Either way, Duke or Marmaduke had been brought home with much ceremony and introduced to his dad. Fluffy had taken one look and snapped and snarled at the puppy, his hair standing on end in fury. He’d eventually chased the puppy out of the house and cornered him where he’d hidden beneath the garden shed. It had taken them half an hour to coax the terrified puppy back out again and even longer to persuade Fluffy to be sociable and welcome the interloper into the house.
After the first night, with Maude fretting over the puppy and constantly running up and down the stairs to make sure that they were both getting along it had seemed the lesser of two evils to allow them both in the bedroom overnight. Maude had insisted that it would be easier for everyone if the dogs were nearby, her arthritis was bad at the moment and her knees were playing her up a lot, without the added strain of walking up and down the stairs at every turn. Bernard knew how much trouble Maude’s knees gave her, so it was the final straw really and he’d caved in.
Now though, as first Fluffy, who really should have known better, and then Marmaduke, egged on by his dad, had climbed up the fringes of the counterpane and landed with a plop right in the middle of the bed to rootle around in the bedding and then curl up in the bed between them, he was beginning to have second thoughts.
Maude was having no problems in sleeping tonight, now that she knew that both dogs were nearby, it was he who had to keep collecting up each one as they escaped and return them one by one, back to their own bed. Bernard turned over, yet again, thumped his pillow into shape and surreptitiously tried to prise the smallest corner of the quilt away from Maude’s death like grip. Between the dogs pulling the candlewick bedspread which usually covered the quilt in one direction and Maude rolling over and taking the quilt with her in the other, he was left freezing and uncovered in the middle.
As the first weak rays of early morning light began to slide through the gap in the curtains, he peered at the luminous hands on the bedside clock, almost time to get up now anyway. He was on an early shift this morning, he had to be out of the door today just before six.
He was just wondering if he should shower first to warm himself through, or run straight downstairs to the kitchen and make himself a nice big mug of tea and two fat doorsteps of hot buttered toast, when he heard it. The meaty growl of Jazz’s Aston was unmistakeable. He muttered, rolled over and grasped the battered old wind up alarm clock and gave it a shake. Was it working properly? His eyes focussed carefully and he re-affirmed the time. The clock definitely registered five minutes past five, two minutes later than the last time he’d looked. He dragged his watch off the nightstand too, what time did that say? If he was late and the boss got to the office before him he’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. He was a stickler for timekeeping was Mr Jazz.
The car engine growled throatily as the driver took it down a gear and powered the shiny silver beast around the bend at the bottom of the high street, it sounded like the boss was in a real hurry this morning. In a flash of inspiration, a second unwelcome thought came to Bernard, fuzzy and muffled from sleep as he was, what if the car was being stolen? Had someone made off with the boss’ car? It was certainly being driven erratically. He shook the clock again, just to make sure; five past five. That’s what time it was, the second hand was still moving around he confirmed as he peered at it through the gloom.
Now he was in a fix. Should he ring the boss on his mobile and ask him if the car was safe and sound outside his house, or should he pretend he hadn’t noticed the car being driven through the village like a bat out of hell and hope that it really hadn’t been stolen? He racked his brains, was the boss due in at the office today or not? He hadn’t said anything last night about going off to London early this morning, had he?
Could be Miss Crystal, of course. She usually used Mr Jeremy’s old Land Rover, but she had been known to take the Aston off on a bit of a ‘spin’, tyres racing and engine screaming in protest as she floored the accelerator. Maybe she had a early appointment and was running a bit late.
In the end he burnt his tongue on his tea, wrapped his nice hot buttered toast in tin foil and stuffed it in his jacket pocket and left a note for Maude telling her that he’d had to go to the factory early this morning and hadn’t had time to walk the dogs before he left. Satisfied that he’d covered all eventualities, he ambled up the road half an hour early, so that he could walk past Mr Jazz and Miss Crystal’s cottage on the way to work and see if the car was there for himself. If the car wasn’t outside and there were some lights on, he’d know that everything was alright, but if they were still sleeping and the car was gone, he’d knock the door and check what was going on. He congratulated himself on an excellent resolution to the problem, that’s what they paid him for, as senior security guard, after all; ingenuity, tact and diplomacy. And he’d had to use all of them in his time at the factory, what with Mr Jazz and Miss Crystal in charge. They took a lot of looking after did those two.
As his shiny black shoes crunched on the gravel driveway on the long approach road to the cottage, he grinned to himself happily and hummed a little tune under his breath. It was a beautiful morning, bright and clear, the birds were still singing their dawn chorus and there was not another soul in sight. It was a perfect way to start the day.
He didn’t need to walk far along the driveway to see the cottage clearly. The curtains upstairs were still drawn closed but there were signs of life in the kitchen and he thought he could see someone moving around inside the house. He didn’t want to pry, so he didn’t hang around. It must have been one of them driving the car after all, maybe they were just late for an appointment. He’d lay odds that it was Miss Crystal behind the wheel though, the driving had had all the hallmarks of her impudence.
Mr Jazz may have been a steadying influence on that young lady, but she still broke free of the socially accepted norms on occasion, one couldn’t wholly tame the four winds, after all. As he turned, to walk back down the driveway towards the road, the milkman swung into sight. He gave Ben a wave as they passed on the drive.
“Hey up,” he called as the electric float crawled past, “How’s it going lad?” he asked as the vehicle drew level.
“Fine Mr Bernard, just fine, working hard, you know how it is,” Ben replied as he prepared to move on again. “Better get on, otherwise folks’ll be complaining,” he added as he moved off, his float whining its way on up the lane.
Now there was another young man who’d turned out alright after all, Bernard decided. Ben had been a bit of a wild child too, but he’d settled down with a nice young wife over on the new housing estate they were building on the land near the Old Folly. Old Hetty, Crystal’s gran had been dead set against that, building on family land, but Mr Jazz had managed to talk her into it, eventually just last year, and a right good job they were making of those houses too. They were using the local honey-coloured ‘Bath’ stone which had been quarried in these parts for centuries, those houses would stand the test of time like many others before them, built to last they were.
In the end, the cash injection had been the only way to save the family business, so local gossip told. They’d come to a compromise, by all accounts. The houses were small starter homes, especially for the young people of the village and managed by the estate, just twelve of them, a right pretty development it was. They named the small cul-de-sac after Hetty’s long departed husband, Walter. It had been a good solution for all concerned in the end. He had tact and diplomacy too, that Mr Jazz, he was a man that Bernard could respect and there were far too few of those around these days, in Bernard’s view.
Crystal was prodding at the hastily repaired garbage disposal unit with a wooden spoon, when she noticed Bernard on the driveway. Good grief, what did he want at this time of the morning? And how would she explain that his boss had left in a foul mood and was probably up at the factory already, ordering the night staff around and making himself completely unpopular. He did that, Jazz, when he got a bee in his bonnet about something. The day
had started out better than expected, they’d parted on good terms this morning, better than good. Jazz had kissed her with passion and relish as he’d reluctantly headed off to the factory. They hadn’t really resolved anything, concerning his strange behaviour last night, but at least he wasn’t mad with her anymore.
She knew that she should have demanded answers, been less accommodating and more forceful, perhaps even refused to sleep with him until he explained himself fully, but that really wasn’t her style. Part of her also didn’t want to know the truth, she acknowledged, as some of her gran’s well-meant warnings came back to taunt her. Jazz wouldn’t really have started an affair with Verity, would he?
She stabbed at the plug hole with more venom than expertise as she considered the consequences, and this time she was prepared for the overshoot as the stupid machine spewed out the bits of soggy teabag and partly decomposed tea leaves and then promptly ate the end off the wooden spoon in protest, splintering the wood into razor-sharp shards.
She would never get on with this mechanical nightmare, she thought, as she pressed the ‘off’ switch decisively. Imogen may have declared that every kitchen should have one, but not hers. She didn’t have to turn the beast on if she didn’t want to, and from now on, she wouldn’t.
There, with that decision made, she looked up, to see Bernard happily turning around on the driveway, talking to the milkman and then walking off back the way that he had come. Good. She didn’t want any interference today, she was on a late start and had managed to slide out of the plans Imogen had made for London today, so she had some time to herself, for once. She’d reluctantly cancelled her appointments for the whole day to accommodate Imogen’s wish to travel up to Hampstead, but when the Land Rover had refused to start late last night, she’d felt no qualms about changing their arrangements at the last minute; Imogen didn’t want to get stuck on the M25 in a rusty old Land Rover did she?
Imogen most certainly did not. Since Giles was a bit of a stickler where money was concerned, their car was only insured for the two of them to drive and since Imogen had no intention of driving all the way to Hampstead, it had left Crystal with the perfect ‘out’ clause.
By nine o’clock, Crystal had finished answering her business e-mails on the laptop and was looking forward to a nice hot pot of coffee and a couple of American style muffins left over from the bake sale yesterday, when the front doorbell rang and the knocker rapped enthusiastically.
The front door opened, and two loud voices called out, “Hello, hello,” in unison.
Crystal almost dropped the coffee pot in surprise. She’d know that voice anywhere.
She launched herself along the hallway sliding on the smoothly polished surface of the heavy wooden floor in her woolly socks to catapult herself wholeheartedly into the arms of her twin brother.
“Jez,” she squealed. “Where did you come from?” “Saskia, hi. You’re looking lovely today,” she gabbled, as her twin brother scooped her off her feet in delight and swung her around in an enormous bear hug.
“Surprise!” Saskia volunteered.
She’d always loved surprises. “When did you get back?” She asked, as she realised that she’d only e-mailed Jeremy a few days ago in New York.
“Just flew in now,” he grinned. He put her back down on the floor, took Saskia by the hand, and continued “We have some news for you.” They grinned at each other, idiotically. “We wanted to tell you both in person.”
Crystal looked from one to the other and her heart hit the soles of her feet, she didn’t like the sound of this.
Saskia thrust her left hand forwards to revel immaculately manicured iced pink nails and a rock the size of Mount Everest on the third finger of her left hand, “We’re engaged!” she squealed. “Crystal, we’re getting married.” She looked adoringly at Jeremy, “He proposed in New York, and I said yes!”
Jeremy scuffed the toe of his shoe on the highly polished surface of the floor and stared at his feet. “We wanted our family to be the first to know, so we cancelled a couple of tour dates, jumped on a plane and flew straight over here to tell you all in person. There was no way this news was leaking out through the press for you all to find out in a newspaper. We both wanted to see you all and pass on our news ourselves.”
Crystal took in the size of the enormous diamond twinkling on Saskia’s hand and realised that this was serious. “That’s one beautiful ring, really stunning. Congratulations, both of you,” she added warmly. “I had no idea that you were both thinking of taking such a huge and important step.” Tears sprang to her eyes, her baby brother was getting married, to a beautiful world-famous pop star with a jet-set lifestyle. She raised a hand to wipe at her face. “Jazz isn’t here, he’s already at the factory, you’ve missed him.”
“No problem. We thought that we’d stop by here and pick you up first and then we could all go on up to the factory to break the news there. We need to stop in to see Gran too, because we want to be the first to tell her. Once news is out in the factory everyone will know. I expect that Mark will be in at work as well?”
Crystal raised a hand to her temple. “Umm, yes, Mark is in the office today, they fly out to Rome for the first week of the school holidays at the weekend. You’ve picked a good day,” she replied, as she thought back to the phone call first thing this morning and Jazz’s mood as he had left for the factory earlier. Mark was the oldest of the three siblings, with Crystal second oldest, but only by a couple of minutes, over Jeremy, her twin. Mark had taken over directorship of the company from Jazz a year or so ago, but Jazz still reported to the board and kept a close eye on the company. An early call from Mark and then Jazz roaring off before daybreak in the Aston this morning had not been a good sign. She didn’t actually know that there were problems at the works, but it didn’t bode well.
“Come on in, let’s not stand out here in the hallway, I’m just putting a coffee pot on and there are loads of scrummy muffins, let’s have a bit of breakfast and catch up on the news and then we can stop in at the factory in an hour or so, give them a bit of time to get started for the day, before we go on in there and disrupt things,” she improvised.
They were all tucking into blueberry, orange and lemon muffins when Jeremy dropped the bombshell. “You know that we have the big European tour coming up this summer,” he started innocuously enough.
“Hmm? Yes,” Crystal replied.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Well, the problem is this, we don’t want to wait until the end of the summer to start arranging the wedding. We want to get married in the autumn.” He took Saskia’s hand in his, “don’t we darling?”
Saskia nodded as she bit into her muffin, eyes wide and bright.
Crystal knew Saskia of old and she recognised that innocent child-like stare, she still didn’t trust Jeremy’s fiancée an inch, even on a good day. There was a point to this conversation, she was sure. Her antennae went onto red alert.
“The thing is,” Jeremy continued, “we know that you’ve just finished The Hunt Ball and you have some other commitments coming up, what with the new holiday on the water thing you’ve just launched. But, I… we,” he corrected, “really want you to arrange the wedding for us. We both know how good you are at these things, and we don’t want some corporate American company to handle it, even though we all know that they would love to get their hands on such a prestigious prize, we both want you to do this for us. Do you think you could Crystal, please?”
Crystal gulped. The only wedding that she wanted to arrange this summer was her own; to Jazz. But since he’d not shown any inclination to propose marriage or a commitment of any sort where she was concerned, then that was a distinctly unlikely scenario at the moment. Her brother and his fiancée could have no idea of her deepest and darkest desires, though, and the question stung intolerably.
Through her tears, which they took as a sign of her delight, she nodded. She’d always assumed that being the ‘oldest’ she would walk along the aisle first in the cou
ntry church near their home. Her parents and her grandparents had all been wed there over the years, and Mark had married Ruth there too a few years back, but imagining Jeremy and Saskia walking along the tiny aisle ahead of her, was just a bit too much at the moment, in her already vulnerable state.
She managed a wobbly, “yes, of course I’ll do it. You only had to ask,” and then followed it up with, “have you decided on a church?” The village church was not the home of the bride, after all. For all she knew, they might be getting married in New York, London or Saskia’s native Netherlands, all were distinct possibilities.
“Jeremy has spoken to Peter, the vicar here. We’re getting married in the village, Crystal, won’t it be grand?” Saskia crowed, almost swooning in delight.
“I can’t imagine anywhere more lovely,” Crystal replied honestly, as the knife twisted just a little more in her breast.
Chapter
3
MEMORY LANE
Imogen was at a loose end today. Crystal had insisted that they couldn’t re-schedule last week’s aborted trip to Hampstead for another few days at least, she was working on a secret new project and would be firmly entrenched in cash flow projections and budgeting data for the foreseeable future. Not that any of it made and sense to Imogen at all, she couldn’t understand why Crystal wanted to work, it wasn’t as if she needed to, Jazz could more than afford to support her.
She hummed softly under her breath and looked out of the window. This room overlooked the green and from the height of the bedroom she could see the village children running around together, six or seven of them, playing a noisy game of ‘tag’. They were purportedly on their way to school, their uniforms neat and well-pressed, Imogen pursed her lips, if they carried on rolling around like that in the wet grass, then they would look a right sight when they did arrive at school, and they’d better get a move on too, or they would all be late. She might need to have a quiet word with their mothers later, let the ladies know what their kids got up to when they were out of their sight. People who lived in villages did that sort of thing, looked out for their neighbours and such, she was sure that the other mums would welcome her advice.
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