There were many places he could imagine her being – halfway up a mountain in Mongolia researching women’s goat hair knitting cooperatives; flat on her back and naked under railway arches in Clerkenwell as part of an art installation; analysing her relationship with her vagina in a criminally-expensive wellness clinic – but Wormwood Scrubs didn’t spring to mind. Before he could voice his surprise, she continued.
‘Very clever of your friend Mia Wild to have me arrested. I know how she did it, babe, so you can tell her so. She lured me there and set me up like a sitting fucking duck.’
It seemed necessary to interrupt at this point.
‘Hold on, Saskia. Mia isn’t my friend, and I had no idea you’d been arrested.’
‘Don’t play the innocent, babe! You’re all in it together – you, her, that little pathetic Alice creature from the village.’
Henry was baffled. ‘Whatever you think, you’re wrong. This is all gobbledygook to me.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she spat. He could almost hear the spittle hitting the phone. ‘She’s got you brainwashed. But that’s OK. Because I’m onto her. I’ve got my evidence and I’m going to show you who that faker really is.’
‘Be my guest.’
She sounded a little deflated. ‘I will, man. I fucking will. I just need to get my final documentary evidence – not a problem for a seasoned journalist like myself – and then I’ll be back. Like an avenging angel!’ she finished, triumphantly, before hanging up.
Henry sighed and put the phone down on the seat beside him. He didn’t know what it all meant, and he didn’t care. He was going to put his foot down, get out of London and spend a peaceful evening with his brother, playing cards and drinking plenty of gin and tonics. The Aston Martin purred quietly and slid out of the garage into the hard glare of the East London street.
***
‘Why do I have to welcome them? It’s your party, why can’t you do it?’ complained Noblet, adding under his breath, ‘Why couldn’t you have it at your own damn house, for that matter.’
‘Stop being childish, Nobby. You are the Earl of Pantling and you will receive your guests in the correct manner.’
‘Your bloody guests,’ muttered Noblet.
‘Ah, Henry!’ Lady Caroline greeted her younger son with arms outstretched, cutting through Noblet’s mutterings. He had appeared at the doors leading out to the terrace, wearing a well-cut dinner jacket which further highlighted the shabbiness of Noblet’s baggy-elbowed, sagging affair. ‘You look very handsome.’
Noblet raised an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t tell me I look handsome.’
‘You don’t. Now, Henry, I want you to relax and have a wonderful time. Lots of old friends coming, people you won’t have seen for a very long time.’
‘Not since last year, anyway. And every single year before that,’ snapped Noblet.
‘Enjoy reacquainting yourself with all the young people.’ She smiled at him.
‘Always the way, isn’t it? Henners gets to swan around knocking back the punch while I stand like a stuffed baboon on the terrace saying “Delighted” to any Tom, Dick or Harry who happens to shove past.’
‘Oh, do stop blithering on, Nobby. It really is incredibly tedious.’
***
‘So, we’re clear?’ Saskia demanded.
Derek nodded, a look of misery on his moist pink face.
‘Good.’ She reached out and touched his cheek in a rare gesture of tenderness. ‘Relying on you.’
He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her and pressing his lips against hers. She yielded for a moment and then pulled away, patting her hair and pulling out a compact to reapply her lipstick.
She snapped the compact shut. ‘See you later.’
He watched her retreating figure as it disappeared through the trees, Coco trotting alongside in his best collar and lead. She was a knockout, there was no denying it. He wouldn’t be surprised if the deal was sealed before the evening was out once His Lordship saw her dressed like that. On the other hand, if anyone realised she’d gatecrashed… The new security team wouldn’t take any hostages, they were going to be furious that someone had slipped through their net. Either way, he couldn’t see this evening ending well. He slumped back against the bike and prepared to wait for the signal.
***
Noblet shuffled backwards into the shadow of the catering tent and yelped as he bumped into someone. He turned and found with relief that it was Henry.
‘You here?’
Henry nodded. ‘Strategic withdrawal. You?’
‘Great minds, old chap, great minds. Couldn’t take another second of polite chit-chat. And as for this…’ he wrenched off his bow tie and stuffed it in his pocket before loosening his collar. ‘Been wanting to do that since about seven fifteen.’
He looked his brother up and down.
‘Who are you hiding from? Mother?’
‘Mother I can cope with. Mother’s apocalyptic armies of eligible, charming girls I’m finding tougher.’
‘Catherine Clemmington-Jones?’
‘Amongst others.’
‘I single her out for particular mention because it was five minutes’ vacuous conversation with that particular wet blanket that drove me round here.’ He cocked his head at his brother. ‘Show-jumping stories?’
Henry gave a wry smile. ‘And the fascinating minutiae of her puppy’s daily routine, including bowel movements and how to remove ticks from his genital area.’
‘Oh dear. You got both barrels, didn’t you, old man?’
They both held their breath as Lady Caroline’s strident tones rang out on the other side of the tent and then relaxed as her voice drifted away.
Henry looked at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock. I could have sworn it was later. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have the feeling that Mother has instructed these girls to keep up a pincer movement. Every time I extract myself from one there’s another, waiting to pounce.’
‘Poor old Henners. If we’re lucky…’ He broke off, looking with panicked eyes over his brother’s shoulder. ‘Clemmington-Jones! Heading this way! Quick, in there, I’ll cover you,’ he hissed, shoving Henry towards a slit in the side of the tent.
As Henry squeezed through the gap, Noblet stepped out of the shadows and intercepted the approaching danger.
‘Cathy, old thing! Been looking everywhere for you. Dying to hear more about that fascinating point-to-point you touched on earlier…’
***
Inside the catering tent, Alice and Henry looked blankly at each other. Alice had frozen to the spot, a mini Kilner jar of chicken liver pâté in each hand, and a spatter of something yellow across the front of her white apron.
‘Sorry about this,’ Henry began. ‘I was…’ Catching sight of a tray of bacon rolls he realised how hungry he was. ‘Would you mind?’
‘No! No, help yourself.’ Alice put down the jars and tried to smooth her apron, tugging the hem down over her shorts.
‘I’m starving – not had chance to eat anything yet.’ It was hot in the tent and he took off his jacket, tossing it onto a stack of empty crates before taking the paper plate she offered him and choosing a roll from the platter.
‘Oh? Why’s that?’ asked Alice, as she turned away and straightened the rows of already neat jars on wooden serving boards.
‘Too much small talk to get through,’ he explained between mouthfuls as he perched on the edge of a stool. ‘It’s been one of those evenings.’ He was going to stop there when he chanced to glance at Alice’s open, interested expression as she looked over her shoulder at him. He shifted his weight further back on the stool.
‘To be honest, my mother’s trying to set me up with one of her friend’s daughters.’
‘Oh!’ Alice looked down at the jars again. ‘Which one?’
‘Any of them. I don’t think it matters as long as she’s got a home-counties accent, comes from a landed estate and looks good on a pony. She’s a terrible snob, I’m afraid, Mother.’
The jars were satisfactorily straightened, it seemed, and Alice moved on to another task: adding grapes from a large bowl to the cheese boards. ‘I’m sure she wants the best for you.’
‘Oh, she does, yes,’ agreed Henry. ‘But to be frank, if I have to listen politely while another Fenella or Arabella tells me an amusing anecdote involving some old Oxbridge pals and a punt, I might have to insert this fork,’ he picked up a large, two-pronged number, ‘up the aforementioned lady’s Henley Regatta.’
Alice looked round, shocked, and then let out something between a snort and a laugh; which made her cheeks flush red. Henry smiled.
‘You’re lucky, hiding away here with the bacon rolls and cheese boards.’ He helped himself to a piece of Brie.
‘Oh God, I know,’ agreed Alice, picking up her water bottle and taking a quick swig. ‘I’m terrible at mingling. I never know what to say and I end up drivelling to fill the silence. I expect you noticed that at the interviews…’
She was nice, he decided. Unaffected and kind-hearted. Could be good for Bob. Perhaps he ought to make the most of this opportunity to get to know her better on his brother’s behalf.
She noticed he’d finished the cheese and said, reluctantly, ‘Would you like me to pop out and see if the coast is clear?’
He loosened his tie and looked around for more food to snaffle.
‘Not yet. I’ll stay here with you for a while. If I’m not in your way?’
Her cheeks were pink in the heat of the tent as she shook her head and said, ‘No, not at all.’
***
‘Right, Coco. Don’t let me down, you little runt. One thing I ask of you. Do it properly,’ Sinead snarled at the little grey dog as she crouched down next to him, unclipping his lead. Holding his collar with one hand she pressed ‘send’ on a text with the other. If all went to plan, at this moment Derek would be receiving the text and blowing hard on a dog-whistle. She waited a moment and then let go of Coco. He stood looking at her uncertainly for a moment and then lifted his shaggy head as if he were listening, before trotting away.
‘Yes!’ Sinead pumped a jubilant fist in the air before recollecting herself. No one had seen her. She was hiding behind one of the outhouses, out of sight of the party guests.
She straightened her dress and stepped out from behind the building in the direction of the partygoers dotted about the lawn.
‘Jesus Christ, Bella. Who on earth is that?’ A demure-looking twenty-something with a sleek chignon and tasteful grey silk tunic goggled at the apparition making its way through the crowds.
‘What on earth, don’t you mean?’ sneered her companion.
Heads turned as the figure stalked across the grass.
Sinead realised that her entrance had attracted attention, which made it hard for her to slip unobtrusively into the crowd as planned. On the other hand, it was natural they were gobsmacked. She knew she looked good. And when she saw how drab the other women were, she wasn’t surprised she was making an impression. She snatched a glass of champagne off a passing tray, snapping ‘What are you looking at?’ at the surprised waiter. Pausing for a moment to survey the scene, she took a deep breath and walked up to the nearest group whose expressions ranged from bemusement to contempt.
‘Divine weather,’ she announced. She was determined to get the word ‘divine’ in as often as possible. It was a very upper-class word – that and ‘utterly’.
When no response was forthcoming, she followed up with, ‘Utterly divine.’
A kindly white-haired gentleman smiled at her. ‘Lady Caroline always arranges good weather for her summer party.’
‘Yes,’ said a waspish-looking woman. ‘Last year’s was glorious. Were you there?’
‘Absolutely,’ confirmed Sinead, sipping her champagne. ‘Utterly glorious.’
‘But Tilda,’ exclaimed another woman, mock surprise on her face. ‘Don’t you remember last year was the exception? An absolute downpour? The whole thing had to move inside.’
They both turned eagerly back to Sinead.
‘Absolutely. Utterly soaked.’ She knocked back her champagne and tottered away in the direction of another knot of guests.
***
Noblet had shaken off Catherine Clemmington-Jones by informing her that she seemed to be triggering his horse allergy, only to be collared by his mother and roped into a discussion about his search for a wife.
‘But how did you guarantee the quality, Nobby?’ a friend of his mother’s called General Boyer was asking him. ‘The quality, you know. What I mean to say is, how could you guarantee you wouldn’t spend the day interviewing women from, let us say, Luton? Or Wolverhampton? How did you know these young ladies would be good county stock?’
Noblet was saved from answering by the sight of one of the aforementioned interviewees heading straight for him. He elbowed his mother in the ribs. ‘Who invited her?’
‘Who? Good God.’ Lady Caroline forgot to complain about the elbow in the ribs at the sight of Sinead in all her glory.
‘Who is it?’ she hissed.
‘One of the interviewees, remember?’ Noblet hissed back. ‘Irish lady. Very interested in Collins.’
Lady Caroline shot a withering look at her son.
‘She isn’t interested in Collins, you stupid boy.’
***
Sinead saw and interpreted some of the pantomime going on between Lord de Beeble and his mother, but this was where the genius of her plan revealed itself. She knew that even if Lady Caroline realised that Sinead was a gatecrasher, her breeding would prevent her from saying anything in front of the other guests. She stepped forward, a smile on her face. Lady Caroline waited until they were a few feet apart and then called out in a ringing voice, ‘You are trespassing on private property. Please leave.’
The colour plummeted from Sinead’s face, dragged down by her sinking heart. That wasn’t right! She’d researched the aristocracy and their manners. Lady Caroline should never have said that. She swallowed down her indignation at Her Ladyship’s lack of breeding and proceeded to Plan B.
‘Apologies, Your Ladyship.’ She tried a quick curtsey: it couldn’t hurt. ‘Walking my dog. Lead broke.’ To illustrate this, she pulled a glittery lead out of her clutch bag and displayed the broken clip.
Lady Caroline looked her up and down. ‘Do you expect me to believe,’ she drawled, ‘that you have been walking your dog… in that?’
‘Yes. Down in Eve’s Wood. Must have wandered onto your land by mistake.’
Silent groups of guests inspected Sinead’s ensemble over the rims of their glasses.
‘This is something you would normally wear to walk your dog in, is it?’
Sinead glanced down at herself. ‘Utterly.’
‘My dear, you are wearing a ball gown and a six-foot train.’
Sinead nodded.
‘And a tiara.’
Sinead looked at her as if struggling to understand what her point could be.
‘Not to mention your satin gloves and diamonds. We’ll call them diamonds, for want of a better word,’ she added cattily. ‘It’s quite outrageous to…’
She stopped and listened. From somewhere close by came the high-pitched yapping of a dog.
Chapter 24
Alice thought this was the best dream she’d ever had. It was even better than the one in which she looked like a young Bridget Bardot and lived in a marshmallow with a tame tiger. In this one, she was alone in a darkened room (OK, tent) with Henry de Beeble, chatting about any old nonsense that came into their heads. They’d talked about everything – her life in the village, her cooking, his business, his split from Saskia. When she told him about the whitebait, the way he laughed – leaning forward, hands pressed against his knees, looking her full in the eyes like they were old friends – had been better than any of her daydreams. She didn’t want it to end. But as he reached out to touch her on the arm mid-sentence, she caught sight of the time on his watch. Her hands flew to her mouth.
‘It’s ten o’clock! I was supposed to have put the bacon rolls out by now!’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll give you a hand. Where do you want them? Out where the buffet was?’
They worked quickly, moving between the tents with trays until everything was set out.
‘Thank you. You’ve saved my… bacon.’ Oh, for goodness sake, Alice! she chided herself. This is not the time for corny jokes.
‘You’re welcome,’ he smiled, holding her gaze for what they both knew was a fraction too long. Somehow, they’d ended up standing very close together; neither of them in any hurry to move apart. She could feel the heat coming from his body and it dawned on her that he was about to kiss her. Their eyes locked and there was nothing more natural at that moment than for them both to lean in and…
‘Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!’
‘Oh God!’ Alice’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she whipped round in the direction of the barking.
The buffet tables were receiving the unwelcome attentions of a small grey dog, whose diamanté collar identified him as Coco. A tray of bacon rolls, balancing at the edge of a table, was the subject of a sustained attack by the greedy canine. He leapt at it again and again, managed to tap it with a paw, and as Alice and Henry reached him it tipped over, showering the dog with bread and bacon. Coco set to work demolishing the pile of eatables on the grass.
‘Oh no!’ wailed Alice. ‘I should have been here!’
From behind her an icy voice said, ‘Yes. You should.’
Lady Caroline strode towards Coco. ‘Get away! Get away you horrid animal!’ He yelped in pain as she gave him a sharp kick in the flank.
‘Leave him alone, you horrible woman!’ Alice leapt forward and swept the dog up and out of reach of Lady Caroline’s court shoe. As she realised what she’d said, she turned ashen, but kept hold of the little dog who sat, submissive, in her arms. ‘Well,’ she added defensively, ‘you shouldn’t have kicked him,’ before turning and walking away.
Once out of sight of Lady Caroline and the other guests, she put Coco down on the grass and crouched next to him to catch her breath, trembling. He turned a pair of lugubrious eyes on her and waited. She was glad she’d stopped Lady Caroline kicking the poor little dog a second time and if she didn’t get paid for her catering that evening, well, it wasn’t the end of the world. But when she remembered the look of surprise on Henry’s face, she wondered what else she might have forfeited by playing knight in shining armour to someone else’s pet. When her breathing had eased, she picked the dog up again and headed around the house to where her car was parked. She didn’t know what she was going to do about collecting her pots and pans but she wasn’t going to face Lady Caroline and the rest of them again now.
Lord Seeks Wife: A hilariously funny romantic comedy Page 21