Author’s note: This story falls near the beginning of The Long Way Home, in fact parallel to story 3. It does touch briefly on events that were first covered there, but it’s not important to be familiar with it.
Monday 7th December, 1987
Strawberry’s breath steamed in the crisp morning air as Regan trotted him back towards the stables. With Jim and Brian away at college and the rest of the Bob-Whites busy with various things, there seemed to be a lot of days lately where the exercising of the horses fell solely to him. Despite the bluster he liked to keep up with the teenagers, he could not bring himself to mind. He slowed the horse to a walk for the last stretch, noting idly that the unfamiliar car in the drive must belong to the new maid.
Tom and Celia Delanoy expected their first child in three or four weeks’ time and Celia’s replacement had already been hired, he knew. The plan was for her to spend some time with Celia, learning the ropes, before taking over completely. Considering the enormous bulge in the front of Celia’s usually-trim frame, it was probably more than time.
Regan dismounted and set about grooming the horse. He enjoyed the steady rhythm and the gentle sounds of his charges. The rigour of the work kept him warm enough, just in his shirt-sleeves.
“And these are the stables,” he heard Marge Trask explain, from somewhere outside. “You probably won’t have to come here very often, of course, but you will need to be able to find your way around the whole estate. If Regan is here, I’ll introduce you, but he may be out with one of the horses.”
Two figures appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the grey sky. One wore the conservative, practical clothes he associated with Marge. The other he judged to be younger, with a tall, slim figure and wearing a slim skirt and high heels. They stepped inside and he began to be able to see some details. Dark hair pulled back, with a few soft waves framing her face; brown eyes; smooth skin; just a hint of cleavage. An attractive woman.
“Good morning, Regan. I’d like to introduce you to Isabella Morelli. She’ll be taking over from Celia, soon. Isabella, this is Bill Regan.”
Regan nodded to acknowledge the introduction, even as he led Strawberry back to his stall. The new maid murmured something, in a low voice with just the tiniest hint of an accent. He could not place her origin from her voice, but thought that somewhere around the Mediterranean would not be too far wrong.
“There is an extension in the office here,” Marge continued, pointing in that direction. “Most of the time, we would call if we needed to contact Regan. You’ll find a list of extension numbers on the wall next to the kitchen extension and somewhere near all of the others.”
Isabella nodded understanding, but her eyes strayed to Jupiter.
“What a beautiful horse!”
Jupe always seemed to know when he was being admired and this time was no exception.
Marge smiled. “He is. This is Mr. Wheeler’s horse, but his son also rides him. I’m not much of a horsewoman, but I understand he takes a strong hand. If you ride–”
Isabella shook her head. “Not for years and years.”
“You can have lessons, if you like,” Regan offered, before he could stop himself. He glanced at Marge, who looked bemused. “It’s useful to have people who can help exercise the horses when the kids are busy.”
“I suppose it is,” Marge admitted. “Thank you, Regan. We’ll leave you in peace.”
She led the way back out again. Regan put the matter out of his mind and began preparing to saddle Jupiter.
Saturday 19th December, 1987
“Here I am, ready for my second lesson,” Isabella called, as she entered the stables, her red and white checked shirt and soft brown pants a far cry from her work clothes.
“You’re early,” Regan noted, though he was already ready for her.
She shrugged. “I finally moved in last night. It’s much easier when I only have to come from the third floor, instead of twenty miles away.”
Regan handed her Lady’s reins and gestured for her to lead the horse outside. He untied Starlight and followed after her.
“Let’s see how much you remember.” He closed the gate to the fenced field behind them and turned to watch her mount. “Good.”
He swung onto Starlight’s back and walked him over to her.
“Are you Roman Catholic?” she asked, out of the blue.
“Yes.”
Isabella nodded. “That’s good. There’s a church here, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “St. Therese’s.”
“What time is Mass?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not so good,” she answered, a note of teasing in her voice. “Catholic, but not a good Catholic.”
“I’ve had other things to deal with.”
A smile played on her lips. “Well, maybe it’s time to come back into the fold. Tell you what: I’ll find out when it is and you can accompany me.”
He thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Good. Now, I thought you were giving me a riding lesson?”
Regan nodded once more, then pulled himself together and got on with it.
Sunday 14th February, 1988
Isabella swung her handbag as she walked away from St. Therese’s, Bill Regan by her side. For the last two months, they had attended Mass together each week, sometimes on the Saturday evening and others on the Sunday morning, as best fit their work. The routine, at first so foreign to Bill, soon became an important part of his week. Once, when they could not go together, he had even gone alone.
“What are your thoughts on divorce?” she asked, apropos of nothing.
He glanced across at her. “I don’t know that I’ve given it a thought.”
“A friend of mine called me last night, late. Her husband is cheating on her and she’s thinking of leaving him.” She looked past him, at the bare branches of an overhanging tree. “It makes me wonder what I would do, in her place. Do you think the church’s teachings are too harsh?”
He considered in silence for a few long moments. “I think, perhaps, people these days put too little value on marriage.”
She nodded. “That’s true. My friend’s husband certainly has.”
They reached her car and got in. He could think of nothing to say, but felt that something important was happening.
“I didn’t know what to say to her,” she admitted, in a low voice, just after she started the engine. “I wanted to say that divorce is wrong, but that just seemed cruel.”
“Seems to me that she’s already been wronged,” he replied. “If he’s cheating, then the husband has already broken the marriage.”
“Yes.” She paused to check over her shoulder before pulling out. “That’s what’s worrying me, I guess. Up until now, it always seemed perfectly straightforward that if you get married, you need to work at staying married and there wasn’t really any other option – at least, if the church’s blessing is important to you.”
“But it takes two to make a marriage, and if one of the parties doesn’t want to co-operate…”
“Exactly.” She sighed. “I feel so sorry for my friend. She’s put everything she has into this and it’s all falling apart. Of course, she should have known before she married him that something like this might happen. He wasn’t exactly faithful before the wedding.”
“What?” he demanded. “Then why did she ever marry him?”
She moved one shoulder in a half-shrug of fluid grace. “He was attractive. And well-off. Older. And she thought it would change once they were living together. It was mostly just flirting with other women. Mostly.”
“What a –” Regan broke off before uttering the derogatory and rather obscene term that first came to mind. “I hope she takes him to the cleaners. He deserves to lose everything over that.”
Isabella glanced at him, apparently pleased with his reaction. “Yes, maybe that’s what she should do. But I’m not sure she’ll have the resources to fight him; he’s the one with the money, after all.”
He nodded. “Well, I’m not sure that a marriage is worth having, unless it’s based on mutual respect. Like the Wheelers’, or the Beldens’, or Tom and Celia’s.”
“So, you think she should cut her losses?”
“That’s a really personal decision, and I don’t know your friend,” he back-tracked. “But from what you’ve said, I guess so. She made this choice and she has to bear the consequences, either way.”
“Whether she stays and puts up with him, or leaves him and has to live with the knowledge that she’ll never have that kind of relationship again?”
“You never know, he might die.”
“That would be the perfect solution,” she answered, smiling, “but I’m not going to suggest it to her.”
“I didn’t mean she should kill him,” Regan objected.
Isabella laughed. “Inconvenient husbands disposed of without a fuss. Call us for terms.”
“I thought you said your family didn’t include any Mafia types.”
Again, she laughed. “It doesn’t. But I’m glad your first reaction wasn’t to reach for the revolver.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ve never thought violence was the answer, no matter what the question.”
Isabella only smiled.
Thursday 17th March, 1988
“Bill? Are you still here?” Isabella called, from the doorway to the stables.
“Yes,” he answered, stepping out of his office. “I’m just finished. Are you ready to go?”
She had asked him to take her to an Irish pub for St. Patrick’s Day, having claimed that he must know the best one to choose on account of his Irish heritage. Regan had laughed at the suggestion – after all, he had never been to Ireland, he had only the foggiest memories of his parents and none of his grandparents. But Isabella had insisted, so he asked around until he got the information he needed.
“How do I look?” she asked, twirling around so that the full skirt of her green dress swung away from her legs. She had let down her hair and it hung in soft waves almost to her shoulders.
“Lovely,” he answered. “But what is this?”
He pointed to a badge pinned to the bodice, which read ‘Kiss me. I’m Irish.”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, unpinning it.
“You told me your family is all Italian.”
She nodded. “It is. I was born here, to Italian immigrant parents. When I was four, my grandfather in Verona fell ill and we moved back there. When I was nine, he died and we moved back here, bringing my grandmother with us.”
“Then I don’t think you have any claim to be Irish,” he pointed out.
“But this is for you,” she answered. “I just had it there for safe-keeping.”
He held his breath as she placed both hands on his chest and pinned the badge to his shirt. When she had finished, she did not step back.
“Are you going to do what it says?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
She paused for a moment, pretending to consider, lips slightly parted. Regan did not wait for more of an invitation, but bridged the gap between them. His left hand wound itself into her hair, while his right gently touched her waist.
Moments later, they broke apart as Jupiter nickered.
“Is he telling us to stop, or to keep going?” Isabella asked, with a breath of a laugh.
“Oh, that’s a sound of approval,” Regan replied, “but I’ll ask him to keep his opinions to himself in future.”
Her hands moved again on his chest. “You know, I think we might keep this badge a secret between ourselves. I’m not sure I want any competition.” She unpinned it and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “Good. Now I know it’s there, in case I need it later, but no one else can see it.”
“So, you still want to go to the pub?”
She nodded. “Take me on a date.” She patted his shirt pocket, so that the pin of the badge rattled against its backing. “But I might come back to this later.”
He smiled.
Saturday 23rd April, 1988
“Can I ride this morning?” asked a voice from behind him.
Regan turned to see Trixie, her curls gathered into a messy ponytail and a blush staining her cheeks.
“Sure. You can take Susie.” He hesitated a moment. “You going by yourself?”
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.
Not for the first time, he wondered exactly had gone wrong between the teenagers since Brian and Jim left for college. He did not ask, but his eyes followed her as she fetched the saddle.
She did not speak again until she had Susie out of her stall and the horse between them.
“I didn’t know about you and Isabella,” she blurted, the blush deepening.
He froze, trying to reconcile this statement with his knowledge of the last six weeks. They had not been shouting the existence of their relationship from the rooftops, but neither had they been secretive about it. Dan knew, almost from the first day. Honey, also, had known for several weeks. So why had neither of them mentioned it to Trixie? A thrill of foreboding ran through him.
“We’ve been dating a little,” he admitted.
It was true, he told himself. Spending the evening together in his apartment didn’t constitute a date and neither did going to church. Actual dates so far numbered around three.
“Honey said something like that yesterday,” she answered, turning an even deeper red, which he had not thought even possible. He instantly became convinced that Honey had not said anything of the kind, but in fact something a lot more crude.
He nodded and left her to it.
Sunday 24th July, 1988
Thump!
Isabella lifted her head from Regan’s chest, from where she had been watching television in his apartment while he watched her.
“What was that?”
He groaned. “I guess I’d better go and look.”
She got to her feet and stretched, allowing him to also get up.
“Don’t be long.”
He nodded, pulled his boots on and headed for the door. The outside floodlight was already on, ready for Isabella’s return to the main house and her own room. He stopped at the top of the stairs, which ran down the side of the garage, and looked around. Beyond the pool of light, something shifted in the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he called.
The figure stilled.
Scowling, Regan snatched up the strong flashlight Mr. Wheeler had provided and which he kept just inside the door. He switched it on and swung it around to light up the dark corner. A young man stood there, hands in pockets. He wore ragged jeans, a grubby grey T-shirt and a sneer. His messy hair brushed against his shoulders at the back.
“This is private property and it’s time for you to leave,” Regan called, in a loud voice.
“I was invited,” the man answered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Regan glanced at his watch, finding it to be just after nine-thirty.
“A bit late for a social call, isn’t it?”
The man shrugged, but did not answer.
On a hunch, Regan played the light a little further, taking a couple of steps down to increase the distance he could see. Almost at once, he also found Honey. Anger surged, mixed with fear.
“Call the main house,” he called softly to Isabella. “Get Marge down here, but warn her what’s going on.” Turning back to the outside, he ordered Honey, “Inside, right now. And you, whoever you are, can go.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Honey retorted. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Regan took a calming breath. “How about if you just go back inside? It’s getting late.”
“What right do you have to tell me what to do?” Honey screeched.
He sighed. “It’s part of my job to keep you safe. And right now, I’m judging that you’re not safe, so I have to change that.”
She shook her head. “I’m perfectly safe, and I can make my own decisions. And it’s not like you’re completely blameless in this. I know who you’re with right now.”
He glanced at the man, who had begun edging away, then back to Honey. Her chest heaved and her hands were bunched into fists. In short, she looked furious.
“You’re fifteen years old,” he reminded her. “When you’re an adult, you also will be free to watch television alone with someone of an evening.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
“That’s enough,” Marge’s voice cut in, as the young man fled altogether. “Honey, I’d like to see you inside now, please. Thank you, Regan; you can leave this with me.”
Gratefully, he switched off his flashlight and re-entered the apartment, shutting the door behind himself. He leaned against it for a moment, with his eyes closed.
“Maybe she has a point,” Isabella mused.
He opened his eyes and looked at her in dismay. “It must have been completely obvious to her that nothing was going on here,” he argued. “She’s not innocent.”
Isabella nodded. “I’m well aware of that. I have to clean her room, you know.”
He cringed at the thought.
“It’s not that bad,” she went on. “But I do get to know things about her that I would never tell anyone else.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Didn’t I just say I wouldn’t tell you?” She patted the sofa next to her, inviting him to join her. “But don’t change the subject. Are we setting a bad example for that girl?”
“Seems to me, it’s a little late for her.”
Isabella cast an exasperated look heavenwards. “Well, for the other girl, then. Trixie. What are we doing here alone, when there are impressionable teenagers around?”
“That’s not any of their business,” he muttered, sinking down next to her. With a pang, he realised that he agreed with her and that he was just making excuses.
She laughed. “No, but that doesn’t mean we can just do whatever we like.”
He frowned. “I don’t want this to stop.”
“Neither do I.”
All at once, it dawned on him that Isabella had become part of every aspect of his life and he didn’t want that to stop. Ever.
He hesitated, trying to find words to express the ideas just beginning to form in his mind.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “You look so serious.”
“I’m wondering if we should be talking about getting married.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? I wasn’t fishing for a proposal. You don’t need to feel pressured or anything.”
He nodded. “I know. And I don’t. But if you don’t want to consider it right now–”
She kissed him hard, cutting off anything more he might have said.
“It’s an idea worth considering,” she told him, at last, “but not right now. Sleep on it and see if it’s still a good idea in the morning.”
Deep inside, he knew it would be.
Monday 25th July, 1988
Regan awoke before his alarm and lay in bed thinking about the events of the previous night – both the disquieting incident involving Honey and the more pleasant realisation involving Isabella. In the cold light of dawn, marrying her seemed an even better idea than it had when he first thought of it.
He switched off the alarm before it went off and got started on his day.
Later, at around the time that breakfast would be finishing in the main house, he left the stables and headed to the kitchen. Seeing Isabella enter, laden with breakfast dishes, he passed close by her and their eyes met.
“It’s still a good idea,” he said, softly.
She smiled, but made no verbal answer.
He left her to her work and went in search of Marge. He found her in the little nook where she kept a desk, just off the kitchen. She waved him to a seat, but kept her eyes on the account she was examining. He waited in silence.
“Sorry about that,” she told him, a minute or two later, having circled part of it in red pen. “What can I do for you?”
“Did I do the right thing?” he asked, bluntly.
She met his gaze with a look of sympathy. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. And I am asking myself the same question. But you saw the problem and you dealt with it quickly and in the way you thought best at the time.”
“I checked around later, after I’d escorted Isabella back to the main house. I didn’t see anything else suspicious. I’m nearly certain that the man had gone.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Mr. Wheeler will be glad to hear that.”
“But I’m thinking that maybe I should do more random checks.”
“Neither of us can be on duty twenty-four hours a day,” she pointed out. “Mr. Wheeler has also made it clear that you and I are not responsible if Honey deliberately disobeys or defies us – which was the case last night. I had specifically told her not to leave the house.”
He frowned a little. “The other thing I needed to ask was whether my having Isabella there was inappropriate. Honey seemed to think…”
“I got outside in time to hear what Honey thought,” she replied, drily. “From what she said later, however, you appeared practically immediately after the noise, which rather destroyed her argument.”
“Still…”
“Regan, your private life is your own. The fact that Isabella was there meant that I arrived considerably sooner than if she had not been.”
He nodded, having already thought of that for himself, but unsure whether it made a difference.
“And I will be reviewing the whole incident with Mr. Wheeler in about half an hour. I’m sure that he will be considering additional security measures. If you have any thoughts on that, you might let him know.”
Again, he nodded. “I’d like some extra lights. The flashlight was good, but if there had been a few more lights, I wouldn’t have needed it.”
“I’ll mention it to him,” she promised. “And I think we might have a look around tonight after dark to identify the worst areas. Was that all you needed from me?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
As he passed back through the kitchen to leave the house, he saw that Isabella had gone. He returned to his own domain, deep in thought.
Friday 29th July, 1988
Regan whistled as he packed the saddlebags with everything he needed. The day had been hot, but as the sun sank lower in the sky, a cool breeze rustled the leaves and left the air a more pleasant temperature.
“You sound cheerful,” Isabella greeted, from the doorway.
He cast her an admiring glance. She had changed out of her uniform and into well-fitting jeans and a clinging T-shirt.
“What’s not to be cheerful about?” he asked, handing her Starlight’s reins.
She smiled. “True. The family are all out and my work for the day is done.”
“And there are only two horses left to exercise,” he added, leading Strawberry outside.
“What would you have done if there was only one?” she asked, smiling at him.
He watched her mount and then did the same. “Jupe wouldn’t say no to a second run. But I’m glad Mr. Wheeler gave him a good work-out this morning. He doesn’t fit very well with my plans.”
“Plans?”
“You’ll see.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he pretended not to notice, instead leading the way in the direction he wanted to go.
They rode for perhaps twenty minutes before reaching the destination he had in mind. The little clearing was just as he remembered it: a patch of green grass, overhung at the edges by shady trees and bordered on one side by a clear stream, perfect for the horses to drink from.
He dismounted and indicated for Isabella to do the same. He unloaded the saddlebags then settled the two horses over by the stream. When he turned back to her, Isabella had spread out the picnic blanket on a patch of grass dappled with late afternoon sunlight and reclined upon it, propped up on her elbows.
“They’ll be happy there for twenty minutes or so,” he explained. “I don’t want to keep them out too much longer than that.”
“And this is why you didn’t want Jupiter?”
“He tends to be grumpy if he’s not fed exactly on time,” he explained.
“I might get grumpy if I’m not fed,” she teased.
“Well, it’s a good thing I brought food then,” he answered.
After opening the two small bottles of drink, he picked up the brown paper packets and gently felt them to find out which was which. One he handed to Isabella, one he kept for himself and the third he dropped on the corner of the blanket. He got down next to her and made himself comfortable.
“Nothing fancy,” he admitted, opening his bag and pulling out a brown bread roll, generously filled with cold roast meat, salad and Mrs. Belden’s home-made green tomato chutney.
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes as she took a bite. “If this isn’t fancy, I don’t think I need fancy ever again.”
“You might need to stand by that, if you marry me,” he answered.
She nodded. “I know.”
“Would you be willing to do it anyway?”
She slid her sandwich back into the bag and set it down. “Bill, if that was a proposal…” She broke off, laughing. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
She took hold of his face and kissed him. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Okay. When?”
“Well, that depends.” She eased back from him, took out her sandwich again, took a thoughtful bite and watched him as she chewed it. “Do we want the whole, enormous Italian wedding where I dress up to look like a meringue and we drag out every relative, friend and casual acquaintance we can think of? Because that would take months to plan and would probably involve going back to Italy.”
He glanced over to where Starlight and Strawberry grazed. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. The only relative I have in all the world is Dan.”
“Cheap on air fares,” she quipped, “but not so good for filling the groom’s side of the church.”
He shrugged. “I’d like Dan to be there. I don’t mind if no one else comes.”
“Don’t you dare suggest a registry office to me.” She waved a finger at him. “Me dressing as a meringue is negotiable; the priest is not.”
He shook his head. “Before God, or not at all.”
“Exactly. But you’d like quiet rather than enormous,” she mused. “I think I know what we’ll do. There’s a church that we used to go to when I was a child. It’s not very big, or grand. I think it will suit us very well. I might wear my mother’s dress – I think it will fit. If the priest can fit us in, we can be married in three or four weeks’ time.”
He nodded, then frowned. “Except that Honey’s birthday is coming up and the Wheelers are planning a big party, aren’t they? Marge mentioned it yesterday.”
She sagged a little. “You’re right. I do have to work the whole weekend three weeks from now.” A moment later, she brightened. “But I can take a couple of days off a week before or after that. Marge told me that would be the arrangement and I just needed to name the days.”
“Well, how about if you talk to the priest and see if we can have one of those days – either two weeks today, or four weeks today. Then, if we both take Friday through Sunday off, we can marry on the Friday and have a couple of days away. I’ll speak to Mr. Wheeler about it. And I’ll make sure Dan’s free those days.” He frowned. “I wonder who I can get to look after the horses?”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to think of someone,” she answered, finishing her sandwich and crumpling up the bag.
“And I need to buy you a ring.” He cast her an uneasy look. “Was I supposed to do that before now?”
“I don’t mind,” she told him. “In fact, let’s not broadcast this all around our workplace. We’ll tell our families and boss, but the whole town doesn’t need to know about it in advance. It will save on hurt feelings if we don’t invite them all.”
“That’s a good thought.”
“Then, we have a plan. Did you bring dessert?” She snatched up the third paper bag and opened it to reveal a quantity of carrots. “Oh. No, you didn’t. Unless you think–”
“Don’t say it!” he interrupted. “Unless you want to be trampled by Starlight.”
“I thought you tied him up?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him to pull the tree over here with him, if he knew what was in that bag. That was my back-up plan, if those two got impatient.” He got up and pulled her to her feet. “Dessert is at home, but not until after the horses are groomed and fed.”
“It’ll be twice as fast if I help,” she offered.
Regan smiled. “Now, that’s the sort of offer I can’t refuse.”
Saturday 30th July, 1988
“Beautiful morning,” Matthew Wheeler greeted, as he entered the stables early in the day. “But I think it’s going to be hot later. I think I’ll take Jupe out now, if that suits you.”
Regan nodded. “He’s itching to get going.” He hesitated. “Is there some time I can speak to you confidentially?”
“Right now, if you’d like. I’m in no particular hurry and I don’t think anyone else is up.”
Again, Regan nodded and began saddling the horse.
“What’s on your mind?” Mr. Wheeler prompted.
Regan took a breath. “Isabella and I have decided to get married. We’re wondering if we can both have the same three days off – Friday to Sunday – either the weekend before or after Honey’s party. Isabella is going to check with the priest, so we don’t know which of those we can have, yet.”
“Congratulations,” his boss offered. “But this is rather sudden, isn’t it?”
Regan shrugged. “We’ve been talking about it for a little while. And to tell the truth, it’s been troubling me a little that we’re setting a bad example for Honey.”
“If that’s your reasoning, I’d rather you didn’t,” Mr. Wheeler answered with a frown. “I don’t want you to rush into something from a misguided sense of duty.”
He shook his head. “We’re not rushing. And it’s not about duty.”
Matthew stood and stroked Jupiter’s nose for a few moments. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Regan. Whatever started her on this, it happened on my watch. You weren’t there that weekend and neither was Marge – which, in hindsight, was a terrible mistake of mine. If I’d trusted my gut and taken her with us, I doubt this would be happening.”
“I still don’t want to be setting a bad example,” he replied. “And there are other teenagers around, including Dan.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
Regan nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Whichever days you want, other than the weekend of the party, they’re yours. You can take longer, if you want.” He glanced around the stables. “I’ll call Jed Tomlin and arrange to borrow that boy of his while you’re gone. He’s good, isn’t he?”
“Well, yes. But we don’t need more than the weekend. I don’t want to be away too long.”
His boss shook his head. “One day, you’ll need to actually take some of your vacation days, but I can see it won’t be any time soon.”
He smiled. “By the way, we’re only intending to invite family to the wedding, so we don’t want it broadcast all over town until after the fact.”
Mr. Wheeler nodded and led his horse outside. “Your secret’s safe with me. And again, congratulations.”
Tuesday 9th August, 1988
Isabella rang the doorbell to her parents’ home, squeezing Bill’s hand as she did so. Behind them lurked Dan, who in Bill’s opinion looked like he might bolt at any moment. The door opened, accompanied by a cry of delight.
“Joe! Come here, Joe! They’re here!”
Mrs. Morelli drew her daughter inside, bestowing kisses on her. She next turned to her soon-to-be son-in-law.
“Bill! Come in!” She kissed his cheek noisily. “And this must be your nephew Dan. I’m so pleased to meet you. Welcome to our home.”
She hustled them into the living room, its shabby, comfortable furniture ranging across the styles of twenty-five years and every surface littered with ornaments. The busy floral curtains, predominantly in shades of pink with a blue background, clashed cheerfully with the orange-brown sofa and randomly assorted throw pillows. A new television, flanked by racks of VHS tapes, sat on a sturdy, old table, its screen blank.
Mr. Morelli sat in one of the mismatched armchairs, reading the newspaper. He glanced up at the visitors over his glasses and nodded a greeting.
“Now, make yourselves comfortable,” his wife urged. “Sit, all of you. I won’t be a minute. And as soon as everyone is here, we’ll eat.”
Isabella led Bill to the three-seater sofa, waving Dan to one of two empty armchairs. He sat down on the edge of it, looking as uncomfortable as Bill felt.
“Your mother’s been working very hard on your wedding plans,” Joe Morelli muttered, apparently to his newspaper. “She’ll wear herself out if she’s not careful.”
“I can’t stop her,” Isabella answered, smirking at her fiancé. “When will the kids be here?”
“Your sister’s in the kitchen. Your brother’s at work.” He glanced at his watch. “He’ll be here any time now.”
Bill looked up and caught a glimpse of a face in the doorway, almost enough like Isabella to be her twin, but younger and infinitely more shy, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. The moment she noticed him looking, however, she ducked out of sight.
“You can come in, Elisa,” Isabella called after her.
The young teenager peeked in again and tentatively entered the room. Once actually inside, she scurried over to the unoccupied arm chair and sank into it, arms crossed over her waist. Isabella performed the introductions, but the girl did not say a word.
At that moment, the front door opened from the outside and a male voice called, “I’m home.”
“At last!” they heard Mrs. Morelli exclaim. “Come straight in, Joe. Go and wash your hands. Hurry. We have guests.”
Moments later, she was in the living room, urging them all to come to the table. She arranged the seating with care and attention. Elisa she placed next to Dan, to the girl’s utter mortification. Isabella’s brother joined them and was introduced as Joe Junior.
“Now, isn’t this cosy?” Mrs. Morelli asked. “Joe, ask the blessing.”
Her husband settled himself at the head of the table and did so in a monotone.
“Now this is just a very simple meal,” Mrs. Morelli went on, serving out a heaping pile of food onto Regan’s plate. “Just some risotto and later some tiramisu. Both are my family recipes. Now, after the wedding, we’ll have a much more elaborate meal – a full, traditional Italian celebration.”
“It’s going to be a very simple wedding, Mama,” Isabella objected. “And just the family, so don’t go inviting lots of extras.”
“Of course not. I haven’t said a word to anyone. But that’s no reason to skimp on hospitality,” her mother retorted. “It’s all under control, Bella. You’ll just sit back and relax and enjoy.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow. “How many courses are you planning? And just how many cases of Prosecco have you ordered?”
As Mrs. Morelli deftly evaded the questions, Regan watched Dan, whose face had suddenly lit up with interest. Regan groaned inwardly at the thought of having to keep watch over the seventeen-year-old in a room full of alcoholic beverages for the whole of Friday evening.
“Don’t you worry,” Mr. Morelli murmured to him, apparently having noticed the whole exchange. “The boy will be fine. We won’t let him have more than a taste. And take my advice: leave the food to Isabella and her mother. No matter what they decide, we will eat well.”
“That’s a good idea,” Regan answered.
“You’ll do well in this family if you just follow that rule,” the older man went on. “Never stand in the way of my Sofia when she wants to prepare a meal.”
Regan smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
Friday 12th August, 1988
The wedding ceremony was over, but the party afterwards was still in full swing. Bill took a seat in a corner of the room and watched his bride. The smooth, simple lines of the early-1960s wedding dress skimmed over her curves in an entirely pleasing manner. He could see her bare feet below the ankle-length skirt; she had kicked off her high heels long ago. Her laughter carried to him across the crowded room.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Afterwards, they had ended up in the home of Isabella’s aunt and uncle. While a little larger than her parents’ place, the décor was every bit as eclectic and shabby and the chairs were not as comfortable. No one seemed to mind; in fact, everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. They had feasted, almost to bursting point, on course after course of delicious food. True to his word, Bill’s new father-in-law had made sure that none of the teenagers got into the alcohol. Dan had been adopted by Isabella’s cousins, as if they had known him all their lives – though her sister still would not go near him unless she had to.
In all, it had been a very good day. But now, he wanted to leave.
“Take your wife home to bed,” suggested an elderly lady nearby, in a voice that was surely audible to the entire room.
“Er–” he mumbled, unsure how to deal with this person, whose relationship to Isabella he had not quite grasped.
A moment later, Isabella herself arrived to rescue him. She broke into a stream of rapid Italian and the old woman laughed appreciatively and answered in kind.
Turning to Regan, the woman added in English, “You listen to this girl. She knows what she’s talking about.” She reached over and patted his hand. “And you listen to me, too. Sixty years, I was married, before my husband went to his eternal rest. And believe me when I say, there’s not much that can’t be fixed by just going to bed early.”
“I’ll remember that,” he answered, not looking at Isabella. “Thanks.”
The next thing he knew, his new wife pulled him to his feet and smiled up at him.
“Let’s start saying goodbye to everyone,” she suggested, “so we can go.”
He nodded once and let her take him on a tour of the room. At last they stood before her parents, her mother dabbing her eyes with a white lace-edged handkerchief.
“Bill!” Mrs. Morelli cried, embracing him and kissing his cheek. “You’ll take good care of our girl, now, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he answered.
She released him to turn her attention to Isabella, whispering something in her ear that caused his wife to exclaim, “Mama!” in outraged tones. Meanwhile, Mr. Morelli gave Regan a firm pat on the back and pretended not to notice.
“Goodbye everyone and thank you for coming!” Isabella called.
They stepped outside, followed by the chorus of responses. The whole party watched them get into Isabella’s car and drive away, waving and calling greetings the whole time. Once they were safely around a corner, she pulled over and put on the handbrake, but left the engine running.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Just once.”
He tried, he really did, but ‘just once’ turned out to be more difficult to manage than he would previously have imagined. Several minutes later, they pulled apart, both breathing hard.
She smiled. “Let’s go find our room.”
He could only nod in response.
Monday 15th August, 1988
Bill awoke before the alarm and took a few moments to take stock. He lay in their new bed, in his old room in the apartment above the garage. Beside him lay his wife, her hair spread out across the pillow. His breath caught in his throat to see her there, so close.
The bed only barely fit in the room. After trying it with a gap on either side, they had decided it would be better to push it against the wall on her side and keep all of the remaining space in one place. It meant she had to climb over him, or over the end of the bed, if he got in first, but she said she didn’t mind. He certainly didn’t mind that, either.
He switched off his alarm before it went off, making sure that hers was still set, and carefully got up so as not to disturb her.
Once outside, he took a deep breath of fresh morning air. The blue sky overhead, the fresh breeze and the sound of birds combined to make it very pleasant to be out and about. He had almost reached the stables when the perfection of the morning disappeared, as he noticed something strange about the stable door.
He broke into a run, fear chilling him. The outside door, which he had made sure was properly closed last night, after they arrived home, stood ajar. He reached out to touch it, then stopped himself. Inside, Lady made a nervous sound. Regan pushed the door open with the toe of his boot and peered inside.
“Who’s there?”
No one answered, unless you counted the horses. Jupe sounded glad to see him and Susie sounded kind of annoyed, but Lady was about to work herself into a panic.
He glanced into the office and tack room, both of which appeared empty, then approached Lady’s stall. She had backed against the wall, eyes wide and ears flat back. Speaking to her gently, he peered over the front of the stall. A bundle lay on the floor, hard against the gate.
Eyeing the horse, he decided to remove it, since that seemed to be the most obvious potential cause of her distress. He edged the stall door open just enough to pull it through. Lady let out one last snort, then shifted her weight into a less tense position. He stood and soothed her until she became calm, then turned to his discovery.
The bundle was a backpack, torn in places, old and dirty. It contained a change of men’s clothes, a disposable razor, a few crumpled pieces of paper, a rather squashed and smelly sandwich, and a couple of condoms. Regan bundled all of the items back in again, heedless of the liquid leaking out of the plastic wrap on the food.
Next, he looked around for a place someone might be hiding. The spare stall at the end was the obvious place. He walked slowly over to it and looked inside. There, sitting on the floor with their backs against the side of the stall were Honey and the man she had been hiding in the dark with a few weeks ago.
“Now you are in trouble,” he intoned, barely holding onto his temper. “Stand on your feet, both of you.”
Honey scrambled up immediately, but the man made a show of slowness. By the way she was looking at him, Regan thought they might be on the verge of a falling-out. For a moment, he wondered whether that was something he could take advantage of.
He held up the backpack. “Explain.”
“That’s mine,” the man answered with a sneer. He reached out to grab it, but Regan held it out of reach.
“What was it doing in the stall?”
“I told you that was a bad idea,” Honey muttered to him, frowning.
“You’re lucky I got here when I did,” Regan went on.
“I’m really sorry.” Honey shifted away from her companion. “I told him not to put it there, but he didn’t listen.”
The man stepped back from her. “You had a better idea, did you?”
“Yes! In here!”
Lady snorted again and Honey made a visible effort to calm herself.
“We’ll take this outside,” Regan ordered.
He swung open the stall and gestured for them to move, still keeping the bag away from its owner. Once outside in the morning sunshine with the outside stable door gently closed, he turned on the pair, who now stood a good six feet apart.
“Now, what’s this all about?”
“I didn’t know you were back,” Honey blurted. “And I didn’t think meeting in the stables was a good idea in the first place.”
“No,” the man spat. “You were too concerned for your precious ponies.”
“Horses!” Honey corrected. “And of course I was concerned. You saw what nearly happened.”
“I know what didn’t happen,” he answered, with meaning.
She snatched the bag from Regan’s hands and threw it at the other man. “And it’s not happening now. Get out.”
“Fine.” He lunged towards her and muttered something, right in her face.
Honey drew back her hand and delivered a stinging slap that left a red hand-print on his cheek. The man pulled back a fist to hit her back, but Regan was there, pulling him away before he had time to connect.
“Get out,” Regan told him. “Or do I need to take this further?”
The man pulled away and rubbed his face, still looking insolent. “What are you gonna do?”
Regan shrugged. “Haven’t decided. Seems to me, I could call the police. Or, I have a rifle and a shovel and a whole lot of places no one would ever look.”
For a tiny moment, the man looked uneasily at the looming bulk of the Preserve. He snatched up the bag, which had fallen to the ground during the altercation, and stalked off without another word.
Regan watched him out of sight, then set about opening up the stables for the day and seeing to the horses’ needs. He glanced at his watch; the whole episode had left him a good twenty minutes behind schedule. If Mr. Wheeler was going to ride this morning, it would be early, too.
“You wouldn’t really have shot him, would you?” Honey asked, as she pitched in to help.
He laughed, without much humour. “No, but he didn’t need to know that.”
She nodded. “And Lady is really okay, isn’t she?”
He stopped what he was doing and looked at Honey. “I think she’s okay, but if I hadn’t been here she might have really hurt herself.” He went on, not letting her answer that. “Whatever your problem is – and I’m not asking – leave the horses out of it, okay? They didn’t do anything to you.”
“No.” Her face darkened. “They didn’t.”
The implication of her words was clear: someone had hurt her.
“And go easy on the stuff you’ll regret later,” he advised, with a hint of a smile.
She cast him a startled look and for a moment he thought he’d pushed her a little too far. Then she nodded and left him to his work. He glanced after her, then redoubled his efforts.
Only a few minutes later, he heard footsteps on the path outside.
“Should I come back in half an hour?” Matthew Wheeler’s voice asked.
Regan looked up, hiding his distress at being found running late. “No, you can saddle up as soon as Jupe’s finished eating.”
His boss nodded. “I heard a lot of what happened,” he admitted. “I meant to come and talk some things over with you before my ride – nothing serious and they’ll keep; just some things to do with that feed supplier we’ve been using – but I held back when I heard that something was going on. I was ready to come and back you up, but you didn’t need it.”
Regan nodded his thanks at the implied approval of his actions.
“I’m sorry this incident happened. I’ll speak to Honey about it, if you think it will help.”
Regan shook his head. “I’ve spoken to her already and I think she got the message.” He glanced over at Lady. “I think it upset her more than she let on that he disregarded the horses’ welfare.”
“I suppose he’ll be back, soon enough,” the older man answered, gloomily.
“You didn’t hear what he called her,” Regan replied. “And you didn’t see the look on her face when she hit him.”
“Well, if not him, then someone like him.” He walked over to Jupiter, who looked eager to get out on the trail. “Regan, if you ever have a daughter, make sure you encourage her to talk to her parents about her problems, right from when she’s tiny. I think a lot of our problems with Honey could have been solved if we’d just started out the right way.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” he answered, unsure what else to say.
“I’m sure you will.” He looked back to the horse. “Do you think he’s ready to get moving?”
Regan cast an expert eye over Jupiter and gave his approval.
Mr. Wheeler was barely out of the door when the next rider arrived. She entered at a fast walk and hurried over to see Susie, not even noticing Regan, who was busy cleaning Jupiter’s stall.
“Oh, hi,” Trixie greeted, when she finally saw him. “Is it okay if I take Susie out for a quick ride?”
“Sure is,” he answered, dumping a scoop of manure into the barrow.
Trixie’s eyes narrowed and she seemed to lose interest in the horse. She walked slowly over to where he was working and watched. Regan tried to ignore her as he finished the clean-up and pushed the barrow back into its corner, ready for use in the next stall.
“Oh!” Trixie cried as he passed her. “Regan!”
“What?” He brushed down his hands and looked around for the next task. “I thought you were riding?”
She was in front of him before he knew what was happening and grabbed his left hand.
“What’s this?”
He looked. “My hand. You have two.”
She tapped the ring, but not until after rolling her eyes. “I meant this. Did you and Isabella…”
He smiled. “What do you think, Miss Sherlock?”
The next thing he knew, she was kissing his cheek and crying out, “Oh, that’s wonderful! Where is she? I want to talk to her, too.”
A glance at his watch told him she would by now be getting ready to serve breakfast. “The kitchen, I’d guess.”
She departed at a run, all thoughts of riding apparently forgotten.
Fifteen minutes later she returned, still at a run, and picked up the conversation with him almost as if there had been no gap.
“I’m so happy for both of you. This is the best news ever.” She started getting Susie ready for the ride. “And this summer has been so boring. It’s just nice to have some good news for a change.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, a little absently.
She stopped and stared. “Do you mean, there’s someone who doesn’t think it’s good news?”
“What?” He shook his head. “Now, where did you get that idea?”
She shrugged and resumed her tasks. “I just wondered.”
“I don’t know that there’s anyone in the world who cares that much about me to object,” he answered with a shrug. “Isabella, on the other hand… Yeah, I can imagine there might be men who wish she was single.”
Trixie giggled. “Careful. You don’t want to start drooling just thinking about her.”
“Get out of here,” he told her, trying not to laugh. “But make sure Susie gets a good work-out; she wasn’t ridden yesterday – I can tell.”
The sixteen-year-old gave him a mock salute. “Yes, sir!”
Regan shook his head, grinning ruefully. But at least some teenagers stayed on the right track. The thought gave him hope.
Wednesday 7th December, 1988
Regan jogged up the stairs to the apartment above the garage at the end of a long day’s work. Above his head, a few stars peeked through the light cloud cover, but he barely noticed. All afternoon, his mind had been wandering back to the phone call Isabella had made to him at lunchtime, suggesting that he had better be home on time.
He opened the door. The apartment smelled like her family home when her mother was cooking: a tantalising savoury aroma that set his mouth watering. The table was set for two, using some of the party dinnerware from the main house’s vast supply, rather than the old, brown plates they usually used and Isabella kept wanting to throw out.
Isabella smiled a greeting and he crossed the room to kiss her hello.
“You’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d be on time.”
He laughed softly. “After your mysterious message? I didn’t dare.” He glanced at the table, then turned back to her. “But what’s the occasion?”
She set down her cooking spoon and looked up at him. “You don’t know?”
He hesitated. She did not seem upset at his not knowing. He ran through the potential reasons. It was neither of their birthdays. They’d only been married three and a half months, so their anniversary wasn’t for a long time. Their first date had been St. Patrick’s Day.
He gave up the attempt and shook his head.
“It’s a year since we met,” she answered, with a smile.
His eyes widened. “Really?” He could not decide whether it felt shorter or longer than that. “Well, that’s something worth celebrating.”
She smiled and his heart felt full. “Yes, I thought so, too.”
The End