‘It was easier to just stay in the house and let him look after me. I can’t believe I spent all day just tidying up, cooking food and trying to look my best for him.’ She hadn’t forgone the manicures, gym and facials, but it was hard now to remember just how she did spend all her time. Without Marcus, life had shifted on its axis. Man time had been replaced with Sam and the Kitterly Heath girls, Lottie and the Tippermere horses, and Pip who was careful to straddle both camps. And many men, from what she could gather. Tom had been practically blushing when she’d asked him about Pip, who had been much less coy.
She liked Tom – he was easy company. As much out of his depth here as she often felt, and yet this place seemed to have a hold over both of them. They were ducks out of water, and yet both were reluctant to leave, to let go. And Pip, with the nose of a bloodhound and less sensitivity, seemed determined to capitalise on it. She wasn’t yet quite sure if the girl was a wonderful friend, or whether they were all just walk-on parts in some big play she’d put on.
Pip knew everyone, and Pip organised everyone. Except Tom had an edge that said he wasn’t going to be bossed around unless it suited him. He’d been unbothered about the photograph of them together but strangely sensitive when she’d mentioned David’s visit. Which reminded her…
‘Sam and David’s house is beautiful isn’t it? I hadn’t been until we had that girlie night. That’s why I asked if she’d put me in touch with David’s father.’ She linked her arm through Lottie’s and led her into the house and across the vast hallway into what Marcus had called ‘the snug’, although it was about as snug as a ballroom. It was just too big, dwarfing even the antique green Chesterfield sofas and the table with its enormous brass-clawed feet. But Marcus had had the money to fill it, even if he hadn’t had the taste to make the finished room look either classy or refined. Amanda longed to make it cosy but elegant; a room with a roaring fire and winged chairs that she could curl up in.
Tom had looked comfortable in here when he’d stopped by. With his easy elegance, he could fit in anywhere, she reckoned. But it had been seeing him sitting there, the epitome of real English elegance, that had spurred her into action. Tom had gifted her an image of a future she couldn’t ignore.
‘Was your father really going to shoot them?’ She grinned, relief now that her ordeal was over, making her feel positively giddy.
‘I’m not sure.’ Lottie sat down. ‘I don’t think he would shoot to kill, though.’
‘Ah.’
‘He knows he can’t kill all the enemy one shot at a time, and bullets are expensive, you know. It was more a statement of intent, I think.’
‘I think David was shocked, but Sam just thought he was kidding. He said, just imagine the headlines if the wedding of the year was cancelled because an Olympic medal-winning showjumper had gone on the rampage with a double-barrelled shotgun. Did he win an Olympic medal?’
‘He did. He wanted to put it in the coffin with Mum, get her to look after it for him.’
‘Gosh.’ There was silence.
‘He said he’d only lose it. He always pretended it wasn’t that important to him, but it was. Tiggy said he fell asleep with it in his hand the day he won it.’
Amanda wondered if it was wrong that she’d never had a single thought like that about Marcus since he died. She missed him, but he was gone. He didn’t fill her waking hours; she didn’t want to share the disaster or triumphs with him. The satisfaction in finally conquering her fears and sitting on a horse was something she wanted to share with someone else. Even if it was so trivial in the grand scheme of things.
‘These came this morning, I wanted to show you and try to explain. I’m so sorry your dad has been so worried, I just never thought to explain. But to be honest, I haven’t sorted it out in my own head what I want to do. I just know I’ve got to do something, and for once in my life it’s got to be the right thing for me.’ She pulled a roll of papers from the inside of a cardboard tube, slightly worried that now she had started to talk, she didn’t seem to be able to stop. Maybe horse-riding had been like therapy, which was why some people actually enjoyed it. Or maybe, which was more likely, for her it had been like shock treatment. ‘Tom gave me the idea. I was showing him some photos of this place when we bought it, and he said he’d seen photographs of what it used to look like in some magazine or other, and he was very diplomatic, but he was only thinking what I was, that it would be so lovely to restore it, you know, like Sam’s house has been.’
‘So, you see a lot of Tom?’ Lottie didn’t like to say it, but she’d been under the impression that Tom was more interested in Pip than anyone. But he had, whilst denying he wanted a woman, been spending a lot of time studying her own arse (even if he thought she hadn’t noticed). Maybe there was more to Tom than met the eye, though he was bloody discreet about it.
Amanda blushed. ‘Not loads, I think he likes to come here to hide. It’s a bolthole, and he’s fun, in a kind of droll, laid-back way. I like him. He’s got Tabatha harassing him at home, and I think he likes Pip, but he’s a bit scared of her. And he says Elizabeth is like a mafia mama.’ She giggled.
‘So you’ve not?’
‘Shagged?’
The word sounded slightly shocking from Amanda’s lips, thought Lottie.
‘No, he’s not really my type and I don’t think I’m his, but he is lovely isn’t he?’
‘Lovely.’ Lottie agreed, secretly wondering if it was Amanda in cahoots with Tom, not Dom. Maybe somebody had mixed the words up somewhere along the line and her poor uncle had been implicated unfairly.
Except he had been in a very funny mood when Elizabeth had taken her down to the stables.
‘Anyway,’ Amanda smoothed out the papers, ‘Anthony, David’s father, came and had a look round and did these for me. They’re like architectural impressions of what we could do. He said they’re only rough, to give me an idea.’
‘So you’re staying?’ Lottie suddenly saw a bright light at the end of the muddied tunnel.
‘Well, to be totally honest, I don’t really know yet.’
Back to doom and gloom.
‘But I want to do it up, and if I do end up selling, then maybe we can find a buyer who will want to keep it as it is.’
‘We?’
‘I. I meant to say I. Anthony has clients who are interested in places like this, and it is in good nick. But I do like it here; it’s just, well, it’s just complicated.’
Lottie wanted to ask what exactly was complicated, but Amanda was busying herself putting the drawings away and she got the message. No-go area.
‘Dad thinks Dom is trying to persuade you to sell.’
‘Dom isn’t trying to persuade me to do anything. Honest.’ Amanda looked Lottie straight in the eye and could answer with complete honesty. Sometimes she wished he was; sometimes she wished that all the answers were easy. ‘This time I’m making my own decisions, Lottie. This time it’s got to be perfect.’
Chapter 21
‘Mrs Stanthorpe.’
‘Lady.’
Tom gave her a blank look, not sure whether the eccentric old lady had completely lost her marbles and was unable to even identify his sex, or whether this was some kind of strange test.
The corner of her mouth twitched. ‘It’s Lady Stanthorpe, actually. But I am joking, young man, come in. Call me Elizabeth, I did tell you that before, let’s not stand on ceremony.’
Tom stepped into the large hall and for the first time had some appreciation about what stepping into the past meant. And what inheritance was all about.
He’d thought the place had been imposing enough from the outside, but now, with the inner, slightly shabby, grandeur of the mansion, and the indomitable Elizabeth, who he had not met on her own turf before, he felt a bit out of his depth and began to wonder if it was a mistake coming here.
Elizabeth seemed to sense it, and leaving him to close the door, she set off across the cavernous entrance hall, leaving him to gallop in her wake like one of the Labrado
rs that always accompanied her. He couldn’t remember seeing her without the dogs, two happy consorts who knew their place and relished it.
Tom guessed, in the time he had for a brief glance around, that every stick of furniture in the vast space was original. No reproduction failures here. Even the oak-clad walls, solid doors and incredible staircase spoke of a wealth of times gone by; he floor worn and polished from the footfalls of thousands, pitted from the nails of dogs; the wood mellowed and aged from the corrosive bath of daylight, the light and shade of nature.
He stopped briefly to gaze at the paintings that hung in regimented fashion on the walls, the features of Elizabeth staring out from each in an unnerving fashion.
‘A motley crew, aren’t they?’ A ghost of a smile flitted across her features.
‘I haven’t got a past, a history, like that.’
‘Now is that a problem or a benefit?’ She didn’t wait for a response, and didn’t give him the opportunity to ponder about her meaning. ‘Come.’ The imperious tone was a final summons before Elizabeth disappeared through a doorway in the far corner and for a fleeting moment Tom felt like he was being called to his execution or to meet a modern-day Miss Havisham, who would drain his life of all joy. Well, the bit that Tamara had deigned to leave behind.
‘I was wondering when you’d turn up. You will join me for a drink, won’t you?’
Oh Lord, not musty sherry, please not sticky, sweet sherry that had been standing for a year and a day.
But it wasn’t sherry. When Tom finally pulled himself together and followed Elizabeth, he was surprised to find himself in a uncharacteristically bright and airy room, with modern touches blending perfectly with the old. And she was waving a hand at the drinks tray, which had already thoughtfully been prepared with a good stock of gin, tonic, ice and lemon. ‘Be a darling and pour. I don’t like to admit to it, but it is so nice to watch a man do these things. It is funny, isn’t it, how you miss the little things? When dear Charles was alive he could be such a buffoon at times, but he did his best to look after me in his own way. And he poured a bloody good gin and tonic. Sign of a good man, that is.’
Which didn’t help Tom relax at all.
‘Don’t drown it, will you? I really can’t see the point of a good gin if you can’t taste the stuff. And help yourself to an olive. Can’t stand the things myself, taste of potpourri.’
Tom, who had until now actually thought he did like olives, took one look at the bowl and adjusted his opinion. It seemed that the alcohol was more important than the food in this place.
‘So how are you settling in, dear? Philippa tells me your daughter is getting stuck into things. Good for her, I say. A girl needs to get her hands dirty these days, then she can handle whatever, and whoever,’ she winked, ‘comes her way. Although these men can be a bit down-to-earth, if you get my drift.’
Tom got her drift, and he didn’t really need it pointing out to him. And he was now beginning to suspect that Elizabeth was having a bit of a joke at his expense.
‘So, Thomas, to what do I owe this visit? Not that it isn’t very pleasant of you to pop by, of course. But I don’t for one minute flatter myself that you like to visit old ladies and their country piles.’
She’d obviously sensed the fact that he was getting dangerously close to reaching his limit. Pip had been right when she’d said the woman was smart. She was smart, she was matriarchal and she was domineering. And, he was convinced, she was up to something, a something that unfortunately he seemed to be playing a minor role in.
He put down his untouched drink. ‘I think I need your help.’
‘Go on.’
‘If my father is upset enough to issue threats via my ex-wife, then it means that what you told Pip is right, and I really would like to understand the full story. I don’t like being threatened, and I don’t like him. If I understood a bit more, if I understood him, then I wouldn’t feel like he’s about to drop a bloody big boulder on my head and bury me.’
Tom ran his fingers through his flop of a fringe and reminded Elizabeth of a little boy lost; a little boy who just wanted to please everybody and ended up losing himself. And losing his grip on reality.
He was so totally unlike his father in every single way, except one. He thought somebody else could put the world to rights for him. Fix the problem. And, when she came to think about it, they also both seemed to like making a mountain out of a molehill. Which had meant that when Strachan senior tried to tell people he was heading for a serious meltdown, nobody knew whether to take him seriously, until it was too late.
‘You aren’t close to your father, I take it?’
‘We’d be a world apart even if he was on this side of the hemisphere. He was a bully who ran away, but sent me back.’
‘Misguided, yes. But a bully? Not really. Your father is an educated man, Thomas, who made mistakes and didn’t want to stand up and be counted. He did run away, but he wanted his son to be brought up and educated in the same way as he was. Through the very best old-fashioned English education system. But as you became established in your own right, if he’d maintained contact with you then somebody would have made the link, and he didn’t want them to.’ Elizabeth held her glass out for a refill and watched Tom closely. There were certain mannerisms that he’d inherited: the way he held himself, but how much was from the public-school upbringing and how much was genetic, unavoidable?
She could say that his father had been a lovely well-meaning man who was a complete coward, who had run away from reality in just the same way his son was trying to. Strachan senior had run off to hide in Australia; Strachan junior had tried to bury himself in the countryside. It was just slightly ironic that it was the same rural hideaway that his father had fled. Very ironic. Too much of a coincidence.
‘When your parents bought Folly Lake Manor he wasn’t quite so publicity-shy, which is why I instantly recognised you. There’s something of him in those photographs of you; I’m surprised the press didn’t recognise it. Although maybe they weren’t looking, maybe he is yesterday’s news and they aren’t as old as I am. It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?’
Tom nodded dumbly, wondering if this was part of the interrogation.
‘You’re drawn to it, just like he was. A fool and his money.’
‘Are easily parted.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And Tamara already has most of mine.’
‘Your father invested his in the property and in the lifestyle he thought should accompany it. Strange how that place has drawn the flamboyant in, isn’t it? What makes it a status symbol, I wonder?’ She paused, but Tom waited, not having any answers, although he was fairly sure the question was rhetorical. ‘From what I gather, he was a victim of bad timing and carelessness. He’d speculated, invested money he hadn’t got and then was unlucky enough to have the banks call in loans at an inopportune time. He was, as I said, a clever man. But he wasn’t a realist; he played with theoretical numbers, speculated, played games. Which is fine,’ she stared at him, ‘with monopoly.’ She resisted the temptation to add, but not for a grown man with a family to support. ‘You were young when it happened. He fled, taking you with him, and the property was repossessed and put up for auction. It changed hands a few times before an old friend of Alexandra’s and William’s took it on and offered them a lease on the equestrian centre in return for help in managing the estate and land. When he had a stroke it was sold on to Marcus James, who honoured the arrangement with William. And now it seems it is time for change again. It would be such a shame if it were bulldozed, don’t you think?’
Tom blanched. ‘But I could never afford it.’
‘Oh I know that, dear boy, but you could influence the future. If you wanted.’
‘Why is my father threatening me? I mean, I can understand he doesn’t want his past being dragged up, but I’ve already been in the papers.’
‘Exactly. As a model – a man in his own right. Have you never wondered why, as your profile rose, your parents drew
back?’
Tom thought about it and knew it was the truth. The missed wedding, Tab’s christening, all those important events in his life, the milestones they’d ignored, had been when he and Tamara were riding the crest of fame. In every newspaper, magazine, on TV, their every move followed and recorded.
‘And if you make yourself too interesting now, he’s afraid they might dig.’
‘Dig?’
‘I think it’s more of a friendly warning, than a threat.’
‘Friendly? I thought you said you knew him.’ There was a hard edge to Tom’s voice that Elizabeth hadn’t heard before.
Elizabeth sighed. How often one misunderstanding could make for a lifetime of hurt, of estrangement.
‘I’d assume,’ she passed over his comment, ‘that he thinks you came back here because you knew the history, and he wants to make it clear that if you’re going to court the papers then he doesn’t want any reference to himself, or your childhood. He’s a sensitive man, like you.’
‘I didn’t court the papers.’
‘No, but you courted young Philippa.’ She winked at his discomfort.
‘I think she courted me, if we’re totally honest.’
The guffaw took him by surprise. ‘She isn’t for you, is she?’
‘Far too clever and conniving. A bit like you, actually.’
‘And you just want to fade from the limelight and have a quiet life, Thomas?’ She put her glass down and stood up abruptly, so he followed suit. ‘You’ll get it, my boy, but first let’s have a little stroll. I quite like the idea of a walk with an underwear model. Boys.’ The boys fell in, like the seasoned troopers they were. ‘Here.’ She picked up a photograph as they passed the hall table at a rate of knots.
Even though the picture was black and white, faded and dog-eared, the house was instantly recognisable, the couple stood in front, holding a baby swathed in an old-fashioned christening gown, smiling out at him like long-lost family. They were long-lost family. His.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘Do you recognise it? It was taken at your christening, and I do believe your parents also have a copy. I think that’s why Folly Lake Manor seemed familiar to you.’
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 122
