Best Laid Plans

by Patricia Fawcett

  ‘Not guilty,’ he told her with a laugh. ‘My God, you’re good with the third degree, aren’t you? Anything else you want to know before you let me off the hook?’

  It had made her feel awkward because it sounded as if she was just using him for sex, which was quite a dreadful thing to admit to. On the contrary, he was an interesting man although cagey about how he earned his money, which made her ask him laughingly if it was legal. All she knew was that he traded online in art and antiques, which could mean anything. It was lucrative, though, judging by his lifestyle.

  The truth was she had a challenging job and she had no time for diversions. She had a limited social life because she had moved away from home and all her old girlfriends and working as she did it was difficult to make new ones. Daniel thought she was all business and this place was a hot-bed for rumours; it would weaken his belief in her if he found out she was in the throes of an affair. If she were to take up with Brian it would certainly please Janet. She had been remarkably discreet since she had met the two of them together – an accidental out of work bumping into each other sort of meeting. Brian had been given her stamp of approval but then he was the sort of good-looking charmer whom the older ladies adored.

  Amy wanted the relationship to continue a while because she had forgotten just how delightful it was to have a man tell her she was lovely, to buy her flowers, all that romantic nonsense. She was achingly aware, however, that there would have to be a moment, before it got way too serious, that she would pull the plug on it without upsetting him too much but in the meantime there was no harm in admitting to her parents that he actually existed.

  Before she could help herself she picked up the phone and dialled his mobile.

  She panicked a moment as she heard it ringing and then, as he picked up she momentarily lost the ability to speak.

  ‘Is that you, Amy? Everything okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, giving a little cough to disguise the tremble in her voice. What the hell was the matter with her? ‘Look, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you come over to my parents for Christmas? They’ll be delighted to meet you.’

  Chapter Two

  Snape House, Christine’s home for close on thirty years, nestled in the Ribble Valley. It was at the edge of the village of Downill, a place of pretty stone-built cottages and a splendid church, the sort of typical English village beloved of television producers hoping to sell their offerings worldwide.

  Before Christine and Frank discovered it they had been on the look-out for a suitable property for some time, something grand in a Victorian rectory type of way, big but not too big with a large but easy to manage garden and unspoilt views. It had to be within a reasonable commuting distance to Preston where the business was located but not too remote as Christine, mother to two small children, did not wish to be stranded completely.

  It was a tricky brief for the estate agent and of course they knew they would never find the ideal place but as they scoured the county, dragging the children along with them, they began to despair.

  It was Frank’s dream to own a country house of character as befitted what he saw as his rising standing in the local business community. His father was a shy man and had never pushed himself forward but Frank was more than happy to do so, seeing networking as essential, although it had to be said that part of it was that he felt he had something to prove to Christine’s father, who had never thought him up to much. Owning even a modest country house would be stretching their budget and she could have asked her own family for financial assistance but because they did not entirely approve of her marriage, she was in no mood to ask favours. In any case, Frank would rather stuff a bee in his mouth than ask for help and she much admired that streak of independence.

  Frank had been fast-tracked into taking the family business on after his father’s declining health forced his early retirement and Frank had relished the opportunity presented to him. He had visions of a bright future at the head of a booming business and so Christine was persuaded that a house move, onwards and upwards, at this moment in their lives would be to their advantage. If they did not grasp the opportunity now, he told her, they would start having second thoughts and would never do it.

  Downill, lying in the picturesque Beacon Fell Country Park, had escaped their notice previously because it lay outside the circle they had drawn, adding a further half hour to Frank’s commute. Fate can play a tricky hand sometimes, though, and perhaps if the sun had not been shining that day out of a cloudless blue sky, perhaps if the little gardens of the cottages on Bamber Lane had not been stocked full of summer flowers, perhaps if the people sitting at tables outside the Fox & Hounds enjoying lunch had not looked so happy and contented, it might have been a different story.

  Crossing the little stone bridge that spanned the river it was like a fairy-tale village in the picture books she read to the children and she said as much to Frank, who was thinking figures putting him in a much more practical frame of mind. They were through the village within minutes but it was all too late, for she had already caught her first glimpse of the house with its splendid collection of chimneys; a mansion of pale-grey stone, of a neat symmetrical design with part of the frontage covered with Virginia creeper. Its garden with its wooded area, wide borders and vast lawns was far too big; it also bordered the river, which was dangerous for the children and the house itself had two or three bedrooms too many and the sheer size of it would make it a nightmare to maintain. However its dilapidated state and the fact that it had been empty and steadily getting worse over the last two years meant that it just about fitted into their price range.

  But, even as Frank muttered something about ‘too far out’ as he manoeuvred the car up its winding drive past a bank of overgrown rhododendrons, even before she viewed the horrors of the interior, she knew that this was it. They would come in with a cheeky offer and who knows, it might just be accepted.

  It was.

  The defining moment for the Fletchers that Christmas had really begun was the switching-on of the fairy lights on the tree. Christine counted everything else, writing and sending the cards, buying and wrapping the presents and so on as pre-Christmas stuff. Now that the cards and the accompanying short note were in the post she worried that she had made Amy sound much too self-centred and wished now that she had not called Monique darling when she had not accorded that title to her own daughter. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered to put the note in with the cards but once you started these things it was difficult to stop. People expected it; the yearly Fletcher news bulletin.

  She always went for the positive slant anyway to the extent of making light of Frank’s illness, which at the time had been devastating and for a good while afterwards had been a grave concern. His father had died of a heart attack as had his grandfather so a quick popping-off unfortunately ran in the Fletcher family. She tried her best to keep him healthy but he did not exercise other than an occasional round of golf, which was more to do with keeping up contacts than actually enjoying the game.

  The Saturday before Christmas was a dreary December day with the lights on from the word go. A low mist hung about by the river first thing, a mist suspended above the water as if it were a ghostly magical cloud; eerie, chill and beautiful, dispersing as the temperature rose above freezing. The last of the leaves lay in a crisp bedraggled heap in one forgotten corner of the garden and Christine yearned for snow, for at least then it would look pretty again. Downill in the snow was the stuff of nostalgic calendars. However, she did not want snow just yet because she needed Amy to get herself across the Pennines in one piece and that little car of hers was not built for winter driving on that infamous road over the moor.

  She was so intent on putting the final touches to the tree that she did not notice Frank coming into the room. She was startled as, sensing a presence, she spun round to face him. He was in one of his miserable moods again, hovering, at a loss as to what to do when he was at home supposedly relaxing, but relaxing did n
ot come easily to him. His was the sort of personality that ploughed relentlessly through life irrespective of whom or what he pushed aside in the process. She supposed they called it being focused, which seemed to be the buzz word these days. Despite the cheery mention on her Christmas note she dreaded his retirement for then they would be together all day long with no respite and her carefully managed routine would be severely disrupted.

  He was a difficult man and she had known that when she married him but had made that age-old mistake of thinking she could change him. The not unexpected diagnosis of a potential heart problem earlier in the year had left him with a depression that lingered. She owed it to him to help all she could but the down moods were starting to affect her, too, and she could not allow that to happen. He was respected at work, she knew that, but was he liked? Shirley who ran the office adored him from afar, of course, and she used to tease him about that until he started to react badly so she wisely put a stop to it.

  Their marriage was floundering, had been for years, but Christine had been brought up a Catholic. She was lapsed now, but the basics stuck with her, that constant guilt, and made the thought of divorce impossible. In any case, where on earth would she go if she left him? She had money of her own, could buy something else but she loved this house, her home, and she had no intention of giving it up. Leaving Frank, although briefly considered, was not an option. Who knows, things might get better; they had gone through difficult times before and here they were, still together.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t creep up on me like that,’ she said, wobbling a little. ‘Can’t you see I’m standing on a stool? You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ she added knowing at once that it was the wrong thing to say. ‘Oh, sorry, darling.’

  He managed a small smile. ‘No danger of that. You’ll outlive me.’

  ‘Don’t say things like that. That little op sorted you out, didn’t it?’

  Looking back, the health scare had been a good thing, a warning, which had brought him up sharply and been the incentive he needed to stop smoking and start eating more healthily. Sadly there was no way she could stop him fretting about the business, which had taken a bit of a downturn this past couple of years but then in this day and age everyone was surely in the same boat. They owned a removal company and the fact was very few people were moving at present. There were always people moving with their jobs and that would never change but it was the moving house just for the sake of it that had been stopped in its tracks.

  ‘Nearly done.’ Christine, still precariously balanced on the stool when there was a perfectly good set of sturdy steps in the back porch, reached across and looped a silver star over the tree top. ‘There.’

  She stepped off the stool and stood back.

  ‘Can I help?’ Frank asked belatedly regarding the finished tree with a frown. He was a heavily built man, lately edging towards plumpness, which they were trying desperately to control but he had kept his good head of hair of which he was proud and there wasn’t a grey hair in sight. Christine had a few – and no wonder – but her regular trip to the hairdresser took care of that. She had opted to remain dark-haired shying away from the hairdresser’s attempts to persuade her otherwise. Unadventurous, she wore it in the same style she had had for years; falling to shoulder length from a side parting, which meant it was versatile and she could if she wanted bunch it up off her face to show off her high cheekbones, an inherited feature that meant she would age well.

  ‘What do you think?’ She thought the tree looked gorgeous standing in the corner of the drawing room and, after all the hard work she was not in the mood for criticism.

  ‘Do you want the truth?’

  ‘Go on.’ She gave him one of her looks.

  ‘It looks a bit sparse. What’s happened to the decorations? The stuff the kids made?’

  ‘Oh come on, isn’t it time we went for something a touch more elegant? I’ve still got them,’ she added quickly. ‘But I’ve left them up in the loft for now. Perhaps we’ll get them out when we have grandchildren.’

  ‘Sometime never then,’ Frank said. ‘You’ll have to put that right out of your head. How many times do I have to tell you not to get your hopes up? Amy isn’t into kids and I can’t see Mike and Monique obliging any time soon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

  ‘I don’t know what he sees in her, anyway,’ he went on, determined, it seemed, to grumble.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk about her like that.’ Christine glanced anxiously round as if their daughter-in-law was standing outside the door.

  ‘I’m only saying it to you, love. She needs to get herself a job for starters if she doesn’t intend to have kids. What does she do all day?’

  ‘She paints.’

  ‘She paints,’ he echoed mockingly. ‘And that helps to pay the bills, does it?’

  ‘You could help out. You could give Mike a rise, darling.’ She tried a smile, hoping it might strike home. ‘He works hard for you. He deserves it.’

  ‘He does not. He still hasn’t got the hang of it. He knows how to shift furniture, I’ll give him that, but when it comes to the business side of things he’s hopeless. He’s supposed to do the marketing for Christ’s sake. He’s the one supposed to be getting our name out there.’

  ‘Does he know that? You don’t make it clear to him what he’s supposed to be doing.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how to run the business. I tell you, Christine, if I dropped dead tomorrow that business would be up shit creek within months if he was in charge. Look what happened when I was off work.’

  ‘We were all upset and Mike did very well keeping things on track.’

  ‘With Shirley’s help. Thank God for her. She could run it with one hand tied behind her back.’

  She frowned, not wanting to be reminded of the office manager. No doubt Shirley, big brassy Shirley, thought she ran the show but the truth was she was not nearly as good as he thought and when Christine used to be in the office, admittedly in a part-time capacity, she had covered up a lot of Shirley’s errors. Frank gave Mike no credit for how hard he worked and how he tried his best to please him and it annoyed her that he should dismiss Monique just like that, but then Frank didn’t have a creative bone in his body so he could not understand how the creative mind worked.

  ‘Mike needs a woman who will jiggle him along, somebody to push him instead of somebody who sits around all day doing bugger all except paint. I wouldn’t care if they were any good.’

  He was red-faced and she knew that getting upset was not good for him. With an effort she tried to calm him down. ‘They’re not that bad. They’re quite nice in fact.’

  ‘That’s right. Defend her.’ He hesitated. ‘Did I tell you I spotted her a while back in a café in Lancaster talking to a bloke? They looked very cosy.’

  ‘Not that again,’ she said, annoyed that he wouldn’t let it drop. ‘I told you it was probably somebody she knew from school. She knows a lot of people here, Frank, so don’t try to make it out to be something it wasn’t, and for heaven’s sake don’t say anything to Mike about it.’

  ‘Ah. So you do think there might be something in it?’

  She exploded at that. ‘Will you stop it? How many times do I have to tell you that she is not having an affair? She’s as likely to have an affair as I am although having said that …’ she tried to lighten the mood and smiled. ‘You’re such a tosspot sometimes that nobody could blame me if I did.’

  He managed a smile too. ‘Sorry, love.’ He rubbed his shoulders. ‘God, they’re like a board. I need a massage.’ His smile widened. ‘Any chance of that?’

  Her thoughts were elsewhere. ‘You never know, there might be an announcement over Christmas.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘A baby,’ she murmured, ever hopeful.

  ‘They can’t afford a baby. If I know you, you’d end up paying for the lot. Pram. Cot. Decorating the nursery. You name it, we’d be coughing up for it.’

/>   ‘I wouldn’t mind in the least. It will be our first grandchild, Frank, so we’ll have to help out all we can.’ She hesitated, deciding it was much too early to mention school fees and the plan she had for those. Her parents’ unexpected deaths in a motorway pile-up had left her in a state of disbelief and shock but later there had been some small compensation when she realized that they would have wanted it like that, to die instantly together, and there was the added bonus of the money and property that came her way. She was the only child so she got it all and, as well as propping up their business – a decision not taken lightly – she invested a chunk of it, which was intended to be spent on the grandchildren’s education, the grandchildren that had yet to appear. ‘Mike and Monique might have to think of a bigger house when a baby comes along,’ she added watching him closely as she allowed that little thought to sink in.

  ‘Those two have had enough out of me already.’ His frown deepened. ‘Has she said something about a baby?’

  ‘No but I wouldn’t be at all surprised. She’s been a little odd lately and it’s time, isn’t it? They’ve been married for five years and it’s time.’

  She knew she had to be patient. People started their families later these days. Mike was only thirty-four and more importantly Monique was not yet thirty so there were no worries yet about biological clock-ticking. It was such a relief that she and Monique got on so well and they often popped into each other’s homes for a coffee and a chat. In fact although she did not care to admit it, she got on much better with her daughter-in-law than her own daughter.

  ‘It’s their decision whether or not they have a baby, not ours. You wouldn’t have liked it if my mum had put pressure on us, would you?’

  She had been pregnant straight off, the month following their wedding, so that argument did not carry any weight but she saw from Frank’s tone that the subject was closed. He was right. It was none of her business and she had to stay out of it.

  She moved the stool out of the way.