‘Yet another boyfriend you conveniently forgot to tell me about? Who the hell is Paddy?’
‘Andrew, listen to me.’ Portia tried to take a deep breath, thinking: Please, dear God, just let me get this out right. ‘Paddy is the sound man on the film and he’s totally fixated on Daisy. He was a bit the worse for wear and got lost on his way to her room and ended up crashing out in mine. I didn’t even know he was there because Steve had given me a pill that knocked me for six.’ I’m starting to sound like a witness panicking under cross-examination now, she thought. She shot a sideways glance at him, but he was staring out over the lake.
‘So now we’re back to Steve.’ Andrew’s tone was harsh, cutting. ‘Portia, I’ve sat through French farces that are less complicated than this.’
‘Is it possible, just possible that you think I’m seeing Steve? You’re mad! You’re completely bloody insane. He’s a family friend, he’s like a brother to me, how could you even think that there was anything going on?’
‘I apologize for not being able to read your mind. What was I supposed to think?’
‘You could have trusted me!’
‘And you could have trusted me.’
An angry silence fell during which Portia made a mental note never to get into an argument with a lawyer again. There was just no point, Andrew was running rings around her. Bugger it, she thought, nothing to be lost now.
‘I thought I was just some rebound fling for you,’ she said, calmer now.
He turned to look at her. ‘It seems we’ve been at cross purposes with each other. OK, I’ll put my cards on the table. I tried telling you this the day of the Ball but you wouldn’t listen. So maybe you’ll hear me out now. What happened between us had never happened to me before and I doubt very much that it ever will again. I’d fallen for you, Portia, really fallen for you. From the very first time I met you in my parents’ garden and you doused yourself in a glass of champagne.’
There it was. ‘Fallen.’ The past tense. Portia was scarcely able to breathe.
‘But then I figured things were moving too fast for you,’ he went on, ‘and Edwina in the background wouldn’t have helped. And my mother didn’t exactly make you feel welcome.’
She couldn’t listen to any more. There was a time for silence and resignation and a time to bloody well speak up.
‘Andrew,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘Things weren’t moving too fast at all. In fact, things couldn’t have moved fast enough for me. I’m stone mad about you. I mean I think I’m in love with you . . . I mean . . . Oh God, I’m making such a pig’s ear of this!’
‘Go on,’ he said, still looking at her intently.
‘It’s just that I never felt I was good enough for you. I mean, look at you! You could have any woman you wanted and I could never understand why you’d want to be with me in the first place. And on the day of the Midsummer party I knew you were annoyed with me and I wanted to sort it out with you, but you disappeared, you just disappeared. I was gutted. I kept thinking you’d turn up at the Hall one day, but nothing.’ She was beginning to get teary, now that she was finally putting all her pent-up feelings into words for the first time. ‘And then your mother told me you and Edwina were back together and then Steve and I had a meeting with your father in your house one day—’
‘You were in the house?’
‘Yes, it was the first I knew about the Tribunal. Your dad was lovely, so understanding, but he said he was off to a rehearsal dinner for Edwina’s wedding . . .’
‘Never go into law, Portia, your attention to detail is nothing short of pitiful. He said he was going to a rehearsal dinner for Edwina’s wedding, not mine. Her father passed on years ago and she’d asked him to give her away. Dad was just too much of a softie to refuse.’
‘But what was I to think, Andrew? I had no choice. I just had to accept that you were as good as married and try my best to get over you.’
Very tenderly, he lifted his hand to her cheek and brushed away a stray hair. ‘Well, after all the trouble I’ve been to, I sincerely hope that you’re not.’
She caught his hand and smiled up at him, her eyes filling up all over again. ‘No,’ she said, ‘very definitely under you.’
‘Well, thank God for something,’ he said, putting his arms around her and running his fingers through her hair. She held on to him so tightly she thought she’d never let go. He ran his finger gently across her cheek before bending down to kiss her. She kissed him back greedily, waves of relief and happiness sweeping over her.
‘So, my lady,’ he whispered into her ear as he was kissing her neck, ‘do you really think you could be with a commoner like me?’
‘Yes please,’ she murmured back, ‘yes, yes please.’
Hours later, as they strolled arm in arm back towards the Hall, Andrew turned to her and said, ‘You know, honey, you’re looking pale and tired. You’re exhausted. What do you say we get away for a few weeks together? Just you and me?’
‘Oh Andrew, I’d love nothing more,’ she said, stopping to put her arms around his neck and hug him tightly again. ‘I don’t care where we go as long as I’m with you.’
‘Somewhere sunny and exotic maybe?’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘We could always call it a honeymoon.’
Unbeknownst to Andrew and Portia, someone was watching them. As they passionately kissed each other like a pair of teenage sweethearts in the field behind the Hall, Lucasta just happened to be passing by an upstairs window and caught a glimpse of them.
Pausing for a brief moment to pick up Gnasher, she pointed the cat’s tiny head towards the window. ‘There you are, Gnasher, you see? My spells and chanting never fail, you know. Didn’t I tell you everything would work out beautifully?’
Chapter Thirty-Three
THE ATMOSPHERE AT Davenport Hall that evening couldn’t have been more different from the previous night. As everyone assembled in the Long Gallery for a celebratory drink, Portia was fit to burst with sheer happiness.
‘Honey, you’re positively glowing!’ Serge had said to her when she told him her news. ‘You know, I once read somewhere that all a woman needs to be truly beautiful is to wear black and be on the arm of the man she loves, and, baby, you’re living proof. So this hunk of sex must be the famous Andrew?’ he whispered, so he wouldn’t be overheard. Portia nodded and smiled. ‘Why oh why are all the good-looking ones straight?’ he said, shaking his green hair theatrically. ‘Well, far be it from me to upstage the happy couple but do you wanna hear some hot, hot, hot gossip from the set today?’
‘Yes, please, I love gossip,’ said Daisy, who’d joined them, slipping her arms around Portia’s waist. ‘Isn’t it the most amazing news, Serge?’ she added, beaming at Portia. ‘My big sister’s getting married!’
‘Gossip first, gushing later,’ he interrupted, delighted to have an audience. ‘Now, this is highly confidential, so only tell one person at a time, but I heard from Caroline who heard from Johnny Maguire who heard from Jimmy D. that Montana and Paddy ended up together last night! So are you stunned?’
‘I know, I know!’ cried Daisy excitedly. ‘Because when I was upstairs earlier, I saw him tiptoeing out of her room. He almost fainted when he saw me and made the funniest excuse. He said he was fitting her out with a radio mike on a very sensitive part of her body for some love scene they’re filming tomorrow. I laughed so much I almost weed.’
‘Shhhhh, speak of the devil!’ said Serge, as the man himself walked into the Long Gallery. Paddy immediately spotted them and strode over, throwing his arms around Portia and congratulating her in his own inimitable way.
‘Ya finally got a fella, I’m delighted for ya!’ he said. Then, turning to Daisy, he whispered, ‘Listen, luv, I hope ya didn’t get the wrong idea or anything earlier. I was only having sex with Montana, ya know? I wasn’t making love or anything, the way I was with you.’
‘Emm, oh really?’ stammered Daisy as Serge and Portia peeled off in fits of giggles.
‘Are ya still seeing him then?’ asked Paddy with a nod towards Steve, who was over by the stained-glass window, deep in conversation with Andrew and Blackjack.
‘Yes, actually,’ Daisy lied, ‘but I want you to know, I think Montana’s a very lucky girl.’
Paddy grinned back at her, delighted. ‘Yeah, she’s not a bad aul’ bird, is she? And I don’t care what anyone says about her, her lips are all her own.’
‘So do you still need me to be on boyfriend duty?’ Steve said, coming up to her as soon as Paddy went off to get a drink.
‘Not a bad idea,’ she replied, slipping her hand into his and making him blush bright red.
He held her hand tightly, in no hurry to let go. Daisy didn’t know why, but for some reason, it just felt lovely to be standing in the middle of the room holding hands with him. Comfortable, somehow.
‘What on earth happened since I was away?’ Blackjack said to Andrew in his deep, gravelly voice, observing what was going on around him. ‘I left a pair of Virgin Marys behind me and I come back to . . . well, you’re far too young to remember the Profumo scandal but there was a saucy pair of minxes involved called Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davis. Fabulous legs, you know. The girls, I mean, not Profumo.’
Egged on by Andrew, Portia did her level best to be civil to her father that evening. ‘I know he hasn’t exactly behaved well,’ Andrew explained, ‘but he really has tried to make amends, you know. I’ve spent so much time in his company in the past few days that I’ve grown quite fond of him. Just give him a chance, darling, he’s actually a very nice man.’
But there was one person who was less than overjoyed to have Lord Davenport back in residence again. For the first time in as long as anyone could remember, Lucasta didn’t waft into the Long Gallery for her customary stiff gin and tonic before dinner. After a while, Daisy began to get a bit worried and whispered to Steve that she was just going to discreetly check up on her. She found her by the Aga in the kitchen, drip-feeding tiny droplets of milk to one of Gnasher’s kittens.
‘Are you all right, Mummy?’ asked Daisy, genuinely concerned. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock and you’re sober.’
‘Oh yes, sweetie,’ Lucasta said, not looking up. ‘Do you know, I don’t think I’ll bother with dinner tonight. I’m still having visitations from the other side, so I’d best not.’
‘Mummy,’ said Daisy sternly, ‘you can’t avoid him for ever. You’ll have to face him sometime.’
Lucasta sighed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her wax jacket. ‘I know, darling. It’s just . . . well, when he first buggered off of course I was upset, but then the film crew arrived and everything and, well, the last few months without him have just been . . . well, they’ve just been such fun! I’ve had a ball, darling. And now I’ve bloody well got to go back to being Lady boring Davenport again and, let’s face it, that’s fuck all crack. Why can’t he leave us alone and we’ll just contact him whenever we need his signature on anything?’
‘But he’s not staying, Mummy, that’s the thing. He told me that he’s only staying on for Portia’s wedding and then he’s going straight back to the States. I promise you, he’s not here for good.’
‘Are you sure, sweetie?’ asked Lucasta, brightening. ‘Are you sure he wasn’t just saying that? I mean, you know what Blackjack is like. I swear that bollocks would say Mass. Not that he’s a bad man or anything,’ she corrected herself, seeing the hurt look on Daisy’s face. ‘A tosser, yes, but not a bad man. Do you honestly think he’ll go back to America?’
‘I’m certain. I think he’s anxious to get back to . . .’ Here Daisy faltered a bit, unsure how her mother would take it if she knew her husband still had a girlfriend. ‘Well, he just loves it over there . . .’ she trailed off.
‘Best news I’ve heard all day,’ said Lucasta, delighted. ‘And, you know, it’s much the best thing for him. I’ve always felt that Las Vegas was your father’s spiritual home.’
Portia had never known happiness like it. With Andrew beside her discreetly feeling her leg under the table and only having eyes for her all night, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven.
‘You should get married in Ballyroan Church,’ Blackjack was pontificating from the head of the table, swirling brandy around in a crystal glass. He’d spent the entire meal scanning the table for a female over eighteen and under forty to flirt with but, apart from Montana, who was engrossed in conversation with Paddy, he was having no luck. ‘And as soon as possible too,’ he went on, sounding bored now. ‘Nothing worse than a long engagement, no point in it.’
‘Sir, I will marry your daughter tomorrow morning if she’ll have me,’ Andrew replied laughing.
‘If I’ll have you?’ said Portia, leaning in to kiss him again, and not caring who saw.
Daisy and Steve were also sitting side by side further down the table, engrossed in conversation.
‘You’re doing a very passable imitation of a boyfriend so far,’ she said teasingly, ‘but I think you should snog me for good measure.’
‘Now?’ he replied, reddening.
‘Now,’ she answered firmly, taking the fork out of his hand and lifting her face towards his. Shyly, he pecked her cheek and pulled away, but Daisy was having none of it. ‘Steve, when is the last time you kissed someone?’
‘Let me see,’ he said, sounding very lawyer-like, ‘this is Friday, so that would have been . . . emm, nineteen ninety-five.’
‘Well, things have changed a bit since then, so let me show you how it’s done,’ she answered, pulling him down towards her and bringing her mouth to his. She kissed him slowly and softly and then, just as he was getting warmed up, she pulled back. ‘Mmm, not bad,’ she murmured, ‘but we need a lot more practice.’
Montana and Paddy sat opposite them, enjoying the sideshow. ‘Do ya see what I’m trying to tell ya, luv?’ Paddy was saying to her. ‘The upper classes in this country are all slappers.’
Montana winked over at Daisy and smiled, probably a bit more clued into what was going on than Paddy.
Lucasta sat at the bottom of the table, as geographically far removed from her husband as possible. ‘All these happy couples’, she chirped to Jimmy D. who was sitting on her left, ‘have me to thank, you know. I was chanting for a result like this all bloody night and has one of those ungrateful bastards even poured me a gin?’
A fairytale wedding wasn’t exactly something Portia had dreamt of since girlhood, and probably just as well. Neither she nor Andrew would look back on the day with any great nostalgia but, as he remarked to her in the taxi as they drove to the airport, the worse the wedding, the better the marriage. ‘So you see, my darling, when we’re celebrating our golden wedding anniversary, we’ll look back and laugh.’
The day had begun well, with Serge putting the finishing touches to her hair and make-up while Daisy and Lucasta were downstairs bickering about who got to wear a tatty pearl necklace (the only piece of jewellery in the house). Serge was just stepping back to admire his handiwork when there was a knock at the door and in walked Blackjack. He was in morning dress, looking as immaculate as ever – as though he dressed like that every day of the week.
‘I do hope it’s not unlucky for me to see the bride before we go to church?’ he asked.
‘Oh no, your lordship, come right on in,’ said Serge, gushing. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
‘My dear, you’re stunning,’ he said, and for once he wasn’t lying. Her dress was cream silk, long, plain and simple, and showed off her slender figure to perfection. Serge had knotted her hair up, so the line of the dress could be seen from the nape of her neck and, with just the lightest make-up and a hint of lipstick, she looked a million dollars.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ he said. ‘It’s just that with you and Andrew going away after the reception tonight, I thought now would be an appropriate time for me to give you my wedding present.’ Then, delving into his breast pocket, he produced a thick white envelope and handed
it over to her.
Portia opened it, not knowing what to think, and almost fell over when she took out an ancient parchment, almost two inches thick, yellowing with age and covered in Latin copperplate handwriting. She looked at her father, bewildered.
‘Look closely,’ he said. ‘Those are the title deeds of Davenport Hall. I know how much you love the old place, Portia, and I want you and Andrew to have it. It’s the least I can do. If I hang on to them, there’s a good chance they’ll end up on some nag in the three-thirty at Aintree.’
‘Daddy,’ she said, overwhelmed, ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, I do,’ Serge chipped in. ‘Go hug him!’
‘I just like the idea that perhaps one day I’ll have grandchildren, and perhaps one day I’ll be welcome to come and visit them here,’ he went on.
‘Anytime,’ Portia said, hugging him, ‘you know you’re welcome anytime.’
‘And roll credits!’ said Serge, beside himself. ‘Oh God, I love a good reconciliation.’
Then there was Susan de Courcey. She initially refused her invitation and spoke so venomously to Andrew about his future bride and the family he was marrying into that there was nothing left to say. Thankfully, his father took a different stance and bravely turned up alone at Ballyroan Church knowing that the Third World War would await him as soon as he returned home. However, the minute Susan found out that Montana Jones and Ella Hepburn were going to be there with their press entourage, she instantly changed her mind. Shoehorning herself into a strapless designer gown she barged into the church just as the couple were taking their vows.
‘Fucking latecomers!’ Lucasta had bellowed just as Portia was about to say ‘I do’.
The reception afterwards wasn’t exactly the stuff of a Hello! magazine centre-page spread either. For a start, it was lashing rain so when the small number of guests assembled in the Long Gallery, the roof started to leak badly, drenching people to the bone and all but destroying the buffet spread out on a side table. Then Uri Geller, easily Lucasta’s most territorial cat, got into a vicious fight with Ella Hepburn’s Pekinese dog and they had to have buckets of water thrown on them to keep them apart. In the absence of anyone else for him to flirt with, Blackjack even tried it on with Susan and was rewarded with a clatter across his face and a cackle of laughter from Lucasta. Portia had done her utmost to be friendly towards her new mother-in-law, but met with such a brick wall of rudeness that she gave it up as a bad job. Michael, however, was perfectly charming.
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