‘Tell me about the new book,’ Lucy commanded, once Paul had stowed Campion’s cases in the boot of the Rolls, with her own parcels. ‘I bumped into Helena the other day. She was raving about it. She says it’s the best thing you’ve ever done. And all with Guy French’s help, so I understand.’
Campion’s mouth went dry. She knew that her very silence was causing Lucy to look at her speculatively, but she wasn’t ready to talk about Guy yet, not even to her best friend.
She turned her head away.
‘Oh, Campion—it’s Guy, isn’t it? You’re in love with him. I’m sorry.’ Lucy’s hand touched hers. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
How easily she had betrayed herself. So easily, that surely Guy himself must have known how she felt about him. Maybe that knowledge had contributed towards his decision not to see her again. He didn’t want the burden of her emotional hunger for him.
Stop thinking about him, she told herself. It won’t do any good.
‘I felt the baby move this morning. It was the most wonderful sensation. Howard’s like a dog with two tails!’
‘Everything’s OK, then?’ Campion roused herself enough to ask.
‘Yes, thank God. I couldn’t have borne to lose this baby. The specialist thinks I should be safe now, although he warned me to take things easy…’ She laughed, a clear, trilling sound that stirred envy in Campion’s normally unenvious heart. ‘I don’t get much opportunity to be anything else. Howard and Mrs Timmins between them have me wrapped in cotton wool.’
Lucy’s housekeeper had left for the house ahead of them, and when the Rolls turned in between the stone gate-posts they could see smoke curling from the house’s many chimneys, and lights glimmering in the windows.
‘Mmm—you know what I’m looking forward to now? Some of Mrs T’s home-made scones, dripping with butter, and a huge, hot fire…’ groaned Lucy.
Lucy’s grandfather had removed all the original fireplaces, bricking them up in the bedrooms, but, although he had installed central heating, Howard had scoured architectural salvage depots for period replacements, and Campion had to admit that it had been worth while.
All the guest rooms had their own fires, and Lucy was fortunate in having a devoted and extremely well-paid staff who kept them cleaned and lit.
It was one of the pleasures of Christmas with Howard and Lucy to go up to one’s room and bask in front of the luxury of a real fire. A luxury indeed, when combined with the discreet central heating the house also boasted.
The house had once been the hub of a small country estate. Virtually all the land had been sold off in the past, although Howard had bought back a few fields.
Howard was a traditionalist, and one of the traditions he had revived, and which Campion suspected he thoroughly enjoyed, was playing Father Christmas for the local children at a party which they always gave the Sunday before Christmas.
As Mrs Timmins opened the door to welcome them in, Campion saw that a huge fir tree was already in place in the hall. Clucking and fussing, Mrs Timmins hurried them into the sitting-room. This room was particularly Lucy’s own. A half-finished tapestry she enjoyed working on when she stayed at the house stood to one side of the fire. The colour scheme of soft peaches with touches of blue was essentially feminine and light. Lucy had a gift for décor, Campion acknowledged, admiring the carefully chosen antiques and the bowls of winter greenery which highlighted their soft sh
een.
This house, for all its elegance, was very much home, and it was easy to picture children sitting in this room, playing.
‘George says we’re going to have snow tonight,’ Mrs Timmins warned them.
George lived in the village and looked after the gardens; he was also famous for his weather predictions.
‘I know, isn’t it exciting!’
Mrs Timmins gave Lucy an indulgent look, which changed to a slight frown as Campion took off her coat.
‘Why, miss, you have lost weight,’ she exclaimed disapprovingly. ‘What have you been doing with yourself?’
Mrs Timmins, herself a comfortably padded woman in her fifties, had strong ideas about diets and what she termed ‘faddy eating’.
‘Be warned, she’ll do her best to feed you up while you’re here,’ Lucy prophesied when the older woman left the room. ‘Actually, she’s right, Campion. You are too thin.’
The sympathetic look that accompanied the words told her that her old friend suspected the reason for her rapid weight loss.
‘You look tired as well. Would you prefer to go straight up to your room? Howard won’t be back in time for dinner, but I was hoping we could get most of the decorating done tomorrow, so that means an early start…’
‘I am tired,’ Campion admitted. ‘In fact, I feel tired all the time.’
‘Well, I can sympathise, that’s exactly how I felt the first weeks I was pregnant. I think Howard thought I’d got sleeping sickness!’