by Janey Lewis
The response was immediate. ‘Gray for Green – vote him back in!’
Nature eventually intervened, providing a bigger news story: dramatic flooding in Bangladesh, over a quarter of a million people feared drowned and many more destined to die from disease.
Gray took this as a message from the gods to do more to help the real world. He had realised over the past few days that he had become increasingly disillusioned by central government workings, and the control held by the European Court over Middle England constituents who merely wanted to cut a hedge or build an affordable home, only to be told that section nine, paragraph 3.2.11 of the European Diktat stated that no home without triple-glazing (at vast personal cost) could be built unless on a brownfield site, etcetera, etcetera. He was totally fed up with petty fights. He would leave Edmund to wrestle with Denhelm’s alternative power research, and volunteer his services to whoever needed his help.
His talents were greedily snapped up by UNESCO, one of whose senior officers was an old school friend and knew how good Gray was at achieving the impossible by sheer persistence. With conflicts springing up around the world, and the global economic situation so dicey, promoting cultural diversity had become increasingly difficult. Grahame was the perfect candidate to get things done. Therefore, much to the regret of his constituents, Gray announced he was off to Bangladesh to attempt to help people far more deserving and needy than those in the UK. He would travel via Abu Dhabi, he added to Jonathan and Edmund, to try and see Savannah.
‘I want to see her and the children, check she is OK. I couldn’t bear for her to be unhappy for long.’
Jonathan understood his younger son’s decision, but was sad to see another of his children disappear off round the world.
‘I’ll be back. The job is only for a few months and then I will be ready for something here. I just need for everyone to forget what happened.’
‘I feel I only just know you now,’ said Jonathan, giving his son a hug. ‘Maybe I should come with you and see what I can do to help Savvie and the children.’
‘I don’t think Khalid is going to welcome me with open arms, and he may see you as a threat,’ said Gray. ‘If I think there’s trouble at the mill, albeit the gold-plated mill, I’ll let you know.’
He also wrote a heartfelt apology to J-T at his office, not wanting to compromise any reconciliation between him and Bob by sending it to their home. He simply said he was sorry for all the publicity and embarrassment and hoped he and Bob could sort out their differences.
Bob had in fact benefited from the publicity. Headlines such as ‘Famous duo in MP’s downfall!’ meant everyone had heard of The Small Dog Design Company and of his gallery. He was furious with J-T, who had been allowed back into their apartment, but was relegated to the spare bedroom. Bob appreciated that he was working too hard, but J-T had been the one to leave him for a jolly with Liberty. He knew designing the interior for a country cottage would have taken all of one brain cell, and he was perfectly aware that his partner had spent most of the time having fun. Loyalty and fidelity were incredibly important to Bob. He had been humiliated, and wondered if it had been the first time J-T and Gray had been intimate. He seconded the call by opposition MPs for Gray’s resignation, but then, with time to mull it over, felt a little sorry for the man. His career would be over, but Bob couldn’t believe Gray hadn’t told his family earlier that he was gay. There must have been a reason. He thought perhaps he had tried, and was met by Jonathan simply refusing to acknowledge his son’s existence any longer, as had happened to Bob. If that was the case, he was truly sorry for the man.
J-T’s parents had been desperately angry when he told them in early adolescence, and were initially disgusted with him, but it was at least a reaction, whereas Bob’s father had never spoken to him again. Not for twenty-five years, for heaven’s sake. Bob felt terrible, thinking of the horrible time Gray must be going through. Every gay person unites in the terror of telling their nearest and dearest. Some parents are surprisingly accepting, despite being seemingly truly conservative in their outlook. J-T’s parents had always been so laid-back, having spent most of the 1960s and 1970s caravanning around the world to promote peace and free love. They got stoned regularly and refused to commit to work until dragged kicking and screaming into the real world when a child arrived. Sadly, by the time J-T announced to his parents he was gay, they had morphed into the very people they had spent their formative years rejecting.
Once he settled into a comfortable job as a bank manager, Mr Jackson became as dull as the bank he worked in. He forgot about free love, as he realised very quickly that fitting in and keeping his head down was rewarded by a good salary. Once he had money, a car and a home he was happy to hold on to what he had, thank you very much, and he threw away the kaftans and the caravan. Thankfully, Mrs Jackson had kept some of the atmosphere of free spirit in the home, and she passed on her artistic temperament to J-T.
Bob knew it would take him a long time to forgive his partner, who was working hard and taking the dogs to the park every day without complaining. J-T obviously regretted deeply what had happened, but Bob needed to know his soul mate was serious about being faithful from now on, and wanted to convince him of what they had together. He had even suggested a separation so his eyes could be opened to what a good life they had. But J-T had looked so terrified at this suggestion he backed down, in case the silly boy did something to harm himself.
But both of them were very aware that something was wrong in their relationship.
36
Liberty felt as though she were in the eye of the storm. Her friends all seemed to be having problems and she could do nothing to help. So she concentrated on moving into her cottage and opening her café.
Sad as she was to leave her mother’s comfortable home, it was exciting to transport all her belongings into her very own place. This was the first time in her life she had lived alone, apart from halls at university, which didn’t count, and she was pleased to have Teal’s reassuring furry presence. The little dog helped to explain creaks in the night, and any loneliness was calmed and eased by a lick or a stroke.
The house was beautiful. She loved it, and it really started to feel like home when cooking smells took over from paint ones, filling the house with the aroma of gently simmering coq au vin and a rhubarb tart when Gray came to see her before leaving for Abu Dhabi.
She burst out laughing as he arrived at the door. All she could see was a tall tree in a pot, and a large cardboard box.
‘Are you there, Gray? Or is the tree coming in on its own? I didn’t stock up on Baby Bio!’
‘Your mother told me you needed to fill the place with real stuff, so I’ve brought my plants for you to plant-sit, and all my old books. Bookshelves without books are ridiculous.’
Liberty had placed a huge order of old and new cookery books with Steve Bainbridge, a friend of her mother’s and source of all things bookish in Ludlow, and they would be wending their way to her once he had the titles together. However, she was grateful for the gesture, and said she would certainly look after them until his return. Gray had also brought a bottle of champagne and a delicate, prettily coloured Meissen vase.
‘Happy house warming,’ he said and gave her a hug, with his now free arms. They left the new additions in the hall for Teal to sniff while Liberty showed him proudly round the house. Once he had admired and clucked in all the right places he asked her if he could have a drink.
‘Oh, God! Sorry, my hostessing skills are terrible now I have so much to show off. I’m going to be perfect in the café. I’ll show everyone my sparkling pots and pans and forget to feed them!’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Gray, laughing, as she handed him a chilled glass of Sancerre, the champagne he had given her being too warm to serve. ‘Cheers.’ He took a sip, nodded in appreciation and said, ‘I’ve never really thanked you, have I?’
‘What for? The disastrous New Year’s party, or introducing you to J-T?’
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Gray shook his head but smiled kindly. ‘For keeping my secret. Not many people can do that. And I now recognise, sadly, it would have been better all round if I had been open. Maybe not for my chosen career, but certainly for me and the family. Look at me. I’ve basically been living in enforced celibacy for the past twenty years.’
Liberty raised a well-groomed brow.
‘I don’t know about your private life,’ she said, ‘but no relationships at all?’
‘You should have advised me to go into a different profession!’
‘Hang it all, I was eleven!’ joked Liberty.
‘I may not have said anything, but you have held a very special place in my heart, and I thank you now from the bottom of it.’
Liberty had a lump in her throat, and no idea how to respond apart from feeding him, so she did just that.
They sat at the oval table in the kitchen, dishes and a claret jug on the table so they didn’t have to get up. Liberty served them both with the juicy wine-rich chicken, mashed potato and a green salad, which she placed on pretty cabbage-shaped side plates. While Gray poured the wine, Liberty asked him what he thought was going to happen regarding Savannah.
‘I honestly can’t think. I know that girl, and it’s impossible to imagine her imprisoned in a home in the middle of a country she respects but dislikes. However, the children have changed her life, and she will do anything to keep them happy and safe and by her side. It was just finding out about the house in Paris that gave me an odd feeling. It just doesn’t make sense. Khalid was insistent they made their home in Abu Dhabi, and of course that’s where he is from, but it makes me wonder if he is planning to leave Savannah there while he goes off to Paris and the children are in Switzerland. I cannot see whom, if anyone, it would benefit. He loves those children, and he seems to adore Savannah, so why separate them? If Khalid is planning on doing anything that would hurt her, I would like to be up to date with his plans.’
‘You had people watching the house, didn’t you? Did they give you a clue as to its purpose?’ asked Liberty as she spooned another portion of buttery tarragon-infused mash on to his plate to sop up the juices. He had obviously not been eating since New Year, and his once fitted shirt was loose around the gills.
‘No, nothing, apart from once in a while a lady goes in and comes out a couple of hours later – God, this is good by the way, any more chicken? We think she must be a maid, but we can’t exactly interrogate her without evidence of wrongdoing.’
Liberty dished up the last of the bird on to his proffered plate as she said, ‘I suppose not, and I’m sure it’s probably just another investment. I’m convinced Savvie doesn’t know the half of what his business interests are. What did you think of Khalid as a person rather than your brother-in-law?’
‘Well, he seems nice enough – strong views, bright as a button, meant to be amazing on a horse and bloody good-looking, which will have wowed Savannah. He also appears to be a man of the world, so I don’t quite understand his rash actions with the children. Unless I’m off the mark entirely, which Pa thinks I am, I believe his love for Savannah and his family made him desperate, thinking he would lose her, so he has tried to trap her. Pa’s been asking around his racing buddies, and he has a good, solid reputation in a sport that often harbours cheats, crooks and cruelty. He obviously has a jealous streak, but Savvie, bless her, doesn’t exactly help as she is a natural flirt, and I would imagine a chap brought up in the Middle East would find her quite a handful. We had some good chats before the hunt ball about horses and oil reserves. I gather he owns some wells in Saudi Arabia. He even asked about the popularity of renewable energy and said he was thinking of opening a laboratory in one of his refineries to look at the possibility of green alternatives working alongside fossil fuels. I just wonder if seeing Savvie among her own sort at the hunt ball made him think she was going to stay here and not return home.’
Liberty felt exceedingly guilty at that point, as she recalled encouraging her friend to stay and work in the café.
‘But your father thinks differently?’ she asked, not adding that the thought of true love being behind the kidnap of sorts seemed more like a fairy tale than real life. She cleared the plates, and brought out a rhubarb tarte Tatin and a box of home-made vanilla ice cream.
‘My, that looks good,’ exclaimed Gray, who had thought himself full to bursting. ‘Everyone in the county will be piling on the pounds when you open up shop.’
‘I need to practise my puff pastry. I’ve only just moved in here and the chest freezer is practically full of the stuff,’ said Liberty with a laugh. ‘I’ve scented the layers by adding a tiny amount of crushed cardamom into the butter.’
As the warm, crisp, buttery pastry melted on his tongue, counteracted by the sharp and sweet rhubarb, Gray decided he had died and gone to heaven; when he added a little ice cream to his following spoonful, he knew he had.
‘I tell you what your trick is,’ he mumbled with his mouth full. ‘You bring childhood flavours to make the consumer feel safe and then you add a touch of sophistication to surprise and reward. I know you will be a hit, young lady.’ He raised his glass of Tokay and made a toast. ‘To friends old and new and to both our futures!’
Liberty joined him in the toast, glowing from his compliments about the food, but she felt obliged to ask him if he was sure he was doing the right thing by disappearing off to Bangladesh.
‘Major Race has confirmed the job is waiting for me,’ said Gray, referring to his old chum. ‘And if I had any qualms about leaving here, just reading all the literature I can get my hands on about overseas aid has persuaded me. The money they get quite often simply disappears when it reaches the country, either straight into politicians’ silk-lined pockets, which makes me mad enough, or, almost worse, the money that does reach the afflicted areas is distributed amongst those meant to be directly helping the homeless and disease-riddled. They use the funds to escape themselves.’
‘I admire you hugely,’ said Liberty, ‘but we want you back very soon. Let’s go into the sitting room. I lit a fire and I had better find Teal – most unusual for her not to be begging.’
The little pug was fast asleep by the ottoman in front of the fire, and there was a puddle on the rug.
‘At least she didn’t lie in it,’ sighed Liberty, as she mopped and rubbed the rug. ‘J-T would be thrilled to learn the kilim he tore from Afghan weavers’ hands has wound up as a litter tray.’
‘He is a nice man,’ said Gray sadly. ‘I hope he and Bob sort things out, and I must remember not to drink so much whilst being flattered by elegant young men.’
‘I think we could all benefit from that,’ added Liberty with a giggle as she sat beside him and offered him home-made truffles. Gray looked directly into her eyes, took both of her hands in his and said, ‘I may well die if I eat one more mouthful, but let me tell you, it will be worth it.’ And with that he popped one into his mouth, letting the soothing, endorphin-releasing dark chocolate cheer him into the night.
The village had enjoyed a little local scandal, but there was a general feeling of relief once the press left. Anyone who felt they needed more gossip was suddenly coming down with a mysterious illness – diagnosed by Dr Brown as nosiness – and were making appointments at the surgery so they could get the latest from Miss Scally. Was Jonathan really giving up Denhelm? Was he selling to a hotel group? Were they all gay? Was his eldest son going to turn his tenants out of their cottages or raise rents sky high so that only holidaymakers could afford them? Were aliens going to land? And so on.
Miss Scally was still upset with Dr Brown that he had danced with everyone but her at the New Year’s Eve party, and most especially with Deirdre, and she was spreading the rumour that it was under Deirdre’s influence that Jonathan had decided to retire. Unfortunately for Miss Scally, Jethrow, one of the estate gardeners, was sitting in the waiting room listening to her completely fabricated story that Deirdre had persuaded him to sell the estate as she
wanted to borrow money from him to encourage the troublesome Clarence and others to cook at her school and open some sort of home for delinquents – the slight truth of this being that after Clarence’s success and enthusiasm Deirdre wanted to concentrate on young people rather than bored housewives.
‘Lady Muck has probably got her eye on the doctor’s surgery as well. Dr Brown is a tenant, you know. Just you wait, soon the village will have no doctors, no pub and no shop, just a chichi tea room selling poncy cakes no one can pronounce.’
Jethrow had heard enough. He was only in there to have his back seen to, as he did regularly. He rose stiffly and went outside to phone Mr de Weatherby. It was the first time he had used his mobile, so it took a few minutes.
Soon afterwards, Jonathan’s Land Rover pulled up outside the surgery. Mr de Weatherby himself patted Jethrow on the shoulder, thanked him and told him to wait in the vehicle. He then marched up to the desk.
‘Miss Scally, I wish to see Dr Brown NOW,’ he said with such quiet, calm authority the receptionist knew she was in trouble.
‘I’m sorry, Mr de Weatherby, he’s busy, and he has no free appointments all morning.’
The few elderly women in the waiting room concentrated on their ancient Country Life magazines, but with their ears and hearing aids on stalks they could hear their landlord telling Miss Scally in no uncertain terms that if she carried on with her malicious and offensive gossip he would happily and personally fling her from her cottage.
‘I believe I have been a fair landlord,’ he continued. ‘While I was custodian of the estate, have I not fixed gutters, painted your cottage every two years, and even had it re-thatched last year? Not once have I raised your rent in the last TEN YEARS,’ he said rather more loudly, ‘as your parents were loyal workers on my estate. If I hear any more gossip emanating from this surgery, you will find that my eldest son, who is taking over the reins from me, will do exactly as I instruct, and ask you to leave. My son holds this village as close to his heart as I do. If you do as I suggest from now on, he will look after you, as I have always done, and I hope he will be rewarded by kindness and gratitude and loyalty, and no more malicious lies. Talking of which, while I’m here, yes, I am very proud of my younger GAY son (at this word Miss Scally’s mouth turned into a cat’s bottom) and his future work in Bangladesh with the washed away, disease-ridden starving and homeless. He is not, contrary to your delightful story, retiring to Sri Lanka with a toy boy.’