Gracie. Marie Maxwell
those two?’
‘It’s a hotel for widows and spinsters, you idiot,’ Edward snapped. ‘And at least they work for a living. You should try it sometime; you’ve done nothing apart from play at soldiers …’
Harry and Louisa both stared at him, but before they could say anything Edward started piling stuff into the picnic basket.
‘It’s time we headed back. I’ve had enough of the seaside.’
‘What’s got into you, Teddy?’ Louisa asked as she studied his face, carefully looking for a clue.
‘I just want to get back. It’s a long drive …’ He took a deep breath and forced a smile. ‘Sorry I snapped at you both. Just ignore me, the sea air has worn me out.’
Harry still looked hurt but Louisa simply stared at him knowingly.
‘You’re right, Teddy darling. It’s time to get away from here.’
Earlier that morning on the day of Gracie’s wedding and after a long sleepless night, he’d jumped into his car on the spur of the moment and driven at top speed from Saffron Walden in North Essex all the way down to Southend on the coast. Edward hadn’t given his action a great deal of thought so he didn’t really know what he was intending to do, but something inside was making him want to see what would happen.
Logically he knew there was little chance of Gracie McCabe, the girl he had met and fallen in love with, not going through with her wedding, but he still had the urge to be there and to see for certain. He just hoped it would help him deal with his irrational feelings for the young woman he barely knew.
From the moment he could walk and talk Edward had been the sensible one in the Woodfield-Barnes family. He was far more mature than his brother, who was almost the same age and, in many ways, he was more mature than either of his parents, who were both unworldly, wealthy eccentrics, wrapped up in their own little bubble of extravagant and luxurious living.
His father was a passable artist who, although he sold the odd piece of work, had an elaborate studio full of unsold canvases and his mother always described herself as an author but she had only ever sat down in front of a typewriter when she was bored and had never even finished a manuscript, let alone had anything published.
Neither of them had made any money out of any of their various ventures over the years, but they had no need to, as they lived very comfortably courtesy of a vast inheritance of estate and income from the Barnes side of the family. They divided their time between their classic country house in Saffron Walden and their art deco apartment in central London, flitting happily between the differing lifestyle of town and country, interspersed with trips to the South of France when they were bored. It was a very privileged lifestyle that they enjoyed to the full.
Edward senior and his wife Elspeth were perfectly suited to each other. They were both dreamers and they lived life with their heads in the clouds, floating happily above the nitty gritty of everyday life. They were a pleasant and popular couple who loved each other and who also loved their two sons, albeit in a rather detached way, keeping them in the periphery of their lives. When they were younger, a series of nannies and boarding schools had provided the majority of Edward and Harry’s care and then, when they were grown, the relationship had become more like one between siblings than parents and their offspring.
Their younger son Harry took after his father. He was equally airy with no real aspirations of his own, other than to be married to the seemingly vacuous but very beautiful Louisa, the daughter of a diplomat, who he had met during his enforced spell in the army. Edward sometimes wondered if she was only with Harry because of his potential inheritance, but he never said anything because they were as happy as two children in the playground.
Somehow Edward junior had missed out on the happy-go-lucky family gene and was, to his parents’ dismay, eminently sensible and down-to-earth.
Almost from birth Edward had been the serious one in the family, a bit of a loner who was happy in his own company. Growing up he was quiet and hard-working and had always liked nothing better than to shut himself away in the study with a pile of books and some complex problems to solve.
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