Read Online The Pleasures of Spring by Evie Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: Evie Hunter
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up?’
‘Oh Andrew, it’s your father. He’s had a heart attack.’
He didn’t know how he wasn’t killed on the way to Heathrow. He was red-eyed by the time the plane landed in Belfast and he climbed into a taxi and headed for Lough Darra.
The tree-lined drive led past the walled gardens and around to the back. The ruined Gothic revival house on the shores of the lake had been restored by his grandfather, having been in the family for almost two hundred years. ‘House’ was a misnomer. Now it was a money-pit that needed an injection of cash and new blood to bring it back to its former glory.
But while his parents put up with dodgy plumbing and wore sweaters summer and winter to keep warm, no expense was spared on the stables.
His father wasn’t so much in love with horses as obsessed with them. Andy often thought that if he had been born with four legs instead of two, he might have gotten more attention from him.
Until Robert died.
With every homecoming, memories of his older brother flooded his head until he could think of nothing else. Robert had been a charmer, a daredevil and an avid climber. If Andy had been here to keep an eye on him, maybe he would still be alive.
He shook the thought away. This wasn’t the time. His parents needed him now. Before he could climb out ofthe taxi, the door opened and Poppy Campbell McTavish hurried down the steps. Her iron-grey pixie crop framed a face that would be beautiful when she was ninety. She had cheekbones that would have made Michelangelo weep. Dark eyes overshadowed pale, papery skin. His father described her as a good-looking woman and his father was never wrong about anything.
He wasn’t sure what age his mother was, she refused to tell him, but neither of his parents had been in the first flush of youth when he was born. They had congratulated themselves on managing to produce one son. A second one, born five years later, had been an unexpected bonus.
He grabbed his hold-all and paid the driver before clambering from the cab and sweeping his mother up in a bear-hug, lifting her off her feet.
‘Oh Andy, it’s been far too long.’
She was right. It was more than eighteen months since he’d set foot in the place and now that he was home, he didn’t know how he would leave it again.
He set her down gently. ‘I know. Sorry, Mum. How is he?’
Her eyes clouded. ‘You know your father. It will take more than a heart attack to kill him. He insisted on checking himself out of the hospital and now he’s in bed giving orders like an emperor. There’s no talking to him.’
Andy could well imagine it. Dougal Campbell McTavish was as stubborn as a rock and they had clashed repeatedly when he was growing up. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ Andy promised.
‘After you’ve eaten. He’s sleeping now and you must bestarving,’ Poppy said, leading him to the kitchen. He knew there was no point arguing.
His mother sipped herbal tea from a china cup while he ate everything that the family cook, Maggie, set before him. It felt like forever since he’d had an Ulster fry. His arteries would be screaming by the time he went home.
Home.
He wasn’t sure where that was anymore. His tiny apartment in London was more of a base to store his stuff than where he lived. Half the time he ended up in company apartments or hotels. International businessman, actor, arms dealer, he had played them all in operations of one kind or another. His last job had been counterespionage – seducing a Russian Mata Hari who was blackmailing someone at the MOD. Irina had been stunningly beautiful, but deadly as poison.
He never spoke of his work to his family. His father disapproved of him enough already and there was no point in making things worse. He pushed his plate away and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘I’ll see if Dad is awake.’
He picked up his leather hold-all and headed for the door.
‘Dougal can’t manage the stairs, so we’ve moved to the green sitting room so
‘Oh Andrew, it’s your father. He’s had a heart attack.’
He didn’t know how he wasn’t killed on the way to Heathrow. He was red-eyed by the time the plane landed in Belfast and he climbed into a taxi and headed for Lough Darra.
The tree-lined drive led past the walled gardens and around to the back. The ruined Gothic revival house on the shores of the lake had been restored by his grandfather, having been in the family for almost two hundred years. ‘House’ was a misnomer. Now it was a money-pit that needed an injection of cash and new blood to bring it back to its former glory.
But while his parents put up with dodgy plumbing and wore sweaters summer and winter to keep warm, no expense was spared on the stables.
His father wasn’t so much in love with horses as obsessed with them. Andy often thought that if he had been born with four legs instead of two, he might have gotten more attention from him.
Until Robert died.
With every homecoming, memories of his older brother flooded his head until he could think of nothing else. Robert had been a charmer, a daredevil and an avid climber. If Andy had been here to keep an eye on him, maybe he would still be alive.
He shook the thought away. This wasn’t the time. His parents needed him now. Before he could climb out ofthe taxi, the door opened and Poppy Campbell McTavish hurried down the steps. Her iron-grey pixie crop framed a face that would be beautiful when she was ninety. She had cheekbones that would have made Michelangelo weep. Dark eyes overshadowed pale, papery skin. His father described her as a good-looking woman and his father was never wrong about anything.
He wasn’t sure what age his mother was, she refused to tell him, but neither of his parents had been in the first flush of youth when he was born. They had congratulated themselves on managing to produce one son. A second one, born five years later, had been an unexpected bonus.
He grabbed his hold-all and paid the driver before clambering from the cab and sweeping his mother up in a bear-hug, lifting her off her feet.
‘Oh Andy, it’s been far too long.’
She was right. It was more than eighteen months since he’d set foot in the place and now that he was home, he didn’t know how he would leave it again.
He set her down gently. ‘I know. Sorry, Mum. How is he?’
Her eyes clouded. ‘You know your father. It will take more than a heart attack to kill him. He insisted on checking himself out of the hospital and now he’s in bed giving orders like an emperor. There’s no talking to him.’
Andy could well imagine it. Dougal Campbell McTavish was as stubborn as a rock and they had clashed repeatedly when he was growing up. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ Andy promised.
‘After you’ve eaten. He’s sleeping now and you must bestarving,’ Poppy said, leading him to the kitchen. He knew there was no point arguing.
His mother sipped herbal tea from a china cup while he ate everything that the family cook, Maggie, set before him. It felt like forever since he’d had an Ulster fry. His arteries would be screaming by the time he went home.
Home.
He wasn’t sure where that was anymore. His tiny apartment in London was more of a base to store his stuff than where he lived. Half the time he ended up in company apartments or hotels. International businessman, actor, arms dealer, he had played them all in operations of one kind or another. His last job had been counterespionage – seducing a Russian Mata Hari who was blackmailing someone at the MOD. Irina had been stunningly beautiful, but deadly as poison.
He never spoke of his work to his family. His father disapproved of him enough already and there was no point in making things worse. He pushed his plate away and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘I’ll see if Dad is awake.’
He picked up his leather hold-all and headed for the door.
‘Dougal can’t manage the stairs, so we’ve moved to the green sitting room so
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