by Kate Field
‘Now, what are we going to do with you?’ Bea said, as Mim hurriedly tried to stuff her knickers back into one of the carrier bags that had tipped over – probably as they bumped along the lane to this place. She hoped Bea couldn’t see what she was doing. ‘It’s standing room only in the house, so that won’t do. Ros might have a spare sofa bed, but she’ll never forgive me if I ring and wake the children at this time. If only I hadn’t pressed the Essex cousins on Corin. He’d rather have had you than those awful twins. Perhaps—’
‘Don’t bother about me,’ Mim interrupted, before Bea could go through her entire address book. ‘I’ll be heading back first thing in the morning. I’m sure I can find somewhere.’ If she could find a quiet picnic area to park up for the night, it would be an upgrade from a layby. Devon was holiday country, wasn’t it? Or even better – could she find her way to the sea and be lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves? That would be the best ending to what had been an unexpectedly fun day.
‘The local hotels and B&Bs will be full of wedding guests,’ Bea said, ‘the ones that open at this time of year. There must be somewhere we can put you.’
‘What about the caravans?’ Bill asked, his voice coming out of the darkness as the security light switched off. ‘They’ve not been used for a while, but they should be watertight.’
‘That’s it! The perfect solution.’ The lights flashed on as Bea spun back to Mim, a huge smile filling her face. ‘You can stay in one of our caravans. You’re one of us. We’re not giving you up so easily.’
Chapter Two
Mim was woken by the tinny sound of knocking on metal. She jolted upright, fearing that she was about to be moved on from the layby… And then she realised, as a mattress spring prodded her buttock and she breathed in the slightly musty air, that she wasn’t in her car after all. She was in one of Bea’s caravans: cold, dusty, and with some damp stains on the curtains, but still the most luxurious place she had slept over the last fortnight.
There was a longer knock at the door and Mim hurried to answer it. She shielded her eyes with her arm as the visitor shone a torch straight at her face.
‘Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to blind you.’ The visitor – a girl in her mid-twenties, wrapped in a huge wool coat and wearing floral wellington boots – at last switched off the torch. ‘Hello. I’m Lia,’ she said. She leaned forward and air kissed Mim’s cheeks. ‘You must be Mim, the saviour of the day. We’ve heard all about you and how amazing you are. Mummy didn’t mention that you have such fabulous hair. Is it all natural?’
‘Yes.’ Mim flinched as the girl reached out and touched a strand of her hair. She hadn’t brushed it yet, and she suspected that the usual waves might have turned into corkscrew curls overnight. The sooner she could tie it back, out of the way, the better.
‘You are so lucky,’ Lia continued. ‘You wouldn’t believe how much I have to pay for extensions or else my hair looks literally as thin as tissue. Yours is a gorgeous colour too, not exactly red, but like the most beautiful autumn leaves. I’d love to paint you. You could be a contemporary Pre-Raphaelite. You will let me, darling, won’t you?’
‘I won’t be here. I’m going back today.’ Not back home. She had no home – not a bricks and mortar one, at any rate. She had an area of the country where she’d spent most of her life. It wasn’t quite the same, was it? ‘What time is it?’ she asked, peering out of the door and seeing that the sky was much lighter than she’d expected.
‘Almost nine.’ Lia rolled her eyes. ‘I know. I said it was too early to disturb you, but the house is in pandemonium because of the wedding.’
‘Nine?’ Mim hadn’t slept so late since … well, she couldn’t remember when. The springy mattress must have been more comfortable than she’d expected. Disappointingly so – she’d planned to be on her way back to Lancashire by now.
‘Speaking of the wedding,’ Lia carried on, ‘Mummy sent me over to ask you an enormous favour. She’d have come herself but she’s in the middle of having her highlights done. Two of the village girls who were supposed to be waitressing for the caterers have phoned in sick this morning, so we’re short staffed. Apparently you mentioned having hotel experience, so is there any chance you could help out, darling?’
The request was accompanied by a charming smile. Lia really was an extraordinarily attractive girl, with her heart-shaped face and ash-blonde hair piled into a messy bun. There was no malice in the words, but that ‘staff’ was a reality check after the ‘one of us’ talk of the day before. Still, Mim didn’t take offence. What other place could she ever have among these people, with her background, her flat northern vowels, and with her home address being a clapped-out Volvo?
‘I’ve brought you some clothes – a black skirt and a white blouse – and some toiletries. I’d say we’re a similar size, wouldn’t you?’ Lia carried on. ‘You poor thing, having to sleep in your clothes. I wanted to bring you some pyjamas last night but Mummy thought you’d prefer some peace and quiet after the long drive. I do tend to talk a lot. Just ask Corin.’ She laughed. ‘Tell me to shut up. Everyone else does. So what do you say? Will you be our saviour again and help out?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mim was happy to help. It made no difference whether she returned to Lancashire today or tomorrow. She’d much rather be busy here than twiddling her thumbs in the car until she could start job hunting again.
‘Fantastic.’ Lia seemed to take Mim’s agreement as an invitation as she slipped past Mim and into the caravan. ‘Hurry and change and then I’ll show you the way to the house. The caterers have laid on a huge pile of sandwiches for breakfast.’
‘Breakfast?’ Mim laughed. ‘You should have mentioned that in the first place. I’d have agreed to anything for a bacon butty.’
Lia’s clothes were slightly tight, but as Mim studied herself in the tarnished mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, a recognisable version of herself stared back: smart, professional, clean, uncrumpled – a far cry from the figure that had unfolded from the back seat of the Volvo for the last couple of weeks. For twenty-four hours, she could be someone useful again, someone respectable. She was going to enjoy it.
Mim stepped out of the caravan and took her first look at her surroundings in daylight. It had been dark when she arrived here last night, but now she could see that she was in a field that was set out like a residential cul-de-sac. A gravel road entered in one corner and swung round in a wavy circle, leading to six static caravans that were scattered through the field, spaced well apart and tucked away between trees to give each an impression of privacy. Each caravan was parked at a different angle and was surrounded by a large veranda.
It was a blissful location, even on a crisp winter morning when the bare branches of the trees danced in the wind and the grass shimmered with a layer of frost. But as Mim turned back to lock her caravan – the first one, nearest the gate leading out of the field – first impressions gave way to reality. The exterior of the caravan, once a pale cream, was now stained with green leaf residue and streaks from dirty rainwater. The veranda was in desperate need of a lick of paint too, and some of the spindles around the edge looked rotten. The plant containers which should have brightened the veranda were either overgrown with leggy plants or empty. As Mim looked across the whole site, she saw that the other caravans were in a similar condition, and weeds sprouted up through the gravel drive.
‘What is this place?’ she asked Lia, as she followed her towards the gate. ‘Why is it empty?’
‘Daddy,’ Lia said, as if this one word could answer all possible questions on the subject. ‘It wasn’t one of his most successful schemes. I think people came to stay when the caravans first opened, but no one has been near here for years. I’d forgotten all about them until Mummy mentioned you were here.’
Forgotten all about a collection of caravans that must be worth tens of thousands of pounds? What sort of world was she living in? A very different one than she was used to, Mim realised a few minutes later
as they passed the garage where her car was parked – now surrounded by an army of vans belonging to caterers, florists, and beauticians – and followed the track round the tall conifer hedge she had noticed the night before. Lia carried on towards the front door of the building in front of them, while Mim stopped and stared.
‘Come on,’ Lia called, glancing back. ‘Don’t let breakfast go cold.’
‘Breakfast is here?’ Mim asked. She gestured towards the building before them. ‘This is your house?’
‘Of course.’ Lia laughed. ‘This is Vennhallow. What did you think it was?’
Mim shrugged. A hotel, maybe? Although it was larger than the hotel where she had worked for the last ten years with her friend Gordon. This building was… Words failed her. It was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen. It was a long two-storey building, at least as wide as six or seven terraced houses if measured against the houses that Mim was more used to seeing. The white painted walls were broken up with a regular series of high, wide windows that she imagined must allow the light to flood in, and it was all topped with a grey slate roof and half a dozen tall chimneys. There was a pleasing lack of symmetry about the house that made it feel approachable rather than too perfect. Even so, could Mim really go inside? It looked like she had no choice; Lia was already at the door, waiting for her to go through.
‘Everyone’s in the kitchen,’ Lia said as Mim tentatively followed her through the wooden front door and into a spacious hall. There was hardly time to take in much detail beyond the staircase that was twice as wide as any Mim had seen before and the massive Christmas tree, as Lia rushed along a corridor and through a door that opened into what could only be the kitchen. It was an enormous space. The first section contained the kitchen cupboards and cooking equipment, and a team of aproned caterers were moving around here with quiet efficiency. Beyond that, a huge table seating at least a dozen people stretched across the centre of the room. It was laden with plates, tea pots, and cafetières, and a number of people flocked around it.
But there was no time to study them, and no more thought about food, despite the tempting aromas wafting around. The furthest part of the room was a modern extension, furnished with squashy sofas and constructed of floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Mim was irresistibly drawn over until her nose was pressed to the glass. Beyond a lawn filled with a cream marquee, beyond another field, she had her first glimpse of the sea. It was only a tiny strip before the headland curved round and cut off the view, but it looked magical as it sparkled as the winter sun rose in the sky.
‘Mim? Mim.’ Lia tapped her on the arm to get her attention, and Mim reluctantly tore her gaze away from the view. Lia smiled.
‘Admiring the view?’ she asked.
‘How could you not?’ Mim smiled back. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘You sound like Mummy. She insisted on building this extension so she could see the sea. None of the other rooms have much of a view because of the angle at which the house was built.’ Lia shrugged. ‘I can’t say it bothers me. Half the time it’s obscured by mist anyway. Besides, it’s not exactly the Caribbean, is it?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ Mim said. ‘I’ve never been.’
‘The Mediterranean, then. You know what I mean. It’s not like holiday sea, is it? You don’t want to rush out and bathe in that, do you? Unless you’re seriously weird, like Corin,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. ‘He loves all that cold, wet, outdoorsy stuff.’
‘I’ve not been to the Mediterranean either,’ Mim said. She looked out of the window again, wanting to take in every detail in case this was her one and only chance. ‘I’ve never seen the sea before.’
‘What, never ever? Darling, where do you go on holiday? The desert?’
‘I don’t go on holiday.’ A memory slipped into Mim’s mind of her six or seven-year-old self, begging to go away, to visit the seaside like all of her friends had been doing in the summer holidays. Another memory was inextricably linked with it, of how she had been punished for whining and for being an ungrateful child. She shivered, unconsciously rubbing her left forearm, and the ugly scars that were hidden beneath the fine silk of Lia’s blouse. She turned her back on the view and on the shadows of the past that had no place here. She smiled.
‘Didn’t you mention breakfast? I’m sure I can smell bacon.’
Lia introduced Mim to the catering team and when Paula, the lady in charge, had quizzed her about her waitressing experience and finally welcomed her to the team, Mim grabbed a plate of bacon butties and ate them with relish while Lia pointed out the various aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who drifted in and out of the kitchen. It was impossible to keep track; there seemed to be dozens of people, all talking and shouting over each other so there was never a quiet moment. Bill came in at one point and made a beeline for Mim.
‘Good morning, good morning,’ he said, grinning widely so that his moustache quivered. ‘How was your night in the old caravan; not too bad? Sorry we had to put you in there, but we’re full to the gills as you can see. Not what you’re used to, eh?’
Mim smiled and shook her head. It was a million times better than what she had been used to lately but the owner of this house was never going to understand that.
‘I hope you didn’t mind being asked to help today?’ he asked. ‘It’s all hands on deck when it comes to an event like this and what with your experience it seemed the perfect solution. Bea would have asked herself, only she’s in the middle of her preparations and you know what it’s like. These things can’t be interrupted.’ He laughed. ‘I hope Lia hasn’t driven you to distraction with her chattering yet.’
‘I’ve been on my best behaviour,’ Lia said, dropping a kiss on the top of Bill’s head as he sat down at the kitchen table. She placed a bowl of muesli in front of him and he sighed.
‘The old fish food again, eh? I thought I might have been allowed special dispensation today. I’ve important duties ahead.’
‘And you’ve important duties ahead for years and years,’ Lia replied, draping a casual arm across his shoulders. ‘So you’ll be sticking to the healthy diet.’ Lia smiled at Mim and rolled her eyes. ‘Are all parents so impossible?’
Mim couldn’t answer that and she was glad when Paula called for her to start work. The first job was to set up the tables in the marquee where the wedding reception would be held. After seeing the house, it came as no surprise that the marquee was vast; it even had separate rooms, so a porch led to an entrance lobby which then opened out into a space for dining, with a dance floor at one end and a bar set up in another room at the far end.
The dining area was already filled with tables and chairs but Paula had brought crates of cutlery, china, glassware, and table decorations that all needed to be laid out and given a final polish so that they would sparkle under the lights of the candles that graced the centre of each round table. It was easy work for Mim; she’d laid the tables for breakfast and dinner in the hotel every day, and Paula soon recognised her competence and stopped hovering over her shoulder. It was good to be working again and doing something familiar. Even better, the wait staff were allowed an advance sample of the soup that would be served to the guests later. Two hot meals in a day and both free! Mim could hardly believe her luck.
The afternoon and evening whizzed by in a blur as Mim helped to serve the wedding breakfast and then set out the evening buffet. It felt like she’d stepped inside the pages of one of the celebrity magazines they’d had in the hotel and found herself caught up in a proper society wedding. There was serious wealth and pedigree in this room: she could hear it in the accents, see it in the shimmer of the expensive fabrics and the sparkle of jewels, and smell it in the waft of perfume as she dipped down to remove or deliver plates. Even more intoxicating was the heady atmosphere of love in the room – and not just the bubble of romance that floated around the bride and groom. There were families here: children dancing in the arms of their parents; young people crouched next to old, building a bond bet
ween generations; friends laughing as they danced together. Mim soaked up every detail of this mesmerising world that was a million miles away from the one she knew. She loved every bit of it.
When it was almost midnight, the guests were ushered outside for a fireworks display to mark the end of the wedding and the start of the new year. Paula had allowed the waiting staff a break to watch the fireworks. Mim grabbed an abandoned glass of Champagne and hurried outside. The garden looked stunning, lit by braziers and warmed by fire pits, but she veered away from the crowd on the lawn and headed for the shadows created by a group of trees, from where she could watch in peace.
The display started with an explosion of colour as rockets of red, blue, and green fizzed through the sky. Mim was in the wrong place for the best view and she stepped backwards to find a better position, crashing into something warm and solid. She spun round, her heart thumping. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could make out the tall figure of someone leaning against a tree trunk and could hear their steady breaths.
‘Sorry to startle you,’ the person said. It was a man’s voice, and a posh one – although all southern accents sounded posh to her. Why he thought he should apologise was a mystery when she had bumped into him. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone else to hide out under the trees.’
‘I’m not hiding,’ Mim said. ‘Are you?’
‘I’m stealing five minutes’ peace. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’
The sky lit up with a kaleidoscope of colours and Mim caught a glimpse of her companion: tall, strong, dazzling smile. He was wearing black trousers and a white open-necked shirt, the uniform of the male waiters, and his sleeves were rolled up to show muscular arms that looked like they’d known hard graft. He was holding a bottle of Champagne. No wonder he was hiding. He must be one of the bar staff and have grabbed the bottle as he left. And she’d felt guilty enough for taking an abandoned glass!
