Honeymoon Suite

by Wendy Holden

  The Weddings Manager, a woman called Julie with an understanding voice, had instructed her to go into the stable yard. ‘Look for a small green door in the corner.’

  Nell strode up the main drive and past the first visitors emerging from their huge white coaches. They were fanning their faces with their travel itineraries and gasping about how warm it was.

  In the stable yard, she found the green door without difficulty. Behind it was a steep flight of narrow wooden stairs which, Nell guessed, the stable staff of old had used to access their quarters.

  Standing at the top was a plump young woman with long dark hair. Her full, freckled face was flushed with the day’s warmth already.

  ‘Nell? I’m Julie. And this,’ she added, smilingly waving a hand into the room where two people were seated before a desk, ‘is Jed and Carly. They’re from Florida but they’re getting married at Pemberton. They’re staying at the Pemberton Hotel.’

  The demanding Americans, Nell realised as she shook hands. She was clearly hitting the ground running. She hadn’t intended to turn up in the middle of a meeting. Was she late?

  She glanced furtively at her watch at exactly the moment that the stable clock donged nine.

  ‘No, no, you’re not late,’ Julie smilingly assured her. ‘Jed and Carly are here . . . um . . . in very good time.’ Nell guessed that the couple had been there for the last half hour. At least.

  Jed had remained on his feet. He was massive and broad-shouldered. ‘We had a real good chat with your director Angela in the bar last night,’ he boomed.

  This triggered a slight exhalation from Julie. ‘Angela’s the human resources director,’ she pointed out gently to Jed. ‘Not the director of the whole of Pemberton.’

  Jed ignored this and continued addressing Nell. ‘She told us all about what you’re doing, redoing the bumf and stuff. She thought you might write about us for the estate newsletter. And the wedding brochures, as a case history sort of thing.’

  Surely it was up to her what went into the newsletter, Nell thought. As well as the brochures. She looked at Julie, who rolled her eyes.

  ‘You see, our wedding’s somewhat different.’ Carly shifted round in her chair to face Nell. She was tiny, blonde and possessed of a doelike prettiness. Her outward fragility, however, was belied by the intensity of her stare and the determination in her voice. ‘It’s on a Pride and Prejudice theme.’

  Nell dredged around for some bright remark. ‘Pemberton will be the perfect background,’ she conceded. ‘It’s almost spelt the same as Pemberley.’

  ‘Well, of course Pemberley in the novel was based on Chatsworth,’ Carly said. ‘But they were fully booked on our chosen date. We looked around the internet a bit and eventually found Pemberton. It’s a great little place.’

  Nell thought wryly of the rolling green acres outside. Just how little was it?

  ‘So our wedding would make a great article for you,’ Jed stated, his eyes locking Nell’s.

  ‘Or series of articles,’ Carly put in. ‘You could follow us as we prepare. As we fly back and forth. And Skype Julie here.’

  Julie’s smile was looking strained.

  ‘And let’s not stop at the newsletter,’ Jed added. ‘Hell, you might be able to get a TV series out of it.’

  ‘Yeah! Like fly on the wall!’ Carly clapped her hands. Light shot out of a diamond the size of a sugar cube.

  As Carly and Jed now began to discuss TV rights, Nell saw that Julie was gripping the desk-edge so hard her fingers were white.

  Jed had produced a tablet and was flicking it with his thick red fingers. ‘Take a look at this.’ He handed it over. ‘This was the proposal scene.’

  Nell looked.

  ‘It was awesome,’ Carly reminisced. ‘I came home for the weekend and my mom and sisters were, like, in those bonnets and gowns?’

  Four women in Georgian caps and gowns sat in a modern kitchen. Three of them bore a detectable resemblance to Carly. The other, an older brunette, might have done once, before the facelifts.

  ‘And I was in the closet,’ Jed added. ‘In my Darcy gear. For the surprise. Y’know?’

  He swiped the tablet. The next image was of Carly and an older man, presumably her father. He was in a tailcoat and wore a white shirt and stock. Carly herself was now in an empire gown with her hair in ringlets. They were in a sitting room with a huge widescreen TV.

  ‘Dad and I did that scene between Mr Bennet and Lizzie,’ Carly reminisced rapturously. ‘And then Jed came out of the closet . . .’

  Nell and Julie exchanged glances.

  ‘. . . in his tailcoat.’

  Nell considered Jed’s huge size. It must, she thought, have been one hell of a big closet.

  ‘We did the proposal scene in the backyard.’ Jed took up the story just as Nell found the picture of them gazing into each other’s eyes. The location was the edge of a zingingly blue swimming pool with a diving board.

  Nell passed the tablet back to Jed. ‘It all looks lovely,’ she said diplomatically.

  Julie cleared her throat. ‘Jed and Carly are certainly doing it by the book. They want every detail to be perfect.’

  ‘Yes, we want white soup,’ said Carly proudly.

  ‘White soup?’ Nell blinked. She had not heard of white soup. Perhaps it was a Florida thing.

  Jed leaned forward. ‘It’s mentioned fifty-four times in Pride and Prejudice.’

  ‘It’s proving quite a challenge for the chef at Pemberton,’ Julie said brightly.

  ‘It’s kind of a mixture of meat stock, egg yolks, ground almonds, cream and negus,’ elucidated Carly.

  ‘I see,’ Nell said, wondering what negus was.

  ‘We’re also having mood boards. With quotes from Pride and Prejudice on them?’ Jed took a deep breath and grasped Carly’s tiny hands in his own vast bear paws. ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’

  He and Carly looked at each other, then back at Nell, starry-eyed.

  Dylan had picked Dan up at his house again this morning. It seemed that the gardener’s van was to be left to rot in the car park of the Edenville Arms.

  Dan had said nothing about that, however. He appeared lost in thought as they drove off, not even seeming to notice the salutations of the estate children. But at least Dylan now knew what ‘Shagger’ referred to. And who.

  Dan, for his part, evidently realised this. Their eyes briefly met as Dan directed him out of a junction. The big man’s massive chest pressed upwards in a sigh. ‘It’s not right, I know,’ he said.

  Dylan shrugged. With his disastrous romantic history, who was he to judge other people’s emotional arrangements? He had given the Edenville Arms a wide berth since encountering the angry Nell there, driving straight past the village, through the park and up to the woods at the end of yesterday’s work. Nell had said she was leaving, but he was taking no chances.

  The only other thing Dan had revealed was that Wednesday’s garden was somewhere called Byron House. For all the swashbuckle of its name, this turned out to be an old people’s home in the suburbs of Chestlock. It was entirely modern and of yellow brick. The front was all car park; this, along with the flat windows and sliding glass front doors, gave the place an officey appearance.

  There was a receptionist behind the front desk, a large lady with spiked purple hair and red glasses. She beamed at Dan. ‘Eh up, love.’

  ‘Eh up, Mandy.’

  ‘They’re all waiting for you!’

  Who, Dylan wondered, were they?

  Mandy, grinning, thumped a big green button on the wall behind her and a set of sliding doors opened. The corridor they now entered was very warm and smelt of gravy and an undertow of something chemically sweet. Directly opposite the sliding doors was the large aluminium front of a lift. A short
, plump woman in a blue overall was pushing a large white laundry bin towards them.

  Her face lit up when she saw Dan. ‘Eeh, love! Talk about a sight for sore eyes!’

  Dan was evidently highly popular here. It was an interesting contrast with Mrs Palethorpe, Dylan thought. Of course, Dan was popular with Juliet Turner too, but for a different reason.

  They passed the open door of a lounge. Old people sat on red chairs and waved as Dan, strimmer over his shoulder, hoved into view. He paused at the door. ‘Morning, ladies and gents.’

  They exclaimed back, evidently wildly excited. Dylan, walking behind with a spade, a fork and a rake which had a mind of its own, was revising his initial assessment. Dan wasn’t just popular, he was adored. It was as if Elvis had entered the building.

  Dylan had never set foot in a care home before. He had imagined they were depressing places, full of medicated ancients waiting to die. But the old people here seemed much less miserable than others he could think of. Mrs Palethorpe, for example.

  At the end of the corridor, Dan opened a pair of white French windows into the garden. Given the arid, leafless front, Dylan had been expecting something small and scrubby at the rear; he was surprised now to see that it was both large and pleasant.

  A big green lawn spread generously in front of him, dotted with bushes and bordered by trees. It was divided by curving gravelled paths which twisted between the bushes and past various points of interest such as a small wooden windmill and a little red post box. There was a paved area with wooden benches and another area under shade where some black wire chairs abutted a good-sized matching table. Beyond that was a greenhouse and a shed, which Dan was now opening.

  Dylan took the tools and received his instructions. He settled himself and began to work. In the distance, Dan’s strimmer flashed like a sword in the sun.

  Some of the old people were coming outside, Dylan noticed. Some on their own legs, some on Zimmer frames and some pushed in wheelchairs by the care assistants. They gathered round a large garden table near the door, underneath a big parasol. They were all looking at Dan, Dylan realised. It was almost as if they were waiting for something. A show of some kind.

  An almighty noise now ripped through the quiet morning. It was the roar of Dan’s strimmer, which he was revving hard. He began to stride up and down the greensward in front of his audience, flashing his mighty blade as it whizzed over the grass.

  As Dan now peeled off his top and tossed it casually to the side, flexing his mighty chest and biceps and grinning at his audience, Dylan was no longer in any doubt that this was the show the old people, and the old ladies in particular, had been waiting for.

  An old lady with a stick now came past Dylan as he knelt in the weeds. ‘Dan’s a marvel, he really is,’ she told him, round-eyed with admiration. ‘We all love him here. He keeps this garden beautifully.’

  Dylan nodded. Dan was clearly a man of parts, and one of the biggest seemed to be a kind heart.

  CHAPTER 35

  The strimmer show was now over and the entertainment baton had been passed on. An elderly man in a Johnny Cash black shirt with contrast stitching was holding a karaoke session in the day room.

  Dan was digging quietly at the other side of the garden and Dylan was still weeding. Visitors to the home came frequently past, some pushing their nearest and dearest in wheelchairs, others with their arms linked with someone making slow progress on a stick. They all greeted Dylan, said how wonderful the garden was looking and how much they loved Dan. ‘He keeps us going,’ they said.

  Dylan’s admiration for his boss was increasing. Dan might be having an affair, but that was far from unusual. Whereas the ability to spread such happiness was rare indeed.

  Occasionally the inmates came past alone. At one stage a man with a bristling moustache and black nylon tracksuit bottoms appeared. He stood by Dylan in complete silence, just watching. Then, quite suddenly, he looked at his watch and hurried off, like the White Rabbit.

  ‘’E’s ’armless enough,’ Dan remarked, pushing past with a wheelbarrow. ‘They all are. Just livin’ in their own worlds, that’s all.’

  The home’s manager had stopped to introduced herself. Anne was a medium-sized woman with short grey hair. She wore pixie boots and a purple dress.

  ‘The garden’s massively important to my ladies and gentlemen,’ she told Dylan. ‘Does them the world of good. Dan’s a bloomin’ miracle, he really is.’

  Dylan felt he wanted to become a part of that same miracle. Just as the warm sun beat on his back, he sensed it stealing into his soul, warming it up. He, too, wanted to contribute.

  ‘I’m always trying to dream up new ways to improve the garden, so if you have any ideas, let me know,’ Anne was saying. ‘So long as it doesn’t cost a fortune, we’ll do it.’

  Dylan did have an idea, as it happened. He had noticed the greenhouse was empty. ‘We could grow some flowers from seed in it,’ he suggested. ‘The old people might like to see them.’

  Anne beamed. ‘Brilliant!’

  Dylan felt something sing inside him. It felt so uplifting to do something good. Why hadn’t he worked to help others before?

  Later, still weeding, Dylan glanced up to see an old lady with white hair looking down at him. She wore a pale blue belted raincoat and carried a large white handbag. ‘Can you lend me a pound?’ she asked.

  ‘A pound?’ Dylan raised himself on his knees and felt in his back pocket. His wallet was in his jacket in the car, but he might have some change.

  ‘I need a pound for the bus fare,’ the old lady explained earnestly.

  Dylan felt a small coin, pulled it out and handed it over.

  The old lady’s face lit up. ‘Thank you, love,’ she exclaimed delightedly.

  Dan loomed behind them. ‘You don’t want to be catching your bus today, Mavis,’ he said.

  Apprehension clutched Dylan. He hadn’t realised the old lady was a resident. Now he had created a difficulty.

  The old lady glared at Dan. ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘But look at it up there.’ Dan raised his arm to where grey clouds now bloomed in the sky. ‘It’s going to pour down, Mavis. You don’t want to get your nice coat wet.’

  The fire was draining from Mavis. She looked doubtfully at her coat.

  ‘Come on, Mavis.’ Dan bent from his massive height and propelled her along with infinite gentleness. ‘You can get your bus tomorrow. Let’s go and have a nice cup of tea.’

  Mavis allowed herself to be led away. It was, Dylan thought, a touching sight; the huge man with his arm slipped through the little, frail old lady’s.

  Lunch was at the table under the shade. Anne brought them out plates of what the old people were having: beef goulash and rice. ‘And it’s jam roly-poly for pud!’ the manager called over her shoulder as she walked away.

  ‘She seems nice,’ Dylan ventured.

  Dan’s great chewing jaw stopped its motion. ‘She’s a diamond. Looked after my old gran like she were a queen.’

  Dylan’s fork paused on its journey. ‘Your gran was in here?’

  ‘Died in ’ere a few year ago. They were good to ’er. She were good to me,’ Dan added, resuming his lunch.

  Dylan suddenly imagined the huge man as a boy in shorts, petted by a pair of wrinkled hands.

  ‘So I’m good to them. That’s ’ow it works. Ain’t it?’

  Dylan nodded. Yes, indeed. That was how it worked.

  ‘I’d ask you for a drink,’ Julie said to Nell at the end of the day. ‘But I’ve got to pick the kids up from nursery.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Nell said, although actually she would have enjoyed a drink. She liked Julie and her subversive sense of humour.

  Still, she had plenty of other things to do, top of the list being exploring her new home and getting it ready for h
er weekend visitors. Jason had undertaken, during the day, to get hold of the keys to Beggar’s Roost, so they should be waiting for her when she returned.

  There would be beds to make up, Nell imagined, so she needed to get some sheets from somewhere. But hopefully there wouldn’t be too much cleaning to do. According to Angela, the former occupants had been model tenants and had left only a mere few weeks before – entirely because of the vicious old man next door. The thought of him was one Nell was doing her best not to dwell on. Hopefully she could keep out of his way.

  As she entered the Edenville Arms Jason picked up some keys and waved them at her. He explained where in the village the cottage was to be found, then made his excuses and disappeared. He wanted to be involved as little as possible; getting the keys had been nightmare enough.

  Prising them out of Angela was like pulling teeth; she had affected not to know where they were. In the end it was Gail who’d come up with the goods. Jason had had to go and fetch them, however, which meant leaving the inn in the delicious but not especially experienced hands of Ryan. Jason was glad, on his return, to find that a few bungled bills and a double booking were the worst that had befallen the place.

  Nell approached Beggar’s Roost excitedly. It was one of two cottages, Jason had said, which stood quite close to each other. They were the very last in Edenville, at the point where the houses began to straggle out before giving way to fields. These, Nell thought, must be the ones.

  The pair of cottages before her were low, grey-stone buildings with thick stone-tiled roofs and small mullioned windows. They differed in that one was clearly well kept and the other wasn’t. Neither had a nameplate on the gate and Jason hadn’t said which was which. Nell naturally assumed the one with the white-painted door, white picket gate and neat garden with a greenhouse was Beggar’s Roost.