‘Oh, Peter…’ I took out the beautifully designed and tailored black gabardine dress. ‘I can’t accept this…’
His face fell. ‘Don’t you like it? I can always go straight back and change it if it’s not you or if it’s not your size…’
‘Not like it? No, no, it’s not that. It’s absolutely beautiful…’ I stroked the soft material and, avoiding looking at the price tag, placed it back in its carrier.
What was that old film with Demi Moore and Robert Redford when she’s in some casino and he offers to buy her the ridiculously expensive little black dress that, like me, she’d been trying on for the sheer hell of it? She’d shoved it back at him saying something like: ‘The dress is for sale—I’m not.’ Robert Redford, if I remember rightly, had taken the rejection with aplomb; Peter, I could see was upset. He took my hand, looking at me anxiously. ‘Clementine, you’re doing all this cooking for me. Please let this be a sort of payment for that. Look, I’ll go and hang it up in your room and then you can see what you think.’
*
‘Mummy, you look like a princess.’ Allegra gazed open-mouthed as I went into the little snug where she’d just come from upstairs to join Max in watching some early Saturday evening television. I’d put Allegra in the bath while I showered, and she was now squeaky clean after a day playing in the garden, already snugly ensconced in the chair she seemed to have made her own, her slippered feet resting on George’s black woolly head.
‘I thought princesses wore pink and silver, not black,’ I laughed. Izzy had lent me a pair of black high heels to go with the simple red and black shift dress I’d found in the Oxfam shop and which I’d planned to wear before Peter presented me with the ravishing dress that had now taken its place. My scruples, it seemed, were not in Demi Moore’s class, but I justified accepting and wearing of the dress by telling myself that Demi Moore had just been swanning around, gambling in some casino, while I had spent the previous seven hours or so cooking as if my life depended upon it.
‘Oh my God.’ Izzy, for once at a loss for words, suddenly appeared at the door of the snug. She said nothing for a few seconds but just stared at me. ‘Been looking for you all over. Wow, you scrub up well.’
I laughed and kissed Allegra, taking Izzy’s arm and leading her into the sitting room where I could hear voices. ‘Oh my God, Clem,’ she said once again as she stood gazing at the sumptuous décor of Peter’s sitting room. Vanessa, it appeared, had been going through a more flamboyant period just before she upped and left Peter for her Cavalier. As with Sophie’s new loft bedroom, at which I’d had a sneaky gander before getting changed, Vanessa had obviously decided it was time to get rid of the old rag-rolled walls, which according to Peter had been her stock in trade. ‘You stood still at your peril when we first moved here,’ Peter had said without a glimmer of humour. ‘Sit down and relax and you risked being rag-rolled into submission along with everything else.’
‘Oh my God, Clem,’ Izzy now whispered, for a third time and indicating with a nod of her head the man pouring wine for the two women in front of him. ‘I had the impression Peter was fair-haired—you didn’t tell me he was so dark and bloody gorgeous.’
I grinned at her. ‘He isn’t—dark I mean. That’s David Henderson. Close your mouth, Izzy—you’re showing your fillings—and I’ll introduce you to him.’
‘Hang on, I’ve lost Mel and Julian. We’ve actually been here ten minutes—Allegra was waiting and took us straight up to her room as soon as we walked through the front door. I think Mel’s still up there or got lost in all these rooms. Allegra’s in heaven, isn’t she?’
I nodded. ‘Bit worrying, really. Not reality, as you well know…’ I broke off as Peter walked in with Declan and a fair, curly-haired and very smiley man who I didn’t know.
‘Ah, Clementine. I found these two looking for a dinner party. I believe we have one planned this evening?’ Peter chortled. ‘And you must be Izzy?’ He took Izzy’s hand and squeezed it between his own, rather white, palms. ‘I’ve heard lots about you.’
‘All good, I hope?’ Izzy appeared momentarily at a loss as to what to say next as Peter continued to hold her hand.
Declan came over and gave me a kiss. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’ He looked me over appraisingly. ‘You look absolutely fabulous, Clem. Something obviously agrees with you out here in the sticks.’
‘I’m rather hoping it might be me, Dec.’ Peter chortled once more as Declan winced slightly. He hated having his name shortened to Dec—said it made him want to add ‘chair’, sing ‘… the halls with Christmas holly’ or look around for his mate Ant.
‘Clem, this is Julian Naylor.’
The smiley-faced man came over and gave me a kiss too. ‘This is so kind of you both inviting us along this evening. We’ve brought lots of goodies with us. Mel and I love France—we actually got engaged in Cannes—and we’ve just returned from another trip and brought back lots of stinky cheese.’ He proffered the Monoprix bag and laughed. ‘Just in case you were thinking the pong was my feet…’
‘Oh wow, fabulous stuff,’ I said, peering into the bag and recognising some of the cheeses we used to have on offer at La Toque Blanche. ‘You obviously know your fromages.’
‘Mais, bien sur,’ Peter giggled, joining in the conversation before recoiling slightly as the cheese odour hit the room. ‘Now, do come over and meet the Hendersons and I’ll take this bag into the kitchen.’
The two women chatting over by the window and drinking wine were obviously Mandy Henderson and Harriet Westmoreland. The taller of the two blonde women turned as we made to join them, appraising me immediately with her amazing, almost navy blue, eyes. She was stunning: long blonde hair falling to lightly tanned shoulders and an elfin face beautifully but very subtly made up to show off the incredible eyes, high cheekbones and full mouth.
‘Hi, you must be Clementine,’ the other woman said, coming forward to give me a hug. ‘It’s so lovely being invited over when Peter hardly knows us. This house is ravishing, isn’t it? And is this your little girl?’ The woman drew breath for just a few seconds to bend down and shake hands with Allegra who was, very importantly and with great seriousness, helping Max to hand round the canapés I’d made earlier that day.
‘Sorry, Clementine,’ David Henderson came over and kissed both my cheeks. ‘You don’t know Mandy, my wife. And this is Harriet Westmoreland and…’ He paused, looking over his shoulder. ‘This is Nick, Harriet’s husband.’
Nick Westmoreland smiled, unable to say anything for a moment, proffering his hand as he attempted to finish what was in his mouth.
‘Gosh, has Peter got outside caterers in?’ he finally managed. ‘These canapés are to die for.’
‘All Clementine’s work,’ David said, almost paternally. ‘I was a witness to her actually making them this morning. I think we are being party to the birth of a huge new culinary talent. I should get her autograph now, Nick—it will be worth something in a few years.’
‘That is incredibly kind.’ I laughed, embarrassed at the attention as all eyes turned on me while enthusiastic hands reached for more of the canapés, eager to verify David Henderson’s sanctioning of my cooking. ‘Wait until the end of the meal,’ I pleaded. ‘You might change your mind by then. Is there anything anybody can’t eat? Oh gosh, no one is vegetarian, are they?’ I cursed myself for not establishing this simple fact earlier.
‘Pork pies—can’t bear them,’ Harriet shuddered.
‘And tha’s a born and bred Yorkshire lass?’ Declan laughed, affecting a broad Yorkshire accent.
‘Oh, I used to adore them—plenty of mushy peas and mint sauce—until my sister Di and I raided my mum’s cupboard for jelly cubes when we were kids.’ Harriet giggled. ‘We couldn’t find any but found a bag of jelly. Very strange colour it was—we assumed it was a new brand and made a whole bowlful of the stuff and hid it in our toy cupboard to wait for it to set. I can still remember that first huge spoonful I crammed into my mouth.’
&nb
sp; ‘Oh my God, it wasn’t…?’
‘It was. Aspic jelly. That disgusting stuff they put into pork pies that sits looking accusingly at you on your plate once you’ve discarded it because it’s so revolting.’
‘You’re right,’ Mandy Henderson shuddered delicately. ‘Quite revolting.’
Harriet laughed, filled up her glass and went on, ‘But that’s not all. For you non-Yorkshire folk—’ she looked around almost accusingly at her husband, Nick, David Henderson, Declan and the Naylors ‘—the local word for a pork pie is a “growler”. Unfortunately, the term “growler” has a quite different connotation for those born and bred in certain parts of Southern Ireland.’ Harriet paused for effect. ‘A growler, to the Irish, is, erm, how do I put this delicately, is a woman’s pride and joy…’
Izzy chortled. ‘Her bits and pieces?’
‘Exactly. So when I told Lilian, our sixty-five-year-old Southern-Irish nanny, that Nick had rung from India, where he’d been working for the past two weeks eating endless curry, to say that all he could think of was coming home and getting his mouth round a “growler” she said, in that wonderful Irish lilt of hers, “To be sure, dear, your man will be after what’s his when he gets home…”.’
Ribald laughter filled the room. I liked this woman, Harriet. I wanted her to like me and be my friend. I looked across at Peter, who was looking a little worried. I saw him glance across at David Henderson and, when the great man guffawed along with the others, relax somewhat.
‘If you want to torture Julian, give him beetroot,’ a voice from behind me said. I turned to see a slim, sassily dressed brunette of around my height with beautiful brown eyes. ‘Hi, everyone, I’m Mel. Sorry, I was waylaid in Allegra’s bedroom having a little play with Barbie’s horse and her Action Man.’
‘Ooh you’re joking,’ Izzy said. ‘I love beetroot.’
‘You love the effects of beetroot on your digestive system,’ Declan grinned.
‘Too much information, Declan.’ Izzy glared at Declan but then tutted and laughed as she said, ‘I’m such a hypochondriac I spend my life looking down the loo to see if everything is as it should be. I always forget when I’ve had beetroot the day before and, for a split-second, think this is it—this is what I’ve been terrified of seeing. When I realise it’s the effects of the beetroot, and that I’m not actually at death’s door, that I am going to live to see my children grow up, the sense of relief is so great I’m on a huge high for the rest of the day. Who needs cocaine when you’ve got beetroot?’
Everyone laughed apart from Peter who looked slightly confused, if not offended; I wasn’t sure if it was the thought of Izzy peering down her loo on a daily basis or the mention of drugs that had thrown him.
‘But how can you be a doctor if you are such a hypochondriac?’ Harriet giggled.
‘It’s because I’m a doctor,’ Izzy said, almost sadly. ‘I come home with a new debilitating illness every evening after my stint at the surgery. Right, let’s move on. Where’s your leader, Peter?’
‘My leader?’
Izzy knocked back her glass of white and happily accepted the top-up that David Henderson offered. ‘I thought Clem said Thomas was coming?’
‘Thomas?’ Peter looked worried once more and glanced my way. Was this someone else I’d invited and not told him about?
‘Thomas, you know, what’s he called? Thomas Cromwell. Clem said Thomas Cromwell was coming.’
‘Bit too early in history, that one, Izzy,’ David Henderson laughed as his wife raised her eyes in a gesture of disbelief.
‘Oliver Cromwell I think you mean, Izzy…?’ Mandy said somewhat condescendingly.
‘Don’t let Izzy fool you,’ I smiled across at Mandy. ‘She knows her history better than anyone. She’s just teasing Peter. Which, Izzy, is extremely naughty of you since you’ve only just met him.’
‘Oh!’ She laughed, stroking Peter’s arm, ‘I only tease people I like. And to be honest, what with watching Mantel’s Wolf Hall on TV recently, added to the fact that this rather delicious SB is going down rather too well, I did get my Olivers mixed up with my Thomases.’
‘Actually, Peter, we do need to be eating fairly soon,’ I said. ‘Where are Neville and Hilary, do you think? They’re terribly late.’
‘I know, I know,’ Peter frowned. ‘I am a little concerned. They are coming all the way from Harrogate and I’d really rather not start without them.’
‘Dad?’ Max came into the sitting room trailing Allegra and George in his wake. ‘Oliver Cromwell’s here.’
8
Peter had insisted on laying the huge table in the dining room himself and, according to Max, had spent half the previous evening deliberating and dithering as to who should sit next to whom. Max was such a sweetie and hadn’t needed much persuading to help carry dishes to the table. I’d tied a blue checked tea towel around his waist for effect and he grinned widely at me as we crossed and re-crossed paths from the kitchen to where the guests were passing the basket of bread I’d made earlier that day.
‘Is this bread from that new artisan bakery up in the village?’ David was asking as I finally took my place at one end of the table where Peter had obviously thought I should be. ‘Charges an absolute fortune for a small loaf but it’s so good there’s always a queue outside ready to pay.’
‘Clementine made it,’ Peter said proudly, smiling down at me from his end, where he’d seated himself between who I assumed he thought were the most two important females: Mandy Henderson and Hilary Manning.
‘Well, it’s certainly better than the Mother’s Pride white sliced I had for my lunch,’ Neville Manning said, patting my knee for what seemed the fiftieth time.
‘Neville Manning, I’ve never once given you sliced bread, white or otherwise,’ his wife scolded him, her already broken-veined cheeks turning pinker as she spoke. ‘What will people think?’
‘Can’t beat a white sliced loaf every now and again.’ David Henderson smiled at Hilary as Mandy gave him a pained look of disbelief. ‘Especially toasted with Nutella or peanut butter.’
There was a lovely hum of conversation as people ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over my starter and, as they cleared their plates with gusto, I started to relax. Peter caught my eye and mouthed, ‘Well done, darling.’
Darling? Gosh I’d been promoted. Olly, catching the endearment, patted my knee once more and I shifted my legs out of the way of his clammy hand, unfortunately rubbing my right one against David Henderson’s left. I hastily centred myself and offered the breadbasket once more.
‘Clementine, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such wonderful food,’ Mel said as she put her knife and fork together. ‘Julian and I try to get over to France as often as we can and that wouldn’t have been out of place in a top French restaurant. What exactly was it?’
‘Crab with burned butter and potato mousseline,’ I smiled. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘I’m really looking forward to coming back to live up north if we’re going to find food like this,’ Mel said. ‘Apart from the fact it will take longer to get over to France—that will be one big disadvantage,’ she added ruefully.
‘Don’t admit to burning the butter, Clem,’ Izzy leaned across David and whispered theatrically. ‘Mine didn’t taste burned at all—in fact it was quite delicious.’ She pronounced it ‘wash quite delishush.’
‘Don’t give her any more wine, for heaven’s sake, or she’ll be under the table,’ I said with a grin.
‘Give her another and she’ll be under the host,’ Mel said. ‘You always could knock it back, Izzy.’
‘It’s all scurrilous lies, young man,’ Izzy sniffed, downing her drink.
‘Right, on your feet, doctor,’ I said. ‘You can come and help me clear plates.’
*
‘So,’ Izzy said as she started to load the dishwasher in what can only be described as a haphazard manner. ‘This is all wonderful, Clem. The most beautiful house I’ve ever seen, a man who is obvious
ly mad about you and, best of all, Allegra looking rosier than I’ve ever seen her.’
I looked up from putting the final touches to the pan-fried stuffed lamb cutlets. ‘Rosier? What do you mean, rosier?’
‘Well, she’s usually such a pale little thing, isn’t she? The countryside is obviously doing her good; she’s bouncy, happy… shiny.’
‘If you weren’t my friend, I’d probably be hugely offended at that,’ I said. ‘In fact, I am offended. Are you telling me she’s usually, flat, unhappy… dull?’
‘Oh, don’t go all uppity on me, Clem. All I’m saying is, I’ve never seen her so full of it all. It’s probably the dog—buy her a dog when you get home.’ Izzy scraped a plate, missing the bin with its contents.
‘Oh, now you’re being ridiculous,’ I said crossly. ‘Shh, Max is on his way to help.’
Max came into the kitchen, followed by his father. ‘Darling,’ Peter said, as Izzy raised her eyebrows and grinned at me behind Peter’s pink-shirted back, ‘that was so delicious. You are such a clever girl. I could see Hilary and Neville were most impressed. Now, what can Max and I do to help? What can we take in?’
‘I really like doing this,’ Max whispered to me as I loaded him up with a huge bowl of Ottolenghi salad. ‘I think I might be a waiter when I leave school.’
‘Good gracious, I hope not,’ Peter said, seriously. ‘I haven’t forked out all this money for your education for you to end up waiting on people.’
‘Like I do at The Black Swan, you mean?’ I said. It was my turn for raised eyebrows.
Peter’s cheeks reddened. ‘Well, no, darling… I mean, you, well… you’re just doing it until you finish university aren’t you…?’
I smiled at him. There was no point getting cross with him. I don’t suppose I’d want Allegra waiting on tables for a living. ‘Right,’ I said, patting Peter’s arm, ‘are we all ready for the second course?’
When we arrived back in the dining room I saw that Allegra was firmly ensconced on Mel Naylor’s lap, explaining how she loved George, but was really very frightened of the big scary dog living next door to her at ‘my other house’. Golly, I realised with a jolt, she’d very quickly become awfully proprietorial over Peter’s house and George.
Looking For Lucy Page 8
