A finer end - Deborah Crombie [20]
These associations of place and family gave Simon Fitzstephen an integral sense of connection to his work, at which he had been gratifyingly successful. He had not imagined, when he left active ministry to pursue his study of the Grail, that his books would be so well received by the public. The only drawback he had been able to discover to his minor celebrity was the tendency of his readers to an uncomfortable degree of familiarity. He was by nature a reserved man; he’d found his one speaking tour in America an excruciating experience.
At least the young man who had wangled an invitation this evening was English, and seemed quite civilized. He was also quite astonishingly beautiful and seemingly unaware of it.
The thought made Simon glance at his watch. Nicholas Carlisle and his architect friend would be arriving soon. He should finish the preparations for his guests.
By chance, Simon had run into his old friend Garnet Todd that afternoon, and he had invited her along as well. She was knowledgeable and sharp witted: surely she’d add a bit of spice to the evening’s gathering.
He set glasses, mixers, gin, and whiskey on the round drawing-room table. Inlaid with walnut burl and set round its circumference with two rows of drawers, it had been used by the lords of Pilton Manor for collecting rents. With a vase of full-blown garden roses set in its center, it did justice to the room, his favorite in the house. Three gothic-arched windows stood open to the lawn, and the green silk on the walls brought the garden in. Ornately framed sepia photographs hung everywhere, generations of Fitzstephens. But Simon was the last of his branch of the family, and childless. His name would have to live on through his books, a prospect which did not distress him, except for the fact that lately the well of his creativity seemed to have run dry. What could he say about the Grail that he had not already said, and said well? And yet he had another book under contract to his publisher, and he could not stall much longer.
Returning to the kitchen, he fetched the silver dishes of olives and salted almonds Mrs. Beddons had left ready. Just as he had everything assembled, the bell rang. He swiped a hand through his thick hair and went to greet his visitors.
Nick Carlisle stood on the doorstep with his friend, a large, fair-haired man—and, much to Simon’s shock, Winifred Catesby. What was she doing here?
Nick introduced Jack Montfort first, giving Simon a chance to recover as he shook Montfort’s hand absently. When released, Simon forestalled Nick’s second introduction.
“Winifred.” He bent to kiss her cheek, his lips meeting air when she turned her face away at the last moment.
“Hullo, Simon.”
“You know each other?” Montfort asked.
“Simon taught a few of my classes in theological college,” Winifred replied coolly. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, hasn’t it?” Simon responded drily. He ushered them into the drawing room, very much aware of her bare arms and her sleeveless, blue silk dress.
The bell rang again just as he had them seated, this time heralding Garnet Todd and an unfamiliar companion. Garnet wore her usual Romany attire, which amused Simon almost as much as her staunch vegetarianism; once in a moment of indiscretion, she’d revealed to him that she was a butcher’s daughter from Clapham.
“I hope you don’t mind, Simon,” said Garnet. “I brought my boarder. This is Faith.”
The girl was tall and slender, with a long neck and short-cropped hair that set off her delicate features. She was also, Simon realized as she moved past him into the entry hall, quite visibly pregnant, and not much more than a child. “Faith?” he repeated. “Just Faith?”
“Just Faith.” The girl turned serious dark eyes on him, with