The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  ‘Don’t like him at all,’ whispered Gray to Deirdre. ‘Something dark and brooding going on in that handsome head of his.’ Then his beautiful, cherubic face lit up as he smiled at her and embraced her warmly. ‘So very good to see you.’

  He had been close to the older woman for years, as she was a regular visitor to his father’s home. He often asked her advice, having no wife to consult. As every Member of Parliament knows, their partners play an invaluable role. They clear troubled, undecided minds, balance arguments, listen to endless prepared speeches, offer advice when needed and stay quiet at the right time.

  Deirdre had offered him an ear many times. She agreed with most of Gray’s policies, and had a knack of softening his very factual speeches, which helped people stay interested and listen rather than drift off in boredom. This had honed his skills as an MP. He had inherited his father’s feeling of duty to care for the common man. There had been speculation as to why he had never married, but as he was so handsome there were many volunteers who offered to be his partner for parties and meetings and so people simply assumed he would eventually make his choice and marry when the time was right. No hurry for a man, is there, they thought. Although rumours of his sexuality had circulated for many years, nobody had dared ask, and his popularity with journalists – he always made sure to keep them on side, as he knew how invaluable their support could be – had kept him out of the gossip columns. His constituents would be devastated to lose the one MP who really seemed to care for their well-being and always did his best to help; ‘no matter too small’, as the sign in his office declared. Therefore, if there was a scandal to be found in his personal life, which didn’t affect his work, they weren’t going to look for it.

  On his part, Grahame had only been involved romantically with a few men since that fateful day with Liberty in the maze. He found it hard to trust people he met in bars; you never knew who was trying to set you up, and the internet dating sites were impossible to police. He would love Liberty forever for keeping his secret. So sure was he that she would never divulge his mess of a life to anyone, that he was never suspicious when Deirdre invited him for supper and placed him next to a single man at the table. Deirdre was a bright woman and had plenty of experience of the world, but felt no need to ask. She did wonder why he didn’t tell his family, but understood that in his profession, you had to remain, on the surface, at least, as ‘Boden’ as possible: two point five children, a dog and at least one holiday in the British Isles every year summed up the expected personal life of a country MP. She never mentioned it to Jonathan, thinking it none of her business, and simply assumed, rightly, that his silence was more to do with the unforgiving and hypocritical nature of the British public.

  Liberty was having a fabulous time, meeting the guzzling, the good, the boring and the brilliant from the neighbouring estates, and local people too. Surprisingly, she found she had missed parties and people and fleetingly wondered if immersing herself in the country was the right thing to do, but she realised it was probably only so much fun when done occasionally. As she was introduced to people from diverse backgrounds, she noticed that most reactions to the news of her opening a café were the same. Most of the villagers assumed it to be for tourists; they all politely said how clever to be a cook, and smiled when she started to explain her idea of a small French-style café-cumpatisserie, selling fresh local produce, simply cooked from a small set menu du jour along with home-made pastries, breads and cakes to either eat in or take away. After the first few pairs of eyes glazed over she decided she was either impossibly boring or people simply had no interest.

  What was it in this country? You mentioned bread in France and the whole room would butt in with ideas for flavour, types of meal, shapes, the best boulangerie to buy it in. Here, as long as your stomach was full, everything else was of scant concern. She was learning simply to say she was staying with her mother while between jobs, and doing up a cottage in the village. Now that sparked their interest, indeed it did. How much had she paid, where did she find her builder, how difficult was it to get a decent plumber? Property prices and animals; that is how to make small talk in England, Liberty thought, smiling to herself.

  As if in acknowledgment of this discovery, she could see J-T handing out business cards. He was in his element; unlimited vodka, dancing and party frocks, and he could stay up all night. He had no idea how to dance a Scottish reel but relished the attention he was receiving while trying. Thankfully for his chosen partners, the disc jockey was setting up his stand and soon J-T, along with the rest of the very merry partygoers, were bopping along to Rihanna and The Black Eyed Peas.

  Midnight came and passed; the hunting horn blew out and Jonathan took his place at the head of the stairs to make a brief speech. He thanked all the helpers, the horses, the hounds and the brave people who rode them. He looked forward to seeing them all on Denhelm’s wild lawn to either support or join the Boxing Day hunt.

  Then all the helpers were ‘raffled’. Whoever had the same ticket number ‘bought’ them for a day. The pretty girls were busy swapping tickets so they all got taken out for dinner by the person of their choice, and the older ones just took it in good part, and usually managed to have their logs chopped or their lawns mown. Unfortunately, one year poor Charlie Tracksthwaite had been bought by Lady Tankard and made to dig dandelions out of her one acre lawn by hand. He counted two thousand and five by the end of the day, and from then on he had refused to take part.

  Savannah and Liberty had found each other again.

  ‘Come upstairs a mo,’ said Savannah to her friend quietly. ‘I need the loo and to powder my nose.’

  As they entered Savannah’s bedroom, Liberty let out a shriek of laughter at the sight of two very white bottoms wriggling under the bed covers.

  ‘Out, now!’ shouted Savannah sternly, and the two young lovers scuttled out, red-faced and grabbing clothes.

  ‘I’m sure that was Karin. She can’t be more than seventeen, and her mother would be distraught. She makes goat’s cheese and is trying to be a success at it,’ said Liberty, frowning.

  ‘Well, I’m certain that I was up to the same at that age, and snogging in a four poster has to be more glamorous than being up to your elbows in stinky goat’s cheese,’ hooted Savannah, and they both dissolved in mirth. ‘Oh,’ she said, once they calmed down again, ‘it’s so good to see you again, after all this time. Oh look, can you help me with these sheets? I don’t think Khalid would appreciate red wine stains and heaven knows what else on these.’

  They remade the bed, happily chatting all the while as though it was the most normal thing to be doing at one thirty in the morning. Liberty could still sense an odd underlying sadness in her friend, but this was masked by her ever-smiling face as she talked about her obviously adored offspring.

  The door opened and Khalid’s head popped round.

  ‘Oh, there you are. I wish you goodnight,’ he said and left quickly. Savannah’s mouth made a perfect O as Liberty turned to look at her quizzically.

  ‘I thought he would be in here with you?’

  ‘So did I. Obviously did something wrong. Oh, bollocks to men, let’s go and see if Mrs Goodman has disappeared under a mound of drunken teenagers on the hunt for some stodge. I’m ravenous.’

  Her elegant, if too skinny, figure indicated little interest in food, and indeed she was someone who ate to live rather than the other way round. Liberty was now certain that things were not plain sailing between her and Khalid, but decided it should wait until their lunch the next – or was it now later this – day when they could talk openly. Mrs Goodman was always excellent at feeding the children, as she still called them, and knew exactly what was needed.

  The candles were almost burned down as they descended the staircase, but the low wicks were flickering romantically as many of the guests took their leave. Residual heat from the large number of people had kept the house as warm as promised, although as the icy air blew in through the front door, Jo
nathan was encouraging the stragglers into the drawing room where the fire still blazed.

  J-T was ensconced in a comfortable armchair, chatting animatedly to an aspidistra.

  ‘Come on, you,’ said Liberty, hauling him to his feet. ‘You need Mrs Goodman too.’

  They tumbled downstairs to the kitchen where they found Edmund and Gray already tucking into plates of fried bread and kidneys.

  ‘Most of the kedgeree was demolished, but there’s a little in the warming drawer, if you would like, dears,’ said Mrs Goodman as she enthusiastically threw more bacon on the griddle, as though it was 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning, rather than 2 a.m. after a very long evening. Her cheeks glowed. She was in her element, and this was always her favourite part of the night, when the family and others came down to tell her of the comings and goings upstairs. Her eyes sparkled as she listened to news of Mr and Mrs Stewart, divorced for five years and discovered beneath the dining table, entwined and reunited. And new whipper-in James Otter had run the pack of hounds through the Great Hall and out through the French windows, where they were met by a bunch of anti-hunt demonstrators, mostly vegetarian pot smokers, who on seeing the dogs coming towards them had to clear hedges and race down the drive faster than some of the horses. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen stoned kids sober up so fast,’ Gray said, laughing.

  ‘Don’t they realise we are now drag hunting?’ asked Savannah, at which point J-T’s interest perked up.

  ‘Did I miss the drag show?’ he enquired of his plate.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Mrs Goodman shook her head. ‘That will make the papers.’ She handed Liberty a plate of steaming kedgeree.

  ‘Heaven! Thank you so much,’ said Liberty, and putting down the plate, she hugged the housekeeper. ‘You have done such a fantastic job; I can’t believe how much I have enjoyed myself.’

  She pulled out the chair next to Edmund and turned to him.

  ‘Hi, where have you been all night?’

  ‘We can’t all be social butterflies,’ said Edmund with a scowl as he clattered his knife and fork together, stood up and stalked out of the room.

  ‘What’s wrong with Lord High and Mighty?’ asked Savannah through a mouthful of apple and blackberry crumble with lashings of custard on top. ‘He just skulked in the library all night, although even he usually enjoys a party.’

  Jonathan had just entered the kitchen, and explained what was going on.

  ‘I’ve asked him to take over the running of this place, as I intend to retire. I have told him it will be a challenge.’

  ‘What?!!!’ was the collective cry from round the table.

  ‘Why, are you dying?’ came the less than helpful question from a gradually sobering up J-T. The sobering part had been helped by Mrs Goodman popping spoonfuls of mashed potato into his mouth, but the lack of tact was his alone.

  ‘No,’ replied Jonathan, ‘not immediately, but I just think it’s time. He has to do it at some point, and he needs to apply himself, dedicate himself to Denhelm. And I think I need a change of direction – to travel, read. Enjoy myself.’

  ‘What brought this on?’ asked Savannah. ‘I have just come home, and you want to go away?’

  ‘But you will go back to Abu Dhabi soon, and you may as well know I have just proposed to Deirdre, and she has turned me down, so I need to get away. I might even visit you!’

  At this point everyone stopped eating and stared.

  ‘Can someone please fill me in?’ asked Liberty, feeling she was in a whirlwind.

  Gray took control. As a Member of Parliament he was used to dealing with drunken, disorderly questions and knew that someone had to take charge before the situation became maudlin.

  ‘Everyone. Bed. Now. We’ll talk more in the morning,’ he said in a voice that defied argument. ‘Let’s all meet here at midday after we’ve had some shuteye.’

  As they filed silently out, Deirdre muttered, ‘I thought we weren’t going to mention it.’

  Liberty had been looking forward to the usual post-party gossip, her favourite part – who did what, who did who, so on and so forth. She had also been hoping to curl up on Savannah’s bed for a chat before leaving, so was a little annoyed to be hustled out of the house.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s cold out here,’ said J-T unnecessarily, hoping to prevent Liberty’s criticism of his drinking, as they huffed and puffed their way down the drive. ‘He clearly loves you,’ he said to Deirdre, as the three of them linked arms for warmth.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ she replied, her breath showing white as they approached the village street lighting. ‘Jonathan did propose, but I think it was more something to say at an awkward pause than a moment of passion.’

  ‘He clearly loves you,’ repeated J-T as they entered the house. ‘Did I say that already?’

  ‘Yes, but nice to hear it again, dear.’ Deirdre was secretly pleased that J-T was more drunk than she – most unusual – and also to have escaped from Denhelm. She couldn’t think what had got into Jonathan, her stalwart and very unromantically involved friend. She felt sad that it must mean he was feeling lonely again. He hadn’t proposed for a couple of years now. ‘Jonathan will be pleased in the morning when he sobers up; come on, I’ll make us all cocoa.’

  ‘He didn’t seem drunk to me,’ replied J-T, thoughtfully taking himself upstairs.

  ‘Nobody would seem drunk to you!’ chimed Deirdre and Liberty in unison at his retreating figure stumbling up the stairs. His only reply came in the form of a particular finger held above his head.

  The dogs looked up sleepily, but had no inclination to be put out in the cold, so didn’t even bother to shuffle over and find out if it had been a doggy bag sort of party.

  Liberty took off her boots and wriggled her toes into the sleeping dogs’ fur; better than any hot water bottle.

  ‘Now, are you going to tell me about Jonathan, or do I have to use torture?’

  Deirdre smiled as she put two mugs of cocoa on the table, adding hefty slugs of rum to them.

  ‘He is a dear friend, and for many years we have sort of hosted his parties together. After a few too many he gets a little wistful and starts looking at me with puppy dog eyes. I think that because the family are around, and the grandchildren, too, this year he is feeling a little more emotional than usual. Don’t forget, his wife died on Christmas Eve so it’s a tough time for him.’

  Liberty knew this well, as Savannah had always held her birthday party on 24th June. No one was allowed to mention so much as a happy birthday on Christmas Eve.

  ‘But I have to say I was shocked doubly this year. He has seemed so much more together, less lonely recently, and when he proposed to me in the library, I was taken aback. However, as I was giving my usual speech, letting him down gently, there was a cough from the wing chair by the fire. Edmund had been there the whole time, and heard everything. His father must be feeling embarrassed, that’s the only explanation I can think of for his harsh words to Edmund. Normally you have to light a fire under the man to get him to criticise his children.’

  ‘Typical bloody reaction from Edmund. How dare he stay quiet and let you talk about something so personal?’ huffed Liberty.

  ‘Darling, I think you will find he knows as well as I do that his father will never love anyone as much as Helena.’

  ‘But what about you? Do you love him? Jonathan, I mean of course. I didn’t even know you had a relationship . . .’

  ‘We haven’t, not that sort. It’s all sort of unsaid and undone. It would ruin our friendship, and I really value that. Anyway,’ said Deirdre, smiling, ‘I’m not sure I could bear to share my bed with anyone again, all that hair and toothpaste in the bathroom, and his house is so cold, and if I’m honest, there’s no spark, it would be like sleeping with my teddy bear. Having sex with my teddy bear! That sounds wrong – come back J-T!’ she yelled at the door. ‘I feel too drunk without you.’

  ‘I think there must be enough left of the night for a little beauty sleep before we head back to the park
tomorrow,’ Deirdre declared. ‘We should be planning our own Christmas feast, but there seem to be lots of undercurrents going on. Savannah doesn’t look happy, for one thing. I think you may be in demand as an ear to bend, my dear. And I do believe we will find Jonathan looking rather relieved when we see him again.’

  28

  Liberty got up early. She was unable to sleep as she couldn’t stop worrying about her mother. Did she love Jonathan or not? Did she really yearn to marry the charming gentleman with the perfect manners, and maybe refused him because she had to stay and look after her useless daughter who had returned home? And Savannah. She was clearly not happy, and although Liberty knew her well enough to understand anything could become a drama with her, she had gained the impression her oldest friend was intensely unhappy. Liberty decided to clear her head by taking the dogs out and then making breakfast for the two sleeping beauties, hoping they might be awake by the time she got back.

  She headed downstairs to the kitchen and on the way switched on all the twinkly fairy lights strung around the house and on the Christmas tree. Liberty loved the days that ran up to Christmas almost more than the day itself; the anticipation and the fresh smell of pine around the house. Her mother refused to decorate more than a week before the big day, saying that, ‘If it’s done too early, it loses its magic.’ The first rays of the sun were sliding between the curtains and crisp frost on the lawn was sparkling as she drew them back. This was indeed why she loved living back in Littlehurst.

  She knocked up a batch of bread dough from her mother’s starter, kept alive in the fridge with frequent additions of rye flour and potato, then put bacon and sausages in the Aga to cook slowly, and hoped to find some field mushrooms on her walk that could line their stomachs ready for a busy day.

  Custard snuffled happily along the hedgerows as she collected a few mushrooms clinging to life under the blackthorn, together with some rosemary that was just surviving. Dijon had stayed in the garden, unwilling to venture further in case his legs gave way. ‘You poor thing,’ said Liberty sadly as she tickled him under the chin when she returned.