One Christmas Morning & One Summer's Afternoon by Tilly Bagshawe Read Free Book Online Page B

mince pie for himself, Daniel hopped on the escalator up to menswear. Given the pressures on his finances right now, he’d perhaps been hasty in splashing out quite so much for a new, bespoke dinner jacket. But Furlings Hunt Ball was the hottest ticket in England this Christmas, and was bound to be teeming with influential people: writers, producers, actors, investors. Telling himself it was a work expense and tax-deductible, Daniel mentally reduced the price by 40 per cent and pushed the image of his accountant’s disapproving face out of his mind.
    ‘I’m here about the jacket. Is it ready?’
    The gay assistant looked wounded. ‘Of course it’s ready, sir. We are never late on our bespoke orders. If you’d like to follow me.’
    He led Daniel into a changing room. The jacket, in pure wool and immaculately cut, was duly produced and lovingly slipped onto Daniel’s back. While the assistant fussed around him, pulling at the hem and straightening the cuffs, Daniel admired his reflection in the mirror. The deep, true black of the jacket contrasted marvellously with his tanned skin and dark-green eyes, and clever tailoring at the waist accentuated the breadth of his shoulders. It had cost an arm and a leg, but the confidence it gave him was priceless.
    ‘Is sir satisfied? We’re quite happy to make further changes if sir feels the sleeves are too long or the stitching at the lapel is a little too fine.’
    ‘It’s perfect,’ said Daniel.
    * * *
    ‘It’s perfect, Mrs Worsley, absolutely perfect. You’ve done a marvellous job.’
    Tatiana Flint-Hamilton dropped her suitcases in the grand marble hallway at Furlings and beamed at the housekeeper. Tati had known Mrs Worsley since childhood and was well aware of the importance of keeping the old battleaxe sweet. With Mrs Worsley on her side, she had a chance of deflecting at least some of her father’s anger. But, with the two of them ranged against her, this unexpected trip home was bound to be a disaster.
    ‘You said you weren’t coming.’ The housekeeper’s face was set like flint. Tati could have struck a match off it to light her much-needed cigarette. ‘We rearranged the entire seating plan.’
    ‘I know. The thing is, I was so cross with Daddy about the Bertie thing, I sort of lashed out.’
    ‘
Bertie?
’ Mrs Worsley wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘You mean the duke? The married man you took off with, breaking your poor father’s heart?’
    ‘Yes, but we’re not together any more.’ Tati cocked her head to one side and pulled her most adorable
mea culpa
face. It never failed to work with men, but Mrs Worsley was unmoved.
    ‘You upset Mr Flint-Hamilton no end, you know. First the affair, and then writing to him like that, saying you wouldn’t bother coming home. You know how much this ball means to him.’
    ‘Which is exactly why I’m here,’ said Tati. ‘To put things right.’ Her fixed smile was starting to give her jaw-ache. God, Mrs Worsley was a dragon, as humourless as a Glasgow drunk after the whisky’s run out. ‘Where is Daddy, by the way?’
    ‘Out,’ the housekeeper said coldly.
    ‘In that case I’ll have a bath and a nap,’ said Tati, giving up on the charm offensive. It clearly wasn’t working, so what was the point? ‘Ask Jenny to bring my bags up and unpack them for me, would you? And please don’t wake me. I’ll be down when I’m ready.’
    Mrs Worsley watched Mr Flint-Hamilton’s wayward daughter as she skipped upstairs, as gloriously unaccountable as any spoiled child. With her flowing, honey-blonde hair, high cheekbones and endlessly long legs, Tati had the wild beauty of a racehorse, and the stubborn temperament of a mule. She could be charming when she wanted something, and generous, and on occasion Mrs Worsley had known her to be capable of great kindness. But she was also vain, insecure and deeply, deeply selfish, swanning through life with all the entitlement of the very rich and very beautiful. Most of