‘No, thanks.’ He yawned.
‘Oh… Sorry, Edward, I should have thought—you must be knackered. Not everyone’s a nightbird like me.’
Inside, I felt as if a balloon had just been popped and deflated down to a shred of plastic. If I’d been sophisticated Henrietta, I bet he’d have jumped at the chance to spend a night together in the library, arranging the evacuee lunch. ‘I’ll go back to Abbey’s room and crash out for a couple of hours.’
‘No, don’t… Come with me, Gemma, up to the forest at the top of the hill. The fencing behind it keeps getting broken. Mr Thompson suspects the usual vandals or perhaps fans of the show. I said I’d check it out – which would be less, erm, fun, on my own.’
Yay! He enjoys my company, after all! I stood up and, still arm in arm, we headed around to the back of the house, chatting about all sorts of stuff. He attended private school, I went to a comprehensive. Edward learnt Latin and enjoyed a study trip to China. I took a BTEC in hospitality and visited Alton Towers. I described my job at Pizza Parlour. Edward confessed that he’d never eaten so much as one Margherita. As for ordering delivery pizza by phone, he just didn’t get the concept.
When was the last time I’d had a conversation with a man that didn’t revolve around asking if I’d like a cider or beer? Yet, what was I doing? I shouldn’t eke this evening out; tomorrow was a huuuuge day, as far as organizing the reunion was concerned. Lots to do, plus an early start after a night of washing out hair dye and dawn was already on its way…
Reluctantly, I let go, dragging my feet behind him. I caught up, just as Edward reached the cemetery, pretending I’d just received a text.
‘My brother’s finishing early,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to go to the gates in twenty minutes.’
‘Oh.’ He stopped still and gazed at me through the moonlight, shadows under his eyes suddenly pronounced.
‘But I’ve still got time for a quick look at that fence,’ I said brightly and linked arms with him again as tree roots and stones made walking through the forest bonkers in my stilettos. Finally, we reached the fencing at the back and, sure enough, there was a gaping hole, surrounded by fag butts and beer bottles.
‘Mr Thompson hates litter,’ said Edward. ‘By the look of it, this is just kids messing about. One summer we found a couple of tents here. Another year they built a tree house.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re only enjoying themselves. You know, Mr Thompson used to play hide and seek with me in these woods when I was a lad. Great tracking skills, that man. He always found me.’ He sighed. ‘Who’d have thought one day I’d be having words with him for doing what he does best?’
‘What, stalking innocent people and taking a pop?’
He half-smiled. ‘Mr Thompson would do anything to protect this estate.’
Just like Edward.
Suddenly I longed to rub my cheek against his tousled honey curls. And, as if on cue, here was one of my adrenaline rushes—I had to do something about that little boy lost look on his face, which for a split second said ‘If only I was ten again’.
‘Tig!’ I said and smacked him on the chest, before running as fast as I could amongst the trees. ‘Catch me if you caaaannn.’
‘For God’s sake, Gemma,’ he called after me, ‘you’ll trip over again.’
‘Come on,’ I yelled back and dodged behind a tree, my knee feeling fine now and the blister forgotten. Chest heaving, I stood statue-still. Footsteps came and nearby twigs snapped. I held my breath.
‘If you insist!’ said a familiar voice and a hand came around from behind the tree.
‘Aarghh!’ I screamed, yet felt all tingly as he tickled my neck.
I dodged around to the other side of the trunk. Edward chuckled and looked back to make sure I was following him as he ran. Faster I sprinted, to the left and then to the right, around trees, skirting bushes, jumping over tree roots, praying Edward would stick to the moonlit areas so that I didn’t tumble over a boulder and land in a pile of mud.
I ran into a clearing and stopped still, chest heaving up and down, wishing now that I wasn’t wearing the mega thick, sauna-hot coat. Edward had disappeared. I turned my head. What a giveaway! Someone sneezed from the left. I tiptoed across a grassy area and peered over a large bush.
‘This is too easy. Tig!’ I said and ruffled his hair.
He roared and with a scream I ran back the way I’d come. Laughing, I could hardly breathe and lost my way. Where on earth was I now? Heading for the broken fencing or towards the cemetery at the front? I lay flat on the ground behind some tall grass.
‘Aarggh!’ I screamed as someone grabbed me under the arms. I turned and glared at Edward. ‘You scared me!’ I shouted and jumped up.
‘Your…face,’ he stuttered and wiped away tears from his eyes.
I giggled. ‘Beautiful as ever, I hope, even if mega surprised.’
He stopped laughing and stared at me, his familiar serious expression back in place. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Don’t ever change, Gemma. Never alter who you are.’
Before I knew it, his arms had slipped behind my back and pulled me towards his chest. Like popping candy, teeny-tiny tingly feelings burst in my stomach. On tiptoe, I wrapped my arms around his neck and instantly forgot about the competition and why I was here… Eyes closed tight, heart beating in nanoseconds, I lost myself against his tender lips.
‘Edward…’ I mumbled eventually. ‘Gotta go…’ Gotta breathe… Gotta get my head around this.
Lord Edward Croxley and me kissing? It was mad. Mental. Totally random. How could that irritating, uncommunicative, unreadable, mega frustrating man be the one for me?
He stood back, eyes crinkled at the corners, then grabbed my hands and squeezed them almost tighter than I could bear.
‘Come back, again, Gem,’ he murmured. ‘Tomorrow. Do me the great honour of meeting me by the pond at midnight.’
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Friday 7th September
‘Comments’
3.30a.m. In case any of you are insomniacs and still awake, just a word of reassurance – the gunshot, fired in defence of the estate, was into the sky and hurt no one.
I can hardly breathe or think due to… How did…? Yet she’s so… Erm, do ignore me—I’m incoherent, due to fatigue.
Goodnight. Sleep well, friends! I’ve a feeling this is going to be a damn decent day!
Chapter 21
Bed at four. Up at six. Wash hair once. Relive that kiss. Consult Mrs Raynor’s list. Choose which evacuees to ring first. Wash hair again. Remember the feel of my lips on his. Make some excuse not to go to breakfast. Picture Edward laughing so hard in the forest he couldn’t speak. Wish I could once again feel his arms hold me tight. Wash hair once more. Explain to Lady C that I had, um, slept badly, and would lunch in my room. Recall popping candy feeling in stomach. After a few more washes, finally dry hair…
How typical it was that the one morning of my life I would have liked to moon around dreaming of romance I had a mega long list of stuff to complete. There’d been no time, last night, to make sense of what had happened with Edward. Having waited for what seemed like ages outside, until I thought he’d hit the sack, I’d gone inside in a state of shock. On automatic, I’d crept into my bedroom and plugged in the laptop which I’d found in the Parlour. Edward must have left it there, after he finally went to bed.
Logged in, I first read Edward’s blog and felt all warm and fuzzy inside at the nice things he said about his cousin (that’s me!). Then I scooted over to Facebook and nearly collapsed! There were over four hundred – four hundred!—comments about the Dirty Dancing scene. An argument had broken out over whether the intruders were Nick and me. At the moment the majority decided that there’s no way an aristocrat would live out some fantasy of skinny-dipping with Patrick Swayze.
Now the only problem was to maintain that momentum with – brainwave, or what? – a competition! Before going to bed, I set out t
he details on-line. Now, several hours later, having just got dressed into cotton trousers and a beige top, I sat on the bed, picked up the laptop and logged in again to see the reaction.
Wow. There were already one hundred replies and nearly two thousand ‘Likes’. Under my Facebook name of Eleanor Goodwin, this was what I’d written:
Hey everyone! Seeing as some of us are convinced that the mystery couple is really Miss Abigail Croxley and Nick, let’s make Million Dollar Mansion interactive as they might read this page. Obviously, their kicks come from re-enacting famous romantic movie clips. So let’s get this Showmance on the road and vote for the scene us viewers want next. Choose from the following three:
Ghost – the scene at the potter’s wheel, where Patrick Swayze sits behind Demi Moore and helps her mould the clay.
Bridget Jones when she runs out in the snow in her underwear to find Colin Firth. (it’s not winter, yet, but I’m sure Abigail Croxley could improvise).
Or, finally, just a good old-fashioned snog like Rhett Butler and Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind.
Let’s see if Nick and Miss Croxley take up our challenge and re-create the film of our choice.
I swallowed. In daylight, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. If they chose Bridget Jones, it would be hard to explain Abbey running around outside in her birthday suit. I scanned down the votes and let out a sigh of relief. The clay-turning scene from Ghost was winning hands-down. Someone rapped on my door and I wiped my mouth, having just eaten a ham sandwich that Kathleen had kindly brought in. It was two o’clock and, even though I’d been madly ringing evacuees for a while, it was time to officially resurface.
‘Enter,’ I said and readjusted the pillows, behind my back. Edward came in.
‘Are you all right, Cousin?’ His eyes sparkled and there was an uncharacteristically cheerful ring to his voice.
‘I, um, didn’t sleep well.’ Earnestly, I inspected my nails, having quickly revarnished them so that Lady C wouldn’t think my standards were slipping.
‘It’s a good thing we cancelled the cookery lessons today as we’ve so much to prepare for the reunion tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Have you worked your way through your half of Mrs Raynor’s list? May I?’
I nodded as he sat down at the end of the bed. Glad to avoid his eye in case I winked or lunged forward for an awesome snog, I picked up a piece of paper from my bedside table.
‘So, Cousin, have you contacted your half?’ I said. It seemed stranger than ever now, putting on my posh accent with him. It felt worse, as if the deception ran deeper than before. I had everything crossed that if the charade ever came out he’d understand. ‘I’ve had a certain degree of success,’ I continued. ‘Four people can definitely attend. One wasn’t sure as his arthritis is bad. Another politely declined and one poor chap had recently died. Two others were wrong numbers and one didn’t answer.’
‘Jolly good work,’ said Edward with a broad smile. ‘Father is delighted as I rang Jonny Jackson and he’s game to come on the show. Two others are definites. Two more had other engagements they couldn’t cancel.’
I scribbled on a piece of paper.
‘Right, so that’s three acceptances from your list,’ I said, ‘four from mine, then Bill Cochrane, Linda Sloggit, Cynthia and Bertie Williams and Mrs Raynor… Oh, yes, and guess what? Gerry Green got back to me and was very keen to accept the invitation. So that’s thirteen guests… I also struck lucky with one of the names on that school register you found. One man set up his own bathroom fitting company and it is still run under his name, a Norman Barker…’
‘The one who left that diary?’ said Edward.
‘Yes. He lives in Wales now, but is actually on holiday not far from here. Every September, he stays at his nephew’s caravan park once the school holidays are over. Mr Barker said he’d be thrilled to attend.’
‘So that’s fourteen in total,’ said Edward and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Scratches covered his arms. Tig in a forest at night clearly had hidden dangers. I pointed at them.
‘What on earth happened?’ I suppressed a smile.
Edward looked sheepishly at his arms.
Oh, dear. I was forgetting myself and shouldn’t have mentioned something so personal —unless he was embarrassed about the kiss last night. Was he looking at me, dressed as sophisticated Abbey, and wondering whether he had lost his senses, snogging an unemployed waitress?
‘Apologies, Edward – that was rude of me to ask.’
‘It’s okay, Cousin,’ he said. ‘I was just checking on the fencing in the forest last night. An enormous amount of prickly bushes grow there.’ He stood up. ‘By the way, to appease Gaynor as we cancelled today’s cookery school, Father and I hoped you could show off your skills to the nation once more and rustle up dinner for guests tonight. The Hamilton-Browns are visiting again so, with your aunt, there’ll be seven of us.’
‘Oh, um, of course, it’s just…’
‘Problem?’
‘Aren’t we setting up the Drake Diner tonight, for the reunion – you know, with the display of old documents and toys?’
‘We’ve got all morning tomorrow, until twelve. Plus I had a word with Jean and she’ll pick and arrange flowers.’
I glanced at my watch. ‘Right. Lots to do. I’d better get cracking.’
We walked downstairs together, me wishing our fingers were intertwined.
‘Until later then, Edward,’ I said.
He grunted and headed outside. I made my way to the kitchen.
‘Kathleen!’ I groaned and flung my arms around her. ‘Help me think up an amazin’ menu and please cook it for the Hamilton-Browns tonight. I’ll be your bezzie mate for ever!’
Kathleen unwrapped my arms, stepped back and looked over my shoulder. I turned around. Lady C stood behind me, in the back doorway.
‘Oh, Aunt… How lovely to see you. Kathleen was, um, upset about something. I was just offering my sympathies.’
Lady C’s mouth upturned.
‘Och, Gemma. No need to pretend,’ said Kathleen. ‘Lady Constance soon worked out that I was in on your secret.’
Lady C walked over to the table and sat down. I joined her. Kathleen smoothed down her apron.
‘Soz I didn’t tell you – it was just in case you worried.’ I smiled nervously at Lady C. ‘But, after that first cookery class, I really needed some support and Kathleen’s been mega.’
Lady C nodded. ‘It’s been a very sensible decision. Kathleen and I got to know each other better whilst researching this Woolton pie for tomorrow. I’m sure the three of us will make a very good team.’
‘You’re a brave lassie, young Gemma,’ said Kathleen. ‘Lady Constance and I agree on that. So we’ll both do our best to help you with anything, until the show ends.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Although Abigail’s aunt told me about your madcap plan with Nick, which explains a lot—but I don’t trust him. You need to watch your back.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right…’ I said, trying to play things down. And I was dying to tell them both about my eye-opening trip to Marwick Castle, but fearing what might happen if Lady C had an unknown heart condition.
‘As for tonight’s dinner,’ said Lady C, ‘James mentioned it to me this morning and…’
‘Ooh, James,’ I said without thinking. Her cheeks tinged pink, while Kathleen and I giggled.
‘The Earl is a lovely gentleman,’ said Lady C and tucked a loose strand of grey hair behind her ear. ‘His ornithological knowledge is impressive.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly put a bounce in his step, m’lady,’ said Kathleen. ‘This morning he sang like a bird whilst taking a shower.’
I giggled again and Lady C folded her arms.
‘Please may we get back to the subject in hand— tonight’s dinner? Unless you can manage it by yourself, Gemma…’
‘No… No… Please – I won’t interrupt again.’ I grinned.
And I didn’t – not while she’d described the cold buffet supper sh
e and Kathleen would secretly prepare on my behalf. Lady C said that the weather was still warm so a dinner like that would be ‘perfectly acceptable’. I would set it up inside and we’d all eat on the patio.
So while those dear ladies chopped and mixed and baked their way through the afternoon, while humming to Kathleen’s favourite Elvis CD, I finalised details with Gaynor about pick-up details for tomorrow’s guests. Then, eventually, I went back to my bedroom and made some last minute phone calls, like double-checking that Bill Cochrane could still pick up old Mrs Raynor tomorrow. Then there was just time for a quick bath and change before the Hamilton-Browns arrived at six-thirty.
I wore a knee-length navy blue sleeveless dress with classy sequins lining the round neck. My hair brushed up into a bun and pearls in place, I really felt the part.
‘Good evening, Abigail,’ said the Earl, as I walked into the Drake Diner. He and Lady C were admiring the cold supper.
‘Damn good effort you’ve put in,’ said the Earl. ‘Those slices of ham and beef look very appetising. And is that a mackerel and tomato tart? How did you know that was my favourite?’
Modestly, I shrugged. Good old Kathleen. Mmm, the cheeses and pâté looked tasty. As did the bowlfuls of salad and what looked like homemade coleslaw.
‘I, um, made the bread myself, of course,’ I said and pointed to a seeded brown uncut loaf.
‘My niece is an excellent baker,’ said Lady C and gave me a small smile.
I small-smiled back, knowing she found the lying as difficult as me – especially to her new friend, James. With a yawn (hand over mouth, of course), I suddenly felt tired, what with the late nights and strain of keeping up my daytime pretence. It was a good thing ladies wore make-up as, without it, at the moment I had deep rings under my eyes and new lines on my forehead.
‘Is that your famous, erm, homemade trout pâté?’ she asked.
‘Um, yes.’ We exchanged glances. At least now I knew what I was supposed to have cooked. But trout? Ick. Just give me a jar of supermarket sandwich paste any day of the week. I gazed at an amazin’ fruit pavlova with shortbread on the side.
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