John helps her mount, while I’m beside her on Agincourt. “Hold the reins firmly and keep your legs close to the horse. Pull the reins towards yourself to stop, or pull them to the left or right to turn. Don’t move too much in the saddle, keep the centre of gravity: the horse is very sensitive to weight changes and could move in the wrong direction. Don’t worry, for now we’ll just go up to the fence.”
While going towards the fence and into the field, I hear the sound of cantering, so I turn around, and all I can see is a cloud of dust.
“Jemma!” I shout. I set off following her trail. Dear God, what the hell did she do to make Poppy bolt? I catch up with her a second before she gets into the woods.
“Jemma, are you okay? What happened? Did something frighten Poppy?” I ask, grabbing her reins.
There’s a mocking expression on her face, as if she wanted to challenge me. And Poppy is as calm as usual.
“What the—?”
“My dear Duke Know-it-all, you hit the ground running and didn’t even let me speak, but now I know that even trying would be useless. I’ve decided to let you talk as long as you want, and then do my own thing. While you were ranting about my inadequacy, you could have asked me if I had ever ridden a horse, but it’s obvious that you’re not interested, or you’re so arrogant that you think you know everything.” She pauses, looking right into my eyes. “When I was a child, my mother worked as an animal therapist at a farm in Kent. I spent all the free time I had riding horses and, believe me, I can ride without your precious foolproof tips.”
I have completely lost control of my jaw, which now hangs at the mercy of gravity.
“I wish I had a mirror to let you see your face right now. But I also have to thank you: in this boring life, at last you offered me a pretty good leisure activity. Now, are you going to stand there eating flies for long?” And, so saying, she takes her reins back and heads into the woods with Poppy.
I would like to turn around and go back to the stables. Yes, I’m easily offended and yes, I’m upset, because she made me feel like a prick. Yet, I follow her.
In the thick of the woods I have lost track of her, so I ride intuitively, trying to figure out the paths she may have taken. Jemma doesn’t even know how large the estate is!
I end up near the lake, a glass like surface surrounded by weeping willows, where I came as a child to play with model boats.
For a moment I think I’m alone, but the reflection on the water suggests that Jemma is on the other side under the wisterias.
I can’t believe it: with her mouth closed and seen from afar, she doesn’t look that bad at all. Wait a second… what the hell am I thinking?
19
Jemma’s Version
Maybe it’s not really that boring. Considering Lance, the other staff and the horses, I could say that there’s intelligent life at Denby Hall.
I was so bored before that I spent most of my time in my room, watching cooking programmes andtvseries reruns.
If nothing else, I had a lovely ride today, and I found something to do in the future. When anyone, either Delphina or Ashford, bores me to death, I’ll go to the stables, take a horse and disappear into the woods for a few hours.
However, I’m not happy. My parents are totally bonkers and live in a limbo between the seventies and the eighties, but they are the best and most generous people in the world, and I miss them so much.
Delphina is as motherly as a praying mantis, and Ashford avoids her like the plague, except on the not-so-rare occasions when he throws her at me as a battering ram just to annoy me.
Riding Poppy reminded me of when, as a little girl, I followed my parents in all their crazy activities. They were my heroes. Animal therapists, can you imagine that?
Strange people like me, who grow up even more strangely, struggle to find friends; over the years, all my friends came and went rather quickly and almost nobody left a mark. Not least, Sarah. For as long as we worked together at the theatre, we were inseparable, but since she left for New York, it’s as if she has vanished. I phoned her a few times at first, but she was always in a hurry, she said she would call me back but she never did. All in all, I have many acquaintances in London, but no true friends. This is the price you pay when you’re strange, as Jim Morrison said inPeople Are Strange. Here, behind the thick stone walls of Denby, I miss my crazy parents very much.
I curl up on an upholstered bench in the bay window to admire the view and try to banish my melancholy.
When I hear knocking on the door, my discomfort increases: I don’t want to be scolded by Ashford, or judged by Delphina. Reluctantly, I give permission to enter.
Thank God, it’s Lance.
“I have come to ask if the duchess has any particular requests for dinner.”
“She’s not here. She must be in the conservatory torturing her begonias,” I reply.
Lance clears his throat and approaches me. “Would you allow me to say something?”
“Sure.”
