A Year of New Adventures

by Maddie Please

  There was an elderly man standing next to me looking at the same book, peering over his glasses at the blurb on the back.

  I almost felt like nudging him to show off my specialist knowledge.

  Oh yes that’s Ross Black. His real name is Oliver Forest. By the way I know him; I’ve cooked for him and seen him naked.

  No perhaps not.

  At twelve-fifteen I saw our flight had been called to a gate that was probably five miles away and as one a crowd of people, me included, started scurrying towards the moving pavements and escalators, terrified we would be left behind.

  The quarrelling couple were sitting by the departure gate, now apparently not speaking to each other at all. They sat next to each other, heads turned away at right angles like the picture of Prince Charles and Princess Diana in the back of that car just before they separated.

  The group of backpackers were already there, having made their hand luggage into a defensive wall against the rest of us. They were sitting on the floor talking about someone called Jezza, with their hairy legs sticking out, a trip hazard for everyone.

  There was no sign of Pippa. I assumed being in the posh seats she would not have to wait with the rest of us peasants but was already on the plane having Veuve Clicquot and a foot massage, sucking up the glamour. At last we were called up to board.

  There wasn’t much glamour to be had down in seat 67K. I was probably the last person to get on board and it took me practically as long to get to the back of the plane and into my seat as it did to get to the airport in the first place. Everyone seemed to be putting stuff into the overhead lockers and taking it out again including the backpackers who all had enormous bags, which could have hidden a stowaway.

  It took absolutely ages. I just stood feeling resigned while the backpackers chatted to their neighbours and each other and asked everyone where Jezza was. Then they decided to take all their backpacks out of the overhead lockers again and started unpacking them to find earphones and mobiles and chargers. Suddenly they gave a collective roar of approval as a young man in cargo shorts and a ragged Coldplay T-shirt came up the aisle behind me.

  ‘Jezza, you bastard!’

  ‘Dude!’

  They all tried to man-hug each other, overlooking the fact that I was standing in between them. Not altogether an unpleasant experience if I was honest.

  Still, eventually I got past them and was delighted to see my window seat had an empty place by it. So, if nothing else, if the plane did crash I could watch the ground coming up to meet me with my bag on the seat next to me. I fastened the seat belt and sat with my hands clamped to the arms of the seat. The stewardesses bustled about shutting the overhead lockers and almost immediately people would get up and open them again.

  At last the plane backed away from the airport building and started wandering across the tarmac towards other planes that were lining up. There were lots of pinging noises and a safety demonstration; I watched smug in the knowledge I was in the safest seat. Unless we landed on water in which case I was buggered.

  Suddenly came the moment I’d dreaded, when the plane started sort of galloping across the tarmac and the gentle noises intensified to a roar. I did what I could to pull the plane into the air by the seat arms and shut my eyes. There was a sickening swoop and a moment when I wondered if the tail of the plane was going to scrape along the runway and actually break off. But then finally we were in the air.

  I know everyone complains about airline food, but I really enjoyed it. It’s not about the food anyway. Who cares what it is? It was about all those little packets and tubs. There were tiny salt and pepper sachets that I didn’t find until I got to the dessert, some sort of chicken thing, and there was free wine.

  The stewardess soon got fed up with trudging to the far end of the plane so she left me four mini bottles, which sat very nicely with my glass of champagne. I began to feel quite relaxed and not panicky at all. I took out my notebook, and with a flourish put a tick next to point 11 on my list.

  There was an entertainment screen to investigate on the back of the seat in front with myriad films and programmes. And of course there was the interactive map to show us where we were going. Gradually we were leaving the UK and heading out over the Atlantic. Below us were thick folds of cloud and the occasional glimpse of the ocean. It was exciting but terrifying at the same time. Then I remembered I had forgotten to phone Helena and my mother again and I felt a bit guilty.

  I read a bit of Oliver’s book, a bit where – chillingly – Major Harry Field’s new love interest was blown up on a passenger flight from London to Boston. I hoped Oliver didn’t have the gift of prophecy.

  Fortified by too much wine and excitement I had a sleep, my head pressed up against the window, and I dreamed of floodwater and bombs and knives and Oliver. And in my dream he kissed my cheek again and gave me a present and when I unwrapped it I found a wedge of cheese. And then I realized he was naked and I was so shocked I woke up and it was probably just as well.

  *

  The cabin crew brought us the airline’s idea of a cream tea as local time was five p.m., but of course my body clock said nearly ten p.m. and it seemed a bit odd to say the least. How did businessmen put up with this sort of lifestyle? Drinking champagne for breakfast. Eating weird things at the wrong time? Still with a flash of the spirit that made Britain great, I managed it.

  Shortly afterwards we landed in Boston out of a brilliantly clear blue sky. That was scary as we seemed to be about to land on the top deck of a cruise ship and then there seemed to be a distinct possibility we would ditch into the sea. Happily, at the last minute a runway appeared and with a gut-rocking thud we landed and I could concentrate on unclenching my fingers from the armrests.

  Then there was immigration when I was glad I had dumped my knives because I think any one of the vinegary-faced officials I passed would have gladly arrested me, beaten me up, and chucked me in chains onto the next plane back to London. They made the Heathrow lot look quite friendly in comparison and they had massive guns too. By the time I had claimed my luggage and got out to the arrivals area, another hour and a half had passed and I was ready for bed. It was not to be.

  A sweaty-looking man with dark glasses was waiting, holding up a card with my name written on it. How cool was that? There were lots of other sweaty-looking men holding cards up. Most of them read like something out of the Countdown Conundrum. Sybilla Summers seemed quite tame by comparison.

  I went up to him with a triumphant smile, which he didn’t return, and he took me out to where there was a huge red, van-truck thing waiting with Pippa and a bored-looking Jake already sitting inside.

  Sunglasses man took my bags and slung them into the back with none of Henry’s finesse, got into the driver’s seat, and we were off again.

  ‘Where were you?’ Pippa muttered.

  ‘Same as you: getting off the plane, coming through immigration,’ I said.

  ‘You took flipping ages,’ she grumbled.

  Yes because I absolutely love looking at my reflection in what are obviously two-way mirrors. Shuffling along at the end of a never-ending snake of people all of whom looked a bit dodgy in my opinion, even though they must have been through security too. And of course there was a group of five people immediately in front of me who hadn’t ever heard of ESTAs and couldn’t speak English. And two men in FBI jackets took one of them away through a mirrored door. That bit was terrifically exciting.

  Jake – nice-looking, rather rumpled, and sexy in a designer stubble sort of way – leaned across Pippa and held out a hand to me.

  ‘Jake Mitchell,’ he said in an Estuary drawl, ‘Oliver Forest’s agent. We met very briefly? Never forget a pretty face. Better keep on her good side, Pippa, if we want to avoid food poisoning. Eh?’

  Pippa made a dismissive noise and pulled her leather-trousered leg away from me. I noticed some flat pumps had replaced the stilettos. Apart from those she looked just as well groomed as ever. I suppose life in busin
ess class is a bit more restful than the back of the plane, even if I was theoretically safer.

  Jake talked quite briskly to me for a few minutes while Pippa yawned and sighed between us. To be fair it was nearly midnight GMT.

  ‘How long will it take us to get to Ludlow?’ I asked.

  Jake pushed his sweater back to reveal an impressive, rather glitzy watch.

  ‘Couple of hours I suppose. If we live to get out of Boston.’

  ‘I said we should have stayed the night before the flight in a hotel. We could have avoided the early start. But no one listens to me do they?’ Pippa said. ‘And now we’re all knackered. I don’t know why Oliver had to be so stiff-necked about it.’

  ‘Well it gave me another night at home with the kids,’ Jake said.

  Beside me Pippa fidgeted and fussed at her scarf.

  ‘You’re married?’ I said. I’ll admit I was rather surprised.

  He grinned. ‘Well I was. Divorced. But all very amicable. It was my turn to have the kids – Caro was at a uni reunion.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘for some reason I didn’t think … well never mind.’

  Jake grinned. ‘Didn’t think I was the marrying type? I was; I still am. Trouble was six years after the wedding she decided she preferred my best friend.’

  ‘But you said the divorce was amicable?’

  ‘Oh it was. Well it all worked out anyway. In the end.’

  By now the van-truck thing was whizzing up a slip road, missing other trucks and cars by fractions of millimetres. Our driver, still hidden behind his dark glasses, was chewing gum like a professional and snarling under his breath, occasionally thumping the steering wheel with the heel of his hand and making incomprehensible sounds of annoyance in Italian.

  Having told me all he knew about Boston, the Red Sox, and Vermont Jake started playing a game on his mobile phone. Next to me Pippa shut her eyes, so I bundled my coat up into a pillow, rested it against the window, and tried to sleep. The car roared on through the evening rush hour and out into the suburbs. The road signs were strangely familiar. Cambridge, Woburn, Londonderry, Manchester.

  When I woke up we were going through Bradford, Newbury, Newport. The scenery was still heavy-duty industrial with huge shopping malls, massive advertising boards on either side of us, and mile after mile of concrete road ahead.

  Then we passed the Vermont state border and things seemed to change in the blink of an eye. Acres of dark forest stretched away to the horizon and for miles at a time ours was the only car on the road, the headlights piercing the growing blackness as we headed west.

  Just as I was thinking we were going to be driving forever, we turned onto a side road where the forest crowded in on us on all sides. The darkness under the trees was dense and frightening. Occasionally I saw the reflection of an animal’s eyes in the headlights’ beam. From time to time I could see the lights of a house. Each one looked warm and inviting and I wished this house or this one was the one we sought.

  Suddenly the car swung in a steep curve across the road and up a stony driveway. I saw the bright glow of windows through the trees and as we came closer a veranda or porch stretched the length of the house on two levels, illuminated by strings of lights that twinkled as the wind blew them. It was absolutely magical.

  Next to me Pippa sat up straighter in her seat and gave a heavy sigh.

  ‘That’s the end of the peace and quiet then,’ she muttered. ‘We’re here.’

  I opened the car door, my legs stiff from the journey, and stepped down into the crisp, cold night air and shivered in my inadequate coat. Pippa tumbled down behind me with an exclamation of alarm and I grabbed her to stop her from falling over. Under her coat I could feel her wrist support and she winced.

  ‘Golly, careful. Are you OK?’

  She caught her breath and gave me a tiny smile.

  ‘Yes, fine thanks.’ She suddenly looked rather stressed and very young. She stopped by the side of the driver who was still snarling and battling to unwedge our cases from the boot. She reached across, took out a laptop bag, and turned to hand it to me.

  ‘Would you mind? I don’t trust many people with this.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, hooking it over my shoulder.

  Pippa looked up at the house and took a deep breath. ‘Oh God. Here we go.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I said.

  Pippa turned and looked at me. ‘I bloody hope so. I’m at my wit’s end.’

  Suddenly the front door opened and there was Oliver Forest. He came towards the car, shielding his eyes against the beam of the car headlights.

  ‘For heaven’s sake come inside quickly – it’s cold,’ he said and when I heard his voice again, when I knew it was him, when I recognized the shape of him in the darkness – I shivered with excitement.

  ‘We’re trying,’ Jake said with a laugh. ‘Girls, go inside. We’ll bring the cases.’

  Pippa was at his side. ‘I don’t mind. I mean if there’s something light. I could help?’

  Jake put his arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the house. She looked up at him, the lights from the house reflecting in her eyes.

  ‘He won’t bite, Pippa. Go on, stand up for yourself.’

  Jake turned away and I saw the expression on Pippa’s face as she watched him. There was no doubt about it, she had an almighty crush on Jake and he had no idea.

  Now this could be interesting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The house was amazing. You know those photo shoots you sometimes see of rugged men in plaid shirts and lumberjack boots looking all outdoorsy and lustrous with health? They usually have a sexy wife with no visible hands because she has tucked them cutely into the sleeves of her snuggly sweater. Occasionally there are a couple of adorable children somewhere in the picture doing something photogenic with a fishing rod or a puppy. You know that family don’t you? Well this is the house they would have lived in.

  There was glowing timber everywhere, high cathedral ceilings with a gallery landing above us. There were massive sofas covered in tweed cushions and cashmere throws. There was a six-foot square coffee table in front of a gigantic stone fireplace where a log fire was burning with Hollywood perfection.

  ‘Come in and get warm,’ Oliver said. ‘Can I get anyone a drink? Wine? Beer? Hot chocolate? Or would you like something to eat?’

  ‘I’d like the loo,’ Jake said dropping his jacket on the arm of a chair and heading off down a corridor. It looked as though he’d been here before.

  I unfastened my coat and went to stand in front of the fire, holding my hands out to the blaze.

  ‘I’ve been travelling for fifteen hours. I’d love a glass of champagne to celebrate getting here!’ Pippa said, lifting her chin.

  Splendid idea! Atta girl, Pippa, I thought with admiration. Wouldn’t mind one myself actually.

  Oliver looked surprised for a moment. ‘Anyone else? Billie?’

  ‘Oh I think Billie’s tired. She’s been snoring and drooling on my shoulder like a baby all the way here,’ Pippa teased shooting me a grin.

  ‘I haven’t!’ I said indignantly. ‘I’d love one. You can carry your own bloody laptop next time!’

  Pippa giggled and we exchanged a look. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as I’d thought?

  I pinched my leg to wake myself up and came into the room, looking around admiringly.

  ‘This is a beautiful house,’ I said. ‘Just gorgeous. Have you lived here long?’

  ‘My grandfather was a timber merchant and he built it. It’s the family home,’ Oliver said.

  Golly! My grandfather worked for the council and the only thing he ever built was a shed. And the door never closed properly either; it had to be wedged shut with a brick.

  Funny what people do with their lives isn’t it? I wondered if in years to come my grandchildren would point out something I’d done and be proud of me. If they did it certainly wouldn’t be for baking a few cakes. I needed to think a bit more about point 6 on my list.
Think about the boring stuff like pensions and annuities or whatever they were.

  Oliver went out and returned with a champagne bottle and four glasses. Pippa, meanwhile, had arranged herself at the far end of the sofa in front of the fire, tucking her legs up underneath her. She looked about twelve. I looked at my own reflection in the mirror over the fire. I looked knackered. Pippa looked annoyingly fresh-faced. How did she manage it? Perhaps she was just young?

  Jake came back in and slumped on one of the other sofas. I went to look out of the huge windows. Outside was utter blackness.

  ‘Gideon is arriving tomorrow; he’s got the publicity department all cranked up and ready for action. The Hall is nearly ready. The caterers are going to be there the day after tomorrow. Everything is in place.’

  Oliver handed out the champagne. The atmosphere in the room was rather tense. It was just what I didn’t need.

  I went to sit next to Pippa.

  ‘Remind me? Who’s Gideon?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth.

  ‘Oliver’s US publisher. From Marymount Books. He’s Very Important,’ she stressed with a meaningful look.

  ‘Welcome,’ Oliver said and we all clinked glasses.

  Oliver started to talk to Jake about someone called Bruno so I turned my phone on and a battery of good luck, safe journey texts came through from my mother and Helena. Followed by one from Josie telling me how jealous she was and filling me in on how awful the twins’ school reports had been. Apparently there had been an episode with some poster paint. Luckily for Hector and Finn she seemed to find this funny and evidence of their marvellous individuality. I realized my phone battery was low; I should find my charger before bed.

  Across the room Jake and Oliver were talking about people called Miles, Fee, and Sonny who had been at a party where Simon and Fizzy got engaged. Jake had recently taken on a new intern called Beatrice who was proving to be both clueless and lazy.