Voices in Summer by Rosamunde Pilcher Read Free Book Online

dinner table and tell me if you think it's all right. Mummy's so fussy, she's bound to say I've forgotten something.'
    The dining room, with the curtains drawn, was dim and shadowed, smelling vaguely of other dinner parties, cigars, wine. Gabriel went to draw back the curtains. 'It's cooler now, Mummy won't mind.' Yellow sunlight poured through the windows in dust-moted shafts, glancing off polished silver, crystal, and glass. He looked at the table and said he thought it looked perfect, which it did. Gabriel had used white linen mats and pale yellow napkins. The candles, in their ornate silver candlesticks, were yellow as well.
    'That's why I thought of the kingcups, to go with everything else. ... I thought if I put them in a silver bowl they'd look all right. . . . Mummy's so good at doing flowers. . . .' She looked at him. 'What's wrong?'
    Alec frowned. 'You've laid for eight. I thought there were only six of us.'
    'Seven with me. I'm coming down for dinner. And a man called Strickland Whiteside.'
    'Strickland Whiteside?' He almost laughed at the absurdity of the name. 'Who on earth is . . . Strickland Whiteside?' But even as he repeated himself, a chord of familiarity rang like an echo in the back of his mind somewhere. He had heard that man's name before.
    'Oh, Daddy, he's Mummy's new chum, and he's terribly famous. He's a frightfully rich American from Virginia and he rides.'
    Memory struck. Alec clicked his fingers. 'That's it. I knew I'd heard of him. There was an article in The Field about him and his horses. There's one horse in particular. A great beast the height of an elephant.'
    'That's right. He's called White Samba.'
    'What does he do when he isn't riding?'
    'He doesn't do anything else. He doesn't go to an office or anything boring like that. He just rides. He's got an enormous house on the James River and acres of land – he showed me some photographs – and he wins show jumping events all over America, and now he's come over here to train for some of ours.'
    'He sounds fairly formidable.'
    Gabriel giggled. 'You know Mummy's horsey friends. But actually he's quite nice . . . in a rather overwhelming sort of way.'
    'Is he staying?'
    'Oh, no, he doesn't have to stay, because he's taken a house over at Tickleigh.'
    Alec was intrigued. 'Where did Mummy meet him?'
    'At the Alverton Horse Show, I think. I'm not quite sure. Look, have I got the right wineglasses? I always get in a muddle with sherry and port?'
    'No. Yes, it's fine. You've got it quite right.' He began to smile. 'Do we have to call him Strickland? If I have to call him Strickland, I don't think I'm going to be able to keep a straight face.'
    'Everybody calls him Stride.'
    'That's even worse.'
    'Oh, he's not so bad. And just think what fun Daphne Boulderstone will have making eyes at him. There's nothing she likes more than a new man. It'll make a lovely change from boring old George Anstey.'
    'How about boring old me?'
    Gabriel put her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest.
    'Never boring old you. Just super, gorgeous, kind you.' She pulled away, responsible and busy. 'Now I must go and do something about the kingcups.'
    He was in a cold bath when he heard Erica come upstairs and into their bedroom. He called her name, and she appeared in the open doorway, her arms crossed, a shoulder propped against the wall. She was looking very tanned, very hot, and rather tired. She had tied back her dark hair with a cotton handkerchief and wore old, dirty jeans, riding boots, and a shirt that had once belonged to him. He thought of these as her horse-fangling clothes. He said, 'Hi.'
    'Hello there. You're early. I wasn't expecting you so soon.'
    ‘I wanted to freshen up before the others get here.'
    'How was London?'
    'Like an oven.'
    'It's been hot here too. We're short of water.'
    ‘I hear we have a new acquaintance coming for dinner tonight.'
    She met his gaze and smiled. 'Gabriel tell you?'
    'He sounds interesting.'
    ‘I don't