Gloucester, England
Spring-current year
“You have everything I asked for?”
The cafe owner nodded.
“You made certain the champagne is French. My lady loves French champagne, which is natural, of course,” Roger told the man.
“Yes. We’ve prepared the luncheon according to your wishes. The cheese is French as well. We made our own baguette. Honestly sir, we know how to bake bread on this side of the English Channel too. I included a variety of sliced meat, berries and fruit. Fret not,” the owner said. “We even have a small vase of flowers for you.”
He didn’t doubt the English were capable bakers of bread but there was a reason people asked for French bread and never said, bring me a loaf of English bread. An observation he thought best to keep to himself lest the man do something wicked to the food.
“Thank you.” As he left, Roger looked at his reflection in the large display window. He’d awakened early to polish his riding boots to a high gloss, and broke out his new jodhpurs and a crisp white shirt. In the pocket of his riding jacket was the velvet box with a marquis cut ruby and diamond engagement ring. Rubies were Electra’s favorite gem. The ring wasn’t as many carats as he’d have liked to give her but he couldn’t afford a larger ring. In his previous life, price wouldn’t have mattered. Not being rich now didn’t often bother him. But for Electra, he wished he had more.
Worry over whether she’d accept his proposal hung like a dark cloud over his plans and hopes. Before he asked for her hand, he’d have to tell her the truth of his past—who and what he was then, and how he came to be here. Stephen had told Esme and although she didn’t believe him at first, she eventually accepted the truth. Esme’s love for Stephen wasn’t diminished by the bizarre tale of traveling through time. Roger hoped her sister shared that quality of trust.
****
Electra opened the door just as Roger raised his hand to knock. “Hi.” She leaned up and kissed him, then took him by the hand into the vestibule. “I’m ready. We’re just waiting on Emily. She’s putting her phone and driver’s license in a carrier for the saddlebag.”
“I didn’t know Emily was joining us.” Roger fingered the velvet box and plastered a smile on his face. Of all days to invite her younger sister, Electra chose today. Emily hadn’t ridden with them in weeks.
“You don’t mind do you?” Electra asked. Behind her, Emily looked up from retying a boot.
“Of course not.”
“Ready,” Emily said and came over with her small phone in hand. An obsessive worrywart, she reminded everyone on a regular basis you can never be too careful. Anytime she went someplace new, she had her car GPS on, the phone GPS, plus a physical map in her glove box.
“Leave the phone for once. Roger has his,” Electra told her.
“No can do. I feel naked without it.”
Electra rolled her eyes at Roger who just walked away.
They rode through the heavily wooded area of the forest that abutted Lancaster land. Shafts of sunlight broke through the leafy green canopy giving life to occasional patches of wildflowers. They followed a worn path to a clearing that ended at the Old Roman Road. It had fallen into disrepair from decades of neglect. Traffic on the road was predominantly folks on foot or horseback; motorists favored the nearby dual carriageway.
The spot Roger chose to have the picnic lay halfway between where the forest path intersected the road and the ruin of Elysian Fields. According to Alex Lancaster, Elysian Fields was a grand Norman Castle built by his ancestors in the twelfth century. Cromwell ordered it laid to waste five centuries later during the English Civil War. Alex purchased what was left, including a thousand acres around the site, from the Heritage Society. Two years ago, he’d donated a large parcel of the site to Cambridge University for a study being conducted by a renowned astrophysicist Oliver Gordon.
Other than to offer a brief history of Elysian Fields, Alex didn’t speak about his ancestral home. Understandable. Roger expected the pain of seeing its destruction was best left buried. In his day, Roger’s own beautiful, and formidable, chateau made an impressive sight perched high on her rocky cliff. Most of the Marchand chateau still remained but had been turned into a popular chain hotel. The conversion wasn’t much better than being turned into a ruin, in his opinion.
He shook off the memory of seeing what had been his home converted to a commercial enterprise and turned toward Elysian Fields. “This way.”
Off in the distance, out over the Bristol Channel, lightning spiked. “Did you see that?” Electra asked. “It was almost pretty. It had a purple aura around the bolt.” She turned to Roger. “You checked the weather for today didn’t you?”
“Yes, my love. I wouldn’t have taken us out if I’d thought we’d run into a storm.”
Emily had halted her horse several strides behind them and pulled her phone from the saddlebag. “Roger’s right. Looks like we got lucky,” she said, holding her reins and the phone in one hand and tapping the screen with finger. “A thunderstorm off Bristol is hanging over the bay but thankfully it’s not moving this way. The BBC predicted it to move south and for once they were right. I’m leery of riding Lola if bad weather threatens, sometimes she’s spooked by thunder.”
Lola was a young Arabian and hot-blooded under saddle. Roger never cared for the breed, too high-strung in his opinion. They had pretty faces and good conformation, that couldn’t be argued, but he wouldn’t take one into battle. Conquerant was a 17 hands high Flanders horse. Thick set, with powerful legs and back, the stallion possessed a fearless and strong constitution.
“What are you smirking at?” Electra asked.
“Your sister. She managed to find a horse as skittish as she is.”
“She’s cautious is all.”
“Please, she’s like a bee caught in a bell jar.”
“Shh, here she comes.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Emily stroked Lola’s neck to no avail. The horse continued her equine jig as the far off thunder rumbled.
“Just ahead. I have a surprise set up,” Roger said as he trotted toward Elysian Fields again.
He led them to an open field where the sunlight was bright and the ground flat. The cafe staff had laid everything out on a red and white checked tablecloth from the restaurant. A platter held cheeses and fruit arranged around chunks of the baguette. The champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket with two flutes at the side. He’d share a flute with Electra.
“Damn,” he muttered, they’d forgotten the flowers.
Everyone dismounted and tied the horses to an oak tree with low hanging branches.
“It’s lovely. You are such a romantic,” Electra said, kissing him on the cheek.
Emily gave him a sheepish look. “Tell the truth, Roger. You planned for this to be enjoyed by just the two of you. I’m the proverbial third wheel, aren’t I?”
Only a lout with a complete lack of chivalry would answer truthfully. “Don’t be silly. What man...” he tipped his head at her, “especially a Frenchman, wouldn’t be delighted to have two charming ladies at his side?”
“You’re sweet to say that,” Emily said. “Is there some sort of all occasion book Frenchmen work out of that tells them what to say to women? If not, you should consider writing one. You’d make a fortune.”
“Thank you—I think.”
Electra turned to Emily. “Want to pick some flowers?”
Emily nodded.
Electra emptied a wicker basket that held honey and butter while Emily took the sharp meat knife from the platter. “We’ll be back in a flash,” Electra said.
“Where are you going?”
“We passed a blanket of wildflowers not far back. I thought we’d gather a bunch for our table.”
“Where exactly is this spot that’s not far back?” He asked, anxious to pour the champagne and his heart out and propose.
“By that granite outcropping.”
Roger reached for the basket. “You can’t go there. That’s not Alex’s land. It’s part of the acreage he donated to Dr. Gordon’s group.”
Electra held tight to the basket. “So? It’s not like Gordon is going to know we were there. What harm are we causing picking a few flowers? None.”
“His knowing is not the point. It’s the principle. You’ve no right to go traipsing about on his property without permission.” This was a thorny issue for him. In her defense, Electra didn’t know that. Over the years, Roger had had his share of trespassers and poachers on his land. He’d never have given poachers permission to cross his land, but the trespassers, had they asked, he’d have let cross.
“Since you’re determined to do this, hurry up and get away from there,” he told Electra. “I’ll open the champagne and have a glass ready for you.”
“We’ll work double fast,” Emily added and the two jogged off.
He’d opened the champagne and was in the process of pouring when Electra’s panicked scream came from the spot near the outcropping.
“Roger!”
He dropped the bottle and ran.
Gone. Both sisters were gone. The basket with a handful of flowers inside lay on the ground.
“Electra,” he called out. “Emily.”
He ran in a widening spiral hoping to find them. When he didn’t, he returned and checked the scattered patches where the flowers grew for a clue. He looked for any sign someone had come along and taken them by force. Perhaps one of Dr. Gordon’s crew had hustled them back to the trailer that served as their lab. Perhaps they demanded an explanation for what the women were doing.
He was grasping at straws and knew it. Anyone of the Gordon group could clearly see the women were picking flowers. Taking them off to their camp was heavy-handed especially for a bunch of scientists. Nor were there any footprints other than those left by Electra and Emily’s riding boots.
What the devil could’ve happened to them? People don’t just vanish without a clue.
He climbed to the top of the outcropping and called out again. Only the rustling of the breeze through the trees and the low roll of thunder from the storm miles away could be heard.