by Jo Carnegie
His smile dropped slightly. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me.’
Saffron’s breathing started to return to normal. She picked up Velda’s latest copy of the Spectator and threw it at him.
‘For God’s sake, sit on this. I don’t think Aunt Velda will want to know you’ve been lounging on her sofa with your meat and two veg out.’
Fernando sat up, looking rather hurt. ‘What’s this? I thought it would be a sexy surprise for you. Don’t you fancy me any more?’
Saffron looked across the room. The rippling muscles that had once been so irresistible now seemed insignificant. All Saffron could think was how silly he looked.
‘It’s not that,’ she sighed. With one bound, Fernando was across the room and crouching beside her.
‘What is it, then?’ He sounded panicked.
Saffron thought fleetingly of his squalid flat, with skid-marks down the toilet and stale milk in the fridge. Fernando had been spending more and more time at Montague Mews, eating Velda out of house and home. The few times Saffron had tried talking to him about getting a proper job, he had changed the subject. He was on to a good thing here, and knew it. Suddenly, Saffron couldn’t stand his freeloading a moment longer.
‘Look, babe, it’s been great and everything, but I don’t think this is working.’
He looked shocked. ‘Of course it’s working! Come on, baby, we have fun, don’t we?’ His tone was almost wheedling.
‘Life’s not just about having fun, Fernando!’ Saffron cried, rather surprised at herself. ‘Don’t you want a career or anything? To earn your own money?’
‘Ah! So this is what it’s about!’ he said sulkily. ‘You don’t love me any more because I’m not rich enough for you.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ she shot back. ‘I’ve been paying for everything since we’ve started going out. You don’t have to be rich, Fernando, but it would be nice if you put your hand in your pocket now and again.’
‘It takes time!’ he said huffily. ‘Once I get into acting school, I just know someone is gonna give me my big break. One day, baby, I’ll be richer than you can ever imagine . . .’
Saffron had heard it all before. She had a career and life to get on with.
‘Fernando, there’s no easy way of saying this. It’s over.’
He gave a scandalized gasp. ‘You’re dumping me?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
He jumped up angrily, grabbing a cushion to preserve his modesty. ‘Let me tell you, no one dumps Fernando Romero!’
Saffron stood up. ‘I’m afraid they just did.’
His handsome, vain face tightened. ‘You think you’re such a hot pot, but you’ll never get anyone better than me.’
Saffron didn’t rise. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed.’ She went to touch his arm, but he pulled it away as if he’d been scalded.
‘Don’t touch me!’
‘Fine,’ Saffron sighed. ‘Don’t forget to leave your key on the coffee table on your way out.’ She left the room and went up to her bedroom.
A few minutes later the whole house reverberated as Fernando slammed the front door angrily. Saffron closed her eyes, but found she felt only relief, not sadness. She didn’t care how sexy he had been, she was never going near such a waster again.
‘Darling, it’s me.’
‘Hullo, Granny Clem!’ Caro put Milo down and watched, exasperated, as he scampered out of the kitchen. For the last ten minutes she had been trying to get him to eat his bowl of spaghetti hoops, but they seemed to have ended up everywhere but his mouth.
‘You sound a bit harassed.’
Caro flopped back down at the breakfast table. ‘Just giving Milo his lunch. It’s not proving a great success, I’m afraid.’
‘Let him go without.’ A steely note entered her grandmother’s voice. ‘That’s what I used to do when your father tried to play up. He soon came around. Anyway, I wanted to make sure you’re all still attending Bonfire Night . . .’ The village was putting on a fireworks display that Saturday in a field at the back of Clementine’s house.
‘Yup, still coming!’ Caro had already told her grandmother this about ten times.
‘Excellent. Ted Briggs is in charge of the fireworks display, and Jack and Beryl are putting on a marvellous spread out of the pub kitchen.’
‘What time does it start, again?’
‘It says on the ticket I sent you. Six o’clock. Sharp.’
Caro smiled to herself. Her grandmother’s organization of village events was meticulous. Her father Johnnie had often joked that Clementine was wasted on Churchminster and should be out commanding the British army.
‘See you there, Granny Clem. We won’t be late, I promise.’
In the Soirée office, Catherine was responding to a pile of emails she’d been putting off when Harriet called through.
‘I’ve got John Milton on the line.’
Catherine’s heart leapt up into her mouth. What was he doing calling?
‘Thanks, Harriet, can you put him through?’
There was silence for a few seconds. ‘Hello?’ said Catherine cautiously.
‘It’s John.’ His mere presence at the end of the line seemed to fill the very room.
‘John. Hello! What can I do for you?’ Her voice was unnaturally high.
‘How did the party go?’ By contrast he sounded relaxed and confident.
‘Good,’ Catherine said. She knew she sounded curt, but couldn’t help it.
‘I’m sure you’re really busy, so I won’t keep you.’
Catherine interrupted. ‘I am, actually.’
‘Good for you.’ Was that a soft chuckle at the other end? John continued. ‘If you’re available, I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner next week.’
‘Well . . . er,’ she stuttered. She hadn’t been expecting this.
John didn’t say anything, which added to her discomfort.
‘The thing is, I’m really snowed under at the moment.’
‘Then the least I can do is take you out. You must need a night off.’
Catherine felt she was being backed into a corner.
‘I’m seeing someone!’ she blurted.
When John answered, he sounded amused.
‘I didn’t assume that you weren’t.’
Catherine cringed at herself. Why was she acting like such an idiot?
‘Look, John . . . it’s nice of you to ask, but I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘Take my number, anyway,’ he said lightly. ‘If you do change your mind about meeting up with an old friend, give me a shout.’
After a second’s agonizing, Catherine grabbed her pen and took it down. After she had practically hung up on him, so desperate had she been to get off the phone, Catherine put her face in her hands and groaned. What a neurotic fool he must have thought her! As much as she tried to wish he hadn’t called, Catherine could feel a churning in her stomach that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
‘You’re not going, end of story,’ she said to herself, out loud. Screwing up the Post-it note the number was written on, she leant down to throw it in the bin, but something stopped her.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
Opening her drawer, Catherine threw the crumpled piece of paper in the furthest corner before slamming it shut again.
Chapter 26
CARO WAS UNLOADING the dishwasher when the doorbell sounded. ‘I’ll get it,’ Benedict called from the next room. He was working from home. Caro heard footsteps across the wooden floor, and the front door open. There was silence for a few seconds, then Benedict’s voice rang out, loud with shock.
‘My God, what are you doing here?’
Caro stopped what she was doing.
‘Benedict, is everything all right?’
There was a pause. ‘Yes, it’s fine. Caro, come out. Amelia is here!’
Caro’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh my goodness! What a lovely surprise! Amelia, you should have told me you were coming . . .’ As
she walked into the living room her words trailed off. Now she could understand why Benedict had sounded so strange.
Twenty-eight-year-old Amelia Towey stood next to her brother. Or at least, a shadow of the tall, vivacious girl Amelia used to be. Her face was pale and wan, her sparkling eyes dulled. Her hair, normally a glossy brown mane, hung drab and lank around her shoulders. As Caro stepped forward and hugged her sister-in-law, she could feel beneath the long, cashmere cardigan just how thin she’d become.
Amelia gave a small smile. ‘Sorry to turn up out of the blue like this. I’ve quit my job and decided to come back to the UK for a bit.’
Caro glanced at Benedict, concerned, then back at Amelia. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, it sounded like you were having such fun out there.’
Amelia shrugged. ‘I can always get another PA job. Besides, Russia wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ She seemed to be avoiding their eyes.
Caro wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you, anyway.’ She noticed Amelia’s suitcase by the door. ‘Er, is this a flying visit?’
‘Actually, I was wondering if I could stay for a while.’
Caro looked at Benedict. ‘Here?’
Amelia flushed slightly. ‘Yes, but don’t worry if it’s not convenient. I know it’s very short notice . . .’
‘We’d love to have you!’ Caro said happily. Amelia smiled for the first time, looking a little like her old self again.
‘If you’re sure? I’ll pay rent and housekeeping.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Benedict. ‘Our home is your home, you know that.’
‘That’s settled, then!’ declared Caro. ‘Benedict, if you get Amelia’s suitcase, I’ll show her to her room. It really is a darling place, I think you’ll like staying here.’
Caro and Benedict were due to be having dinner with Stephen and Klaus that evening. They offered to cancel, but Amelia would hear nothing of it, assuring them that she was fine, and just needed an early night.
‘She looks terrible, I’m really worried about her,’ said Benedict. They were standing in the kitchen, talking in low voices. ‘Do you think she’s ill or something?’
‘She could just be run down,’ said Caro. ‘It does sound like she’s been burning the candle at both ends for quite a while now.’
‘I don’t know . . . there’s something different about her,’ he said. Caro tried to reassure him.
‘Darling, I am sure Amelia just needs a bit of rest and relaxation. I’ll make sure I feed her up.’
Benedict’s expression turned less serious. Caro’s cooking skills were a subject of much mirth in the family. ‘Christ, I don’t know about that. We want to build my sister up, not kill her off.’ He sidestepped deftly as Caro went to hit his arm.
‘I’ve found out some rather fascinating things about our very own Rowena,’ announced Stephen as he poured everyone another glass of excellent peppery red wine.
‘Ooh! Is she harbouring a dark secret?’ Caro asked.
‘More like harbouring half of London!’ Stephen said. ‘I met this delightful chap at an antiques fair last week. Eighty-two and still as fit as a fiddle.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘One can only hope to be in half as good shape when one gets to his age . . .’
Klaus’s dark eyes twinkled under their heavy brows.
‘Anyway,’ Stephen carried on, ‘this chap is a watercolour dealer, an exceptionally good one as it happens. Many years ago Rowena’s father was one of his main clients. He was an Elgin, you know.’
‘Didn’t they used to own half of Chelsea?’ asked Benedict. ‘I read something about it.’
‘And the rest!’ said Stephen. ‘At one time, they were so rich they made the Windsors look like street urchins.’
‘Did this dealer ever meet Rowena?’ asked Caro.
‘Once or twice. Rumour has it her father was very protective and didn’t like her going out,’ said Stephen. He studied his wine glass. ‘Apparently she was rather a beauty in her day. All the young bucks were queuing up, but Rowena wasn’t allowed to see any of them.’
‘What about her mother?’ Caro was fascinated.
‘Died in childbirth. From what this chap tells me, there were no brothers or sisters either. And then Pa Elgin departed this mortal coil, leaving Rowena . . .’
‘All alone,’ Caro finished. ‘Oh, poor woman!’
Stephen arched one eyebrow. ‘Hardly the adjective one would use. It seems our dear neighbour is sitting on a veritable goldmine!’
‘You’re not going on some kind of humanitarian mission to rescue Rowena, are you?’ Benedict asked Caro later, as they were getting ready for bed.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Caro, pulling her nightshirt over her head. ‘I just feel sorry for her. When I look around at you and Milo and Granny Clem and Mummy and Daddy . . . I just know how much nicer life is when there are people you love in it. Rowena’s got no one!’
Benedict came over and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘And that’s one of the reasons I love you, because you care about people. But I think you should leave Rowena to her own devices; she’s survived perfectly well until now.’
Caro sighed. ‘You’re right, I’ve got to stop poking my nose in.’ She went to pull the curtains shut. Despite the late hour, the consultancy room opposite was ablaze with fluorescent light.
‘Those poor doctors work hellish hours,’ Caro started to say, when a weedy figure appeared in the middle of the room. She blinked. Work had clearly finished a long time ago. The same man she’d seen before was standing there, head bowed, wearing nothing but a black leather pouch and a studded dog collar. Caro’s mouth dropped open as a hulking figure emerged from the side of the room. She was holding some kind of long, black whip . . .
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ asked Benedict in confusion, as his wife let out a squeak and ran into the bathroom.
Chapter 27
FOR ONCE, HARRIET had decided not to go back to Churchminster and she and Saffron were attending the fireworks display in nearby Battersea Park instead. Harriet felt a bit bad about not going home, but Christmas was just round the corner. She missed her parents dreadfully, but when she’d phoned her mother earlier that week and heard a huge commotion in the background as Ambrose had tripped over one of the dogs and gone flying, whisky and all, she had decided that London was a lot more peaceful for the time being.
Caro had asked Amelia if she wanted to go to Churchminster with them, but she’d turned the invite down. The three of them were now standing in the kitchen. Even though it was nearly midday Amelia was still in her silk pyjamas and looked like she had no intention of changing.
‘Are you sure we can’t tempt you? Beryl Turner’s harvest pie really is quite something,’ Caro said.
Amelia looked apologetic. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll still pass.’ A flash of disappointment crossed Benedict’s face. Amelia noticed and smiled at him. ‘You two go,’ she urged. ‘I’ve still got to unpack.’
‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’ Benedict replied.
‘Sure I’m sure. Go have fun!’
Benedict walked over and kissed his sister on the cheek. ‘I think everyone’s away this weekend, so you’ll have the mews to yourself.’
Caro thought she saw Amelia stiffen. ‘This place has got a burglar alarm, hasn’t it?’ Amelia asked.
‘And security lights, and ten-foot walls, and an impossibly difficult entry system,’ Benedict said. ‘No one’s getting in here unless you want them to.’
A full moon shone down on Churchminster as Caro, Benedict and Milo left Mill House later on. It was a clear fresh night, millions of stars glittering in the velvet sky above. As they made their way across the green towards Fairoaks, the front door of one of the neighbouring cottages opened and two figures shuffled out. It was the elderly Merryweather sisters, two spinsters who had lived in the village for as long as Caro could remember.
‘Evening, Dora, hello, Eunice!’ Caro called.
‘Carolin
e, dear!’ they chorused. ‘How nice to see you!’
‘Here, let me take that,’ Caro said, walking over to relieve Eunice of her large straw basket.
‘Thank you, dear,’ said Eunice. ‘Oh, there’s Benedict! And Master Milo!’
Milo blew a big raspberry at her.
‘Please excuse Milo’s manners,’ said Benedict drily. ‘Eunice, Dora, how are you both?’
The sisters looked up at him and swooned. ‘Very well, thank you for asking.’
Dora turned to Caro. ‘You’ve got a handsome one there!’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, ladies,’ said Benedict, as he offered them both an arm. ‘Shall we?’
Twenty minutes later the party had only got as far as the other side of the green. Dora and Eunice tottered along, holding on to Benedict and pointing out every bit of vegetation.
‘Look at those blackberries, Dor!’
‘They’re a bit late in the season, Eunice! I should have put them in that cake.’
‘What have you got in the basket? It’s very heavy,’ said Caro. She was walking ahead hand in hand with Milo, and even he was starting to strain ahead.
‘Just our supper, dear!’ Eunice called out.
Caro turned around. ‘There’s going to be food there, you needn’t have done that.’
‘Yes, but we know what we like, you see,’ said Dora. ‘All this hot and spicy stuff plays havoc with our stomachs. We’ve got more than enough, you’re welcome to have some.’
Caro lifted the tartan rug covering the top of the basket. They must have been preparing it for days, she thought, as she saw the pork pies, sticky buns and cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Eunice pointed at a tartan-patterned flask wedged in one corner.
‘Have some, dear. It’ll warm you up.’
‘Oh, thank you, but I had a coffee before I left the house,’ Caro said. Eunice and Dora looked at each other and giggled. ‘It’s a bit stronger than that!’
Caro pulled the top off and sniffed. Her eyes started watering. ‘Is that whisky?’
‘Bell’s finest!’ Dora said. ‘We like a little winter warmer.’
‘There must be a whole bottle in here!’ Caro spluttered.