Free Wedding of the Season by Laura Lee Guhrke Page B

he supposed, because he had no intention of giving up. “Do you know of anyone who might be willing to sponsor the excavation?”
    Paul studied him for a moment, then sighed, giving in to the inevitable fact that Will would never change. “I’ll make some inquiries.”
    Relief flooded through him. “Thank you, Paul.”
    “This will take some time. We’re leaving next week, and—”
    “Leaving?”
    “Of course.” Paul seemed surprised by Will’s bewilderment. “For Torquay. We’re going to Pixy Cove. We always go to Pixy Cove in August. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”
    Forgotten those childhood days at Viscount Marlowe’s villa on Babbacombe Bay? Never. They’d been some of the happiest of his life. Like going away to school, like overnight stays at Danbury Downs, Pixy Cove in August with Trix, Paul, and Julia had been a refuge, an escape from the hell of his parents’ mutual hatred. Pixy Cove was paradise—sea bathing and diving for shells and exploring the caves. He’d never forget those days. Hell, he and Trix had argued about Pixy Cove just the other afternoon.
    “Remember how we used to dive off the rocks?” Paul said, as if reading his mind. “You tried to show Trix how to do it once, but she balked at the edge like a skittish horse and wouldn’t go, remember?”
    As if it were only yesterday, he could see Trix up on Angel’s Head, the cliff that hung over Angel Cove, staring down at the others treading water below. She’d wanted to dive off, do what all the other children were doing, but when she’d looked down the thirty-foot drop she’d have had to make to follow, she’d lost her nerve.
    A metaphor of their lives, Will thought, and felt a sharp pang of regret. Egypt, like Angel’s Head, had been a leap too far for Trix to make.
    “I’ll be happy to write some letters on your behalf while we’re at Marlowe’s villa,” Paul said, bringing him out of the past, “but I won’t be able to do much more than that until I return in September.”
    Those words brought an idea to Will’s mind, a new possibility. “Marlowe,” he murmured. “Of course. That’s the ticket.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Marlowe’s a publishing magnate. He’s got scads of money. He might be willing to sponsor the excavation.”
    Paul acknowledged that with a nod. “Possibly. He’s up at Babbacombe Bay already, so you’ll have to write to him there.”
    “Write? Ask a man to give me twenty thousand pounds by letter? That won’t do. I shall ask him in person. I’m going to Pixy Cove.”
    Paul’s face clouded with obvious dismay. “But you can’t. You haven’t been invited.”
    “True, but I’m sure once you tell Marlowe I’m home from Egypt, he’ll invite me. He has to. After all, we’re practically family.”
    Paul groaned. “You do realize Trix will be there?”
    “So?”
    “With Trathen.”
    “I’m sure we can all behave in a civil manner.”
    “You and Trix have never behaved in a civil manner. At least not with each other. You two have been quarreling since she learned how to talk. Marlowe will never believe otherwise. And Trix would never forgive me if—”
    “You worry too much, Paul,” he cut in with a deliberately breezy disregard for the difficulties. “That’s your trouble. Once you reassure Marlowe that there won’t be any friction, everything will be smooth sailing.”
    “Smooth sailing? No friction? Good God.” Paul laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. “She’s going to shoot me when she finds out about this,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “And you as well.”
    That was a possibility, but Will knew he didn’t have many options at this point. Going to Pixy Cove would delay his return to Egypt, but that couldn’t be helped. He had to secure funds before the excavations resumed in October. “Cheer up, Paul. We’re going to Pixy Cove, the most wonderful place on earth.” With that, he turned and started out the door. “What could go