by Fiona Walker
‘Sell the car.’ Hugo started to kiss her mouth again.
‘It’s your car,’ she murmured. Not that there would be much of it left to sell even if it were hers, she decided, as they started sending the windows up and down again.
‘I was talking about the French banger.’ Hugo kissed his way down her throat once more. ‘That thing’s a death trap. I thought I was going to lose you that day you set out to Scotland in it. I had half a mind to drive after you in the horse-box and bar your way like a French farmer staging a port protest.’
‘I wish you had,’ she sighed.
‘I thought,’ he pulled back and looked her in the eyes, hands holding her face like a trophy, ‘that you would never tell me how you felt – I kept trying to make you, but you ran away.’
‘You never told me how you felt!’ she protested.
‘Christ! We were like two kids saying “you go first”, weren’t we?’ he laughed, eyes lingering on her. She’d never have believed they could look so loving, so completely without scorn. ‘Everyone told me to fight for you – Penny, Stefan, your mother, Zoe – even that hippy brother of yours. The only person who seemed to think I was wasting my time was you.’
‘I’m pretty gutless when it comes to men,’ she confessed. ‘You have to declare undying love to get me to believe you.’
‘Which was why O’Shaughnessy did so well – he declares undying love to every woman he meets. Lisette says it used to drive her wild.’
‘Thanks a bunch!’ she sighed.
‘I’m wildly jealous so I’m allowed to snipe.’ He pulled an apologetic face and kissed her again. ‘I know he adored you – and I wanted to kill him for it. But I also know he changes his mind as often as the shape of his facial hair, whereas I stick to a decision like gum on a shoe. So you have to bloody believe me when I say I love you, Tash, because I fucking well mean it.’
She kissed him and laughed. ‘Nicely put.’
‘I’ve wanted you for myself for two years.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve never wanted anything that long.’
‘I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.’
‘Don’t try and beat me here,’ he growled. ‘I’m sure I wanted you more intensely.’
‘No way!’
‘Did.’
‘Didn’t.’
‘Did.’
‘Come here.’
It took a long time to drive back to the forge because they had to stop at every gate-way, lay-by and wide verge to kiss one another breathless.
‘There is one other dream you could give me,’ Tash sighed delightedly as they indulged in one last delicious kiss before going inside. ‘I’ve just remembered it. I was going to suggest it earlier actually.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Hugo cocked his head towards her.
The boom of music was already throbbing out from the Olive Branch a hundred yards away. Tash listened to it for a second or two, wondering if she dared ask him.
‘It’s a bit of a fantasy really,’ she confessed. ‘And please say no if you think it’s too soon. But next Saturday – at the wedding – when the registrar asks if there are any just impediments or whatever, would you mind awfully standing up and saying yes?’
‘Why on earth should I do that?’ He looked bewildered.
‘Well, I assumed you might want to.’ She scuffed her feet against the pedals. ‘Seeing as you love me. I thought it might be in your interests to stop the wedding – you could be doing your bit to help out with the authenticity of the whole thing.’
Suddenly he started to laugh. ‘Oh, Tash, you still haven’t realised, have you? No wonder you were so reluctant. I think there’s something I should explain before we go inside . . .’
Forty-Two
* * *
AT THE OLIVE BRANCH, the Four Poster Bed location wrap party was in full swing.
Stefan and Kirsty, who had driven back earlier in the day from Gloucestershire with Jenny and the two Maccombe horses, arrived tarted up in their party best to find themselves thoroughly out-tarted by the film world. Stefan had brought his towering, austere parents with him because they were staying at Haydown, and the Swedish duo retired hastily to a quiet corner and drank orange juice, clearly overawed by the drunken, debauched joviality of the rest of the guests.
By far the largest contingent, and the most raucous, was the technical crew from the location shoot who stood in a loud, cheerful mob at the bar chatting up Marco Angelo’s staff and stuffing back as much food as they could manage. In the main, the actors clustered together in a separate and slightly disdainful group.
‘It’s ridiculous having a wrap party three days before we finish shooting,’ moaned one of the supporting leads. ‘I’ve never heard of anything so nonsensical.’
‘We went over-schedule. This was the only day Lisette could organise,’ explained the production assistant patiently. ‘It was going to be next weekend, but that’s Niall’s wedding.’
‘Hmmph.’
Wearing a pair of satin trousers that she couldn’t sit down in, Sally was helping Lisette to host the evening. Or at least she had imagined that would be her role until she was posted at the door with a clip-board to check the guests off as they arrived, and gently turn away people who had rolled up not realising there was a party on.
‘I’m afraid it’s strictly by invitation,’ she told a couple of local lads at the door. ‘You’ll have to go to The Terrier in Fosbourne Dean if you want a pint.’
They headed back to the car park at the rear, grumbling loudly. The next moment their Escort XR3i was revving at the gates, halogen fog-lights flashing and two-tone horn singing out into the night before they raced off, almost wrenching out the gear-box in the process.
‘No sign of Niall or Tash?’ Lisette breezed up to her, hair slicked back into such a tight ballerina’s bun that she looked as though she’d had a face lift, emphasising her gamine face and huge eyes.
‘Nope.’ Sally pulled a face. ‘Tash probably won’t be back from Badminton yet. But Niall should be here. He said he was only popping back to the hotel for a quick shower.’
‘A wedding shower,’ Lisette pursed her lips worriedly. ‘I bloody well hope they turn up soon. I might have a surprise waiting for them.’
‘What is it?’ Sally demanded. So far Lisette had flatly refused to tell her.
But she simply winked and drifted off to David’s side.
Sally sighed and welcomed a new batch of incomers that included Penny and Gus, both looking hopelessly scruffy as they hadn’t bothered changing from the clothes they had worn to pack up and leave the trials earlier.
‘Where’s Tash?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Driving her prize back, I should imagine.’ Penny grinned, winking at Gus.
‘I thought Hugo won?’ Sally looked confused. ‘We all watched it at Maccombe. Niall kept running in between shots to cheer. Even Lisette whooped at the end.’
‘Hugo did win.’ Penny seemed highly amused, wet berry eyes gleaming.
‘And I must say he’s bloody smug about it,’ Gus sighed, removing a piece of straw from his jumper. ‘He’s positively crowing. And he was fairly pleased about winning Badminton too.’
Sally was even more bewildered. They both still had their security wristlets on, she noticed, like his and hers friendship bracelets
‘Gus came third,’ Penny announced, proudly slotting her arm through her husband’s. ‘Are Niall and Zoe here yet?’
Sally glanced at her clip-board tiredly, not noticing the leading way Penny had linked the two names together. ‘Not yet,’ she said, running her eyes over the long list of names beside most of which was a neat tick. ‘Wasn’t Zoe at the farm?’
‘No – just Rufus, a gaggle of friends, a blocked loo and a lot of empty cans of lager,’ Gus groaned. ‘He’s not allowed to come here tonight, by the way, unless he’s cleaned up the place as requested. Tell me if he tries to sneak in, will you?’
‘Sure.’ Sally was easing her feet in and out of the court shoes she was wearin
g. She longed to bunk off and have a drink; she’d been standing at the door for over two hours now and Lisette hadn’t once offered to help or find someone else to take over.
‘There are a hell of a lot of press here, aren’t there?’ Gus was asking as Penny elbowed her way to a tray of drinks. ‘I had no idea it was going to be this high-powered.’
‘I know,’ Sally groaned. ‘And Lisette’s starting to get edgy. Niall’s committed to be here for Cheers! tonight. Plus the local television news crew rolled up over an hour ago to get an interview with him and some footage of the party and they’re all too pissed to do it now. They’re supposed to be going to your place afterwards and filming the horses coming home from Badminton or something.’
‘Well, they’re too late.’ Penny came back clutching three glasses and dripping champagne everywhere. ‘Ted’s tucking them up in bed right now for a well-earned rest. They can come over and film tomorrow if they want.’
‘Tell them that.’ Sally nodded to the bar where a young female reporter with a spray-welded blonde bob was giggling hysterically with a bunch of the lighting engineers from Four Poster Bed. Behind her a man wearing a Southern News Round-up bomber jacket with a television camera at his feet was tucking into a huge plate of bruschetta.
‘I had no idea that this many reporters were coming tonight.’ Sally rubbed her forehead tiredly. ‘They were all added at the last minute.’
‘Does that mean,’ Gus said as Penny handed Sally a drink, ‘that Lisette knows what’s going to happen next weekend? I thought it was meant to be a secret.’ He spilled the lot down his shirt as Penny elbowed him hard in the ribs.
‘Sorry?’ Sally looked bewildered.
‘Oh, look! There’s Godfrey Pelham. We must go and thank him for the good-luck carrots.’ Penny dragged Gus off in the direction of Godfrey, who was chatting up a young male extra.
At that moment another gaggle of guests arrived and Sally was once again distracted as she juggled her champagne, clip-board and pen.
‘Thanks.’ An arrogant young actor who was the son of an RSC star took the glass of champagne from her hand and downed it in one. He had caused merry hell at the shoot all fortnight because he generally turned up on location either stoned, or drunk, or late, or – most often – all three. Eventually David had told him he’d be fired if he didn’t stay sober for the remainder of his scenes. Sally knew for a fact that he had a five a.m. call tomorrow because they were now shooting in extra time.
‘Anyone worth talking to here or shall I get hammered straight away?’ He handed the glass back to her.
‘I’d stay sober if I were you.’ Sally ticked him off her list and squinted across the room. ‘That chap over there is co-producing the next James Bond film – it’s being shot in Stockholm. Butter him up and you might find yourself trying to drive a tank over Pierce Brosnan. But be warned, he’s a staunch tee-totaller.’ She pointed out Stefan’s father.
Lisette breezed past again, shooting her a grateful wink.
‘Lisette, I’m getting terribly—’
But she’d already inserted herself into a group of VIPs and wasn’t listening.
‘—tired,’ Sally finished with a sigh.
Finally kicking off her shoes, she gritted her teeth and decided that she badly needed Matty around to make sarcastic comments and be rude to people on her behalf. She wanted him to be especially rude to Lisette, who was treating her like a lackey on work-experience.
She gazed around the party longingly, wishing that she could chat and laugh and booze the night away too.
Calling in every favour she had ever been owed, Lisette had provided a truly splendid array of headlining guests and society journalists. There were so many celebrities on show that a couple of freelance paparazzi had even got wind of the event and were lurking outside to take snaps for the tabloids, much to the annoyance of the official Cheers! photographer who was prowling around inside, darting into groups, rearranging them, snapping them and then leaving them to try and remember what they had been talking about. The tables in the restaurant heaved with the most succulent of food in such abundance that a prominent bearded stage star was already going up for fifths. Moving slickly around the chattering guests, Ange’s team of waiters and bar staff – largely consisting of members of his extended Italian family – made sure that every glass was kept brimming with chilled champagne. Ange himself beamed benevolently from the bar, confident that he had put on a magnificent spread worthy of his beloved Michelin star. Nothing in his slick, professional demeanour gave away the fact that Lisette had demanded a twenty percent reduction of costs at the last minute. Had he not been so madly in love with her, he would have refused to heat up a single roasted pepper canapé.
Sally knew that Lisette could ill afford to put on this sort of corporate show, especially this early on in filming. The cast and crew had now nick-named the film Four-tune Poster Bed because it was costing so much to make. Lisette had been forced to turn a small, private party into a much larger networking affair in order to try and secure more funds. Several key backers had been invited along at the last minute in the hope that she could persuade them to stump up a little more cash. As a result, the occasion was a lot more formal than at first planned. She needed to put on a great performance, and Sally suspected that the sudden inclusion of so many press boys was part of her strategy.
It was unfortunate, therefore, that by nine-thirty the two guests of honour had yet to make an appearance.
Wearing his favourite blue shirt, Ted – who had not strictly been invited – poled up towing Franny who caused quite a stir in a crotch-length PVC mini-skirt and cross-laced velvet bustier. Before they had even made it fully through the door, Lisette screeched up to him, demanding to know where Tash and Niall were.
‘Haven’t seen them.’ Ted shrugged. ‘But a bright yellow helicopter’s just landed in Gus’s sheep field – we thought Fergie had turned up, but it’s just Tash’s ma. She’s completely fucking demented, that woman.’
‘What?’ Lisette wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in Tash’s lunatic family, however unconventional their means of transport.
‘We’re here on Rufus’s and India’s invites if that’s okay.’ Ted grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘They’re not coming. Is the food here free?’
‘No, it was bloody expensive,’ Lisette snapped.
She searched around for Sally, who was supposed to be at the door keeping unwelcomes like the Lime Tree Farm grooms away, but she had deserted her post and was nowhere to be seen. Only her two Patrick Cox shoes – borrowed from Lisette – remained posted on sentry duty, as though their occupier had recently exploded.
‘Where’s that Irish bugger?’ asked David, sliding up behind Lisette and cupping her bottom in a warm hand. ‘I thought you were going to give him and his fiancée a present?’
She brushed his hand away in case one of the journalists saw it; the last publicity she wanted for the film was to find herself exposed in a national paper’s diary.
‘If Niall takes any longer then I’m giving them more than a present – it’s more of a past really. Certainly not a future,’ she muttered sourly. ‘I can’t think where he’s got to.’
By ten o’clock things were getting desperate. Some excitement was caused as a tall, slim woman bearing a startling resemblance to Charlotte Rampling dashed through the door, her face desperately scanning the room. But Lisette recognised her straight away as Alexandra D’Eblouir, Tash’s mother. She seemed to be in a raging hurry.
‘Have you seen Tash French anywhere?’ she asked several people by the door.
‘Niall’s Tash?’ someone laughed. ‘I don’t think she really exists, does she?’
‘No one’s even met her, darling.’ A chippy leered down Alexandra’s silk blouse. ‘Are you a journalist? I’ll give you a quote.’
‘He’ll just measure you up first!’ cackled another chippy, who was familiar with his friend’s one and only joke.
Lisette ground her teeth as Sally, recognising her mother-in-law, dashed over to see what was going on. For the past ten minutes, she had been hiding in the kitchens with Ange’s chatty wife Denise and a large glass of brandy. Her eyes, Lisette noticed irritably, were red from crying. She simply couldn’t take the pressure.
‘Where have you been?’ she hissed as Sally panted past her. ‘All sorts of gate crashers are rolling up.’
‘Phoning Matty to ask for a lift home.’ Sally shot her a dirty look and rushed over to rescue Alexandra from the leering chippies. ‘What’s the matter, Xandra?
Alexandra’s eyes were alight with agitation and secrecy. ‘I have to find Tash. I simply can’t believe what they’re planning. It’s so romantic.’
‘What who are planning?’ Sally asked.
Alexandra opened her mouth and then suddenly shut it again as the Cheers! photographer lunged forward excitedly, demanding that she and Lisette stand side by side.
‘I didn’t think you were coming over from France until Wednesday?’ Sally watched Alexandra produce her ravishing smile for the camera, which remained on her lips for just as long as the automatic flash brightened her beautiful, worried face.
‘I came to England because of – er – Badminton.’ She was as bad a liar as Tash. ‘To cheer her on. I’ve been staying with James and Henrietta.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Sally didn’t register this at all, even though it was just the sort of family gossip she normally devoured with relish; Alexandra being invited to spend Badminton weekend with her irascible, disapproving ex-husband was almost unthinkable. It also augured some serious family calamity.
Alexandra was still frantically scanning the room. ‘Is Tash here? Only I’m in a bit of a hurry – I’ve got a helicopter waiting.’
‘I haven’t seen her.’ Sally shuddered, biting her lip worriedly, eyes darting towards Lisette who was schmoozing one of her little power-groups and trying to listen in at the same time. ‘Did you say a helicopter?’
‘I’m on my way back to France,’ explained Alexandra, absent-mindedly accepting a glass of champagne from a roving waiter. ‘I couldn’t get a flight, so darling Pascal arranged for his company chopper to fly over and collect me – it’s waiting in one of the Moncrieffs’ fields now. I’m looking for Tash. I said I’d get the pilot to do a detour and give them a lift.’