Lord Seeks Wife: A hilariously funny romantic comedy

by Heather Barnett

  ***

  ‘Well,’ said Noblet, with a shake of his head. ‘I have to admit it, old man, I am surprised.’

  The two brothers were sitting once more on the terrace at the back of the Hall, Noblet with a fresh G&T at his elbow, Henry with a glass of white wine. The sun had sunk almost to the horizon, throwing long shadows which revealed every lump and bump in the luminous green lawn. A wood pigeon cooed nearby and Martyr’s black-and-white cat was stretched out along the warm, yellow stone of the balustrade.

  ‘Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘surprised. I knew she was a stupid woman, but to actually pay cold hard cash for some gibbering idiot to come to her home and help herself to perfectly good clothes from the wardrobe! It beggars belief. I don’t like to sound hard, Henners, but you’re well rid of her.’

  Henry opened his mouth to defend her and then remembered that was no longer his responsibility. He’d leave that to Joel. Or maybe Annabel.

  ‘And as for the bedroom antics,’ Noblet was continuing, ‘that’s just adding insult to injury. To think we entertained that little ménage-a-trois under our roof. Goodness knows what was going on right under our noses.’

  He looked down as if to check that nothing of that nature was going on under his nose, spotted a stag beetle lurching across the stones by his feet, and crouched down to examine it.

  ‘Funnily enough, the Joel/Annabel thing doesn’t bother me,’ Henry said. ‘I doubt they had much of a choice. Saskia probably added “sex” onto their to-do lists after “making tea” and “proofreading”. She always clung to this mental image of herself as a bohemian, and there were certain things she did to reinforce that image. Smoking weed, for example.’ He sighed. ‘She would have been a much happier person if she’d been able to stick to what her family expected her to do: work in the City for a few years, marry a banker, have a couple of children, move out to the countryside and meet up with friends every day to play tennis and complain about the nannies. After she had her breakdown, she couldn’t do that – she needed to prove that she wasn’t a failure, and getting married and settling down with kids would have equated to failure in her eyes.’

  Henry’s phone made a subdued beeping noise.

  ‘Wish you’d leave that in the house, old man. Preferably in the wastepaper basket.’

  Henry was reading a message.

  ‘It’s from Saskia.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘She sent one ten minutes ago. What on earth can have happened since then?’

  ‘Nothing’s happened, she just wants to speak to me.’ He put the phone back on the table. ‘But I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve said all I want to say.’

  ‘That’s the spirit! Don’t let her wear you down. Before you know it, you’ll be yes-Saskia-ing and no-Saskia-ing and bombing back down the motorway for a plate of conciliatory lentils.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘I know I’ve made the right decision. She’ll be ok once she calms down.’

  Shooting an inquisitive glance at the phone, Noblet prompted, ‘Getting a bit hysterical, is she?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Henry grimaced. ‘I won’t tell you what she says verbatim, but the gist of it is she’s going to call me every hour on the hour until I agree to let her see me.’

  ‘Good God! Yet another reason to throw that piece of devilment in the fire.’

  ‘If I didn’t need it for work, I’d be tempted.’

  ‘I feel guilty, old man. You having to help me with these blasted interviews when you’ve got all this nonsense going on.’

  ‘It’ll take my mind off it. Which reminds me, I must talk to Mother later. Make sure she’s prepared. It’s a week away now.’

  ‘Don’t remind me, old chap. So, Mother’s happy to be involved now, is she?’

  ‘Jumped at the chance,’ said Henry, remembering the good forty minutes he’d put into convincing her. ‘She wants to make sure you find the right person.’

  Chapter 15

  They were heading for London, it seemed. Sitting in the back of Piers’ beaten-up BMW, Alice watched the motorway signs flash by. Her planned evening of re-watching My Fair Lady for the hundredth time had been interrupted by the unexpected arrival of her sister and her boyfriend.

  ‘We’re on a mission of mercy and we’re taking no prisoners. Or – in fact – we are taking one prisoner, and that’s you!’ Piers had announced as soon as she’d let them in; hands on his hips, head thrown back and guffawing like a mediaeval king surrounded by his court.

  Cecily took advantage of Piers being engrossed in mediaeval-king-style merriment to explain.

  ‘We were talking about you the other day, Al, and I was saying what a nightmare you’ve been having with all that rubbish in the papers. We thought you might need cheering up.’

  ‘Ergo,’ continued Piers, ‘we put on our capes and our underpants on the outside and here we are, SuperPiers and his trusty sidekick to the rescue! Tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you both,’ said Alice, ‘but I’m not up to a big evening out yet.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ roared Piers. ‘Take her upstairs, Cess, and don’t come down until you’ve rolled her in a bucketful of glitter.’

  In the end, it had been easier to give in.

  ‘Enjoying the magical mystery tour so far, Al?’ called Piers over his shoulder. Alice pasted on a smile and said yes, she was having a great time. ‘Enjoying the eighties tuneage?’ Alice said yes, she was very much enjoying the eighties tuneage. ‘Ready for the night of your life?’ Alice said she couldn’t honestly say she was ready for the night of her life, but she was very grateful to them for taking her out.

  ‘No problemo, Alster! Kill two birds with one stone whenever the occasion arises, that’s my motto. I wanted to check out this gig anyway and catch up with some of my hombres, and when Cess told me about all the shit you’ve had thrown at you I said hey, babe, we’re going to take that sister of yours with us and we’re going to show her a fucking good time! Yeah!’ Piers’ excitement had risen to such a pitch that he punched the air and swerved into the next lane, earning himself a sustained beeping from the alarmed Renault Clio to his left.

  When her heart had stopped trying to hammer its way out through her chest, Alice ventured, ‘So we’re going to a gig?’

  ‘Damn!’ Piers was crestfallen. ‘Oh, damn it to hell, Cess, I said I’d keep to myself and I’ve messed up! Damn it all to fucking hell!’

  Cecily reached over and squeezed his arm. ‘It’s alright, it doesn’t matter! She still doesn’t know who we’re going to see, do you, Al?’

  Alice shook her head earnestly.

  ‘No, no it’s ruined now,’ fumed Piers. ‘The secret’s out and it’s all my fault. I might as well come right out and say we’re going to see The Proxy and it was going to be a big surprise because you had them at your party and you were going to walk in not knowing what to expect and you’d be all like “wow, yeah, it’s The Proxy!” and we’d be like “Yeah!” and you’d be like “Oh my God!”. But now it’s all turned to shit. Typical fucking Piers and his big fucking mouth. Barely any point in going now.’ He put his foot down, glared at the road and refused to be comforted by anyone.

  In a heaving bar a couple of doors down from the club where The Proxy would be playing, Alice obediently downed tequila shots, trying not to gag on the salt and lemon. Cecily had taken Piers to one side and talked him out of his mood, and he was now more upbeat than ever.

  ‘Down it! Down it! Down it! Yeah! That’s the spirit, sis! Arriba, arriba! Get those shots inside you!’ He gave her shoulder a playful shove, sending her careering into a man and splashing drink all down his shirt. ‘Nothing like tequila to get you in the mood for a Par-Tay! Wooh!’

  Despite the forced jollity, Alice was having a hard time pretending to enjoy herself. The music was far too loud, she found herself thinking – feeling very middle-aged – and she didn’t recognise any of the songs. There was nowhere
to sit and people kept shoving her in the back on the way to the bar. She hadn’t eaten anything and was feeling faint.

  They headed over to the gig. The queue snaked from the door of the club right down the road and round the corner. Everyone looked ultra-cool and edgy and Alice found herself feeling a bit provincial in her jeans, black heels and sparkly party top. In Gently Rising her look would have been considered chic, but here she looked like she’d ram-raided Next on her way over. Resigning herself to a long wait in the queue, she was surprised and horrified to see Piers marching past everyone and planting himself in front of the bouncers. She tugged at Cecily’s sleeve.

  ‘What’s he doing? The back of the queue’s way over there.’

  Cecily threw a fond glance at Piers. ‘Don’t worry – come on.’

  They followed him to the front in time to see one of the bouncers check something on his clipboard, nod curtly and step aside to let them through. Inside, Piers explained.

  ‘My firm’s got the ad account for their record label. I pulled a few strings, got us VIP backstage passes. Only the best for you, Alster!’

  And then they couldn’t say any more because the crowd went wild as lead singer Luc appeared on stage, followed by the rest of The Proxy.

  ***

  A luminous pink skeleton, which reminded Alice of Sinead Dumper in her PVC jumpsuit, hung from the ceiling. Huge, squishy leather sofas were draped with people drinking and smoking. Vast floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering London skyline – she picked out St. Pauls, the Gherkin and even the London Eye in the distance. Alex and Rollo were having a friendly dispute about something which had gone wrong in the set, both picking out chords on their instruments to demonstrate their point. Luc sat on a barstool at the counter of the huge open plan kitchen, reading a slim volume of what looked like poetry and drinking orange juice from the carton.

  A voice beside her said, ‘Are you wishing you hadn’t come?’

  She turned round to find Stein Avery grinning at her. Feeling a little starstruck – after all, she’d just watched him being screamed at by hundreds of adoring fans – she shook her head and said, ‘Oh, no! No, it’s great.’

  He shook his head at her. ‘You don’t have to say that. They’re pretty boring, these aftershow parties. Luc always insists on inviting a load of strangers back to his place and then ignores them for the rest of the evening. Here, have some of this.’ He proffered the cardboard box of pizza he’d been helping himself to. ‘I bet you haven’t eaten for hours.’

  Alice took a slice. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled through ham and mushrooms.

  ‘So, you came with that guy Piers?’

  She nodded, still chewing.

  ‘Known him long?’

  ‘A couple of months. He’s going out with my sister, Cecily.’ She pointed out Cecily perched on the arm of a sofa looking out of place and watching Piers, who lay on the floor challenging a succession of tattooed and dreadlocked opponents to arm-wrestle.

  ‘She looks besotted,’ remarked Stein. ‘Like she’d do anything for him. Lucky guy,’ he added, with a sigh. ‘Bit sorry for myself. Split up with my girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. We were all set for a tour in America when the deal broke down – record companies can’t take any risks these days and no one’s guaranteed to make it in the States. Anyway, she thought we were set for the big time and when she heard about the cancellation she upped and left. I heard yesterday she’s started hanging around with The Cross Fires – obviously thinks they’ve got a better chance of superstardom.’

  ‘But you’re already famous, aren’t you?’ questioned Alice. ‘I mean, I hadn’t heard of The Proxy but then I don’t know anything about music. Mia says you’re the hottest band around.’

  ‘Mia Wild?’

  ‘Yes – she organised for you to come and play at my birthday party a couple of weeks ago. In Mereshire,’ she added when he continued to look blank.

  ‘Oh, that weird gig in the village. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you.’

  Why would you? thought Alice.

  ‘Yeah, that was a bit of a crazy one,’ he went on. ‘You know some madwoman splashed red paint all over me?’ He grinned. ‘I’ve heard of people throwing knickers, but paint’s a new one.’

  He was very nice, for a rock star, Alice thought.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ Stein asked.

  Alice looked down at her mug of tepid white wine. ‘Erm…’

  ‘Not that rubbish. That’s for the freeloaders and the groupies. Come on, I’ll make you a Stein Special.’

  A Stein Special, it turned out, involved digging around in a James Bond-style secret cocktail cabinet hidden behind bookshelves in Luc’s study and mixing blue curacao, grappa, angostura bitters, Grand Marnier and a sugar cube.

  ‘And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen, the Stein Special. What makes it special,’ he informed her, ‘is that it’s never the same recipe twice. Down the hatch.’

  Alice took a sip, prepared to grimace, and then took another, bigger sip. ‘It’s actually quite nice,’ she said, surprised.

  ‘What do you mean, “actually quite nice”?’ he demanded as he led her outside onto the balcony overlooking the city. ‘You sound surprised. Almost as if you think I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Almost.’ Alice agreed, smiling at him as she took another sip. Gosh, he was nice. So nice, that with a few well-chosen questions on his part she found she was confiding in him – everything from her quiet life in Gently Rising, to Mia arriving, Lord de Beeble’s newspaper advert, her party, the tabloid story, the interview at the village hall and finally, Cecily and Piers hauling her up to London to take her mind off things. It took quite some time and they were down to the dregs of their Stein Specials when she’d finished.

  She noticed and said, ‘God, sorry. I’ve really been banging on. When stuff’s been playing on your mind you forget that it’s boring for other people.’

  ‘It’s not boring at all. You’ve had a pretty shit time by the sounds of it.’

  ‘So have you. Tell me about your girlfriend – how long had you been going out?’

  Stein stood up, taking their empty glasses from the table. ‘I’ll give you the full lowdown – once I’ve topped us up. We’re both going to need some super-strength Specials to make it through a blow-by-blow account of me and Millie.’

  Chapter 16

  In Mereshire, a trespasser had snuck into the grounds of de Beeble Hall. The interloper was covered from head to toe in camouflage gear, allowing her to slip unnoticed through the trees while also working some totally fashion-forward squaddie chic. Her trainers made no noise as she tiptoed to the very fringes of the wood that bordered the formal gardens behind the house. Despite the lateness of the hour, several windows were still lit up on three of the four floors. One of the full-length windows at the far right of the house was open onto the terrace, and she thought she could hear the tap of a computer keyboard.

  She counted the windows across from the left on the second floor. There, that was the one. Wasn’t it? A light shone through a sliver in the curtains, but even as she watched it was extinguished. He was preparing to sleep. Would he dream of her? God knew she’d dreamt of him enough times since he’d left, over a week ago now. That was when she could get to sleep, which wasn’t often, no matter how many drops of valerian she took, not to mention the whale songs on her Sonos. They belonged together – it was written in the moon and the stars. Even the spirits had confirmed that they should be together, via the most expensive new spiritualist in London, Susannah Windle. Two thousand pounds had been a small price to pay to discover that one day they would be reunited and, what was more, the spirits positively encouraged her to hasten that day’s arrival. He didn’t pick up the phone when she rang and, according to the read receipts, didn’t read her WhatsApps. If Mohammed wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain would hire a Ferrari at great expense, speed down motorways and A roads, dump the Ferrari in the village, get covered in cobwebs and God
knows what else, and gaze up at a window which may, or may not, be his.

  But she had not come to stand and gaze. No way, man. She needed to convince him she loved him and would never again betray him. (If he considered a little thing like a friendly threesome a betrayal. Totally suburban, but she’d let it go.) She had come in search of an ally.

  ***

  In London, things had gone a little hazy and soft around the edges. Piers had stood up at about 3 a.m. and declared himself ready to drive them all home, before blinking twice and keeling over like a felled redwood. Cecily had found a small unoccupied bedroom and managed to heave him into it with the help of Rollo and Alex. No one had seen Alice or Stein for some time.

  Up on the roof, Stein was pointing out various landmarks. Alice was very aware of his arm round her waist.

  ‘That’s the office building in the City where I worked for a couple of years before jacking it in to go full-time with the band. There’s Liverpool Street station. I used to get the Tube into there for work when I was still living out with the pazzers in Epping Forest. That’s the big roundabout by Old Street station – beyond it, past that tower block, is the pub where we had our first proper gig.

  ‘And this,’ he said, turning to face Alice, ‘is the rooftop where I kissed a lovely girl called Alice.’ As he drew her towards him, she almost resisted but at the last moment gave in to a rush of excitement and anticipation as his lips touched hers. And if there weren’t quite banks of fireworks going off, there were one or two sparklers and perhaps a small Catherine wheel.

  ***

  At the sight of a figure in camouflage gear and a balaclava sidling up to him with one finger to its lips, all Derek’s security training kicked in.

  ‘Wha’ the…?’ he exclaimed, while scratching his head and letting his jaw hang open. A second or two later he’d grabbed the intruder round the neck and was attempting to operate his walkie-talkie with his free hand.

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed his prisoner. ‘It’s me, man! Take my balaclava off!’