"In Their Footsteps" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerritsen Tess)EpilogueFroggie was restless, stamping about in her stall, whinnying for escape. “Look at her, the poor thing,” Beryl said and sighed. “She hasn’t been run nearly enough, and I think she’s going quite insane. You’ll have to exercise her for me.” “Me? On the back of that…that maniac?” Jordan snorted. “I’m much too fond of my own neck.” Beryl hobbled over to the stall on her crutches. At once Froggie poked her head over the door and gave Beryl an insistent want-to-go-running nudge. “Oh, but she’s such a pussycat.” “A pussycat with a foul temper.” “And she so badly needs a good, hard gallop.” Jordan looked at his sister, who was wobbling unsteadily on leg cast and crutches. She seemed so pale and thin these days. As if those long weeks in the hospital had drained something vital from her spirit. A bit of pallor was to be expected, of course, considering all the blood she’d lost, all the days of pain she’d suffered after the operation to pin her shattered femur. Now the leg was healing well, and the pain was only a memory, but she still seemed only a ghost of herself. It was Richard Wolf’s fault. At least the fellow had been decent enough to hang around during Beryl’s hospitalization. In fact, he’d practically haunted her room, spending every daylight hour by her bed. And all the flowers! Every morning, a fresh bouquet. Then, one day, he was gone. Jordan hadn’t heard the explanation. He’d walked into his sister’s hospital room that morning and found her staring out the window, all packed and ready to go home to Chetwynd. Three weeks ago, they’d flown back. And she’s been brooding ever since, he thought, looking at her wan face. “Go on, Jordie,” she said. “Give her a bit of a run. It’ll be another month before I can ride her again.” Resignedly, Jordan swung open the stall door and led Froggie out to be saddled. “You’d better behave, young lady,” he muttered to the beast. “No rearing. No bucking. And definitely no trampling your poor, defenseless rider.” Froggie gave him a look that could only be interpreted as the equine equivalent of Jordan mounted and gave Beryl a wave. “Take care of her!” Beryl called out. “See she doesn’t hurt herself!” “Your concern is most touching!” he managed to blurt out just before Froggie took off at a mad gallop for the fields. Jordan managed a last backward glance at Beryl standing forlornly by the stable. How small she looked, how fragile. Not at all the Beryl he knew. Would she ever be herself again? Froggie was bearing him toward the woods. He concentrated on hanging on for dear life as the beast made a beeline for the stone wall. “You just have to take that bloody hurdle, don’t you?” he muttered as Froggie’s mane whipped his face. “Which means Together they flew over the wall, clearing it neatly. It was the last thought in his head before Froggie tossed him off her back. Jordan landed, fortunately enough, on a large clump of moss. As he sprawled beneath the wildly spinning treetops, he was vaguely aware of the sound of tires grinding across the dirt road, and then he heard someone call his name. Groggily he sat up. Froggie was standing over him, looking not in the least bit apologetic. And behind her, climbing out of a red MG, was Richard Wolf. “Are you all right?” Richard called out, running toward him. “Tell me, Wolf,” Jordan groaned. “Are you out to kill all the Tavistocks? Or are you after one of us in particular?” Laughing, Richard helped him to his feet. “I’d lay the blame where it belongs. On the horse.” Both men looked at Froggie. She answered with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Richard asked quietly, “How’s Beryl doing these days?” Jordan began to clap the dirt from his trousers. “Her leg’s healing fine.” “Besides the leg?” “Not so fine.” Jordan straightened and looked the other man in the eye. “Why did you walk out?” Sighing, Richard looked off in the direction of Chetwynd. “She asked me to.” “What?” Jordan stared at him in bewilderment. “She never told me-” “She’s a Tavistock, like you. Doesn’t believe in whining or complaining. Or losing face. It’s that pride of hers.” “Ah, so it was like that, was it?” Jordan said. “An argument?” “Not even that. It just seemed, with all those differences between us…” He shook his head and laughed. “Face it, Jordan. She’s tea and crumpets, I’m coffee and doughnuts. She’d hate it in Washington. And I’m not sure I could adjust to…this.” He gestured to the rolling fields of Chetwynd. “Anyway,” said Richard, “when Niki called and reminded me we had a job in New Delhi, Beryl told me to go. She thought it would be a good test for us to be apart for a while. Said the Royal Family does it that way. To see if absence makes the heart-and hormones-forget.” “And does it?” Richard grinned. “Not a chance,” he said, and climbed back into his car. “I may be signing up with your wild and crazy family, after all. Any objections?” “None,” said Jordan. “But I “What’s the advice?” “Shoot the horse.” Laughing, Richard let out the brake and sped away toward Chetwynd. Toward Beryl. As Jordan watched the MG vanish around the bend, he thought, He turned to Froggie. “And as for you,” he said aloud, “I am about to teach you exactly who’s boss around here.” Froggie gave a snort. Then, with a triumphant toss of her mane, she turned and galloped away, riderless, toward Chetwynd. “It’s quite unlike you to be brooding this way,” said Uncle Hugh as he picked another tomato and set it in his basket. He looked faintly ridiculous in his floppy gardening hat. More like the groundskeeper than the lord of the manor. Crouching on his knees, he uncovered another bright red globe and carefully plucked the treasure. “Don’t know why you’re so gloomy these days. After all, the leg’s almost healed.” “It’s not the leg,” said Beryl. “One would think you were permanently crippled.” “It’s not the leg.” “Well, what is it, then?” asked Hugh, moving on to the row of pole beans. Suddenly he stopped and glanced back at her. “Oh, it’s him, isn’t it?” Sighing, Beryl reached for her crutches and rose from the garden bench. “I don’t wish to discuss it.” “You never do.” “I still don’t,” she said, and stubbornly headed down the brick path toward the maze. She brushed past the edging of lavender, stirring the scents of the late summer garden. Once they’d walked this path together, she thought. And now she was walking it alone. She entered the maze and, using her crutches, maneuvered around all the secret twists and turns. At last she emerged at the center and sat down on the stone bench. But first, she would have to stop thinking of him. Had he stopped thinking of her? All the doubts, the fears, came back to assail her. She’d put him to the test, she thought. And he’d failed it. From a distance, she heard someone call her name. It was so faint at first, she thought she might have imagined it. But there it was again-moving closer now! She lurched to her feet, wobbling on the crutches. “Beryl?” came the answering shout. “Where are you?” “In the maze!” His footsteps moved closer along the path. “Where?” “The center!” Through the high hedge walls, she heard his sheepish laughter. “And now I’m expected to find my way to the cheese?” “Just think of it,” she challenged him, “as a test of true love.” “Or true insanity,” he muttered, rustling into the maze. “I’m quite annoyed with you, you know,” she called. “I think I’ve noticed.” “You didn’t write. You didn’t call, not once!” “I was too busy trying to catch planes back to London. And besides, I wanted you to miss me. Did you?” “No, I didn’t.” “You didn’t?” “Not at all.” She bit her lip. “Oh, perhaps a bit…” “Ah, so you “But not much.” “I missed She paused. “Did you?” she asked softly. “So much, in fact, that if I don’t find the bloody center of this bloody maze pretty damn quick, I’m going to-” “Going to what?” she asked breathlessly. A rustle of branches made her turn. Suddenly he was there beside her, pulling her into his arms, covering her mouth with a kiss so deep, so insistent, she felt herself swaying dizzily. The crutches slipped away and fell to the ground. She didn’t need them-not when he was there to hold her. He drew away and smiled at her. “Hello again, Miss Tavistock,” he whispered. “You came back,” she murmured. “You really came back.” “Did you think I wouldn’t?” “Does that mean you’ve thought about it? About us?” He laughed. “I could scarcely concentrate on anything else. On the job, the client. Finally I had to call in Niki to pinch-hit for me, while I straighten out this mess with you.” She asked softly, “You think it Gently he framed her face with his hands. “I don’t know. Some folks would probably call us a long shot.” “And they’d be right. There are so many things that could pull us apart…” “And just as many things that will keep us together.” He lowered his face to hers, gently brushed her lips with his. “I confess, I’ll never make a proper gentleman. Cricket’s not my bag. And you’ll have to put a gun to my head to get me up on a horse. But if you’re willing to overlook those terrible flaws…” She threw her arms around his neck. “What flaws?” she whispered, and their lips met again. From the distance came the peal of the ancient church bells. Six o’clock. The coming of twilight and shadows, sweetly scented. Quite definitely, love. |
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