Yet, despite the crumbling brick and odd cracked window, it was pretty impressive, from the outside at least. Green ivy sprawled across the front and around the window frames. There was a protruding arched entrance in the middle, either side of which the building stretched sideways for the length of four window bays. At each end, Applebridge Hall extended forward so that, from the air, the building looked like a capital E. A tribute, perhaps, to the seventeenth century Queen Elizabeth, in which case it was just as well English letters didn’t look like Arabic or Chinese.
‘Ready?’ said Roxy.
I swallowed. ‘What’s Charlie Chingo like?’ A washed-up eighties pop star, with his trademark quiff and Blues Brothers suit, he’d reinvented himself as a chat show host and was presenting the show.
‘A total diamond.’ Roxy grinned. ‘On screen he behaves like a carefree teenager, but no one works harder—he often hovers around our outside broadcast van, helping edit footage for the next show.’
I nodded and stared at the mansion’s many windows. Vertical bars divided them into panes. It would take forever to make them all sparkle. Good thing all I had to do for this fortnight was serve cream teas.
The chauffeur opened my door and, thighs together, I slid out. In front of the car was a three-tiered fountain, overgrown with green slime and moss. Across the lawns, birds chirped and the sound of tinkling water filled the air. A line of people gathered at the entrance. Enough of admiring the estate – it was time to kick off this charade.
The cameraman and sound guy hovered like sprinters waiting for the off. Lord Edward stood in front, looking pretty lush (eek, mustn’t think that, he was supposed to be my cousin). His eyes were fixed on me. Members of staff were just behind him, with the old Earl. Nearby, hovered a tall woman with a shiny Jessie J bob, black-rimmed glasses and clipboard.
‘That’s Gaynor, the director,’ Roxy whispered.
Ooh, look at me, taking directions, eat your heart out, Hollywood. I was in the ideal reality show, where the real me wouldn’t be recognized and I didn’t have to eat kangaroo bottom or witchetty grubs. Deep breaths as I almost hyperventilated when Charlie Chingo appeared.
‘Come, Chat with the Chingo!’ said Charlie and led me towards Lord Edward and his dad.
How could the TV presenter wear a jacket? The forecasters had been right about an Indian summer. Hopefully, I looked around for a tray of refreshing drinks to celebrate my arrival.
‘Welcome, Miss Abigail Croxley, to Million Dollar Mansion! How ya feeling? Nervous? Excited? Thrilled to be back at the ancestral pile?’ Charlie turned to the camera. ‘This is the Earl of Croxley’s niece, the dishy daughter of his younger brother, catering magnate, The Honourable Richard Croxley.’ Charlie raised his eyebrows up and down whilst I tried mega hard not to stare at a furry microphone held above our heads. ‘So tell us, Abigail – you must just lurrrve visiting your uncle and cousin. How does it feel to be back in the bosom of your heritage?’
‘Indeed, it is, um, an enormous pleasure to return,’ I declared. Before my makeover, a friendly man like him would have winked at the word ‘bosom’ and stared at my chest. Instead, Charlie lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a kiss. The Earl stepped forward and took his pipe out of his mouth. He wore tweed trousers, a checked shirt and tweed waistcoat like in that magazine in the park. Wow. Here was a living and breathing member of the aristocracy. The only group of people I belonged to was the Facebook Primark fan club.
‘Welcome to Applebridge Hall, Abigail,’ he said gruffly.
A whiff of tobacco reminded me of visits to the pub when I was little, watching Dad play darts and fighting Tom and Ryan for the last pork scratching or peanut.
‘Um, hello,’ I muttered, feeling like FRAUD was my middle name.
‘Speak up, girl,’ he said.
‘How nice to see you again, Uncle. I do hope you are well. Mummy and Daddy send their lo—’ better not overdo it ‘—their good wishes.’ Before I knew it, I’d planted a kiss on the old man’s bristly beard.
He grunted, lifted his pipe and inhaled, then about-turned and headed into the house. Oh, dear – but surely a friendly kiss was the right move for meeting a relative? I smiled at Edward, wondering how many female viewers would swap places with me right at this moment. Not that I’d risk getting close enough to kiss his cheek – it would look so wrong, if his supposed cousin couldn’t stop herself from stroking his tousled honey hair.
My mind went blank as he approached me. If only I’d paid more attention to Lady C’s every word. Should I call him by his full title? What was short for Edward? Ted? Was that too casual?
‘Hello, Teddy,’ I stuttered. Crap! How did that nickname slip out? His cheeks flashed red before he held out his hand and squeezed my fingers a little too tight. ‘I mean… I do hope you are well. The estate looks marvellous.’
‘Pleasant journey, Cousin?’ he said, still studying my face. It was weird. He kind of had the same nose as Abbey.
‘Very, um, nice, thank you,’ I said, squirming under his intense gaze. He had the tiniest green specks in his blue eyes… Ahem. Right. Concentrate. Now, what did Lady C say about conversation? Talk about the weather…
‘No blinding blizzards or black ice, if that’s what you mean,’ I said, my voice giving a little wobble.
‘Hardly,’ he replied dryly. ‘We’re only just in September.’
Charlie came in between us and put his arms around my shoulder. ‘What a family resemblance!’ he said. ‘Honey hair! Blue eyes! And Teddy! I like it, Lord Edward! You kept that name from us. Let’s hope that Abigail—’
‘Abbey,’ I said, breaking the rule on interrupting.
Charlie grinned. ‘Let’s hope that Abbey reveals more family secrets.’
By now Lord Edward’s face had turned an ugly shade of purple. Swiftly, I moved onto the line-up of staff that stood to attention outside the arched entrance.
‘Och, it’s lovely to meet you again, Miss Croxley,’ said Kathleen, the cook. She wore a bright apron and sensible lace-up shoes. Awkwardly, she curtsied. I smiled at her, both of us knowing she’d never previously met the grown-up Abigail Croxley. It didn’t feel right, a top cook like her kowtowing to a pizza waitress.
Next were two chambermaids in black dresses and white hats, only hired for my arrival, apparently. Each one curtsied in turn until I came to the estate manager, hunting gun slung over his shoulder. He nodded, looked at his watch and seemed on the verge of leaving before he gazed behind me. I wondered if he’d caught Lord Edward’s eye.
‘Ahem, welcome back, Miss Croxley,’ he said in a voice deeper than Barry White’s.
‘Thank you, Mr Thompson,’ I said, pleased at remembering his name. Then I smiled at the gardener. ‘I hope you are keeping well, um, Jean, and look forward to a stroll around the estate with you later.’
‘Of course, Miss,’ she said. ‘We’ve worked hard on the vegetable patch this year.’
I turned to her assistant, Nick, with his twinkly eyes and David Beckham stubble. Little did he know it, but we were actually going to be red-hot lovers! Not that I felt remotely kissable without my tan.
‘How splendid to see you again, Nick,’ I murmured, standing upright to make sure the fluffy mike caught every word. ‘I did so enjoy the weeks we spent together last year. Our time amongst the flower beds was delightful and you, um, sowed your seeds so well.’
Charlie snorted whilst Nick raised one eyebrow. I held his hand just a bit longer than Lady C would have deemed decent. His shake was firm, and his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to laugh. Nick was going to be a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the Croxleys.
With a smile, I turned to Charlie. Drama was like my worst subject at school and I just hoped my aristocratic character came across as believable. Although a small part of me irrationally hoped to be found out, cos Jean, Nick and Kathleen seemed lovely. If only they could know the truth – but that was never going to happen. Truth, honour and loyalty were obviously important to the
traditional Croxleys… I couldn’t ever imagine the old Earl being in on my secret and agreeing to fool the nation – not even to save his mansion.
‘Looks like Abigail has very fond memories of the gardens,’ said Charlie with a wink at the camera.
Lord Edward glared at me and rubbed the palm of his hand against the back of his neck.
‘And, with that, folks,’ said Charlie to the camera, ‘may I announce the start of the final. Two weeks from today I shall proudly announce the winner of Million Dollar Mansion. You’ve now met the cast from both here and Marwick Castle. So ready, steady go! Let the battle begin!’
He stood grinning at the camera for several seconds before Gaynor gave him the thumbs-up.
‘That’s a wrap, darlings,’ she said and lit a fag.
Charlie turned to me. ‘Good on ya, Abbey, you’re a natural in front of the camera. Once you’re settled, Bob, the sound operator will fit you up with a lapel mic.’ He turned to Edward. ‘See you at one then, Lord Edward, for your special announcement. I believe we’ll be filming it in the orchards. You and your cousin have just got time to stretch your legs.’
Charlie bowed and headed for Gaynor, taking a notebook out of his pocket. The staff had already gone back indoors. I glanced at Edward.
‘Um…pleasant enough man,’ I said and jerked my head towards Charlie, hands feeling clammy.
Edward scowled. ‘Don’t be naïve, cousin. These media types are only after one thing —a cheap story. Watch what you say to them. Now, come, we’ll walk to the pond. There’s a bench in the shade. I shall fill you in on today’s schedule. And it’s not Teddy. Nor Ted.’
‘So what should I call you?’
‘Edward is my name, Abigail.’
‘As you wish, but please – call me Abbey.’
I followed him down the path to the main drive and we headed across the lawns. Hands in pockets, he sauntered towards the pond.
‘Amaaazin’,’ I murmured, taking in my surroundings. ‘ggg,’ I added, hoping the end of the word didn’t arrive too late.
‘Landscaping costs a fortune nowadays,’ said Edward. ‘Jean was quite a find.’
We skirted the pond and headed for a bench.
‘And how long has Nick been in your employment?’ I asked. Ooh, listen to me, all formal. I was kind of getting the hang of talking posh, remembering everything Lady C had told me and trying to speak just like Abbey did.
Edward gave me a stare, as if to say: why so interested?
‘Don’t we all need to get our stories straight?’ I stuttered. Looked like he might already suspect something was afoot between me and Nick – I wanted the public to do that, not disapproving Teddy.
Quick. Change the subject. ‘Goodness, it’s hot.’ Without thinking, I kicked off my KMid shoes and headed towards a patch of bulrushes. I dipped a toe in the water, which was so clear it looked good enough to drink. A few small fish darted among the reeds. I plunged in the rest of my foot and squidged the sand on the bottom between my toes, just like I used to when me and Dad went fishing for tiddlers.
Ahhhh—bliss. Perhaps this would stop me feeling as if the midday sun was frazzling my brain. Lady C had offered me her sunhat, but per-lease. Wide-rimmed? Floral? Nothing was going to get me into that. Although perhaps I should have protected my grey cells, cos, aargh! What was I thinking? A lady would never complain about how she was feeling, let alone strip off and paddle in front of someone she didn’t know well. In fact, Abbey once had toothache for a whole weekend without telling me. Stoical…that was the word Lady C mentioned. Brave face. Stiff upper lip and all that.
Quickly, I headed back to the bench and slipped on my shoes. The tall grasses hid us from the TV people hovering outside Applebridge Hall. I sat down. Edward gazed at me, a strange expression on his face.
‘Apologies,’ I muttered. ‘I think the sun has gone to my head.’
‘Don’t stop paddling on my account,’ he said, arms folded, the flicker of a smile on his lips.
‘So, about this Nick…’ I said, ignoring his comment.
‘Only just joined us,’ replied Edward. ‘As you know, Father and I have had to run the estate on a tight budget and only employed a gardening assistant for Jean temporarily, to spruce up the old place for the show. He’s a bit young. Lacks experience, but he’s all we could get at short notice.’
I bit my thumbnail – oops, better drop that unladylike habit—and admired the scenery while we sat in silence. ‘Do you think the Baron is in with a good chance?’ I said eventually.
Edward frowned. ‘Half glass full, Abbey. We have to believe we can win. One mustn’t let the ancestors down. That’s why I’m doing everything I can – like the blog. Whatever it takes…’ His shoulders sagged and he stared across the pond, all of a sudden looking older than the Earl. I wanted to hug him. No… random thought. I mean, he really wasn’t my type.
‘I’d better watch how I behave if you’re writing this online diary,’ I said and smiled.
‘Only if you are worried what people think about you. But yes, I will be doing my best to give a truthful account of what’s going on. People may not like my honesty, but I think it’s only fair to our supporters to tell it how it is.’
I tried to imagine his position. His home, his whole way of life was at stake. If the Croxleys lost this competition – everything he knew, everything he believed in would disappear.
‘I’m sure you won’t let anyone down,’ I murmured.
Another of those piercing gazes. ‘It’s…jolly good to have you here, Cousin.’ Then the brief glimpse of someone actually human disappeared and his voice hardened. ‘It doesn’t help anyone to get sentimental, though. We have our heritage to protect. Responsibilities to fulfil. Starting with an on-camera dinner at seven. Family friends are joining us – Viscount Hamilton-Brown, his wife and their daughter. Kathleen suggested Nick help her serve the food, for the cameras. We found tailcoats and a butler’s jacket in the attic that he can wear. It’s formal dress tonight.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘“Larger-than-life” seems to be Gaynor’s motto. I believe Mr Thompson shot some rabbits yesterday and, of course, dessert will include apples from the estate.’ He cleared his throat and stood up. ‘To the orchards. Father and the cameras will be waiting.’
I got to my feet. ‘Can you let me in on the secret announcement?’
‘Haven’t I already explained everything to your father?’ He shook his head and strode off.
My mouth fell open. Almost tripping over clumps of grass, I caught him up.
‘Hey!’
He stopped and turned around, a bemused look on his face. Oh, dear. I’d raised my voice.
‘Um, I mean…’ I grabbed some long grass. ‘Hay… this will make excellent hay… And, talking of rabbits, did you know eating hay prevents them from getting fur balls in their stomach? I, um, watch a lot of nature programmes.’
The top button of Edward’s shirt had pinged open and I wondered how smooth his chest would feel if I slipped a finger through the gap. With a sigh, I realized I’d have to try a lot harder to get into character.
‘Remember, cousin, I’m here to help,’ I said, more softly. ‘If we are to carry on this pretence that the family is close, despite the Earl having banished Daddy from the estate and…’
‘Whoa! Is that what your father told you?’ His face screwed up into a frown.
‘Um, not exactly,’ I said sheepishly.
‘Then you should keep your misguided opinions to yourself.’
‘But, wait a minute… Edward… The fact is, we haven’t seen each other since I was nine. I demand that you keep me informed – Daddy… Daddy’s been very busy lately and probably just forgot to tell me about your plans. Remember, I’m here to do you a favour. Applebridge Hall has little to do with my life. This charade is for your benefit alone.’ Oops. I hadn’t meant to sound that harsh.
His mouth twitched. Was he bemused? Appalled? Spoilt and too used to having his own way?
‘Your father’s
company, Croxley Catering, trades off our family name, doesn’t it?’ he finally muttered. ‘All things considered, helping us is the least you can do.’
Touché. Still, Edward could have shown a little gratitude if we were to get on well over the next two weeks.
‘Anyway,’ he said, a muscle in his cheek twitching, ‘I tried to keep in touch with you, years ago – sent you and Rupert gifts. Yet I never received a reply.’
‘Daddy wouldn’t let us see them – said we were too young to understand the estrangement.’ Thank God Lady C had told me about that.
Edward’s brow smoothed out for a minute. ‘Really? I mean…’ His voice kind of wavered. ‘You would have been interested in receiving them?’
I nodded. Abbey had often said what a pity it was she hardly knew Edward or the Earl – growing up, she wished they’d sometimes met up. ‘I never forgot about my cousin Edward,’ I said. ‘And Rupe would have fitted right in here. He’s studying history of art and dreams of working for the National Trust one day.’
The strangest look crossed Edward’s face and then his brow once again furrowed.
‘Let’s get going; we’ll be late,’ he muttered and headed off. Jeez! He was the one who needed a crash course in politeness. I wondered if there was a male noble’s version of PMT. The best way to get through the next fortnight was probably going to be to avoid Edward at all costs.
His stupid announcement could wait a few minutes. I’d find myself a welcome drink. No doubt Kathleen had a jug of homemade lemonade or some country punch. However, Lord Edward had other plans.
‘This way, old girl,’ he called after me as I veered towards Applebridge Hall. ‘Do keep up.’
Cheek! He’d call me to ‘heel’ next.
Wiping perspiration from my forehead, I decided to follow him. No point causing upset on the first day of my stay. The lawns soon gave way to a path lined by brambles and nettles, as we left the overgrown area to the more orderly rows of apple trees. Out of nowhere, Roxy appeared by my side and Charlie, Gaynor and the camera crew came into view. They were set up, halfway down one row. Roxy stopped me for a moment and, before I knew it, had fitted a mic onto the collar of my blouse, threaded the wire underneath and clipped the battery pack onto the belt of my skirt.
Doubting Abbey Page 4