‘I can’t poo any faster,’ I hollered with a roll of my eyes. Damn rice. I’d been reheating meals for years without a problem, why today? I sighed with relief as I felt and heard some movement.
‘Abbie, he’s not in the lounge,’ Georgie called. ‘I can’t see him anywhere downstairs. Is he in there with you?’
‘It’s a tiny downstairs loo, Georgie, I think I’d know if he was in here with me,’ I retorted, but quickly looked behind me, then down between my legs into the toilet bowl, just in case. Crikey, this was going to be a full flush, half a bottle of bleach and brush scrub job. ‘Can you check the garden again? He might have gone for a tinkle behind a bush. You shouldn’t miss him, he’s got a bright red jumper on today.’
‘Oh no, the balaclava one?’ she giggled.
‘That’s the one!’
‘Poor thing,’ she tutted.
I nodded in agreement. He did look pretty funny in it, but it was for his own good. And it wasn’t like he was the doggie lothario of Dilbury, needing to make himself presentable for the ladies. I’d just sorted myself out, bleached and cleaned the toilet and scrubbed my hands, when I heard Georgie screeching in the back garden.
‘Abbie, Abbie, oh my God!’
‘What is it?’ I yelled, quickly drying my hands and trying to ignore the fact that my tummy was still cramping.
‘Come quickly! He must have shot out of the gate when I came in. He’s running up the field!’
‘Sumo?!’ I exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t walk, let alone run.’
‘I know, but I swear it’s him. I can see a red blur heading towards Lord Kirkland’s estate.’
‘Oh no,’ I cried, flinging open the cloakroom door in a panic. He’d been obsessed with the ornamental pond on the front lawn of the stately home when he was a puppy and managed to escape the garden when I used to visit. He’d been caught a number of times pulling out the expensive koi carp and laying them on the grass as trophies. ‘It’s been about six years since he went there, why now?’
‘I don’t know, but we need to stop him,’ Georgie urged. I nodded and grabbed the lead hanging up by the utility door, then slammed it shut behind me and started to run with Georgie down the garden. We dashed out of the gate, turned left, and chased him up the grass verge of the field. This wasn’t doing my stomach pains any good at all. ‘Jesus, I’m so unfit,’ Georgie panted as we passed behind the village church.
‘Don’t slow down. If he makes it there before we do, it will be carnage,’ I gasped, trying to suck in gulps of air. I couldn’t believe how fast he was moving.
‘I’m … so … sorry,’ Georgie huffed as we hooked left and vaulted over the metal gate into the narrow track to the right of the Church. It led up past the walled garden where the staff tended to the Lord Kirkland’s produce.
I just nodded, too breathless to say a word. Damn it, had Sumo suddenly grown bionic legs? He was still nowhere in sight. I was beginning to wonder if Georgie’s imagination had run away with her. We reached the ornate side gate with the Kirkland family crest displayed proudly above it, set into the wall on our right. As they owned the church, they had direct access to it.
‘Jesus,’ I rasped. My throat was burning, I was hot and sweaty, and my stomach was roiling. I had visions of a whole Sumo shart situation if I bent over too quickly.
‘Tell me … about it,’ Georgie wheezed as we stepped through the gate onto the gravel path, flanked to the left by perfectly manicured lush deep emerald grass. The manor house was set below us, to our right, backing onto the same field our cottages did. Directly in front of us, running alongside the opposite garden wall, was the long drive that exited the garden, hooked left, and headed out through an avenue of large lime trees up to the main road. But right in the centre of the lawn was the circular pond, complete with carp, and I groaned as we tried to jog over. Georgie hadn’t been wrong. The streak of red had been Sumo, and he was currently being wrestled out of the shallow water by none other than Lord Kirkland himself. ‘Wow, talk about a stereotypical country gentleman,’ Georgie observed as we approached.
He was dressed in tight black jeans, which showcased quite a peachy derrière, a fact that I noticed wasn’t lost on Georgie. He had on long brown leather riding boots and a brown tweed jacket and flat cap. From what I remembered, he was quite a looker, only in his mid-thirties, and recently divorced. He managed to lift a soaking Sumo out of the water, cradling him against his chest as he turned around and spotted us approaching.
‘Wow, dreamboat,’ I murmured.
‘Uh-huh,’ Georgie nodded vehemently in agreement. He was so dashing, with a square cleft chin, strong jawline, and grey eyes that looked almost violet as the sun bounced off them. Dark hair, peppered with some grey streaks, was just visible under his cap as he tapped his fingers off the brim and gave us a movie star smile.
‘Miss Carter, Miss Basset, it’s been a while,’ he greeted. ‘I barely recognised this little chap, it’s been so long. Mr. Hulk, was it?’
‘Mr. Sumo,’ I replied with a gulp, praying Sumo wasn’t about to shit all over a real life Baron and ruin his obviously expensive attire. He was just staring up at Lord Kirkland while he panted, his wet tongue lolling from the side of his jaw. I grimaced as I saw him start to move his head from side to side, knowing exactly what was coming. ‘Cover your face!’ I cried.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Lord Kirkland enquired, far too politely, wasting valuable seconds as Georgie and I shielded ours instinctively just as Sumo ramped the head roll into a furious shake. I winced as I heard the gasp of surprise and could barely bring myself to look at how much slobber Sumo had just flicked all over him. I peeked out between my fingers, as mortified as he looked right now. He had doggie saliva all over his chiselled cheek, not to mention the cravat, waistcoat, and jacket he was sporting.
‘Sumo,’ I groaned. ‘My God, I’m so, so sorry, Lord Kirkland. I don’t know what’s got into him. He’s been on death’s door for days, then suddenly today it was like he was a puppy all over again. He barely walks, let alone runs, and before we knew it, he was on his way here.’
‘He’s ill?’ Lord Kirkland asked, as he whipped a cotton handkerchief from his top pocket and carefully wiped his face before dabbing his clothes.
‘Terminal cancer,’ Georgie confirmed. ‘We don’t think he has long.’
‘Poor little chap. He must have wanted to revisit his youth one last time.’
‘I’m so sorry. Please send me the dry cleaning bill and the cost for any replacement fish.’ I reached my arms out to take Sumo off him, but he gave me a smile and shook his head.
‘I spotted him squeezing through the gate as I was having a walk, so I was able to catch him before he did any damage. Well, to my fish anyway. The poor mite is soaked and shivering. Why don’t we take him inside? I can ask Henderson, the groundsman who looks after my beagles, to come and take him for a shampoo and blow-dry while we get his … ermmm, outfit dried off.’
‘I can’t put you to all of that trouble. I only live on Church Lane, Georgie too, and she runs a dog-grooming business.’
‘I insist,’ Lord Kirkland said firmly. ‘Let’s make his last visit memorable. Please, join me, we can have some tea and biscuits in the orangery while you fill me in on the latest village gossip. For some reason, Mrs. Vickers always clams up when I enter the shop.’
Georgie and I giggled like pathetic schoolgirls when he winked at us, then swept out his free arm towards the path that led down to his huge old oak front door. She elbowed me and I elbowed her back.
‘That’s very kind of you, Lord Kirkland, as long as you don’t mind. I’m sorry, I’m not sure if we’re supposed to curtsey?’ I said.
‘No,’ he guffawed. ‘It’s the modern age, Miss Carter. I’m simply lucky enough to have inherited a family title and very lovely estate. And please, call me Maxwell. In fact, I prefer Max, if you don’t mind.’
‘Then thank you, Max, and please call me Abbie, and this is Georgie, and there’s no need for yo
u to curtsey for us, either,’ I beamed as we headed down the path.
‘Well, I have to say that’s a relief,’ he chuckled. ‘Though a gentleman would bow rather than curtsey.’
‘Idiot,’ whispered Georgie with a roll of her eyes at me. Max did a shrill wolf-whistle as we spotted another chap in similar attire coming from the stable block, over on the left of the house.
‘Henderson, perfect timing. We have a cold and wet guest. Could you take him for grooming and return him to the orangery when you’re done? He’s a VIP, needs extra special care and handling, please.’
‘Certainly, my lord. May I ask his name?’
‘Mr. Sumo, or just Sumo, and he also answers to Chubbers,’ I nodded as he was passed over, seeming very nonplussed at all the manhandling by strangers.
‘And Mr. Su or Chubbalicious,’ added Georgie, making the poker-faced groundsman give us a strange look.
‘Mr. Sumo will do nicely. He’ll be back with you in no time. My lord, ladies,’ he nodded as he turned on his heels and disappeared across the gravel in the direction opposite to where he’d come from.
The door to the huge sandstone manor was opened by a butler dressed in formal tails. He nodded at us as we all stepped inside the most enormous galleried hall, with a sweeping stone staircase that rose in front of us. Wow, I felt like an underdressed extra on Downton Abbey right now. I wished I was wearing something a little more glamorous than my Converse trainers, ripped white jeggings, and my black ballet-wrap cardigan. Georgie looked as glamorous as ever, and quite the country Lord’s beau, in a pair of black skin-tight jeans, black riding boots, a white shirt, and black blazer.
‘Could you ask Mrs. Saunders to serve morning tea for three in the orangery, Braithwaite?’ Max asked.
‘Certainly, my lord. I’ll arrange to have your boots and the ladies’ footwear cleaned while you do,’ he nodded, subtly pointing out that our muddy shoes, and his master’s wet boots, had no place on the polished oak floors. We all removed them, and Braithwaite picked them up and disappeared down the long corridor to the right.
‘Poor chap, he’ll be having nightmares about guests coming into the house shoeless,’ Max chuckled. ‘He’s already mortified at my efforts to modernise the place since my father passed away. Please, follow me.’
We did, both of us craning our necks to see row after row of ancient oil paintings that obviously depicted his family, who had been living here since the 14th century. While the annual village fête and show was held on the front lawn, the manor house itself had never been opened to the public, so this was a real treat and Georgie and I were taking every advantage to soak it all up. He took us to the left, then gestured for us to take the first door on the right, and we stepped into a very large oak-panelled room that was obviously his lounge. No wonder poor, old-fashioned Braithwaite was having a funny turn. Instead of being old and stuffy, it was full of lovely, bright, modern furniture and artwork. Max led us out of a set of double doors, made of panes of leaded glass, and we stepped into a glass orangery that appeared to run the entire length of the house. In front of us was a fancy white-painted metal oval table with eight chairs around it. Max headed over to the far side of it and held out a seat first for me, then Georgie, then went to sit opposite us so he was facing the garden. I bit my lower lip as I felt my tummy churning. Oh crap, not here. It wasn’t like I could ask for a toilet brush and half a bottle of bleach when I went to use the facilities.
‘I’m very sorry to hear of Mr. Sumo’s cancer,’ Max said in a serious tone. ‘I know how devastated I am when I lose one of my dogs.’
‘Thank you,’ I nodded, clenching my bottom cheeks and hoping that I wouldn’t end up with a permanent holding-in-a-fart facial expression, but I was taking no chances. I’d seen Sex and the City 2 and Bridesmaids. I was not going to embarrass myself today. Well, no more than I already had. ‘And I’m very sorry to hear about your divorce. Owww,’ I added as Georgie kicked me under the table. Max just smiled, and I tried to kick her back without him noticing.
‘I imagine I’ve been the talk of the village, for a short time at least.’
‘You were,’ admitted Georgie.
‘Hmmm, then please tell me what scandal hit to displace me from pole position.’
‘Floppy penises,’ I blurted out, as Georgie said, ‘Floppy petunias.’
‘Then I sincerely hope it wasn’t me that either rumour referred to. I can assure you, and the good villagers of Dilbury, that both my petunias and other areas are looking, and working, exactly as they should.’
We both giggled again, Georgie blushing as she put a hand to her mouth and I shifted in my seat, the pains in my tummy really griping now. Damn it, I really needed the loo.
‘Where are you, darling?’ came a distant voice, even posher than Rachel’s. ‘Where’s Mummy’s little boy?’
‘Oh Jesus,’ Max groaned, a flush of embarrassment colouring up his cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry, it’s my mother.’
‘We can go,’ I stated quickly, shooting up from my seat. The sooner I got my bottom and Sumo’s out of here, before we made a spectacle of ourselves, the better. I’d had one run-in with Lady Kirkland at the last fête, when she’d been most perturbed her scones had taken second place. Well, her cook’s anyway. I doubted that uptight, toffee-nosed busybody had ever even seen a kitchen.
‘Please stay,’ Max urged, giving us a pleading look as he reached behind him to ring a bell on the sandstone wall behind him. ‘You’d be doing me a huge favour.’
‘We’ll stay,’ Georgie confirmed, trying to tug me down.
‘I’m sorry, but I need the toil … the ladies’ room.’
‘One moment, Abbie,’ he nodded as Lady Kirkland swept into the orangery from the lounge. ‘Mother, this is a surprise, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Clearly,’ she observed, sneering down her nose at me before she air-kissed her son’s cheeks, then flashed a scornful look at Georgie. ‘I see standards are still slipping. Tea is taken in the drawing room, with one’s shoes firmly on.’
‘Not now that I’m in charge, Mother. Please try and be on your best behaviour, as you can see I have guests. This is Abbie Carter and Georgie Basset, both live on Church Lane. We were just waiting for tea while Miss Carter’s dog is dried off after a dip in the pond.’
‘Ah yes, the accountant who fancies herself a connoisseur of scones, jam, and cookies, and the dog groomer. Your reputations precede you both,’ Lady Kirkland advised haughtily as she waited for Max to pull out a chair for her. He flashed us an apologetic look.
‘Excuse me a moment, Miss Carter needs the ladies’ room. Can I trust you to behave with Miss Basset?’
‘I would think it would be the other way around, darling. I never trust someone who prefers animals to humans.’
‘My God, is she always so frightful?’ I whispered as Max escorted me out through his lounge.
‘If I could disown her, I would. I dread to think what insults she’ll manage to throw at your friend in the few minutes she’s left alone.’
‘Don’t worry about Georgie, she’s very quick-witted and not afraid to stand up for herself. I’d be more worried about your mother.’
‘Then I sincerely hope your friend doesn’t rein it in and ensures my mother’s stay isn’t an extended one. I got in the habit of allowing her to get away with this kind of behaviour while my father was alive, not wanting to upset him, but now my patience is wearing thin. I’ll take you to one of the upstairs bathrooms, as I’m having the ground floor cloakrooms upgraded at the moment.’
‘Upstairs?’ I gulped as we approached the staircase in front of us, which might as well have been a scale up Everest for the panic that just rose in me. I needed a poo so badly, I was worried that lifting even one foot onto the first step was going to launch a turd missile. At least I had knickers and jeans on to hold it in, but what if I farted at the same time? I couldn’t fart in front of a Baron who had the title Lord, no matter if I was calling him Max, like we were old friend
s. And what if it was diarrhoea? It was going to soak through my white jeggings.
‘Inconvenient, I know, please accept my apologies. Right, follow me,’ he ordered as he casually jogged up them.
‘Crap,’ I muttered quietly, then quickly warned myself not to as I sucked in every bottom muscle known to man, and then some. I did an embarrassingly slow walk upwards, knees together, swinging my hips from side to side to avoid lifting my feet too high. I made it up the first set to a landing where the stairs branched off to the left and right, and saw he was standing at the top of the stairs to my left. If he thought my progress was strange as he waited, he was a perfect gentleman and didn’t let on. ‘Sorry, bad back,’ I offered, rubbing it as if to prove my point. He swept open the door on the right and gestured me through.
‘It’s a little old-fashioned and the water pressure up here isn’t great. Would you like me to wait, or can you find your way back down?’
‘Oh no, no, no,’ I replied, shaking my head vigorously. There was no way I wanted him listening to the likely cacophony of sound as I deposited my load. ‘I mean, no need to wait, I can find my way down. Lady problems, I might be a while.’
‘Ah, say no more,’ he nodded with a sympathetic smile. I slapped my forehead as he shut the door. I’m sure if he wasn’t so polite and charming, he’d have ordered me to say no more. Could I have shared any more inappropriate personal information? Waddling like a penguin, I made it to the toilet, turned around, and braced myself to whip everything down at speed so I could sit down as fast as humanly possible before anything exploded out.
‘On the count of three, Carter. Three … drumroll … two … drumroll … one, go, go, go!’ I landed with a triumphant ‘Ha!’ to have avoided any mishaps. However, instead of the expected sound of escaping wind and the splatter of pebble-dashing, I heard nothing. I gingerly looked down through my thighs, wondering what was going, and my jaw dropped. ‘Jesus Christ. I just gave birth to a chocolate python without even noticing!’
Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1) Page 19