“You never learnt this in British schools.”
“I travel a lot. Besides, I find it impresses women if I can say things in French.”
She laughs. “You know what I like about you?” Her eyes sparkle. “That you can take the micky out of your own sexual exploits.”
“Sexual exploits? You make me sound like Mick Jagger.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Come on, what do you want from me? I’m a single man who likes the company of women, and I don’t like sleeping alone.”
“Until now.” She teases.
“I don’t like it now, either.”
“There are compensations.”
“Are you offering?” The flirtation is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
She throws another napkin at me. “Eat your frozen berries. Don’t you have to go play your oboe.”
We both catch it at the same time; she holds her hands up. “Sorry, sorry.”
I do have to play my oboe, the real one. I’m playing in the church for the christening ceremony. Millie went into labour soon after New Year’s Eve and was rushed to the clinic where Adam Mortimer and his midwives helped deliver the next Du Montfort, a son.
“We have a few hours still.”
“Then you can do the washing up.” She stacks her plate and cup and takes them to the sink. “I’m going to have a soak in that beautiful new bathroom.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Lessa
I might have indigestion or something, probably trapped wind. It’s a funny sensation like a swarm of bubbles in my tummy. It’s been there on and off for a while, so I hope a long soak in the bath will fix whatever it is.
My new bathroom is gorgeous. The circular bath is just under the large picture window so you can look at the tops of trees below us, all the way down to the sea. It also has a wide rim for a cup of tea, a glass of wine, or even candles and a bucket of ice and champagne if you really wanted to. I only have a folded towel and a book to relax with while Brandon practices or does scales or something.
He does this most days, practices in his room with the door shut. It would be nice to hear him play, but he hasn’t offered, and I don’t want to ask. A guitarist I dated long ago used to hate it when people asked him to play. He said it was like asking for a freebie concert. Yes, he was a bit of a self-important git, like that. But the complaint stuck in my mind because doctors and lawyers also hate being asked to offer professional advice in the middle of a dinner party.
For that reason, I’ve never asked Brandon to play for me. So, I’m really excited about hearing him play at the christening today.
It’s going to be quite an occasion; it doesn’t start until 3pm but Brandon needs to get there early and set up. St. Mary’s church is a good forty-five minute walk, so I’ve showered, dressed, and am waiting downstairs by one-thirty.
Consequently, I get the full effect of Brandon Hazelwood, the concert musician, coming down the stairs in his tuxedo.
“Oh, be still my beating heart!” I breathe out. “Where didyoucome from and what have you done with my friend who does all the gardening around here?”
I’m not joking, he scrubs up better than I could have ever imagined. Not that he wasn’t attractive before, but now with a close shave, hair combed back, and a sharp, white dress shirt… Wow. He doesn’t need any French to impress women.
I want to make a joke, but something about him stops me. He has a distant reserve, a focussed air about him that allows no room for jokes or silly personal comments. This is a professional who takes his work seriously.
So, I simply point at his shiny shoes. “Won’t these be ruined on the walk?”
“We’re not walking.” He sets down two large rectangular cases on the coffee table. “The du Montfort carriage is coming to take us.”
“Carriage?”
“George insisted.” He shrugs.
