"No, but she can sing."
"Of course," Grace said. "Please bring her along." The couple said good-bye and then strolled off holding hands.
With some amusement, Peter settled into his chair and thought about the irony of meeting Byron Holmes here. It wasn't all that unusual, since Camden was where so many men like Byron spent their summers. Yet, of all the people in the world, he'd never guessed he'd shake hands with the man whose surname was synonymous with the world's first tabulating machines. Small world, Peter thought. No, he corrected himself, I'm from the small world, and he's from the big world. But, as he'd just learned, it didn't seem to matter how big or small your baby. When it's yours, it's yours. And this man understood that.
* * *
The horses walked side by side, each carrying a rider through the secluded wooded path.
"I don't believe you, that the only love you have ever felt has been for horses. Nonsense," Greta said.
"It is true," said Jean-Pierre, crossing his heart with his finger.
"Ridiculous."
"Greta, I tell no lie when I say that I have been in love only with horses. Nothing has ever come between us," he said, patting his beast's neck affectionately.
"Frenchmen," she said with a dismissing wave of her gloved hand. "Such talkers." Had he noticed? She took a breath, reminding herself to keep her left hand on the saddle.