‘Better than London?’
Leon’s enquiry made her turn her head. He had shut down his laptop and was slipping it into its case.
‘Oh, yes …’
There was a warmth in her voice that was obvious by its previous absence. As the magnificent Palladian frontage of Mereden came into view, bathed in sunlight and lapped by manicured gardens, he knew with satisfaction that he had made a good decision in bringing Flavia here. She was no city girl, craving bright lights and crowds. This country house hotel, set in rural parkland, was far more her style!
They drew up in front of the grand entrance and a uniformed doorman stepped forward to open the passenger door. Flavia climbed out and looked around her. She had heard of Mereden, but had never been here before. Once a stately home, now it was a lavish private hotel, set in the exclusive wealthy catchment area of the Thames Valley.
‘Shall we go in?’
Leon ushered her forward and she stepped through the imposing double doorway into a high-ceilinged hall beyond.
They were clearly expected, and were conducted out on to a wide terrace overlooking the gardens and the River Thames beyond. Guests were enjoying pre-dinner drinks, watching the sunset. Flavia caught her breath, gazing out over the panoramic vista.
‘Worth the drive out?’
She turned impulsively to Leon. ‘Oh, yes! It’s absolutely breathtaking!’
His expression stilled. Slowly he replied, ‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘Who couldn’t?’ she answered, and turned back to gaze over the stone balustrade at the verdant lawns, drenched in golden evening sunlight, reaching down towards the river’s edge.
Even without consciously realising it, she could feel some of the tension racking through her ebb a little. It was so good to be out of London, away from the built-up streets, in such a glorious place as this, with such a vista in front of her. It was impossible not to respond to it. The warm, balmy air, clean and fresh after the fumes and pollution of London, was like a blessing, as was the blessed quietness all around her. No traffic noise was audible, only the murmuring of the other guests, and the evening birdsong from the trees set around the wide lawns.
‘Madam?’ A waiter was standing beside her, champagne glasses on a tray.
‘Thank you,’ she found herself saying with a smile, and took a narrow flute filled with gently fizzing liquid.
Leon did likewise. A sense of achievement glowed in him. He’d definitely done the right thing in bringing her here. He could feel relief easing through him, and hoped it was not premature. But, for all his wariness, at least her reaction so far was proving encouraging.
‘To a pleasant evening,’ he said.
With only the barest hesitation Flavia clinked her flute to his, then, as if to give herself some cover, turned back to gaze out over the vista, sipping at the champagne. It tasted cold and delicious.
‘I don’t know how anyone can live in London,’ she heard herself musing, her eyes resting on the peaceful scenery before her.
Leon moved slightly and came to stand beside her, taking care not to invade her body space lest she take fright. He rested a hand on the sun-warmed stone of the balustrade.
‘Many don’t have another choice,’ he pointed out mildly. What he didn’t point out, though, was that her comment was the first completely unprompted one she’d made to him. He wanted to do absolutely nothing to make her aware of that. If that meant treading on eggshells, so be it.
Her eyes flickered to him, then swiftly away out over the view again. ‘Yes. I feel so sorry for them. But some people like the city. My father and Anita, for example.’ Her voice was flat.
‘I hated London when I first came,’ Leon said, choosing not to take up her remark about her father and his girlfriend. ‘It was freezing cold, and it rained all the time.’
‘A lot of foreigners think that,’ she said wryly. ‘Quite a few Brits, too—it’s why they head south to the sun. But somehow winter is worse in the city, I think.’
‘I wouldn’t disagree with you there,’ said Leon dryly. He paused. ‘So, whereabouts in the country do you live?’
Immediately he saw her stiffen. Inwardly he cursed himself. Up till now, ever since they’d arrived here, she’d seemed to thaw discernibly—as if the beautiful, rural surroundings had calmed her. Now the tension was back in the set of her shoulders.
‘Oh, in the West Country,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘Look, isn’t that a heron?’
Her voice was animated because she wanted to change the subject fast. It was the second time Leon had asked her where she lived, and it was the last thing she wanted him to know. Disquiet swirled rancidly within her at the reminder of just why she was here—and at whose bidding. For a brief moment there seemed to be a shadow over the sunlit view she was gazing over.
Thankfully, he accepted her change of tack. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘Natural history isn’t my thing at all.’
‘I think it is a heron,’ she said, eyes fixed on it.