The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  Once they were all settled at the kitchen table, a big dish of Mrs Goodman’s game pâté and a tray of toast and home-made pickles before them, Jonathan asked Liberty what impression she had formed of both the butcher’s shop and Duck End.

  ‘I still love them both. But the agent thought the Smythes might be a problem.’ She explained how they were going to ask over the odds for the house.

  ‘I am sure they will come round with a little persuasion. Neville wants my advice on investing in a racehorse, which could help. And if all else fails, I happen to know one of my stable lasses caught him with an estate worker in the Big Barn, so a little blackmail may hurry things along.’

  ‘Oh my God, you can’t mean it!’ shrieked Liberty.

  ‘The blackmail? Not seriously, of course, but I could just drop it casually into the conversation, if you know what I mean,’ twinkled Jonathan. ‘Funny how these things make a difference to negotiations sometimes.’

  Mrs Goodman then produced a delicious supper of cauliflower soup and cheese straws, followed by pheasant casserole and mash. There was hardly any room for pear and quince crumble with lashings of thick cream, but they all managed it somehow!

  ‘Yummy, a taste of my childhood,’ said Liberty, wiping her mouth with a large monogrammed napkin.

  ‘It would be,’ responded Deirdre. ‘You spent more time here than you did at home!’

  ‘Well, I could say that you and Dad were always working, but really I just loved it here with Savvy. What news of her? I have been dying to find out all about her.’

  Jonathan sighed. ‘I emailed to let her know you were here, and she wants your email address. She would love to meet up with you, and is planning a trip back home in December.’

  ‘What is her husband like? Khalid, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very wealthy; otherwise, not sure really. He owns racehorses, so we get to see them over here in the season. I wasn’t keen for her to move to the Middle East, but you know Savannah, when she puts her mind to something . . .’

  After leaving her final school in Lausanne in a flurry of scandal, something to do with a lesser royal from one or other European family, Savannah had run away and married a French count. Alexandre had been the perfect French gentleman, and he adored Savannah. Sadly, he also adored women in general. Savannah loved to feel exclusively worshipped, probably something to do with her lack of a mother and a doting father, so the moment she had found Alexandre in bed with the chambermaid she decided that simply being a countess was not, after all, sufficient for her, and she returned home for a brief while.

  Her elder brother Edmund had been so admonishing, however, that at the first opportunity and proposal she was off again, this time with a duke. ‘They lived somewhere up north,’ explained Jonathan. ‘I didn’t have an opportunity to find out exactly where because by the time we were invited to stay she had discovered him in flagrante with one of his tenants – not a female – so she left hurriedly and quietly. It was after some do involving Elton John. She stayed in London for a while with one of her school friends, who introduced her to Khalid bin Wazir. As you probably remember, she throws herself into any of her passions heart and soul, so she read up on customs, Islam, the Middle East, then converted to Islam and married him. We went out to the Gulf for the wedding and Edmund thought it may be the best thing to happen to her. Grahame and I are not sure. I think she may be a bit of a stubborn, spoiled brat, but she is my own darling little girl and I hate her being stuck out in a country full of sand but empty of her friends and family. She is such a social butterfly – or she used to be. She had both her children quite quickly. Little Sasha and Hussein are just delightful. They are eight and six, and I would love to see more of them all. The biggest surprise to everyone is how well she has taken to motherhood. She simply adores her children. She even gave up riding while she was pregnant, although from what she tells us Sasha now has her own pony and Hussein is strapped in a basket on the front of Savannah’s horse!’

  ‘So she has some freedom, then?’ Liberty asked.

  ‘Well, yes, but I think she pretty much lives in the desert. Edmund thinks that when she finally masters Arabic she will get bored again and look to the next project. I think differently; she seems to genuinely love this chap, and he appears to be a decent sort. And anyway, now she has the children she has calmed down and feels more settled. I just wish it wasn’t so far away, that’s all. I have invited them for Christmas, together with Edmund and Grahame.’

  ‘And what news of the two of them? Are they married?’ Liberty said this with some lightness in her voice. Edmund, she couldn’t care less about – pompous stick-in-the-mud, he probably had some goody two shoes perfect wife and two perfect children – but Grahame, the beautiful Grahame . . .

  While Savannah and Liberty had run riot over the Denhelm Estate in their childhood, Liberty and all the other girls who visited had childhood crushes on Grahame. With his white-blond curls, grey and yellow cat’s eyes and dark olive skin, he had the perfect combination of his dark father and his fair mother. Grahame had always charmed both adults and children. He also had a winsome way about him. From the moment he was born, he was a natural charmer who won everyone over as he never stopped smiling. And then, as he grew older, he was always kind and sweet and ready to help, and sorted out arguments between his friends and said the right thing at exactly the right time.

  Into his teens, he always had the prettiest girlfriends on his arm, and many mothers invited him to their daughters’ coming-of-age parties in the hope that he would turn into the perfect husband.

  However, Liberty, and as far as she was aware only Liberty, knew the truth. One weekend exeat she had raced excitedly down to the stables to look for Savannah – as usual after only the briefest kiss for her mother – and off with the dogs she went, as she knew the estate so well. She took the shortcut across the fields from her mother’s house. They had inserted a gate in the back wall after one escapade when both Liberty and Savannah fell and broke their wrists while climbing along a branch of the old walnut tree in an attempt to get over the wall.

  As Liberty raced through the formal gardens, her eye had been drawn to movement at the edge of the yew maze. Curious and thinking it could be Savannah, she ran lightly towards the maze. She heard heart-wrenching sobs coming from the other side of the hedge. She scrabbled underneath it – she had never mastered the way through – and discovered Gray crying his eyes out in a very un-Gray-like way. So shocked at seeing her boy-god upset and unsmiling, all Liberty could think of doing was to hug him. She let him weep on her shoulder for a good ten unspeaking minutes, after which the shuddering calmed and he started to breathe more easily. She was reminded of her pony when she found its companion Shetland dead in front of them, tangled in barbed wire and ripped to pieces by badgers and foxes. It was traumatic for both her and the pony to see the horrific result.

  Liberty wondered if it was something to do with his mother. Had he found some memento that had reminded him of her? Her silence enabled him to talk, and it all came out – how he had always known he was gay, but could never give his father the shock or his brother the satisfaction of failure.

  Ever since his teens Gray had wanted to go into politics; his personality suited the profession perfectly and his credentials as second son of an ancient English line of aristocrats and his Eton education stood him in great stead to join the Conservative Party. But this was the 1980s. Scandal was rocking the party the whole time. To do well, he knew he could never, ever, be himself. So what was he to do?

  Liberty was shocked. She was twelve years old, had heard the word gay and in theory knew what it meant, but this man was her god! She loved him; she was going to marry him when she grew up. This couldn’t be happening! Pull yourself together, she had told herself silently. Old beyond her years since her parents’ separation, she could only think this is my friend and he needs my help. She soothed him as best she could. She had no idea what his family would think, so she didn’t mention them to him. V
aguely hoping it would be a passing phase and the two of them were really meant to be together one day, she said, ‘Well, if politics are so important to you, concentrate on that and see if you can leave your private life for a while.’

  Being only twelve, Liberty didn’t quite understand about urges and hormones, but because she said it in such a simple and matter-of-fact way, it made perfect sense to the loyal, decisive Gray.

  ‘Right! Concentrate on the career, that’s it, old girl, that’s what I will do,’ he replied. Liberty looked at him wiping his nose on a lace handkerchief.

  ‘Your mascara has run,’ she said with a giggle. The New Romantics seemed to have enabled a lot of feminine men to express themselves rather better than in previous decades.

  ‘Thanks, duck,’ he said, ‘but you really can’t repeat any of this to anyone, anyone at all.’

  Glad to have this one thing between the two of them, Liberty knew she would carry his secret to the grave, and she told him that if he got her out of the maze and to the stables she would never mention the conversation again.

  Savannah never asked why Liberty stopped gazing at Gray from the top of their tree house, or trying to persuade her to ride past him and his friends rowing on the lake. She simply assumed Liberty had another crush. And anyway, he was only her boring brother!

  Gray had since made it up the ranks of the Conservative Party. He was given a job in the Cabinet when the new administration came in, and was welcomed as a peacemaker, a genuine hard worker who made sure to continue his work on behalf of his constituents, promising they would go on having weekly dustbin collections. At the same time he offered incentives to install incinerators in brownfield sites and the energy created from these was provided by a private electricity company to local factories at good rates. He also gave the local police the confidence to clip youngsters around their ears for small offences, and parents, encouraged by this, helped to keep the children off the streets. Most towns and villages in his constituency had installed board parks and youth clubs. People from the community held fundraising events, which were hugely helped by the attendance of Gray’s famous and glamorous friends. He was simply so popular that no one questioned how he got to know Elton and David, and the crowds that went along with them gave generously.

  So Gray had been the one member of the de Weatherby family that Liberty had been able to keep tabs on. Although, since he left home, they had not spoken much.

  Liberty wondered if Grahame had since married, but Jonathan simply said, ‘No, neither Ed nor Gray have married yet, but it’s more normal for boys to live a little before settling down, and anyway, Savannah has married enough times for all of us! Ed lives and works in the City, but he is hoping to start working full-time down here. He is part of a very exciting company developing alternative sources for power production. He helps on the financial side, and they are looking to set up offices out of London, to save money. I thought they should use some of the rooms here, maybe even try some of their experiments on this house. Have I told you about our heating system? Saves a bloody fortune!’

  ‘Um, right,’ piped up a dozing Deirdre, made sleepy by good food, the warmth from the fire and the rather excellent claret Jonathan had served with supper. ‘I think we had better be off home now. It’s late and Liberty needs to get started early.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Well, you better had – I don’t want you under my feet, cramping my style forever, you know, and we have equipment to buy, not to mention decorators, electricians and other workmen to hound.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Liberty meekly. ‘Well, Jonathan, you had better let me see a copy of the tenancy agreement. We should keep things formal, and above board. And please let me have Savannah’s email address,’ she yelled over her shoulder as her mother propelled her down the chilly corridor back to the car.

  ‘And you call me rude! You hypocrite!’ she admonished her mother as they crawled down the drive, unable to see much through a frozen windscreen (Liberty was too cold to wait for the windscreen to defrost before setting off).

  ‘I promise you, you don’t want him starting on his eco ramble at this time of night,’ replied Deirdre, her eyes hazy, ‘especially not after a few drinks.’

  20

  Liberty smiled to herself in her bathroom mirror as she prepared for bed. She had seen the way Jonathan gazed at her mother, and wondered if there had ever been anything between them. Although Deirdre had been devastated by her divorce, she had enjoyed several flings since, only to end them when things grew serious. She had told Liberty that all she really missed was someone to go to parties with or out to dinner. It was very hard to be on your own after years of marriage and to walk into a room of people without someone at your side; even if you didn’t see them for the rest of the evening, it was nice to know there was someone there who could catch your eye and smile – or laugh when they saw you were stuck with a bore. Liberty hoped her mother could find someone, but knew she had never really got over her love for Alain.

  She mused about her own life; would she ever be brave enough to enter into a new relationship? She had made such a mess of the last one, she doubted if she would trust her judgement again, and Percy had been her only man since her late teens. I’d better concentrate on getting the business up and running rather than on men, Liberty thought to herself. She happily climbed into bed, to dream of vast steaming lines of freshly baked bread and pastries being eaten by happy customers, who thankfully this time did not turn into an angry Percy bearing down on her, as had happened in some fearsome nightmares recently.

  Of course, life never takes the path you expect. The next day Liberty went over to the old butcher’s to meet a shopfitter and joiner she had contacted through Jonathan. He was going to put in shelves and cupboards along the sides of the room in the style of old dressers, and she wanted to get some measurements of the kitchen and check what, if any, of the existing equipment she could use. While she was fumbling with icy fingers for the key Jonathan had given her, a deep voice with a strong southern Irish accent queried, ‘Liberty James?’

  With those two words Fred Townsend made her name sound like the sexiest thing on earth, a bit like butter melting over the edge of a hot crumpet. Liberty turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, blue-eyed Adonis standing behind her. Despite the cold of the morning he was wearing a light T-shirt and jeans, albeit with a pair of heavy hobnailed boots. Crumpet indeed! she thought with a giggle.

  ‘Yes?’ said Liberty, blushing furiously as she realised she had been staring at his chest, which bulged with muscle in an attractive, healthy sort of way. Fred’s blue eyes twinkled; he was fully aware of the effect he had on most women, and thrilled that this beauty was not immune to his charms.

  ‘I’m Fred,’ he said by way of introduction.

  ‘I thought I was meeting a Malcolm Nesbitt?’ queried Liberty.

  ‘Not sure who he is, but I’m the local blacksmith and farrier. Mr de Weatherby said you would be wanting a new sign for the shop. I was checking out his hunters yesterday, and I have a quiet week. So I thought I would pop up and see if you might be interested.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so, no time like the present. I was going to get everything else sorted first, but we may as well be prepared, and if you really are free at the moment . . .’

  Just then a small man in dusty overalls clambered out of a red van. ‘Ah, that must be Malcolm now. Look, I really need to concentrate on how to fit out the shop today. Why don’t you let me know where you work, and I’ll call you later?’ Liberty suggested. She was also thinking she could put on some makeup and tidy her hair before seeing him again. Her thick Puffa jacket and furry hat with ear flaps was not the best outfit, really. Fred gave her directions, which made her feel silly, as he simply pointed to the other side of the green and said ‘That cottage with FORGE and BLACKSMITH and all the hanging baskets outside’ and with a ravishing smile said he looked forward to seeing her again, adding, ‘If you think you can find me!
’ Feeling like an idiot – how could she have not known there was a forge in the village? – she watched him amble casually over the grass with admiration, before remembering the man patiently waiting beside her.

  While Malcolm Nesbitt was not such a beauty to look at, he was a master carpenter, and Liberty spent a useful morning deciding on shelving and display units that would eventually look as though they had been there forever. Malcolm had fabulous ideas of his own, suggesting her cakes should be displayed on shelving looking like a cross between an old pharmacy and a French patisserie, that there should be lots of dark wood and glass, with shelves to hold large glass containers full of biscuits for coffee, home-made marshmallows in pretty colours, and the candied fruits dipped in chocolate that Liberty planned to sell. He also came up with the idea of deep drawers in the cupboards for easy access to plates, cups and saucers and teapots. And he made sure she knew to send dimensions of cafetières and chocolate pots so he could accommodate those.

  Did she need tables and chairs? He knew of a great barn in a nearby village where lots of unmatched chairs, tables and other bits and bobs were collected together, all of very good quality, usually from house clearance sales, and he could repair anything. Liberty thought this style would go well with her theme of vintage French, and took the address down. She also needed to find a good source of vintage china, pretty coffee and teacups and large platters for serving food, along with cake stands. Malcolm gave her the number of a dealer in West Sussex, who specialised in the growing market of ‘shabby chic’. He knew they bought up lots of pretty vintage teacups and saucers, but warned that prices these days were always high. Liberty knew she had to be practical; if her father’s experience was anything to go by, lots of the china would be disappearing with the customers, but she wanted things to be pretty and just right. He suggested she trawl all the second-hand shops in the area and get a mismatched selection. He was very useful, knowledgeable, and deferential enough to be easy to work with. Liberty was happy to give him a deposit, after agreeing on a price and letting him start as soon as possible.