LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Tuesday 11th September
11.55p.m. Apologies, another late evening posting—as the final week progresses, the hours become busier. It is strange to think that on this coming Saturday the winner of Million Dollar Mansion will be announced.
What an unforgettable experience this has been. I’ve discovered new friends— and foes. Today, Charlie Chingo asked me what I’d learnt about life from taking part in the competition. My reply? That one is never too old to be surprised by people, or to surprise oneself…
Now, to yesterday’s poser question. Dear blog-readers, I confess I tricked you, as all three suggested answers hold some truth. Congratulations, Blogger 569 – the first option is true and it, erm, was me. A cool night-time swim with someone… jolly special, might not seem revolutionary to everyone, but let’s just say if my mother knew, she’d clap her hands that her “uncompromising” son had finally, and um literally, for want of a better phrase, “chilled out”.
Historybuff, you were also right to choose the second suggestion and well done, your research was spot on – the very first Earl of Croxley did lose his life fighting for the woman of his dreams. Whilst his relationship with his wife, Margaret, was considered quite happy, his personal journals revealed a secret affection for Elizabeth the First, who awarded him our estate in 1588. In the late 1590s he lost his life when she sent him to Ireland to fight against yet another uprising.
Lovehotnoble, I’m erm, flattered, you can relate to the third answer and would abandon your family to be with me. A Miss Gracie Croxley did this in the eighteenth century. She ran off one night with a young engineer who believed he could make his fortune in the newly colonized India. Eventually he became a powerful railway magnate. Gracie never returned to Applebridge Hall, but regularly sent long letters to her mother, along with parcels of spices and silk.
Right, tomorrow will be an awfully busy day, and I may not post until the evening again. However, I promise to at least report back here on the engagement party, whilst it is ongoing, so as to give you loyal blog-readers some exclusive bits of news.
Now, on a culinary note, Iet me finish this evening’s post by confessing I’ve acquired a passionate liking for cheeseburgers, potato wedges and toffee ice cream swirls. Apologies, Father, if this news gets back to you – I expect no approval. But I’m beginning to believe that, once in a while, it’s important to let your hair down.
Chapter 26
Poo. (Okay, not the coolest word, but better than the unladylike alternative.)Today it was going to hit the fan. How did I know? The expression on Gaynor and Roxy’s faces.
Right from the off, when I turned up in the kitchens early, to introduce myself to the three very nervous Food Tech GCSE students, it was obvious something was up. Roxy offered me the last of her favourite toffee bonbons and Gaynor clapped me on the back – normally she saved all physical contact for Edward. Both beamed brightly and now and again shook their heads. It was obvious, due to their girlish winks, that Nick had been in contact with them and fully explained our attempts to sex-up Applebridge.
I broke into a sweat, just thinking about who else he could have told that the Facebook excitement wasn’t just all down to rumour. My stomach hurt, as if I’d eaten the chilli strawberries instead.
Somehow, I managed to get through the morning’s cookery lesson – especially as Jean had been into town early and brought back the papers— they revealed nothing, yet, about my movie exploits. Then, after sandwiches in the Parlour with the Earl and Lady C, I concentrated on helping Henrietta set up in the Drake Diner.
What light relief! She did an awesome imitation of the Queen’s voice and told me stories about knowing Edward when he was younger. Mr Thompson and Jean set up the flowers and chairs outside. Annabel worked closely with Henrietta, laying out cutlery to the exact millimetre.
Perhaps Mum and me would have gelled like that. I could have confided in her about this charade and reckon she’d have approved, even given me some tips and thought it a great laugh.
Fifty folded napkins later, that afternoon, the sun shone brightly as if the Indian summer was doing a quick encore.
‘You’ve done a mega job, Kathleen,’ I said. We were in the kitchen. She’d spent the afternoon with the students, making even more canapés for tonight. At her request, I passed her a ‘wee dram of something strong’, to give her a second wind.
‘Where are the high school girls now?’ I asked.
She took a sip. ‘Och, they worked their socks off, so I sent them off to explore, as long as they come back, in their waitressing outfits, by six o’clock sharp.’
‘Champagne cocktails to start, this evening?’
Kathleen nodded and looked at her watch. ‘Guests will arrive from seven. That gives you two hours to get dressed. The caterers are already setting up. Henrietta and the Viscountess are changing in the guest rooms. The Viscount will arrive before long. Lieutenant Mayhew had a business meeting but promised his fiancée that he’d be here before their friends. The jazz band is already in the dining room, tuning up.’
‘Wicked,’ I said half-heartedly, and suddenly gave a big sigh.
‘Everything okay, lassie?’
‘Not really,’ I muttered, dreading tomorrow’s episode of Million Dollar Mansion, when Nick would no doubt reveal all. Today he was probably milking his fifteen minutes of fame, meeting all sorts of hacks and doing everything possible to earn dosh out of his time at Applebridge Hall.
‘Och, I can’t keep up with you young people,’ she said, and smoothed down her curly grey-red hair. ‘Take His Lordship, Edward – at the weekend he had the mood of a Loch Ness monster who’d finally been caught on film. Yet now he’s strutting around like some caber-tossing champion. I just heard him whistling.’ She sucked in her cheeks. ‘You’d think it was him getting engaged and not the Lieutenant.’
Ooh, nice mental image— I could just imagine Edward in a kilt.
‘Ignore me – just tired… I can hardly think straight.’ I gave Kathleen a hug and, before she could tick me off for being a silly lassie, headed for my room. Yet, door closed, I threw myself onto the bed and fought the urge to slip into my Gemma clothes and do a runner. The thought of embarrassing the Croxleys had become torturous. I’d grown to love the sprawling ivy across Applebridge Hall’s crumbling walls. The maze and orchards felt like old friends and I felt mega relaxed sitting quietly by the pond. The cosy Parlour reminded me of Dad’s house and those portraits in the Long Gallery somehow brought out the best in me, I reckoned, like nothing had before.
An hour later, however, I was still in the building, washed, dressed as a lady. Making sure a few strands hung down in seductive ringlets, I’d pinned up my hair and put on an awesome dress lovely Lady C had bought me. It was bottle-green taffeta with a modest diamanté-edged slit up the side and cinched-in waist. Although still more Desperate Dan than Desperate Housewives, I’d never looked so slim. The sleeves were short and puffed up just enough to give my shoulders a mega good outline. Lady C also lent me a sparkly choker. Forget Million Dollar Mansion – I felt like a trillion pounds. Hey, I finally owned an outfit that Abbey would want to borrow off me!
‘Goodness me, you look quite charming, Abbey,’ said Lady C as I walked into the Drake Diner. She and the Earl stood by the long buffet table, admiring the food the caterers had put out. They tapped their feet to the background jazz.
‘Decent effort you’ve made, young lady,’ said the Earl gruffly.
‘James! You can do better than that,’ said Lady C and pushed him gently on the shoulder.
‘Yes, well – you’re a jolly pretty girl.’ He cleared his throat and leant out to pat my arm. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without you, to be honest, Abigail. This last week or so, you’ve brightened up the show and… Applebridge Hall. It’s been good for Edward to have some young Croxley blood around. Your father… He must have done something right, to have produced a girl like you. I imagine Dickie is very prou
d.’
Wow – he almost sounded fond of his brother. Lady C gazed at the floor, while I kissed the Earl on his bristly cheek. He muttered something about checking that Mr Thompson knew where to let the guests park. As the Earl left the room, the Hamilton-Brown women swept in.
‘What a super dress,’ I said to Henrietta, who wore a crimson one-sleeve floor-length gown and a ruby-red pendant.
‘That’s sweet of you, Abbey, thank you. Do allow me to return the compliment. Where did you buy that outfit? It’s exquisite.’
‘Um… how kind. My aunt bought it as a present.’ My stomach gurgled as I ogled the food. Wow. ‘That nosh is mega amazin’,’ I muttered.
Henrietta giggled.
‘Do, um, excuse my turn of phrase,’ I said and cleared my throat. ‘Gemma, my flatmate, has more influence on me than I imagined. But seriously – I love your choice of dishes for the buffet.’
‘Really? I am pleased. Robert and I thought we’d be traditional and stick to English fare.’
They’d certainly done that and my mouth watered as I studied the bacon and egg tartlets. There were bangers and mash vol-au-vents and mini Yorkshire puds filled with beef and roast spuds. As for the puddings…tiny trifles, Union Jack fruit pastries and mini scones oozing with cream and jam.
‘Shh!’ Henrietta winked at me and picked up two of the mini scones. She handed one to me and we both turned away from Lady C and the Viscountess while we chomped them down. Who would have thought the Viscount’s daughter knew how to be unladylike?
‘It’s very good of you, Henrietta, to have your engagement party here,’ I said in between mouthfuls. ‘Robert’s support is bound to pull in more voters for us.’
‘We both have an enormous amount of respect for Edward and his father – as you clearly do.’
‘Of course.’
‘You’ve sacrificed your time to help out,’ she said and eyed me closely. ‘And I know things between your father and Lord Croxley haven’t always…’
‘… run smoothly,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘I’m so glad you are here, Abbey. I have the feeling you and I are going to be such good friends.’ She beamed at me and I managed to smile back.
‘Since your arrival,’ she continued, ‘Edward, he’s less… contained. Less…’
‘Uptight?’
She glanced sideways at me. ‘Exactly. You’ve been a tonic. Clearly, you understand him well. Dear Abbey.’ She slipped on arm around my waist and squeezed tight.
‘Come along, Henrietta,’ said Annabel. ‘It’s a quarter to seven. Roxy just told me Robert is upstairs changing and your father is helping James sort out the parking. Let us wait at the main entrance, in case some of the guests are early. Constance says some cameras are set up there, to film us greeting any arrivals.’
‘Showtime!’ I muttered to Henrietta.
Her eyes crinkled before she followed her mother out to the front entrance. My feet itched to dance, even though the music was what Dad would call ‘old hat’. Yet it was kind of romantic and I could just picture me and Edward smooching under the stars… Deep sigh. I turned to look at the band, yet was instead met by… Wowsers—an amazin’ sexy sight.
‘Cousin. You look… delightful,’ said Edward.
Blimey – that was quite a compliment from him. And forget popping candy, we were talking firecrackers, as I ogled him in his sharp black tux, pristine white shirt and tailored trousers. Forget Hollywood, Applebridge was home to the lushest hunk in the world.
At that moment, Roxy touched my shoulder and asked for a quick word. Reluctantly, I left Edward, to follow her outside to the patio, as guests started to file into the room. We headed for the tables, which were set up in the sunshine with vases of cream flowers mixed with green leafy stuff. Chatting ten to the dozen, the three GCSE students stood there in uniform.
‘You’d better get in,’ I said to them. ‘Those delicious canapés you made will need serving.’
Roxy glanced around, as if to check that we were quite alone.
‘Nick worked hard on this vegetable patch, didn’t he?’ she said.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You know that he handed in his notice, don’t you, Roxy?’
‘Yes. Just before he went, we had a chat. Blazing angry he was and called your cousin all sorts. He mumbled something about revenge being sweeter than pineapple…and he was smirking.’
‘How odd,’ I said, cheeks feeling hot. Shiiii – sugar.
‘I just wanted to warn you… That angry look of his, I’ve seen it before. A couple of years ago I worked on a documentary about some art gallery. An artist had his work rejected by the owner. Deluded as hell, he said he was the next Damian Hirst. I caught his face just before he left – the same expression as Nick’s. That night the gallery was torched.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, all thought of yummy food and romantic dancing suddenly forgotten.
‘Just be careful. And…remember, lots of people, me included, think you’re really fab. What with the lawnmower and fountain…. The fridge… Good actress or what. I know you’ve done everything for the right reasons…’
I stared vacantly, not sure what to say – admitting nothing.
‘Right.’ Roxy smiled. ‘Must go—just heard Lieutenant Mayhew’s voice. Charlie Chingo is supposed to kick off the evening with a quick interview with the happy couple.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Good luck tonight.’
Mouth dry, I followed her back inside. At least the outfits were a distraction. Henrietta and Lieutenant Mayhew’s friends were either in uniform or cocktail dresses that swished and sparkled, with dreamy shoes to match. Slightly out of place, two old ladies sat in a corner, in pastels and pearls. I headed over. The jazz music played just loud enough so that the rhythm got into your feet but you didn’t have to shout to make yourself heard.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ I said. ‘May I introduce myself? I am—’
‘No need to tell us, dear,’ said the shorter one, wearing thick pink rouge. ‘Miss Abigail Croxley. Such a lovely young lady, you are. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching your cookery lessons.’
The other woman, in a smart trouser suit (was that a purple rinse?) stood up and kind of bowed.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she said in a bubbly voice ‘I’m Brenda – that’s Shirley, my sister— we won the competition to join these celebrations. Out of all the thousands who rang up to answer the million dollar question, our phone number was picked.’
‘Congratulations!’ I said. ‘What was the question about—Applebridge Hall’s history or a scene from the show?’
Brenda shook her head. ‘Nothing so difficult.’
‘It was: which show is the favourite programme of the American businessman putting up the prize money for Million Dollar Mansion?’ said Shirley. ‘Downton Gabby, Downton Tabby or Downton Abbey?’
‘See, not much skill involved to win,’ said Brenda and we all smiled.
‘Is someone looking after you both?’ I asked as neither of them had a drink.
‘Oh, don’t worry about us, dear,’ said Shirley. ‘That nice Gaynor woman said she’d be back in a moment.’
Yeah, right. There she was, black bob girlishly flicking from side to side as she flirted with Edward.
‘How about champagne cocktails?’ I said and called over one of the GCSE students, who carried a tray bearing full glasses, moonwalker-slow. Clearly, she was terrified of spilling a drop.
‘Thank you, dear. It’s a wonderful building,’ said Shirley and took a sip of her drink.
‘Would you like a behind-the-scenes tour?’ I asked. If I stayed one minute longer I’d be tempted to throw my cocktail over Gaynor. Ahem. Not that I was the jealous sort, of course.
The old women’s eyes widened.
‘Follow me,’ I said. ‘Bring your cocktails. We can start off in the library.’
As it turned out, both sisters were huge fans of countless antiques TV shows. What’s more, over the years they’d visited practically a
ll of the National Trust’s stately homes. They pointed out a cubbyhole in one of unused bedrooms and informed me it was probably for hanging wigs, centuries ago. Servants would have cleaned them with arsenic powder to kill the nits. Ick!
They cooed over ornate door frames and lovingly ran fingers over intricately carved banisters. They explained how bedrooms leading off the Long Gallery wouldn’t have been popular due to the noise at night when people exercised up there, or sat and chatted until all hours. In awe, they admired the grandfather clock in the Low Drawing Room and nodded knowingly as I pointed out leaking ceilings and crumbling stonework.
By the time we got back, the guests were eating and I left Brenda and Shirley helping themselves to the bacon and egg tartlets. The Lieutenant and Henrietta were laughing with Edward. Lady C danced with the Viscount while his wife shimmied with the Earl. The students huddled in a corner with mini trifles and I gave them the thumbs-up across the room.
I took a glass of white wine from Mr Thompson who, armed with a tray of drinks, patrolled the party. Then, balancing a plateful of food in the other hand, I headed outside. A ladylike helping, of course – not like the pyramid of salad I would build from Pizza Parlour’s free salad bar. As I approached the French windows, a man’s voice shouted from behind, ‘Get off me!’ It must have come from the hallway.
I turned around. Shit (forget all earlier comments about not swearing). It-hitting-the-fan time was here.
Dressed in designer jeans and a shirt, Nick stumbled into the dining room. He shook off the two men hired to guard the main entrance. Mr Thompson put down his tray, hurried over and grabbed his shoulder.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ said Nick in a loud voice.
As horrified gasps circled the room, the band stopped playing.
‘Watch your manners!’ said Lieutenant Mayhew, by Nick’s side within seconds. He looked at me. ‘Edward nipped to the library, Abbey – please go and fetch him.’
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