The Journey Home. Fiona Hood-Stewart

left the construction site, Hernan roaring off in his Testarossa, Jack wandering down Alvear, enjoying the languid laziness of the late afternoon. He smiled to himself. Although they were close in age, Hernan often made him feel old and worldly-wise. They’d had very different lives. While Hernan had been leading a privileged existence, playing polo in Palm Beach, studying in Europe and skiing in Gstaad, he’d been on those crazy missions into El Salvador and Nicaragua. Hernan was good for him though, his youthful enthusiasm refreshing. But the scene he still found fun had grown old for Jack. Lately he’d begun to realize just how old.

      But the thought of seeing India again put a spring in his step. He crossed the mezzanine to the gift shop to buy the Herald Tribune, pleased that everything was falling into place. He glanced at his watch, wondering if he’d still catch Quince, his attorney, or his brother, Chad, at the office in Miami. He needed to be brought up-to-date on the dealings with Dunbar since his visit there with Serena. She’d done her homework well and had had the information he’d asked for on hand. Yet once again he’d felt that same strange sensation as on his first visit, and he’d left the property even more convinced that he would meet Serena’s asking price and get the deal moving. It was a pity he hadn’t had time to consult with Peter, but he’d decided to acquire the property in any case. He let himself into the suite, laid down the paper and headed immediately for the phone.

      Mr. Ramsey cleared his throat while Serena waited impatiently for him to speak. It was imperative she keep calm. If the man had the slightest suspicion of what she was up to, the whole plan would fall through.

      “I sent Miss India all the latest figures,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But I haven’t heard back from her yet.”

      “That’s because she’s in South America,” Serena answered brightly. “We’ve talked several times on the phone,” she added casually.

      “Really?” Mr. Ramsey looked surprised. “South America. That would explain her silence. I would imagine the telecommunications are not too reliable over there.” He gave a stiff smile and Serena immediately responded, realizing it was his idea of a joke. She sat eyeing him across the large mahogany desk. He reminded her of an owl, peering from behind those odd tortoiseshell glasses, his thin hair combed carefully over the balding patch on his head. She stifled a sudden desire to giggle and concentrated.

      “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m here,” she continued. “India and I have—Well we’ve made up our differences, if you know what I mean.” She did her best to look modest and embarrassed. “Based on your fax, she has agreed we must sell the property and has promised to send you a full-fledged power of attorney as soon as she returns to Switzerland. There seemed to be some difficulty about having it done in English over in Buenos Aires. But she definitely wants us to get on with the negotiations. As you know, the American buyers are anxious to set things in motion. They will require complete confidentiality as to their identity as they are buying the property through an offshore company.” She was pleased at how professional she sounded.

      “This is quite surprising.” Mr. Ramsey took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. “Quite surprising indeed, in view of…er…the last encounter.”

      “Oh, that!” Serena gave a high-pitched laugh. “That was just me being silly. But that’s all behind us now. I realized myself how important it was for us to work together on this matter. I suspect my behavior was due to delayed shock over Mummy’s sudden death,” she said demurely, looking down.

      “Well, well, I’m very pleased to hear you tell me this, Lady Serena. A spirit of cooperation will make matters much simpler to deal with. Much simpler indeed.”

      “My sentiments exactly.” Serena flashed him another bright smile. “So you can be expecting news from the American attorneys any day now.”

      “Very well. I must say it’s a most generous offer, and one that will not likely be repeated. Under the circumstances, I can only advise you to take it. You’re sure Miss India is in agreement?” He seemed suddenly doubtful.

      “Absolutely. She says she’s tried to get through to you, but as you so rightly pointed out, these remote places are not well connected. I could barely hear her at one point during this morning’s conversation. I don’t know how people actually live in those places.”

      “I don’t know if it’s quite as bad as that, Lady Serena, but I would imagine the efficiency which we’re used to here at home is probably sadly lacking there.”

      “Exactly. So no need to worry about India, she’s in agreement with everything. And by the time the closing comes through she’ll be back anyway.”

      “Quite true. Then I will wait for the lawyers to get in touch, and take it from there.”

      “Perfect. Well, I think we’ve covered everything. I’d better be going, as I’ve already taken up far too much of your time.” She smiled graciously as she got up.

      “I’ll see you out, Lady Serena.”

      When they reached the front door, Serena thrust out her hand and smiled with what she hoped was a beguiling expression. “Thank you again, Mr. Ramsey. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

      “No, no.” Mr. Ramsey gave an embarrassed cough. “May I just say, Lady Serena, that I am delighted you and your sister have made up the…er, rift. A family should stand united.” He shook her hand.

      “That’s exactly how we feel. Goodbye, Mr. Ramsey.”

      “Goodbye.”

      Serena stepped out into Charlotte Square and put up her umbrella. As she headed for George Street, a blast of wind nearly blew it inside out, but she was so elated the meeting had gone so well, she didn’t care. Maxi would be pleased, too.

      With business out of the way she headed toward Jenners. A little shopping was exactly what she needed, especially now that she would have unlimited funds to spend. She might as well get into the habit right away.

      India stretched out lazily on a chaise longue at the estancia, idly daydreaming, as the hot afternoon shifted gently into evening. The subtle scent of the gardenias surrounding the veranda was intensifying with the approach of dusk, and the bougainvillea, so colorful during the day, had taken on a softer hue. A soft breeze blew in gently from the pampas, and the tall eucalyptus trees bordering the earth track that led to the corrals and the stables swayed gently to and fro. Only the occasional croak from the frogs in the pond, the chant of the crickets commencing their evensong and the distant shouts of gauchos bringing home the cattle disturbed the tranquillity.

      India had arrived in Buenos Aires in time to spend a somewhat nostalgic Christmas with the O’Hallorans. But soon afterward she and Gabby had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the task of redecorating the casco, choosing fabrics and new sofas, and refurbishing some of the present furniture. It had been fun and distracting, but her mind often wandered to Dunbar. She knew that as soon as she returned home a decision had to be made. Mr. Ramsey had sent her a fax only a few days ago. The news was not encouraging. Slowly, but sadly, she was getting used to the idea that keeping Dunbar was a virtual impossibility. At least if it was bought by a family, or someone who would appreciate it, she would not feel quite so bad.

      But what if it was transformed into some dreadful tourist trap? Or turned into a hotel? This last thought turned her mind to Jack Buchanan. She’d thought quite a bit about Jack over the last few weeks. In fact, he’d been making constant appearances in her subconscious ever since he’d stood at the cemetery gates on that gray Scottish afternoon.

      She wondered suddenly what he was up to, and how his hotel project was going. She must go by there one day. Apparently Jack’s partner was some relation of Gabby’s whom the family wanted to introduce her to.

      “Señorita India.” Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Severina, the maid.

      “Sí, Severina, qué pasa?” She twisted her head around.

      The wizened little woman approached. “Teléfono para usted, señorita.”