by Jo Carnegie
Churchminster was not a village to be underestimated. This was war.
The speed of the Garden Party organized at Fairoaks that night surprised even those who knew Clementine. One minute Calypso was knee-deep in paperwork in her office, the next she had been ordered by her grandmother to photocopy reams of new Garden Party literature. Camilla was commandeered to go and buy supplies of Pimms and strawberries, and hunt down fresh mint from the garden. It was here that Calypso found her shortly after six o’clock, sunlight still dancing down on the lawns.
‘What are you doing?’ Calypso asked, as she saw Camilla’s bottom sticking out of a bush by the side of the path. Camilla reversed out and stood up, her face rather red. She had a bunch of green leaves in her hand.
‘Getting mint for the Pimms,’ she puffed. ‘It’s in a terribly awkward place. That bush nearly had my eye out!’
Calypso reached over and picked something out of her sister’s hair. ‘Greenfly. What’s the mega-urgency about this meeting tonight? We’ve got one on Sunday, anyway.’
‘I’m in the dark as much as you are,’ said Camilla. ‘But Granny Clem has definitely got a bee in her bonnet about something.’
There was an air of tension in the drawing room as they gathered sometime later. Even Errol Flynn was subdued, lying under the chaise longue with just his paws visible.
Clementine strode into the room, carrying a large pile of A4 papers. She dumped them on a table and held up the newspaper, which had been on the top. It was that day’s Daily Mercy. ‘Have you all seen this?’ she announced.
‘Bloody outrage!’ said Freddie Fox-Titt indignantly, and heads nodded around him in agreement.
‘How did they get all that stuff?’ someone else said.
‘Maybe it’s one of those reporters who’ve been hanging round trying to get on the film set,’ offered Angie. ‘They can’t get much on the actors so they’ve decided to turn the spotlight on us instead!’
Clementine frowned. ‘It could well be. From now on, we all need to be extra vigilant!’ Her voice rose an octave. ‘May I remind you that this is not just a competition, this is our livelihood! Our dignity and pride is at stake here, and we need to fight to keep it!’
Camilla and Calypso exchanged glances. Their grandmother was seriously het up.
‘Serious times call for serious action,’ continued Clementine. ‘Therefore I would like you all to give up your weekend to help round the village.’
Calypso pulled a face. It was meant to be her first lie-in for weeks!
‘We’ve got friends coming to stay,’ protested Lucinda Reinard.
‘Good, they can join in as well,’ replied Clementine crisply. She started handing out the printed sheets. ‘I have devised a list of duties for each of you. We start at 9 a.m. on Saturday and work through until 6 p.m., with no more than forty-five minutes for lunch.’
‘There’s a hell of a lot here, Clementine!’ said Freddie in alarm, scanning down the two-page list. His wife put a hand on his sleeve.
‘Leave it, Freds,’ she murmured gently.
‘I know I’m asking a lot, but the future of this village is at stake,’ Clementine said. ‘I expect nothing less than a hundred per cent from all of you from now on, with none of this silly film business getting in the way. Do I make myself clear?’
Heads nodded meekly.
‘Good,’ said Clementine. She continued: ‘There is no way we are going to let Maplethorpe and that disgusting Stockard-Manning woman win. No way on earth!’
She turned and exited the room abruptly.
‘Another glass of Pimms, anyone?’ Freddie half-heartedly asked, but the atmosphere was rather flat.
‘What on earth is wrong with Granny Clem?’ Calypso muttered to her sister. ‘I thought her head was going to start spinning round.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Camilla. ‘But whatever it is, I’m sure it’s got something to do with that Veronica woman. I’ve never heard her talk about a person with such fury.’
Chapter 16
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED, blue and glorious. At No. 5 The Green, Camilla knocked on her sister’s bedroom door with a mug of tea. ‘Calypso? Are you awake?’
There was a muffled noise. Camilla pushed the door open and went in. The room looked like a tumble dryer had exploded mid-cycle: clothes were scattered over the floor, skimpy bras hung off the radiator, and a Mount-Everest-sized pile of shoes was spilling out of the open wardrobe. In the middle of it all Calypso lay face down in bed, her legs sticking out from under the duvet.
After a few seconds she groaned and pushed herself up. As usual she’d slept naked. Her generous breasts, still somehow defying the laws of gravity, sat perkily on her chest. Mascara clotted around her eyes, while dirty blonde hair tangled down her back and shoulders.
Not for the first time Camilla marvelled at her sister’s raw sexiness. Some people just had it.
Calypso squinted through one eye. Bright sunlight was streaming through the carelessly pulled curtains. ‘What time is it?’
‘Quarter past eight.’
Camilla moved a pile of magazines off the overcrowded bedside table and put the mug down.
Calypso gingerly took a sip and then flopped back down on the pillows. ‘I’m bloody knackered! I can’t believe Granny Clem is making us do this.’
‘What time did you get in last night?’ Camilla asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
‘After two. I was doing this Roman-themed evening in Cheltenham and the hostess was really uptight, made me stay until everyone had gone. I feel like never going out again.’
‘How about I cook us all a nice dinner tonight?’ Camilla suggested. ‘We can eat in the garden.’
‘That would be a-mazing. I won’t be fit for anything else after this.’
Camilla stood up, smiling. ‘I’m making us all breakfast, come down when you’re ready.’ She went to tackle the vast amount of bacon and eggs in the kitchen.
It was an unusually hot day, even for May, and by midday the temperature was in the eighties. Above the village green the blue skies soared endlessly, while punters sat in the Jolly Boot’s beer garden drinking jugs of Pimms and making the most of the weather.
In the farthest corner by the church, Calypso put down the bin liner and wiped the sweat off her face. Christ, it was boiling! At least she’d get a good tan in this weather. Her clothes had been coming off at various intervals during the morning, and now she wore only the shortest of denim shorts and a brightly coloured bikini top. Her long hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her eyes protected by a huge pair of Chanel sunglasses. Several silver necklaces hung around her neck, while a bejewelled belly chain caressed her slim hips. Only Calypso could make litter-picking duty look like a fashion shoot.
‘Calypso!’ a voice called out. Wiping another bead of sweat off her forehead she turned round. Her grandmother was walking towards her, a hideous straw hat in one hand. ‘Darling, wear this in case you get sunstroke.’
Clementine tried to put it on her head and Calypso blanched. It reeked of mothballs. ‘I’m fine!’ she protested. ‘I put sun cream on.’
Her grandmother eyeballed her. ‘What factor?’
‘Thirty,’ Calypso lied. ‘Honestly, I don’t need the hat. Go and give it to Camilla, you know how she suffers in the heat.’
Clementine looked across the green, where Camilla was peeling an old poster off one of the trees. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Her eyes suddenly travelled down to Calypso’s bare midriff. They widened in alarm. ‘Don’t move, you’ve got some sort of monstrous insect on your stomach!’
Calypso froze: she hated any kind of creepy-crawly. Camilla had had to remove a spider from the shower for her only that morning. ‘Shit, what is it? Get it off me!’
Clementine started flapping at Calypso’s body with the sunhat. ‘Get off, you ghastly thing! It seems to be stuck there!’
Calypso steeled herself to look down. Her face relaxed. ‘Chill your boots, it’s only a tattoo!’
<
br /> Clementine peered closely at the black scorpion just above Calypso’s left hip. She looked up at her youngest granddaughter reproachfully. ‘Oh, darling, how could you! It looks dreadfully common.’
Calypso sighed. ‘It’s no big deal, loads of people have got them.’
Clementine wasn’t placated. ‘Has your mother seen this? No doubt she’ll have something to say.’
‘Of course she has, I’ve had it for years! Granny Clem, I am an adult, you know,’ Calypso pointed out. ‘I can do what I want with my body.’
Clementine was completely unimpressed. Young people! ‘Well, if you can stop mutilating your body for long enough I’ll leave you to get on.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever next, one of those dreadful genital piercings?’
Calypso smiled sweetly at her grandmother. ‘Oh, for heavens sake! I don’t want to hear any more,’ huffed Clementine, and she went off in search of some decent conversation with Camilla.
Calypso had just filled her second bin bag when a car pulled up beside her. It was long and sleek with blacked-out windows. The driver’s side window rolled down. Calypso pulled up her sunglasses and squinted into the gloom of the car, before realizing that, yet again, the driver was Rafe Wolfe.
‘Hard at work?’ he asked pleasantly. He had company this time: a dazzling blonde woman sitting in the passenger seat, whom Calypso recognized as Sophia Highforth.
Sophia flashed a smile from under her huge Victoria Beckam-esque sunglasses.
‘We’re on our way to filming, there’s a weekend shoot,’ Rafe said. He was wearing an immaculate white shirt that showcased his tan.
‘Oh, right,’ replied Calypso, wondering if she was meant to be impressed. A trickle of sweat was falling between her breasts and down to her flat stomach. Rafe glanced at it momentarily, before looking up. ‘Do you need any help?’
Calypso wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. ‘Help?’ she repeated.
Rafe waved an arm over the green. ‘With this. I hear Churchminster has got into the final of Britain’s Best Village. It must be very exciting for you all.’
Calypso raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think picking up empty Coke cans and crisp packets comes under the remit of a world famous film star.’
He held her gaze. ‘I mean it, I’d like to help.’
‘Rafe.’ Sophia pulled on his sleeve subtly. ‘We’re meant to be in make-up by now.’
Calypso shot Rafe a look. ‘Yeah well, if you fancy giving up your Sunday to weed the graveyard …’ That’ll call his bluff, she thought satisfactorily.
Rafe grinned at her. ‘I might take you up on that.’
‘Oh, hello there!’ It was Camilla, looking rather hot and flustered in an old Laura Ashley summer dress. She had seen the car stop, and, guessing correctly who was inside, rushed over.
Rafe extended a tanned, smooth hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Rafe Wolfe.’
Camilla shook it excitedly. ‘I’m Camilla, Calypso’s older sister.’
‘I can see the family resemblance. Your parents must be delighted to have such stunning daughters.’
Camilla looked thrilled at the compliment, but Calypso rolled her eyes. Talk about cheesy!
‘Rafe.’ This time Sophia didn’t bother to hide her impatience.
‘What’s this? A mothers meeting?’ This time it was Jed, who’d been hard at work moving fallen stones from the churchyard wall. He was stripped to the waist, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Even though Camilla’s nose and shoulders had turned bright pink, Jed’s pale skin had somehow remained untouched by the sun. He looked like one of the beautiful marble statues that adorned the grounds of Clanfield Hall.
Sophia suddenly seemed in no hurry to go. She leaned across Rafe and extended a manicured hand. ‘Hello there, I’m Sophia Highforth.’
Her nails were expertly manicured and painted a pale pink. Camilla blushed and hid her own bitten ones behind her back.
Jed stepped forward and took her hand. ‘Jed,’ he said.
‘I haven’t seen you round here before,’ Sophia smiled. She had huge soft blue eyes, like a baby’s.
‘I’ve been working a lot. Up at the Hall.’
One of Sophia’s groomed eyebrows shot up. ‘Clanfield Hall? What a coincidence, we’re filming up there! You must come and have afternoon tea in my Winnebago.’
There was a slightly awkward pause. Rafe looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’ He smiled at Calypso. ‘Might see you tomorrow, then.’
‘You might,’ replied Calypso shortly.
‘Don’t forget to come and see me, Jed!’ Sophia called. ‘I need someone to show me round.’
Rafe revved the engine and the car roared off. Calypso’s mobile started ringing and, digging it out of her back pocket, she wandered off to take the call, leaving Jed and Camilla alone.
Camilla shot Jed an amused glance. ‘So, Sophia Highforth wants to have tea with you!’
‘I don’t think she’d be so keen if she saw me covered in pigs’ muck, cleaning out the sties,’ he smiled.
‘Or fast asleep on the sofa, cupping your balls.’
He shot her a cheeky look. ‘I only do it when you won’t cup them for me.’
‘Bloody cheek!’ she retorted, laughing.
He kissed her on the lips. ‘See you later. Maybe I’ll even get lucky in the ball-cupping department.’
‘Maybe, if you play your cards right.’
He strode off grinning, as Calypso finished her call. Camilla walked over to her. ‘Do you think Rafe will turn up tomorrow?’ she asked.
‘Who cares?’ said Calypso airily. She mimicked Sophia’s gushing tones. ‘You must come and have afternoon tea in my Winnebago!’
They both giggled.
‘Tell you what, sis,’ Calypso said. ‘Jed’s lucky to have someone like you. Most of my friends would go mental if a film star asked their boyfriend out. Mind you, most of them are highly strung nutcases.’
‘I think it’s quite a compliment, actually!’ Camilla said.
Calypso raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you never seen Notting Hill?’ Her mobile started ringing again. ‘Oh God, now what?’ She turned and threw an affectionate look at Camilla over her shoulder. ‘I was only teasing you about Notting Hill, you know!’
‘Ha ha,’ said Camilla, for some reason not finding it very funny.
Chapter 17
THE NEXT MORNING Calypso was back in the graveyard on her hands and knees. It’s like bloody Groundhog Day, she thought grumpily. The protective gloves Clementine had given her were heavy and hot, adding to her discomfort. She was also nursing a hangover, as she and Camilla had sat up late in the garden drinking rather more rosé wine than was good for them. It was just as hot today, and Calypso’s headache was showing no sign of abating.
‘Ow, shit!’ she yelped, as a stinging nettle brushed her leg. Red welts started to spring up immediately. Calypso looked in vain for a dock leaf, to calm the inflammation, and decided she was best off with aspirin and ice-cold Lucozade from the village shop.
Twenty minutes later, sitting in the shade of a tree in the graveyard, she was starting to revive. She stretched her legs out from under the tree, feeling the heat of the sun beat down on them.
Then she rolled a cigarette, lit it, and leant back against the trunk. The smoke floated off lazily into the summer’s day. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat still for so long. Scene Events was going better than she had ever imagined, but there was a price to pay. She was feeling utterly exhausted, and a proper night’s sleep was still a long way off in the future.
I need a holiday. Or some fun. Or something, Calypso thought, taking another drag. Her eyes were getting heavy and she let them close. She could really just go to sleep now …
‘There’s no point staying out of the sun if you’re going to smoke those things,’ a well-cultivated voice suddenly said from above.
Calypso blinked and looked up. To her utter astonishment, Rafe Wolfe was standing t
here. As usual he looked like he’d stepped out of a Ralph Lauren advert, in cargo shorts and a striped polo shirt that hugged his biceps. Expensive-looking loafers adorned his feet.
Calypso defiantly took another drag and blew it out towards him. ‘No tennis today?’
Rafe grinned and squatted down beside her. She caught a waft of lemony aftershave. ‘I’ve heard weed-killing is all the rage round here,’ he said.
Up close, Rafe was as annoyingly perfect. His complexion was smooth, the contours of his jaw and nose straight and perfect. Straight from the stable of pin-up movie stars.
If you like that sort of thing, Calypso told herself. She preferred her men – and women – more dishevelled and dirty. She stubbed her cigarette out and flicked it into the open bin bag lying a few feet away. ‘So you think you’re up to it? I warn you it’s pretty physical activity.’
Rafe looked down at his strong arms, no doubt honed by hours in the gym with a personal trainer. ‘I think I’m up to it.’
He offered her his arm and pulled her easily to her feet. For a moment he stood there, still holding her. Calypso felt his dry warm hand on her skin. She stepped away and threw him an empty bin bag. ‘I’m assuming you know the difference between a flower and a weed.’
Rafe caught the bag with one hand. ‘Hey, I’m a country boy. Born and bred.’ He held his hands up at her sceptical expression. ‘I’m serious! I was brought up in Cambridgeshire. In a place called Wincombe Hall. My family have been there for centuries.’