‘You’re worse than a child,’ Raul groaned with vibrant amusement, and glanced at his watch. ‘Are you aware that we have to rise to be hosts again in two hours?’
Polly was aghast.
‘And if I fall asleep on El Lobo’s back during the polo match, guess who I’m likely to blame?’
‘It’s only a game,’ she said comfortingly.
Lowering his head, Raul studied her with frankly adoring but slightly pained eyes. ‘I must be in love. Once I’d have slaughtered any woman for saying that...’
‘Why are you bringing me here?’ Polly exclaimed three days later as the limousine wafted them up the long driveway to Gilbourne, her late godmother’s beautiful Georgian house in Surrey.
‘Happy birthday. I bought Gilbourne months ago. A whim. Don’t ask me why... I came here looking for you and I remembered how much you’d talked about this place in Vermont. The estate agent was showing the most obnoxious couple round the grounds, and they were giving forth about how they would rip out the rose garden where you used to sit with your godmother.’
It took Polly the entirety of that speech to catch her breath. ‘You bought it for me?’
‘When we come to England we can stay here,’ Raul pointed out.
Polly was staring out at the other limousine already parked in front of the house, and then her eyes widened even more at the sight of the helicopter on the front lawn.
‘Who’s here?’
‘Your friends, Maxie and Darcy—’
‘Maxie and Darcy?’ Polly gasped, barely over the first shock of discovering that she was now the owner of the gorgeous mansion she had always adored visiting as a child.
‘I did try to bring them over for the fiesta, but Maxie’s pregnant, and couldn’t face the prospect of a long flight, so I decided to arrange the reunion here.’
Polly was touched, but she had also paled with dismay. ‘Raul... the last time I was in the same room with Maxie and Darcy it was like holding off World War Three. We all used to be great friends, and then three years ago it all went wrong. Darcy was getting married and Maxie was her bridesmaid, and Darcy’s bridegroom fell head over heels for Maxie. Relations have been strained ever since.’
‘But not so strained that they weren’t both prepared to come here to see you,’ Raul countered reassuringly.
And, minutes after walking into the gracious drawing room where all three women had last met for the reading of Nancy Leeward’s will, Polly was engulfed by a very warm welcome from her friends. Both Maxie and Darcy were chattering nineteen to the dozen—to her, to each other, and throwing stray comments in the direction of the men in the background.
‘I recognise Angelos from his photo,’ Polly whispered. ‘But who’s the other one?’
‘My husband, Luca,’ Darcy announced with lashings of pride. ‘Gianluca Raffacani. He’s Zia’s father.’
Since Polly had entirely the wrong idea about who had fathered Darcy’s little daughter, those twin announcements left her fairly bereft of speech.
‘They’re all listening, scared they’re missing something. Look, what do you say we dump the men for half an hour?’ Maxie suggested in a covert whisper.
So off they went on a supposed tour of the house. And Polly heard about how Darcy had called Maxie and had lunch with her a couple of weeks earlier.
‘We made up,’ Darcy completed.
Polly beamed. ‘That’s brilliant. So, congratulations on your marriage...and I hear you’re pregnant, Maxie?’
‘Never been so sick in my life,’ Maxie moaned, her beautiful face a tinge paler than was the norm. ‘But it should pass off in a couple of weeks. It’ll be worth it if I land a cute little sprog like Luis.’
They stood looking down on the rose garden where they had often sat with their godmother, and finally settled in a row on the window seat.
‘Do you think Nancy’s pleased with us now?’ Darcy said hopefully.
Maxie grinned. ‘She did me a favour...I got Angelos.’
‘Luca’s changed my life,’ Darcy confided.
Both women looked at Polly, and she went pink. ‘Raul’s fabulous.’