A Country Rivalry

by Sasha Morgan

  Tobias heard the doorbell and then the commotion that followed. Zac ran at full pelt to the hallway, pursued by Sebastian. Meanwhile, Henry and Beatrice raced to answer the door. Henry won, making Beatrice stand to the side patiently on tenterhooks.

  ‘Darling, shouldn’t you have worn a suit?’ She ran her gaze over Sebastian, who was now covered in dog hair.

  ‘They can take me as they find me, Mother,’ he replied with a grin.

  Henry showed the film crew in and Beatrice introduced herself and Sebastian, who was clutching an overexcited Zac.

  Jamie immediately knelt down to stroke the dog, catching Sebastian’s eye. ‘Hello again,’ he said with a charming smile.

  Sebastian smiled back. ‘Hello, Jamie.’ Jamie flushed, flattered that Sebastian had remembered his name. Tobias strolled nonchalantly down the hallway, looking cool, calm and collected. Marcus took in what he perceived to be an almost arrogant swagger, and a flash of contempt crossed his face. Halting before the small crowd, Tobias spoke in a clear, firm tone.

  ‘Henry, please show our visitors to the tearoom.’ Henry bowed, then Tobias turned to Marcus. ‘Mr Devlin, a word in my study, please.’

  ‘Certainly,’ replied Marcus, equally confident.

  Marcus’ eyes ran wildly over the portraits hanging from the walls as he walked down the corridor. He was desperate to seek out Richard Cavendish-Blake, but didn’t have the chance before they reached Tobias’ study.

  Turning coolly to face Marcus, Tobias picked up the document from his desk. ‘I take it you’ve read and digested this contract, Mr Devlin?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Marcus replied, then added, ‘Lord Cavendish-Blake.’ To think, this jumped-up eejit was his actual brother; younger brother. Whilst he was busy lording his great ancestral home and position over him, Marcus stood in defiance, knowing he was the first-born son.

  ‘Good. Then we all know where we stand.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Marcus, staring Tobias in the face, refusing to be intimidated.

  ‘Under no circumstances do any of your team… wander or pry, or approach any member of my family or staff unless they ask me first.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘Of course not.’ What an absolute jackass, he thought. Then he saw him, Richard Cavendish-Blake, bold as brass, hanging majestically above Tobias’ head. His title and name were engraved on a small, gold plaque at the bottom of the frame. He had the same green eyes as Marcus himself, speckled with amber; then he noticed with sickening realisation that Tobias had them too. He peered into his face for any other likenesses. Tobias was frowning.

  Marcus coughed and spoke quickly. ‘May I take this opportunity to thank you, and reassure you of our good intentions,’ he lied with poise.

  ‘Hmm, I’ll have you shown to the tearoom,’ Tobias replied, clearly unconvinced, making Marcus smirk to himself. ‘I’ll be ready in the library in an hour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Marcus replied.

  Inside the tearoom he found Finula chatting to a woman he assumed was Megan. He caught the tail end of the conversation, ‘… his house in Shropshire.’ He saw Megan’s face light up just before he joined them. ‘Ah, Marcus, meet Megan,’ Finula introduced them.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Lady Cavendish-Blake,’ he smiled.

  ‘Oh, call me Megan,’ she smiled back.

  Marcus was taken aback by her informality. She seemed a natural, pleasant girl, without any airs or graces, as one might expect. But then, she was Finula’s best friend, so why wouldn’t she be lovely? he reasoned with himself.

  ‘Have you met the team?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes, everyone seems to be getting along fine.’ Megan nodded towards Sebastian chatting to Jamie, Viola, Len and Libby. Marcus looked towards the group. Jamie was mesmerised by what Sebastian was saying, whilst Len and Libby were nodding politely. Viola seemed a touch distracted.

  He turned back to face Megan with a grin. ‘He’s quite a character, your brother-in-law, isn’t he?’

  Megan threw her head back and laughed. ‘Very much so.’

  ‘I believe you were recently married here?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, in the chapel. Come, I’ll show you it.’ Finula and Marcus followed Megan up the grand, sweeping staircase, along the corridor and into the pretty chapel.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ said Marcus, who genuinely seemed impressed by the stained glass, arched windows, small, ornately carved altar and pitch-pine pews.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ agreed Finula, reminiscing about Tobias and Megan’s wedding day and all the excitement it had encompassed.

  Marcus had noticed another room opposite the chapel. The door had been open to reveal rows and rows of books.

  ‘May I ask what this room is used for?’ Marcus pointed inside it as they exited the chapel and passed it again.

  ‘Oh, that was my husband’s late father’s study,’ Megan casually threw over her shoulder. ‘He recorded everything since time immemorial apparently.’

  Marcus frowned.

  ‘You know, all the incomings and outgoings of the Hall, every member of staff who ever worked here, all the social functions the Hall hosted, that kind of thing. He was keen on diaries, too,’ she added.

  Marcus took in a sharp breath. Diaries, in that room. He had to get access to them. But how?

  ‘How interesting,’ he replied calmly, following behind Finula as they climbed back down the stairs and headed into the tearoom. Viola was waiting for them, clipboard at the ready with a determined look on her face. This was a big day for her and she wanted everything to go just so, as did Marcus.

  ‘Should we set up in the library?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes, you all go.’ He turned to Megan and Finula. ‘Megan, on reflection, I would like to take a few pictures of the chapel. Would that be possible?’ He took out a small camera from his jacket pocket.

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘That’s great, thanks. I won’t be long.’ He then called out to Libby, ‘Libby, why don’t you decide on the location in the grounds for Sebastian’s interview?’

  ‘Will do,’ she called back.

  Sebastian joined her. Megan and Finula sat down at a nearby table with another cup of tea.

  Marcus pelted up the stairs. He quickly took a few random snaps in the chapel, then hot-footed it across the landing to the study full of ledgers and books. The smell of old parchment filled the air. Marcus had to squint to read the writing on the spines lining the shelves. They were all meticulously dated and labelled, which was highly convenient, he noted, as the specific period of time he was interested in was the year in which he was born, or just before, 1985. Scanning the leather-bound ledgers, he eventually came to a spine marked Treweham Hall Accounts – 1985.

  Marcus seized the book off the shelf and hastily opened it. He got his camera ready to photo anything that caught his attention. Flicking through the yellowing pages of writing in blue fountain-pen ink, he saw rows and rows of names in alphabetical order. They were the staff employed at the time. Each name had the area or position in which they worked, either kitchens, stables, housekeeping, grounds, butler or valet. Marcus’ eyes quickly ran over the names, then stopped dead when he saw ‘Anne Devlin – kitchens’. There she was, his own mammy. So that’s how she had met Richard Cavendish-Blake. She had worked for him. His mouth curled at the classic archetype: lord of the manor having his wicked way with the scullery maid. He bent over the page and took a photo of it, then hastily put the ledger back.

  If only he could find the diaries, but where would they be? All the shelves appeared to have the same size books, so he assumed they must all be similar accounts to what he’d just read. Surely the diaries must be locked up? Marcus looked to the glass cabinet at the far side of the room. There were books in there too, smaller and unlabelled. Could these be them? He tried to open the glass door, but it was obviously locked. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  ‘Marcus!’ It was Finula’s voice. He dashed o
ut just as she appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘All done?’

  ‘Yep, let’s go,’ he smiled as naturally as he could and joined her. He put an arm round her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Megan, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, saw the affectionate gesture and smiled to herself. It was good to see Finula so happy; she deserved it.

  ‘Megan, could you show me to the grounds? I just need to check on Libby?’

  ‘Sure, this way.’ Megan walked them through the stone-floored hallway with dark, oak panelling, leading them into the kitchens. Marcus drank it all in, knowing his mam would have been in there too at one stage in her life, scurrying around like the staff today. Somehow it comforted him to know she had been there. They went out through the back doors.

  ‘Treweham Hall supplies fruit and vegetables to local businesses,’ explained Megan, which accounted for all the greenhouses. Marcus nodded. They found Libby and Sebastian in the knot garden towards the side of the Hall, sitting chatting on a wrought-iron bench.

  ‘This is a perfect spot,’ said Marcus. Not only did it showcase the garden, bursting with aromatic plants and culinary herbs, but it gave a spectacular view of the Hall, which the public wouldn’t normally see. Marcus breathed in the scents of rosemary and lemon balm. Would his mother have cooked with these herbs years ago?

  ‘I thought so,’ agreed Libby. She too had appreciated the backdrop of Treweham Hall from this angle. Having worked together many times, the two were often in tune with the other. Their personalities made for a good working relationship; Marcus’ impatience for perfection was always tamed by Libby’s pragmatic, reassuring approach, and the job always got done. Marcus and Libby’s roles often blended together, especially when working on a tight budget with limited resources.

  ‘OK, I’d better check on Viola.’ Marcus turned to Megan again. ‘Can you show me to the library?’

  ‘This way,’ she replied with a smile.

  Once again Marcus thought how nice Megan seemed and wondered how she had ended up with a husband like Tobias.

  The library proved every bit as impressive as the rest of the Hall, with its mahogany panelling and endless rows of books. A mobile stepladder was suspended from the highest shelf. The dark wood floor was covered with Persian rugs and the whole space was illuminated by the light streaming through the large stained-glass window at the bottom of the room. The pictures showcased the Cavendish family lineage through marriage from various earls and possible royalty, judging by the crowns that were worn.

  A fire crackled softly in the large, tiled fireplace. Above it hung a portrait of Tobias, recently painted, by the look of it. Viola was standing staring at it. Her anticipation was palpable. Never had an interview meant such a huge deal to her. The fact Viola had been ‘researching’ Tobias Cavendish-Blake for weeks had added even more fervour. I probably know more about Tobias than his own wife does, she thought sardonically as she continued to gaze at his portrait. Those piercing green eyes were mesmerising, and as for that dimpled chin… hell, he was hot.

  She looked at her watch: not long to go now before she actually sat down and talked to the man himself. Her eyes flicked over the agreed questions, give or take one or two extras she’d slipped in. She so wanted to make an impression on him. Not just an impression – she wanted him to be attracted to her. Why not? She was just as good-looking as his wife, wasn’t she? And in better shape, when comparing her large breasts, tiny waist, long slim legs and pert bum, all tucked inside a figure-hugging sweater dress. She pictured his wife’s bulging belly and sniggered to herself. All she had to do was let him know she was available; ready, willing and available.

  31

  The library was set for the interview. Jamie and Len had placed all the lights and microphones in position. Viola sat with her back to the camera, so only Tobias would be visible, centre stage. The rest of the crew were seated behind all the equipment at the far end of the room. Finula had joined them, waiting with excitement for it all to begin. As instructed, only the film crew and Finula were allowed in the library.

  Finally, Tobias’ footsteps could be heard along the hallway. Viola took a deep breath. Marcus’ stomach clenched. Tobias walked in, about to give his first ever interview. The atmosphere was electric. He strode over to the chair waiting for him, sat down with utter composure, looked evenly at everyone and spoke.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Jamie shot up and fed wires around him before attaching a microphone to his shirt. After tapping it and checking for sound, Len asked Jamie to move one of the lights closer to Tobias. Tobias sat regally, waiting for the onslaught. The lights felt hot and he could feel himself start to burn under them. Marcus stared intently for a few seconds, then after signalling Len, shouted, ‘Action.’

  ‘Lord Cavendish-Blake, may I start by thanking you for agreeing to be interviewed, exclusively?’

  Tobias gave a rather bored look; he hated any form of grovelling. ‘You may.’

  Arrogant shite, thought Marcus.

  ‘What made you decide to finally face the cameras?’

  This was slightly off track, Tobias noted immediately, but answered the question with ease and honesty.

  ‘Money, basically. This estate costs a fortune to run, many people’s livelihoods depend on it and opening up Treweham Hall to the TV cameras will bring in much-needed revenue.’

  Won’t it just, the money-grabbing swine, thought Marcus, remembering the eye-wateringly large sum of money the Cavendish-Blakes had demanded.

  ‘So, you personally take responsibility for your staff and tenants?’

  ‘I like to think I have a good working relationship with them, yes.’

  ‘By providing for them and upholding old, family traditions, such as the Landlord’s Supper?’

  This was veering further off track. ‘Yes,’ Tobias replied with caution.

  ‘I believe you very generously settle the bill for quite a… raucous night?’

  ‘Yes, I think it’s money well spent and I like to see my tenants enjoying themselves.’

  ‘Wasn’t there some… altercation at the last Landlord’s Supper?’

  Marcus didn’t intervene. He’d suspected Viola would pull this stunt. She was asking questions on the agreed topics, but twisting and pushing a little too close for comfort.

  Tobias paused and stared coolly into her. Viola’s heart thumped uncontrollably. She found him so dangerously attractive, yet still wanted her interview to make an impact. In a way, pushing him like this turned her on.

  Finally, he answered. ‘I objected to having my wife manhandled and so I reacted like any other husband would.’

  ‘By knocking a man out, flat on the floor?’

  ‘No. By knocking a man out, flat on the bar,’ corrected Tobias straight-faced.

  Finula giggled, Marcus shot round with a stern ‘keep-quiet’ face, making her hold up her hands in apology.

  Viola gave a light tinkly laugh. ‘I see. Could we talk about your wedding here at Treweham Hall? I understand it took place inside your charming chapel last September?’

  ‘Yes. We wanted a small, private affair.’

  ‘And I believe congratulations are in order, as Lady Cavendish-Blake is due to have your first child in March?’

  The implication was clear: it had been a shotgun wedding. The dig certainly wasn’t lost on Tobias. This woman was seriously starting to piss him off. Any hint of trying to cast Megan in a bad light made his hackles rise. Then, just as he was about to tell her in no uncertain terms what he thought, Viola sat forwards in her chair slightly, tipping her pelvis, then uncrossed her legs languidly, leaving Tobias in no doubt she was a true brunette. He blinked with disbelief. All the while the camera rolled, catching his expression. It looked for all intents and purposes like he was stalling for time, when in reality he was actually stunned. Nobody but Tobias could have seen Viola’s lurid act because they were all behind her, facing him. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

  ‘My wife and I are extremely h
appy to be bringing our first child into the world. We consider it a blessing.’

  Marcus was delighted he’d been clearly knocked off kilter.

  Finula shifted uncomfortably, suddenly not finding this exciting or amusing any more. The questions weighed heavy with insinuation and undertone, making her feel uneasy. She looked towards Marcus, who was still staring in concentration. Did she notice his lips twitch slightly? After what seemed an excruciating thirty minutes for Finula, the interview concluded and Marcus called it a wrap.

  Tobias stood up, untangled his microphone and threw it on the chair, before walking out of the library stony-faced without a backward glance.

  32

  Viola watched Tobias storm off and a spark inside her ignited. On impulse she quickly got up from her chair and discreetly followed him whilst the rest of the team were tidying away the equipment and chatting.

  Finula sidled over to Marcus, who was sitting talking to Libby in hushed tones. Interrupting them, Finula said, ‘Marcus, can I have a word with you?’ Marcus looked a tad annoyed at being disturbed, but stood up to join her. ‘Marcus, I don’t feel comfortable about the way Tobias was interviewed,’ she whispered, her eyes full of concern.

  Marcus put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know how it must appear to you, Finula. Viola’s technique can be somewhat—’

  ‘Harsh?’ butted in Finula with force.

  ‘Direct,’ Marcus reasoned. He saw the anger in Finula’s face and quickly added in a soothing tone, ‘Listen, don’t worry. The interview will be edited. Libby will give it the best possible angle and nothing gets in the final cut without my consent. I’ll make sure Tobias is portrayed in his true light.’

  Too right he would. This seemed to placate Finula and her shoulders relaxed a little. Marcus tilted her chin up and kissed her mouth. ‘Looking forward to Shropshire?’ He spoke flirtatiously, his eyes dancing with devilment. Finula couldn’t help but melt. He was irresistible with his sparkly green eyes and the soft Irish tone of his voice.

  ‘I’ve just realised who your eyes remind me of,’ she said, smiling as it suddenly dawned on her. Marcus froze, waiting for her to finish. ‘Tobias!’ Still he stared, speechless. ‘Don’t you see?’ She pointed towards the portrait of Tobias hanging above the fireplace. Marcus turned to look.