In a Country Garden

by Maeve Haran

  Flo and Minnie exchanged looks that conveyed something between ‘Is she barking mad?’ and ‘She’ll be bloody lucky!’

  ‘I don’t see why everything should be second-hand,’ Mrs Lal persisted. ‘The big brands must have lots of stock they can’t sell. I will approach them and offer to relieve them of it.’ She made this sound like a fantastic act of generosity. ‘For now we need an immediate injection of class and style. I will be straight back.’

  They watched her retreating back, enthralled. ‘Well, I must say,’ confided Flo. ‘She’s a breath of fresh air after Vera.’

  An hour later a taxi stopped outside and Mrs Lal emerged, assisted by a young man who appeared to be wearing gym clothes. ‘This is Spike. He has very generously helped me out. Now’ – she clapped her hands imperiously – ‘can you both go and find me some hangers. Nice wooden ones, not those bent dry-cleaner efforts.’

  An hour later the window was filled with a selection of Mrs Lal’s own Catherine Walker collection, together with a large photograph of Princess Diana wearing her own Catherine Walker outfit. ‘That should bring them in. Nothing wrong with exploiting a little shallow sentimentalism in the name of a good cause.’

  Minnie and Flo shook their heads in blank incomprehension. The frocks were nice, though, and they both loved Princess Di.

  Mrs Lal stepped back, glowing with her newly discovered altruism. Move over, Mother Teresa, you wrinkly old prune, there’s room for more than one modern saint, and let’s face it, you weren’t even really Indian.

  Feeling like a wife checking on her husband’s affair, Ella sat down at her laptop and switched it on. She searched through everything she could find about spotting catfishers and scammers, suddenly struck by one piece of advice from the experts: ‘Be extra wary if you are recently divorced or bereaved. Scammers are quick to pick up the signals from anything you tell them.’ The next note of caution was about strangely stilted grammar being used or inappropriately sexual messaging. These messages were often not written by one individual, but by teams of catfishers working round the clock from Albania to Accra.

  The scale of the industry, totally unknown to most normal people, and the speed with which it had sprung up, took Ella’s breath away.

  And then the final piece of the jigsaw fell into place. ‘If you wish to check that the photograph you have been given is genuine, this can usually be done by Reverse Image Search.’

  Not only was there a whole industry in fleecing people online, there was also a parallel industry in catching them. Her breath almost stilled. Ella transferred the photograph of Gavin she had stolen from Laura onto her laptop and selected Reverse Images from her browser. The identification was almost instantaneous.

  The brown eyes, warm smile and wavy hair that Laura had found so alluring belonged not to an engineer called Gavin currently working in Beirut but to a male model called Patrick Johnson who lived in Huddersfield.

  Claudia was on her way to meet Bella and find out if they’d heard back from Billy, the potential new chef, when Spike stopped her.

  ‘You look knackered,’ she commented, noting his red sweaty face.

  ‘It’s Rose McGill. She may not be young but that woman is lethal! And she looks like such a harmless little lady. When she joined our class I thought, Oh good, another old fart for the group, but she’s got more energy than I have! Forget Miss Marple, she’s Jane Fonda on speed.’

  Claudia tried to picture Rose in leggings and Lycra and grinned. She hoped it wasn’t going to be bad for her heart.

  ‘By the way,’ Spike added. ‘A message from my Uncle Billy. He thinks you ought to sample his wares before you finally commit yourselves.’

  ‘Do you think he’s really interested then?’ Claudia asked, delighted.

  ‘Yeah, I think he really is. Did you know you’ve got the best carp lake in the south of England right on your doorstep?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it had passed me by,’ Claudia acknowledged. ‘Fishing actually makes cricket look like a fast and exciting sport to me.’

  ‘Tsk tsk. Fishing is the sport of philosophers. Haven’t you heard of Izaak Walton?’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it. So when would he like to provide his mouth-watering temptations?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow if that’s all right with you. Then he’s going to head off with his rod afterwards.’

  ‘I’ll tell the others. We must turn this into a grand occasion. Candles and white linen at the very least! Ask him to talk to the wonderful Bella. She’ll sort it out.’

  ‘She is rather wonderful, isn’t she?’ Spike echoed dreamily. ‘She does so many different things and all of them brilliantly.’

  Claudia watched him head back to his old farts. Hilarious that he couldn’t keep up with Rose. And was that a little tendresse he was developing for Bella? Nigel had better watch out. She wondered whether to mention it to Laura. Such a pity Laura hadn’t wanted to join them all here. Still, she was probably having a terrific time in London. She certainly deserved to. They must invite Gaby and Douglas too. Douglas had put in so much hard work beyond the call of what he was being paid for. She so hoped they would get their planning permission. How wonderful if it went ahead and Gaby had a baby! Claudia stopped herself. Too many people she knew had a bad case of Gagging to be Granny and she knew it wasn’t fair.

  Sal was having a lie-in and being brought tea in bed by Lou who had finally mastered the art of making a British cuppa. ‘It’s only taken me fifty years,’ he conceded. ‘With coffee you want the water off the boil, with tea it needs to be still bubbling.’

  ‘I knew you weren’t really an American,’ Sal teased. ‘Even though you can’t stop getting married.’

  ‘It’s probably my British accent that fools you.’

  Sal spluttered into her tea. Lou’s accent was broad Brooklyn with a dash of uptown Manhattan when he wanted a smart restaurant booking.

  They were both surprised when Olivia knocked on the door.

  ‘Having a lazy morning?’ she asked Sal. ‘Ooh, and tea in bed, how nice.’

  ‘Just feeling a bit queasy.’ They hadn’t decided yet when to tell the others.

  ‘Not morning sickness, I hope?’ Olivia joked heavily.

  ‘So,’ Lou intervened. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘It’s about Hiro.’

  This surprised Lou since Olivia never used his name, only called him ‘that damn robot’.

  ‘Yes. I ought to come and get him. When would suit you?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I wondered if I could borrow him for a while.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Talk about Leonard. I miss him more than I can possibly say.’

  ‘I thought you loathed Hiro,’ Sal pointed out.

  ‘Even I can be wrong,’ Olivia stated with something which for her almost sounded like humility. ‘I’ve come to realize he’s a nice little chap. Besides,’ her voice took on the ragged tone of genuine emotion, ‘I know I bluster a lot but I’m actually quite lonely.’

  ‘By all means keep him then,’ Lou agreed.

  ‘Thank you. I promise I’ll be nice to him.’

  When she’d left Lou turned to Sal. ‘I think we’ve just witnessed the awesome power of artificial intelligence. Even Olivia is starting to think of Hiro less as a machine than a companion in her loneliness.’

  ‘You bet. She’ll have him judging flower shows next, mark my words.’

  Rose showered and changed into her more usual outfit of neat beige blouse and well-cut slacks. She had greatly enjoyed astonishing that nice young man with her unexpected energy despite her operation. It was in the genes. All her family had been hill-walkers and could keep it up mile after mile.

  She was just looking out of the window to see if the postman was coming when she caught sight of Murdo Binns ringing the bell to Mrs Lal’s part of the house. He was holding a red rose which was so out of character in Murdo that Rose was suddenly struck by the conviction that he had come to ask Mrs L
al to marry him.

  And of course she’d obviously accept. Being transformed into an actual British lady would do wonders for her matchmaking business, and how could she resist becoming chatelaine of the multi-turreted, if ramshackle, Binns Hall?

  Perhaps she’d been a bit withering to Murdo, but that was because he was being so stupid. Give an old man a bit of flattery and look what happened. No wonder she’d never married. Look at that blonde floozy Anna Nicole Smith who married the oil man of eighty-nine in America. And he thought she was in love with him. Honestly!

  Disappointingly for Murdo, there was no reply. Rose took a wicked delight in shouting across to him that if he was looking for Lalita Lal, she was down at the charity shop in the village.

  Murdo looked temporarily dumbfounded, then, with characteristic British resolve, clearly made up his mind to go and look for her.

  Rose decided this was too good a spectacle to miss.

  She slipped her trainers back on and strode off discreetly in his wake.

  It was quite hard to keep up. Murdo might be old but he had a long lolloping stride which reminded Rose of the giant from her favourite children’s book.

  She got there just in time to see him approach Mrs Lal with a determined look in his eye.

  Rose hid behind a clothes rail of winter outfits just as he dropped down on one knee and held the rose out towards Lalita.

  ‘Dearest lady . . .’ he began.

  Rose couldn’t help feeling this was a little over-formal. Surely ‘Darling Lalita’ might have better encompassed his unquenchable passion?

  ‘I offer you my hand and my heart. Would you do me the honour of agreeing to become the next Lady Binns?’

  A muffled giggle escape from Flo or Minnie, it was hard to tell which.

  Mrs Lal turned to gaze at him as if he was a slightly irritating distraction. ‘My dear Murdo,’ she replied. ‘I am deeply honoured but I’m afraid I have at last found my calling. I am going to be the Mary Portas of charity shops!’

  ‘But I thought Mary Portas occupied that role herself,’ he replied, confused and visibly disappointed.

  ‘It is time she shared her role,’ Mrs Lal announced with spirit. ‘Just like Mother Teresa. The Empress must make room for a Queen!’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you,’ Murdo replied, understandably thrown by Mrs Lal’s logic. ‘What on earth has Mary Portas got to do with Mother Teresa?’

  ‘They are both selfish in their unselfishness. I see more shops, Murdo, all making double or treble the money for Good Age.’

  ‘And you don’t think a title would help you in your fight for charity world domination?’ he suggested rather pathetically.

  ‘I’m afraid it would only be a distraction!’ Lalita announced with truly Shakespearean grandeur. ‘I have found my true role at last!’

  ‘In that case I bid you good day.’ He summoned every ounce of dignity he could as he strode from the shop, refusing to acknowledge the delighted whispering from behind the till.

  Everyone loved the idea of a full-blown feast with Billy’s generous donation. Bella went to hunt in the wine cellar since a few bottles, some rather old, still survived from the manor’s days as a country house hotel.

  Rose produced some gorgeous gold-edged china and Olivia added the silverware and glasses. Claudia had the brainwave of using white hotel sheets on the huge dining table as no sign of a damask tablecloth could be found. Mrs Lal completed the final touch with candles from the shop which she made a grand show of paying full-price for to assert her superiority over the recently departed Vera.

  Ella was just changing into an evening frock in honour of the occasion when her front door was flung open and a tear-stained Laura tumbled straight into her living room.

  ‘Laura! What on earth’s the matter?’ Ella asked, although she had a pretty strong suspicion.

  ‘Oh God, Ella!’ Laura threw herself into Ella’s outstretched arms. She looked pale, exhausted and her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. ‘I turned up at Heathrow and there was absolutely no sign of Gavin! What the hell do you think can have gone wrong?’

  Before Ella could decide whether to tell Laura now or to make up some comforting story before softening her up gently for the truth, two of the others arrived to drag her off to the dining room.

  ‘Laura!’ Claudia screeched. ‘How absolutely brilliant! I had no idea you were even coming! Are you here for the meal our potential new chef’s sent?’

  Ella put an arm round her protectively. ‘She doesn’t know anything about Billy yet. Are you sure you’re up to a big dinner in the dining room? If you like, I could pinch us a bit and we could eat it quietly here?’

  Laura visibly shook herself. ‘No, no, I don’t want to spoil your evening. What happened to the old chef?’

  ‘He walked out after a difference of opinion with Mrs Lal over the right way to cook a steak or some such thing,’ Claudia replied.

  ‘Oh dear, is Mrs Lal still causing trouble?’ Laura asked anxiously. ‘I hoped she would have settled down by now.’

  ‘Trouble and entertainment value in equal measure,’ soothed Claudia. ‘Anyway, this new chef is Spike’s uncle. Spike’s our intern student who lives here rent-free.’

  ‘And complains about our loud music,’ giggled Ella. ‘Especially Status Quo.’

  ‘I don’t blame him.’ Laura grinned. ‘I can’t stand them either. They were Simon’s favourite band. And is his uncle a good cook?’

  ‘He bloody well ought to be. He’s coming to us via the Ritz!’ explained Ella.

  ‘And he’s brought us a bang-up spread just so we can all see the kind of thing he’d offer.’

  ‘But if he’s cooked at the Ritz, why on earth would he want to come here?’ Laura insisted, beginning to look a bit more cheerful.

  ‘For a bunch of wrinklies who’ll soon need their food put in a liquidizer, you mean?’ Claudia enquired.

  ‘He wants to semi-retire,’ Ella explained.

  ‘Plus he loves carp fishing,’ Claudia added knowledgably. ‘Did you know we have the biggest carp lake in the south of England a mere two miles away? We’ve offered him a free cottage and he’s very nearly said yes.’

  ‘So from now on it will be pastries that are perfection, and meat that is mouthwatering, and hors d’oeuvres that are heavenly . . .’ Ella began to list.

  ‘And a free ambulance to A&E when we all have a heart attack . . .’ Claudia added crisply.

  ‘Well,’ Laura smiled at last, her pinched face visibly relaxing. ‘I’ve obviously chosen the right day to turn up unexpectedly.’

  ‘We’ve all missed you so much, Laura!’

  Laura’s smile wobbled before she pinned it deliberately back on. ‘Let’s go for it then!’

  The dining room looked wonderful. Someone had discovered the vast arrangement of dried hydrangeas in gorgeous Renaissance hues of dark aubergine, faded blue and sea green that once adorned the hotel lobby and plonked it in the middle of the table. Candles flickered on silver and glass and lit up the amazing feast Billy had provided.

  As they each got themselves a glass of champagne Ella hoped Laura would forget all about what had happened until they were alone and she could break the news to her gently.

  But whether it was the bubbles in the wine or the safety of being among old friends that emboldened Laura, Ella had no idea. So when Sal asked her why she’d gone off their radar for so long, Laura looked coy and told them she’d met an amazing man.

  ‘He’s called Gavin,’ Laura boasted. ‘He works abroad and we were due to meet up today and then he must have missed his plane.’ She got out her phone and passed the photo of Gavin round for them all to look at admiringly.

  ‘Oh, poor you!’ Olivia sympathized. ‘He looks very charming and attractive.’

  Without being able to help herself, Ella murmured, ‘For a male model from Huddersfield!’ under her breath.

  She took a sip of her drink. But Laura had turned on her, eyes blazing. ‘What did you
just say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Ella replied, angry at her own indiscretion.

  ‘I heard you perfectly clearly. You said, “For a male model from Huddersfield”. What exactly did you mean?’

  ‘Laura, let’s talk about it later. Why don’t we just have a good evening?’

  ‘No, Ella, you can’t say something like that and let it go.’

  ‘Let’s have a chat outside then.’ Ella didn’t want to humiliate her friend in front of everyone.

  ‘No, Ella, it’s perfectly okay here.’

  ‘I looked him up on Reverse Images.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gavin.’

  ‘But you didn’t have a picture of him.’ Laura paused, understanding beginning to dawn. ‘You stole it from my phone.’

  ‘I didn’t steal it, I just photographed it.’

  ‘Wait a minute. You came all the way to London just to get that picture,’ she accused furiously.

  ‘He’s called Patrick Johnson, Laura. He really is a male model. You could probably meet him if you wanted.’

  Laura stood up, knocking over her wine as she got to her feet. ‘I can’t believe you’d do that! Steal a photograph of him from my phone!’

  ‘I was trying to protect you.’ Ella attempted to stop her leaving. ‘It’s really common to be scammed after you’re widowed or just divorced. They specifically warn you about it!’

  By now everyone round the table seemed to have understood what was going on.

  ‘Surely, Ella, that was an invasion of Laura’s privacy . . . ?’ began Rose.

  ‘I think she was right to do it,’ Lou disagreed. ‘Internet scammers can be dangerous people.’

  But Laura was halfway across the room.

  ‘Laura, Laura . . .’ Ella stood up and began to follow her. ‘I couldn’t bear to see you hurt again!’

  ‘So you got in first and hurt me yourself!’ flashed Laura as chaos took over and everyone began to accuse each other.

  ‘Stop it!’ Sal had got to her feet and shouted all of them down. ‘Just stop it right this minute!’ They all turned to look at her pale and angry face. ‘You might as well find out now, it’s as good a time as any. I think my old mate cancer’s back again in my other breast.’