Free Third Time Lucky by Pippa Croft Page B

feel our way.’
    I’m not given to skipping, but the way I jog downstairs the next morning comes pretty close. It’s so much easier now that I don’t have to act as if Alexander’s nightmares are figments of my imagination. I think he accepts he has a form of PTSD and while it’s never going to be something we chat about over the breakfast table, at least I don’t have to pretend any more.
    We both slept better after we’d got a few things aired and when we woke up this morning, we had some amazing if rather gymnastic sex. While Alexander does his physio, I’ve decided to go for a quick jog before breakfast. Although I asked him if he wanted any help,I expected him to refuse. I’m sure the exercises will be painful and he can do without spectators.
    Soon, I’m out of the door, walking down the steps and checking my watch while I crunch over the damp gravel. It rained overnight and now an early mist is burning off fast and the Falconbury estate looks like a freshly painted canvas in its spring hues. Breaking into a run, I make a beeline for the path that seems to skirt the deer park, hoping it leads in a loop back round to the house. If not, I’ll turn back, because Alexander said he’d meet me for a late breakfast in an hour.
    I also need to get some work done. Despite everything, I seem to have got myself into a position where I’m going to be juggling several balls at once this coming term. My exams, college life, helping Emma and being with Alexander. Mulling it all over, I find I’ve gone further than I thought and have to power-walk the last mile before finally reaching the house again. My jogging has never developed into a habit and over the last term my main source of exercise has come from cycling around Oxford, my dance classes and, of course, sex.
    As soon as I reach the porte cochère, the front door opens and Robert steps out, his face a little anxious.
    ‘Ah, Miss Cusack.’
    ‘Hi, Robert. Is everything OK?’
    ‘Yes. Helen thought you’d like to know we have visitors.’
    My post-jog endorphins evaporate when I walk into the hallway to find Alexander with his cousin, and myarch-enemy, Rupert, his father and a petite and very well-preserved redhead who must be his mother, Letty.
    Rupert and his father grunt a greeting almost in unison but Letty de Courcey steps forward, smiling warmly. ‘Lauren, hello again.’
    Recognition flickers, but I’m more aware of my sweaty palms and the ragtag mess I must look after my run. I shake her hand as briefly as possible but return the smile.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘I’m Letty. We have met before but the circumstances weren’t happy.’
    ‘Oh, of course,’ I say, vaguely recalling her at the funeral, although I’d hardly recognize her today in her skinny jeans and pale-blue sweater, with a pair of dark glasses pushed back on her auburn bob.
    ‘How was the run?’ Alexander asks, looking a little strained.
    ‘Good, though I’m sorry I’m late. I took an unscheduled detour.’
    Rupert smirks.
    ‘It’s a big estate,’ says Mr de Courcey gruffly.
    ‘And easy to get lost in,’ Letty adds. ‘I seem to recall a search party being sent out for you, Giles, when you took Rupert for a walk years ago.’
    ‘I don’t remember it.’
    ‘My memory is better than yours and how could I forget? Rupert was still in nappies at the time andneeded a complete change of clothes by the time you found your way home.’
    Rupert groans. ‘Mother!’
    I am struggling not to snigger and even Alexander is smiling. ‘Would you like to join us for some breakfast, Aunt Letty?’ he asks.
    ‘I had mine some time ago,’ says Mr de Courcey tartly.
    Ignoring her husband, Letty slips her arm through Alexander’s. ‘I’d love a cup of tea, but only if you drop the “aunt”, please, Alexander. It makes me sound like I’m a hundred and one.’
    He laughs. ‘Whatever you want, Aunt.’
    She glares at him but soon the smile is back on her pretty face. She seems much younger than