by Gil McNeil
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes.
“Poor Ernest came to a sad end, dies penniless far too young, booze got him, just shows you’ve got to be careful, important not to overdo it.”
He pauses to smile at everyone again. Ivy and I are holding hands now, both of us willing him not to start listing his top ten cocktails.
“But for those of us who are lucky enough to make it to a grand old age, it does all turn into something of a mist on occasions like this. And yet there are moments of such perfect beauty and clarity, they quite simply they take your breath away. I’ve always found that this garden is a good place for that. As usual Wordsworth says it far better than I could ever manage:
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose,
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath pass’d away a glory from the earth.
“And that’s what she was, my darling Helena—a true glory of the earth, and her roses are a fitting testament to that. So here’s to Helena, and her glorious garden, and to days of wine and roses.”
A few people are sniffling now, including me, and there’s a small silence before people start to applaud, and Bertie goes very pink—bless him. Even the president seems moved, and shakes Bertie’s hand so vigorously it looks like they both might fall down the steps, until Dennis intervenes.
Ivy pats my hand.
“Wasn’t that lovely? He’s as soft as butter underneath all that bluster, always has been.”
“Lovely.”
“Look at my Dennis—doesn’t he look smart.”
“He does Ivy.”
“Pleased as punch he is.”
“And so he should be.”
“Well this won’t get the tea urn filled.”
“No.”
“Lovely though. I’m glad I didn’t miss that. I just wish she could have seen it—she’d have been tickled pink.”
“Ivy, please don’t, or we’ll both be in floods.”
“That’s true enough, and Dennis would probably join us, and Miss Celia’s not far off either, or Lady Bobby. Bound to be a bit emotional on a day like this I suppose.”
“Yes. Oh, hang on, I think Bertie’s waving at us.”
“He’ll want to fire that silly cannon, you mark my words. Still, on a day like today it almost seems fitting doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does Ivy.”
“Be nice if they could change out of their best things first.”
“I’ll see what I can do Ivy, but I’m not promising.”
I’m helping Mum and Ivy serve a last few cups of tea and start tidying up, when Dad arrives, looking cross. Here we go again. He’s made it pretty clear he’s not keen on Mum spending so much time at Harrington, but I know she enjoys it, and she’s been so much happier over the past few months, I wish she’d just tell him to get over it. But then I did the same thing with Pete, going along with things to avoid a scene. I was thinking about it the other day, and even though Pete was the opposite of Dad when we first met, gradually he sort of ended up being the same. There was less shouting of course, but he was just as pompous and domineering. Although to be fair Dad hasn’t had an affair with his secretary. God knows who would be mad enough to have an affair with Dad, but I bet they wouldn’t even own a pair of trousers.
“There you are Marjorie—aren’t you ready yet?”
“I did say six o’clock, didn’t I? It can’t be six already, surely?”
“It’s a quarter past five Mum. Why are you so early Dad?”
“I’ve got a round of golf booked. I can’t be hanging around waiting for your mother to be finished mucking about with cakes.”
“I’ll drive her back Dad. There’s no need for you to wait if you’re busy.”
I still don’t know why he had to book her car in for a service on Friday, when he knew she was here this weekend; it’s almost like he did it on purpose. But rather miraculously Mum seems a bit irritated.
“Or you could collect me after you golf dear, and save Molly the journey. She’s been working so hard today, so I think that would be best. Shall we say half past seven? Later is fine—there’ll be plenty to do here with all the tidying up. I think I’d better just nip back to the house and get the last of those scones.”
Crikey. Dad looks even more surprised than I am.
“But…”
“I’ll see you later dear.”
I’m clenching my hands to stop myself from clapping as Dad stamps off back down the lane.
“See you later Dad.”
Mum winks at me.
Harrington is definitely working its magic again.
I’m collecting up teacups in the gardens when I notice Celia sitting on the seat in the rose garden talking to a young man.
“Molly, this is Edward, my nephew, or is it great-nephew? My sister’s daughter’s boy—ghastly snobs both of them, probably shouldn’t say it, but they are. Edward, stay here and make sure Jasper doesn’t escape and try to round up those chickens, or he’ll get pecked again. Molly, shall we make some tea? I think Edward could do with a cup.”
He stands up.
“I wouldn’t want to be a bother Aunt Celia, really, I just wanted your advice. A cup of tea would be lovely, and then I’ll head back to town, honestly.”
He’s got the kind of accent and impeccable manners you only get from years of expensive schools. He’d probably be completely relaxed in a top hat and tails.
“Of course you’re not a bother my boy. What are dotty old relations for if not to offer a port in a storm?”
He smiles, and sits back down, clicking his fingers so Jasper jumps up into his lap to be stroked as we walk back to the house.
Ivy has finished stacking cups in the dishwasher and is heading back towards the stables with the tray.
“Could you hang on for a moment Ivy? I’d like your views on this too. Frightful mess.”
“What’s he done now? I told him not to take Betty outside, but you know what he’s like, said he didn’t want her to miss out on all the fun. Honestly, he’s a caution, he really is.”
“Nothing to do with Bertie, no, this is my nephew, Edward. Poor boy has been working in the City in some ghastly job his father lined up for him—not what he wanted to do of course, he’s very musical, always has been. But everything has come to somewhat of a crisis. They offered him a promotion, but he decided he’d had enough and resigned. Apparently he had so much holiday due he left the same day—they all work ridiculous hours. He’s well rid of the place if you ask me. But it caused the most almighty stink with his parents apparently. They’re beyond furious, and the tricky thing is he was living in the basement of their house, he’s been trying to save up and get somewhere of his own of course, but he couldn’t afford it, and now they’ve thrown him out. I ask you, how petty can you get? So now the poor boy is homeless, with no job to speak of. Bit of a pickle all round.”
Ivy is agog.
“They just threw him out on the street? Their own flesh and blood, that’s terrible.”
“Quite. My sister has always been the nasty type, could see it ever since she was a girl. Never happy unless she was making someone else miserable—I’m sure you know the type. And he really is talented at the musical thing, always has been, plays the piano beautifully, and the guitar. He’s had bookings, in local pubs, that kind of thing, but he’s never been able to devote himself to it properly. So now the poor boy needs somewhere to stay and since I’m between houses at the moment I was hoping, if you’d agree, that I could book him in for a few weeks as a PG? I’d be happy to cover the costs now the sale of the house has gone through. I do know it will make mo
re work for both of you, but I would very much like to help him if I can?”
“Well it’s not my place to say of course, but I’m sure we could sort something out, since it’s an emergency. You wouldn’t credit it, throwing him out onto the street like that. I never heard anything like it. If we get busy with B-and-B people at weekends we could always fix up one of the rooms in the attic at a push, couldn’t we Miss Molly? Now it’s not so chilly at nights, there’s that mattress up there already, nearly new that is. And we’ve got all the lovely new sheets you bought, more than enough to make up another bed. I’ll put the kettle on shall I, and then you can take this tray out, and we’ll sort out a room for him?”
Celia kisses her on the cheek, which seems to take them both by surprise.
“Bless you both. It will mean so much to him, a safe haven while he gathers his thoughts. I can’t thank you enough, if you’re sure?”
She’s looking at me now.
“Of course Celia. The only problem I can see is Dan. He’s wanted to move into the attic ever since we arrived. We might need to make up two rooms Ivy, or we’ll have to listen to him moaning on about it, and I did promise I’d get round to it eventually.”
Ivy smiles.
“We better sort out two rooms then.”
“Oh dear, I really didn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble Celia. We’ve been meaning to make a start cleaning up there. I’ll make up the single for now, and we’ll sort out the attic during the week.”
Ivy nods.
“Is he hungry do you think? I bet he is, I’ll make him a sandwich. Does he like ham, or would he prefer cheese? I’ve got some lovely tomatoes fresh picked today. Or I could make him up a bit of a salad. I’ve got a ham-and-egg pie in the larder—would he like a slice of that do you think?”
I leave them discussing whether Edward does or does not like tomatoes as I head upstairs. I’d better check on the towels in the bathroom too. Bugger, this isn’t exactly what I was hoping for at the end of a long day. I might have a quiet moment in the linen cupboard; actually, I might just stop in there, see how long it takes before someone comes to find me, hopefully with a large gin and tonic. I’m halfway up the stairs when the unmistakable sound of the warning whistle tells me Bertie is about to start cannoning again.
Double bugger.
CHAPTER SIX
Sex, Drugs, and
Bacon Rolls
July
Gallica Roses
Thought to be the oldest of all garden roses, Gallicas form dense shrubs in strong pinks and purples, and are often used in potpourri, since their rich fragrance gets stronger as the petals are dried. Notable varieties include Rosa Mundi, with spectacular blush-pink flowers mottled with fuchsia-pink, and a spicy-rich fragrance; Empress Josephine, with tissue-paper-thin ruffled pink-veined petals; and Belle de Crécy, a pink-and-mauve rose fading to a soft violet and lavender with a rich, spicy fragrance.
It’s Wednesday morning, and we’re late arriving at school.
“Morning Molly, you look knackered.”
“Thanks Sal. It’s all Roger’s fault.”
“What’s he done now?”
“Alfie, here, take your bag love. The bell will be going in a minute. We had the Now I Am Captain drinks at the stupid golf club last night, with so many toasts and speeches he could hardly stand up by the end.”
“What a treat.”
“Oh yes, it was great, with Georgina wittering on about all the amazing activities she’s got lined up for Henry and Alicia during the summer holidays: she’s packing them off on a sailing course, and some art thing where they’re dragged round Italy looking at statues, and then a really horrible-sounding Outward Bound thing in Wales. I told her she was welcome to bring them round to meet the pigs and play with my philistine boys, but she didn’t seem keen.”
“Poor little things, away all term and they don’t even get to be home during the school holidays.”
“I know, but she might be on to something you know Sal. If we sorted something for our lot, we could sit sipping drinks and doing our nails. Just imagine.”
“Sounds great to me. Patrick was talking to Tom about camping last night—I think he meant a night in our back garden, but we could probably organise something different for him if we put our minds to it.”
“What, send him off with four boys and a tent on a tour of Britain’s cultural hot spots? He’s daft Sal, but he’s not insane. No, leave it with me. I’ll find something for them all to do, something cultural but cheap, just as soon as I’ve booked the piglets their first flying lessons.”
She laughs.
“Weren’t you seeing Stephen yesterday? What’s Finn got lined up for the summer holidays? I bet Portia is taking him somewhere posh.”
“Yes, we went to that new bar on the seafront. He didn’t mention Finn, the music was a bit loud, and then we met a few people from his office, out for a drink with their girlfriends.”
“It’s meant to be very trendy, some of the girls from reception went last week—they got all dressed up.”
“Yes, there were quite a few short dresses or tiny vests and bare midriffs. I felt about a hundred. God, this headache really isn’t shifting. I think I need more tablets.”
“How many have you had so far?”
“Two and a half. I’m saving the other half for when I get home.”
She smiles.
“That explains why you’re wearing sunglasses. I thought you were just trying to be stylish.”
“As if. Oh God, look out, bandits at two o’clock, Miss Cooper is heading our way. Please don’t volunteer us for anything Sal, I’m totally full on with the bloody gatehouse.”
“Good morning Mrs. Taylor, lovely to see the sunshine, isn’t it?”
I think she might be making a crack about my sunglasses. Perhaps she thinks I’m off for a busy day sunbathing.
“We’ve been hearing all about your new arrivals.”
She smiles and looks encouragingly at both of us, which is a shame since I’ve got absolutely no idea what she’s talking about, and neither does Sally, from the look on her face.
“Alfie and Tom are giving us regular updates.”
Bugger. It’s the sodding pigs.
“The whole class would all love to meet them, and I was wondering, we do usually have a class picnic, at the end of the term, so I thought perhaps we could combine the two? It would be such a treat for the children in the last week of term.”
“A picnic, with the pigs?”
She trills out a little laugh.
“Well, perhaps not with the pigs, but I’m sure we could find a nice shady spot in a field?”
Bloody hell. If I’m not very quick off the mark here, I’m going to find myself with thirty-two of the little sods swarming all over the place.
I take my glasses off and step forwards.
“I’m so sorry Miss Cooper, I’ll make sure to send in treats for the picnic of course, but I can’t possibly host it. We’ve got guests booked in—summer is our busiest time of year, I’m sure you understand. It’s one of the things I really miss about teaching actually, apart from the kids of course, the six-week school holidays.” I pause. The reference to the long summer holidays will definitely annoy her, just like it used to annoy me when I was teaching, but I don’t really care. “If you think they’d really enjoy meeting the pigs though, I’m sure we can arrange for Patrick to bring them in for a visit—couldn’t we Sally?”
“Oh yes, of course, he can borrow a trailer from Dave—he farms sheep on Exmoor.”
Miss Cooper looks horrified.
“I must be off, so busy, but let us know. Sally, do you want a lift to work?”
“That would be great.”
We sit in the car trying to stop laughing.
“I’m fine walking to the hotel Moll.”
“I know, but I’m going that way.”
“She’s got a bloody cheek you know. She never asks any of the county s
et to do stuff like that, they never lift a finger.”
“I think she’s got us down as complete idiots after we did the egg stall.”
“I think you might have just got us off the idiot list Moll.”
“Well I bloody hope so.”
I start driving along the coast road to the hotel.
“How was Stephen then—still on top form?”
“Yes and very tanned. He says he spends all the time working but he still manages to get a very impressive tan. He’s off again tomorrow for work, so it was just a quick drink. He had some work to finish, and I had to get back for the boys.”
“So no snogging?”
“Not in the middle of the wine bar, no. It was a drink Sal, not Nine and a Half Weeks.”
“I love Mickey Rourke, especially before his face went all weird.”
“I know you do.”
“I tried that fridge thing once, with Patrick—you know, in the film, where he feeds her food and it drips everywhere?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“He didn’t really get it, so we ended up making a sandwich.”
“Bless.”
We’re both giggling again.
“This really isn’t helping my hangover Sal. I think I’d better have some more coffee before I start on the gatehouse. We’ve got to be ready by the weekend so Lola can be our first trial guest, see if we’ve missed anything. And we’ve got B-and-B people in tomorrow, and another two next week, so it’s a bit full on. And then next Friday the first proper guests are booked in the gatehouse for a week, which is rather scary.”
“You’ll be fine. I can always come over if you need a hand.”
I turn into the hotel car park and wave at two of the chambermaids, who are standing behind the bins having a clandestine cigarette.
“They should both be upstairs cleaning.”
“I don’t think they expected you to arrive by car, give them a break.”