.
She found Olivia Avery on the sun terrace at the rear of the house, her face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat as she bent to prune a rose bush. Lara would never say it to her face, but she had always admired her Aunt’s style. Even in her gardening gear, a crisp white shirt worn underneath a denim pinafore dress, Olivia looked as if she had stepped straight from the pages of a Vogue ‘gardens’ supplement.
‘Oh darling, you came,’ said Olivia, sweeping across for a vague embrace. ‘I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing.’
‘Quite the opposite,’ said Lara, looking up at the eggshell sky. ‘It’s a glorious day.’
