by Lorna Peel
“No. Thank you, yes, we’ll both keep an eye on her.”
“You’ve got glass in your hair.” She retrieved a comb from the bathroom and passed it to him. “Comb your hair onto the table and I’ll get the dustpan and brush.”
He combed out his hair and she deposited the glass fragments into the bin.
“You must think I’m an awful bloody nuisance,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Don’t answer that, but at least have a glass of wine yourself?”
She smiled. “I think I will.” She brought a glass and the bottle to the table and topped up his glass before pouring herself one. “I don’t think you’re a bloody nuisance. I’m probably the bloody nuisance.”
“No,” he replied quietly. “If I didn’t have you to talk to, I’d have gone mad by now.”
Hearing a car approach, they both looked towards the window. He quickly got up and turned off the light then fumbled for her hand and led her to just to the right of the window, where she usually stood watching him.
“They can’t get into the house, can they?” she whispered.
“No, the door’s locked but the alarm isn’t on yet.”
They waited, hearing the car approach until it drove into the yard, and did a circuit, before stopping. A door opened and they heard Des’ voice. Heaton squeezed her hand before releasing it, going to the light switch, and turning it on.
“Des?” He went downstairs to the stable yard and she followed.
“What the hell happened?” Des asked.
“Simon left a calling card attached to a brick.”
“Are you hurt?” Helen asked anxiously.
“A couple of cuts. Ms Nelson kindly patched me up.”
“Have you rung the police?” Des went to Heaton’s office, switched the light on, and surveyed the damage.
“How can I? I can’t risk it getting out that drugs are involved.” He sighed. “I should have told you before but the weekend Simon was here with Stephanie, he had drugs with him, was selling them in the nightclub in town. To cut a long story short, I found out, found drugs in their room, and I brought them down to the lake and buried them behind the boathouse. Now he claims that I owe him for them. I can’t go to the police because he’ll make sure that it’s known that the estate is connected with drugs and what do you think that will do to visitor numbers?”
Des grimaced.
“The other thing is,” Heaton continued. “He’s threatened Stephanie, and she’ll be home in a few days. It might just be his way of making me sweat and pay up but we need to keep an eye on her all the same."
They all nodded.
“Does Lady Heaton know?” Helen asked.
“She knows nothing about Simon and drugs and she hasn’t heard a thing tonight by the look of it. I want to try and keep it that way.”
“Yes. I’ll find something to board up the window. It’s supposed to rain later.” Des turned away, Helen following.
Sophia watched them go. “I think I’ll turn in.”
Heaton caught her arm as she went to walk away. “Thank you for your help.”
“No more sleeping in the office, I hope?”
“I can’t promise anything but I’ll try not to now.”
“That’s something, I suppose.” She smiled and he let her go.
Chapter Five
Over the next few days, the glass in the office window was replaced, the office itself tidied, and there were no further emails. It also looked as though Heaton wasn’t going to take Andrew’s advice.
Sophia stared at the birthday card. A nameless Renaissance beauty. She had bought it the previous week, knowing Heaton’s birthday was approaching. The book lay on the breakfast bar: Art Treasures of the Renaissance. She’d found it in a charity shop but should she be buying him presents and giving him cards? No-one had mentioned his birthday, Stephanie being uppermost in everyone’s thoughts, but even so, this would be his fortieth.
She signed the card and put it in its envelope, wrapped the book, and placed them carefully in her rucksack along with the picnic. He had been visibly relieved that morning when she had mentioned she was resuming her walks on the moors and had gladly accepted her invitation to come along if he wasn’t doing anything else?
They sat in the stone circle and she took a deep breath, forcing the phone call about her mother to the back of her mind, then opened the rucksack.
“Happy birthday.” She passed him the book and card.
He flushed. “You didn’t have to.”
“Well, I don’t know if I should be saying this but, I kind of got the impression that everyone had forgotten what day it was.”
He carefully unwrapped the book and smiled before opening the card. “Thank you,” he said simply.
“And I hope you didn’t eat too much for lunch because I made a few sandwiches and…” She opened the Tupperware box and showed him the muffins she had made but more especially the one with a candle in the middle. “I have matches here somewhere.”
She began to rummage in the bottom of the rucksack before glancing up. He had turned away and she watched as he got to his feet and stood with his back to her, his hands on his hips. Oh, God, she’d made him cry.
She put the rucksack to one side and got up. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Everyone had forgotten.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “But that’s nothing new, really.” He turned and gave her a little smile, his eyes bright with tears. “So, thank you.”
“How could they forget your birthday?” she whispered.
“Lady Heaton hates fuss. She usually gives me a card and a book token. Stephanie’s better present-wise. A little bit more imaginative. She started buying me clothes a couple of years ago. She hates the suits I wear. She bought me these, actually.” He pulled at the combat trousers he wore. “So it’s usually clothes. I can’t remember when I last had a cake.”
“It’s a muffin,” she said miserably.
“It’s the thought that counts. The book, the card, the cake – thank you.”
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded. “I forgot about lunch. Again.”
“I made salad sandwiches. We’d better eat them before they get too soggy.”
They sat down and devoured the sandwiches and she was delighted to see him laugh as she finally found the matches and lit the candle.
“Make a wish before it goes out.” He did and blew it out. “They’re chocolate chip. We’ve three each.”
“I’ll never manage three.”
“Well, bring two back to the office and eat them when you forget about lunch again.”
“Thanks, I will,” he said, taking a bite. “It’s delicious.”
Biting into the muffin, she chewed and nodded. “Mmm, they are.”
“I lay in bed this morning and I seriously considered staying there all day. I’m glad I didn’t now.”
“So am I. I don’t think I could go back to doing this walk on my own.”
“You mean that?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Because, sad as this may seem, going walking up here with you has become the highlight of my week.”
“You really need to get out more,” she teased.
He laughed. “I’m doing my best.”
She smiled and reached for the flask. “Coffee?”
About to settle down for an evening in front of the television, she went downstairs to answer a knock at the door. Michelle was on the step.
“Okay, you’ve got twenty minutes or Tony’s going to go nuts.”
“Eh?” Sophia looked past her and Tony gave her a wave from the car.
“Cathy’s at Molly’s and there’s a disco on at the rugby club. You’re coming with us, so chop-chop.” Michelle marched her up the stairs and paused at the top. “Nice flat. Bedroom?”
“Over there.” She pointed to the door.
“Good, come on.” Michelle marched her on into the bedroom.
&nbs
p; “Yeah, but you don’t want me tagging along with you.”
“It’s not too soon, is it?” Michelle asked, rummaging in the wardrobe.
“No, but—”
“Good, then this will do.” Michelle threw a long skirt, a blouse and a jacket at her. “These boots, too, I think,” she added, taking them out and throwing them at her feet.
“You’re putting all those television stylists to shame, you know,” she said, kicking her jeans off.
“What the hell do they know? Hurry up,” Michelle shouted from the depths of the underwear drawer.
“Okay, okay.”
“Oh, and this, too.”
A push-up bra landed on her head. She pulled it off and stared at it in amazement. “I’m not wearing this.”
“You’ve never worn it, have you?”
“Do I look like I need to?” she retorted. “Unless this is a really subtle way of telling me that they’re starting to sag?”
“I wouldn’t dare. Just wear the bloody thing, will you? Make the most of what you’ve got, eh?”
“All right.” She tugged her top off and unhooked her bra.
“Make-up?”
“No, not if we’re in such a rush, I’d look like a clown.” She reached for the push-up bra and put it on. “Anyway, do you really think men are going to be looking at my face now?”
“Hair, then?”
“Shaggy ponytail will do,” she replied slipping the blouse on and doing up the buttons.
“Bloody hell, you’ll look like a horse.” Michelle passed her the skirt and she stepped into it, pulling up the zip and doing up the button.
“Thanks.”
“Sorry, you do have nice hair.”
“Hmm.” Sophia sat on the bed and pulled the boots on. “Well?”
Michelle looked her up and down as she gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Not bad for no time at all. Must see what sort of talent is there now.”
Shrugging on the jacket, she and Michelle went downstairs, and out to the car. “Thanks for this, Tony.” She climbed into the back of the car, clutching the jacket to her throat.
“No problem. Michelle thinks you’re sliding into spinsterhood.”
“And you think the man of my dreams is going to be at the rugby club?”
At the rugby club, Sophia and Michelle found a table while Tony went to the bar. The place was surprisingly packed.
“So where’s my sign?” Sophia asked.
“Sign?” Michelle was puzzled.
“I thought you’d have made a sign to hang around my neck with ‘Desperate – Please ask me to dance’ on it.”
“It wouldn’t fit in my bag.”
She smiled and looked away, only to see Gavin elbowing his way towards her.
“My mum and dad are here, please dance with me?”
“Gavin, for God’s sake, I’m trying to find Sophia a husband,” Michelle cried.
“Please?” Gavin pleaded and Sophia got up. “Thanks, Soph.”
“I really think it’s time you told them.”
Poor Gavin looked horrified. “You know, I’d rather crawl naked across a field of broken glass.”
“They’re not that bad, surely?”
“They are,” he replied. “They still call gay people ‘queer’.”
“Ouch. Even my dad’s not as bad as that. But dancing with me really isn’t going to help.”
“I know but…I’m not usually such a wimp, it’s just…don’t take this the wrong way but your mum was, and your dad being oldish like mine…”
“There’s no ‘ish’ about it.”
“What?” Gavin strained to hear.
She smiled. “I know what you mean.”
“So how’s your love life?”
“What love life?”
Gavin laughed. “Sorry. You wouldn’t be dancing with me if you had one.”
“True.”
“He’s here, you know?” he added.
“Who?”
“Lord Heaton.”
Sophia’s jaw dropped. “Here? Where?”
“Saw him out in the beer garden earlier on with some other bloke smoking.”
“You sure?”
“Oh, yes. Actually…” Gavin peered over her shoulder. “He’s at the bar right now…not sure if he’s seen you…we could, kind of, dance in that direction?”
She shook her head. “No. Leave it.”
“Why?”
Sophia couldn’t think of anything to say and another couple banged into her as she stood staring at Gavin.
“Ow, sorry.”
“Come and have a drink.” Gavin took her hand and began leading her towards the bar.
“No.” She tried to shake it off but he wouldn’t let go and to shake it even more would just cause even more of a scene. Thankfully, they ended up at the end of the bar nowhere near Heaton.
“What’ll it be?” Gavin shouted at her.
“A white wine spritzer, please.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Sophia?” Someone bellowed at her from behind. It was Michelle. “Has Gavin suddenly decided that he’s not gay or what?”
“Shut up, will you?” Sophia urged. “His parents are here.”
Michelle nervously looked around them then started bellowing again. “I’ve never seen so much talent here and what are you doing? Dancing with him.”
“He’s a friend.”
“Yes. And that’s all he can be. Gavin.” Michelle greeted him with a grin, lifted the glasses from his hands, and passed them to Sophia. “I’ll dance with you. Let Sophia suss out the talent, okay?”
“Oh, okay.” Gavin allowed himself to be led away.
Sophia found herself standing at the bar with a glass of spritzer in one hand and a pint of Guinness in the other. She watched Gavin and Michelle being swallowed up by the crowd then yelped as someone trod heavily on her foot. “Ow.” She almost dropped the pint. “Watch it.”
“Sorry.” The person turned and she stared up into Heaton’s face.
“Oh, hello.”
“Hello.” He frowned, glanced at the glasses she was holding before his eyes rested on her cleavage. Her cheeks burned and he quickly raised his head. “Sorry, I, er…I didn’t expect to see you here. Here with friends?”
“Yes. You?”
“Andrew dragged me out for my birthday. Come and meet him.”
She opened her mouth to make an excuse but he had already turned away and was making a path for her up towards the far end of the bar. She cringed and followed.
“Andrew? This is Sophia Nelson. Ms Nelson, this is Andrew Hardy.”
She put the glasses down on a table and shook his hand, feeling his eyes on her, clearly comparing what Heaton had told him on the telephone with what his eyes were actually seeing in front of him.
“Good to meet you. Thomas has been singing your praises.”
“Oh. Good.”
“You like it at the abbey, then?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Excellent. Well, it’s Thomas’ birthday so I thought it was high time he was dragged kicking and screaming for a night out.”
“Oh. Happy birthday,” she said, pretending that she hadn’t known.
“Thank you.”
“He works far too hard,” Andrew went on. “Hasn’t been out in ages.”
“He does work very hard, yes.”
“Should have been an art critic or something similar. Now he has to humour bloody tourists.”
“I think you’ll find that it’s Ms Nelson who has to humour bloody tourists,” Heaton clarified. “And very good she is at it, too.”
Andrew suddenly leaned towards her with a grin and whispered as loudly as he could, “And do you call him Lord Heaton?”
Blood began to rush to her face again. “Um, yes, why?”
“Andrew,” Heaton said as quietly as he could over the din. Andrew shrugged knowingly and reached for a glass. “Do you dance?” Heaton asked her, startling her.
“Dance?”
/> “Yes. Look, I won’t hear the last of it from Andrew if I don’t dance with someone tonight and as I don’t know anyone else…”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew roll his eyes at the ham-fisted invitation. Heaton himself then began to shuffle awkwardly.
“Actually,” she told him. “I’m so bad I make Mr Bean look like Rudolph Nureyev.”
“That’s perfect because I’m hopeless too.” With that, he held out a hand. Sophia stared at it for a moment before taking it. He led her out onto the dance floor, again clearing a path for her, but then kept on going. Out in the beer garden, he finally stopped. “Sorry, but I really am hopeless. I just wanted to say thank you again for this afternoon.”
“I bet Andrew didn’t make you cry.”
“No, but he didn’t make me muffins either.”
She smiled. He was still holding her hand and she made a concerted effort not to look down in case he let her go.
“Who are you here with?” he asked.
“Well, Michelle practically kidnapped me from the flat. So I’m here with her and Tony and we seem to have acquired Gavin as well.”
“Gavin?”
“A friend from school,” she explained. “His dad and mine were miners. He was at Mum’s funeral; you thought he’d upset me. He hadn’t, he was just being Gavin.”
“It’s not too soon for you to be out?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”
“Do you like rugby?”
She shook her head. “You?”
“I played it at school but, no, not really,” he replied before his head jerked up suddenly.
“What?”
“I haven’t heard that song in years…”
“Come on, then.” Grabbing his other hand, she guided it to the small of her back, and they began to dance. “So you can tell Andrew that you really did dance. Well, kind of swayed.”
He smiled and they swayed until the song ended and rap music boomed out through the doors. He let her go and nodded inside. “We’d better go back.”
“Yes,” she replied reluctantly.
“Thank you again for today. For this afternoon and for this.”
She smiled then turned and reluctantly went back inside. She sat down beside Gavin. “So, have I missed anything?” she asked him.