I had my head down and was typing out a couple of confirmations of offer for Stephen when Martin came back, mid-afternoon, strutting in with his hands in his pockets as if he owned the place. He reckoned that as Stephen’s senior negotiator he was in charge when Stephen wasn’t there and didn’t fail to make his belief abundantly clear at every possible opportunity. He stood over Amanda for a few seconds, as if judging whether she was doing her job properly or, as I’d been told was his habit, assessing whether the couple she was showing property details to were going to spend enough money to make it worth his while annexing them as his clients. Half a minute of hearing about two-bedroom cottages convinced him they weren’t. ‘Any messages, Susie?’ he asked in a self-important voice, from the other side of the office.
I looked up. ‘Yes, from the Ridleys. They went to see The Cedars in Gossington and want to put in an offer of—’
He forgot about being too grand to approach a mere assistant and strode over to my desk. ‘Haven’t I told you before that I don’t want you interfering with my clients?’ he snapped.
I stared at him. Yes, he had said something along those lines, but all I done was take a message. Had something gone wrong with Nigel and Luke after I left? And I was being held responsible? Probably. Or was he just generally teed off I’d joined them at all? But I was still in such a sunny mood about Luke that I didn’t give into my immediate impulse, which was to tell him where to get off. Instead, I shrugged and said, ‘Suit yourself. Next time I’ll tell them to ring back.’
‘You will not!’ he snarled. ‘You will take their number and tell them I will ring them back as soon as I get in. I will not have amateurs mucking up my work. Understood?’
‘Perfectly, sah!’ I said, saluting smartly.
Amanda went into a coughing fit which imperfectly disguised an acute attack of the giggles. She’d suffered from his ‘I’m the one who’s got qualifications and you’re just some jumped-up typist’ attitude many times in the past. Even Jenny, who was normally the soul of placid discretion, made a noise like a snort. Martin’s face went red and I had a feeling that despite the young couple I was about to get bawled out, when I was saved by the bell, literally. The telephone went. I gave Martin a non-apologetic look and picked it up, saying in my best receptionist’s manner, ‘Bailey-Stewart. Howmaylhelpyou?’
‘Could I speak to-’ Then there was dead silence followed by an incredulous squeak. ‘Susie? Susie, is that you? What are you doing answering the telephone?’
‘Working of course,’ I retorted primly.
‘Good Gad, girl, you’re a quick mover!’ Rose said in an astonished voice. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you. I was ringing Stephen to ask him if he’d contacted you.’
I grinned. ‘Actually, it’s Stephen who’s the quick mover, I had very little to do with it, I can assure you. Anyway, what on earth are you doing thinking about my employment prospects? Aren’t you supposed to still be on your honeymoon? Weren’t you coming back on Sunday?’
‘We were supposed to be,’ said Rose in a disgusted voice, ‘only Jeremy didn’t notice the return date was down as the thirteenth, not the eighteenth, and we couldn’t get it changed without paying hundreds of pounds, because it was a special fare. He said it wasn’t worth it for a few days.’ Oh dear, this did not bode well for a harmonious start to the Ashton marriage. ‘But,’ she added, her voice brightening a little, ‘he did let me go a bit wild in Donna Karan as a consolation. The prices are so much lower in New York, it would have been mad not to. Jeremy quite agreed with me.’ I’ll bet he did. Anything for a peaceful life. ‘He even came with me and helped me choose. He’s a very good judge, those clothes can be cruel if you’ve got the slightest bulge. He knows exactly what makes me look fat.’ I daresay most of the stock, I thought, my estimation of Jeremy going up by the minute. ‘Oh, I can’t believe you’re up here,’ Rose went on in a delighted voice. ‘What’s this Stephen like? He must be quite something to get staid old you to kick over the traces like that! Is he gorgeous? Do you fancy him?’
‘No! Of course I don’t,’ I said with emphasis, loudly enough to make the young marrieds look up at me in surprise. I wasn’t staid. Was I? Perhaps compared to her, I was, but Rose wasn’t exactly your normal benchmark as a measure of sedate behaviour. ‘Look, Rose, I am supposed to be working,’ I said repressively, afraid she was going to carry on with intimate questions about Stephen, who might walk in at any moment and hear me making blunt denials of finding him attractive. And if he didn’t, then Martin, whom I could see out of the corner of my eye was writing a little note about my gossiping on the office phone and was listening to every word, would be bound to tell him. ‘I can’t spend all day nattering on the phone.’
‘Tush! Working’s never stopped you gossiping before,’ Rose retorted with a certain degree of exaggeration. I drew in my breath audibly with irritation and she said quickly, ‘OK, OK, I get the picture. You’ve turned over a new leaf.’ I ground my teeth, but silently. Trust Rose to say something which I could neither agree with nor refute. It’s that sort of thing which sometimes makes me wonder why I haven’t brained her a long time ago. I can never come up with a reasonable answer. ‘Anyway, we can catch up on all the news later. When are you coming round to see us? This evening?’
‘This evening?’ I repeated blankly, looking at the telephone in mild surprise. I know Rose’s appetite for socialising is truly prodigious, but surely even if she wasn’t suffering from jet-leg wouldn’t she want to spend the second evening in her new home alone with her nearly as new husband? ‘This evening? No, I can’t. I’m having a drink with one of my neighbours in Little Dearsley.’
‘Is that where you’re living? It’s practically next door to us. Well, only about ten minutes away. Oh, I can’t believe this,’ she burbled. ‘Come tomorrow for supper then, about six—’
‘So I can help cook it?’ I interrupted.
‘Of course,’ she responded serenely. ‘It’s the only way you’ll get an edible meal, you should know that. And stay for the night too. I know you could virtually walk home, but we’ve got far too much to catch up on for the miserable quantity you’re allowed with the breathalyser. As you know, we aren’t exactly short of spare bedrooms.’
‘Won’t Jeremy mind?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Considering I had to put up with his mother coming round last night with a covered tray, on account of the fact she was sure I wouldn’t have found my way around the kitchen yet, and then staying to polish it off, if he does mind he can lump it. Besides, he won’t. You’re prettier than his mother, not difficult I must admit, and he says you make him laugh.’
‘Do I?’ I asked in surprise, not entirely sure whether I should be pleased at this completely unexpected compliment or worried that from now on every time I met Jeremy I was going to feel obliged to do a party trick known as Susie Amusing Jeremy. ‘Of course I’ll come, I’m longing to see you.’
‘Good,’ she said happily.
CHAPTER 6
Despite Rose’s airy assurances I was doubtful whether Jeremy would be so keen on seeing me so soon after coming back from honeymoon, but when I trolled up the next evening to a front door of truly baronial proportions, he seemed flatteringly pleased I’d arrived. Of course, that probably had something to do with the way his mother, despite being a good foot smaller, was standing in front of him in the unmistakable manner that tells you a lecture is in progress, or rather, judging by the finger being waved in front of his face, more of a full-blown harangue. However, you had to hand it to her, the moment she heard my wheels on the gravel she stopped in mid-sentence and turned in my direction with a social smile plastered on her face. I wondered if being gracious to strangers when you’re in the middle of a row was the sort of thing they taught you at Lucie Clayton. A small hairy white dog dashed over to the car, scrabbling up against the door with long black claws.
‘You were introduced to Susie, Susie Gardener, at the wedding, weren’t you?’ said Jeremy, who to my surpr
ise didn’t look nearly as incandescent as most men would when they’d been caught having a telling-off from their mother. Either he was even better natured than I thought he was or he was used to it. Though I noticed his voice perhaps held a bit more venom than was strictly necessary as he snarled, ‘Down Mallory, you horrible little mutt!’
Mrs Ashton held out a limp hand towards me. ‘Of course, how nice to see you here,’ she said, though the way her eyes flickered up and down me suggested she was unsure exactly how nice it was. Flavia Ashton was one of those small-boned, exquisitely made women that give off an aura of being too fragile for the everyday events of ordinary life. They usually have several men in tow, only too happy to perform the necessary tasks for them. However, according to Rose, she was about as delicate and helpless as an anaconda. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Gardener ... I know some Gardeners. Are you from the Somerset Gardeners?’
I was tempted to say no, municipal Gardeners, but decided it wouldn’t be polite, besides, it was a bad pun. ‘No, we come from Sussex.’
‘I don’t know any Gardeners from Sussex,’ she said. That meant, presumably, we weren’t worth knowing. The dog jumped up at my leg, leaving a liberal deposit of mud on my fawn jeans in its wake. I pushed it down. His owner looked momentarily annoyed I dared do any such thing, then cooed at him indulgently, ‘What a naughty boy you are, Mallory. You mustn’t spoil Susie’s nice trousers.’ She smiled at me benignly. ‘I’m sure it’ll brush off. When you live in the country you have to get used to a little mud.’
What did she think Sussex was? A suburb of London? I thought, as I picked off a couple of large clods that Mallory had transferred to my trouser leg.
‘It will be so nice for dear Rose to have you here,’ she said in a gracious voice. ‘I’m sure having one of her friends living around here is going to make settling in much easier for her.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness, I must go and start my dinner. Do you like cooking, Susie? I’m sure you find good food needs plenty of careful preparation.’ She smiled at her son. ‘Jeremy, you’d better take Susie to find Rose. I expect you’ll find her relaxing with a book in the morning room.’
If Flavia went on making remarks like that I wondered how long it would be before Rose buried the hatchet with her mother-in-law - right in the centre of her skull. Jeremy flicked his mother a glance that clearly said he didn’t appreciate being ordered around in front of guests, but since getting away was obviously more to his taste than staying to argue the point he set off for the front door at a near gallop, saying a terse, ‘Follow me, Susie,’ over his shoulder as he left the starting blocks. We slowed down once we got inside and out of sight. The contrast between the sunny outside and the wood-panelled gloom of the hall, only relieved by dim light from high narrow stained-glass windows, was so extreme that I didn’t see the suits of armour flanking either side of the door. I bashed an arm with an embarrassing clang and jumped backwards with a startled exclamation.
‘I ought to get those moved,’ said Jeremy, who was negotiating several large oak chairs dotted around the room with the skill born of long practice. ‘People are always bumping into them, but Mother likes them there. She says they lend gravitas to the hall, but I think they’d look just as good over by the fireplace. What do you think?’
Suits of armour aren’t my first choice when it comes to decorating, but I thought they’d look OK anywhere they weren’t menacing the entrance for innocent visitors. My eyes were getting used to the gloom, which wasn’t quite as deep as I’d thought, merely very woody-coloured from acres of well-polished parquet flooring, carved panelling to the ceiling and a lot of heavy, dark oak furniture. I wondered how long it would be before Rose braved maternal-in-law rage and redecorated in here. Replacing or removing the heavy red velvet curtains draped across the windows, obscuring a lot of what light there was, would be a good start.
Contrary to what Flavia had said, Rose wasn’t relaxing with a book, though the green velvet sofa in the morning room did bear signs of recent occupation. A paperback lay on the floor beside it and an apple core sat on a plate next to a crushed soft-drink tin. We ran her to earth in a huge, deliberately old-fashioned kitchen, complete with Aga and wooden drying rack suspended on chains from the high ceiling. There was even a working fireplace down one end, with a sitting area around it and bunches of herbs hanging decoratively from a beam. I was prepared to bet it hadn’t been Rose who had put them there. The only Herb she’s familiar with is an American boyfriend she had when she was seventeen. One wall was completely taken up by a long, built-in dresser painted white, with plates, arranged by colour and size, on the shelves, and neat stacks of artfully arranged bowls lower down. It wouldn’t stay like that for long, there were already signs that Rose was making her mark. A lipstick nestled next to a Delft plate and a shocking-pink clock in the shape of a daisy had been put in front of a jug. Rose was staring in a puzzled way at a cook book propped up on a long pine table, while around her the surface was covered in various untidy heaps of raggedly cut-up meat and a couple of half-chopped onions. A large black-and-white pointer with a turned-up nose sat a few feet away, staring solidly at the table top, willing the meat to levitate and tumble on the floor. A Siamese cat, stretched out decoratively on a cushioned ladderback chair, watched both dog and meat through half-closed eyes and made it quite clear who was going to get the prize if the miracle did ever happen.
Rose dropped the book with a pleased shriek when I came in and raced over to give me a hug. ‘Susie! I didn’t expect you so early. I’m so glad to see you.’
‘Me too,’ I said, though I knew that at least part of her delight was due to an expectation I’d help her work out what she was supposed to do with the piles of raw food she had around her. Rose hadn’t had many encounters with basic ingredients. And few of them had had particularly happy results. I stepped back to have a look at her. She was looking fantastic, I noted enviously, wondering if the figure-hugging teal-blue top she was wearing under her ‘Head Cook’ apron was one of the things she’d persuaded Jeremy to buy for her in New York. The colour was superb against her newly tanned skin and sun-streaked hair. ‘Don’t you look well. Married life must suit you.’
‘Oh, it does,’ she said promptly. ‘You ought to try it. Have I got lots to tell you.’
Jeremy cast her a look of alarm, whistled to the dog, and started backing out quickly, muttering about needing to go and see a man about a field. ‘He’s worried we’re about to launch into “girl talk”,’ hissed Rose, ‘discuss the latest hairstyles and what’s in vogue.’
‘He can’t know you very well if he thinks your girl talk is on such innocuous subjects,’ I said.
She opened her eyes wide. ‘Surely he doesn’t think I’m about to disclose honeymoon secrets?’ she demanded with outraged innocence, then grinned broadly. ‘Well, he might have, but he was probably more afraid I was going to hand him a bag of spuds and the peeler. By the way, Susie, what does “parboil” mean? Look at this recipe here . . .’
She pointed to ‘daube de something or the other’, written by a chef who had failed to take into account that your average home cook doesn’t have a fully equipped restaurant kitchen nor the services of the two sous-chefs who’d have been needed to complete this recipe. We decided it would take us until tomorrow evening to finish looking up all the words we didn’t understand before we could even start on the parboiling, sautéing and clarifying demanded and Jeremy was likely to be rather hungry by then. So I did my infallible man-satisfying recipe, which is basically pouring a bottle of wine and some herbs over the meat and shoving it in the Aga. If you’re really taking a lot of trouble you can add some veg. That is if the one wearing the apron with ‘Head Cook’ on it can be persuaded to chop up the rest of the onions. She claimed the tears were spoiling her make-up.
The recipe is then completed by the cook and her assistant, who sit down and finish what’s left of the cooking wine to help them recover from their labours. I’m by no means brilliant at cooki
ng, it’s just that anyone who likes food and lives with my mother either has to learn the basics or live with permanently shrivelled taste buds. She is a truly imaginatively bad cook, her ideas made even worse by her habit of chucking a handful of pulses or some tofu for their health-giving properties into whatever it is that she’s making, even, as I discovered once, in a birthday cake. A sponge lentil cake is quite something; even she agreed it wasn’t a success and bought my cakes from Marks and Spencer after that. I think my friends were a little disappointed, they enjoyed the sense of adventure you got with a Gardener cake.
We got through a couple of glasses each while Rose rattled away about the honeymoon, clean subjects only, Jeremy would have been relieved to hear; two weeks in a beach-front hotel in St Lucia, followed by ten days in New York, visiting friends and relations of Jeremy’s and by all accounts doing a lot of shopping. Jeremy had gone shopping too, and not just to Donna Karan. He was either very long-suffering or deeply in love. Or perhaps he was merely worried for the safety of his credit card.
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