‘Oh, what a heavenly room.’ I looked round in wonder, taking in the cream and red embroidered curtains and the cream Knowle sofas, their sides lassoed together with expensive-looking scarlet tassels. An open fire burned in the grate, sending warmth out together with a heady scent of pine. ‘Oh,’ I exclaimed again. ‘Is he all right?’ Flat out on the rug, to one side of the fire, was a huge dog, his head lying between his paws, of which the front left was heavily bandaged. He opened his eyes and wagged his tail slightly but it all seemed too much effort for him and he closed them once more.
‘He had an operation this morning to remove a growth from his lower leg. He’s getting on and I’m not sure he’ll survive this… not sure what I’ll do without him really.’ Xavier pulled a face and I could see he was upset.
‘Oh,’ I said, accepting a glass of the champagne. ‘I hadn’t thought of you as an animal lover.’
Xavier smiled. ‘Oh?’
‘I suppose I have this idea of you as a city slicker, you know, working in industry, not really interested in the countryside, or animals…’ I trailed off lamely.
‘Come here.’ Xavier smiled again and I went cold, thinking: I need to tell him, I’ve got to tell him what I know but, instead of pulling me into his arms as I’d anticipated, he drew back the heavy curtains and opened the French window revealed there.
‘Oh, wow!’ I exclaimed, stepping out onto a patio. The whole of Xavier’s backyard was fields. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. What a view. There are no other houses for miles.’ The moon, risen higher in the ten minutes or so since I’d first seen it, was illuminating the vista in front of me, outlining woods, trees and acres of rolling fields in a marked silhouette.
‘It’s a shame I’m going to have to sell up.’
‘What? Why?’ I looked at Xavier, shocked.
‘Come inside, you’re cold.’ He took my hand and led me back to the sitting room, pulling the heavy curtains against the chilly evening. He bent down to check on the dog, stroking his head and fondling his ears. ‘You OK, Trevor?’
‘Trevor?’ Despite my nerves at finding the right moment to tell Xavier what I was going to have to tell him, as well as dismay that he was thinking of selling up, I giggled. ‘You can’t call a dog Trevor. Uncles are called Trevor, next-door neighbours are called Trevor, vicars are called Trevor…’ I laughed again.
‘The Rev. Trev?’ We both laughed this time.
‘So, what are you talking about? Selling up?’ I frowned up at him. God, he was gorgeous. That dark hair and those brown eyes. But you can’t kiss your brother, I told myself. I took a good look. Did he have my nose? Were those my ears? I looked more closely. His top lip was just the same as mine. Shit.
‘What?’ Xavier was amused. ‘You look like you’re checking me out? Do I pass muster?’
I dropped my eyes, embarrassed and then raised them again as he came to sit down on the sofa with me. ‘Packing up?’ I repeated.
‘Well,’ he said, almost cheerfully. ‘I’m having nothing more to do with the Bamforth Estate’s plans.’
‘What?’ I looked at Xavier incredulously.
‘I’ve told my dad: I want no more part of it. I don’t want to see these beautiful fields concreted over. I never did. I needed my share of the money to keep Ophelia happy.’
‘Bloody hell, I bet that went down well with your dad?’
‘Like a lead balloon. I’ve been with him most of the day, trying to get him to drop quite a few of the plans. There’s some land that can be built on to provide more housing: land no one would object to being developed.’
‘And did he go with that?’ I asked hopefully.
Xavier shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Right, OK…’ I stared at him, desperate to smooth back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. I sat on my hands. ‘But why do you need to sell up?’
‘I’ll need to pay a settlement to Ophelia. That’s what happens when you divorce. Dad won’t help me now I’ve pulled out on him. I’ll be surprised if there’s a job waiting for me on Monday.’ He smiled and bent to kiss me, but I jumped up.
‘Er, Xavier, strange question, but did your dad go to university?’
Xavier laughed. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your dad, did he go to university?’
‘Yes, Bristol.’
‘And he studied?’
‘Maths: my dad’s a brilliant mathematician. He could probably have been a professor of maths if his dad hadn’t wanted him to come back to help run the company…’ He frowned. ‘Why?’
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Xavier, there’s something I have to tell you…’
*
Twenty minutes later Xavier had bundled Trevor and me into his rather upmarket little two-seater and, despite my protestations that we talk a little more about what I’d just revealed, we were heading for his father’s (our father’s?) place twenty minutes’ drive away.
‘Sorry about the lack of space – I daren’t leave Trevor by himself. The vet said I had to keep an eye on him at all times.’
I tried to speak, which is a bit difficult with one hundred and twenty pounds of stoned Irish Wolfhound laid across one’s middle. ‘This isn’t fair on your mum.’
‘Mum’s not here. She’s in Paris with Grandmère. I left her there; she’s staying for another couple of weeks.’
‘OK, but you can’t just turn up with me and expect your father to listen to some garbled tale about something he got up to forty years ago,’ I argued.
‘Why not? Of course I can. We need to get this sorted, Cassie. Come on, it’s highly unlikely that you’re his daughter. And my sister? Never. It’s too ridiculous. No wonder you were having a good look at me. We don’t look a bit alike. I’ve dark hair and brown eyes. You’ve blond hair and blue eyes.’
‘Yes, like your dad…’ I shifted Trevor’s head onto my left shoulder so I could have another look at Xavier’s mouth. ‘Our mouths are almost identical.’
‘You mean we have two lips apiece?’ Xavier said crossly. ‘Look, I’m dark because my mother is very dark. You probably take after your real father – this Rowan guy your mum was sleeping with.’
‘I told you, Paula says Rowan had red hair and brown eyes.’
Xavier, impatiently tapping the steering wheel as we were brought to a halt at temporary red lights, frowned. ‘A strange combination of features, don’t you think?’
‘Possibly, but why would my mother have made it up?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, come on, Xavier, no one could make this up.’
He took my hand with his free one. ‘I’m sorry, Cassie, it’s just… it’s just… Cassie, I don’t want to lose you.’ He turned back to the road, indicating a right turn. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you. There I’ve said it now. I’m sorry, that’s the last thing you want to hear.’
‘Actually, it’s the one thing I want to hear.’ I felt my heart lurch and there was a silence as we both realised we’d crossed a line.
*
‘So, have you come back to tell me you’ve changed your mind?’ Edward Bamforth, glass of whisky in hand, came out from a room off the huge blue-carpeted, oak-panelled hallway as soon as he heard the front door open. ‘Oh, Mrs Beresford…?’ He looked at me in obvious surprise, but led the way back into the sitting room he’d just exited and held up the bottle of whisky. ‘Can I get you both a drink? There’s wine in the fridge, if you’d rather?’
‘Dad, I think you’re going to need that drink. I wouldn’t mind one too. Cassie?’
Once Xavier had made Trevor comfortable by the fire, he set off for the kitchen to find the wine.
‘He loves that dog,’ Edward smiled at me. ‘Always been the one for poorly creatures, even when he was a little boy. Should have been a vet really.’
I smiled back, stroking Trevor’s silky ears, not having a clue what to say to this man. I took a surreptitious look at him from underneath my eyelashes as he poured himself more whisky before adding
dry ginger. Hmm, Edward Bamforth certainly had the same sort of mouth as Xavier and me and his eyes were a vivid blue like mine.
‘My father used to have a fit if he saw anyone adding anything but water to whisky,’ Edward said as he realised he was under close scrutiny. ‘Was your father the same?’
Oh, well done, Edward Bamforth. Ten out of ten for getting your lines spot on.
‘I never knew my father, Mr Bamforth. He never even knew he’d got my mother pregnant.’
He laughed, slightly embarrassed. ‘Well, these things happen.’ He looked up with obvious relief as Xavier came back with wine and two glasses.
‘Right, Dad.’ Xavier sat opposite his father and leaned forward. ‘Do you remember forty years ago?’
‘Xavier, I have all on to remember yesterday, I’ve so much on my mind at the moment.’ Edward laughed and looked across at me.
‘Dad, this is important. Summer 1976. The incredibly hot one. Everyone remembers that summer apparently? And you went off to Paris and met Mum?’
‘Well, yes, of course I remember that…’ He laughed again. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, you were the result of that trip to Paris.’
‘OK, yes. So, before you went, do you remember meeting someone in the garden?’
‘Meeting someone in the garden?’ Edward frowned. ‘What, like the gardener or the postman?’
Xavier sighed. ‘No, a young girl about your own age, that you shared a joint with?’
Edward looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Gracious, you’re going back a long time. That’s in the days when I did have an occasional smoke…’ He trailed off and stared at Xavier.
‘Look, Cassie’s mother was in your garden one night back in 1976. She’d had a picnic and then got talking to you…’ Xavier was embarrassed now. It’s not an easy thing to ask your father if he remembers having sex with some floozie who just happened to be floating round the garden. ‘… and you ended up… well, put it this way, you weren’t pruning the roses.’
Edward said nothing for what seemed ages, but was probably only a few seconds. He looked from Xavier, to me and then back to Xavier. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Well, Dad, in a nutshell, Cassie thinks you’re possibly her father.’
‘What?’ Edward downed his drink and set the glass on the table. ‘I’m not sure what you’re implying here.’
‘Dad, come on, the implication is very straightforward. That girl – Paula – is Cassie’s mum. Now, Paula did have a boyfriend; she’d been with him for several months, so more than likely he is Cassie’s father…’
‘Much more likely.’ Edward stared long and hard at me, taking in every one of my features as I had done previously with both Xavier and himself.
‘The thing is, Mr Bamforth, Mum’s boyfriend, Rowan, who I’d always been led to believe was my father, had red hair and brown eyes.’
‘Right. OK.’
‘And my son, Tom, is really good at maths…’
Edward actually laughed out loud at that. ‘So, because your son knows his three times table, that makes him my grandson, does it? Is that what you’re trying to say, Mrs Beresford?’
‘The way things are going, it looks like he’ll be offered a place at Cambridge to study Pure Maths and Further Maths.’
That shut him up, but only for a few seconds. ‘Can I ask why now? Why have you come to tell me all this now?’ Edward looked at both of us in turn.
‘Because, Dad, I’ve fallen in love with Cassie.’ Xavier took my hand.
‘Oh, Xavier.’ Edward was obviously exasperated. ‘You’ve only just fallen out of love with your wife. Mind you, congratulations on that one. You know how I felt about her.’
‘Dad, will you listen? It’s obviously not bloody congratulations if Cassie is my half-sister!’ Xavier shouted his frustration and Trevor opened one eye in surprise. I patted the dog, who sighed and whimpered before settling once again.
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ Edward frowned. ‘A DNA test will sort it. That will tell us the truth.’
30
You Do Bewitch Me…
‘I met someone when I was in Mexico.’
‘We gathered.’ Clare laughed. ‘You slid down the wall? The text?’
‘Oh gosh, yes, I forgot I sent that to you and Fi.’
‘Love and lust do that to you: you forget who you’ve told what.’ Fi poured wine and helped herself to a handful of crisps. ‘So, fire away. We want to know all about it.’
‘Actually, Mark texted me as soon as I got to Mexico.’
‘Did he?’ We were sitting in The Jolly Sailor down in Westenbury village the following Tuesday evening and Clare and Fi both looked up from their drinks. ‘What did he want?’
I shrugged. ‘Very strange, really. He said he wished he were there with me.’
‘The pillock. Typical philanderer,’ Fi sniffed disparagingly. ‘Wanting what they’ve let go the minute they feel you’ve lost interest in them. I blame his mother.…’
‘I didn’t know you knew Mark’s mother?’ I looked at her in surprise.
‘No, I don’t. Never met the woman except at your wedding and, being horribly pissed from the kick off, I can’t remember much about that. But somewhere along the line she’ll have spoilt him and made him think he’s terribly important and should be allowed to have anything that anyone else has.’
Clare and I laughed. ‘Amateur psychologist now, are you?’
‘Just common sense, really,’ she said airily. ‘OK. Who did you meet? Does he live near enough that you can see him again? And, more importantly, did you have sex with him and was he any good?’
‘Fiona,’ Clare tutted, giving her a warning glance.
‘Oh, don’t go all sensible and grown up on me, Clare, just because you’ve given up shagging around for domestic bliss. Just wait until Rageh starts hovering and you’ve discovered your pelvic floor is a pulverised trampoline. You’ll be the first to want other people’s juicy details as a distraction.’
‘Xavier Bamforth.’
‘What about Xavier Bamforth?’ Clare and Fi looked at me.
‘It was Xavier Bamforth. It is Xavier Bamforth…’
‘What’s Xavier Bamforth?’ Fiona looked aghast.
‘Xavier Bamforth was in my hotel in Mexico and I’ve fallen in love with him and he feels the same way.’
‘Well, how lovely, sweetie,’ Clare kissed me. ‘My friend Sal knows him. She says he’s very gorgeous, very fanciable…’
‘Yes, and very much part of the Bamforth Estate bastards. You’re not serious, Cassie?’ Fiona wasn’t happy.
‘’Fraid so,’ I tried to smile. ‘Unfortunately… unfortunately…’ Tears welled up and I scrabbled for a tissue.
‘Oh God, he’s married?’
I shook my head, then nodded, remembering that he was still married.
‘Which one? Yes or no?’ Fi was baffled.
‘Yes. Married. But not with her. Unfortunately…’
‘What?’ Clare and Fi asked in unison.
I blew my nose. ‘Unfortunately, he’s probably my brother as well.’
*
‘Right,’ Fiona said, half an hour later, ‘you’ll need a hair from Edward Bamforth’s head. Which if I remember rightly, from eyeballing him at the village hall meeting, might be a bit difficult seeing as how he’s as bald as a coot.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Clare enthused. ‘It’s like in that novel – you know – The Rosie Project. When the guy needs to get DNA, he has to get a hair with a bulb on it.’
‘A bulb?’ Fiona frowned. ‘To plant it and grow more hair, you mean?’
Clare tutted. ‘Do stop talking inane rubbish, Fi—’
‘It’s all being done at the moment,’ I interrupted. ‘Edward, Paula and I have all sent off samples of cells for testing. The results will be back by the end of the week.’
‘And Paula agreed to giving a sample, too?’ Clare asked.
‘Why wouldn’t she? She’s as eager to know as I am. I know she’s still
hoping that Rowan, the long-lost love of her life, will prove to be my dad.’
‘And did Paula meet up with Edward?’ Fi asked eagerly. ‘Gosh, I bet that was strange after all these years.’
‘No, not at all. We all just rooted around in our mouths for cell samples, popped them into the plastic tube and then sent them off to one of the recommended companies that sorts paternity DNA testing. So soon I’ll know if I’ve finally gained a father and, in doing so, lost the man I’ve really, really fallen in love with.’
‘Well, Cassie,’ Fiona sniffed, ‘look on the bright side: if Edward Bamforth is your father he might just leave you a shed-load in his will…’
*
When Xavier and I – and Trevor – had finally left Edward’s house on the Saturday evening we didn’t know quite what to do. The idea of making our way back to Xavier’s house and eating the lovingly prepared food as if nothing was amiss seemed almost irreligious. But we did it anyway.
As we walked up the path to Xavier’s front door, I stumbled slightly and he grabbed hold of me, breaking my fall. We stood in the moonlight staring into each other’s eyes and he held me. And didn’t stop holding me.
‘Come on,’ he sighed eventually, ‘let’s go in and eat.’ Xavier unlocked the door and led me through to a ravishing kitchen, all creams and blond wood, totally modern and functional and, if my whole body hadn’t been crying out for Xavier’s touch, I’d have been in kitchen envy. A large wooden table, laid for two with beautiful cut glass and silver cutlery, stood at one end of the room. It was a perfect kitchen.
‘I think it’ll probably be spoilt now,’ he frowned, opening the oven and sniffing its contents.
‘Smells heavenly,’ I smiled, although I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat anything.
‘Come on, we need to eat something.’ He smiled. ‘There’s not much else we can do.’
*
‘So,’ I said, through a mouthful of fragrant lamb and couscous, ‘you have a sister?’
‘Yes, Amelie.’
‘Well, do I look like her? Could we be sisters?’
A Village Affair Page 27