only too glad to earn a fare. “At least we won’t have to worry about traffic jams, will we?”
Darcy bundled me inside and we took off.
“Poor little Lady Georgie.” He raised his hand to my cheek and stroked it gently, unnerving me even more. “You really aren’t equipped to survive in the big world, are you?”
“I’m trying to,” I said. “It’s not easy.”
“The last I heard of you, you were with your brother at Castle Rannoch,” he said, “which I agree is not the jolliest place in the world but at least you get three square meals a day there. What in God’s name made you leave and come down here at this time of year?”
“One word: Fig. She reverted to her usual nasty self and kept dropping hints about too many mouths to feed and having to go without her Fortnum’s jam.”
“It’s your ancestral home, not hers,” he said. “Surely your brother is grateful for what you’ve done for them, isn’t he? Their son would be dead and so might Binky be, had it not been for you.”
“You know Binky. He’s a likeable enough chap, but he’s too easygoing. Fig walks all over him. And he’s been laid up with that horrid infection in his ankle; it has left him really weak. So all in all it seemed more sensible to bolt. I hoped I’d be able to find some kind of work.”
“There is no work to be had,” he said. “Nobody is making money, apart from the bookies at the racecourses and the gambling clubs. Not that they make money out of me.” He gave me a smug grin. “I won fifty quid at the steeplechases at Newmarket last week. I might not know much but I do know my horses. If my father hadn’t sold the racing stable, I’d be home in Ireland running it right now. As it is, I’m a rolling stone like you.”
“But you do work secretly, don’t you, Darcy?” I said.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” He shot me a challenging smile.
“You disappear for weeks at a time and don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“I might have a hot little piece on the side in Casablanca or Jamaica,” he said.
“Darcy, you’re incorrigible.” I slapped his hand. He made a grab at mine and held it firmly.
“There are certain things one does not discuss in taxi-cabs,” he said.
“I think this is Belgrave Square.” The taxi driver pushed open the glass partition. “Which house?”
“In the middle on the far side,” Darcy said.
We came to a halt outside Rannoch House. Darcy got out and came around to open the door for me. “Look, there’s little point in going out anywhere tonight in this fog,” he said. “It will be impossible to get a cab to drive us anywhere after dark. But it’s supposed to ease up a little tomorrow. So I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
“To have a good meal, of course,” he said. “Posh frock.”
“We’re not gate-crashing someone’s wedding, are we?” I asked, because we had done that the first time we went anywhere together.
“Of course not.” He held my hand as I started up the steps to the front door. “Society of Chartered Accountants dinner this time.” Then he looked at my face and laughed. “Pulling your leg, old thing.”
Chapter 3
Rannoch House
Wednesday, November 9
Fog has lifted. Dinner with Darcy tonight. Hooray.
I spent the day working on getting the house ready for impending doom. I took off dust sheets, swept carpets and made beds. I left laying the fires for another day. I didn’t want my hair to be full of coal dust when I went out with Darcy. You see how frightfully domestic I had become. I kept darting over to the window to make sure the fog wasn’t creeping in again, but a stiff breeze had sprung up and by the time I started to get ready for my date with Darcy, it had started to rain.
Having been home to Scotland, my posh frocks had been cleaned and pressed by my maid. I chose bottle green velvet and even attempted to tame my hair into sleek waves. Then I decided to go the whole hog and attacked my face with lipstick, rouge and mascara. I topped it with a beaver stole that was one of my mother’s castoffs and was actually looking quite civilized by seven. Then of course I worried that Darcy wouldn’t show up, but he was there on the dot, with a taxi waiting. We sped along Pall