Lord Frederick Winfield considers himself to be an open-minded soul. He's liberal in his views and his politics, was devoted to his late wife and likes to think he set a trend by marrying for love, not money. He said 'I do' and lived by his vows.
He has loved watching his daughter grow up. Her choice of career, whilst not perhaps one he'd like for her since he'd wrap her up in cotton wool, reminds him of his own ambitions in the army. A need to look after others and make the world safe. A daughter with principles and endless bravery which he finds astonishing. He's terribly proud of her.
Freddy considers himself to be a good judge of character too. But he tries very hard to not pry into Harry's life or anyone else's. He'd love to ask more about James Dempsey, he knows Chief Inspector Spikings' well enough to enquire, but he's trusting Harry on this. Anything is better than the weasel she married and has thankfully divorced.
He drops into his daughter's home on his way back from the club. It's not often that he does, she's got her own friends, but he wants to make sure she's fine. It's only been a few weeks since she went back to the police force after a brief spell with his friend Thomas. He'd hoped that the professor would have driven her mad enough to go back to the police of her own accord, but Spikings' seems to think Dempsey is the cause of her return, based on the observation that they are 'thick as thieves'.
Freddy sits politely at the kitchen table as she makes them a pot of tea. He's almost certain that he has enough evidence to alleviate his concerns. One glance at her face, and her flushed cheeks when she says his name is enough to quell his curiosity.
He's very sharp for his age. He sees the men's black boots by Harry's tiny trainers. There's a brown leather jacket on the coat rack that smells of a cologne which he once sniffed at Harrods, and decided it's better suited to a younger man. Beside the coffee-maker there are two cups, both waiting to be washed. In the bathroom, a mug contains a pair of toothbrushes. The room smelt of the body wash that goes with the cologne. He sees a bundle of slim-cut men's shirts tangled in her ironing pile next to the cashmere sweater he remembers Dempsey gifting to her at Christmas, when he first had his suspicions.
Three years of tiptoeing. Harry shaping her partner and him allowing her to tame him. She's changed too. His daughter who would faithfully return library books before the due date, never broke the rules and was stoic after her mother's death, seems to be lighter. Her calendar on the kitchen wall isn't full of party dates as it was before, there are notes in two styles of handwriting. He saw her crying in Dempsey's arms at her mother's grave and crept away, allowing the couple - for that is what he thought of them - to spend time alone. He had the unexpected feeling that he was handing over his daughter's wellbeing to this maverick American and he had no concerns about it.
He finishes his tea and gets to his feet. "I'll wash up."
"Freddy, no! You're my guest here." Harry urges him through to the living room and he meekly allows her. He could do with a comfortable seat these days. He isn't happy about getting old and passing the responsibility of the hall to her. A conversation he'll leave for another day. Perhaps when James is here.
She brings through a topped-up teapot and a cake that says 'Happy Bir.' He chuckles at the missing words, waiting for an explanation."Well I know it's not your birthday cake."
She smiles, "It's Dempsey's. He's been eating for breakfast."
Freddy quirks an eyebrow as he smiles, "I'm delighted to hear it. The cake…" He accepts a slice, filling his mouth to avoid teasing her about the slip of the tongue. Breakfast indeed.
He's saved by the phone ringing and smiles as she disappears to answer it. Idly he picks up the book that sits on the table, Pride and Prejudice. Not his 'bag' so to speak but whilst he tries not to listen to her speak, he smooths the spine where it's cracked and flattens the cover.
"Hello you… Freddy's here. Yes, we're having a catch-up." Her voice softens and drops an octave. "I should, should I? You are trouble, you know that."
He looks at the bookmark, it seems to be a postcard, he can't work out the significance of the picture of Stringfellows, whatever that is. The writing on the back isn't his daughter's neat scrawl. It says 'princess' and something about her being 'his tequila sunset' followed by a long line of hearts and crosses, signed by 'J'. Ah, that's who.
Freddy pops the book neatly back, next to a photo he hasn't seen before. It's of Dempsey stood next to his daughter, both holding champagne glasses, standing close and he sees her challenging the photographer, a look of spirit about her.
He's known of her feelings for her partner longer than she thinks. The first time he visited Winfield Hall, she was like a cat on hot bricks but alive with debate. A spark about her which had died with her mother and during her marriage. He'd seen the way her partner's eyes had followed her around, carefully watching her and keeping her safe.
"I'll see you later then shall I? We've got surveillance this week haven't we?" There's a pause. "Me too, very much." And then a giggle.
Freddy gets to his feet as she returns. He sees the baby she once was, the awkward teen in shapeless dungarees wandering around the hall and the determined cadet in her newly pressed police uniform. And the woman she has become, bound to a man he'd never anticipated arriving in their lives, but he's so glad Dempsey did.
"Oh! You don't have to go yet." Harry protests and then looks at his gleeful face with caution, "What?"
"James is on his way home and I don't want to disturb you. I wanted to check you were happy and I have all the answers I need." Freddy kisses her cheek. "You must both come to lunch soon."
"He… I, well, yes." Harry fudges and blushes but there's a soft smile. "How did you know?"
"I might be your old father, but I've still got sharp eyes." Freddy gives her a hug. "I know what love looks like."