They looked around for half an hour, and she complimented him on the setup. He had restored the house and the outbuildings when he bought it. She and Miles had looked at the property when it was for sale, but it had been in terrible condition and would have cost a fortune to restore. Jerry had done a fabulous job.
“You did an amazing transformation.” She smiled at him. “I saw what bad shape it was in before,” Alex said with admiration, as they returned to the courtyard and walked slowly toward the house.
“It was a lot of work, but it was worth it. I love it here.”
“So do I.” She smiled and followed him through a side door directly into the library, which was a shortcut, and a moment later a man in a white shirt and black slacks brought in an enormous silver tea tray with a proper English tea, complete with perfect little watercress and egg salad sandwiches, and scones with jam and clotted cream. It looked delicious as he set it down on a table in front of them.
“I love the traditions here, it’s all so civilized.” Jerry smiled, and as he said it she noticed the book left open facedown on the coffee table that he’d been reading. It was one of hers, the first one from the new contract. It was the one that had broken the spell, when she first started writing again. He saw her glance at it, and laughed. “My favorite author. Alexander Green. He writes incredible crime thrillers. I’m addicted. His books are my drug of choice. I went into withdrawal when he disappeared for about six years, but now he’s back, better than ever. This one is fantastic. Have you ever read him?”
“Actually,” she couldn’t resist tweaking him a little, “I think it’s fair to say I’ve read them all.” He looked pleased to have that in common with her.
“Aren’t they fantastic?” he said, as he offered her the tray of sandwiches, and she took one and helped herself to a scone. “How did you get into reading crime thrillers?”
“My father. He started me on Nancy Drew, and kept ramping it up from there.” It was a long way from Nancy Drew to Alexander Green, and he laughed.
He talked about his children then. He had three. “Two in New York, and one in L.A. They’re grown up. One is still in grad school, the other two are married. They fled Kentucky when they left for college, and they’re not interested in coming here. It’s too quiet for them.”
“I suppose I’ll get to that point eventually with my daughter, but not for a while. She still likes it here, and I’ve really kept the property for her to enjoy one day. She’ll probably hate it and head straight for London.” But Alex loved it here now too. It was so full of memories of Miles and their days together. It suited her and was a great place to write, it was so peaceful. “My husband had two older children too. They both live in South Africa now, and haven’t been here in two years.”
“Once they fly the nest, it’s all over,” he said, with intimate knowledge of it. “And my ex-wife would have hated it here. She liked New York and Paris. This would have been much too quiet. And she’s not fond of horses.”
Alex laughed. “Well, then, she wouldn’t like it here. You know, I was thinking today about your interest in my south pasture. I might be willing to sell it to you. We really don’t use it anymore, now that we have fewer horses, and it borders your land. I don’t think I’d miss it.” She had enough land and had decided that she could give that one piece up to him. Having met him and seen his horses, she realized that it would be far more useful to him than it was to her.
“That’s very good news.” He looked pleased as he ate a scone himself, with jam and cream. “If you ever want to sell the whole property, I’d be interested in that too.” He wanted to set up a real horse farm, like the one he had in Kentucky, and spend more time here.
“Now, don’t get greedy. You’ll have to settle for the south pasture,” Alex said and he laughed again.
“Sorry. But I hear you have a wonderful house, with a moat and a lake.”
“Why don’t you come over and see it tomorrow, though not as a potential sale. It will be my daughter’s one day. My stepchildren have no interest in it. And I’m afraid our tea is not as elegant as yours.”
“I’d love to take a look,” he said, and he was still intrigued by her knowledge of crime thrillers. She left a little while later and they set a time for him to visit her the next day. She invited him to come at four, so she could show him around. She liked him. She didn’t know why, but she felt comfortable with him, as if they’d known each other before, and she was amused that he was reading one of her new books.
She was curious about Jerry Jackson. When she got home, she Googled him and sat reading about him for half an hour. Princeton undergrad, Harvard MBA, owner of several Kentucky Derby winners, his breeding farms were legendary, and their bloodlines. He had started several major corporations, was a well-known philanthropist, had an engineering degree, and had invented a laser that was used worldwide for medical procedures. He was a scientist, an engineer, and a businessman. He bred racehorses, was divorced, had three children who had attended Stanford, Yale, and Columbia, and he seemed like a pleasant, kind person. He was forty-nine years old. Reading about him was impressive and daunting. She couldn’t think of anything he couldn’t do.
And it was serendipity that he lived right next door and was such an interesting person and liked her books.
She spent her days and nights with Desi now, and never traveled anywhere to see her friends. She didn’t get a chance to speak to intelligent adults, unless she called them in other cities, like Rose, Brigid and the nuns, or Fiona, living in a suburb of London. She still missed Bert acutely. And Miles beyond words.
Jerry arrived promptly at the appointed hour the next day, and said he loved her house. They walked around, looked at the moat, and wandered down to the lake, which had scared Alex when Desiree was little. She didn’t want her to fall in, and she could have. But they never left her alone for a minute. They wandered through the gardens, and she had a maze. They looked in the barns briefly and he admired her horses, and then they walked into the house for tea. Hers was also set up on a silver tray—she had done it herself—but her house and lifestyle weren’t as formal as his. She led a country life, and he was a man of many facets and great sophistication.
“All right,” he said before he sat down to tea. “I want to see your collection of Alexander Green books.”
“I don’t keep them,” she said breezily, and he looked shocked.
“I treasure mine forever. They’ll be collectors’ classics one day. He’s right up there with some of the best crime writers of our time. How can you give them away?”
“So someone else can enjoy them,” she said simply.
“You have a point.” He hadn’t thought of that before. “I’m too selfish. I want to keep them for myself, to read again.” She smiled as he said it and didn’t comment.
They enjoyed the tea and sandwiches she had made, and he asked her more about herself.