‘What you don’t seem to realize, Kate,’ Henry yawned pointedly, ‘is that I don’t give a fuck.’
‘I say now. Steady on,’ Sebastian muttered uncomfortably. The new Lord Saxton Brae loathed confrontation, especially within the family. ‘We all care about the hunt. About preserving our traditions.’
‘Why don’t you pay for it, then?’ Henry asked bluntly. ‘Instead of coming begging to me?’
‘Nobody’s begging anybody,’ Kate hissed.
Her back was arched, like a cat’s. Henry noticed that her once pretty face was becoming more lined with age. When she was angry, like now, it wrinkled up even more. Pretty soon her puckered, furious, cat’s-arse mouth would disappear altogether. She did have a good figure, but today, as so often, it was swamped in a shapeless Country Casuals dress that made her look at least twenty years older. Combined with the hectoring, schoolmarm manner, she wasn’t doing herself any favours.
‘You know very well we aren’t cash rich like you are.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Henry, deliberately goading her now.
‘Keeping Hatchings running has to be our first priority!’ Kate looked as if steam might be about to come out of her ears. ‘You have no conception of the pressure your brother’s under. This is a huge estate.’
‘I know. I was born here.’
‘Sebastian supports the hunt in countless other ways.’
‘But you expect me to write the cheque. Is that it?’
‘It’s not for us, dear boy,’ said Sebastian. ‘It’s for future generations of Englishmen. We must all do our bit. Your country needs you, and all that.’
In the end, for Seb’s sake, Henry had made a donation, but he was so furious at being hijacked, and particularly at his sister-in-law’s arrogant assumptions, that he’d refused to stay the night.
‘Oh, but you must stay,’ Kate announced patronizingly after dinner. ‘We insist, don’t we, darling? Sebastian and I want you to think of Hatchings as your home, Henry.’
‘I don’t think of it as my home. It is my home,’ Henry replied witheringly. ‘But luckily not my only one. Being “cash rich” does afford one certain options in life, you see. I’ll see myself out.’
By the time he got back to Hanborough it was after midnight. A full moon cast an eerily milky shadow over the castle’s ancient stones, and the still water of the moat shimmered like molten silver.
Henry used to ride over to Hanborough as a boy and play hide-and-seek among the Norman ruins. It was a paid attraction in those days, and open to the public, but all the staff went home at six o’clock and, as the house was empty, nobody thought to lock it. Sometimes, before important tennis matches, when his nerves were at their peak, Henry would close his eyes and visualize Hanborough. It had always been his happy place. Made for him. Meant for him. Waiting for him. Yet always tantalizingly out of his reach.
As an adult, even after he made his fortune, he’d never really believed he’d be able to own it. But now here he was.
He’d never made it to the top as a tennis player, a failure that still haunted him, despite everything. But owning Hanborough Castle was one dream that Henry had made come true.
Only two lights were on tonight, both in the West Wing, the most modern part of the castle, built in 1705. Henry had agreed to allow Guillermo, the weird, poof designer Graydon James had left in charge in his absence, to stay on site for the first couple of months, until works were properly under way. Henry wasn’t a fan of Guillermo’s. He found him sullen and uncommunicative, entirely lacking in his boss’s charisma and flair. But Graydon had assured him the boy was a brilliant designer, and very capable when it came to managing contractors, architects and the like.
‘If he’s doing his job properly, he won’t have time to go home,’ Graydon told Henry, which was reassuring given the astronomical fees Henry was paying to have GJD take on the restoration.
Luckily it was a big house. Guillermo had his own bedroom, living area and small kitchen in the West Wing, while Eva and Henry had their living quarters in the old medieval hall, which made up the southern aspect of the castle, overlooking Hanborough’s magnificent deer park. There was no reason for their paths and Guillermo’s to cross.
Pushing open the ancient, two-foot-thick wooden door, and heading up the spiral stone steps to his bedroom, Henry wished Eva were home. He was proud of her career and her huge success as a model. But he always missed her when she was away.
Henry and Sebastian’s mother Gina had died of breast cancer when Henry was eleven and Seb had just turned twenty. Even before she died, Henry had spent little time with her. Gina Saxton Brae was a famous socialite, hostess and much sought-after party guest, and though she loved her sons, no one could have described her as a ‘hands-on’ mother. Lord and Lady Saxton Brae employed excellent and devoted nannies for that sort of thing. Henry didn’t consider his childhood to have been unhappy. But he had grown used to missing his mother, and her early death had certainly been a turning point in his emotional life. There was a certain maternal quality to Eva – nurturing, one could say – that formed a strong part of his attraction to her. For all his infidelities, Eva remained the mother ship, and Henry always felt slightly lost when she wasn’t with him. The loneliness didn’t last long tonight, though. Slipping under the sheets, Henry suddenly realized how dog-tired he was. All the tension with Marie J, and the frustration of his trip to Hatchings, must have drained him more than he’d realized. Within minutes he was in a deep, dreamless sleep.
The noise that woke him wasn’t loud. More of a gentle rustling than anything else. But some sixth sense told Henry this wasn’t the June breeze through the leaves of the elm trees outside his window, or the scurrying of mice in the castle eaves.
Something was wrong.
Someone was in the house.
He sat bolt upright and listened.
There it was again. Rustling, with a faintly clinking, metallic edge, as if someone were slowly sweeping their hand through a vat of beer-bottle tops. It was coming from across the hall. Eva’s dressing room.
Without stopping to think, Henry leapt out of bed stark naked and – grabbing the nearest heavy object to hand, a solid marble bedside lamp – ran screaming into the dressing room to confront the intruder.
‘Aaaaaaaagh!’ Henry yelled, the lamp raised over his head, ready to slam into the burglar’s skull.
‘Aaaaaaaagh!’ Guillermo screamed back, dropping to his knees and cowering in abject terror. He was wearing a ridiculous pair of purple silk pyjamas. Above him, on the dressing table, Eva’s jewellery box was open, her rings and necklaces spread out messily across the lacquered wood. ‘Don’t kill me! Please! I … I … didn’t know you were home.’
Henry looked from Guillermo to the jewellery then back again.
‘So I see. You filthy little thief!’ He lifted the lamp higher. Guillermo cringed like a dog about to be beaten by its master. His mediocre career had always been hampered by the distraction of his cocaine habit, which he couldn’t fund on Graydon’s measly wages alone. But even Guillermo could see that this was unequivocally the death knell. Henry’s nakedness somehow made him seem even more menacing, like a savage warrior, his enormous, trunk-like dick swinging right at Guillermo’s eye level.
‘It’s not what it looks like!’ Guillermo stammered desperately.
‘Oh