Wickham Hall, Part 3

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said, pushing her sunglasses up to show me her serious face. ‘You must be due some time off soon. And you’d be doing it for your mum – you know: closure.’

  ‘I can’t just disappear, not while Ben’s away,’ I retorted. That was Esme Wilde all over: spontaneous and fancy free . . . It had crossed my mind to try to find Antonio but I wasn’t sure about it yet; Mum was doing so well getting over her hoarding, especially with Steve’s help, and I didn’t want to jeopardize anything by announcing a hunt for my father.

  ‘I might think about it again in the spring,’ I suggested tactfully. ‘There’s no rush.’

  Besides, it would be something to look forward to if Ben left Wickham Hall at Christmas and returned to his art studio in London, I mused, aware suddenly of a sinking sensation in my stomach.

  Esme’s face had dropped too. ‘As it happens, I might be at a loose end in the spring. Unfortunately.’

  ‘Oh?’ I frowned.

  She sat up, hugged her legs and dropped her chin to her knees. ‘Dad has convinced Mum to put Joop up for sale. He wants her to stop work and look after her own health and as the shop isn’t doing that well anyway, she has reluctantly come to the conclusion that it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘Oh, Es, I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  My heart twisted for her. And Bryony. They had both put everything into Joop and it would be such a shame to see them walk away from it.

  ‘Dad thinks Mum should accompany him on his next contract abroad for the sake of her arthritis.’ She sighed. ‘But she’s always worked; I can’t imagine her sitting at home playing house while Dad’s at work.’

  ‘And what about you?’ I asked softly. ‘How do you feel about it all?’

  She stared down at her feet and shook her head. ‘Gutted,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been there all my working life. I don’t know anything else and I love that shop to pieces.’

  I got up off my towel and plonked myself next to her, wrapping an arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Maybe this is your chance to do your own thing, Es. You said you wanted to break away from occasional wear. Perhaps you could move into something a bit edgier, like you said? Let’s make a list of options and help you build a plan.’

  I pulled my bag towards me, automatically reaching for a pen and some paper. This was my forte: planning. I was sure I could help Esme pin down her next move.

  Esme groaned and flapped a hand. ‘Urgh, planning schmanning. Not now, Holster. Not while the sun is shining. I’m just taking it one day at a time. Anyway, you know me: I’m rubbish at all the businessy stuff. I’m never going to be organized like you and write everything in my diary, like when I next need a haircut and how much I weigh on every birthday.’

  I threw a flip-flop at her, pleased that she’d cheered up. ‘I don’t do that.’

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Well not any more, anyway,’ I conceded. ‘Working with Ben has made me much more relaxed about things.’

  She picked up the flip-flop and pointed it at me, regarding me slyly. ‘Holly Swift, you really like this guy, don’t you?’

  I hesitated for a moment and then sighed dreamily. ‘He is rather gorgeous.’

  ‘Well, now that you’ve overcome all your obstacles, what’s stopping you from giving him a test drive?’ She grinned cheekily.

  ‘Esme!’ I laughed, shaking my head at her.

  She looked at her watch, pulled a face and took the wine out of the cool box. ‘Oh well, I’m sure it’s wine o’clock somewhere.’

  She poured us both a glass of chilled wine and we chinked glasses.

  ‘So how should I play it, do you think, with me and Ben? I need your advice.’

  Esme sat back cross-legged and thought for a moment. ‘OK, now listen to Auntie Esme. Don’t plan every move, don’t second guess every moment, just relax and go with it. Enjoy the chase.’ Her eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘That’s the best part.’

  ‘He’s taking me on a date,’ I breathed. ‘End of September. I don’t know where to yet, but it’s a Saturday and he’s told me to keep the whole day free.’

  ‘Oh Lordy, Holly, I don’t believe you’ve been sitting on that information for the past hour,’ she squealed. ‘Right, come on!’

  She leapt to her feet and began stuffing our belongings into bags.

  ‘Where to?’ I laughed. ‘The date isn’t for weeks yet!’

  ‘I take it back about not planning. There’s no time to lose. We’re going to plan this date in infinite detail. You, Holly Swift, are going to blow his socks off. Starting with your underwear. I’ve got just the thing.’

  I followed her inside obediently, a big silly grin on my face. Even talking about Ben made me feel all warm inside. If anyone could make me sparkle on my date with Benedict Fortescue it was . . . Well, it was Ben himself, actually, but Esme would send me off looking a million dollars.

  And if that was what it was going to take to convince Lady Fortescue that I was worthy of a date with her son, then it would be worth every penny.

  Chapter 4

  Towards the end of September, Ben still hadn’t returned to Wickham Hall and I had been running the events department single-handedly. Whilst I suspected that Ben had chosen the Orkney Islands for its remoteness and seclusion, he hadn’t been in touch with me at all. Not once. And it was beginning to bother me. Not only that, I was still in possession of Lady Fortescue’s bracelet and I’d been hoping he could help me out with returning it to her somehow.

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, I waited until I knew Lord and Lady Fortescue were lunching in the Great Hall with the Mayor of Stratford and our local member of parliament and went to see Sheila in her office.

  I found her on her knees rummaging in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet in Lord Fortescue’s private office.

  ‘I knew it.’ She tutted under her breath as she clambered to her feet clasping two British passports. ‘Swore blind he hadn’t got them. His Lordship has had me up hill and down dale looking for these.’

  ‘Are the Fortescues planning another trip?’ I asked, watching as Sheila retrieved her reading glasses from the chain around her neck and checked the expiry dates in the burgundy passports.

  ‘Thank goodness, fine for another year,’ she exhaled. ‘No, not until Christmas. Lady Fortescue is off to Paris by herself and then they’re spending part of the holiday with Zara and Philippe in France at their chateau. Not travelling until Boxing Day, of course – they wouldn’t leave Benedict on his own at Christmas.’

  I pressed my lips to hide a smile. That would be thirty-two-year-old Benedict. But good news anyway . . .

  ‘So he is coming back to Wickham Hall?’ I said, aware that there was possibly a hint of desperation in my voice.

  Sheila glanced at the door to check we weren’t being overheard and drew her cardigan across her bosom. ‘He has promised to be back soon. Well, at the very latest, Bonfire Night.’

  November? That was ages away. And what about our date next week, was he still planning on coming back for that? Or perhaps that had simply been one of his spontaneous ideas, forgotten as soon as it was uttered . . .

  ‘But he has been gone so long,’ I said.

  Sheila regarded me for a second. ‘Perhaps it feels that way to you.’

  I felt the heat rise to my face and looked down at my shoes. Whoops, I hadn’t meant to wear my heart on my sleeve quite so blatantly.

  ‘This is Benedict all over,’ she continued, settling herself back at her desk. ‘He disappears on a whim, claims to be in the middle of a creative surge and then,’ she snapped her fingers in the air, ‘he returns with a car full of daubs on canvases. You’ll get used to it.’

  I nodded, privately thinking that I doubted I would.

  ‘Confidentially,’ said Sheila, lowering her voice, ‘there have been some heated discussions between father and son about Benedict deserting the events department and not pulling his weight in the family. The whole i
dea of coming back to Wickham Hall was to learn the ropes. He can hardly do that from the Orkneys.’

  My heart sank. I’d been secretly hoping that this painting trip would have given him time to realize that his future was at Wickham Hall and maybe even to have missed me. I mean, missed the hall.

  And taking my own feelings out of the equation for a moment, I genuinely believed that his energy and enthusiasm could do so much for the Wickham estate and bring a whole new generation of visitors through the gates. I just hoped he hadn’t clashed terribly with Lord Fortescue and made any rash statements about leaving. Sheila was still talking, I realized, and I tuned back in to catch her beaming at me.

  ‘Anyway, according to Benedict, the events calendar is under control and is perfectly safe in your capable hands.’

  At which point I’d left her to it, feeling suitably cheered by Ben’s apparent faith in me and keeping my fingers tightly crossed that our upcoming date was fixed as firmly in his heart as it was in mine.

  The following day I was at my desk putting the finishing touches to my hand-outs for the Bonfire Night progress meeting. It was late in the afternoon and I’d be heading home straight after the meeting. I stapled the last copy, shuffled the papers into a neat pile, scooped up my handbag and set off for Lord Fortescue’s office.

  I was feeling pretty pleased with myself about our winter events and was sure that Ben would be impressed too when he finally returned. The first big date on the calendar was Bonfire Night. I had secured us an award-winning pyrotechnics expert to put on our fireworks display; Jenny had agreed to run the catering in the courtyard, which included a hog to be roasted for pulled pork rolls, local beers, bonfire toffee apples and the usual teas and coffees; I had persuaded Jim to build the biggest bonfire Wickham Hall had ever seen and he had already started amassing firewood on the bonfire site; and Andy had found a supplier of the most beautiful faux-fur scarves, mittens and muffs to sell at the event. It promised to be a night to remember.

  My Christmas Activity Plan was coming along nicely too: we would have all sorts going on from carol-singing to homemade Christmas crafts and – drumroll please – Jenny’s celebrity chef had confirmed he would be at Wickham Hall to kick off the celebrations with an Elizabethan Christmas demonstration.

  Jenny was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase, waving a sheet of paper.

  ‘I’ve had another email from Daniel Denton today, agreeing to my recipe suggestions.’ She shivered fan-girl style as we walked along the plushly carpeted corridor. ‘We might even make the local news. This could be my big break into TV.’

  I shuddered. ‘That would be my worst nightmare.’

  Jenny laughed. ‘I was born to cook, but to cook on TV, now that is the stuff of dreams.’

  ‘Then I hope your dream comes true, Jenny,’ I said, squeezing her arm. ‘But on a more practical level, we need his PR agent’s details for photos and stuff. It will make a great press story. Has he got a book out? We could do a book signing too.’

  ‘Good idea. His PR lady is actually his wife; I’ll give you her number. It’ll be a sell-out.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘As soon as word gets out – whoosh – tickets will sell like Jenny Plum’s hot cakes!’

  Sheila ushered us into Lord Fortescue’s office and I headed for an empty chair between Nikki and Lady Fortescue, opposite Andy. I handed round my Bonfire Night documents while Jenny headed for the teapot and began pouring everyone cups of tea.

  Lord Fortescue cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper towards him. ‘Before we begin on the Bonfire Night preparations, I’d just like to report on the final financial figures for the Summer Festival. Visitor numbers were up five per cent on last year.’

  There was a mumble of general approval from around the table.

  He paused, making eye contact with each of his team and smiled. ‘Might not sound like a lot, but there’s a lot of competition out there. And anyway, we don’t want to give ourselves too much of a challenge next year, to beat this year’s figures, do we? But all in all, it was a cracking do, so well done, everyone.’

  I smiled at Lord Fortescue; he had such a gentle way about him and it was a lovely positive way to kick off the meeting.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

  ‘That’s all very well, Hugo,’ said Lady Fortescue as she flicked through my hand-out, ‘but Bonfire Night ticket sales are looking distinctly lacklustre.’

  She took a cup of tea from Jenny and shook her head at the plate of ginger biscuits that Sheila passed along.

  ‘But there are over six weeks to go, Beatrice,’ Lord Fortescue reminded her gently.

  ‘Even so!’ she retorted. ‘We need big parties, large bookings, coach-loads if we’re going to cover our costs. I mean, look at this – three thousand pounds to pay the firework display company. Three thousand! That’s hundreds of tickets to sell just to cover the cost of that alone!’

  I gulped as suddenly all eyes turned to me.

  ‘They are the best,’ I said boldly. ‘We can choose our own soundtrack and they’ll even finish by creating the Wickham Hall logo in the display for that.’

  ‘I’d expect them to project the logo on the moon, for that price,’ Andy sniggered.

  ‘Wow, sounds amazing,’ Nikki pulled an impressed face.

  ‘And didn’t you say they’re award-winning, Holly?’ said Jenny, nudging the plate of biscuits my way.

  I shot them both a grateful smile but before I could reply, Andy slid his eyes slyly towards mine.

  ‘Perhaps Holly has something secret up her sleeve, something she hasn’t told us yet.’ He smirked, pushing my hand-out across the table pointedly and folding his arms. ‘Something terribly good.’

  Andy hesitated on the word ‘terribly’ so long that I thought I might pass out. My heart began to race nervously. He wouldn’t, would he? I’d been dreading this moment. Please say he wasn’t going to mention the conversation he’d overheard between Jenny and me last month, when I’d admitted having a terrible secret . . .

  And still all eyes were on me.

  My mouth had totally dried up. ‘Um . . .’ I croaked.

  ‘Holly?’ Lord Fortescue nodded at me encouragingly. ‘Have you got something to share with us?’

  Lady Fortescue chose that moment to swivel her gold bangle round and round impatiently and I could barely drag my eyes away from it. Her pearl bracelet was at this moment in my bag hanging on the back of my chair. My face must have been puce.

  ‘Well? Ideas as to how to make the evening go with a bang?’ Lady Fortescue tittered at her own joke.

  ‘Um,’ I repeated, feeling frustrated with myself. Think, Holly, think. Ben would have come up with something in a flash, something creative and fun . . .

  ‘Actually, I have got a good idea,’ I said, thinking on my feet.

  ‘Bravo!’ cried Lord Fortescue. He leaned his elbows on the table and cupped a hand around one ear. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Well, we could, er, have a Guy Fawkes competition.’

  It dawned on me just a fraction of a second too late that maybe encouraging something that had its roots in treason was a bit ‘un-PC’ when you were eighty-fifth in line to the throne but Lord Fortescue clapped his hands with pleasure.

  ‘Guy Fawkes! I haven’t made a guy since I was a boy. Excellent.’

  I heaved a sigh of relief and quickly fleshed out my proposal. Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea at all, now that I thought about it.

  ‘We could launch it via the five local primary schools. Each school can enter their very best Guy, we judge them and the winning school gets a prize. Something educational, perhaps—’

  ‘A couple of Kindles for the school library, maybe, or an iPad?’ Lord Fortescue stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘Sorry,’ Andy frowned, folding his arms, ‘but I don’t see how this is going to cover the outrageous fees for the fireworks. Especially as we’ve got to fork out for prizes too. Ha – fork out, Guy Fawkes, get it?’

  ‘An
d your idea is . . .?’ Jenny glared at him.

  ‘Me?’ Andy sat bolt upright and blinked rapidly. ‘OK, well, we could run a Facebook competition to win thirty tickets, using the thirtieth anniversary theme . . .’ His voice faded as he noticed the unimpressed look on Lady Fortescue’s face.

  ‘We’ve already done the thirtieth thing.’ She dismissed his idea with a wave of her hand. ‘And I don’t see how giving away tickets will help.’

  ‘Er, thank you, Andy,’ Lord Fortescue said diplomatically, ‘but perhaps we could let Holly finish.’

  I cleared my throat and carried on. ‘If the schools have a vested interest in winning, they will promote the event to their pupils for us. And if the children want to come, the whole family will come too. As a rough estimate, I’d say that this idea could generate over a thousand guests.’

  ‘Well, I must say, Holly, that is inspired.’ Lady Fortescue’s face was wreathed in smiles.

  Andy made a derogatory noise that was somewhere between a hiss and a huff, Sheila made a note in the minutes about the Guy Fawkes competition and the discussion moved to the safety arrangements in the parkland.

  I picked up my teacup and caught Andy’s narrowed eyes over the rim. I might have won that round, but I had a feeling that the fight wasn’t over yet.

  Thirty minutes later the meeting drew to a close and everyone began to gather their belongings. I wanted to jot down a few notes about contacting the fire service before I left so I stayed in my seat and waved the others off. Only Andy remained.

  I looked up from my notes to find him staring at me.

  ‘I don’t appreciate being embarrassed in public, Holly.’

  It crossed my mind that he didn’t need any help from me in that department. His attitude this afternoon had been pedantic and his one idea ill thought out. But I kept my opinions to myself.

  ‘That was never my intention, Andy, I can assure you. Lord Fortescue asked for my idea and I gave it.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Well, just you remember that I heard what you said to Jenny. About having a secret that might cost you your job. And if I ever find out what that secret is, you can rest assured I will be only too happy to share it with the Fortescues.’