by SL Beaumont
Chapter 2
Stephanie’s grandmother, Ellie Cooper, lived in a six-bedroom, two-storeyed, red brick Georgian manor house called Wakefield House, on the outskirts of the village of Carlswick. Stephanie had always loved visiting the house as a little girl. It had been in the family since the First World War and it was where her grandmother had been born.
The front door was flung wide open before the taxi had even come to a halt. Stephanie leapt out and greeted her grandmother with a warm hug and kiss on her cheek.
“I am so pleased that you decided to come down early. I have been so looking forward to seeing you,” Ellie said, smiling. She was an elegant woman in her eighties, immaculately groomed, with soft white hair pushed off her face and curling gently at the nape of her neck.
Stephanie paid and thanked the taxi driver and pulled her bags up the front steps and into the house.
“Now, I have put you in the blue room with the little bathroom at the top of the staircase. I hope that’s alright?” Ellie asked.
“That’ll be perfect, Grandma,” Stephanie said smiling. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and studied the pictures of various ancestors and family members which hung there. As a little girl, they had meant very little to her, but now with her burgeoning interest in history, she looked at them through new eyes. Wow, she thought, some of these are really old. I wonder how far back my family history goes? Making a mental note to study the photos further, she began lugging her suitcases up the stairs.
Stephanie wasn’t due in Oxford until October, which meant that she had two whole months of summer to enjoy. And enjoy it, she intended to do. She had worked hard for the previous six months juggling two jobs to save as much money as she possibly could, and now she needed a holiday, before the real work began.
A couple of hours later, a quiet knock on her bedroom door offered Stephanie a welcome reprieve from an afternoon of unpacking. Her bedroom looked like a clothes bomb had detonated.
A tall, gangly boy with short dark hair and glasses slipping down his nose stuck his head around the door and grinned at her.
Stephanie stood up, smoothing down the short vintage dress that she had changed into, and smiled back at the face of her old childhood friend. “Michael Morgan, how are ya?”
“My God. How did the airline allow you to bring so much stuff?” he exclaimed, looking around the room. Suitcases lay open with their contents spilling out, stacks of books sat haphazardly on the desk by the window, and a large pile of shoes at the entrance to the small walk-in wardrobe looked about ready to collapse.
“I didn’t bring it all this time,” she said a little defensively. “I left quite a lot of things at Dad’s house in London when I went back to New Zealand in February and he brought them down here.” Although, she had to admit, she had been rather surprised at just how much stuff she had accumulated.
Michael shook his head in disbelief. “Hey, your grandmother thought you might like a break from all of this, and I just have to take someone for a drive in the MG. I’ve finally got it running again,” he said excitedly. Michael’s pride and joy was a 1956 MG Roadster which he and his father had spent several years restoring.
“Great idea, I could do with a break. Give me a sec, eh?” Stephanie replied. She disappeared into her bathroom to fix her hair and makeup, leaving Michael looking through a box of books, which had just been delivered.
“You really are into this history stuff, aren’t you, Steph?” he called.
Stephanie stuck her head back around the doorframe, lipstick in hand. “Yeah. They’re all suggested pre-reading for my course.” She nodded towards the box.
Coming out of the bathroom, she rummaged through the shoe pile, selected a pair of purple wedges and slipped her feet into them. She grabbed a small bag off the desk and throwing the long strap over her head and across her body, said, “Let’s go.” She followed him down the stairs to the front door.
“Actually it will be nice to get out and see Carlswick again,” she said. “It’s been a while.” She hadn’t spent a lot of time in the village at all over the last two or three years, preferring to stay at her father’s house in London, when visiting England.
“Wow. This looks amazing,” Stephanie said as she ran her hand lightly over the highly polished bonnet of the sky blue MG. The spokes of the chrome wire wheels shone in the sunlight. Michael beamed proudly and proceeded to wax lyrical on the quality of the engine and the original parts that they had managed to source.
Stephanie’s eyes must have glazed over, because he stopped talking after a couple of minutes and grinned sheepishly, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “Sorry, I’m boring you.”
Stephanie laughed. “Not at all,” she said. “Although you lost me at the bit about carburettors. I didn’t realise that you had become such a car guy.”
“I am assuming that is a compliment and not some sort of backhanded Kiwi insult?” he replied uncertainly.
“It’s a compliment, mate. Now let’s go for a ride,” she said, opening the passenger door. “Ooh, hang on – I need to get something.” She ran back into the house and up the stairs to her room and returned carrying a scarf. “The last time I rode in a convertible, I didn’t tie my hair up and I ended up looking like a scarecrow when we stopped,” she said laughing, as she slid into the passenger seat. She pulled her mane of straight dark hair into a high ponytail and tied the scarf around her head, securing it in a knot at the back of her neck.
Michael hit the accelerator, and they sped down the driveway, waving to her grandmother, who was sitting on the terrace, enjoying the late afternoon sun.
Stephanie grinned as they raced along the lane towards the village. Michael’s family were neighbours of her grandmother’s and he had been Stephanie’s childhood playmate when she had visited each year. Apart from her best friend Anna, who lived in London, Stephanie didn’t have a lot of friends in the UK, so she was delighted that he still wanted to hang out.
Carlswick had originally been a fishing village, with a bustling harbour, until the estuary had silted up. Now the sea was ten km away, but the pretty little village had survived thanks to the local farming community and in recent years the many lawyers, stockbrokers and successful musicians who had decided to make the area their home. The village comprised quaint stone buildings, which tumbled their way down either side of the hill to a green village square nestled at the bottom of the valley.
Michael slowed upon entering the village’s main street. Without warning, he spun the car around and brought it to a screeching stop in front of an old pub. Stephanie had to grab the door to stop being thrown around. “Whoa,” she shrieked, laughing. “A bit of warning next time.”
Michael’s entrance had the desired effect and no sooner had he turned the engine off, than a voice called, “Hey, Mikey.”
Stephanie turned her head in the direction of the voice. In the car park beside the pub, a group of girls were sitting at an outdoor table chatting to three guys, who were unloading amps, guitars and drums from a beat up Combie van. The shorter of the guys waved and started walking towards them.
“Looks like you’re about to meet the local rock gods – The Fury,” Michael said, as they got out of the car. “Y’know, they played all the summer music festivals and are on the cusp of the big time according to those in the know.”
Stephanie had heard of them. She’d also seen them play in London in January. Her friends in New Zealand would be so jealous to know that she was actually about to meet them. Removing her headscarf and throwing it on the seat, she quickly composed herself; she certainly didn’t want to appear star-struck. They’re probably completely full of themselves anyway, especially with an entourage hanging on their every movement, she thought, glancing towards the group of girls.
Michael came around to her side of the car. “I designed their official website,” he whispered proudly.
Stephanie looked at him in surprise. The guy, who Stephanie now recognised as the band’s drumme
r, reached them, before she could respond. His blond hair was styled so that it stood straight up all over his head and he peered out over his small round sunglasses. “Hey, Mike – nice car. Who’s ya friend?” he asked, turning his attention to Stephanie.
“Hey. This is Stephanie,” mumbled Michael, slightly put out that he was more interested in Stephanie than in the MG.
“Hi,” Stephanie said looking him straight in the eye, as she arranged her features into an expression of confusion. “And you are?”
“I, ah, I’m Jack,” he stuttered, obviously used to being recognised. He ran his hands through his blond spikes and straightened his shoulders, stretching himself in a way that reminded Stephanie of a cat who had just woken from a long nap.
She smiled to herself. “G’day, Jack,” she said. “Mike, I just need to pick up a couple of things from the newsagent. I won’t be long,” she said, indicating, with a flick of her head, to the shop three doors down.
He nodded. Stephanie turned and started walking along the footpath. She could feel herself being watched and glanced sideways, where the other two guys were leaning nonchalantly against the van, taking a break. One had short dark, dreadlocks and dark skin. He had a couple of the girls looking up at him admiringly, hanging on his every word. Stephanie’s eyes met those of the other guy. James. He held her gaze steadily and gave her a half smile, before turning and lifting another drum out of the van and carrying it in the side door of the pub.
No. How did I not recognise him on the train? Stephanie thought, pulling her gaze away and trying desperately to ignore the blush rising up her face. He must think I am such an idiot.
There was a crowd of people around Michael’s car when she came back from the newsagent several minutes later.
James separated from the group as she approached.
“Hello again, Stephanie,” he said.
“Hello again, James,” she blushed.
“So you know Mike?” he asked quietly, holding her gaze.
“Yeah, we go way back,” she replied, self-consciously chewing on her bottom lip. Should I say something about not recognising him earlier? she wondered.
“Huh. It’s strange that we’ve never met before, then. I’ve known him for years too,” James mused. “What’s your surname?”
“Cooper,” Stephanie replied.
The smile disappeared and his face fell. “Not a Wakefield Cooper?” he asked.
“One and the same,” Stephanie answered, studying him. Now that she knew who he was, she could see why he carried himself the way he did. Typical wannabe rock star – oozing confidence, she thought.
James sighed and his expression darkened. “So you don’t know that we’re not supposed to have anything to do with one another, then? My family hates yours.”
“Really?” Stephanie was surprised at the sudden change in the conversation. “Why? Did we win more prizes than you at the Royal County Show or something, eh?”
“Ha. That’s funny,” he said, the smile returning. “No, there’s some old feud. The Knoxes have had nothing to do with your family for years.”
Before Stephanie could ask him to elaborate, a pretty girl wrapped her arms around James’s waist and kissed him on the cheek. She glanced at Stephanie, giving her the kind of once over that girls everywhere recognise – assessment of a threat.
“Victoria. This is Stephanie. She’s from New Zealand,” James introduced them, not taking his eyes off Stephanie.
Stephanie smiled and said hi, as Victoria muttered, “well I guess that explains the outfit.”
Jeez, what have I done to deserve that? Stephanie thought, surprised and a little annoyed. Her next words flew out of her mouth before she could censor them. “Well, I guess London fashion hasn’t reached the country, yet.”
Victoria gave her a dirty look and tossing her long copper tresses, turned her back to talk to another girl who had joined them.
James raised his eyebrows at the catty exchange. He went to speak, and then stopped, looking as though he were waging an internal battle. “My band is playing at the pub here on Friday night – you should come,” he said, finally, almost reluctantly.
Stephanie shrugged. She’d suspected on the train that he was too good to be true. Of course, there would be a girlfriend hanging off his arm, she thought, disappointed. “Maybe. Are you any good?” she teased. Although she knew The Fury weren’t just good, they were great.
James’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but before he could answer, Michael called to her that they had to go.
She grinned at James’s expression, as she jumped into the passenger seat of the MG, hanging on for dear life as Michael roared off down the street.