Making Hay

by Veronica Henry

  There was much umming and aahing and sucking in of teeth and shaking of heads before they finally shook hands and Rick came over to Mandy.

  ‘He’s got a couple of other urgent jobs on, but he owes me a favour. He says give him two hours.’

  Mandy looked at her watch. Two hours in Evesham didn’t fill her with inspiration. It wasn’t exactly a shopper’s paradise.

  ‘Why don’t we go and have a drink on the river?’

  She hesitated for a moment. It was very kind of him, after all he’d done, but she wasn’t sure she was in the mood for company. It had been the worst kind of morning. But what was the alternative? Browsing in Pound-stretcher?

  ‘Haven’t you got to be at work?’

  ‘Nah. I’m not on duty till three this afternoon. I was on my way to the gym.’

  ‘If you’re sure…’ Mandy was obviously anxious not to lead him astray.

  ‘Course I am. Come on.’

  Rick led her to the Mercedes and opened the passenger door for her. He could barely keep the grin off his face as he walked round to the driver’s side. Like a lamb to the bloody slaughter.

  It was a pretty grotty pub, but the garden went down to the river and they found a table without too much bird pooh on the seat. Rick brought out glasses of cloudy local cider and ham sandwiches and salt and vinegar crisps. They sat in the sunshine and watched two swans glide silently past. It was strangely idyllic. The combination of the scrumpy and the warmth and the peculiar novelty of the situation made Mandy feel quite light-headed. Rick took off his jacket and her eyes were drawn to a Celtic circle tattooed around his bicep, just visible under his T-shirt sleeve.

  ‘Did it hurt?’

  He shook his head. ‘About – ’ he picked up her arm and pinched, gently – ‘that much.’

  She giggled. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Honestly. Well, maybe just a bit, but it’s over pretty quickly. You should get one.’

  She put out a finger to touch it, to see if it had made any indent on his skin, but it was smooth. Incredibly smooth, and soft, like golden velvet, the muscles underneath rock hard. Mandy swallowed. Rick picked up their glasses and got up.

  ‘Another drink?’

  ‘I shouldn’t…’

  ‘We’ve got at least another hour. Kipper said he’d phone me on my mobile when he was finished.’

  ‘OK then.’

  What Mandy didn’t realize was the potency of the brew they were drinking. It was known locally as a guaranteed entry into any girl’s knickers. But Rick didn’t want to get into her knickers. Not yet, anyway. He wanted to get into her mind. Another glass and her tongue would be loose; she’d be totally suggestible.

  By the time another glass had slipped down, Mandy found herself confiding in Rick. It was nice to have someone to talk to about her frustration. She explained how hurt she was at being left out of relaunching the Honeycote Arms. It didn’t occur to her that she was being indiscreet. She was too absorbed in her own resentment.

  ‘It’s really important to Honeycote Ales. Dad’s pouring everything he’s got into it. But they obviously don’t trust me. Though I don’t know why they think the Blakes are going to have all the answers. They’ve never run a pub before. And it’s not that easy, is it, running a pub? I mean, you should know that.’

  Rick nodded in agreement.

  ‘You’ve got to be pretty tough. You’ve got to learn not to take any crap from anyone.’

  ‘Anyway, I don’t know why I’m worried. It’s obviously nothing to do with me, is it?’ She swallowed the last drop of cider in her glass. Rick leaned forward.

  ‘You know what I think? I think you need to get away from it all.’

  Mandy stared at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s all a bit incestuous, isn’t it? Your life? Claustrophobic. I mean, you live with your dad. You work for your dad. Your boyfriend works for your dad. You never move out of Honeycote.’

  ‘We live in Kiplington.’

  ‘You know what I mean. When’s the last time you went to a gig? Or out with your mates? Your own mates, I mean.’

  Mandy didn’t like to say that she didn’t have any of her own mates. There were girls she used to go to school with, but apart from the odd postcard she hadn’t really kept in touch. Now Ned and Sophie were gone, the only people she socialized with these days were in Patrick’s social circle.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said lamely.

  ‘When’s the last time you went out without your boyfriend or your dad? You need to get out – get some head space.’ He realized he sounded a bit hippy dippy, and rolled his eyes self-mockingly. ‘Find yourself, man. There’s loads going on out there and you’re not going to fall over it living in a bloody one-horse village. I should know. I lived there long enough.’ He leaned forward again. ‘OK, maybe you have nice clothes and champagne for tea every night and drive round in posh cars. But you’re not happy, are you?’ He pointed at her to emphasize what he was saying. ‘Because you’re missing out on the simple pleasures.’

  Many couldn’t help feeling a bit defensive.

  ‘Like what? What am I missing out on?’

  ‘Well…’ Rick thought about it. ‘You ever been surfing?’

  Mandy shook her head.

  ‘I’m going down to North Devon with some mates in a couple of weeks. You should come. It would get you away. Give you a chance to think. And surfing’s wild. You’d probably be good…’

  He looked her up and down appraisingly, then grinned.

  ‘You’d have the best teacher.’

  Mandy swallowed, flustered, not sure if he was teasing or meant it. The next moment he was serious again.

  ‘I’d better get us some coffee if we’re going to be driving. That cider’s stronger than it looks.’

  Afterwards, they went back to the garage to fetch her car. Mandy felt a bit self-conscious. A gaggle of boiler-suited mechanics were sitting round drinking tea and they teased her gently about her prang. Typical woman driver, they’d said, and Rick had gallantly come to her rescue and told them it was his fault. Even though, strangely, she hadn’t minded their jibes.

  She thanked him, and tried to give him some money, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Like I said, Kipper owes me.’

  ‘I’ve got to give you something for it.’

  He looked at her with a smile on his face.

  ‘OK. Here’s the deal. You come out for a drink. With me and my mates. That’s your payment.’

  He picked up her mobile and programmed his number in, then held it out to show her.

  ‘There – I’ve put it in as Car Repairs. So no one will get suspicious.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll text you. There’s a load of us going to the pub on Saturday. It’ll be a laugh.’

  Afterwards, Mandy wondered if she should have been quite so frank with him. But he’d been such a good listener, so sympathetic, and had seemed to understand her dilemmas. And anyway, it didn’t really matter what she told him. His parents didn’t work for the brewery any more. He probably wasn’t remotely interested in anything she’d got to say.

  She also realized with a stab of guilt that she hadn’t asked him anything about himself. Why he was driving around in a big, swanky Merc, for a start. He must think she was a self-centred little madam. And maybe she was. But it had been so nice to have someone who had time for her, unlike Patrick, who only seemed to be interested in himself these days.

  And what Rick had said was right. On the surface, she’d got everything. But what did it all mean? She was trapped. Trapped in a gilded cage.

  At Honeycote Grove, Damien reimbursed Mandy’s garage bill without a murmur and lapped up everything Rick had to tell him.

  ‘It’s all pretty tight. They’ve spent a fortune on the brewery since her dad took over, and they haven’t been doing much business. Sherwyn holds the purse strings. The Liddiards have got no cash to their name. I know that for a fact.’

  ‘So this relaunch is vital?’


  ‘If it fails, they’re completely fucked.’

  ‘It doesn’t take much to screw up a new restaurant. Quickest way of losing money, if you don’t get it exactly right.’ Damien’s voice was one of experience. He’d seen more start-ups in Bristol vanish within six months than he could remember. And he had observed them all, where they had made their mistakes, so that he could be sure never to make them himself. He carried on questioning Rick.

  ‘Do you reckon Sherwyn’s got enough money to keep them going? If it does fail?’

  Rick shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Though according to Mandy, his ex-wife’s managed to get a good chunk of his capital. I think he was just glad to get rid of her.’

  I know the feeling, thought Damien.

  ‘But if I could split up Mandy and Patrick, that would cause a huge rift. There’s no doubt she’s got daddy wrapped round her finger. If she spits her dummy out, he’d probably bail out at the first sign of trouble.’

  ‘Do you reckon you could split them up?’

  Rick tipped back in his chair and took a swig of his beer.

  ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  Damien nodded in satisfaction. His mind was ticking over, doing calculations, working out timescales, wondering just how long he’d have to wait. Patience had always been one of his virtues.

  It wasn’t one of Rick’s, however. He leaned forward eagerly.

  ‘So what are you going to do? Wait until they’ve spent all their money doing the place up, then send the boys round?’

  Damien gave a tight smile.

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  He was anxious not to come across as too much of a cheapskate gangster. It wouldn’t do for Rick to know too much. For his own good, as much as anything else. He suspected that despite his tough exterior, Rick was quite naive underneath it all, and he didn’t want to give him a glimpse of what he was capable of.

  To Damien, what he was planning was normal; it was common practice in the world he came from, to circle round a business you fancied like a carrion crow until it died on its feet, then swoop in on the carcass. And if a little industrial sabotage was necessary to hasten the procedure, that wasn’t frowned upon. It was all part of the game; something that you had to put up with yourself from time to time. At the end of the day, it was all about the survival of the fittest. You had to fight your corner.

  That had always been Damien’s life. Ever since he was tiny, he’d contended with protection rackets, men demanding money with menaces, loan sharks, people calling in favours at inopportune moments, people happy to smash up your success if it intruded on theirs. Even now, he shuddered at some of the memories. The man who gave his mother the paltry sum she was able to keep secret from his dad. He didn’t like to think what she might have had to do for those few measly coppers…

  He was shaken out of his reverie by Rick peering at him, puzzled.

  ‘Why are you doing this, anyway?’

  Damien smiled.

  ‘Because it’s easy. Because it’s there. Because I can.’

  9

  The following Saturday, Keith got ready for his evening at the Liddiards’ with a well-deserved but delicious sense of anticipation. He loved going to Honeycote House. It was the one place, apart from his own home, where he could truly relax and be himself. It was all down to Lucy, of course. Keith absolutely idolized her. Not in anything resembling a romantic or sexual way. He simply thought she was quite the most wonderful person to walk the earth. She’d single-handedly helped restore his self-confidence when his wife had left him by welcoming him into her home, introducing him to other people, feeding him, listening to him – being something that was rather out of fashion these days: a good friend. And he was eternally grateful. In some ways he thought that he’d come to the rescue of Honeycote Ales because of her. Of course, it hadn’t been a total act of altruism, but she had been a motivating force. He would never have felt moved to step in merely on Mickey’s behalf, or Patrick’s. But there had been something of the white knight in him that had come to the aid of the damsel in distress, because he so valued Lucy’s loyalty. And it was the thought of her that had kept him going in the darker hours when he’d panicked that he’d been mad to take on such a white elephant.

  He showered and doused himself with Polo, then put on a pair of nut-brown cords and a black cashmere roll-neck. A year ago he wouldn’t have dared wear something so snug-fitting, but the incipient paunch he’d once sported had diminished and his stomach was relatively flat now. He towelled dry his hair, which he’d had cut that morning at the barbers in Eldenbury – much shorter than he used to wear it. He checked over his appearance in the mirror and nodded with approval. Definitely a vast improvement – not exactly a babe magnet, but not bad for a man speeding towards his fiftieth year. He laced up his suede brogues and checked his watch. He wondered if Mandy would give him a lift. There was no point in kidding himself that he was going to be in a fit state to drive back. It just wasn’t possible when you went to the Liddiards’. The welcoming gin and tonic alone would be enough to give you a twelve-month ban.

  He decided against asking her. He was sure she’d say yes, but a gut feeling told him that perhaps Mandy wouldn’t want to go near Honeycote House tonight. The rift between her and Patrick was increasing, and the last thing he wanted to do was humiliate her by thrusting her into his territory.

  Keith was very worried about his daughter. She looked pale and drawn and terribly thin. And when you thought about it, it wasn’t really surprising, thought Keith. She was only nineteen, but she was holding down a responsible job which had, by her own engineering and ingenuity, become quite pressurized. Moreover, she had taken over the role as woman of the house; even though Keith had hired a reliable cleaning lady, she still took it all far too seriously for a girl her age. He supposed it was instinct, combined with her perfectionism, that made her house-proud. He had himself to blame as well. He’d cursed himself three weeks before, when he’d found her struggling in with a week’s worth of grocery shopping. He’d never really considered how time-consuming and exhausting it might be organizing provisions even just for two. He’d taken matters into his own hands at that point. He’d got straight on to the Internet, found the nearest supermarket that did home deliveries and set up an account. He compiled a weekly shopping list so that every week a supply of bread, milk, cheeses, fruit, fresh soups and pasta with sauces was delivered first thing on a Saturday morning. It was one less thing for Mandy to worry about.

  Though Keith felt at the moment that if he took away every single source of worry from her, she would find something else. She looked as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. And that wasn’t what he wanted for his little girl. She should be enjoying the best years of her life – her youth, her beauty, her freedom. What she probably needed was a holiday, but Keith could ill-afford the time to whisk her off to some Mediterranean hotspot for a bit of rest and relaxation. In fact, he couldn’t risk any time off until the Honeycote Arms was up and running smoothly, which was going to be well into the autumn by the time they’d sorted out all the teething troubles.

  Perhaps he’d have a chat with her. Even better, perhaps he’d have a chat with Patrick. He’d pay for them to go somewhere for a nice weekend. Barcelona. Great weather, good food, easy to get to. Nice shops. In his experience, most women blossomed given a temperate climate and a bit of retail therapy.

  He decided to drive himself. He could leave the car and fetch it the next morning. He’d call Jim the Taxi from the village. Jim did a roaring trade – he could name his price on a Saturday night between twelve and two, as no one in the countryside seemed capable of abstaining from alcohol and people were increasingly reluctant to risk their licences. This gave Keith a flash of inspiration – perhaps he could hire someone to drive their customers home from the Honeycote Arms at the weekends. He was sure the resulting rise in alcohol consumption would more than cover the costs, for he had often observ
ed that there was an equation which said the more people that were drinking, the more was drunk per capita. For example, a table of four, two driving, two drinking, might get through two bottles of wine, tops. But a table of four who were all drinking would demolish five bottles easily, plus aperitifs, plus liqueurs, as they all egged each other on in their cups…

  Pleased with this brainwave, Keith made a note in the Mulberry filofax Mandy had bought him for Christmas and, hoicking a bottle of St Joseph from the wine rack, headed out the door.

  Mandy waited until she heard the front door go before rolling off the bed and pulling open the wardrobe door.

  She kept telling herself that there was absolutely nothing wrong in what she was about to do. It was what normal nineteen-year-old girls were doing all over the country – going out with a load of mates. Never mind that she didn’t actually know any of the people who were going. Only Rick. She told herself it had just been a casual invitation. Not a date. And she was only going because she was bored. Fancied a change of scene and company. And because Patrick had gone to some boring black-tie cricket dinner that she hadn’t been invited to because she was a girl.

  She wasn’t sure what to wear. She didn’t want to look too dressy or too tarty. She put on a pair of distressed Diesel jeans, boots and a broderie anglaise top, and put her hair in two plaits. Happy that she looked cool, but not threatening, she picked up her mobile and texted Rick. Her finger hovered over the send button before jabbing it defiantly.

  A minute later her phone squawked, indicating she had a message. It was Rick, asking if she wanted a lift. She thought about it – she wouldn’t have to worry about where to park or how much to drink. She texted him back, giving her address. ‘CU AT 8’ came the reply.

  She wondered what sort of a car he’d have. The Merc apparently belonged to his boss. An old Ford Fiesta, she decided, with an overflowing ashtray and hundreds of parking tickets.

  A throaty roar outside the front door twenty minutes later made her rush to the window and look out. She gulped. She couldn’t have been more wrong.