The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  Although she wasn’t sure if Savannah would be saying any of this if the children were still with her, Liberty felt nothing but pride for the woman. It was true that people thought she was a flake, just out for a good time, and this had been the case in the past, but Liberty had seen Savannah with her children, and seen the responsible mother she had become.

  ‘Just don’t let him clip your lovely wings too much,’ she said as they embraced in a warm hug. Savannah was crying quietly, but calmly, and said it was down to nerves. ‘I’ll be back, with bells on!’ she declared. And Liberty knew she would.

  By the time Liberty returned to The Nuttery, Paloma was ensconced in the kitchen, glass of wine in her hand, having been picked up by J-T along with Evangeline and Claude, and a quiet Bob. Many hugs and kisses and don’t-you-look-wells later, they settled in the sitting room. Bob and J-T were sitting close together, a French bulldog on each lap, which made the eating of cake and the drinking of champagne rather difficult.

  ‘It’s no wonder you guys stay so slim,’ remarked Paloma as she noticed both men were feeding more to the dogs than themselves.

  ‘Oh, I have missed you three boys so much!’ exclaimed J-T. Bob was asking about Duck End, and whether it was fit for purpose now. ‘I have been putting in so many hours at the gallery, I need you home to help,’ he said to J-T, who pouted and stated, ‘If that is all you want me for . . .’

  Liberty couldn’t be bothered with their catty chat as she had the blooming, beautiful Evangeline to get to know. Claude was clearly madly in love, his eyes never leaving hers, and he kept jumping up to plump cushions and get glasses of water.

  ‘We are to be married soon after the baby arrives,’ explained the petite, clear-skinned woman, her bump barely showing beneath a tidy blue trouser suit with a cleverly positioned long scarf that fell to mid thigh to disguise any thickening of her waist. Her hair was almost black and cut in a neat bob, her chestnut eyes were rimmed with impossibly long lashes that needed no mascara, and a rosebud mouth gave her the look of a chic china doll.

  ‘My parents will never forgive me, having a baby out of wedlock. I had wanted to get my figure back first, but for peace of mind we have promised to marry as soon as I feel able, so the baby can be baptised in Claude’s name and they won’t think I am going straight to hell!’

  ‘Your English is better than mine!’ remarked Liberty.

  ‘Oh, I was educated in an international school. My father is American.’

  ‘And this torte is better than your father’s!’ exclaimed Paloma to Liberty. ‘Your baking is obviously coming on.’

  ‘The British seem to be having a love affair with salt and sweet, so I thought it worth a try,’ replied Liberty, blushing with pleasure.

  Paloma suggested they went to take a look at Liberty’s new house after she had unpacked.

  ‘That may take some time,’ whispered J-T as she walked upstairs. ‘We had to put her steamer trunk on the roof!’

  ‘You would have thought it was an elephant, the fuss you made!’ said Bob, and they grumbled happily to each other as J-T showed him to their room.

  You are definitely in love, thought Liberty about Claude as they chatted, Evangeline having gone for a bath and a nap. She noted the puppy dog longing had left his face, and he could for the first time in her memory look her straight in the eye without blushing.

  ‘Evangeline is so gorgeous. You must be so happy. Where are you living?’

  ‘Maman let me build a little cottage in the grounds, and that is progressing. Meanwhile, we are renting in town. Paloma wants to help with the bébé when it arrives, and Evangeline is keen to get back to work. She manages a yachting lease company.’

  Only in St Tropez, thought Liberty.

  ‘She will be able to work a lot from home, but Maman will be a great help. And I have started working on a new collection of pottery and sculpture. I sold a few last summer and realised how much people are willing to pay, so I dumped the photography and now I am taking commissions from wealthy Russians. I have one for a missile sculpture a fellow wants in his mansion. Can you imagine? He already has a real one – he says it’s decommissioned – in the middle of a fountain in his garden!’ And they both laughed.

  They walked across the green to Duck End. Paloma was draped in fur. The beautiful dusting of snow had given way to a true English winter, dull and misty, so by the time they arrived at the cottage she looked like a polar bear that had gone swimming for seals; beautiful, but somewhat damp.

  Liberty had left the Aga and the heating on low so everything was warm and welcoming. After admiring J-T’s choice of furnishings, Paloma said with typical bluntness, ‘It’s very you, but it desperately needs to be lived in. You are stalling, my dear.’

  ‘It feels so safe at Mother’s,’ explained Liberty. ‘I have needed that and we seem to have been busy, but I have said I will move over here early in January, so don’t worry.’

  ‘I am not worried at all; I just want to make sure you are going to take the independence leap. You are teetering, not sure whether to jump, and you will be so proud of yourself once you take that step. And what of the café? Have you organised help? Deirdre mentioned some ghastly couple in the village.’

  Liberty explained that although Gwen was a treasure, her husband was a liability, and then she mentioned Savannah’s predicament.

  Paloma, on hearing how dreadful Christmas would be at Denhelm without the guests of honour, exploded. ‘Can you imagine? The toys nestling beneath the tree, waiting for the children, the empty seats at the dining table? No! We must do something!’ She suggested that the entire de Weatherby clan, including Mrs Goodman, should come to The Nuttery for Christmas Day. On telling Deirdre, who thought it a fantastic idea, the three women set off for the park. Jonathan, however, deemed it a ridiculous plan; he assured them Mrs Goodman had already ordered the turkey.

  ‘Turkey? Never!’ protested Paloma.

  Deirdre said she would talk to Mrs G. ‘And you need to get out of the house on Christmas Day,’ she commanded. ‘It’s no good moping about Savannah and the grandchildren not being here. You can still ride out in the morning and come along early in the afternoon. We will play silly games, open presents, eat too much – all the things you do here, but without the ghosts.’

  Liberty gasped at her mother’s bluntness, and waited for a growl from Jonathan. It didn’t come. Jonathan glared at her mother for a moment, looking as though he intended to bite her arms off, but simply said, ‘If you can persuade Mrs Goodman, then we will come.’ And he retired to the library, knowing that Mrs Goodman would never hear of such a thing. He hated to upset her, and anyway, she would be so much better at saying no to Deirdre Steamroller than he was. He was therefore amazed when she agreed to the change in their ritual.

  ‘It will be lovely for me,’ she explained. ‘I won’t have to do a thing, they say.’

  ‘But Mrs G, you have never asked for time off at Christmas, and you always said after Mr G died you preferred to spend the time here, rather than with your family.’

  ‘But not this year. No good looking at the children’s presents unopened under the tree. It will be good for us all to do something different.’ Mrs Goodman would never before have entertained the idea of allowing the Christmas celebrations to be arranged by anyone but herself. She had in fact been working like a dervish for the last few weeks to get everything ready: cakes, puddings, turkey ordered from the farm shop, along with all the veg and cheeses. But now, with the children gone and no certainty they would be seen in the country again, she felt it would be a fantastic plan to spend Christmas Day at The Nuttery.

  Jonathan kept to his word, and spoke to Gray and Edmund, expecting a battle. ‘Good idea, Pa,’ they both said. And that was that.

  31

  Christmas Eve morning: rain without but warmth and good cheer within. The house party stood in their dressing gowns round the tree in the hall after being roused from their beds by an over-excited Deirdre, leaving the dogs eating m
ince pies in the dog room. They sang ‘we wish you a Merry Christmas’ and handed each other a present.

  ‘How can this be?’ asked J-T. ‘I was always told I had to wait until Christmas Day!’

  ‘Not in this house,’ explained Deirdre. ‘We used to hand one round in the evening, but it’s usually chaos, serving out drinks to people who call round, getting to Mass, etcetera, so we changed it. And Liberty’s may suffocate if left in there any longer!’

  As Liberty took the box from her mother, she was told to be very careful. She noticed it was moving and shuffling around. Liberty looked worried. ‘I thought you were joking about the suffocating!’

  ‘Go on, hurry up. She’s been in there for five minutes already,’ said Deirdre. Everyone’s eyes were drawn to the box, their own presents forgotten. Liberty lifted the lid.

  Looking up at her, sitting on a tiny sheepskin mat was an adorable pug puppy. The puppy did what pugs do best, and snuffled and reached her tiny paws up to balance on the rim of the box, as if to say ‘Here I am, get me out and cuddle me’. Her bottom was wiggling frantically as her tail was wagging so hard.

  Deirdre was watching Liberty’s reaction closely, prepared to take the pug as her own if she had got her wires crossed. She said cautiously, ‘Every person needs a dog, every house needs a dog, and so here’s yours, if you will have her.’

  Liberty scooped up the tiny fawn puppy from the box and was immediately licked around her neck. Deirdre breathed again. From the expression on Liberty’s face, she knew it was love at first sight.

  ‘She’s perfect. So tiny, and – ooh –so wet!’ she squeaked.

  ‘I’ve had her in my bedroom since yesterday. She’s twelve weeks old, and she seems to want to go out, but it’s all been a bit too exciting.’

  ‘But Mother, I can’t have a puppy. I’m opening a café!’

  ‘Well, I am two steps away, I can help. And you can keep her in a basket behind the counter.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Health and Safety would love that!’ But Deirdre was right, and Liberty had already fallen for the little dog’s charms. She took her outside for a leg stretch and the little dog snuffled around, with Feran and Bulli, who had been let out earlier, yapping at her heels.

  ‘They will be fine,’ said Bob, who had followed in hot pursuit. ‘They are just excited to have all this fresh country air. They love their London park, but you can’t compete with this.’

  True enough, the French bulldogs left the new addition alone and raced off after an imaginary rabbit.

  ‘How are you, Bob?’ asked Liberty. ‘We haven’t had a chance to chat since you came down. I’m so pleased you are here.’

  ‘I do so miss the silly fool, no matter what we say to each other. He is my soul mate. And I can’t get over how you have changed,’ he said, giving her a huge hug. ‘Power suit gone, casual in cashmere – and J-T was right, you really are glowing! I thought bakers were meant to be fat, jolly people, but you look just the same but with rosy cheeks – oh, and bigger boobs.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Liberty smiled and playfully punched him on the arm. ‘What on earth am I meant to do with this one?’ And she scooped up the wriggling pug. ‘Mother has the silliest ideas.’

  ‘Yes, I see that. But I got those two at the maddest time, just as work was really taking off. It was tricky at first, and being on your own, it may not be an easy time, but if you can make the effort she will be house-trained and obedient quickly, and suddenly you will wonder how you survived without her! There is nothing quite like the relationship you have with your first dog.’

  ‘Not in a café!’ wailed Liberty.

  ‘I thought a dog was an essential part of a pub?’

  ‘An Alsatian, maybe, but a pug?’

  ‘Come on inside,’ said Bob, laughing then whistling to his dogs. ‘I’m starving, and I haven’t stopped eating since I arrived.’

  ‘It’s all the lovely country air,’ she said as they went in.

  For lunch there was a French onion soup, a soufflé made with Sussex Crumble cheese and a green salad. This was followed by a dried fruit salad that had been soaking overnight in cider, cinnamon and vanilla, and walnut tuiles.

  Liberty ate little; most of lunch was spent crawling around the floor with the puppy. ‘I refuse to call her Holly or Ivy,’ she retorted. ‘I’m going to live at Duck End so she can be Teal. A pretty name for a beautiful girl.’ The little dog promptly ran to lick her nose, obviously liking the choice of name. ‘Come on, I’ll make you some scrambled egg.’

  ‘Well, I’m gobsmacked!’ announced J-T. ‘I thought she would insist that you kept her,’ he confided to Deirdre.

  ‘Yes, but she needs something to care for when she is home alone. Oh, I will miss her dreadfully! I have loved having her here.’

  Leaving the puppy to snuggle up to Dijon, the other dogs took their owners for a long walk. If an American tour had passed by in a coach, they would have thought they were looking at a combined advertisement for Barbour and Fendi.

  Claude and Evangeline looked blissfully in love.

  ‘I can barely do my coat up, but at least the bump keeps me warm,’ joked Evangeline.

  ‘My first photo for the mantelpiece,’ said Liberty, running ahead to take photos of the couple.

  ‘There will be lots more after the party. We have two photographers coming and no doubt the press will send some paparazzi,’ said Deirdre.

  ‘Who on earth have you invited to warrant paps?’ asked Liberty. ‘What happened to introducing me to the village?’

  ‘Well, you met that lot at Jonathan’s, so Paloma sent invitation cards to all the old set. Terence Macready is coming with his entourage.’ He had been as big as the Rolling Stones were in their heyday. ‘Then there’s Camille DuPont, the most successful and beautiful French actress, and Mark Chailey, the PR guru, to name a few. And all of us, of course! We need to get you into the press, so we must drop a few mentions that an excellent new café will shortly be opening right here in the village.’

  ‘Mother!’ shouted Liberty in horror. ‘It’s not a Michelin-starred restaurant! Wrong sort of press!’ But she giggled over her mother’s enthusiasm. ‘Your lovely friends from the old days eat in fine places with foie gras and caviar; they won’t be coming for tea and scones!’

  ‘A little publicity never hurt anyone,’ said Paloma, looking embarrassed. It had been her idea.

  ‘And of course it will be the first time that Alain and Deirdre have been together since their split. The famous restaurateur comes to support his daughter’s venture,’ said Claude.

  Deirdre and Liberty stopped in their tracks and turned on Paloma.

  ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Oh, he said he was alone, and would love to come.’

  ‘But surely he’s working?’

  ‘I think he’s coming after work, but you can ask him tomorrow when he gets here.’

  ‘Whaaaat?’ they both screamed.

  ‘He decided to join us for Christmas when he closes after lunch. He’s leaving his team to cope with hotel guests.’

  Deirdre was apoplectic. ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Paloma, ‘everyone should be happy and get on together at Christmas. It will be wonderful.’

  ‘OK, so next time we hold a party we will ask Claude’s father for a cosy chit-chat. You won’t mind?’ asked Liberty through gritted teeth. She had her arm linked through Paloma’s, so was unable to see the strange expression flicker over the older woman’s face. ‘Mother will now be in a total flap.’

  ‘Not at all,’ answered her godmother. ‘Don’t you see she still loves him?’

  ‘Maybe so, but I think Dad has burned his bridges there, and he will probably thoughtlessly have some nineteen-year-old in tow.’

  That evening they enjoyed light nibbles of oysters, tiny toads-in-the-hole and a cheese plate while Claude played Christmas carols at the baby grand piano, throwing in the occasional Noël Coward medley. Candles twinkled on the Christmas tree, an
d the fire crackled in the grate. Jonathan collected them for a quick sing-song and mince pie in the pub before Midnight Mass, and Liberty gave him a tight hug, reflecting that his daughter’s departure was the only fly in their wonderful ointment. He looked tired and grey, but he brightened when he witnessed the merry scene inside. After quick introductions they wrapped up warmly and stamped off into the night.

  Everything feels magical on Christmas Eve, and that night the stars twinkled to match their mood. The North Star shone as brightly as it should, and they all imagined shepherds out watching their flocks, although J-T was more inclined to imagine Santa Claus flying through the sky.

  The pub was filled to bursting. People who were not seen inside either the pub or the church for the rest of the year milled around, making new friends and catching up with old ones. A few youngsters, already tipsy, were scuffling outside and being told to calm down by Harold, the seldom-seen publican.

  ‘Welcome, boys!’ yelled Dilys, excited to see the handsome Grahame and Edmund, and wide-eyed at Claude’s Gallic beauty. She allowed them to queue-barge, but no one minded as Jonathan completed the round (as she knew he would) by shouting, ‘Drinks on me. Merry Christmas, everyone!’

  A huge cheer went up, and then Dilys squeezed her way round with a vast platter of mince pies.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’ She winked at Grahame. ‘Liberty’s have all been scoffed. These are the cash and carry’s, and by the looks on those faces, not as good by far.’

  Grahame let his pie drop back on the plate and sidled over to Liberty.

  ‘What are we going to do about Savannah?’ he asked. ‘Pa seems to be going out of his mind with worry. He’s been holed up in his study since she left. I feel so helpless, as the Foreign Office has been useless. They don’t want to interfere in any domestic dealings in case it upsets trade negotiations going on at the moment, as far as I can tell.’