Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas Read Free Page B

have the same hold on him then who am I to force him down a road he doesn’t wish to travel?’
    â€˜That’s exactly how I feel,’ I blurted out.
    Lord Fortescue blinked at me, looking startled.
    â€˜I think he’d do a brilliant job here,’ I continued boldly, ‘but I also know how much it means to him to stand in front of a blank canvas and create something beautiful, to do his own thing.’
    â€˜Well put,’ he said, smiling softly. ‘And I agree with you. I am proud of what he’s achieved with his art.’
    My heart lifted; Ben would be over the moon to know that his father was proud of him. I cast my mind back to the launch of his art collection at the gallery when Ben said that neither of his parents valued his work. It would completely change their relationship if only they would talk to each other.
    â€˜You should tell him, I don’t think he knows how you feel at all,’ I urged.
    â€˜You’re right. I’d rather come to that conclusion myself.’ He clasped his hands across his chest. ‘That’s where I need your help.’
    â€˜Well . . . of course, I’ll help if I can,’ I said, intrigued.
    â€˜Thank you, Holly.’ He swivelled the laptop around so that I could see the screen. ‘I haven’t a clue with all this techno stuff. Zara has given me Benedict’s Facebook address. Apparently he has been posting to his page, whatever that means. But I must be doing something wrong . . . I can’t seem to find him.’
    I stared at the picture on the screen.
    â€˜Facebook?’ My face broke into a wide smile of relief. ‘You want to join Facebook?’
    If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending a winter’s afternoon teaching a man in his sixties, who also happened to be eighty-fifth in line to the throne, how to work Facebook, I’d have laughed my head off. And yet here I was: doing just that. One of the many reasons why I loved my job.
Loved
it.
    Within thirty minutes Lord Fortescue had a profile, although we decided to keep it private for the time being until he got the hang of it. He’d sent friend requests out to some of his chums who included several high-profile politicians and quite surprisingly a few celebrities too. My eyes were out on stalks by the time we’d finished, and when the friend request to Daniel Craig was accepted I nearly fell off my chair.
    â€˜How do you know him?’ I squeaked.
    â€˜Um?’ Lord Fortescue smoothed a hand over his fine silver hair and pondered their connection. ‘Ah, yes! Sat next to him at the rugby once, hit if off straight away.’
    Wait until Esme hears this . . .
    But not even the fluttering I got reading Daniel Craig’s posts could compare with the tug at my heartstrings when we clicked on Ben’s private profile.
    There hadn’t been many posts since he’d been in Cambodia. It seemed that the village he was staying in, unsurprisingly, had no internet access but occasional visits to a nearby town meant that he could log on to Facebook every so often. I could have kicked myself; why hadn’t I thought of this earlier? Ben had been gone nearly a month and in that time, the pain of missing him had been almost physical at times. The breath caught in my throat as we scrolled through the images he’d uploaded of the village, of the damaged school that they were repairing and the people he was working alongside. The most recent post showed him surrounded by children, all wreathed in smiles and holding up their paintings to the camera.
    â€˜He looks happy, doesn’t he? Totally at home,’ Lord Fortescue marvelled.
    I nodded, the lump in my throat stealing my speech. Ben was in his element, sharing his love of art with an appreciative audience.
    â€˜I don’t know.’ He sighed, smoothing his hand over his silver hair. ‘This is clearly where his vocation lies, how can I ever hope to