Next morning, we left Cumberland Place early with no breakfast, on the (perfectly true) pretext that we had a very long drive up north.
I couldn’t wait to get into the small and safe space of the Mini. I had so much to tell Shafeen and Nel, and I couldn’t bear to sit through another meal with Lord and Lady Death and be polite through my teeth. It was hard enough to go and thank them in the drawing room where they were having their morning coffee, the countess behind Country Life and the earl behind Horse & Hound.
Rollo got to his feet when we entered the room and I marvelled at what a dreadful contradiction he was – he would happily brand my thumb and chase Ty with a pack of hounds, but God forbid his arse cheeks should remain in a chair while a ‘lady’ was standing.
Manners still uppermost, he warmly shook Shafeen’s hand. ‘Goodbye, Hardy,’ he said. ‘Beg pardon – Shafeen. We’ll await you at Longcross.’ He waved his arm to encompass us girls too. ‘It will be ripping to see you all again.’
Ripping, I thought as we went out to the car.
Ripping, I thought as I remembered Henry telling me of Reynard tearing his flesh.
Ripping – I thought of my dream and the fox torn apart by the hounds.
I had to hand it to Rollo. He could hardly have landed on a more fitting word.