by Sarah Mason
We both stand up as the representatives from the charity are shown in by Mrs Delaney. I watch anxiously as she leaves the room in case she sees fit to throw in inappropriate comment, a snort or indeed a quick cat-like swipe at the back of their heads. Fortunately, she leaves without incident. The appropriate introductions are made between us – the ladies are called Rose and Mary – and we all sit down. I haven't had a great deal of time to prepare for this meeting but I have managed to scrape some menus together. I also haven't had the opportunity to come up with any ideas for the circus theme but that will be easier once I've found out what our clients actually want.
'You go ahead, Izzy' says Monty. 'You know what to ask.'
'I know this is short notice, Isabel,' gushes Rose before I can even open my mouth, 'but we were hoping that most of our ideas would still be possible.'
'I hope so too,' I say smoothly. Rose and Mary represent a large children's charity that I haven't worked with before and I know that if I can look after them well enough I might be able to pitch for a permanent account.
'Unfortunately our party planner came with the previous venue,' Rose continues. 'We're so thankful that Monty knew of you otherwise I don't know what we would have done. This estate has been a lifesaver all round.'
'So what happened to the last venue, if you don't mind me asking? Why did they cancel?'
'They had a small fire in their kitchens. No one was hurt, thankfully, but they needed to replace some damaged equipment and didn't think they would have everything ready in time for the ball. Considering the numbers involved, they thought it would be best for us to try to find somewhere else.'
'Monty tells me that you have five hundred people coming? Are they confirmed numbers?'
'We've sold just over five hundred tickets, mainly to companies,' says Mary. 'The numbers will probably go up to about five hundred and fifty by the time of the actual event.'
'Have you had any thoughts about food? I've put together some menus for you to have a look at.' I reach for my folder. We spend about twenty minutes going over the menus, including a lively debate instigated by Monty about vegetarians and nut allergists.
'Shall we discuss the circus theme?' I ask eventually. 'Because that might affect some of our other choices.'
'Well, the marquee company we've hired are going to provide a big top!' says Rose excitedly. 'And we did have some jugglers and other entertainers arranged through the other venue; I'll get the names and numbers to you.'
'Thanks. Do you want the marquee arranged in a certain way? Perhaps a sawdust ring in the centre for the performers with the tables arranged around it?'
'That would be marvellous!' breathes Mary. Oh well done, Izzy. Not content with all the work you're already got to do you have to chuck in sawdust rings and the like. You'll be offering yourself up as a performing seal next.
'And you could have a toastmaster dressed like a circus ringmaster, in a top hat and red tails?' Keep digging, Izzy.
'And those shiny black boots?' says Rose with an excited squeak. Monty throws her a worried look.
I'm on a rather unfortunate roll of ideas. 'And how about some usherettes? They could wander through the crowd giving out popcorn and ice cream after the meal. Perhaps even a candy floss machine?'
'I haven't had candy floss for years!'
'I'll need that list of entertainers as soon as possible. You might want to add to it a little: a magician wandering from table to table or maybe a caricaturist? Do you know what age group the guests will be?'
'I'll ask the person in charge of selling the tickets.' Rose makes a note on her pad.
'Do. Now, how about aperitifs?'
'We would like something fun!'
'Absolutely! There are lots of things we could do! How about miniature champagne bottles with straws? Or a cocktail bar? I'll suggest some ideas in the brief.'
'Thank you! It all sounds simply splendid!'
We go on to discuss table decorations, seating plans, crockery and cutlery, drink arrangements, cloakrooms, portable loos and a hundred other things that are essential for such an enormous bash. I certainly have my work cut out and wonder fleetingly whether Dom and I will be able to cope. After we have scheduled another meeting for the following week, Monty sees the excited ladies out. Despite my worries about resources, I simply can't resist the challenge of making every event the best it can possibly be. I finish writing up my notes and wander over to the French doors. A 'big top' marquee, large enough for five hundred people, will be on these very lawns in just over three weeks. The last event of this size took me over a year to plan and I still get a birthday card from the client's mother. I bite my lip worriedly.
'It sounds an awful lot of work, Izzy! Will you manage?' Monty interrupts my worrying.
'Well, I'll have Dominic with me. He's my runner,' I explain.
Monty notes my dismayed expression and leans over and pats my knee. 'Don't worry, Izzy, we'll all pitch in and help! I know we're asking a bit much of you. I would get you some more help but the problem is we kind of need the money the charity are paying us for use of our grounds.'
'Do you?' I ask, slightly alarmed.
'Simon keeps us a bit short on the old housekeeping and Mrs Delaney does need some new equipment for the kitchen – the fridge is practically falling apart! I was hoping Simon would let us use the money for things like that.' He looks terribly uncomfortable. 'You know, I would never tell a stranger something like that, but you've always been so close to this family Izzy. That's why I was so relieved you were coming to help us …' His words drift off and he looks distractedly down at his worn but well-polished brogues. I feel a flash of anger at Simon that he could let his dear father become so distressed.
'Don't worry,' I say firmly and my resolve hardens. 'We'll manage. Whatever happens.'
C h a p t e r 9
I work in the library for the rest of the day, endeavouring to put some meat on the very considerable bones ot the ball. By the time six o'clock arrives, I remember with a rush of pleasure that Will wants to take me for a tour of the grounds and that Aunt Winnie is coming for supper. I shut down my laptop and run to change. In the hall, I pause to stare up at the wall above the fireplace for a minute. Something is really bothering me about it and I can't quite put my finger on it.
It feels strange working in the house that formed such a big part of my childhood; I keep spotting cupboards I used to hide in and rooms we used to play in. What's especially bizarre is that most of the rooms look exactly as they did more than fifteen years ago. My mind will be mulling over seating plans and entertainers and I'll suddenly happen upon a dent in the wall caused by Simon playing cricket aged ten. Or I'll spot a replacement pane of glass in one of the doors and recall how we were convinced that if we ran at the door hard enough we would be transported to a Narnia-esque world. Everything feels a little different and yet looks the same; it's quite disorienting.
Once upstairs, I pad down the hall and slosh about in a bath for a while, writing a mental list of things to do. Then I pull on some linen trousers, a little V-necked top and an embroidered cardigan, I quickly touch up my make-up, spray perfume madly around and make my way downstairs.
I try to peep timidly around the kitchen door to check whether Mrs Delaney is in residence but one of the dogs comes up behind me and barges into the kitchen, announcing our presence. Luckily Mrs D isn't there. She's probably upstairs pushing pins into a small replica doll of me. A delicious aroma fills the air, which I hope is tonight's supper and not destined for the dogs – they seem to eat better than we do.
Harry and Will are seated at the table playing what looks like a very violent game of Jenga. I am reliably informed by Harry that this is Speed Jenga; instead of gingerly testing every brick and gently teasing one out, you have a five-second window to locate your brick and whip it out. Chucking said brick over your shoulder also looks to be an intrinsic part of the game. The dogs are hiding anywhere they can; pressed up against cupboards, behind rows of wel
lie boots, piled up under the table.
'Ahh, there you are, Izzy!' says Will. 'Just need to finish beating young Harry here and then I'll be with you. You'll probably want some wellies, by the way.'
'No rush,' I say. I go through to the utility room, collect the pair I used when I went to feed the deer and pull them on while Will obviously lets Harry win. He gets up from the table, digs into his jeans pocket and hands over a coin to the delighted Harry.
'A pound towards your bob-a-job fund, as agreed, Harry. You drive a hard bargain.'
Harry beams happily at both of us.
'Ready for the off, Izz?'
We say goodnight to Harry and move towards the back door. 'Your father has invited my Aunt Winnie for supper so we need to get back for about eight,' I remind him.
'No problem,' says Will lightly.
'You didn't have the same driving instructor as Monty then?' We are bouncing sedately along a dirt track.
Will looks over at me and grins. 'No! He's scary, isn't he? Look, over there is the old sawmill. Pantiles used to handle its own wood.'
'What happens now?'
'The Forestry Commission comes and does it for us and we sell them the end product. About half the estate is woodland.'
'What about the other half?'
'We let most of that out to local farmers. The rest we farm ourselves.'
'So, do you enjoy managing Pantiles?'
'I would if it were actually mine to manage.'
'How do you mean?'
'Simon owns it all.'
'All of it?' This doesn't seem very fair.
'Yep, everything. The eldest son takes all.' There is a distinct note of bitterness in his voice that I can hardly blame him for. He looks over at me and shrugs. We come to the end of the dirt track, go through a wooden gateway and pop out on to a tarmac road. Will points the other way and says, 'We have about ten cottages up there. Unfortunately, some of the tenants are moving out tomorrow so I won't go any closer in case we get rotten tomatoes chucked at us or something. Simon evicted them last week.'
'Why?'
'Said they weren't paying enough rent. Those families have been living here quite happily for the last seven years, until now.'
'God, that seems a bit harsh.'
'I thought so, but you know Simon.'
'Don't I just?'
'Gave you a hard time when we were kids, didn't he?' He glances over at me.
I shrug to try and look as though I can scarcely remember. 'I suppose.'
We turn right along the tarmac road, then take a left and pull up in front of another wooden gate. I leap enthusiastically out of the car to open the gate, eager to show that a city girl can easily make her way in the country, but am so busy trying to impress that I don't focus on the ground and land smack in a cowpat.
'Oooh, yuck! Cow poo on my wellies!' I wail.
Will leans over and grins at me. 'Sorry Izzy! They bring the cows through here! Forgot to tell you! But don't worry, everyone smells of shit in the country!'
The smell of cow shit fights for supremacy with my sophisticated city perfume and after a small tussle wins easily. I frown to myself. Why does the country have to smell so much?
I struggle with the gate for a while – you need at least a degree in astrophysics to figure out its intricate Krypton Factor-style catches. Will eventually comes to help me and opens the gate with a simple flick of his wrist. We continue on our way.
'What's happened to all the horses? My mother used to keep hers here,' I ask, mindful of the empty stable block.
'Yeah, I remember. We had to get rid of them. Too expensive. Simon is tight with money and he controls the purse strings now.' But not tight enough to deny himself the large BMW parked quietly in the courtyard that no one seems to drive despite the household's first-come first-served approach to cars. Amazing how the people with the most money always turn out to be the meanest.
'What a shame.'
'I miss them. This is the part of the land we let out, all the way down to that field.' He points some way across the horizon.
'So, did Simon start here straight after school?'
'No, he went to university.'
'Which one?'
'Cambridge. He dropped out in his second year.'
'Why?'
'That's when Mum died. Dad just signed the entire estate over to Simon, felt he couldn't handle it any more without Mum's support. He wanted Simon to finish his degree first but Simon decided not to wait. Just calmly packed up and came home. I guess he was keen to get started but soon after he went into business. Pantiles bores him now.'
I look around at the beautiful countryside surrounding me, the little village up ahead, the subtle greens of the forest bathed in the warmth of the setting sun, and wonder how on earth anyone could become bored of it.
'After I got back from travelling, Simon decided he did need an estate manager after all, so I took the job. I'd like to have my own farm some day though.'
'Couldn't you have the estate farm?'
'To let, maybe.' He sighs. 'They would never split Pantiles up. It's not fair but quite sensible. You need to keep the estate whole for it to maintain its value.'
'That's very pragmatic of you.'
'Second sons have to be.'
We reach the village and Will pulls over and jumps out. I follow suit. We wander over the green and Will waves to a couple of people while I subtly try to wipe the cow poo off my wellies.
'Is there a great sense of community in the village?' I ask Will.
'Not really. They try hard but the estate used to employ them and now it doesn't. People have had to move away to find more work and so it's getting more difficult for Pantiles.'
We sit on the seat beneath the blossoming cherry tree. 'We should do this again, Iz,' Will says thoughtfully.
'Yeah, it's been lovely,' I say truthfully. 'Most relaxing.'
'I do an estate tour most evenings. Visit the villagers, that sort of thing.'
'Shouldn't Simon do that?'
'I'm the estate manager so it's my job really. Mum used to do it when she was alive though I think she saw it as more of a chore than I do. Look Izzy!' Will exclaims before I get a chance to respond, 'we're sitting under the bridal tree! You're going to have to marry me now!'
When we return to the house, it is with some relief that I find Aunt Winnie hasn't arrived yet. I think it might be a little mean to leave her to the mercy of the Monkwell family when she doesn't really know them that well and I also don't want her drawing any premature conclusions regarding my outing with Will. Although I have a feeling that as soon as she claps eyes on his handsome self they might become unavoidable.
Monty and Flo are digging exuberantly into the gin and tonics, peeling vegetables and chattering madly. I presume Harry has been sent up to bed. They both look up as we come in.
'Good outing?' Aunt Flo asks.
'Lovely!' I say.
'Help yourself to a drink, Izzy me dear! There's wine in the fridge or gin in the cupboard.'
I extract myself from my wellies and quickly wash my hands. Then I pour Will and me a large glass of wine each and locate two coasters from the drawer, earning myself a semi-approving look from Mrs Delaney. A forceful rapping at the back door announces the arrival of Aunt Winnie, who enters the kitchen without pausing and fills the room with her larger-than-life presence. Even Mrs Delaney looks impressed and I nearly go and stand next to my dearest relative with a yes-isn't-she-scary smirk on my face. Instead, I kiss Aunt Winnie on the cheek and make some hurried introductions. She gives Monty a big hug and hands over a bottle of wine (not home-made, I notice with relief) and some berries from the garden. She shakes everyone else's hand. Aunt Flo and Aunt Winnie look hilarious stood next to each other. Aunt Winnie is dressed in a cotton blouse, tweed skirt with thick, pale green tights and sensible solid shoes. Aunt Flo is dressed in a ruffled paisley chiffon dress with beaded flip-flops and bare legs. While they greet each other, Monty leans over to me and murmurs,
'Do you think I ought to tell Flo she's still wearing her dressing gown?'
I laugh at Monty's description of the ultra-trendy long woollen cardigan Flo has on over her dress. 'I think it's a cardigan, Monty,' I whisper back.
'A cardigan? Are you sure? How 'straordinary.' He goes to get Aunt Winnie a glass of wine, still murmuring 'a cardigan' to himself in a surprised way.
Despite the initial striking differences between their style of dress, Aunt Flo and Aunt Winnie get along like a proverbial house on fire. They bowl the evening along between them (it turns out they have a shared admiration of beetles), aided by a fabulous fish pie from Mrs Delaney and some poached fruit for pudding. Since Monty told me about the shortage of funds on the housekeeping front I have started to notice things. The fridge is indeed starting to fall apart, not to mention the kettle. To my absolute horror I also notice that there isn't a dishwasher. I was so tired last night that I left them all at the table when I went to bed. It didn't even occur to me that someone might have to wash up, which isn't going to improve my relationship with Mrs Delaney. I also note that the vegetables and the poached fruit are from the garden.
Halfway through the evening, on my way back from the loo, I bump into Aunt Winnie in the corridor. 'Do you know where the bathroom is?' I call to her.
'Er, yes.' She waits until I reach her and then whispers, 'Izzy, have you told your parents about coming back to Pantiles?'
'Not yet,' I say, surprised at the seriousness of her tone. 'Why?'
'I just think you should, that's all.'
'Why, Aunt Winnie?'
'Just tell them, Isabel,' she says in an uncharacteristically sharp manner and walks away, leaving me staring after her.
C h a p t e r 10
The next day, after our meeting with the marquee company which involves frantic running around with tape measures, Monty runs me to the station. He kisses me on the cheek and tells me that he'll pick me up next Tuesday night so I'll be in time for my meeting with Rose and Mary on Wednesday. I will have to stay for a few days to try to get through all the other interviews for entertainers and musicians so we have arranged for Dom to join me as well.
