‘I’m sorry, but if you’ve not been called for a second interview, we can’t see you,’ Henry said, pushing back his chair and preparing to usher her from the room.
‘I’ve not been called for a second interview. I’ve been called by fate. Your fate, babe.’
Oh God. He’d thought that voice was familiar, even with the Marilyn Monroe breathiness she’d been affecting. When the headscarf and sunglasses came off it was no surprise to anyone but Noblet, who hadn’t been paying attention, that Saskia was underneath.
‘You wouldn’t reply to my messages so I had to find a way to get to see you. You’re letting these saddos have five minutes of your time, don’t you think I deserve at least that much?’
Turning to his mother and Noblet, Henry said, with a meaningful look, ‘Would you mind…?’
Lady Caroline rose. Passing Saskia, she touched her on the shoulder. ‘Dignity, Saskia. Nothing is more precious than our dignity.’
‘Oh, fuck off, Caroline.’
***
Henry closed the door behind him. ‘That wasn’t very nice.’
‘I don’t feel very nice. I feel fucking terrible.’ Saskia looked him in the eyes and he saw the anger vanish, swallowed up by a mixture of pain and longing. ‘I miss you so much, babe. I wake up every morning and my heart’s ripped out all over again when I remember you’re gone.’ Stumbling out of her chair and onto the floor by his feet she grabbed hold of his legs, crying, ‘Tell me what to do to get you back! I don’t give a fuck about anything else, not the magazine, not anything, I just want you!’
Henry looked down at her, stunned. He’d never suspected Saskia of this depth of emotion.
Stroking her hair as she sobbed against his knees, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Saskia. I don’t love you in the way I should. I can’t think of any easier way to say it. I hope in time we can be friends.’
She sat back and looked at him with wild eyes.
‘Friends? I don’t want to be friends. My fucking heart is breaking, don’t you get it? I wish I was dead.’
‘Don’t say that. We weren’t right for each other. You need someone more…’ He racked his brain for the word she used to bandy around when his opinions disappointed her. ‘…more spiritual. Why don’t you take a break, get some space. Maybe go to your retreat in Goa?’
‘Because,’ she explained carefully, as if to a small child, ‘I don’t want a fucking retreat. I want you. Nothing else.’
Henry sat back, drained. He didn’t know what else to say. Through the full-length windows, he happened to catch sight of Mia walking along the terrace. When he looked back at Saskia, she was staring at him.
‘It’s her, isn’t it?’
‘Who?’
‘Don’t give me that! It’s that bitch, she’s the reason you dumped me! I could see it all coming at the interview that night. You and Noblet drooling over her.’
‘Saskia, I have met Mia Wild twice including today. The reason I broke up with you is because I no longer love you. That and the fact you were sleeping with other people,’ he added, drily.
She wasn’t listening. Standing up and gathering her things together she said, ‘I’ll show you. There’s something not right about that bitch, I know it. I’m going to find out what it is and then you’ll see you were wrong. You’ll need me again.’
He tried to protest but she was already gone, knocking over an empty chair in the hall with a clatter.
***
As Alice edged into the interview room bearing a tray that trembled in her clammy hands, a glance at the three faces before her revealed they all looked rather tense. One of the kitchen staff had been sent in with her to carry the plates and cutlery, and together they arranged everything on a small table in front of the panel. When it was ready, Alice stood back.
‘So,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘Your skill is to bake?’
‘Erm, yes. Baking and cooking in general.’
‘I see. You are aware that His Lordship has a full complement of kitchen staff?’
Henry rolled his eyes. ‘Martyr can hardly be described as a full complement of kitchen staff,’ he muttered to his mother.
‘Well, yes, I did think of that,’ Alice said, ‘but I thought it might be useful to have extra help sometimes…’ She trailed off. Mia had made it sound convincing, but now she felt like she was applying for the role of scullery maid rather than Countess of Pantling.
‘Cooking,’ Noblet declared, ‘is always a useful skill to have. Wish I could do it.’ He gave Alice an encouraging nod.
‘I agree,’ said Henry.
Alice looked down at her tart, wishing her cheeks paler.
Lady Caroline looked ostentatiously at her watch.
‘I assume we are going to try some of that…?’
‘Tarte aux poires,’ Alice finished for her. It was one of her favourites. Juicy pears surrounded by frangipane in a crisp, buttery pastry. She cut slices, added a dollop of clotted cream to each dish and handed them round. For a moment there was silence while they all took a bite.
Lady Caroline was first to speak, looking up at Alice as if she hadn’t seen her properly before.
‘This is delicious. Truly delicious.’ She took another bite. ‘I’ve not had a dessert this good since the Clos du Roi. That little place near Montparnasse,’ she added to Henry.
‘Gorgeous!’ enthused Noblet. ‘Heavenly!’ He held out his plate. ‘More, please.’
Alice couldn’t stop smiling as she handed him another slice.
Henry put down his empty plate. ‘You’re a very talented cook.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘I see you’re a primary school teacher. Have you ever cooked professionally?’
‘No, never.’
Lady Caroline nodded at her. ‘Perhaps you should consider it, my dear.’
Once Alice had left the room, Noblet hopped down from his chair and helped himself to another large slice.
‘Noblet!’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘You’ve barely left any for Henry and me.’
She held out her plate for more.
***
By four o’clock most of the interviewees had been seen and sent home. The remainder were served tea which they drank dotted around the terrace in nervous little groups. At the end of the tea break, Henry went to round up Noblet and discovered he had gone AWOL again. Search parties were dispatched to the library, Noblet’s bedroom and other likely places, while he himself tried the pantry. Having found it empty, he was returning to the interview room when he heard a loud expostulation from a small room known as the Games Room, as it was where board games were stored along with sundry items such as cricket bats and rugby balls. It was also, Henry remembered as he opened the door and received a small white ball in the face, where they kept the ping-pong table.
‘Oh for goodness sake, Henners! Gave me a shock, coming charging in like that. Put me off my stride. That was going to be the most marvellous shot. Shall we mark that point down to me?’ He asked his companion with a winning look.
‘If you like,’ she replied.
‘Mia here,’ Noblet said, motioning towards her, ‘has trounced me three times in a row. I haven’t even scored a point. Other than that last one.’
‘Sounds like you’re out of your league,’ Henry remarked.
‘Well, I don’t know about that. We’re going to make it best of five.’
‘I don’t want to be a spoilsport, Bob, but you’ve still got people left to see. Mia, would you mind if we postponed the final two games?’
She smiled at him and laid down her bat. ‘Of course not.’
She really was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, Henry thought. He could tell Noblet was smitten, but – without being disloyal to his brother – he couldn’t quite understand what the attraction was for her. She could have any number of eligible men at her feet with a snap of her fingers. He was almost jealous of his brother, having a woman like Mia prepared to consider marrying him. If she was, of course. He remembered what Saskia ha
d said about there being something ‘not quite right’ about her; perhaps she had some other agenda. Then he remembered all the other things Saskia had said and warned himself against listening to the paranoid ramblings of a woman on the edge of a breakdown.
Mia had picked up her bag and was preparing to leave.
‘Erm – would you like to come and discuss your special skill with us now, Mia?’ asked Noblet.
‘How about,’ Mia suggested, ‘we say it’s ping-pong and leave it at that?’
Noblet simpered at her. ‘Absolutely – I can testify to your skill in that direction.’
Henry looked withering when, after a few moments, Noblet dragged his eyes away from her retreating figure.
‘Ping-pong? That’s the skill you’re looking for in a wife?’
‘Correct. Nothing better to while away an evening than a good, long, table tennis tournament. Very creditable skill. More to my taste than half the balderdash I’ve heard today. I mean, Henners, if it’s a choice between flower arranging, line dancing and – and what was it that gentleman offered us – “lifestyle vlogging”, was it? – I’d take ping-pong every time!’
Chapter 20
Sinead woke up with a jolt. She lifted her head and listened, trying to quieten her breathing. She’d been dreaming about brass bands and Crufts. As she came too, she realised Coco was yapping and in the background, there was a muffled banging noise. There it was again. Coco continued to bark but whenever he paused for breath, she heard it.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
She pushed off the covers and slid out of bed. Switching on the light, she went straight to the wardrobe for her anti-burglar kit. Sinead had planned for the eventuality of a burglary. As a single woman in a large, desirable residence she was well aware of her vulnerability and had no intention of joining the ranks of sad saps who ended up in the papers: ‘Wealthy homeowner gagged and bound while intruders ransack house’.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
She pulled on the bulletproof vest.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
The retractable truncheon was flicked out to its full length.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
The pepper spray was inserted into the correct loop on the bulletproof vest.
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
Thud.
The lipstick was applied. You never knew who might be burgling you, after all.
As she descended the stairs the thudding got louder. It was coming from the other side of the front door. Coco was shut in the kitchen, still yapping away. Sinead left him there, she was under no illusions as to his worth as an attack dog. Noiselessly, she drew back the bolts. The thudding continued. She turned the handle in her left hand while she raised the truncheon above her head in her right. She flung open the door. Instead of bearing down hard on the suspected burglar’s head, she found herself flat on her back on the floor with sixteen-stone of man on top of her. The man grunted. Her arm, which had stretched out again ready to strike, checked itself.
‘Ugh,’ repeated the sixteen-stone of flesh.
She craned her neck to the side to get a look at his face in the dim light.
‘Derek?’
‘Yurr,’ he confirmed.
She managed to wriggle out from underneath him. He remained face down on the floor.
‘What were you doing?’
‘Banging.’
‘Banging what?’
‘My head. Your door.’
‘Why?’
There was a strangled noise that sounded like a sob and then something incoherent.
‘What?’
‘Meeyueediooo.’
‘What?’
He raised his head and took a deep breath, holding back the sobs.
‘I’m an idiot!’
The words shot through the air towards her, propelled on a wave of lager and spirit fumes.
Sinead looked up at the clock on the wall. One o’clock in the morning. She looked back at the prostrate form on the floor and put down her truncheon.
‘Come on. I’ll make tea.’
Derek allowed himself to be persuaded up, divested of his boots and led into the living room where he was equipped with a cup of hot, sweet tea. Sinead sipped a camomile infusion as she settled herself opposite him and asked, ‘What’s happened?’
Derek stared at his tea, took a sip and stared at it again without speaking.
Sinead tutted. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Woke me up. At least tell me what it is.’
Lifting his great head, he looked at the empty space over her right shoulder, two tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘Lost my job. Because m’an idiot. Loved my job’
Something softened inside Sinead and, putting her mug down, she moved over to the sofa next to him and stroked his arm.
‘Come on. Never mind. What happened?’
After the interviews were over, Henry de Beeble had called a meeting of all the security staff to tear a strip off them. He’d asked how their procedures had failed to such an extent that two intruders had made their way into the house and confronted Lord de Beeble himself. Derek, as on-site team leader, didn’t have an explanation to give for Lorraine Watford’s unauthorised entry, but he had asked to speak to Mr de Beeble in private about the second ‘intruder’. Once they were alone, Derek had confessed all about Saskia, expecting Henry to understand and perhaps even be pleased. As he was telling his tale, however, and Henry’s brow was darkening, Derek had started to suspect that all was not as it seemed. When it came to how Derek had helped Saskia infiltrate the interviews so she could ‘surprise him’, he noticed Henry’s jaw clench. Henry had said that although he understood that Derek had been misled, his first loyalty should have been to the de Beeble family and his actions were a breach of trust. In the light of that, and the security lapse which allowed Mrs Watford to enter the Hall, Henry had no choice but to terminate Derek’s contract, and that of his company. Derek’s termination was with immediate effect and the firm would be kept on for another week while a replacement was engaged.
This didn’t come out very coherently but Sinead got the point.
‘Stupid bitch,’ was her first reaction.
‘Who?’
‘Saskia, of course. His girlfriend. Should never have involved you. Lied.’
‘I shouldn’t have listened,’ agreed Derek, his words muffled against her shoulder.
‘No. But you believed her. Wanted to help.’
‘Wasn’t that,’ sobbed Derek. ‘She paid me and – and – I was goin’ to buy you…’ he reached a crescendo of sobbing, ‘gerberas!’
She looked down at his shaking head, shocked.
‘Did it all for you,’ he snuffled.
When she didn’t say anything, he looked up and found his face close to hers. Before either of them knew what had happened, they were kissing. His shaking sobs died down as his kisses grew in enthusiasm and he drew her down onto the sofa.
In the kitchen, Coco began to howl hopelessly.
***
After the stresses and strains in Mereshire, getting back to the day job felt like a welcome break to Henry. He found he could come home tired after work in the evening and the flat would be blissfully empty and peaceful. He could open the fridge and find that his cheeses and cold meats were where he’d left them, instead of in the bin: sacrificed to one of Saskia’s anti-fat, anti-meat scourges. Friends, however, seemed to find his contentment hard to take at face value. Particularly female friends, he noticed, who, soon after he’d broken up with Saskia, started dropping into conversation friends of theirs who had recently come out of relationships. ‘I’m not interested,’ he would insist until they got the message and left him alone.
‘I’m so looking forward to the summer party, Henry, aren’t you?’
Henry thought about it. Lots of his mother’s aristocratic friends and their children standing around on the lawn in unflattering formalwear nibbling on finger food between 8 p.m. and midnight precisely; the same ancient Pantling string quartet who were hired every year; Noblet, a picture of misery, tightly buttoned into his dinner jacket; and his mother getting tipsy on champagne and holding forth on everything from immigration to road markings.
‘It wouldn’t be summer without it,’ he replied diplomatically.
‘I’ll be sending out the invitations in a day or so. I do hope Camilla and Douglas can make it this year with Fenella. Such a charming girl,’ she paused, inviting comment which wasn’t forthcoming. ‘And of course, Stephanie and Arabella Dryden will be coming. And Bo Searle.’ She paused again. ‘Such delightful girls. Can’t think why they haven’t been snapped up yet. Can’t imagine they’ll be on the shelf for long.’
At this point, Henry tended to wrap up the conversation to avoid being drawn on the relative merits of the various Arabellas and Fenellas laid out for his perusal. It wouldn’t be as easy at the party, of course. He would have to keep out of Lady Caroline’s way as much as possible if he wasn’t to spend the whole evening making small talk with every eligible girl Mereshire and the surrounding counties had to offer.
***
‘It’s probably a stupid idea,’ said Alice, ‘but now the seed’s been sown I can’t stop thinking about it.’
She and Mia were sitting at a table by the window in the Lion and Lamb, driven inside by a sudden summer shower. Behind them Colonel Markham was sipping a pint of bitter at the bar, pretending to gaze into the distance while eavesdropping on their conversation. Mia caught Jerry Brewer’s eye. He jumped to attention and set up another round of drinks.
Lord Seeks Wife: A hilariously funny romantic comedy Page 18