“Not when you’re in the greenhouse with her. She’s as alert as any of us have ever seen her.”

“But what if I hate it?”

Calvin pulled up in the parking area, turned off the engine, coughed slightly, then turned to face Rose.

“Rose,” he said. His warm brown eyes looked at her kindly but very gravely. “If you do hate it, don’t say anything.”

“You mean don’t tell the truth. Lie.”

“I wouldn’t call it lying.”

“What would you call it?”

“I would call it not complaining. It will make your grandmother feel a little bit better. You know she’s been better since you arrived. She seems not to be so forgetful, so . . . lost.”

“What do you mean lost?”

“Hard to explain . . . just lost, lost in time.”

“Lost in time?” Rose said vaguely. A shiver ran through her.

“Yes, sometimes she just comes out with the oddest things. And she has spells when we have to call the doctor or an ambulance.”

“Ambulance?”

“Sometimes she has these little episodes—her blood pressure drops suddenly. She becomes faint. They have to take her in and readjust her medications. But she hasn’t had one of those since you’ve been here.”

At this moment a man in riding jodhpurs and boots came up to the car. Calvin lowered the window.

“Holy smokes, is this a 1958 Bentley?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Series One?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I’ll be.”

“My boss is particularly fond of British automobiles,” Calvin replied. “British things in general. She also has a very sporty Aston Martin, 1934. But she feels she’s too old to be racing about in such a car.”

The man slapped the car and poked his head in farther.

“I’m Peter Elkins, and I bet this is Rose Ashley. In a few years when you get your license, maybe she’ll let you race about in this baby.” He patted the hood of the car.

“Maybe,” Rose replied. She was tempted to say she would much prefer to take driving lessons than horseback riding ones.

“Well, we’re ready for you. Your grandmother sent along your riding clothes, I believe.”

“Yes,” Calvin said. “In the trunk. I’ll get the valise for you.” Rose reluctantly got out.

“You can change in the girls’ dressing room, Rose. It’s right next to the tack room in the east barn,” Peter said, pointing to a gray clapboard building with white trim.

“Okay,” Rose said. She picked up the “valise” and wondered why Calvin didn’t just call it an overnight bag.

As she headed into the barn past the tack room, she saw the door to the dressing room swing open.

“Oh, we meet again,” Lisa said brightly as she came out. Now really, could this day get any worse? Maybe the horse would rear up, fall on her, and crush her to death. How had she not remembered that Lisa was a champion horseback rider?