Page 43 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“Right.” She set aside her knitting and rose to her feet. “Bye then, love.” She kissed his cheek. “Have a nice time.”
He smiled wryly. “I’ll try.”
The fundraiser for the Horse Rescue Society was an annual event, held at the home of a prominent local landowner. The guests were a mix of genuine horse lovers and virtue signallers keen to be seen supporting a good cause — which was fine by him so long as they dipped deep into their pockets.
He always arrived early — as a member of the committee it was part of his duties to help welcome the guests as they arrived. There were a couple of smart cars already parked on the gravel sweep in front of the imposing porch, and he smiled to himself as he parked his work-a-day Land Rover beside them. At least he had hosed most of the mud off it this morning.
The front doors stood wide open to the gracious hall, with its Moroccan-tiled floor and sweeping staircase, and a glittering chandelier which would have looked at home in the Palace of Versailles.
Sir Malcolm’s wife Caroline was descending the stairs, resplendent in a rich ruby gown, diamonds at her throat and swinging from her earlobes. “Liam, darling. Lovely to see you.” She held out both hands to squeeze his and put up her cheek for a kiss. “You’re looking splendid.”
“My daughter said I looked pretty. But that word fits you much more appropriately. Or better still, beautiful.” He smiled warmly — his hostess would probably be more at home down in the stables, mucking out, but she knew how to put on a show when the occasion demanded it.
“Lovely man!” She patted his shoulder. “Come on in. There are a few people here already — most of them you’ll know. The hoards should start descending in about half an hour, but we can start on the champers now.”
She linked her arm into his and led him through to the morning room, a large room at the back of the house. Most of the furniture had been removed, and the carpet rolled back to reveal the gleaming parquet floor. More Versailles-worthy chandeliers swung from the high ceiling. Oak panelling and some rather dull — but probably priceless — Victorian landscapes lined the walls.
Three blackjack tables, a roulette wheel and two hired slot-machines had been set up. Two pairs of French windows stoodopen onto the stone terrace, and beyond a marquee had been erected on the immaculate lawn.
“Now, as usual, we’re going to have the drinks reception on the terrace, as the weather’s so nice. Dinner will be served in the Tudor Barn. After that there’ll be time to mingle on the terrace again and in the garden, with the fun casino in here, and then dancing back in the marquee until dawn. Well, maybe not quite dawn, but we don’t expect to finish until after midnight.”
“Sounds good,” he approved.
“Ah, there’s Malcolm. Is everything set, dear?”
“Pretty much.” Malcolm rubbed his hands together. “Liam, come and have a look at the shooting range.”
“We were just going to try the champagne,” Caroline protested.
“Hah! No reason why we can’t do both, eh?”
The shooting range was clearly Malcolm’s pride and joy. It was a large interactive video game, using laser rifles, set up in a black tent in the wide hallway between the morning room and the library.
“You can set it for different levels according to someone’s shooting experience, and you can choose your scenario,” he explained, as excited as a twelve-year-old. “You can have a western-style shoot-out, or aliens, and even a marksman competition. Come on, have a go.”
He fiddled with the console and the screen lit up.
“Ah, this is a good one. Dinosaurs. You have to hit them exactly on the red spot, and some of them move pretty damn quick, I can tell you. I only managed fifty-eight the last time I had a go. See if you can beat me.”
He handed Liam a rifle, and the creatures on the screen began to move. It was great fun. All sorts of weird monsters were running towards him, quite slowly at first but getting faster and faster. Some were flying pterodactyls, swooping and soaring,others fearsome Tyrannosaurus. And to add to the challenge, the red dots were getting progressively smaller.
He could see how it could be quite addictive, but he was careful not to beat Sir Malcolm’s score.
“Fifty-two! Jolly well done,” the older man applauded with just a hint of smugness. “You got off to a great start there, but you weren’t quite quick enough towards the end.”
“Come on now, boys,” Caroline chided. “Time to stop playing with your toys. People are starting to arrive.”
Sir Malcolm raised his eyes heavenwards, but didn’t argue. “Coming dear.”
Liam put the rifle back in its cradle, and turned.
“Oh, Liam. I don’t believe you’ve met my niece.” At Caroline’s side was a stunningly beautiful young woman with hair the colour of burnished copper tumbling round her shoulders. “Annabel, this is Liam Ellis — our vet. He’s an absolute wonder, the way he handles the horses.”
A smile curved those perfect peach-pink lips. “Hello.” Her voice was soft, melodic. “Nice to meet you.”
Very nice . . .Liam smiled back — what red-blooded man wouldn’t when those sapphire-blue eyes were looking at him like that? “Good evening.”
Her skin glowed like ivory, her features as flawless as a cameo. She had the body of a supermodel, tall and elegant, flattered by a long, slinky dress of midnight blue that skimmed over every slender curve.
