by Jo Carnegie
‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ Camilla said eventually, as they wandered through a field of tall wild grass.
Jed put his arm round her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Everything’s perfect when I’m with you.’
‘Smooth talker,’ smiled Camilla. She nestled into him. ‘Can you imagine us with a tangle-haired brood of kids? It’s the most perfect place for children to grow up.’
‘Is that a hint?’ Jed asked, smiling.
Camilla blushed. They’d talked about kids before, but never in depth. Jed didn’t discuss his feelings much, preferring to show his love through physical contact inside the bedroom. In the early days, Camilla had worried that his lack of communication might mean he was going off her, or that she’d upset him about something, but she’d learned over time to trust him. If she were truly honest, it would be reassuring to have a bit of feedback now and again. But, as Camilla had reminded herself, no one was perfect, and Jed pretty much ticked every other box. ‘No. You know, it would just be nice …’ she trailed off. At thirty-two, Camilla’s maternal urges were getting stronger and stronger. She couldn’t imagine a person who would give her more beautiful babies.
Jed squinted off into the distance, apparently looking at something. ‘Maybe we should try it. You could come off the Pill.’
Camilla stopped and looked at him. ‘Really?’
His eyes flashed cheekily. ‘We’ve got to take notice of that biological clock of yours, Cam. Now I’ve got this promotion at the Hall, I’m bringing in more money.’
Their finances had been a bit of a sore point between them before. Inspired by their travels, Camilla was working part-time in a travel agency in Cheltenham, but her family were rich enough to have bought her the cottage outright and provided an allowance that enabled her to live life comfortably. She knew Jed didn’t like the feeling of being ‘kept’, even though she didn’t think of it like that at all.
They grinned at each other goofily.
‘So does this mean it’s official?’ Camilla asked. ‘We’re really going to start trying?’
He touched her face. ‘It doesn’t have to be a big announcement. Come off the Pill and see what happens.’
Given Jed’s sex drive, Camilla didn’t think it would be long before she would fall pregnant. An indescribably happy feeling surged through her and she flung her arms round him. ‘Oh, Jed!’
He held her tight. ‘I don’t know what your grandmother would say about having children out of wedlock, though.’
Given his family background, perhaps it was inevitable that he didn’t have much belief in the sanctity of the marriage vows. Even though she would have loved a big white wedding, Camilla had reconciled herself to doing without it. She had Jed, and that was enough.
‘She’ll get over it. Granny Clem’s a lot more open-minded than you think.’ As they embraced, Camilla felt him harden.
‘Why don’t we start trying now?’ he said.
Camilla glanced round nervously. She was still reeling from her grandmother walking in on them, and had insisted on having sex with the bedroom door locked ever since. ‘What if someone sees us? Granny Clem takes Errol Flynn for a walk around this time.’
‘I don’t care.’ Jed was already unbuttoning his overalls.
‘Isn’t this going against the public decency act? We might get arrested!’ Camilla was only half-joking. Jed’s eyes glinted as he pulled her behind a huge oak.
‘It’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids.’
April came, and with it the first official Garden Party committee meeting. They had a full turnout and Clementine was surprised to see even Stacey Turner, glowering under a baseball cap and a tight Fame T-shirt, walk in with her mother.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Beryl said in an undertone. ‘She and Jack had a blinding row earlier, and he’s banned her from using the car. I thought I’d better get her out of the pub before they killed each other.’
‘Of course not,’ said Clementine, thinking by the look on Stacey’s face that she could well kill someone in the village hall instead.
Clementine waited until the scraping of chairs had stopped and everyone had settled down. ‘Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the Garden Party’s first official committee meeting. I’d like to get straight down to business, please, so let’s have a catch up on what everyone has been up to in the last two weeks.’
Freddie Fox-Titt was the first to speak. He was a short, jolly man who lived in the Maltings, a large house on the Bedlington Road, with his fun-loving wife, Angie. Along with Jack Turner, Clementine had put him in charge of removing any graffiti in the village. ‘I’ve finally cleaned the phone box up. Took a bit of elbow grease, but I got there in the end! Now we just have to hope they don’t come back again.’
Beside him, his wife laughed. ‘We were thinking of leaving Avon and Barksdale in there to scare any wannabe Banksys off.’ Avon and Barksdale were the Fox-Titts’ extremely bouncy border collies.
‘Errol Flynn would be a safer bet,’ remarked Calypso. ‘He could blast them away with one fart.’
Several titters sounded. Clementine shot a mildly disapproving look at her granddaughter, and turned to the landlady of the Jolly Boot. Her hanging baskets were some of the best in the county. ‘Now, Beryl. Have you managed to go round to the houses we talked about, to make sure they’ve done their planting properly?’
Half an hour later, the meeting was nearly over. Camilla and Calypso were to do alternate litter-picking duty on the green and Lucinda Reinard was making it her mission to hunt down any fly-tippers. The district had recently been plagued with people dumping rubbish in lay-bys and fields.
Lucinda gave a grim smile. ‘Those litter-louts will think twice about dumping their old mattresses here! I’ve commandeered my daughter Hero’s old hockey stick to give them a whack across the knees if they try anything.’
Reverend Bellows was sporting a large scratch across his forehead from the unruly rhododendron bush in St Bartholomew’s graveyard.
‘My dear man!’ exclaimed Clementine. ‘Are you all right?’
Reverend Bellows blushed. ‘Q-quite. I didn’t realize quite what a f-formidable opponent I was up against! I’ve trimmed most of it back now, though.’
Joyce Bellows, a vision in sludge brown, looked up devotedly at her husband. ‘Oh, Brian, you are brave!’
Reverend Bellows blushed deeper, looking rather pleased with himself.
Clementine put her clipboard down. ‘If there’s nothing else …’
Fifteen minutes later they were all in the pub. The Jolly Boot was the oldest building in the village; a slice of history with worn flagstone floors, tankards hanging above the bar and a huge fireplace that blazed merrily through the winter months, warming the frozen hands and feet of the customers who sat round it. The committee members stood in a circle, chatting away about the competition.
‘Another sherry Granny Clem?’ asked Calypso. It was a rare occasion to get her grandmother in the pub.
‘No, thank you darling,’ Clementine replied, watching as Calypso ordered herself another large glass of rosé.
‘Really darling, there’s hald a bottle in there!’
Jack Turner was clearing up glasses when a small, spiky-haired young man approached him. Jack hadn’t seen him walk in but he smiled welcomingly.
‘Yes, my lad?’
The young man smiled back. ‘I don’t know if you can help. I was wondering if you’d have a village committee, someone I could speak to from it.’
Jack didn’t ask strangers too many questions; from his experience it got you into trouble. Best keep your eye on them from a distance instead. He cocked his head at Clementine.
‘Mrs Standington-Fulthrope’s your best bet. You want me to introduce you?’
‘Yes please,’ said the man gratefully. ‘I’m Dan, by the way.’
Jack nodded and putting down the glasses, took Dan over to Clementine.
‘Mrs S-F, there’s someone here who wants to spea
k to you.’
Dan stuck his hand out and rather bemused, Clementine took it.
‘Hello, I’m Dan Blake.’
Clementine looked at the young man more closely. She was sure she’d seen him around the village recently a few times.
‘How do you do, I’m Clementine Standington-Fulthrope.’
Everyone looked at Dan expectantly. He produced a card from his pocket and gave it to Clementine.
‘I’m a locations manager for a film company called Seraphina Inc.’
‘I’ve heard of them,’ Camilla whispered to Calypso. ‘They did Love On The Line, do you remember?’ Love On The Line was a British film, about an aristocratic girl falling in love with a London Underground worker. It had been a worldwide smash.
‘Oh?’ said Clementine politely.
Stacey Turner had been working her way through a packet of peanuts behind the bar. Her ears pricked up.
‘We’ve been left in a bit of a spot because the village we were meant to have been filming in has fallen through,’ Dan explained.
He looked round.
‘Collapsed bridge, the place has been left completely cut off.’
Some of the group murmured their sympathies.
Dan looked back at Clementine.
‘I’ve been checking out a few places round here instead and you see, your village is perfect!’
Clementine was lost. ‘Perfect for what?’
Dan smiled winningly. ‘To use as the location instead! I’ve been looking at loads of villages across the country, and this is by far the best.’
Everyone’s mouths dropped open. Clementine regained her composure first. She had heard horror stories about villages being ruined by huge film crews and ghastly hordes of paparazzi. ‘Certainly not!’ She looked around for backup, but it became apparent she was in a minority.
‘Oh come on, Granny Clem!’ cried Calypso. ‘It’ll be, like, totally amazing!’ Several other people nodded their heads enthusiastically.
‘No!’ Clementine protested. ‘We haven’t got time for tomfoolery, we’ve got to get ready for the competition.’
‘Churchminster has got through to the final four for Britain’s Best Village,’ Calypso told Dan. He looked seriously impressed.
‘Wow! It would be doubly fantastic to film here, then!’
Clementine didn’t like how presumptuous this young man was. ‘No, it would not!’ she said.
To her surprise, Angie Fox-Titt spoke up. ‘It sounds like tremendous fun! Freds and I have always fancied a walk-on part in a film. Remember that production of A Midsummer’s Dream Bourton-on-the-Water’s amdram club did, Freddie? You made the most wonderful Bottom.’
Dan smiled gratefully at her. ‘We’ll definitely need extras, and you’ll get paid a daily rate.’
‘Ooh!’ exclaimed Brenda Briggs. ‘I’ll be a proper actress, like What-ser-chops Winslet.’
‘What is the film?’ asked Camilla, hoping for a romcom.
‘It’s a costume drama called A Regency Playboy,’ Dan announced. ‘It’s a big, lavish production and we’ve got a great cast and director.’
Stacey Turner spoke up for the first time. ‘Who’s in it?’
Dan looked a bit furtive. ‘Well, if you can keep it under your hats for now. Sophia Highforth is playing the female lead and Rafe Wolfe is the male …’
Stacey stopped him. ‘Did you say Rafe Wolfe?’
‘Well, we’re just waiting for him to confirm, but it looks pretty defin …’
Stacey started jumping up and down. ‘Oh my GOD! Rafe Wolfe! He is sooooo fit! Wait until I tell Lindsay and Chloe about this! Oh my God!’
Rafe Wolfe was a handsome young British actor who’d made his name playing the lead in Hollywood blockbusters. Even though he was Cambridge-educated, the 30-year-old looked like an all-American blue-eyed golden boy. He was often plastered across the celebrity magazines, linked with some beautiful woman or another.
Beryl put a placating hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘All right, Stace, calm down! You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack!’
Stacey wasn’t listening. ‘The girls are gonna freak! I’ve gotta ring them.’ As she ran towards the door to the living quarters, Stacey paused. ‘I’ll get a part, won’t I?’
‘Er, we can definitely put you forward,’ said Dan, rather bamboozled by her jiggling chest.
Stacey squealed. ‘Oh my God! I’m gonna be famous! That’ll shut that bitch Chantelle Brown up.’ Then she was off, excited gabbles fading down the corridor. ‘Linds! Oh my God! You’ll never guess what’s just happened!’
‘I think we can safely say Stacey’s in favour of the film crew,’ chuckled Freddie.
‘I’ve never seen her so excited!’ Beryl exclaimed. She looked rather proud. ‘Stacey’s a right good little actress, you know. Used to dress up and do a song and dance every Christmas.’
Calypso turned to her grandmother. ‘What do you think, Granny Clem? It’s like, a really good thing for the village.’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Clementine. ‘I know what these film crews are like: there’ll be huge great lorries churning up the green before one knows it. They’ll take over the village!’
‘That won’t happen,’ assured Dan. ‘I’ll be the point of contact between the village and Seraphina Inc. Any problems or worries, you can come to me. We want to make sure you’re all happy.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Clementine. She still wasn’t convinced.
Dan held his trump card until last. ‘Of course, there will be a location fee.’
Clementine eyed him suspiciously. ‘Location fee?’
‘Absolutely. We’d pay to use your village, recompense any small disruptions that might happen, et cetera. It would be a proper business arrangement.’
‘And how much would this location fee be?’
Dan swallowed. The old woman was a bit of a dragon. ‘Well, it would be a good whack, and we’d also pay extra for the short notice. I’d have to talk to my boss, but we’re talking tens of thousands.’
‘Oh, Clementine, we’ve got to do it!’ cried Angie. ‘Think of all that money.’
Clementine could feel a dozen sets of imploring eyes on her. She wasn’t ready to give in yet. ‘I need to speak to the parish council,’ she told Dan. ‘We would need to get the go-ahead from them as well.’ The parish council were an overly cautious lot. She was confident there was no way they would allow such a disruption, especially if it could jeopardize the competition.
‘What do you think they’ll say?’ Dan’s face was hopeful.
Clementine soon extinguished that. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath, young man.’
Chapter 8
TO CLEMENTINE’S DISMAY, the parish council thought it was a wonderful idea.
‘Just what we need to inject a bit of glamour back into the area!’ said the chairperson, David Askew.
Clementine sighed down the phone. This was her last-ditch attempt to try and make him see sense. ‘David, aren’t you worried about the disruption? Wootton-under-Barley’s High Street was closed off for a whole week a few years back for some television production. We just can’t afford to take the risk, not with Britain’s Best Village coming up.’
‘I understand your concerns, Clementine,’ he assured her. ‘But I’ve spoken to the rest of the council and we think it’s a manageable situation. Besides, you can’t really afford to turn down that location fee, can you?’
Seraphina Inc. had come back and offered a whopping thirty thousand pounds for permission to film in the village. It was to be a ten-week shoot, starting in the middle of April. They wouldn’t be out until the first week of July, which, in Clementine’s opinion, left it far too late. The BBV judges were coming two weeks later!
Clementine sighed again. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. ‘All right, you win. But I can’t say I’m happy about it.’
Clementine put the phone down and rubbed her forehead. They badly needed the money, but she couldn’t help feeling that they were d
ancing with the devil. No matter what anyone said, the village was going to be taken over, right at a time when everyone’s focus should be on the competition. People’s heads are turned by glitz and glamour nowadays, she thought. What happened to community spirit and principles?
Distractedly she picked up her fountain pen, twirling it through her gnarled fingers. It was all happening so fast; in a few weeks an entire film crew would be descending on Churchminster, bringing God knows what with them. The terms had been thrashed out and they were to film at various locations in and around the village, starting with a manor house called Braithwaite Hall on the outskirts, before moving on to Clanfield Hall. Clementine was rather surprised Frances Fraser had agreed to open her gates, but then Frances hadn’t seemed herself lately. On the few occasions they’d met round the village, Clementine had thought she’d been rather preoccupied.
There was a thundering down the stairs and Calypso materialized in the doorway. ‘So you’ve said yes? Old Davey-boy sounded as keen as mustard.’
‘Were you listening on the upstairs extension?’ asked Clementine indignantly. Calypso rolled her eyes.
‘Course I was! I was dying to know what you’d say. I knew you’d come round. It’s a great thing for Churchminster to get involved with. I know you don’t think it, Granny Clem, but it might even help us in the BBV competition. Add a string to our bow and all that.’
‘I don’t think there’s a “how many actresses can you spot on the village green” category,’ said Clementine wearily.
Calypso gave a snort of laughter. ‘That’s quite good, for you.’
Clementine resisted a smile as Calypso started to move round the room restlessly, picking up things and putting them down again. ‘You look like you need to get out of the house,’ Clementine told her.
‘If only,’ replied Calypso, as she moved on to rearranging ornaments on the top of the fireplace. ‘I’ve got to wait for a call from a client on the office line, my mobile reception is crap here.’