How could she! How could she! Anna was still shaking as she cut through the rose garden towards the sanctuary of her newly fitted stainless steel kitchen – a chef’s dream with its gas hobs, Rationale steam ovens, eye-level grills, fryers, bain-maries and a servery complete with plate warming cupboards and halogen lights to keep food hot. Her progress was arrested by Mavis, waving a large piece of plasterboard like a flag.
‘I wonder if you could spare a moment to look at this, Miss Gabriel? I’m in creative mode at the present. I’m unstoppable. You can’t argue with the stars when they’re in the ascendant; you just have to go with the flow. You can’t change your destiny. I put it down to being a Sagittarian, born with an active mind and a burning desire to achieve. The best hearts are the bravest, and so say all of us.’
Anna, already traumatised by the episode in the rickyard, collapsed onto one of the beautiful, new wooden seats set in the four arbours surrounding the central rose bed and gazed in despair at a meticulously detailed plan of the Rushbroke crest depicted in a truly ghastly raised cushion of nicotiana, salvias, dwarf French marigolds and begonias, doubtless designed to enliven the main courtyard, but more suited to a municipal seaside pleasure garden.
From beneath a straw hat with a floppy brim and a pink spotted ribbon, Mavis regarded her with consternation. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look quite yourself, Miss Gabriel, you don’t look well at all. You’re working too hard and you’ve probably overdone it, that’s what it is,’ she decided. ‘My Arnold was a great one for putting the brake on; “If you don’t stop now, Mavis”, he used to say, “you’ll knock yourself up, and then where shall we be?” I can see you’ve got a lot on your plate here and nobody to share the burden with, although we’re all behind you, I can tell you that; we’re all with you, willing you to succeed. Of course, it’s easier for me, being guided by the stars, my course is set; but you shouldn’t have to shoulder all this responsibility on your own. You can believe me though, Miss Gabriel, when I say that the planetary aspects are beginning to reform around you even as we sit; I can feel it in my bones. So don’t you fret because here comes the Good Lord, and it wouldn’t do for him to see you looking glum, not with his health the way it is, and that’s a certain fact.’
Startled, Anna looked up, hoping to see God coming to her rescue at the head of the heavenly host, but all she saw was Vivian hurrying along the rose walk. ‘I bring you good tidings,’ he wheezed, ‘in the form of paying customers making reservations by telephone!’
‘There now,’ Mavis stood up, dusted off her trousers, replaced her hat and picked up her piece of plasterboard. ‘What did I tell you? Things are looking up already.’
‘What’ve you got there, Mavis?’ Vivian peered at the plasterboard plan. ‘Christ alive, not bedding rubbish! Best steer clear of that! The crest was always succulents; last for years as long as you keep the dammed slugs at bay. Sedums, saxifrage, house leeks, and all that sort of thing. They like the dry courtyard. Happy as Larry in a bit of gravel.’ Vivian flopped onto the seat beside Anna. ‘Tell you what, Mavis, take yourself off to Beth Chatto. Used to come and lay it out for us in the old days. Daresay she’s still got the plans. She’ll put you right.’ He waved an arm expansively. ‘Put everything on my account. I think I’m up to date.’
‘Better still,’ Anna interposed hastily, ‘ask Rupert for a cheque. He’s in the office. And take Barry with you to help.’
Mavis, initially crestfallen, was now inclined to be philosophical. ‘You’re quite right, Sir Vivian, of course you are. There’s no point in jumping the gun with bedding plants because they’ll be over before your first guests arrive. I tend to be a bit previous, that’s my trouble. It’s all due to my line of fate reaching the mount of Saturn. I tend to try to exceed my own powers at times. My Arnold used to say “You don’t stop to think, Mavis, you’ve got to learn to look before you leap”, and he was right, he really was.’
‘Excellent woman.’ Vivian watched her departure. ‘Pearl of great price.’
Anna, grateful for the solution to at least one problem, put a hand on his arm. It felt skeletal, fleshless. Despite all the good food she was careful to provide, Vivian didn’t seem to be putting on weight. She made a mental note to have a word with Dr. McLoughlin. ‘Reservations, did you say? Bookings for the Christmas House Party?’ This had been Rupert’s idea: a four day Christmas break with guests arriving on Christmas Eve and leaving the day after Boxing Day. The dining room would also be open to non-residents during this time. Advertisements had been placed. A website had been set up. They were committed. Now all they had to do was fill the guest rooms; rooms where the plaster had not even had time to dry; rooms for which the custom-made window frames had still not arrived; rooms where half the floorboards were missing and those that remained were stacked with copper piping, radiators and electricity cables. Anna closed her eyes. Some things, she reflected, just didn’t bear thinking about.
‘One suite and two singles and a horse for people called Pommery, or something very similar, Rupert did tell me. Then there was a call I answered from a chap who asked the very devil of a lot of questions. Harry Feather-something-or-other. Asked if we’d any objection to small, well-behaved dogs. Could be two of the little beggars so I hope that’s all right. He’s booked a suite and another single. He’s confirming by letter. All happened within the space of half an hour. Came straight out to tell you. Thought you’d be pleased.’
Rupert had agreed that they would accommodate the occasional small, well-behaved dog, but ‘A horse? ‘Anna opened her eyes, surprised. ‘Do they want livery for it?’
‘He just wants to hire one. Wants us to mount him for the Boxing Day meet. It’s all do-able. I’ll speak to Nicola.’
So will I, Anna said to herself. I have to talk to her. I can’t allow this… awfulness to continue. Aloud she said doubtfully, ‘Have we got a horse in the stable suitable for a man to hunt?’
Vivian lifted his bony shoulders. ‘She might be able to use the grey thing.’
‘The grey thing isn’t insured and it doesn’t belong to Nicola. It’s also unreliable in traffic.’
Vivian chose to disregard the first two points in favour of the third. ‘Not much traffic at the Boxing Day Meet. Have to make sure it stays in the middle of the field. Have to keep it sandwiched in between the others.’
‘All the same,’ Anna was concerned for the safety of her customer, ‘the grey gelding isn’t a suitable mount for a novice. Is this man an experienced rider?’
Vivian had not thought to enquire but thought it a foregone conclusion. ‘Got to be experienced if he wants a horse to hunt. Give the man some credit. Can’t be a complete fool.’
‘For everyone’s sake,’ Anna said in a heartfelt voice, ‘I hope you are right.’
*
‘One of the workers has done a runner.’ Len sat down on a stone mushroom. ‘Left without even giving his notice.’ Sadie had flopped down beside him. Her eyes had closed even before she hit the ground. She was finding the new job hard work.
‘Left? Just like that? Deadlines too tight for him? Feeling the strain, was he?’ Rupert was not inclined to be sympathetic. ‘Did he give a reason?’
‘I can’t work it out, really. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him; he was gone before I knew it. As far as I can tell, it was nothing to do with the work. It’s all a bit of a rum do really; I can’t work it out. Apparently, they were coming home from the pub last night and he nipped into a field along the drive to take a leak. According to the rest of the team, the next minute he came barrelling out, practically jumped over the gate, white as a sheet and gibbering like an idiot. All they could get out of him was that he saw something in the dark, coming towards him across the field. I don’t know what it was, but the foreman said it scared him shitless.’
‘Saw something in the dark?’ Rupert was incredulous. ‘What is he, a man or a bloody mouse?’
‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can only tell
you what I know. The foreman said he described it as a huge creature with burning eyes and great yellow fangs. I know, I know!’ Len held up a hand against Rupert’s disbelief. I know it sounds ridiculous! I know it’s nonsense! The thing is, I wouldn’t have taken Maciej for a chap with an over-active imagination; he seemed a steady enough type to me. I’ve managed a lot of teams in my time and I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. I know it’s hard to believe, but he certainly believed it.’
‘Burning eyes? Great yellow fangs?’ Rupert laughed out loud. ‘Now you’re sounding as if you almost believe it yourself! Don’t be so bloody daft, Dad. This is Suffolk, not some Polish forest in the back of beyond. There are no monsters in Suffolk, not to my knowledge anyway. It must have been a bloody cow. He’d just downed too many pints of Adnams, that’s what I think.’
‘That’s what the men said. He wouldn’t have it. Sat up all night, wrapped in a duvet, shaking like a leaf. Caught the first bus to Colchester this morning. Didn’t even wait for his wages. The gang said he was terrified out of his mind. Spooked them all, to be honest.’
‘So we’re a man short now.’
‘Yes, and I’m sorry about that. He was a good worker.’
‘Well, one less wage to pay. It’ll help the finances,’ Rupert said grimly. ‘And that’s going to be our next problem – getting Anna to go back to the bank.’
‘And if they say no?’
‘Don’t go there, Dad. Just don’t bloody well go there.’
*
The old King James family bible was open on the stone eagle lectern. Something had been marked, circled in bold black felt tipped pen.
It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea than that he should offend one of these little ones.
Anna looked up at the freshly plastered and emulsioned roof, where once there had been sky; at the hammerbeams, waxed and glowing, where there had once been dust and ivy; at the cherubs, lovingly burnished now, with shining curls and polished cheeks. It might have been coincidence but somehow she knew it was not. It might not have been intended as a message for her, yet only she would have understood its significance. She knew that this was her message.
So Vivian knew. Perhaps he had always known.
TWENTY TWO
‘Well, Norman you’re all set now!’ Yvonne gestured towards the array of green plastic carrier bags which almost filled the claustrophobic area behind the shop, which served as restroom, cloakroom and stockroom. The shelves were heaped with commemorative memorabilia from at least three royal weddings, a silver jubilee, and VE day, where faded valentine cards and dysfunctional musical and pop-up cards were stacked alongside awkwardly shaped cards awaiting a similarly shaped envelope, and irregularly shaped envelopes awaiting a similarly shaped card, everything gathering dust and facing an increasingly uncertain future.
‘You’re all equipped for the country now, Norman,’ said Yvonne, whose hair was today swept up at the back and secured on top of her head with a contraption equipped with upstanding filaments of electric blue and shocking pink, not unlike the plume in the headpiece of a circus pony’s bridle. ‘You’re all ready to step out in style with the... what did you say the name of your friends was? I’ve gone and forgotten.’
‘The Fletcher-Smyths,’ said Norman in an exhausted voice. He sank down on a banked row of photocopy paper boxes and looked at the carrier bags in despair. He had been unable to extricate himself from the shopping expedition to Country Cousins with the result that he had never spent so much money in so short a period of time in his entire life, and for what? Why was he so weak-willed? What had happened to his spirit? At what point had he become the sort of person he was now? Reclusive. Feeble. Emasculated.
‘Oh yes, spelled with a “y”, I remember now.’ Yvonne looked at Norman in a speculative manner, her head on one side, her dramatically fringed eyes wide, her decorative filaments oscillating gently. ‘Elsie and Genevra had a lovely time, didn’t they? Choosing all your kit; dressing you up in this and that. I’ve never seen them so animated.’
‘Yes,’ said Norman wearily. ‘They did seem to enjoy it.’ If he didn’t pull himself together and get his life organised he could see himself ending up like Mr Allison with his drooping clothes and moustache, his pathetic hair and general air of hopelessness. But what to do? How to do it?
‘For all the talking they’ve done about it, you’d think it might be them going to spend Christmas in the country, Norman, not you, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Norman listlessly. ‘Yes, you would think so. I do believe you would.’
What would become of him? Norman could see the future and didn’t like what he saw one little bit.
‘Except that you’re not going away for Christmas, are you, Norman? You’re not going to Suffolk at all; and these friends of yours, these Fletcher-Smyths with a hyphen and spelled with a “y”, they don’t exist, do they, Norman? You made them up, didn’t you?’
Norman raised his eyes to Yvonne, his expression anguished.
‘Well, I guessed you had, didn’t I? I had my suspicions all along, but I only knew for sure when we was in the shop; there was just this one terrible moment when you was in them moleskin trousers and pulling on them green wellies, and you had the Barbour jacket on and looked all hot and bothered, then Elsie found you that hat like a little waxed flower pot and put it on your head and you panicked, you really did. You went all white and funny and I said to myself, Norman’s either going to pass out or he’s going to make a bolt for it. I knew then for sure that you wasn’t going to Suffolk for Christmas, I knew you was doing no such thing. Well, I can see how it happened, Norman, you don’t have to explain it to me; it started out as an excuse not to have to do the expected thing, and suddenly Elsie’s got the bit between her teeth and there’s no stopping her; she’s off like a blooming rocket and before you can say Bob’s Your Uncle, you’re up to your neck in thermal vests and waxed cotton.’
Despairingly, Norman dropped his head into his hands. Not only had he been exposed as weak-willed but a coward and a liar to boot. ‘Do you think Elsie and Genevra know I’m not going anywhere? Do you think they know I was just making excuses?’
‘They haven’t a clue.’ Yvonne was comfortingly emphatic. ‘I don’t think it would have entered their heads to doubt you, not for a minute.’
‘Well, that’s one good thing, I suppose.’
‘I suppose it is.’ Yvonne sat down beside him on the photocopier boxes. They looked at one another and smiled, Yvonne in a sympathetic manner, Norman ruefully. ‘Yvonne, what am I going to do?’
Yvonne toyed absently with the shower of blue plastic beads suspended from one of her ears whilst she considered his predicament. ‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘we could try taking the things back to the shop and asking for a refund. You could say your friends had cancelled, say they’d decided to go abroad for Christmas instead, or say somebody’s died in the family, or cook up some other excuse.’ Norman looked hopeful. ‘Do you think it would work? Would they give me my money back?’
‘Not if they’ve got any sense, they won’t,’ Yvonne admitted. ‘They’re not obliged to, you know, not if you just change your mind. They’re only a little shop, remember; it’s not as if it’s Marks and Sparks. They’ll probably offer you a credit note to spend on something else. It’s a bit different if you want to just change something for a different size, or if a garment’s faulty. They’ve got to give you a refund if you’ve got a genuine complaint.’
‘I’ve got a genuine complaint all right,’ said Norman. ‘I’ve got a mental complaint. I think I must be losing my mind to get involved in all this.’ Was that it? Was he losing his faculties? Was he in the early stages of dementia? Alzheimer’s?
‘If you ask me, just being here, in this place, working with Elsie and Genevra all them years is enough to drive anybody round the bend. I don’t know how you’ve stood it, Norman, I really don’t. I’d be round the twist
by now, if it was me.’
‘It’s a job, Yvonne. One has to live.’
‘Call this living?’
Norman looked at her; at the soft, downy skin of her cheeks, at her splendidly elongated eyelashes, at the shimmering, trembling filaments on the top of her head. He smiled. ‘Not really,’ he said.
Yvonne looked momentarily thoughtful. ‘Norman, this might sound daft, but do you really fancy spending Christmas in the country? In Suffolk? I mean really?’
Norman looked startled. You would have thought that such a prospect had never even occurred to him; as if it was a completely new idea. ‘I don’t know... I mean... I hadn’t really thought about it... I hadn’t actually considered...’
‘Well, perhaps you should start actually considering now.’ Yvonne put a hand on his arm, the fingers laden with silver rings of assorted ethnic design. ‘Because I told you, didn’t I, that my mum lives in Suffolk?’
‘You did, but I wouldn’t want to... I couldn’t...’
‘No, I’m not going to suggest you stay with us because there’s no spare room, being just a bungalow, and anyway, my Mum would drive you even further round the bend than Elsie and Genevra. She’d be reading your palm before you got in the front door.’
‘But where would I... How could I...’
‘Well, my Mum’s got herself a job as a gardener at this hotel, it’s a new place, just been refurbished and it’s opening for Christmas and it’s only just down the road from our village. They’re only letting out a few rooms to start with and as there’s not much gardening doing in winter, my mum and myself, we’re helping out with a bit of waitressing and such over the holiday. We thought it would help to pass the time and it’s nice to help people to enjoy themselves, it being the festive season and all that, Christmas can be a bit glum otherwise.’
The Last Baronet Page 17