laughed. Marco Russo—how did Florence remember things like our Italian student teacher when we were fourteen? Every girl in the school had been utterly distracted by his swarthy looks and had completely underperformed in the end-of-school exams. “Back then you were all about going to Italy when we finished the exams.”
“Like he would have even remembered our names at the end of the year,” she said.
“Right? He never knew our names in the first place.”
“I’d never seen a man so attractive,” Florence said. “I was sure that if I could find him in Italy, he’d fall in love with me, we’d get married, live in Tuscany, and paint and be happy forever.”
We’d all had childhood fantasies that seemed ludicrous now. Just like the thought that I was going to marry Matt seemed now like something that had always been utterly impossible.
“You seem happy,” Florence said. “When you’re with Beck.”
I guess I was. But I wasn’t going to let myself think that it was something more than it was. “You’re ridiculous.” I tossed my magazine back on the table between us. “Beck is a stopgap. He’s a something that happens before real things happen. Like the anesthetic before an operation or the canape before the main meal.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t sure that was true for me. Beck felt like the start of something, but I didn’t want to be that naïve girl who tumbled into something and got taken advantage of, again.
If Beck wasn’t my future, he was a whisper of a future—a hint that there could be something after all that had happened. For the first time in a long time, I was starting to wonder what would make me happy.
Twenty-Six
Beck
I’d woken up resolved. Stella was right. I knew what I needed to do. I just had to focus on the goal and not get hung up on what these people—Henry’s cousin—had done to my mother.
Stella had helped me focus. She brought out the best in me.
My new clothes, pumiced and muddy in places, made me look like everyone else, and I nodded at a few people as I made my way toward the group of men gathered at the edge of the sweeping drive.
“Morning,” I said. “Beautiful day for it.” I’d come across these people in my life—hell I was good friends with a couple of trust funders. Stella told me that Henry was a good man and although it was difficult for me to believe that someone related to Patrick Dawnay could be decent, I trusted her.
Henry was over by the keeper, so I headed in that direction.
“We’re shooting wild birds today, not grouse reared on the estate.” Matt stepped up beside me, dressed in a light-green tweed suit, brown socks up to his knees and a flat cap to match.
At a distance, he could have been fifty years older than he was. I’d drawn the line at headgear, and although Stella had wanted me to wear breeks and wellies, I’d insisted on trousers and walking boots. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” I replied.
Stella had insisted that I do my homework on what a grouse shoot involved. I was usually well prepared, but I’d been resisting it, rejecting every part of this way of life—perhaps because I’d been rejected by it in the first place. Patrick Dawnay hadn’t wanted me, had pushed me and my mother aside, and I didn’t want to want any part of it. But, as Stella said, if I wanted the Dawnay building, I had to do whatever it took.
“Do you like shooting?” Matt asked.
“Golf is more my thing,” I said.
“Excellent,” he said. “Perhaps we should play a few holes when I’m back from my honeymoon. The girls can get together for lunch and leave us boys to it.”
Why on earth would he think I’d want to spend time with him? He was Stella’s ex-boyfriend. And even if he wasn’t, I had enough friends. Five super-competitive arseholes were enough to contend with. There weren’t any vacancies in my friendship circle.
“How are you enjoying Scotland?” he asked. “That rain yesterday was dreadful, but at least we’re seeing the sun today. I didn’t want to have to cancel.”
“You don’t call off a shoot because of a spot of rain, man,” Henry barked at Matt as he came up beside us. “We wear waterproofs and get on with it.”
“I enjoy the rain,” I said, because it was the truth. “I never miss a run because of weather.”
“Quite right,”