Honeycote

by Veronica Henry

  What Keith had found most astonishing was that there was no computer system in place at the brewery. It meant the company was ripe for pilfering. Patrick was shocked that he could even suggest it, but Keith told him not to be so naive. He wasn’t pointing any fingers, but the place was probably haemorrhaging beer and spirits and soft drinks – all the wet goods that the brewery supplied to its tied houses. People had light fingers and if you offered it to them on a plate, they came to consider it a perk of the job. But a computer system and rigid stock control would soon put a stop to that. By the end of the meeting, they’d agreed to find quotes for the installation of a state-of-the-art computer system, which each of the tied houses was to be linked to.

  Keith also felt strongly that the next step was to put a sales team in place, in order to increase their off-sales. Even if they boosted their tied trade by fifty per cent, which wouldn’t come without considerable investment in the first place, they couldn’t afford to ignore other sources of revenue. Sales and Marketing.

  That was what it was all about.

  Mickey agreed. And he thought he knew just the person to mastermind the project. He told Keith about Caroline.

  ‘She works as an ad manager for a local paper. But she’s got her head screwed on, I can tell you.’

  He showed Keith the marketing plan Caroline had drawn up. It seemed an eternity away. But the strategy held up. Keith smiled as he recognized several key points from Patrick’s original pitch, but he didn’t give anything away. Mickey persisted.

  ‘She knows what the brewery’s all about. She knows the area. She works bloody hard. James was always complaining that she had to work late.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll want to come and work for us?’

  ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  Mickey was desperate to feel involved again. He’d been to visit the brewery a few times, but found himself exhausted. The consultants had warned him that his recovery would be slow and it was deeply frustrating. He wanted to put into practice all his resolutions, but the highlight of his day at the moment was trying to solve the conundrum on Countdown.

  He knew Caroline was the right person for the job. He remembered her passion and enthusiasm the day she’d tried to help him out. If getting her on board was the only contribution he could make at the moment, he’d do everything in his power.

  Caroline had gone back to Evesham to lick her wounds. Her treatment at the hands of the various Liddiards had shocked and subdued her. She kept her head down, worked hard, met her targets. And she grovelled to Ian, the owner of the yard where she kept Demelza. First, she apologized for her appalling behaviour on Boxing Day, then she offered to sell him Demelza. That way she could pay off her debts, both for her livery and her various credit cards, and have a bit left over. She was going to put it towards her Australia fund. She needed to get away, to travel. She was nearly thirty and she hadn’t seen anything of the world. Perhaps life in another hemisphere would restore her faith in human nature.

  So when she got a phone call from Mickey, she was extremely wary. She listened as he outlined what he wanted from her: to put a marketing strategy in place and recruit a sales team.

  ‘I know you’re the girl for the job.’

  Caroline snorted.

  ‘After the way your brother and your son treated me? Why should I, Mickey? They treated me like shit.’

  ‘This would be for me. Please, Caroline. I’m a prisoner in my own home. I need someone like you in there, batting for me. Someone I can trust.’

  The old Liddiard charm and flattery oozed down the phone wire. By the end of the conversation, they’d reached a compromise. She was owed a couple of weeks’ holiday, so she’d use that in the first instance just to test the water. She wasn’t going to burn her bridges to come and work for Honeycote Ales. In return, she demanded two things. A hefty fee, which Mickey was going to have to finalize with Keith, but which would buy her a flight to Sydney. And an apology from Patrick. Both of which she got.

  In certain quiet moments at the bank, Graham Cowley thought that God probably knew exactly what he’d been doing when he’d sent Mickey Liddiard crashing into that wall. It looked as if things really were going to turn out for the best at Honeycote Ales, and he was probably more pleased than anyone, as it had saved him from the thoroughly unpleasant task of calling in a loan. That was something he always hated doing, but he’d had a special place in his heart for the brewery and even though the Liddiards could be an ungrateful and arrogant bunch at times, they were also charming and eminently forgivable on both counts. It belonged in their hands.

  The most pleasant surprise to him had been how well Patrick had turned out. He’d written him off as an over-privileged young oaf with more looks than brains, who was afraid of getting his hands dirty. But it showed just how wrong you could be. Cowley looked upon it as a lesson – it was never too late to learn in this business.

  What surprised him even more, however, was that Lawrence Oakley hadn’t retaliated after Cowley had rejected his plans out of hand. He wasn’t the type to take no for an answer. At the very least Cowley had expected him to move his accounts elsewhere, but he hadn’t. In fact, he’d been in to see Cowley on a couple of matters, asking him for advice. And he hadn’t mentioned Honeycote Ales at all. Yet again it proved that you shouldn’t make sweeping judgements.

  The truth was, Lawrence had been chilled and chastened when he heard about Mickey’s accident. For several days after his meeting with Cowley, he had prowled around the garden centre in a furious rage, making his employees’ lives more miserable than ever. He’d worked out a plan to go over Cowley’s head: he’d bloody well make sure that if he didn’t lose his job over this one his chances of promotion would certainly be scuppered.

  But somehow once he heard about the accident the edge went off his desire for revenge. What was the point of getting back at someone who to all intents and purposes was a cripple lying in hospital, who had nearly died? It would give him no satisfaction at all now to pull the rug out from under Mickey’s feet. It would do nothing but make him look bad.

  He wondered why that bothered him all of a sudden. Lawrence had never really cared what people thought of him, as long as they did what he wanted. Why was he getting a conscience at this stage in his life?

  Deep down he knew it was because even if he did get revenge on Mickey, it wouldn’t make him any happier. Because he suspected that Mickey wasn’t really to blame. Lawrence could never escape from the fact that he had behaved appallingly towards Kay by hiding the truth from her about his infertility. Perhaps she had minded being childless more than she had admitted. Perhaps she’d had herself checked out on the quiet, just as he had, and discovered the fault must lie with Lawrence. Then, unable to confront him because the shutters were down, maybe she’d searched for a father elsewhere. And perhaps Mickey Liddiard had taken pity on her, had been happy to oblige…

  He knew he was making allowances. He was pretty sure Kay had been with Mickey for the thrill and not his sperm. But it was only now, when the pang for fatherhood was so sharp, that he realized the injustice he had done his wife. They should have discussed it, found a way of getting round the problem together. There were miracles every day in the paper. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the cash for the best treatment.

  But he’d been a coward. And now it was too late.

  So Lawrence threw himself into enjoying life with Kelly. Gradually they came out as an item. He tried not to play Professor Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle, but it was fun taking her to the best hotels and restaurants, teaching her about the good things in life, and she was a willing enough pupil. In return she made him laugh, kept him in touch with his younger side, stopped him taking himself too seriously. And, of course, showed him all the tricks she’d learned from Cosmo, which were proving pretty addictive.

  But Lawrence couldn’t deny that his relationship with Kelly was like gorging on a bar of chocolate – thoroughly enjoyable, but not particularly substantial. Bes
ides, the prospect of taking the relationship any further was ridiculous. He certainly couldn’t marry her. He was an empty vessel. He couldn’t deprive another woman of the gift of motherhood.

  Kay spent several weeks thinking and sleeping and putting on pounds courtesy of both her pregnancy and her mother’s cooking, before deciding she couldn’t stay under her parents’ roof indefinitely. Despite the newfound cosy relationship she had with them, the clucking and the concern got too much at times, though it was becoming increasingly appreciated as her legs began to ache with the weight she was carrying.

  She assessed her situation. She knew that, although Lawrence had been generous, all things considered, quarter of a million wasn’t going to last long. She’d need to get a job. And she wanted it to be part-time. She wasn’t going to abandon her baby from eight o’clock in the morning till six at night five days a week. She did her maths carefully. She’d give herself six months after the birth, to get back into shape and to get into some sort of routine, then she’d have to find herself work. By which time she would have familiarized herself with the local property market. She was fairly confident that she could walk back into being a negotiator – she’d been successful before and it wasn’t a job where you necessarily needed youth on your side. Just a few well-chosen suits and an air of confidence.

  In the meantime, she needed to find herself somewhere to live. She knew she had to make good her escape before the baby arrived, or she’d be sunk. She’d find somewhere within fifteen minutes’ drive of her parents. That wasn’t too close for comfort but close enough if she needed them. Or vice versa. Thus she began her search.

  She found a tiny little house that was perfect. Ridiculously small for the price, but anything within spitting distance of the Thames was over the top. And it wasn’t as if she needed much room. Two bedrooms. A kitchen. A living room. And a decent bathroom. She put in a cash offer, conditional upon exchanging within four weeks. It was pushing it, but she had the upper hand.

  The moment she had the key she took her parents to see it. They couldn’t understand why she wanted to move away, but they understood it was a fait accompli. Immediately her father set to work putting up shelves and Sylvia took her to a discount fabric warehouse to choose some soft furnishings. She’d run up some curtains for her in a trice.

  Kay found it strangely enjoyable, shopping with her mother for nursery items. They settled on a soft creamy-yellow paint for the nursery walls. Kay found it hard to suppress a hysterical giggle when she found herself stencilling ducks and bunny rabbits around the room. Her dad found a remnant of soft cream carpet, which he put down, and built her a changing station out of MDF, so horrified was he by their price in John Lewis. Kay added some stencils to that as well, not believing that she was quite the same person. In fact, sometimes she could pretend she wasn’t Mrs Kay Oakley at all. She didn’t quite know who she was, but once her baby had arrived, she was sure she’d find out.

  25

  James had been to the brewery to sign yet another sheaf of the papers that were emanating from the reshuffle. He slipped out of the office and was about to go down the steps when he spied Caroline. She was just coming out of the Portakabin that had been put in place to hold the sales office while renovations were carried out in the old stable block. He halted momentarily in the doorway. He hadn’t seen her since the day he’d booted her out of Denham House, though he knew she was working at the brewery. And doing very well, by all accounts. Mickey was hoping she would hand in her notice at the paper and come to work full time.

  James watched her from afar. As her work was largely on the phone and the weather was still chilly, she was dressed in casual clothing. Tight jeans, a tight sweater and high boots: she dressed as ever to bring out her good points. Her curls were bound into a thick plait down her back, and she pushed her arms into a duckdown quilted jacket. He admired the swell of her breasts just before they disappeared under the zip and shivered at the memory of them on his bare chest. She tucked her chin into the collar and made her way over to the paddock, where Toby was waiting patiently for his nightly fuss.

  James watched as she rubbed at the old horse’s nose, fondling his ears roughly and scratching his poll. Toby butted back at her, loving the attention. He had little these days. She put her long arms round his neck and nuzzled him to her. James wondered if Caroline herself had any attention these days, and if so from whom. He didn’t flatter himself enough to think that she had taken a vow of celibacy after his unceremonious dismissal.

  He’d had time to think over the past few weeks. He and Lucy seemed to have an unspoken agreement that they avoided each other, that they never spoke about what had happened between them. She seemed to have taken what he’d said on board and he was relieved. He didn’t want to feel responsible for bringing down an entire family. But now his life felt rather empty, because he no longer lived in hope. Before he had always had the hint of promise to spur him on.

  He was resigned to the fact that he would never find another woman to love as fiercely and passionately, albeit secretly, as he did Lucy, and he was on a mission to fill the large hole she’d left in his heart. He’d spent quite a bit of time in London lately, trying to forget her. But the jaded blondes that were paraded in front of him by friends determined on matchmaking bored him rigid. They all seemed intent on finding out the extent of his bank balance, or shovelling up cocaine in the bathroom. They were deeply, deeply dull.

  He didn’t think he was asking for much. The only real prerequisite in any potential girlfriend was that she had to be so unlike Lucy he would never be reminded of what he was missing. And as he watched Caroline, he thought she couldn’t be less like her. She was loud, extrovert, she couldn’t cook to save her life and she was ambitious. The complete antithesis of the woman he loved. Add to that the fact that he actually quite liked her company, her spirit. She was perfect.

  He’d got a bit of ground to make up first, though.

  He walked up behind Caroline as she fed Toby a couple of Polos.

  ‘You spoil him.’

  She looked at him defiantly.

  ‘Someone’s got to.’

  ‘I owe you an apology, Caroline. I behaved shabbily.’

  Caroline couldn’t help but smile. Only James could come up with an expression like ‘shabbily’.

  ‘You behaved like a total cunt. And I never use that word, except when it’s the only one that will do.’

  James put his hands up.

  ‘It’s a fair cop. You’re right. I was a total…’

  He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  ‘Say it.’ Caroline was taunting him now.

  ‘OK. I was a total cunt.’

  Caroline grinned triumphantly and fed Toby another Polo.

  ‘Will you come out to dinner? To show no hard feelings.’

  Half of Caroline screamed no, she bloody well wouldn’t – why should she let him get away with it? He’d treated her appallingly. He’d have to do better than that to earn her forgiveness. But the other half thought about the alternative – yet another night in front of the telly with a glass or three of Lambrusco, some dried-up old pitta bread and half a tub of hummus.

  Later that evening they shared a table for two in the corner of the Knowing Pig, a local restaurant tipped for a Michelin star that served food fit for a seduction and wines to match. Caroline had gone home, showered, changed and chosen her outfit very carefully. She wore a double-breasted black velvet jacket with a barely visible zebra-skin skirt underneath and knee-length black patent boots with spiky, spiky heels. Men always looked at them and gulped.

  She waited until they’d scraped up the last remnants of their crème brûlée before tackling the issue. She hoped the two bottles of wine they’d consumed would make James less likely to lie. In vino veritas…

  ‘So – did you and Lucy…?’

  ‘Did me and Lucy what?’

  Caroline rolled her eyes.

  ‘Play dominoes. What do you think?’

&n
bsp; James wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you shagged the arse off each other.’

  James smiled infuriatingly.

  ‘Wrong.’

  ‘You would say that, wouldn’t you? I mean, you’re trying to get back into my knickers, aren’t you? So you’re not going to admit getting into hers.’

  Caroline leaned forward with a mischievous smile. James caught a glimpse of her cantilevered cleavage, encased in black lace. He swirled the last golden drops of pudding wine round in his glass.

  ‘Caroline, the poor woman had just found out her husband had been unfaithful. She was devastated. The last thing on her mind was sex. Especially with her own brother-in-law. Honestly, your imagination runs wild.’

  He smiled suggestively at her.

  ‘You should put it to better use.’

  Caroline drew herself up with dignity. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it that easily.

  ‘So why did you boot me out like that? On bloody Boxing Day, for God’s sake.’

  ‘I’ve always felt very protective of Lucy. Because I know exactly what my brother’s like. I feel responsible for him in a way. Seeing what he’d done to her ripped me apart. I had to hold her hand through the whole thing. And I couldn’t really expect you to understand.’ James put a hand over Caroline’s. She was about to snatch it away indignantly, but he pressed down on it urgently. He looked her in the eye. ‘I made a big mistake. I’m sorry. Like you said, I was a total… shit. And I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to take a running jump, but I’d like to start again.’