Lord Seeks Wife: A hilariously funny romantic comedy

by Heather Barnett

  ‘What’s the idea?’ Mia asked.

  As she prepared to vocalise it, Alice felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Why was she so embarrassed about admitting that she had a dream? She took a deep breath and blurted it out.

  ‘You know I told you they liked the tart I made at the second interview? Even Lady Caroline, I never thought she’d say anything nice but she described it as “truly delicious”. Lord de Beeble had a second helping and Henry de Beeble said I was talented. I know it sounds big-headed but it struck me people are always saying how much they like my food. When I do the cakes for the WI stall at the fête, they always go like…well, like hot cakes.’

  She paused for breath as Jerry deposited another whisky and glass of white wine on the table for them, with an appreciative smile at Mia.

  ‘Go on,’ Mia urged once he’d gone.

  ‘The long and short of it is, I wonder if I could do it for money. Not instead of teaching of course, that would be silly, I’ve got to pay the bills. And I do like teaching, it’s just that I love cooking and maybe I should do something about it.’

  ‘You’re a great cook. I’m surprised you never thought of it as a career before.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, I did. As a little girl I always used to say I was going to be a chef, but then everyone thought that was a silly idea…’

  ‘Who’s everyone?’

  ‘Oh, you know, Mum, and everyone. They all thought I’d make a good teacher and I liked children so… Teaching is secure and – I – I suppose in a way it “fitted”, you know? Cess is a doctor, I’m a teacher – good, professional careers. I’m not blaming my parents, in some kind of “they thwarted my dreams” way, it’s not like that at all. They wanted us to be happy, and in their world being happy is having a job that gives you security and that other people respect.’

  Mia nodded. ‘Whereas maybe for you, what makes you happy is being creative and doing something you excel at.’

  Alice looked shifty. ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I mean “excel” is…’

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ve got to stop being apologetic for being good at things. You are a great cook.’ She waved a hand. ‘It’s very British, you know, this compulsion for putting oneself down. You don’t find it in France, Italy, other European countries. In France, your skills are something to be proud of. Why pretend otherwise? You’ll have to get used to talking about your talent without getting awkward. Especially if you’re going to be marketing yourself. But I’m jumping ahead – you were saying maybe you could do it for money?’

  ‘Yes. The summer holidays are coming up in a month and I thought maybe I could do some catering. Nothing massive – put some leaflets through doors in the village, maybe advertise in the Gazette. I wouldn’t be able to handle anything too big, but…’ She jumped as someone coughed in her ear.

  ‘I couldn’t help but overhear, Alice my dear,’ apologised Colonel Markham. ‘May I…?’ He indicated an empty chair at their table.

  ‘Of course, Colonel.’

  He settled himself down. ‘Alice, I think it’s a marvellous idea. Your cakes and pastries are the talk of the village, I have no doubt the orders would pour in. That is the reason for my intrusion on your conversation. Rather than having to turn down lucrative orders, why not call on my help? You may not be aware, my dear, but I spent three years in the catering corps.’

  Alice looked surprised. ‘Well, if it wouldn’t be too much bother it would be reassuring to know I had someone to help me. I don’t know how much I would be able to pay, to begin with…’

  He raised a gnarled hand. ‘Stop! I should not be expecting any financial remuneration. The knowledge that I was supporting an enterprising young friend would be payment enough. That and the work itself, you understand. Those days in the corps were some of the happiest of my life.’

  Mia raised her glass in a toast. ‘Excellent! Here’s to the Brand-New Catering Co. and all who sail in her. Which reminds me, Alice, you’ll need someone to help you with the marketing – I’ll put you in touch with a friend of mine.’

  As they all clinked glasses Alice felt more hopeful than she had done in a long time.

  Chapter 21

  Mia’s marketing friend designed some beautiful posters and leaflets which Alice distributed around the village a couple of weeks before the end of term. Before her advert had even appeared in the local paper, she had three jobs lined up: two dinner parties and a christening. And then came a call from Elaine Jowlett. Would she be able, for an old friend, to organise a simple, rustic supper for six on Saturday next? Nothing flashy, an amuse-bouche, starter, fish course – naturally – main and couple of sweets? Could she? Wonderful. Elaine assumed preferential rates for an old friend such as herself.

  Preparing for Elaine’s dinner party had caused Alice a certain amount of stress. Following the initial call, she had costed it up and presented Elaine with an estimate which Elaine, within minutes, had halved. Subsequently, sitting down to go through the menu, Elaine had tut-tutted at the pea and mint veloutés, I-think-not-my-dear-ed at the scallops and oh-dear-me-no-ed at the rack of lamb. A clean sheet of paper was produced and a new menu devised, consisting of such rustic fare as beluga caviar, fillet steaks and truffles. All to come out of the agreed budget of course: ‘Because in a way, dear, I’m helping you out. You are fortunate in being able to hone your trade on an old friend who won’t fly off the handle at the odd mistake. Although you will try not to make any mistakes, won’t you, dear?’

  Alice had called Colonel Markham, who, after railing at the ineffable selfishness of ‘some people’ had proved invaluable in helping her shop economically; bartering at the fish market over the lobsters and buying lumpfish caviar rather than beluga, asserting: ‘If they notice the difference, I’ll eat my apron!’

  On the big day Alice prepared as much as she could at home and then she and the Colonel loaded up the car mid-afternoon and drove the few hundred metres to the Jowletts’. Elaine opened the door to them in an eye-watering orange and brown floral print dress.

  ‘Welcome, friends! Come in, come in. Go straight through. Ted will give you a helping hand. Ted!’

  Ted came darting into the gloomy corridor and wordlessly gathered up a large plastic box before darting away again like a downtrodden bellboy. Alice and Colonel Markham set to work in the kitchen, interrupted every few minutes or so by Elaine popping in to stick a sturdy finger into a pan of sauce or snaffle a canapé with a playful ‘Oopsy! One for little me!’ leaving the Colonel growling obscenities under his breath. Soon, the more pressing business of last-minute preparations consumed her and she left them in peace.

  ***

  Something smelt bad. Rotten, even. Saskia sniffed and pinpointed the source as being the small shed to her left. If her nose didn’t deceive her, it was where they kept the bins. Not the best place to hide next to, but she couldn’t risk moving. Someone might see her. Peering through the binoculars, she refocused on The Bitch. She was sitting on a work surface in the kitchen, laughing at something one of her companions was saying. Saskia made a small note in the notepad on her lap. ‘Sat 1st August, 6.30 p.m. At her cottage in GR. Laughing. Drinking from a mug. Five or six others in the house – men and women. Not Him.’ Not that she had expected Henry to be there. They wouldn’t be so stupid as to meet in public. They’d be doing it in secret. That was why Saskia had to be patient, watching and waiting.

  Management of The Vacuum had been handed over to her assistant editor while Saskia focused on her temporary new vocation: Unmasking That Bitch as Being a Fraud and Getting Henry Back. She’d already found out something rather interesting about The Bitch, but she wasn’t about to reveal her hand at this stage. Who knew what else there might be to discover, and besides, she wanted to try and catch her with Henry, in flagrante. She shifted position. It was hard work, doing a stake-out. She’d done her best to prepare for a long night; she was even wearing flats which was practically unheard of (although t
hey’d been huge in all the autumn/winter shows so she could at least justify it to herself that way).

  The Bitch was now taking food out of the fridge. Someone else had got a chopping board and was slicing onions while a third person splashed red wine into glasses. Saskia was conscious of a slight grumbling in her stomach. She reached into her handbag and, feeling around, pulled out a pack of organic oatcakes. As she watched the convivial scene through her binoculars while munching on a dry oatcake beside the bins, Saskia felt a wave of self-pity. Self-pity came easily to her these days, but rather than let the waves engulf her she would soak them up with the kitchen-roll of self-righteousness. The end was all. Once she had her proof, she would look back on these days of squatting behind hedges in sensible shoes and laugh. She and Henry would laugh together.

  ***

  ‘Right, my dear,’ said the Colonel, hanging up his apron and giving Alice an encouraging pat on the arm. ‘It’s time for me to desert my post, I’m afraid.’

  As well as helping to prepare dinner, the Colonel was to attend it as a guest, along with Valerie Tipperton, Jan Fratterbury, and the guest of honour – Elaine’s elderly Aunt Jennifer. Alice felt calm as she watched him march out of the kitchen. With the Colonel’s help, everything was on track, just a few last-minute preparations to be done before serving. She pulled a mirror out of her bag to check her hair and tone down her flushed cheeks. Elaine had requested that she be the waitress as well as cook – and chief washer-upper of course, although the Colonel was due to come back and help her clear up later.

  Elaine popped her head round the door. ‘All under control in here, is it?’ she enquired. ‘Excellent, excellent. One thing, Alice dear – Aunt Jennifer has arrived and mentioned that she is allergic to lobster so we’ll need to whip something else up for her starter.’

  The colour drained from Alice’s face. She looked over at the tray where neat discs of lobster ravioli waited to be dunked in boiling water before being smothered in sauce and drizzled with truffle oil. All carefully planned and prepared.

  ‘Wh… whip something else up?’ she stammered.

  ‘Yes, dear. And she did mention how partial she is to whitebait so I thought you could do a few of those in some batter.’

  ‘But… I don’t have any whitebait.’

  ‘Not a problem! Not a problem, dear,’ Elaine assured her. ‘I’ll hold the fort here, hand round the nibbles, while you pop to the shops in the car. Yes? Good,’ and, without waiting for Alice’s response, she closed the door behind her.

  Left alone, Alice panicked. Where could she get whitebait from in the next half hour? The nearest shop likely to sell it was the supermarket in Pantling, twenty minutes away. That meant a forty-minute round trip, then having to make batter and cook the whitebait as well as the lobster ravioli. It couldn’t be done! Feeling about seven years old, Alice got out her phone and dialled her parents’ home number. No response. Damn! She remembered they’d gone into London to see something at the English National Opera with friends. Cecily was in Suffolk on some romantic weekend with Piers… Mia! She’d said she was coming down to the cottage this weekend with friends. She would ask Mia for help.

  ***

  Saskia pricked up her ears. The Bitch had slipped out into the quiet of the garden to take a phone call.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Mia asked the person on the other end of the phone. There was silence for a few moments while she listened.

  ‘Whitebait?’

  Whitebait. Whitebait. Saskia racked her brain. What could be the significance of that word? Some kind of a code word? A restaurant? A pet name?

  Mia was speaking again. ‘Shh, calm down, sweetheart. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.’

  Sweetheart! That bitch. She was talking to him.

  ‘I know,’ Mia was saying. ‘But it’ll be fine, I promise you. Give me twenty minutes – I’ll sneak in round the back.’ She hung up and went back into the cottage.

  That clinched it. They were arranging a secret meeting. Saskia sprinted to her car. A few seconds later Mia emerged and got into a Lamborghini parked out front. She roared away and Saskia followed in her unobtrusive hired Lexus.

  They were heading for the green. Mia pulled up next to the pub and went inside. The pub? That couldn’t be the venue for a secret meeting? Saskia was on tenterhooks. Ten nail-biting minutes passed before Mia re-emerged carrying a dish covered in silver foil. She put the dish on the passenger seat of the car, started up the engine and pulled away trailed by Saskia’s Lexus. The Lamborghini turned down one of the streets which led away from the green, turned right onto another lane and stopped. There was nowhere for Saskia to park without drawing attention to herself. By the time she’d parked the car round the corner and jogged back, Mia had disappeared.

  The Lamborghini was parked between two houses: a thatched cottage and a larger double-fronted house. The thatched cottage was nearest; Saskia walked past as slowly as she dared and glanced in through the window. She could see a group of middle-aged people sitting around a dinner table. Not a likely place for Henry and The Bitch to be meeting. Continuing on, she peered into the windows of the next house. Draped over the back of a chair near the window was a man’s jacket. She was convinced – yes, she was sure it was Henry’s jacket. She’d seen him wearing it earlier that summer, many times.

  With a quick glance up and down the street, she opened the garden gate and walked in.

  ***

  ‘You’ve saved my life! The pub, why didn’t I think of that! You’re a genius,’ gushed Alice as she unwrapped the plate of battered whitebait.

  Mia smiled. ‘How’s it going otherwise?’

  ‘Well, now I’m no longer having heart failure it’s fine. They wolfed down the canapés and they’re sitting down ready for the starter, so I’d better dish up.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Thanks again, Mia, you’re a lifesaver.’ Alice smiled at her as she set out the starter plates. Mia wasn’t paying attention; she was looking at something through the window, a small frown on her beautiful face. The object of her scrutiny was a blonde-haired woman in the neighbouring garden who was shuffling along the side of the house and craning her head to peer in through the glass panel in a side door.

  ‘Do you know who that is?’ asked Mia, eyes trained on the woman.

  Alice glanced through the window.

  ‘I don’t think so. Oh! Isn’t it Henry de Beeble’s girlfriend?’

  ‘Ex-girlfriend, so I hear. Yes – Saskia Stonor.’

  ‘How bizarre. What on earth is she doing?’

  Saskia tiptoed past the side door and peered into a small window further along.

  ‘Someone very like her followed me to the pub,’ Mia remarked, ‘and then again from the pub to here. I thought it was odd at the time.’

  A bell tinkled somewhere in the house.

  ‘Oh God! That’s Elaine for the starters and I haven’t plated up yet!’

  ‘I’ll get out of your way,’ Mia said, ‘and make sure Saskia gets everything she’s after.’

  ***

  Nothing. No one in any of the rooms she could see into, and all was quiet in the house. They must be upstairs. Her heart beat angrily in her chest as she thought about what they might be doing up there. She tried the handle of the door and took a deep breath as it opened. Inside she found herself in a large, luxurious kitchen. The oven was on and something smelled delicious. Henry must be cooking dinner for them; perhaps The Bitch had been buying dessert in the pub. But they’d decided to skip straight to the last course. The thought instilled her with sufficient courage to tiptoe across the room, into the hall and up the wooden stairs.

  The landing was large and square, with a deep sash window opening onto a garden behind the house. All the doors were closed. She stood undecided for a moment – and then she heard it. A noise in the room to her right. Yes – there it was again. There was someone in the room. Someone making quiet scratching noises, like fingernails being dragged in ecstasy again
st bedsheets… She wrenched open the door. A pure white, pedigree cat trotted out and rubbed hopefully around her ankles. Behind it, the room was empty. When her heart had stopped pounding, she took a breath, kicked the cat and went into the room. A four-poster bed dominated; the sheets tumbled as if the occupants had got up in a hurry. A bra and skirt were draped over an armchair in the corner and the blinds were down. This was it then. This was where they had met. Why they’d left the room she wasn’t sure, nor where they were now – perhaps they’d seen her in the street and had fled – but they had to come back. The clothes up here, the jacket in the drawing room, the meal in the oven: everything spelled their imminent return. And when they came back, they would find their nemesis waiting.

  Saskia knocked the bra and skirt off the chair with a disdainful elbow and sat down to wait.

  ***

  Alice had cleared the plates after the mains and was pleased to see them scraped clean. Before dessert, Elaine suggested everyone join her in a stroll round the garden. As their little party made its way down the garden path, sounds of splashing were heard in the vicinity.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ demanded Aunt Jennifer.

  ‘That will be the neighbours, Aunt, in their outdoor heated swimming pool. Super people, aren’t they, Ted? Moved in last year and had the most wonderful pool built. It’s on the other side of the little orchard.’

  ‘Outdoor swimming? At this time of night?’ Aunt Jennifer was horrified. ‘They’ll catch their deaths.’

  The sight of a police car pulling up in the lane stopped the conversation dead. Two officers got out and approached the neighbouring house.

  Aunt Jennifer was in high glee.

  ‘Lovely people, are they, Elaine? Hardened criminals more like! Always were a shocking judge of character, weren’t you, Elaine,’ she added, shooting a derisory look at Ted.