by Sarah Mason
I try to smile reassuringly, which Dom always tells me looks as if I'm madly demonic. Dom has just come back outside so I imperiously gesture for him to come over and then ask him to take the box to Mr Berryman's room and take great care about it.
Simon leads the five men through to the drawing room and after I have offered them refreshments I dash through to the kitchen. Dominic is still taking the luggage upstairs and Will goes through to help him now that the coast is clear. Aunt Winnie is cheerfully talking to Monty while chopping French beans to go with the scallops and Mrs Delaney is already putting the rocket salad on to the plates that are spread out on the massive oak table.
'Izzy!' Aunt Winnie greets me. 'Are they here?'
'Yep. Just arrived. Have you decided yet whether you are having lunch with them?' I ask, thinking of extra place settings.
'Lord, no!' exclaims Monty. 'House full of foreigners! I need to see what they're up to! And I can't do that if I'm in there eating lunch.'
'Monty and I are going to patrol the house,' states Aunt Winnie.
'Marvellous. Do you think you could lock all the doors to the unusable rooms while you're on this patrol? I don't want any of the visitors inadvertently walking into an empty room. They'll wonder what the hell is going on.'
'I think they're wondering that anyway,' says Aunt Winnie.
'We'll have to wedge the doors shut and escape through the windows, Winnie old girl,' says Monty. I don't know if he thinks this will be more fun or whether in fact the doors here can't be locked with keys in the normal fashion. I thank my lucky stars they're not having lunch with us and go and check the place settings.
Lunch goes off smoothly enough; the Americans aren't terribly talkative but I think they enjoy their food which I have to say is absolute nectar. Everyone seems pretty anxious to get down to business and so as soon as lunch is over they make a dash for the drawing room. I spend the next hour re-setting the table for dinner, adding some extra places for the family, and then gathering the dirty linen to take back through to the kitchen.
The takeover meeting breaks for tea at four and Dominic struggles through to the drawing room with a massive tea tray. Mrs Delaney, in an effort to redress the patriotic balance, has baked miniature Bakewell tarts and Maids of Honour. Simon wanders into the kitchen about five minutes later. He leans against the doorframe and yawns without putting his hand over his mouth, showing off a row of white teeth. Despite this he still manages to look overwhelmingly glamorous.
'How's it going?' I ask.
'Well, they haven't walked out, so I guess we're doing as well as can be expected. We're having a ten-minute break for tea. I came to tell you that lunch was absolutely delicious, Mrs Delaney.'
'Oh, thank you,' she says.
'Tired?' I ask simply.
'Shattered. How about you?'
'The same.'
I haven't really brought a great deal of clothes with me since I was only expecting to stay a couple of nights, so it is with some trepidation that I approach the task of what to wear for this evening's meal. Luckily I have brought with me my one designer suit, which was given to me as a birthday present by my sister Sophie. It is a white trouser suit made by Ben de Lisi but I really don't know what to wear with it as all the tops I have are dirty. In the end, I go along to Aunt Flo's room at the back of the house to see if I can borrow something. I wouldn't normally put so much faith in an OAP but Aunt Flo doesn't have a run-of-the-mill wardrobe. I knock at her door.
'Come in!' her lilting voice calls. 'Ahh, Isabel, my dear! How nice to see you! Come in, come in!' She lays down the book she is reading and peers over her reading glasses. 'How are you?'
'Oh I'm fine, thanks, Aunt Flo. How are you?'
'Never better!' It's only when Monty's around that she seems to get competitive about her health. 'How are you getting along with the Americans?'
'Very well. They seem happy enough.'
'Sorry?'
'I SAID, THEY SEEM HAPPY ENOUGH.'
'Maybe Simon will be able to turn this situation around then.'
'Maybe.'
'If anyone can do it, Simon can. Remarkable young man that.'
'Yes, yes, he is.' It comes out before I have time to think.
'I've always said it's Will that the girls go out with but Simon they want to marry. I didn't show you the beetles mating, did I?'
'Oh no. You didn't.' I try to look disappointed while fathoming the vital link between beetles and marriage. 'Talking of, er, wildlife; is Poppet around or is she having a little nap?'
'She's in her tank. Did you want to see her?'
'No, no! It's fine. She probably needs her beauty sleep. Just wondered where she was – didn't want to step on her or anything!'
'Do you know, I overheard Will talking on his mobile phone this morning. Whoever he was talking to, it sounded very intimate.' She raises her eyebrows suggestively.
I have to say I am interested in Will's love life and so I conspiratorially raise my eyebrows too. 'Did he?'
'Pardon?'
'I SAID, DID HE?' I roar, but most of the accentuation is lost with the shouting and Aunt Flo looks at me as if to say, 'I just said so, didn't I?'
She doesn't seem to have anything else to add to the subject so I clear my throat. 'Aunt Flo? I came to see if I could possibly borrow a top for this evening. To go with my suit. I didn't bring enough clothes with me from London because I was only expecting to stay a couple of nights.' I indicate the white suit that I am carrying over one arm.
She leaps up. 'Of course! Come through to the bedroom.' I follow her through a door. 'Actually, I need to think about getting ready too. What a beautiful suit! Why don't you try it on and we'll see?'
While I change, Aunt Flo rustles about in her wardrobe. She turns back and looks at me for a moment, 'My dear, why aren't you wearing it just like that?'
I look down doubtfully. 'I haven't got anything on underneath the jacket, Aunt Flo.'
'Yes, but if you do all the buttons up then we can't see your bra.'
I duly do so and, sure enough, the jacket cuts down into a V just above my bra line. But literally just above. I look down into the valley of my cleavage. 'I can't do that!'
'Yes, you can! You look very sexy! Try this necklace with it.' She walks over to her dressing table, opens a box, extracts a necklace and puts it around my neck. A perfect drop pearl hangs seductively. 'I have earrings too! We'll put your hair up and with those high strappy shoes you have it'll be perfect!'
I let her dress my hair and put on the jewellery and, I have to say, the results aren't half bad.
I arrive in the kitchen to find Dominic laying out glasses for this evening. 'Wow! You look amazing,' he says.
'Do you really think so?' I ask nervously, straightening the jacket.
His mobile belts out the Batman theme, making us both jump. He looks at the display. 'No signal,' he murmurs and walks outside to the courtyard. Now I know Dominic is on the same network as me and my phone works perfectly well in here. This is neither the time nor the place but I would still like to shout, 'Dominic, I know you are gay and I still love you!' Instead, I concentrate on cutting up limes for the margaritas and worry about why he's uncomfortable with telling me the truth. Does he think I'm too uptight to cope with it?
Half an hour later we are all congregated in the drawing room drinking margaritas as though our lives depend on it. Will sidles up to me.
'You look beautiful!' he whispers.
'Thank you.' I watch Simon walk into the room over Will's shoulder. Simon smiles briefly at me and turns to talk to one of the Americans. I get on with the important job of making each of our visitors feel comfortable and at home. Eventually I notice that Simon and I have worked our way around the room and have managed to end up next to each other. He waits for me to finish a conversation.
'Hi,' he says, side-stepping us out of the group. 'Everything okay?'
'Fine. You?'
'Good.'
We stand awkwardly
for a second. I am just about to move on when Simon says, 'I keep meaning to tell you that I found our old den yesterday.'
'Did you?' I ask politely, suddenly watchful, I'm starting to feel a bit more comfortable around him and I'm unwilling to disturb the waters of our complicated past.
'Yeah. I was searching for some torches for your, er, excursion and I decided to look under the stairs. I don't know why, I haven't been under there for years. Do you know some of our books are still there? You ought to come and have a look.'
He suddenly grins at me and moves as though to take my arm and lead me there.
I instinctively take a step back, more a knee-jerk reaction than anything else. The smile fades on his face.
'Yes,' I force myself to say. 'I must go and look at it sometime.' I try to smile. 'I should get back to your guests though.' And before he can say another word, I move on around the room.
Dominic, Meg and I retire to bed after we've helped clear up. Dominic and I lie in our twin beds and chat about the evening while a grasshopper residing in the chimney provides musical accompaniment. Dom lights up his last cigarette of the night and I take deep, passive mouthfuls of it. Meg lies in the crook of Dom's arm; she seems to have adopted us.
'Can we take her back to London?' Dom asks.
'She's not ours to take.' I would love her to come and live with us but having a dog in London, especially after her experiencing all this space, just doesn't seem fair.
'There's so many dogs here that they probably wouldn't notice.'
'Where would we take her for a walk?'
'There are woods off Lower Richmond Road. But do you think she'd miss the country?'
'Maybe.'
'I could cut out some pictures of trees and stuff from magazines for her.'
'That would do it.' I breathe deeply again, 'Waft a bit over here, Dom.'
'I will not, you don't smoke.' He takes one last drag and extinguishes the cigarette. 'Right! Light off!'
I bristle. I always read for a bit as part of my nightly ritual and every time Dominic and I sleep in the same room it becomes an issue.
'I'm reading for a bit.'
'Awww! Izzy! I can't sleep with the light on!'
'Pull the covers over your head then.'
I try to read for as long as possible (must stay awake, must annoy Dom) but I can feel my eyes slowly closing until eventually sleep overtakes me and I dream of Rob, Simon and all the family in a circus. Aunt Winnie made a particularly marvellous ringmaster.
The next morning, while Simon is holed up with his team checking 'the implications of a couple of conditions', Will, Daniel and I take the visitors down to the lake. It is the first time I have been here since I arrived at Pantiles and I have to say that it looks pretty much the same as it did fifteen years ago. Bulrushes grow densely around the perimeter and the old red boathouse still sits to one side of the lake while a wooden pontoon runs for about twenty metres adjacent to it. When we were young we were absolutely forbidden to come here unless we wanted to be grounded for a year.
Mr Berryman and his colleagues seem to have relaxed since their arrival yesterday. The dinner last night must have gone a long way to soothing their souls and they can probably see now that we aren't such a bad lot to do business with. The newspapers this morning are also painting Simon in a much more positive light after their visit here yesterday. The suggestion of an hour off for an estate tour and the possibility of water-skiing was met with great enthusiasm over breakfast. A collective stampede for the bedrooms to change into shorts and T-shirts ensued and here we are. The sun is shining as I lay out two tartan picnic rugs on the bank and arrange myself decoratively on them, legs neatly tucked underneath me. I unpack the plastic mugs, the thermos flasks of hot milk and black coffee and Mrs Delaney's white chocolate and macadamia nut brownies and await proceedings, grateful for a few minutes' peace. Fred's old lawnmower whirrs in the distance. Will is standing with the visitors on the wooden pontoon in front of the boat-house, which has been opened by Daniel. Eventually, when they show no signs of moving, I wander down to join them. Inside the boathouse, along with the small rowing boat and the old punt that I remember, sits an amazing James Bond-esque speedboat. Daniel is trying to persuade one of the Americans to have a go at water-skiing.
'Where did that come from?' I whisper to Will.
'Simon had the idea of commercial water-skiing on the lake. Daniel here has just got his licence and Simon managed to persuade the speedboat company to lend us this for a couple of months before we commit to buying one.'
Daniel's voice comes slicing through the group. 'Izzy water-skis. She'll show you how to do it!' All eyes focus on me.
'Er, do I?'
'Yes! Simon told me you did!'
I suddenly remember my mythical CV. Dom made me list water-skiing as one of my hobbies because he said I was too boring and we're two hundred miles inland. I'm holding him personally responsible for anything that happens here today. 'Er, I don't do it terribly well. I've only just got my licence! Ha, ha!'
'Come on, Izzy! Mr Tyler here would feel much better if you went first.'
A frantic minute of negotiations follow, but I am absolutely adamant I am not getting in the water. In the end I agree to shout instructions and encouragement to Mr Tyler from the shore line. His colleagues are thrilled with the prospect of Mr Tyler getting wet and being humiliated and chatter excitedly as they retire to the picnic rugs.
I wait on the pontoon while Mr Tyler puts on a wetsuit. Daniel then faffs about with the boat and the skis but just as I'm about to expire from boredom the boat hums into life. Mr Tyler swims a little way out and then waits, skis stretched out in front of him as instructed, for the off. He looks at me for reassurance and so I oblige him with, 'That's perfect, Mr Tyler! You're looking like a real pro!' I still would be shouting the same thing if he were drowning.
We have a couple of false starts as Mr Tyler flails about in the water in grand style. I bandy phrases such as, 'Keep your knees bent' and 'Push your weight in front' about, accompanied by lots of gesticulating and practical demonstrations which sound entirely plausible and wholly apply to skiing on snow. It does seem as though I've done this before, however. Before long, the crowd on the shore is standing very close to the water's edge and shouting like mad. I eye them a little nervously like an over-anxious mother; I do hope they will be careful. The last thing I want to do is wring out an over-excited American. Perhaps we shouldn't have fed them Mrs Delaney's brownies so early in the morning.
I turn my attention back to Mr Tyler, who is now making his fifth attempt at staying upright for more than a millisecond. 'Come on, Mr Tyler! You can do it!' I shout to the surprisingly cheerful figure waving at us. Daniel revs the engine and off they go. At some point Mr Tyler must have taken in my words of wisdom, or perhaps decided to ignore them, because after a shaky start, he regains his balance. A great cheer erupts from the shoreline and, overcome with enthusiasm, I run like mad along the pontoon shouting things like, 'Well done! That's great, Mr Tyler!' until I run straight off the end of the pontoon and fall into the bulrushes.
I squelch with as much dignity as I can muster into the kitchen. I am absolutely mortified. The Americans are finding the whole thing very amusing indeed.
Monty looks up from the crossword. 'Izzy! What the hell happened to you?' His mouth twitches suspiciously.
'Dear God, Izzy! You needn't try to drown yourself!' says Aunt Winnie. 'I'm sure we can sort things out here!'
'I fell in the lake,' I say sulkily.
'You smell!' says Monty.
I open my mouth to utter a stinging reply but words fail me. I have to resort to snorting derisively which I hope conveys my sentiments just as well. Coming from a family who farm for a living, I think this is a bit rich.
Simon strides into the kitchen at that precise moment. 'Dad, have you seen … CHRIST! WHAT IS THAT SMELL?'
'It's me,' I say miserably from over by the door.
'Izzy! What happened to you?
'
'I fell in the lake.'
'How on earth did you manage that?'
'I was coaching Mr Tyler at water-skiing.'
'Really?' His mouth also twitches suspiciously. 'Did you think it would help to demonstrate?'
'I fell off the end of the pontoon.'
'Ah. Tricky things pontoons. There one minute and gone the next.' He shakes his head knowingly. I think he's taking the piss.
'I fell into the bulrushes. There were lots of bird droppings in there and a couple of dead things too.'
'Probably explains the smell.'
I shiver a little and Simon hurries me upstairs to get changed. I could really, really do with a cigarette.
C h a p t e r 19
Apparently, falling into a lake fully clothed is just the thing to get any troubled takeover running smoothly again. It's probably not in the textbook. After I've washed my hair, got changed and flushed repeatedly with embarrassment at the thought of it all, I start organising lunch. Mrs Delaney is busy in the kitchen preparing a feast of crab cakes with a cream sauce of horseradish and dill, roasted sea bass on a bed of Jerusalem artichokes and Dauphinoise potatoes, and iced berries with a white chocolate sauce (complete with sprigs of mint, but then Mrs Delaney is a chef). Harry is sitting at one end of the kitchen table, swinging his legs and eating a French Fancy (this looks shop-bought unless Mrs Delaney has turned into Mr Kipling as well as being a miraculous chef). I might know her a little better now but she still scares the living daylights out of me. Even more so, if that were possible. In my experience, chefs are tricky, volatile characters, prone to picking up meat cleavers.
The visitors have returned from the lake and are now having pre-lunch drinks in the drawing room. Will informs me gleefully that my fall from grace was just the thing to pull the group together and after I left the whole lot wanted to have a go at water-skiing. In fact, the atmosphere was almost party-like. I must remember this for future events.
At lunch I am fallen upon like a long lost friend. The Americans pump my arm repeatedly and laugh a lot. Probably at my expense but I take it all in blushing good spirit; it's difficult not to as they are so good-humoured. With a marginally lighter heart, I go back to the kitchen.
