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it appeared that between them, Paul Walker and Florian had something to hide. Luna would not be entirely surprised if it turned out they were skimming money. Lady Wellstone took little interest in hunting, so although nominally Walker answered to her, in reality she allowed Florian to run this rather small part of the estate business. ‘A sop,’ she’d described it to Luna with a thin smile.
    The question was, what would Stefan do about this, Luna thought as she pulled out her laundry basket. Then realised she was completely out of detergent.
    Five minutes later, dressed in black Gore-Tex trousers and boots and carrying a matching jacket and helmet, Luna ran down the path toward the barn where estate vehicles were kept. There, in a corner behind a row of Land Rovers, sat her motorbike, covered in a dust cloth to keep off the droppings from swallows that nested every summer in the barn’s rafters. Off on their long journey to Africa now.
    The motorbike, a slightly battered BMW Enduro, was a souvenir of her only long-term relationship, a boyfriend she’d had for a couple of years at uni. He’d driven her up to the Lake District on it and she’d fallen in love with it, and by extension, him. But she couldn’t see the point of riding pillion when she could drive one herself, so she subsequently enrolled in motorbike lessons. Her boyfriend sold her his Enduro at a discount when she got her licence, and shortly thereafter he rode off into the sunset on a new bike, with a new girlfriend.
    In retrospect, Luna thought as she shrugged into her jacket and pulled on her gloves and helmet, she’d still come out ahead in that relationship, for she dearly loved her bike.
    She climbed on board and turned the key in the ignition, the engine revving into reliable, German-built action. Heading out onto the main drive, she waited till she was well away from the house before allowing herself the pleasure of opening it up a bit. She was within a quarter of a mile of the gatehouse when she saw Stefan’s yellow Lamborghini pull in off the B road. Luna was just calculating whether the narrow strip of grass that lined the road was wide enough for her to go around the Lamborghini when Stefan spotted her approach and did the gentlemanly thing, pulling into a lay-by next to the gatehouse.
    She lifted her gloved hand off the handlebar in acknowledgement as she passed, and was rewarded by Stefan’s bemused expression behind the windscreen. He didn’t recognise her in all her Gore-Tex. Luna grinned to herself inside her helmet and cut out onto the main road. Let him wonder.

Chapter Four

    The only other appointment within the estate proper that Luna struggled to schedule for Stefan was with the manager of the equestrian centre. It was perhaps no coincidence that the manager in question was the Marchioness’s eldest daughter Helen.
    Luna’s dealings with both Helen and her younger sister Isabelle were…careful. Both of them benefited directly from the estate, Helen through the equestrian centre and Isabelle through a shop she ran in London’s Chelsea borough selling Arborage products. Of the two, Luna preferred Helen, who, while not a particularly pleasant person, was at least straightforward to deal with.
    Isabelle was nicer, at least on the surface. But she was also flightier and less reliable, and there was history between her and Luna that made interacting with her tricky.
    Luna could only speculate that there might be a bit of history between Helen and Stefan when Helen phoned a second time to cancel their appointment.
    â€˜I really don’t have time for it,’ Helen’s deep voice had boomed over the phone, causing Luna’s ear to tickle uncomfortably. ‘I’m giving back-to-back lessons all day today, so if Cousin Stefan really needs to talk to me, he can phone me.’ Did Luna just imagine it, or was there a slight note of deprecation in the way Helen said