The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  ‘What do we do with them overnight?’ asked Liberty. ‘They can’t be put with the chickens or ducks!’ The birds took matters into their own feet and roosted on top of the chimneys, comforted by the heat from below and calling every few minutes. By the next morning even the most peaceful villagers wanted to shoot them, and Deirdre was ready to pluck and roast them over the fire.

  ‘So much for our beauty sleep,’ murmured J-T as he descended for a late breakfast. ‘The dogs barked every time they crowed, or whatever it is they do, so Bob and I got no sleep whatsoever.’

  Nevertheless, the party atmosphere was upon them. The caterers were busy in their kitchen, which they had set up at an amazing rate in a smaller tent, the rain had stopped, and the low winter sun was doing its best to dry the puddles.

  Liberty was doing the same indoors. ‘I do so love you, Teal, but I can’t wait for the day you are trained.’ She looked at her mother.

  ‘Don’t blame me, darling – it’s all part and parcel of having a pet. They are so adorable at that age, so you don’t really mind, and she will get there eventually. Keep her in a good routine, and soon she will know it’s best to go outside.’

  Guests had been instructed to turn up at eight. Deirdre knew the locals would arrive first. Many of the others were booked into nearby hotels, and Terence Macready was even helicoptering in, with kind permission to land on Jonathan’s land. In the good old days, Deirdre had held many parties like this, and so had no sweaty palms concerning the 250 or so guests descending for the evening. She had found it always worked to mix people, so each table had a selection of the great, the good, the famous and the local. It was always interesting to see who got on (and who didn’t). One year, she remembered, a very well-known film star tried to land a part with a director she sat next to. The man was so delighted to be flirted with and chatted up by the beautiful but brainless young woman he couldn’t bring himself to tell her he was the director of an institute, not of films.

  As the hosting household beautified themselves upstairs, waiters in smart uniforms readied their trays and poured champagne. The canapés were being laid out. Deirdre and Liberty had tried not to bother the caterers too much, but couldn’t resist taking a look in the kitchen. Deirdre knew the locals expected something different and amusing so they could discuss the menu for the coming twelve months. Those used to eating in the best restaurants would be happy with something rather more homely, so she had decided on adventurous canapés followed by sausages and mash piled on to huge platters for the main course. Each table would be presented with its own Desperate Dan platter, sausages sticking out of the mash, and each guest would have his or her own tiny bottle of ketchup and brown sauce. For pudding the adventure revved up again. Each person would have ‘A Passionata’: one passion fruit panna cotta, one coconut and passion fruit macaroon and one thin slice of dark chocolate tart, topped with passion fruit jelly.

  Cooking 550 sausages was fairly easy, and the caterers were relaxed. The previous day they had been hurriedly stuffing partridges with pigeons and foie gras, so they were enjoying themselves. The sausages were from Ted, who would be coming tonight, thrilled that Deirdre had promised to name him on the menu. He was used to people laughing when he told them his name was Ted Pig, and yes, he really was a pig farmer, and so he was looking forward to the comments, and hopefully some orders.

  The house began to fill up. Fred the blacksmith was one of the first to arrive. He looked devastatingly handsome in black tie. He would have been the epitome of a Greek god on legs, had his mouth not fallen open in a very un-God-like way when he saw Liberty, who looked ravishing in her Roland Mouret dress that enhanced her tiny waist and showed off her curves and long legs. It was in silvery green, which made her skin gleam and her eyes bewitching. When he recovered, he kissed her on both cheeks and said her sign was coming along nicely. He fished his phone from his pocket and showed her some photographs. She was thrilled with the elegant simplicity, told him so and gave him a huge hug, at which point Edmund walked in. Glowering and glamorous in evening dress, he stalked straight past her to say hello to Paloma. Grahame was not so rude, and waited until Fred let Liberty go before kissing her.

  ‘Hello, Fred,’ he said, a little coolly. He remembered finding him in a compromising situation with his sister years before. It had caused a few problems, not least of which was Savannah confiding to Grahame a few weeks afterwards that she was late. Thankfully, this was only a horrible scare, but as Fred had denied any wrongdoing, and rudely claimed it could have been anyone’s, Grahame had never forgiven him.

  Paloma looked stunning in a Dior dress she had found in a vintage clothes shop in Paris. ‘Probably made when I was born, and has aged much better than me,’ she told Jonathan laughingly.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he replied, gazing down at her happy, inclined and unlined face.

  From inside the house it looked as though the fireworks had begun early. The photographers had leapt to their feet from the cold ground where they had been waiting for recognisable faces, and they set to work, flashes blitzing every few seconds as cars disgorged business champions, sports personalities and the occasional actor. One surprising face was that of Genevieve a Bois, the ballerina with whom Alain had had a child, Leah, all those years ago, and for whom he had left Deirdre. Paloma had invited her, as Deirdre and Liberty had wanted news of the daughter – wanted to meet her and perhaps get to know her. On her part, Genevieve was stunned by the invitation, and immediately booked first-class tickets for them both. She had kept Leah to herself, infuriated when Alain had refused to follow her to the States for her career. She had become a choreographer but now, faded and unrecognised, she relished any chance to shine, and imagined, incorrectly, that she would be guest of honour, not giving any thought to how her neglected daughter would feel.

  Leah was getting out of the car. She looked nothing like Liberty – very blonde, California skinny, wearing a handkerchief of a dress and far too much heavy make-up on her pretty but strained face. She stalked into the house, saw Liberty and asked where the bathrooms were. J-T returned from taking her to the cloakroom, and informed Liberty it was to powder her nose, and not in the old-fashioned way.

  Deirdre greeted the retired ballerina, albeit with gritted teeth. ‘Gosh, you have changed so much,’ was the booming reply she was given. ‘England is so behind in facial enhancement, you must come to stay with us in the States, and see my dermatologist.’

  Before Deirdre could deck her, Jonathan leapt to the rescue, telling her a queue was building at the door, all freezing as they were being photographed. Deirdre raced off to rescue her guests before they fled and Jonathan introduced Genevieve to Ethan Trickster, a beautiful upcoming actor who would be happy to sleep with his mother if it meant becoming more famous. He was here at his manager’s insistence, but he had noticed his manager was in London with some of his more famous clients. He and Genevieve were both preening like the peacocks that were still calling from the chimney tops.

  ‘That bloody woman, how could Alain have seen anything in her?’ complained Deirdre to Liberty. She downed a glass of champagne, took a deep breath and vowed to steer clear.

  People were starting to move out to the orangery from where the French doors led to a covered walkway that took them to the marquee. Banks of flowers lined the walls of the marquee, making it look like a walled garden rather than a tent, and the tables were adorned with more floristry art, giving a feel of opulence. The dance floor had temporary rugs strewn over it to absorb the chatter and make the atmosphere cosier; they would be rolled back later. A jazz band played in a corner as waitresses moved through the crowd with trays of canapés.

  Bob had managed to interest a round-the-world yachtsman in sponsoring a new artist, so would be lost in conversation for hours. J-T and Grahame were becoming drinking partners. Gray always found New Year’s Eve tricky. Meanwhile, J-T was fed up with Bob for working rather than partying, so the two lonely gays were getting on famously.

/>   ‘Another bottle for us, I think,’ said Gray, snatching one from an unsuspecting waiter. ‘God, I hate New Year’s. No matter how much fun the party is, there always seems to be the expectation of something better. It’s just another night, but everyone always seems to think it could be a whole new beginning. They don’t get it. It will just be the same old shit tomorrow.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were the happy one in your family,’ said J-T, smiling.

  ‘Oh, sorry, it’s the cynic in me appearing. Doesn’t Liberty look fabulous?’ said Gray, to change the subject. ‘I wonder if she is having a fling with that dreadful Fred.’

  ‘Oh, she had a near miss, or that’s what she told us,’ said J-T. ‘What about you? Anyone on the scene?’

  Gray looked up at the handsome smiling face and wished he could pour his heart out.

  34

  The canapés had been demolished. Deirdre managed to find Fred, who helped her force open the downstairs cloakroom door and physically remove Leah, who had decided to stay in there all night.

  ‘Come along, young lady, I want you to meet your half-sister.’

  At this, Leah ran back into the cloakroom and threw up the little she had eaten for lunch. Bloody Paloma, this hasn’t been a good idea, thought Deirdre.

  Ballerina and actor were still nose to nose, and had changed table placements so they could continue their burgeoning relationship. Both talked at once, each telling the other how fabulous they were, when really they were describing themselves.

  The vicar was trying to have a discussion with a very interesting art history professor, who had worked on bringing the largest ever Leonardo collection to the National Gallery. But Miss Scally kept interrupting, reminding the vicar his sermons had been getting too short, and asking what she should do about Dr Brown, as he seemed so depressed.

  Doesn’t seem depressed to me, thought the vicar, watching the doctor’s familiar crinkled face smile down on Sarah as she chatted animatedly to him.

  Dilys the barmaid was trying desperately to entrap Terence Macready the pop star with her cleavage, which he was doing his best not to fall into. He was far too polite to tell her he was still desperately in love with his wife of forty years, and that it was only his publicity team who kept rumours of his affairs and promiscuity going so the media didn’t forget about him.

  The guests eventually took their seats, and the Ted Pig sausages and mash were brought out, red wine poured and a happy mixture of conversation and music filled the marquee, only occasionally marred by the wail of the peacocks who had decided to make the flower displays in the walkways their supper.

  Everyone was tucking into the delicious food, except for Genevieve, who was now trying to calm her weeping daughter while simultaneously flirting with Ethan. This was not easy, as the actor was doing his best to comfort Leah by putting his hand up her tiny skirt. This had the desired effect.

  ‘Hello,’ Leah said, finally cracking a smile. ‘Please may I have a glass of wine?’

  ‘Trouble there,’ said Edmund to Liberty; they had been placed next to each other by Paloma.

  ‘I don’t know why Paloma thought it would be a good idea to have them at the party,’ replied Liberty after glancing in the direction he was indicating. ‘Dad tried to keep in contact with Leah, but Genevieve sent his letters back unopened and refused to take his calls. I’m sure that’s why he cancelled coming tonight. He said his sous-chef had come down with something, but I’m not convinced. And he had such a good time at Christmas.’

  Once the sausages had been devoured, and the passionata pudding was being picked at by the now very merry crowd, the dance floor was cleared of rugs for the next stage of the evening. The band, who had taken over from the initial musicians, struck up with ‘I Gotta Feeling’ by The Black Eyed Peas. Deirdre found herself being led by the unusually relaxed and very merry Dr Brown, who whooshed her around the floor and said admiringly as they twirled, ‘Fabulous party, great crowd. So nice to be able to meet such a mix of people – reminds one of what’s under one’s own nose.’ Deirdre was wondering what he meant – she hoped he wasn’t going to declare his undying love – when his eye caught Sarah’s and he waved at her over Deirdre’s shoulder.

  Hmm, thought Deirdre.

  Deirdre felt the evil eye of Miss Scally upon her and asked the doctor, ‘How do you cope with such a terror as receptionist and secretary?’ She was having to shout to be heard, but thankfully there was so much noise nobody else could hear her.

  ‘She has been a godsend at organising my office and files, and can you imagine the fallout if I fired her? I’ve been hoping she may retire, but who would take her place?’

  Deirdre’s mind was still in gear. ‘What about Sarah? She will need to work after the baby comes, and she is exhausting herself with cleaning.’

  ‘Lovely girl!’ beamed the doctor. ‘Not a bad idea, not a bad idea at all . . .’ And with that, they gave up trying to talk over the music.

  Liberty had surprised herself by enjoying Edmund’s company during the meal, but he had quickly taken his leave when Fred bounded over to ask her to dance. As Fred nuzzled into her and tried all his best moves, Liberty wondered what was wrong – she felt no attraction to the Irish hunk now. Maybe it was knowing he was such a tart. But she allowed herself to enjoy his firm, capable body swinging her around the floor.

  At ten minutes to midnight Terence Macready, who was really very tired of women trying to seduce him, decided to remove himself from the throng in the only way he knew. Asking the band if they minded, he took the mike and announced he was going to sing them into the new year. One of his most popular tracks had been ‘Dancing For the First’, a catchy rock number released with the sole purpose of reaching number one for the new year – well, actually, new year in 1979, but with his hips gyrating in his black jeans, bow tie removed, and his dark shirt clinging to his taut midriff, he still looked very much the rock star. His voice was perhaps not as strong as it had once been – too many concerts and too many cigarettes – but it was now softer and more gravelly, which suited this particular band. Originally he had been accompanied by drum rolls and clashing guitars, but now the smoother sound of the bass guitar and saxophone gave the song a real energy and life of its own.

  Dammit, thought the quiet Mrs Macready, who had spent the last thirty-five years as the stay-at-home wife and manager. He sounds so good, we are going to have to re-record and re-release that song. At least it will help with the grandchildren’s school fees.

  At the end of the song was a countdown which usually fed into a guitar solo, but had been also used as a lead up to midnight by DJs for the past thirty-five years, and Terence brought the house down when he shouted ‘Midnight!’. Fireworks were exploding in the park, welcoming in the new year, and guests raced outside for fresh air and to ooh and aah. As they rushed past the demolished flower displays, the peacocks took exception to the noise and colourful explosions and flew off into the darkness.

  Liberty was being kissed and hugged by everyone. She hoped it was not just the drink that was encouraging her enthusiastic welcome to the village. She hugged and kissed back, smiling as she watched Fred snogging a young beauty in a gold-sequinned dress.

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  She turned to find Edmund standing behind her.

  ‘What? Fred? God, no, he’s funny and gorgeous, but a little loose for me where morals are concerned. Oh, Edmund, happy new year.’ And she awkwardly kissed him on the cheek; he returned the pressure and hugged her to him. A fizz of energy spun down from her hair to her toes, and wrapped itself cosily round her shoulders where he had placed his arm. Embarrassed that he might be able to sense her excitement, she pulled away from his embrace a little too quickly, and he looked soulfully down at her.

  ‘I had better find Pa to wish him a happy new year,’ he excused himself.

  Liberty touched her cheek where he had kissed her. She had found herself thinking of his handsome face all too often recently, and now she
told herself to get a grip, as he seemed to want to move away from her so quickly. Although, when they chatted at supper, they had so much to say. He probably has women falling at his feet, and doesn’t want to lead another one on, thought Liberty sadly.

  Terence was back at the microphone, the lead singer of the band only too thrilled as the press photographers had managed to enter the marquee and were now snapping away. Great publicity!

  Most people were getting a second wind, helped by bottles of champagne generously distributed over the tables for people to help themselves. Steaming coffee pots were also being laid out alongside trays of petits fours, which disappeared quickly. Dijon had forgotten his advanced years and disgraced himself by escaping when Liberty took the puppy out. He had thoughtfully dragged a tray of leftovers – sausages and mash, and pudding left for the disposal bin – to where Custard was waiting. They were found looking fat and guilty by Deirdre, who only said, ‘I thought you were meant to be scared of fireworks, but happy new year to you both.’

  She was en route to the cloakroom to freshen up when she caught sight, through the sitting room door, of Jonathan and Paloma in a passionate embrace. Steeling herself for a jealous fist to attack her heart, she was surprised that all she felt was delight for two of her oldest friends, and she found her mouth smiling as she reapplied her lipstick.

  Hours later cars rolled up the high street to take the guests home. Liberty was feeling a bit flat as she said goodnight to the last few stragglers. She was wondering what had happened to Edmund, Gray and J-T. Jonathan was in the kitchen with Deirdre and Paloma, and Bob had gone to bed after sealing a deal with Terence for three paintings by one of his latest discoveries that Terence had been admiring on Bob’s iPad. It had also been agreed, by way of thanks, that J-T would redesign the Macreadys’ flat in London, because Mrs M said it looked like something from the 1970s.