The Show

by Tilly Bagshawe

  ‘Poor Reverend Clempson adores that car. It’s a blatant act of hooliganism.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Eddie. ‘The man’s a tit. Worse than that, he’s completely in David Carlyle’s pocket.’

  ‘Who’s in Carlyle’s pocket?’

  Milo walked in wearing a pair of odd socks and yesterday’s dirty T-shirt, and sporting hair that looked like the business end of a lavatory brush. He’d been persona non grata with both his parents since his tryst with Emma Harwich at Logan Cranley’s wedding, and had spent most of the two days since holed up in his bedroom playing ‘World of Warcraft’.

  ‘None of your business,’ snapped Annabel. She did not want to discuss David Carlyle with Milo in front of the hired help. There was something about Magda that Annabel couldn’t put her finger on, but that gave her the impression the girl didn’t quite know her place. She was perfectly respectful, but there was a pride about her, an almost excessive dignity that put Annabel’s back up. She seemed to have formed some sort of bond with Milo, too, which made Annabel uneasy to say the least. And then the other day she’d found her sitting quietly in the grounds, reading a book of poetry by John Donne. A maid! It made Annabel doubly anxious not to discuss sensitive family matters in Magda’s hearing.

  Eddie frowned at Milo. ‘You look as if you’ve spent the night under Waterloo Bridge.’

  ‘Do I? Well, I just woke up.’ Milo poured himself a large bowl of Frosties and sat down blearily at the kitchen table.

  ‘Just woke up? It’s two o’clock in the afternoon!’ said Eddie.

  ‘I had a late night,’ Milo shrugged. ‘Hullo, Magda. You look nice.’

  Magda looked up momentarily from her linens. Unlike his mother, who never missed an opportunity to criticize or make caustic comments, Milo always smiled when he saw her. After the incident with the bin, when he’d taken shelter at her cottage and confided in her about Emma Harwich, they’d grown closer. He was a sweet boy, albeit a lazy one.

  ‘Leave Magda alone,’ said Annabel crossly. ‘She has work to do and so have you. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.’

  ‘No I haven’t,’ said Milo.

  Eddie finished his cake and put his plate down on the table with a clatter. ‘Yes, you have. As you’ve spectacularly failed to find anything meaningful to do with your life, having thrown your expensive education down the drain, you’ll no doubt be delighted to hear that I have got you a job.’

  ‘On Valley Farm?’ Milo’s eyes brightened. ‘Brilliant. I’ve always fancied the idea of a career in TV. I take it I’ll be working behind the camera? Although who knows, with my charm and good looks, maybe I’ll be talent spotted.’ He winked at Magda, who pretended not to notice.

  ‘Not on Valley Farm,’ Eddie said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t let you anywhere near that set if my life depended on it.’

  Milo looked aggrieved. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’d shag every female in sight, that’s why not.’

  Magda blushed.

  ‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ Milo shot back.

  Annabel looked as if someone had squirted lemon juice in her eyes. How on earth was she supposed to teach Magda the proper respect with Eddie and Milo airing the family’s dirty laundry right in front of her? ‘Magda!’ she barked urgently. ‘Go upstairs and strip the guest beds.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Wellesley.’

  ‘And you can refill all the water jugs and empty the bins while you’re up there.’

  ‘Of course, Lady Wellesley.’

  ‘I’d better come and check you’re doing it properly,’ Annabel snapped. ‘Although, I dare say even you know how to empty a wastepaper bin.’

  Milo watched morosely as his one potential ally left the room, followed by his stony-faced mother. Poor Magda. She must hate it here. He wished now that he’d asked her more about herself that night in her cottage, rather than wittering on about Emma Harwich and his parent problems. What kind of an arse must she think him? Then again, he’d been so drunk that night, he probably wouldn’t have remembered anything she’d told him. Still, he pitied Magda. He wouldn’t work for his mother for all the tea in china.

  ‘You’re going to be doing some hard work for once in your life,’ Eddie told him, once the women had gone. ‘Real, physical work. And you’re going to learn how unbelievably lucky you are.’

  ‘What sort of hard work?’ Milo asked suspiciously. He did not like the sound of any of this.

  ‘Building schools.’

  ‘Schools?’

  Picking up his son’s half-eaten bowl of cereal, Eddie tipped the remnants into the bin.

  ‘Hey! I was still eating that!’

  ‘In Africa,’ said Eddie, ignoring him.

  Milo’s eyes widened. ‘In Africa?’ He laughed nervously. ‘I’m not going to bloody Africa.’

  ‘Oh yes you are,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I don’t even speak African.’

  Eddie put his head in his hands. Four years at Harrow and the boy was still as ignorant as a chimp.

  ‘My friend Dominic Veesey runs a charity out in Sudan,’ he told Milo. ‘They need all the help they can get. He’s expecting you next week.’

  ‘Next week?’ Panic began to set in. Milo tried to put on a mature, negotiating face. ‘Dad, come on. I know you want to teach me a lesson and all that. And it’s true I have been a bit laid-back about getting a job and school and stuff. But don’t you think this is a bit drastic?’

  ‘You’ll be there for five months,’ said Eddie. ‘But if I hear from Dom that you’ve been slacking off, I’ll extend it to six.’

  ‘Dad!’

  Milo felt sick. Eddie had been threatening something like this for months, but he never thought he’d really go through with it.

  ‘I’m not going,’ he said defiantly. Pleading was clearly having no effect. ‘You can’t force me onto that plane.’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ admitted Eddie. ‘But if you don’t go, don’t bother coming back here. And don’t try to wheedle your way around your mother, either. We’re agreed on this Milo. Either you go to Africa for five months and work your arse off, or you’re on your own. Completely. No bed, no board, no allowance, no nothing.’

  Eddie dropped a brown paper bag down on the table.

  Milo stared at it, shell-shocked.

  ‘A little going-away present,’ Eddie explained. ‘And now I must get back to my book before your mother garrottes me.’

  Once his father had gone, Milo reached forward numbly and opened the bag.

  Inside were six packets of condoms and a handwritten note.

  He’s serious, Milo thought bleakly. He’s really packing me off to the bloody Sudan!

  ‘I feel like I’m playing hookie,’ said Macy, as James Craven ushered her into San Lorenzo’s on Beauchamp Place. He’d shown up unannounced at the end of filming and whisked her off to London for a romantic dinner. ‘Two hours ago I was elbow deep in sheep shit, and now here we are.’

  ‘Here we are,’ James smiled. ‘One of the many lovely things about the valley is how easy it is to get up to town. God,’ he blushed, ‘I sound like an estate agent. This is the effect you have on me, you see. You make me nervous. I start talking absolute arse the moment I lay eyes on you.’

  Macy watched the confident way James moved as the maître d’ showed him to their table and decided there was nothing nervous about him. She liked his long legs and dry sense of humour and the way he instinctively took control of their relationship, if you could call it that; such as the way he’d simply assumed that Macy would be free tonight. Sex the other night had been great, if a little bit drunken. It had succeeded in distracting her at least partially from her growing crush on Gabe and her frustrations with Laura and with her so-called ‘father’, whose email harassment had not stopped with her move to England.

  ‘You’re a regular here?’ she asked, sitting down while James immediately ordered wine and a bottle of sparkling water. ‘People seem to know you.’

  ‘Oh, everyone
’s a regular here,’ James said breezily. ‘This place is an institution. It costs a fortune and they only take cash, which is incredibly annoying. But it’s the place to go if one wants to impress a girl.’

  ‘Get a girl into bed, you mean?’ Macy smiled coyly. ‘You’ve already done that, remember?’

  He reached across the table, grabbed her hand and said seriously, ‘I’ll never forget.’

  Suddenly Macy wished they were back home at Cranbourne House and not sitting here in a posh London restaurant waiting to order appetizers.

  ‘But the point is I’m afraid I rather jumped the gun and did everything backwards. I should have taken you out and wined and dined you first.’

  ‘And then fucked me?’

  James laughed. ‘Must you be so crass? I’m trying to be a gentleman here.’

  ‘And I’m not being a lady,’ said Macy, with mock humility. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.’

  A very attractive young woman in a black cocktail dress approached their table. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ she said, looking nothing of the kind as she fluttered her eyelashes at James, ‘but would you mind awfully giving me your autograph? I’m a huge fan.’

  ‘Of course,’ said James. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Lavinia,’ the girl purred. ‘You can write in my book.’

  Macy watched, astonished, as her date obliged, composing a note on the inside cover of the girl’s novel. ‘You’re famous?’ she asked, once Lavinia had skipped off to rejoin her friends. ‘I thought you said you just played a bit of cricket.’

  ‘I do,’ James mumbled. ‘For England.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ said Macy. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Because it’s the most boring game on earth and you’d rather have your teeth pulled,’ James quoted back at her.

  Macy blushed. ‘Oh, no, did I say that?’

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ laughed James. ‘I love it that you don’t care about cricket. It makes a change from the girls I usually date, believe me. Besides, I’m far more interested in your job. How did things go on set today? Do you think the pilot went well?’

  ‘Well, it didn’t go according to plan, that’s for sure,’ said Macy. ‘Although that may not be a bad thing. I guess we’ll know when we see the ratings.’

  She told him about the silage incident with Reverend Clempson’s car. ‘You’d never think this girl, Jennifer, had it in her. She’s this young vet, very green, very serious about animals … It was hilarious, though. Great television. The vicar had a hissy fit. Gabe and I were hugging each other with laughter. Even Laura cracked a smile.’

  James didn’t like the idea of Macy and her handsome co-presenter hugging. It was quite apparent that she found Gabe Baxter attractive. Every time she mentioned his name her face lit up, and each mention of Gabe’s wife, Laura, had the exact opposite effect.

  I’ll have to watch that, thought James.

  Dinner was delicious. James made sure the Chianti kept flowing as Macy told him about her childhood and her life in Los Angeles. It was all so very far removed from James’s world and experience: prep school, boarding school, university, cricket. That was it, his life in a nutshell. Macy’s childhood sounded like some sort of wild melodrama by comparison. On the surface she seemed open, telling him about her mother, and how her mom’s struggles and addictions had shaped her own life and fuelled her ambition. But James could tell she was holding things back. There was a control there, an inner editor carefully monitoring what was revealed and what remained hidden. She reminded him of a cat, outwardly affectionate but inwardly independent, even aloof.

  I’ll get through those barriers, he told himself. I’ll be the one she can trust, the one she opens up to.

  Leaving the restaurant hand in hand, they were snapped by photographers as soon as they stepped onto Beauchamp Place. Macy felt gratified, it was quite a while since paparazzi had bothered to take her picture, then realized to her annoyance that it was probably James they were interested in.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, confirming her suspicions as he helped her into a black cab. ‘They’re not usually so full on.’

  ‘Are you?’ Macy asked archly. ‘Usually so “full on”?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Coming on to me at the wedding. Ditching your girlfriend. Showing up on set tonight. Dinner,’ said Macy. ‘It’s all very romantic. But we only just met.’

  James took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  ‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m not usually this full on. But it’s like you said, about living your dreams. If you want something badly enough, you make it happen.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m great girlfriend material,’ Macy told him. ‘Monogamy’s never really been my thing.’

  ‘Nor mine,’ James said brightly. ‘You see how much we have in common?’

  Wilf, the Wellesleys’ recalcitrant but charming border terrier, wagged his tail furiously with excitement as Magda bent down to put on his lead.

  ‘I know,’ Magda smiled, ruffling the dog’s scruffy brown coat as she clipped the lead to his collar. Walking Wilf through the stunning Swell Valley countryside, through the winding paths of the ancient Brockhurst woods, was one of the few pleasures in her day. ‘I’m ready to get out of here too, believe me.’

  She was supposed to have taken the dog for a walk hours ago. Taking Wilf for his daily exercise was approximately item number seventeen on Lady Wellesley’s impossibly enormous to-do list; after the laundry, ironing, silver polishing and countless other tasks, none of which was ever completed to Annabel’s satisfaction. Inevitably Magda had fallen behind. It was physically impossible for a single human being to do as much work as Lady Wellesley expected in the allotted time, never mind do it to her exacting standards. Since she arrived for her trial week, Magda had finished every day trudging to her little cottage, behind, exhausted and demoralized. But she was determined to keep this job. Annabel might be a bitch, but Eddie seemed decent. And at the end of the day there was always Wilf, who seemed to annoy his mistress almost as much as Magda did.

  The Wellesleys’ border terrier reminded Magda of the fox terrier her family had owned when she was a very young child. Ziga. The sweet little bitch was a rare happy memory from Magda’s childhood. From a time before her father started drinking, before everything unravelled like a casually dropped spool of wool.

  Slipping on a pair of wellington boots and a thin cardigan against the slight evening chill, she opened the kitchen door. Wilf shot out across the lawn, pulling Magda after him like a puppet on a string.

  Milo, also in boots and a wine-red sweater that Magda recognized as his father’s brand-new one from Aquascutum, suddenly appeared at her side.

  ‘Where’s he taking you?’

  ‘I’m taking him to the woods,’ said Magda, yanking on Wilf’s lead so hard he practically choked. ‘Theoretically.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ said Milo. ‘I’m meeting a friend at The Fox.’

  Magda gave him a knowing, ‘are you sure that’s wise?’ look, a clear reference to the last time he’d spent the evening in the pub and turned up on her doorstep too drunk to stand.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll stick to half a shandy this time. Scout’s honour.’

  Magda began to feel uncomfortable. She was fond of Milo, but his mother had made it abundantly clear that she disapproved of any blurring of the lines between staff and family. Any sort of friendship between the two of them was obviously strictly off limits. Magda felt as if she’d unwittingly encouraged something that could threaten her position here, but she didn’t know how to backtrack without hurting Milo’s feelings.

  ‘You know I’m leaving next week?’ Milo said morosely.

  ‘Yes. I heard. I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ Magda added hurriedly. ‘Your parents were discussing it in the front hall while I was cleaning the floors.’

  Milo thrust his hands angrily in his pockets. ‘It’s so bloody ridiculous. Africa! Da
d didn’t have to go that far. I could have volunteered for the Samaritans or something.’

  They walked through the gates at the end of the drive and turned left along the lane. ‘Well I think you’re lucky,’ said Magda.

  ‘Lucky?’ Milo looked at her wide-eyed.

  ‘Yes, lucky. You get to travel, to meet new people, to do something really meaningful,’ said Magda. ‘There are people who pay a lot of money to go on these trips, you know.’

  ‘More fool them,’ grumbled Milo. ‘I mean, no offence, but what the fuck do I know about building a school? Or building anything, for that matter? I’ve never been good with my hands.’

  Magda wondered whether Roxanne or Emma Harwich would have agreed. Or any of the countless other girls that Milo’s parents were convinced he’d been having his wicked way with.

  He can be sweet, she thought, but he’s terribly spoiled. He’s used to having life handed to him on a plate. A glimpse of the real world might bring the best out of him. They walked on in silence until they reached the stile that marked the entrance to Brockhurst woods. Milo climbed over first then, reaching back, extended his hand to help Magda.

  ‘You can let him off the lead here.’ Milo nodded at Wilf, who had calmed down a little, but still looked as if he might take off after a rabbit at any moment.

  ‘Lady Wellesley told me to keep him on it all the time,’ Magda said anxiously.

  ‘Mum would keep all of us on a lead all the time if she could,’ Milo said with feeling. ‘He’s a dog. He needs to run. Go on, unclip him. I’ll take the blame if he goes AWOL.’

  Nervously, Magda let Wilf off the lead. After an initial, exuberant burst of speed he soon circled back and began trotting along obediently beside them.