Chapter Eleven

By the time they'd unpeeled themselves from the cumbersome waders and repacked the car, Greg was beginning to feel the aftermath of his recent battle.

"You did brilliantly back there, by the way," Freddy slid into the passenger's seat, turning a wide smile towards him. "For someone who'd never held a fly rod before, to land that enormous fish on your first day is really quite outstanding," she added, patting his thigh in approval. "My husband, the great angler."

"Yes, well," Greg started up the VW and brought the steering wheel around until the car faced up the lane. "I'm not sure I want a repeat of that little experience in a hurry," he grumbled, even though her praise had lifted his mood. "My muscles are already telling me how sorry I'm going to be tomorrow."

"Have a nice soak in the bath when we get back to the cottage," Freddy suggested. "I'll bring you a scotch and you can ruminate on your spectacular success," she paused. "You also handled Guy well, if I might make the observation. Not everyone is comfortable when they first meet British nobility like that."

Gunning the car up the lane which had dried during the day and offered better traction, Greg smiled. "He seemed a decent enough sort of bloke," he said. "Not like some of the toffs I've met in London at crime scenes and in court."

"Might there be a correlation between those two facts?" Freddy speculated. "I doubt being involved with crime at any personal level would be conducive to good manners."

Keeping his eyes on the road, Greg shook his head. "Some people are instinctively pleasant," he said, "like you and your mother. And some are complete tossers, no matter how many silver spoons they were born with."

"Oh well," Freddy smiled. "I think today was very successful in all sorts of ways."

"You're a very nice person, you know," Greg felt content. "If I wasn't already madly in love with you, it wouldn't take me long to get there."

Saying nothing, Freddy laid her hand on the top of his jean-clad thigh for the rest of the way back to the cottage.

"Hang on, before we go in," Freddy opened the back of the car. "We need to rinse these inside and out and let them dry or they'll get dreadfully smelly," she said, pulling out the bags containing the rubber waders. "They'll need to hang outside overnight," she headed for the side gate and the rear garden.

There was a tap and a hose reel and a small, convenient tree. "You hold them and I'll use the hose," she said, as Greg lifted the first pair up for their wash. In a matter of minutes, both sets of waders were hanging upside down, with the boots wedged firmly between a couple of handy tree-branches.

Greg's back seized as he tried to move, a long groan forced itself from his chest. "Christ, I'm sore," he complained, trying to stretch the ache out.

"Go and run a nice deep bath and I'll be up in a minute," Freddy was already heading into the cottage.

"Gonna join me?" Greg lifted his eyebrows, half-heartedly teasing.

"In your current state, I'd probably be arrested for involuntary manslaughter," Freddy smiled sweetly. "Go," she ushered him upstairs.

Running himself a deep hot bath, Greg sniffed one of the glass jars of green bath oil sitting on the vanity. It had a pleasing woody aroma, so he dolloped some under the running water. The fragrant steam filled the small room as he peeled off his sweaty clothes onto the floor. Barely had he wriggled himself into the water when Freddy arrived bearing a heavy glass tumbler filled to a respectable level with amber liquid.

"Soak as long as you feel like," she said, handing him the scotch. "I'm going to have a shower and get ready. Is there anything you'd like me to lay out for you? I was thinking the pearl-white shirt and the pale blue tie would be comfortable this evening with your suit," she said. "Fortunately, it's not black tie tonight."

"I don't even own a proper dinner jacket," submerged in scented bubbles to his chin, Greg inhaled the warming spirit and felt things loosen up as his shoulders unknotted. "So it's just as well."

"It wouldn't really matter what you wear, if you'd rather not bother, you know," Freddy perched on the side of the perilously full bath and combed hair from his face with her fingers. "It's probably only the family tonight, so casual attire would be fine."

"But what are you going to wear?" Greg looked up, curious.

"I've got a nice blue dress I bought in case we went anywhere special," Freddy smiled down at him. "This might be an excellent opportunity to give it a first outing."

"Looks like I'll be needing my suit then," Holding the glass high, Greg dipped his head under the water and then wiped his eyes dry. "Can't let my gorgeous new wife down, can I?"

"Such a silly," Freddy laughed fondly. "You enjoy your soak while I get our clothes ready."

In what seemed like a very short time, she was back, wrapped in a thin robe, which she slipped off and draped over the warm radiator. Moving around the bathroom completely naked and unconcerned, Freddy was deliciously unselfconscious. Wallowing in his steamy bath, Greg watched his wife prepare for her shower and felt his desire for her, never really far away, come roaring back. Not wanting to spoil the mood, he remained silent and sipped his drink instead.

Stepping into the glassed shower stall, Freddy quickly shampooed her hair, giving her skin a thoroughly good scrub as she let the conditioner do its job. Greg had never really noticed how fine her ankles were, or how elegant were the shape of her feet and calves. He'd always said that she was gorgeous but now, watching her with an oddly clinical eye, he realised that Freddy wasn't just gorgeous, but truly beautiful. Knocking back the rest of his scotch, he gave everything a quick scrub and hauled himself out of the bath, remembering at the last second to wipe down the tub as it emptied. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he was ready with another as Freddy stepped out of the shower. Ignoring the curious expression on her face, he wrapped her up in the fluffy cotton fabric and into his arms, holding her tight.

"You are the most amazing woman I've ever known," he rested his forehead against hers. "I only hope I can be as good for you as you are for me."

"Oh darling," Freddy wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling. "I only wish I could match your romantic streak."

"I think we get by," Greg brushed her mouth with his lips, instantly tempted to spend the next hour kissing her into a complete frenzy. "We'd better get dressed, don't you think?" he groaned softly as Freddy pressed herself deeper into his embrace. "Can't keep a duke waiting for his guests."

"Perhaps just a little wait?" Freddy nibbled his throat and earlobe, giving him goosebumps.

"Ahh, you wanton woman," Greg felt his knees, already weakened after the tussle with the fish, grow even more wobbly. "Best not," he sighed, regretfully. "It would be rude to be late."

"You're quite right, husband," Freddy drew herself away, smiling happily up at him. "Perhaps later."

###

"I suppose you know the way there by road?" Greg buckled himself into the car. He smiled as Freddy laughed.

"Simply head for the town and you'll see the way to go," she grinned, adjusting the skirt of her sleeveless ballerina dress. In Forget-me-not blue, with a faint print of green leaves and white flowers, she looked very elegant Greg thought, as he watched her dress. Her fine skin already displayed the lightest sheen of freckles.

It hadn't been until he'd slung the suit jacket over his shoulders that he'd felt a weight in one of the pockets. Sliding his fingers inside, he'd discovered the box with the bracelet he'd bought Freddy as a wedding gift. He'd meant to present it to her after the ceremony, but with one thing and the next, it had totally slipped his mind.

"Hey," he said, bringing the box into the light. "I got this for you and, what with all the excitement, completely forgot about it. Sorry," he looked across the room as Freddy was putting some white pearl studs in her ears. "It might go nice with your dress though," he added, opening the box and offering it to her. "I had it made for you. What do you think?"

The green and gold leaves interspersed with white pearls seemed to glow in the setting sun, as the dainty enamelled metals lay beguilingly in their satin bed.

"Oh, Greg, it's simply lovely," Freddy reached out and immediately slid it around her wrist, fastening both the snap and the safety catch. Lifting her hand into the air so that the gold caught the sunlight, she smiled, delighted. "It's adorable and perfect with my dress. Thank you, darling. It's very sweet and thoughtful of you."

And now, sitting in the car, Greg found himself smiling again as he watched Freddy still admiring her gift. All in all, it had been an eventful day and it wasn't over yet. Dinner with a duke! Donovan wasn't going to believe a word of it.

As the car headed into Kelso, Greg caught sight of a signpost 'Roxburghe Street', together with a second sign directly beneath it "Floors Castle'.

"I see the castle has its very own road," Greg lifted his eyebrows. "Hard to get lost."

"I did say you'd know the way to go," Freddy touched up her lipstick in the vanity mirror. "It'll be fun to catch up with everyone. I haven't been at the castle in years."

"Tell me then," Greg kept his eyes on the road as he took the castle turning. "Who's likely to be there tonight?"

"Well, Guy, obviously," she said. "And Duchess Louise; you'll like her, I think. She has a dry sense of humour at times. You can call her 'Your grace' but I bet she'll tell you not to bother. And the offspring might be there too, or at least one or two of them. Guy and Louise have four children. Robert, Francesca, Nina and Charles, the youngest, who has to be nearly thirty. There may be some friends for dinner tonight as well," Freddy paused, looking at him with a slight turn of her head. "Are you sure this isn't going to make you feel terribly uncomfortable?"

Remembering how rigid and distressed her body had been in his arms only the previous evening, Greg smiled and shook his head. "If anyone starts to piss me off, I can always threaten them with arrest," he grinned. As the VW left the relatively narrow road, they drove through a long avenue of tall sycamore trees in glorious summer leaf and onto a wide sweeping drive. Bang in front of them was Floors Castle.

It was huge.

Slowing the car to a crawl, Greg tried to take the whole thing in, but the building was too colossal to see in its entirety this close up. The immense central edifice was flanked on both sides by two equally vast wings. It was a proper castle, too, with flying buttresses and crenelated battlements; though Greg felt there was also a touch of a French chateau; too many glass windows and fancy bits of architecture for a fortified castle.

"Bloody hell," he felt his voice come out whisper-dry. "All that for one family?"

"Hardly," Freddy patted his leg in a wifely way. "Most of the central section, the East wing, the main reception rooms and gardens are open to tourists and the public for weddings and the like," she said. "The family live in the West wing with the in-house staff having their own accommodation in the building just behind that. It's far too large for the family these days."

"Then why was it built to be so big?"

"Because the family used to be immensely wealthy and had kings as friends," she said simply. "And when one is in the habit of hosting royalty, one must also be able to host the royal entourage, which, at times meant the entire court."

"Bloody hell," Greg inhaled hard and blinked as he drove the car past great fields of lawn.

"Take the drive on the left side," Freddy pointed to the gravel drive that curved around the west wing. "That's where everyone will be parked this evening."

Following instructions, Greg took the VW around the side of the castle, finding a large circular driveway at the back. There were already several cars parked on the building side of the drive. Half expecting to see Maserati's and Lamborghinis, he was slightly disappointed to observe a couple of well-used Range Rovers and an early model Jaguar. No sooner had he pulled the car in beside the Jag than Guy came bouncing out of a large and ornate door.

"Perfect timing!" He waved, smiling broadly. Greg was slightly relieved to see the man wore a light summer lounge suit with a dark tie.

"Louise can't wait to catch up with you, Freddy," he leaned down to help her out of the car, kissing her fondly on both cheeks. "And to thank the man who not only furnished us with a splendid dinner, but with at least one very decent after-dinner story." Stretching out a hand, he waited for Greg to shake it.

With a natural smile shaping his face, Greg felt decently welcomed.

"I only hope we're not putting anyone out, coming for dinner at the last minute."

"Oh, think nothing of it, old man," Guy Innes-Ker slapped him on the shoulder. "Gives Chef someone new to impress and that's always a good thing, as you'll no doubt see for yourself. Shall we go in?"

Even if this was only one wing of the vast structure, it was still massive, with soaring painted ceilings and walls lined from top to bottom with dark portraits framed in heavy gilded frames. The floor beneath his feet was beautifully-laid parquet, covered in exquisite handmade carpets; Greg was fairly certain you couldn't get anything like this down at the local Carpet World. Every scrap of furniture he could see looked like an antique, lovingly polished to a gleaming finish. There was a pervasive scent of fresh flowers mingled with a hint of floor polish that Greg found quite appealing. With a small shock, he realised that the Pimlico house might look a bit like this, one day.

Leading them through the evening-darkened hallways and reception rooms, the duke brought them at last to a tall half-opened door, flooded with light. The sound of quiet voices came from within. Following Freddy through the open door, Greg saw there were three other couples in the room beside their hosts, though because the room itself was very large, there still seemed to be acres of empty space.

"We're all here now," Guy announced as he walked in, beaming and turning to the rest of those present. "I think everyone here knows Freddy, but I'd like to introduce a new chum, Greg Lestrade; Freddy's husband a fine angler and a lucky man to boot!"

"Lucky is right," Greg smiled around. "Both in marriage and fishing." He nodded politely at his host. "You landed the fish though, for which I was incredibly relieved."

"Nonsense, old boy," Guy laughed. "I only held the net; you did all the hard work. Drinks, everyone?" Nodding to a uniformed staff member standing with a silver tray of drinks, the duke offered a heavy silver cigarette box around.

"Allow me to introduce myself, since my husband has so appallingly neglected to do so," a tall woman with mid-length chestnut hair came forward, extending her right hand. "Get Guy talking about fishing and we'll all end in a stupor," she smiled gently. "Louise Innes-Ker," she said. "Lovely to have you both here this evening. Freddy, it's been positively years, my dear. How are you?"

"Your Grace," Greg smiled as he took her hand. "Freddy has been telling me stories of the times she spent in this castle as a child."

"Oh, please, Louise.None of us stand on ceremony here," the woman threw him a charming smile. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the gang," she paused, turning to indicate a young man and woman sitting on an elegant embroidered couch.

"My youngest son Charles, currently home from his PhD studies at York," Louise smiled at the young man with the same colour hair as his mother. "And his good friend Fiona Wallace, the most patient of young women to ever put up with him," she smiled, waiting as hands were shaken.

Indicating a middle-aged couple each taking a tall champagne glass from the tray of drinks. "John and Claire Bowen-Ryder, up from Staffordshire for the Border Union Show, and Julia and Hugo Ridley passing through on the way home to Northumberland," smiling, she indicated the drinks being passed around. "Please, do feel free to help yourself."

"Guy told us you landed a prime specimen this afternoon," John Bowen-Ryder, a man of middle height, tanned, with a congenial smile. "I've fished that stretch before for hours and hours, and never caught so much as a tiddler."

"Beginner's luck," Greg helped himself to a glass of champagne, the cool rush of bubbles in his mouth a pleasing sensation. He was beginning to really enjoy the taste of the stuff and blamed Freddy entirely for it. "Seriously, I was about to chuck the whole thing in until Guy saved the day, even though he might have lost his boots in the process."

"It was the most excitement I've had in weeks," Guy held an elegant cigarette, a particular fragrance in the smoke. "Being able to dash in and help a fellow man has given my ego an enormous lift," he grinned, pleased. "And Freddy," he looked her up and down. "I have to say that married life seems to be agreeing with you, my dear."

"I have been very fortunate in the finding of my husband," she smiled happily, turning briefly to glance at Greg. "Mummy adores Greg too," she arched her eyebrows. "And you know how she can be."

"Ah yes, the indomitable Gwendoline," Julia Ridley laughed. "And how is your dear mother these days?"

By the time dinner was announced, some forty minutes later, Greg had already discovered that Louise Innes-Ker was a proper sweetheart, that her youngest son was a bit of a dick and that the pretty Fiona was a farmer's daughter, with an earthy turn of phrase. He also knew that John Bowen-Ryder had an unnatural passion for large agricultural machinery and Julia Ridley had a well-hidden soft spot for their host. Freddy, it seemed, knew everything about everyone in the room and was currently displaying her new bracelet to the lovely, if bracing, Fiona.

Advised that dinner would be served in the small dining room, Greg polished off the last of his fizzy and took the seat their hostess indicated. Apparently it was the done thing not to sit next to your wife and he found himself lodged between Julia and Claire.

The table itself could have sat another half-dozen people with ease, but the extra space was pleasant and allowed everyone room to relax a little. The white linen tablecloth was decorated with long glass centrepieces filled with fresh red, pink and white flowers. At three places along the table, tall silver candelabras stood holding flickering white candles. Staring down at the range of glasses and silverware around his place-setting, Greg had only the vaguest of ideas which ones to use for what. However, he'd been a detective for a very long time and he knew a thing or two about the fine art of observation. Not that it matter if he got anything wrong; he was feeling quite comfortable in the group, especially since he'd discovered that John Bowen-Ryder was the owner of the Jaguar standing outside and had a long-time yen for classic cars. And so he sat, a happy smile on his face, chatting with Julia about the main differences between life in London and life on the Borders and with Claire about different policing methods in town and country. Glancing up, he saw Freddy frown at something the duke had just said, though he was too far away to hear what it was.

The soup course arrived, something green, vaguely minty and delicious. There were small bread rolls in the shape of flowers and, of all things to have with soup, a fine pale sherry. Greg had never tried soup and sherry together before, but then, he'd not tried soup and whisky before today and that had turned out just fine. To his great surprise, the sherry was very subtle and matched the soup perfectly. It was only after he'd polished the lot off that he realised two things. That he was eating faster than anyone else and that he was ravenous. Taking another bread roll, he nibbled until everyone had finished.

Almost instantly, staff appeared to clear the table and lay the second course. In this case, a massive silver salver, lidded, of course, that was placed lengthways down the open centre of the long table. When the domed cover was lifted with a small flourish, Greg saw a very long, very large fish, laid out, cooked and decorated with glassy slices of cucumber, leaves of mint and quarters of lemon.

"It seems Chef has gone all Edwardian on us," Guy laughed cheerfully at the sight of the ornate fish dish. "What do you think of your afternoon's work now, Chief Inspector?"

"I think I'm glad Freddy and I didn't consider taking it back to the cottage with us," he grinned. "Besides, it's one of your fish, isn't it?"

"Only technically," Louise arched her eyebrows. "The fishing rents pay for the river maintenance and stock upkeep," she added. "But one can never go wrong with fresh salmon, I feel."

It was, as Greg was swift to agree, absolutely delicious. It hadn't quite sunk in yet that it was his hard work that had brought this thing to the table he was currently sharing with a duke and a duchess. There was a lovely crisp white wine with the fish course that complimented the heavy salmon perfectly. Despite his earlier uncertainties, Greg realised he was really enjoying this meal. Both Guy and Louise seemed very pleasant and he could see that Freddy was in her element.

Immediately after the remains of the salmon were removed, fresh plates were laid, and they were apparently into a meat course. Greg inspected the rather ornate dining plate before him, containing three dainty lamb cutlets and several asparagus spears. It seemed almost too stylish to spoil, however as everyone else was digging in ... Feeling the worst of his hunger fade, he was able now to enjoy the little mouthfuls. The wine with this course was a light rosé, fragrant and delicate on the palate. Unable to help himself, Greg looked around the table and smiled, pleased that the evening was turning out so well.

"You're looking very happy," Claire nibbled some asparagus. "Had an epiphany?"

"Sort of," Greg inhaled slowly and lifted his eyebrows. "I'm having a really nice dinner with a bunch of very pleasant people who I've never met before tonight," he smiled back at her. "My wonderful new wife is in her element and I caught an enormous great big fish for the first time in my life," he gave a slight shrug. "I suddenly realised that these are the good times," he tried the rosé again. "It's too easy to only remember the bad times, so moments like this are important to spot," he paused and looked momentarily thoughtful. "Or it may be that I've had a drop too much wine. I'm usually more of a beer kind of guy to be honest."

"I think Freddy's supremely lucky," Claire laid her silverware down on her plate. "The pair of you are simply glowing," she added, sounding mildly envious as she glanced across the table to where Charles sat, chatting to his mother. "Of course you need to remember these happy moments." It was her turn to pause. "You're not a bit as I imagined a police Chief Inspector to be," she said candidly.

Before he could make the obvious response, yet another course was brought to the table, a large roast bird of some kind. It looked as big as a turkey, but Greg saw it had a longer shape to it. He suddenly hoped it wasn't swan. He'd heard things about dinners in these big country houses.

"I hope you like goose," Louise Innes-Ker smiled at him from her end of the table. "Chef does so like to produce one when we have guests. It's his pièce de résistance."

Realising he was also being served with yet another white wine, Greg started to feel a little full. Sipping water instead of the alcohol, he nibbled only a small portion of the admittedly fabulous food and wondered how much longer this dinner was going to last.

"Don't panic, we're almost there," Fiona stage-whispered at his side. "Only the sugar-coma to go an' we can ai' run fer the hills."

"I seriously doubt running is in my near future," Greg whispered back as he dared a sip of the most luscious wine. He almost groaned with pleasure. No wonder there were so many rich alcoholics in London; if this was the quality of the stuff they drank on a regular basis, it would be hard not to succumb.

Finally, after a peach tarte with cream which, in all honesty, Greg wouldn't have dreamed of trying to resist, the table was cleared, only to be redressed with crystal decanters of port and a cheeseboard so large it has to be carted around on a wheeled trolley. About to seek his wife's attention so his eye-rolling might be properly witnessed, he paused as he observed Freddy and Guy Innes-Ker deep in another conversation. Even from where he was sitting, it looked fairly serious. Despite the fact that he probably wouldn't be able to move from his seat for the next couple of days, Greg felt his copper's antenna twitch.

Something was up. And by the looks on their faces, it wasn't good.

Declaring himself unable to look at another crumb, Greg was persuaded to accept a small cup of aromatic coffee. Watching as John Bowen-Ryder took his and stood, walking across to a tall window as the last of the evening sun dimmed down to the horizon, he felt able to do the same thing. Once he managed to struggle to his feet, he didn't feel quite so stuffed, but not by much. A bit of gentle walking about would be just the thing.

"Freddy suggested I should show you the private gardens before it comes in completely dark," Guy Innes-Ker walked around the table as others got to their feet with their coffee or tiny glasses of fine cognac. "It's a lovely warm evening and it won't take long."

Keeping his expression neutral, Greg's instincts told him he was about to find out what had made Freddy frown earlier on. He wondered what it might have to do with their host. Sipping the last of his coffee, he put the fine china down and followed the duke out of a door at the far end of the room and down another longish passageway. This one was lined with watercolours and prints of the Scottish countryside. At the far end were a pair of large glass French doors which opened out onto … Greg felt the breath catch in his chest.

The most enormous walled garden. In full summer flower, his eyes took in the formal pathways and hedges; the white gravelled spaces, the trees he now recognised from the Pimlico garden … His eyes slid to the figure of his wife who stood, arms hanging simply at her side. The look on Freddy's face made him wish for a camera in his hand but he felt that dragging his phone out might not be the most polite thing to do.

"Darling." At the sound of his footsteps across the pristine gravel, Freddy turned, smiling. "Isn't this beautiful?"

"It certainly is," he returned her smile, his eyes not leaving her face.

"Thank you for coming out here, old man," their host sounded a little awkward and Greg immediately knew his suspicion had been correct. Something was up and it involved the three of them. But what? He'd only just met the man.

"Darling, Guy was telling me over dinner about an odd letter he'd received from his London legal people," Freddy reached for her husband's hand. "From Hunters, in Lincoln's Inn."

"I know of them," Greg nodded. He knew a great many London legal firms by name and reputation. His job made that knowledge very useful. "What about them?"

Guy looked troubled. "They wrote to me about a week ago regarding a legal counsel from Stevens & Co., who had advised them he was the legal representative of the Countess of Apley." The duke's concern was immediately obvious. If anything was happening to the title, he would obviously be one of the first to know about it. But then, so would Freddy. He met her eyes.

"And what do you know about this?"

Freddy looked more puzzled than anxious as she held his gaze. "Well, that's the problem," she said. "Stevens & Co. sent me a letter before the wedding," she frowned again. "But I've not had a chance to reply. I have no idea what's going on."