All You Need is Love

by Carole Matthews

  ‘There’s plenty of time. We can have a look at the rest of it tomorrow.’

  The rest of it? I can tell that Spencer’s not joking either.

  In the Spencer Seduction Suite, I curl into his arms under a canopy of golden silk. This is a bed fit for a princess and – for all I know – there might have been one or two in here already. What a privileged existence Spencer has – and I’d really no idea. I’d pictured him living in a big, posh detached house in a prissy cul-de-sac, but nothing on this scale had even remotely crossed my mind.

  The featherlight duvet floats above us as I sink into the contours of the bed and it cocoons me, creating a lovely sanctuary that feels safe from the world. Spencer’s naked next to me and I think I might have died and gone to heaven.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘This is absolute bliss.’

  ‘Can you imagine yourself living here?’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘my imagination’s not that vivid.’ He moves above me and kisses me deeply. My senses swim. ‘What are you doing in my life, Spencer Knight?’

  ‘I’m hoping to make it better,’ he murmurs against my neck. Then he proceeds to show me how.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  We take breakfast in the same dining room as we used last night. Sunshine is flooding through the windows making the austere room feel warm and welcoming.

  Mr and Mrs Knight are already seated at the table when we arrive.

  ‘Mother,’ Spencer says heartily, and goes over to kiss her on both cheeks.

  ‘Hello, dear. Are you well?’

  ‘Fine,’ Spencer says. He takes my hand and urges me forward. ‘This is Sally,’ he announces.

  His mother smiles at me, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine or forced. It’s kind of wavering between the two. ‘Spencer’s told us so much about you,’ she murmurs.

  I do hope not.

  By this time, Mr Knight has lowered his copy of The Times and is glowering at me over the top of it.

  ‘Father,’ Spencer says. ‘This is Sally.’

  I hold out my hand. Mr Knight sort of harrumphs at me. And I let my hand fall back to my side.

  ‘You have a lovely home,’ I tell him, at which he harrumphs some more. It’s very hard not to start talking like Julie Andrews in their presence. Never have I been more aware of quite how Scouse I sound.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mrs Knight says, as her husband seems to have lost his tongue.

  The room may feel warm and welcoming, but my hosts are most definitely not. I may not have good breeding and have been dragged up in a council house, but I’d like to think that guests to my humble home wouldn’t be treated as rudely.

  There’s a buffet set out on one of magnificent sideboards and Spencer ushers me in its direction. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Help yourself.’

  I put a few things on my plate, some bread, some jam – can’t say that I feel brave enough to tackle a boiled egg while I’m under such scrutiny. Spencer and I take our seats. There’s very little in the way of conversation. How different from my own breakfast-table, with Charlie chattering on and Radio Merseyside burbling along in the background. When Johnny was with us, he’d chat away too and then there was always his dog under your feet. You could hear a pin drop in here and suddenly I get a pang of longing for my son and my own small, scruffy life.

  Mrs Knight makes me jump when she speaks. ‘Spencer tells me you have a son.’

  ‘Yeah. Yes. Charlie. He’s ten. He’s a lovely boy. Isn’t he, Spencer?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Spencer agrees.

  ‘And Charlie’s father?’

  In Walton Prison for armed robbery, actually. ‘We have no contact with him now.’

  ‘Pity,’ Mrs Knight observes.

  ‘Not really. Charlie and I do all right for ourselves.’

  More harrumphing from behind the newspaper.

  ‘Family is so important,’ Mrs Knight observes.

  ‘Depends what your family are like,’ I counter, and Spencer’s mother stares at me levelly. I hold her gaze, as no one can outstare Sally Freeman, Single Mum and Superwoman.

  Then, as my blood sets up a slow boil, Brookes comes to the door of the dining room. ‘Miss Arabella Fostrup and Mr Toby Jessop have arrived.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Spencer says, putting down his napkin. ‘Just four more, but they should be here shortly. I thought we’d all go riding this morning. It’s a beautiful day for it.’

  That pulls me up short. ‘Riding?’

  Spencer turns to me, looking vaguely aghast. ‘You do ride?’

  I lower my voice slightly. ‘Spencer, you’ve seen where I live. I don’t think I actually saw a horse until I was fifteen.’ And then it was probably a police horse at the Liverpool football ground. ‘Of course I don’t ride.’

  ‘You don’t ride!’ Mrs Knight exclaims in incredulous tones.

  ‘Sorry, Sally,’ Spencer apologises. ‘I never even thought . . . I just assumed . . .’ Clearly he has never dated a woman with inadequacies in her equestrian skills. ‘We can do something else.’

  ‘No, no,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t matter. You can all go riding and I’ll have a walk in the gardens or read while you’re gone.’

  ‘I had sort of promised the others . . .’ Spencer says.

  ‘That’s fine. There are plenty of ways that I can entertain myself for a few hours.’

  ‘We’ll all get together for a picnic for lunch.’

  That sounds more like it.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you,’ Spencer says. ‘I promise.’

  And I ignore the chilly looks from his parents and think that sounds even better.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  At the back of the house and across the beautiful gardens are the stables. Set within a massive building in warm honeycoloured stone, they’re almost as grand as the house. Lush green ivy meanders up the walls. The surrounding lawns are mown into regimental stripes, and the sky’s a rich shade of Tuscan blue. I wouldn’t mind being a horse if it meant that I could move in here.

  Spencer is striding out across the gravel path in his hacking jacket and jodhpurs. I’m tottering alongside in Dolcis heels and outfit by Matalan. Some more of Spencer’s friends have arrived and now the other couples are waiting in the stable courtyard, all suitably attired.

  There’s much hugging, kissing and backslapping. Except for me, of course.

  ‘Sally, you must meet everyone.’ Spencer urges me forward when, quite honestly, I’d rather melt into the background, vanish into thin air, go up in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Arabella and Toby.’ I get a rather cool handshake from both of them. Arabella casts a disdainful eye over my clothes. So I do the same to her. Unfortunately, she’s immaculately turned out, whereas I’m not. Spencer and I made love again this morning, so the time I had for hair and make-up was deliciously eaten into. I smile at the thought. I may not be able to ride a horse, but at least my gorgeous boyfriend has a chin.

  I wonder, are the rest of Spencer’s friends going to be such hard work?

  ‘This is Phoebe and Max.’ Phoebe nods curtly at me. She has a perfect figure, perfect hair and a perfect face. And she knows it. Max is a little more effusive and shakes my hand so vigorously that I’m worried it might drop off.

  The last of the couples is Tania and James. Tania kisses me warmly on both cheeks, which takes me aback. James is equally welcoming. Just when I thought that this was going to be a very long weekend, there might just be some relief in sight.

  ‘The horses are ready,’ Spencer says, and a groom starts to lead them out in the courtyard. Tania hangs back as the others make their way towards their mounts.

  ‘Don’t mind that lot,’ she says, as she links her arm through mine. ‘Arabella and Phoebe are both Spencer’s cast-offs and they’re wildly jealous that he’s finally found someone he wants to settle down with.’

  He has? This is news to me.

  ‘Spencer’s told me so much about you. I’m sure you’ll win them over. Arabella’s just green with envy, wondering w
hat you’ve got that she hasn’t.’

  Can’t quite see it myself, I have to say.

  The others are ready and waiting. With a friendly squeeze of my arm Tania leaves my side – although I want to beg her not to – and gets onto her own horse.

  Spencer comes over and slips his arm round me. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he whispers. ‘I feel awful leaving you behind.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I say. ‘Really. I’m going to have a wander in the grounds. Take as long as you need. Enjoy yourself.’

  He kisses me again and bounds up onto his horse.

  Arabella looks down at me. ‘Not joining us, Sally?’

  ‘I can’t ride.’

  She sniggers at that.

  I might not be able to ride, but I have better manners than you, lady. ‘But you all have a lovely time. I’ll see you later.’

  With that they all trot out of the stable courtyard, Spencer waving over his shoulder.

  My spirit sinks as I stand alone and watch them disappear from view. Now what? I feel the hours stretching ahead of me and I should be grateful for this time to myself – an unexpected oasis of peace in this beautiful setting with no one to impress, no one to defend myself to. As soon as I get back to Kirberly I’ll be straight into the regeneration project and my life won’t be my own for weeks. I feel exhausted just thinking about it. There’s such a lot to do and I’m so glad that Johnny will be alongside me, watching my back. I resist the urge to text my friend.

  Taking the path behind the stables, I stroll further away from the house. The path is lined with mature trees, cool in the morning sun. It’s still hard to believe that I’m here in this place, Spencer’s home. How strange it is that our lives have crossed, our worlds collided. At the end of the path, there’s a large, oval-shaped lake. Ducks quack happily and I stop for the first time in my life and listen to birdsong.

  There’s a summerhouse at the end of the lake made of white stone with ornately carved pillars. Inside, there’s a big stone bench and I ease myself down onto it, resting my head back. I haven’t brought a book or a magazine, although I did rifle through a stash that was in the drawing room; it mainly consisted of Horse and Hounds, The Illustrated Garden and Harpers and Queen – none of which held much appeal. My eyes are growing heavy and I let them close, enjoying the sun on my face. I let my mind run over the plans I have for the estate back home. It might not involve a grand summerhouse and an oval lake, but I think that it will look so much better when we’re done. There’s a scruffy area of enclosed grass behind Bill Shankly House that I can see transformed as a secret garden where Mrs Kapur can sit and Dora the Explorer can roam free.

  In the middle of my reverie, I hear footsteps on the gravel. Opening my eyes, I see Spencer’s father approaching. He’s wearing a blue open-necked shirt with a red spotted cravat and brown trousers. I feel as if he should be an Earl or a Duke or something and I’m sure that he does too.

  Without saying anything, he sits down next to me and stares out over the lake.

  ‘It’s a lovely morning,’ I venture, when it’s clear that he’s not planning to open the conversation.

  ‘My ancestors built this lake,’ he says. ‘In 1868. The grounds were designed by Capability Brown.’

  Even I’ve heard of him.

  ‘Our line goes back a long way.’

  Doesn’t everyone’s?

  ‘It’s very important to me that it’s preserved.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Not quite certain where this is leading. But I’m sure it involves me and I’m equally certain that it’s not good.

  ‘I wanted Spencer to go and have a taste of real life before he takes over the running of the estate,’ Mr Knight tells me. ‘Learn the skills that he’ll need when dealing with our household.’ He turns and looks at me for the first time. ‘I realise that we have a very privileged life and that there are those who aren’t quite as fortunate as ourselves. I wanted Spencer to fully understand that before I handed over the reins to him.’

  Ah, so that’s why Spencer’s working in Kirberly. Because Daddy wanted him to get in among the under-privileged folk. It’s all coming clear now. Perhaps it wasn’t entirely for the altruistic reasons he’d have me believe.

  ‘He was starting to run wild. Too much booze, too many women. I wanted him to see that he needed to settle down. With this estate comes heavy responsibility. My son needed to see what life was like on the other side of the fence.’

  So you thought you’d teach him a lesson by sending him off to do a menial job to prove himself whilst dangling the running of the estate like a carrot. Be a good boy and Daddy will let you have your reward.

  ‘The thing is, my dear . . .’ Mr Knight turns to study the lake again ‘. . . I hadn’t expected him to form an attachment.’

  The phrase ‘to one of you lowly scumbags’ is left unsaid, but I can do subtext. So that’s what this is all about. I’m to be warned off his precious son.

  ‘Spencer is our only child,’ he continues. ‘The sole heir to our fortune. We have to protect that. You do understand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s important that he marries someone suitable.’

  Looks as if Spencer’s father also thinks that he’s got his cap set at me. I’m the only one, it seems, who’s unaware of this.

  ‘I’m sure that Spencer’s perfectly capable of choosing a wife who’ll make him very happy,’ I say firmly.

  ‘But this isn’t about happiness, my dear.’ He says ‘my dear’ again as if it’s an insult. ‘It’s about duty. It’s about choosing someone who will be the right person to run Alderstone with him.’

  ‘You make the process of finding a wife sound like a job interview.’

  Mr Knight smiles indulgently. ‘Sometimes when one foolishly believes one is in love, all reason goes out of the window.’

  ‘Spencer is an adult. He’ll make the right choice for himself.’

  His father tsks-tsks. ‘I’m rather less sure of that. There are a lot of women who have their sights set on Spencer’s fortune.’

  ‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ I tell him crisply. And his son’s certainly not after me for my money. But I don’t think that I need to point that out.

  Mr Knight stands and pats my hand patronisingly. ‘You’re a very pleasant young lady to look at, but beyond that I can’t see what hold you have over my son. You’re not one of our kind.’ He slowly, deliberately, takes in my cheap jeans, my cheap blouse. ‘We’ll tolerate you at Alderstone for as long as this relationship continues, but I wanted you to be absolutely clear that you’ll never, ever be welcome here on a permanent basis. Not as long as I live.’

  My mouth drops open. Mr Knight walks away from me. And, at that point, my mobile phone comes to life and the sound of Gnarls Barkley singing ‘Crazy’ slices through the atmosphere.

  Chapter Seventy

  On the other end of the phone, Charlie’s crying. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask anxiously. ‘Just calm down and tell me.’ But the sobs only get louder.

  ‘Come home, Mum,’ he sniffs.

  There’s a chill round my heart. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

  My son takes a shuddering breath. ‘Johnny’s garage has been done over.’

  ‘Done over?’

  ‘Someone got in and smashed up his paintings. There’s stuff everywhere.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Come home, Mum,’ Charlie implores again. His tears make my inside tie up in knots.

  ‘Is Johnny okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is he there with you?’

  ‘He’s in the other room. He doesn’t know that I’m phoning you.’

  ‘Put him on.’

  A moment later Johnny’s voice comes down the line and I feel a surge of relief.

  ‘Hi, Sal,’ he says.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The garage has been broken into, but it’s not too bad.’

  ‘Little bastards.’ The sooner we manag
e to get a grip on this estate, the better. ‘Charlie said that your paintings have all been smashed up.’

  ‘Some of them, yeah.’ Johnny lowers his voice. ‘I’m not sure why Charlie’s taking this so badly though. He’s very upset. He’s not stopped crying since we found the place in a mess last night.’

  ‘You think there’s something else?’

  There’s a pause and Johnny says softly, ‘I think maybe he’s just missing his mum.’

  The words pierce my heart. ‘I’ll come straight back.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that, Sally. I can manage. He’ll probably be all right now that he’s spoken to you.’

  ‘How can I enjoy the rest of the weekend knowing that Charlie’s so upset? I’ll come back. I have to.’ My friend doesn’t argue with me. I wish we had beam-me-up-Scotty machines and I could ping myself home in an instant. Surrey feels like a million miles away. ‘Thanks for looking after him, Johnny. I should never have left him again so soon. Look, I’m really sorry to hear about your garage. We’ll talk more when I get back. Can you put Charlie on again, please?’

  I hear my son sniffing on the other end of the phone. ‘I’ll be home before you know it,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t cry. Be my big boy. We’ll sort this out. Try not to worry about it.’ That sets him off again. ‘I’m going to hang up now, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay?’

  There’s a mumbled ‘Okay’ in response.

  ‘Love you,’ I say.

  ‘Love you too, Mum.’

  ‘See you soon.’ Then I hang up. Hadn’t quite thought through the logistics of my hasty departure, but I decide the first thing to do is go back to the house and pack up my stuff. As soon as Spencer returns he can take me to the nearest railway station and I’ll be off.

  Staying in my room keeps me out of the way of Mr Knight too. Won’t he be delighted to hear that I’m high-tailing it out of here? After this, I want nothing more to do with Spencer’s family, who clearly think that they’re so much better than I am. I wouldn’t run their precious house for them if they paid me. Just because they’ve got a stately home and horses and whatnot, they think that they can speak to me like I’m some kind of serf. Well, I can’t wait to get back to Charlie and Bill Shankly House and people who love me. How on earth did two such crashing snobs manage to raise such a well-balanced son? While I’m pacing, I hear the sound of horses’ hooves approaching the house.