‘Cheers!’ I said to the barman and handed over a ten pound note. What a bloomin’ relief not to have to say ‘Thank you so much’. In fact, now I was the real me again, everything – eating, drinking, talking – went at a much quicker pace.
I approached a table occupied by some old fogey and his pint. It was the only seat left. A couple of weeks ago, there’s no way I’d have shared a table with a stranger old enough to be my granddad. But, since I’d been trained by Lady C, something weird had happened. Politeness had made me more…open-minded and aware of other people’s needs. Perhaps he was just a lonely old gent instead of a potentially creepy pervert. I gave a tentative smile and asked if it was okay to sit down, hoping once again that I would be unrecognizable from the posh gal on the local reality show.
‘Certainly, miss,’ he said and stared at me for a long moment while my stomach went into knots. Perhaps I hadn’t put enough bronzer on to disguise my, um, aristocratic disguise… Urgh, this was becoming mega confusing! Folds of skin hung over his eyes and, from those mega wrinkles, I could tell he clearly loved a fag. The old man wore a striped shirt with a cravat and smart navy trousers. ‘I’m afraid I’m staying for a while, though,’ he said eventually. ‘Or are you on your own?’
‘Yeah, it’s only me.’ My stomach relaxed. Looked like he hadn’t rumbled me. I sighed, ‘Ever felt the need just to get out?’
‘Certainly—like when the wife watches soaps back to back,’ he said, and chuckled. ‘Although I can’t complain… There’s usually a decent hot chocolate waiting for me on my return.’
I stared into my cider bottle. If only I could stay in this cosy pub for the rest of the next fortnight. No doubt, tomorrow, Edward would give me the silent treatment. Then there was the Scottish cookery class ahead of me… I gave another sigh.
‘I’m Bill,’ said the old man. ‘Bill Cochrane.’
‘Gemma Goodwin,’ I said, having to stop myself from going into Abbey mode and add on: ‘What a pleasure to meet you – hasn’t the weather been delightful today?’
‘Forgive me, Gemma,’ he said, ‘but is everything all right?’
‘Just tired, I guess. I’ve done a mega amount of cooking today.’
‘I don’t recognize you from around here.’
‘No… Um… I’m doing some work at Applebridge Hall – helping out in the kitchens and with housework.’
‘Ah, how is my old friend, Lord Croxley? What with this competition, it’s a while since he’s invited me over for a drink to discuss local farming matters.’
‘You know him?’
Bill sipped his pint. ‘We go back a long way.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘My earliest memories are from the war,’ he said. ‘Lord Croxley was only eight when it ended. I was nine. Mother used to take me up there to play with the evacuees, whilst she helped change beds and cook dinners.’ He shook his head. ‘Those kids would have loved that escapade on tonight’s show with the lawnmower. My wife spilt her cup of coffee. And, as for that disastrous cookery class…’ He guffawed. ‘That Miss Croxley seems like a bit of a loose cannon.’
If only he knew! And today, with those disastrous dishes, she’d truly fired blanks!
‘Have you kept in touch with the evacuees, Bill?’ I sat more upright.
‘No. Damn shame that I haven’t. In fact, the last time Lord Croxley and I had a brew together, he mentioned this boy called Jonny Jackson. We both had vague memories of the three of us getting lost in the maze…’ He sighed. ‘It would be great to meet up – see what he and the others made of their lives after such a tough start. There was this older girl, Linda… I remember she was great with the other kids when they missed their mums. Linda Sloggit. We kept in touch for a few years, like penfriends. I think she became a midwife in Manchester.’
Wow. My eyes widened. An amaaaazin’ idea had pinged into my head. Emotional reunions were telly gold. What if some of the old evacuees came to Applebridge Hall, having not seen each other for over fifty years? That would be awesome! Plus, could just possibly compete with the celebrity party at Marwick Castle this weekend. While Bill chatted to a nearby couple, I tugged open my handbag, rummaged around inside and found a pen.
Crap – no paper. A beer mat would do. I scribbled down the names: Bill Cochrane, Jonny Jackson and Linda Sloggit.
‘Any other memories of the evacuees, Bill?’ I said when he turned back to his pint. ‘It’s, um, fascinating hearing stories from the war.’
He leant back in his chair. ‘Odd time, Gemma, it was. Bloody awful memories, some of them, like one of the lads finding out his dad had been blown up.’
Blimey. Imagine that.
‘Another lad suffered like hell because his father got injured on purpose, to get sent home.’ Bill sipped his beer. ‘And I’ll never forget the looks on the children’s faces when I first turned up with my mum. They were dead brave, trying not to show how much they missed theirs, especially if they had younger siblings who looked to them to stay strong. But then there were good times as well. Gerry Green was an all round good egg and got the kids through it with his jokes. He even made Matron laugh – apart from when he put worms in her bed and swapped the contents of the salt and pepper shakers around.’
I grinned. This Gerry Green sounded just like my brothers.
‘Years later, I saw his name in the paper. He was trying to make a living as a stand-up comedian and had done okay on the holiday-camp circuit… And then there was Dennis Smith and the fire…’
Ah, yes. I remembered the Earl talking about him. I nodded encouragingly.
‘The morning room was burnt out—it used to be behind the library on the ground floor, at the back of the house. It was a bad do. The family lost treasured possessions – some musical instruments, including the piano and well-loved portraits. Fortunately, everything important in the library was saved, apart from a few first editions. When rebuilding, they did away with the morning room altogether. The fire caused enormous damage to the Drake Diner as well. After the war, the Croxleys put all their efforts into restoring that room – to the detriment of other projects, they later decided, like the roof.’
A bell rang. ‘Last orders, folks,’ called the barman.
I stuffed the beer mat in my handbag. Gerry Green, Jonny Jackson… I could Google these names tonight and see if they or their relatives were on Facebook. Once I’d run the idea of a reunion past the Earl and Edward, I had… Eek! Only three days to arrange everything. I’d have to lay it on thick about how important this reunion could be for Applebridge Hall. If nothing else, this whole war thing might distract everyone from me and the lawnmower.
‘Evening, Bill,’ said a man in his, ooh, early sixties. He carried a bright-eyed Jack Russell.
‘Todd. How’s the accountancy business these days?’ Bill shook his hand. ‘This is Gemma. She’s helping out at Applebridge Hall. Pull over your chair, son. Gemma, this is Todd Raynor. He works with Miss Diamond, Lord Croxley’s accountant, who—’
‘I know who she is,’ I said and tried hard not to pull a face.
Bill chuckled. ‘A tad abrupt, isn’t she?’
Todd sat in between me and Bill, the Jack Russell – unimaginatively called Jack – on his lap.
‘We were just discussing the war years,’ said Bill. ‘Your mum taught the evacuees, didn’t she?’ He turned to me. ‘Todd’s mum lives in Wisteria Cottage—you might have seen it next to the post office. She’s won awards for her gardens. Pushing ninety she is, but still as quick-witted as ever.’
Todd tickled Jack’s ears. ‘She taught them English and Maths. Several are still in touch with her, after all these years’
‘Really?’ Bill leant forward and, despite Jack’s growl, he placed a hand on Todd’s arm. ‘How come I never knew that? Is she in contact with Jonny Jackson?’
My eyes went all tingly. The memories clearly meant so much to Bill. Right—Mrs Raynor. Wisteria Cottage. I would have to visit her tomorrow and somehow convince her to give m
e her list of contacts.
Drinks finished, we said our goodbyes and I walked – okay, ran, heart racing, back to Applebridge Hall which, in the dark, looked mega spooky. Todd had offered to walk me home, but I insisted I’d be okay. I couldn’t risk Jack barking and waking everyone up.
All the lights were out and, without the familiar orange city glow, I had only the moon and the fountain’s tinkle to guide me to the front entrance. By the time I reached the end of the drive, my chest heaved and I was perspiring like one of those unfit middle-aged dads you see out running, thinking they look cool in their designer trainers.
Talking of feet, my little toes cramped in agony and I slipped out of my mega impractical high heels. A random noise caught my attention from the pond on the right— aw, a croaking frog. Hoping I wouldn’t trip over some unseen molehill or rock, I stole over to the water and sat down by the edge. I gazed around the estate, just able to pick out the forest and orchards. Even though the Indian summer temperature had dipped today, it was still warm and I had a sudden urge for a swim.
No one would know – only the little tiddlers darting around on the bottom. Stupid idea, I know, but uh oh, adrenaline rush, and, before I realized it, mega fast I’d stripped down to my bra and knickers. I pulled out my chicken fillets and slid them into my high heeled shoes. Slowly, I entered the water. Wow. Talk about refreshing.
Weed tickled my feet as I pushed forward and water rose up over my thighs, my waist, then my boobs… Mmm. This was lush, despite the smell of dirty fishtanks. I tied up my hair with my headband. The last thing I wanted was to tint the pond with red dye. A random cloud covered the moon for a moment, and for, ooh, it must have been twenty minutes, I floated. Bliss.
Urgh! Was that a rustling behind me? I jerked my head up.
‘Who’s there?’ I hissed and swam into the bulrushes. Crap!
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Tuesday 4th September
‘Comments’
11.30p.m. Just bobbed back to say that after two hours in the library in the company of Ernest Hemingway, my problems are almost back in perspective. Like one of my mother’s favourite white wines from more affluent times, I feel pleasantly chilled—nay, nearly fully revived. Enough to return to this e-diary and properly consider your many reactions to tonight’s show, which seems to have been a source of immense amusement.
Tiarablogger, if that, um, was my cousin, then I agree, perhaps she failed to learn about lawnmowers at finishing school. Jobsworth, welcome to my blog and yes, we have taken out all the insurance policies we need to. EtonMess, how, erm, supportive to say you’d eat anything Abigail cooked as long as she wore high heeled shoes. Oh, and Knityourownmansion, that was quick work: today my father received the knitted mohair pipe in the post. I’m sure he’s very grateful. Glittery pink was, erm, an inspiring colour to choose.
But… Wait a minute… What’s that? Out of the library’s side window I can see… Surely not? Excuse me, blog-readers, I must investigate – it would seem someone is bathing in our pond…
Chapter 13
Phew! The dark must have spooked me. No one was there. Still, I couldn’t enjoy my swim and after ten more minutes was about to get out, when… Oh, crap! Now I heard heavy breathing. Again, I darted into the bulrushes.
‘Who, um, is there?’ I said once more.
‘Shouldn’t I be asking who you are?’ replied a familiar voice. The silhouette of a head covered in curls came into view. ‘Trespassing is a crime,’ said Edward, and caught his breath. ‘This isn’t a municipal swimming pool.’
As if they were curtains, I pulled the bulrushes apart.
‘Isn’t it cold in there?’ he asked.
‘How long have you been perving?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ he scoffed, ever the charmer. ‘I’ve just this minute arrived – having been in the library.’
As I swam out into the open water, he sat down, next to my pile of clothes.
‘Look, um, I got lost and ended up on your estate. It was so hot and the pond looked mega inviting,’ I said. ‘Just let me get out and I’ll be gone.’
Edward stared at me through the darkness and I turned away. Thank God I’d not gone underwater as my false eyelashes and make-up would have come off. The moon shone more brightly as the cloud moved and I couldn’t resist squinting back up at him.
‘Why are you here, really?’ he asked. ‘No one just stumbles their way onto this estate.’
I bit my lip. ‘Um… Look… If you must know, I’m a fan of Million Dollar Mansion and wanted to see the place for myself.’
Edward snorted. ‘You’ve only got to read the papers to know that we’re hardly the favourite. A real fan of the show would break into Marwick Castle.’
Urgh, this was what was so attractively infuriating about my supposed cousin! He was intelligent, difficult to fool and, for a la-di-da toff, refreshingly outspoken.
‘What about, um, your fans on the blog?’ I said. ‘I bet they’d like to see the place in person.’
‘But you aren’t one of them, right?’ He stood up. ‘I’m calling the police. You’ve clearly got some agenda.’
‘No! All right… Look…I’m Gemma.’ Phew. There, I’d said it. And it was great to be honest.
He shrugged.
‘Abbey’s lodger. I saw tonight’s show and knew she’d be upset. I, um, got my brother, Tom, to drop me off on his motorbike.’ Okay, some white lies were necessary. ‘I only live forty minutes away. He’s picking me up at, er, one a.m.’
‘Gemma? My cousin has mentioned you. So, she’s still here?’ Through the shadows, his face kind of brightened and my chest glowed. Perhaps, after all, he didn’t think me as Abbey was a joke.
‘The last time we spoke, she announced her departure.’ His mouth drooped at the corners and… Oh my God. I had this sudden urge to kiss it hard! The sudden flashes of his vulnerable side were…were… My pulse raced. Hot, hot, hot!
‘Abbey’s got sticking power all right,’ I said. Although I wasn’t going to let him off the hook completely—let him stew for a while and actually think about what a tough week Abbey, in other words I, had suffered.
‘She’s mortified about the cookery lesson—and dog tired,’ I continued airily. ‘It’s been a knackering week for her. If it was me, I’d jack the whole thing in. She was falling asleep when I left, so I decided to look around.’
Edward grunted as a shiver ran down my spine.
‘Urgh! Must swim, otherwise I’ll freeze my tits off.’
His mouth upturned.
‘Why don’t you come on in?’ I said – as a joke. I mean, as if. The words spontaneous and Edward didn’t go together.
‘Are you mad?’ he replied.
‘It’s only a bit of fun.’
His shrugged. ‘According to Abbey, I don’t know what that is.’
‘Then prove her wrong.’ I splashed his trousers. Yay, this was great, not having to be on my best behaviour.
He gasped. ‘We’re not at nursery school. Look. Don’t you think you should get dry?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s already gone midnight.’
I soaked him again.
‘Now look here, young lady…’
‘Whoa!’ I said. ‘Less of the young. Who are you, my dad? Or perhaps you’re just scared of the titchy tiddlers swimming around?’
He folded his arms.
‘You’ll get just as wet standing on the bank,’ I said and hit the water with my palm, to increase the splash.
He stared at me for a moment, studying my features… I swallowed hard. Would he accept that I wasn’t the same person as his supposed mad cousin who’d sailed down a hill on a lawnmower?
Clearly, yes, because, seconds later, he pulled his shirt over his head. Mmm. Broad smooth chest… Nicely toned tum… I cleared my throat and tried to look interested in some weed floating on the pond’s surface, dying to look again as the thumpety-thump of my heart sped up. It was like that famous Pride and Prejudice scene played backwards, h
im walking into the water. Phew! Get a grip, Gemma.
‘It’s a good twenty years since I’ve swum in here,’ he said, head now bobbing next to mine. His eyes narrowed. ‘Cousin Abbey was right.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘She said people think you two look alike…’ He squinted in the dark. ‘There’s a definite similarity.’ With that, he swam to the other side.
Phew. So far so good – ta very much, dim moonlight. He came back my way and gave a big splash.
‘Think I owe you that,’ he said.
‘I stuck out my tongue and we floated in silence for a moment.
‘It’s awesome here,’ I said softly, as an owl hooted from the forest. ‘All this space… green…quiet…’
Edward continued floating on his back.
‘Did you hear me?’ I asked.
By way of an answer, he lurched and grabbed my leg.
‘Aarghh! What are you doing?’ I said, in between gasps of laughter.
‘That got you. Who’s scared now?’
With a giggle, I pulled away and crawled out onto the bank, goose bumps pricking up on my skin – my cue to try and act sensible and get dressed again. About to ask him to avert his eyes, I noticed that he’d already turned away. Quickly I stuffed my chicken fillets into my bra, pulled on my skirt and top and picked up my bag and high heels.
‘Beat you to the top of the hill behind the house, by those gravestones,’ I said.
‘That’s one long run,’ he said. ‘And I need to get my clothes on first.’
‘My legs are shorter than yours. It’s only fair that I have a few seconds’ advantage. Come on! It’ll be a mega way to get dry.’
I started running, past Applebridge Hall and the vegetable garden at the back. By the time I reached the maze I was exhausted, but God, this was good. I felt as free as one of those birds the Earl spied on through binoculars, even though my thighs killed as the hill got steeper.
Doubting Abbey Page 14