“Pitta bread? Rice? Microwaved jacket potato?” Richard offered.
“Bread. Sounds quickest and easiest. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Stop that with the terribly English politeness. It is no trouble.”
She rested her chin on her forearms. “I should jump up and offer to make a hot drink…”
He eyed her. “You don’t look capable of crawling, never mind jumping. Stay right there.”
She couldn’t do anything but obey. The beginnings of a headache was starting to throb behind her eyes and she let them unfocus as Richard busied himself, spreading pitta under the grill and tipping chili into a saucepan to heat up on the hob. As it got up to temperature he put the kettle on, and laid out the kitchen table with cutlery. She was content to watch in silence, and he seemed lost in thought.
She didn’t think she even had the energy to eat, but when he pushed the steaming plateful onto the table, the aroma dragged her from the rocking chair and she slid across the kitchen to take her place. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. That should bring a bit of life back to you.”
It really was very good and she concentrated on eating, but after a few forkfuls, Richard began to speak, in a low, confessional voice.
“I was a dick earlier. A total pillock. With the microphone. I am really sorry, and I need to apologise to Vicky, too.”
“We wouldn’t have thrust it on you if we’d known you hated public speaking. It’s us that need to apologise - we didn’t think.”
“It’s not that. I’m more than happy to talk in public.”
“What, then? Oh God! Being thought of as second choice after the mayor, is that it?”
Richard shook his head. “Not even that. This is going to sound really bad.” He pushed a lump of meat around the plate with some wadded-up pitta bread. His face was red from the chili, and perhaps more than the spices. “It was the idea of being someone of local importance.”
“But you are. It’s your land. Everything is your land. You’re like some kind of steward…” she bit off her speech. Harbouring pagan fantasies while trying not to set fire to her own kitchen was one thing, but sharing her daft ideas with him was something else entirely.
“I didn’t earn any of this. It’s an accident, a co-incidence, a fault of genetics and circumstance. I didn’t choose it.”
It was Helena’s turn to push her food around her plate as she thought about what he said. “Are you an only child?”
“Yes. And I’ve always resented being the only one, and having all the family’s expectations heaped upon me. You know parts of this already. That I went off to London to study and tried to be different, be myself, until I had to come home. I suppose I thought I could escape my destiny but when dad died and mum got ill, I realised I couldn’t.”
“But you came back for your mum, not for the title,” Helena argued. “Or am I missing something?”
“My mum is the title. She’s always had grandiose ideas about it. I mean, it’s not even a proper aristo title, but she’s always taken it very seriously. So I had to, too. It’s more than the name. It’s the place we have in the village, in the community. Although today I think I saw…”
“What?”
Richard stood up and thrust his chair back violently, the wooden legs scraping on the tiles. “Whiskey? Wine? Beer? Cider?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“We never should. Let’s, anyway.”
“What wine do you have?”
He paused, halfway to a door that led to some mysterious part of the house, and grinned wolfishly. “Whatever you want. I am a drunken lord, remember.”
“Red… something spicy?”
“Shiraz. Coming right up.”
She had finished her meal by the time he reappeared with a bottle of red wine. It had a classy white and gold label, all scrolling calligraphy and unfeasible description. He poured two glasses and she sniffed it. Just the aroma was warming.
“Cheers.”
He sat back down and took a swig. She waited for him to continue.
Richard sighed heavily. “Today, I saw community. I saw you as part of the local community, surrounded by people. I thought I didn’t want that - I don’t want that. And then, I was jealous, because it looked like you had what I wanted and didn’t want. It’s a mess and it shouldn’t be.”
“You are really over-thinking it,” she said. Probably living up here on your own, nothing but your own thoughts and memories and a huge wine cellar. It’s bound to encourage this sort of thing.
“Perhaps.” He moved his chair around the table, bringing him at right angles to her, knees close together. He leaned forward. “I need to tell you something, Helena.”
She felt a revelation looming, and tried to compose her face into what she hoped was a patient, accepting expression, rather than the unbridled curiosity that she was actually feeling. The unworthy, gossipy part of her was hoping for something juicy to scandalise Vicky with.
“Go on,” she said quietly.
“It’s hard to say because everything seems to be changing. Basically, and don’t laugh, basically, I made a vow.”
“You’re a monk?”
He shot her a look that pinned her back in her chair. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Go on.”
“I hated growing up under all the expectations laid on me. All the heritage and lineage and the family must go on. So I decided that the line must die out. The title must disappear and the manorship dissolve. It ends. It ends with me.”
“What are you saying?”
“No girlfriends, no wives, no mistresses, no children, no relationships, nothing. I am the last Lord of the Manor of Arkthwaite.”
“Oh.” Helena sipped the wine and tried to process what she’d just heard. “Oh.”
“I suppose that’s not quite what you were expecting.”
“No. I don’t know what I did expect but it wasn’t that. So you never dated, or had any girlfriends or anything?”
He puffed out his cheeks wearily. “Well, I did, of course I did. University was a riot, really. But not up here, no. Not once I came back and I had a lot of thinking to do, and there were quite a few arguments with my mum. That’s the cruelty of dementia. The sufferers have mood swings, and in the early stages, she knew what was happening to her. So she put a lot of pressure on me to meet someone and settle down… while she was still aware enough. She wanted…” his voice broke a little and Helena instinctively put out her hand, covering his, trying to calm him. He sniffed, and continued. “She begged to see me married before… what she knew was going to happen to her. But I couldn’t do it. I have deprived her, and she couldn’t forgive me, and it’s too late now anyway. And I stick by it. My vow. I wouldn’t want any children of mine to go through this. To carry this burden. It’s wrong.”
“But you’re wrong, on so many levels!” Helena insisted, appalled. “For a start, how do you know that any potential partner wants to have kids herself?”
He blinked at her like the question had never been asked before. “Because that’s what women want…”
“Oh for goodness’ sake. Really? Don’t make assumptions. And secondly, you’re also assuming that you will act towards your kids - if you had them - like your parents acted towards you. Aren’t you?”
“I suppose so. But even if I didn’t, even if I said to them, to go off and do whatever they wanted, the title follows. And what about the land? My tenants?”
“And what happens when you die?”
“It… I… I don’t know. The title goes. Some rich fat-cat can buy it if they like, as a vanity title. I guess the land is sold. The money goes to distant family members? The Crown? I am not sure, but at least it’s not foisted on to an unwilling heir. And I can’t sell it, of course, not least while my mum still lives, such as she does.”
“There must be another way. So you live up here on your own, drinking and sulking, and waiting to die?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He moved his hand, twisting it out from under hers, and instead clasping around her fingers. He held her hand closely and looked her in the eyes. “That was the plan, anyway.”
“And now…”
“I don’t know. The plan is changing. I still don’t want anyone to inherit this title. But I don’t think I want to sit up here, drinking and sulking and waiting to die, as you say. I…” he licked his lips nervously, and gave a short laugh. “Helena, I’d like to get to know you better.”
“But with the condition that I don’t suddenly start getting broody and demanding you impregnate me?”
His eyebrows shot up at that and he laughed in shock. “If you have to put it quite so bluntly! Well, yes. Don’t do that!”
“I won’t. To be honest with you…” she tailed off. Was she ready to be as honest with him as he had been with her? “To tell you the truth, there are various reasons I moved here, and intending to stay single was one of them.”
“Can I ask why?”
She didn’t want to talk about it but she knew she owed it to him. “Well, it’s quite complicated, but I’m obviously not the marrying-kind for a start. I mean, well, I was jilted. I mean, a proper, standing at the altar, waiting, situation.”
“Good God.”
“Mm-hm. That’s the usual reaction.” She let out her breath. “So there’s that.”
“It doesn’t follow that you’re not the marrying kind!”
She gave him a long look and quirked the corner of her mouth. Hastily, he said, “I didn’t mean, I mean, I’m not proposing or anything…”
“I didn’t think you were. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It’s the past. It’s over, and I’m moving on.”
“You’re saying all the right things, but how do you feel?”
She shrugged. “Honestly? It had been a mistake from the start and it confirmed a lot of things I had thought about myself, and relationships. I can kind of understand about the family pressure. My mother… has always wanted me to live up to certain expectations that I just can’t. And the wedding was a symbol of that.”
Helena wrestled her hand out from his grasp, and took another mouthful of wine. She glanced up at the clock, and he followed her gaze.
“Yes, it’s late,” he said, pre-empting her. “Shall I call you tomorrow?”
“Not too early! I think this wine is going to go straight to my head. And hadn’t you promised me a lift home?”
“Shit.” He looked at his now-empty glass. “It’s not worth the risk for half a mile, is it? I can make you up a bed.”
She giggled and leaned forward, dipping her head so he couldn’t see her smile. “No, don’t be daft. I can walk back. It’s fine. The chili has done me the world of good, like you said it would.”
“I did mean in a spare room…”
“It’s okay! Honestly. You’re acting like I expect you to leap on me or something.”
“You reacted like that before.”
“I did.” Helena nodded and sighed. “I did, and it was silly of me, and not related to you. Just my own daftness. I had a lot going on in my head at that time.”
“Will you let me walk you home?”
“Yes.”
They rose to their feet and he went off to find her boots. When they were ready to leave, he said, “And will you let me hold your hand?”
“Stop it now!”
“What?”
Helena laughed and pushed at his upper arm. “Stop with all the exaggerated politeness. Please. I’m fine with this. With taking it slowly and seeing where it leads. We don’t need to negotiate a little plan for each step, do we?”
“I’m out of practise,” he complained, rubbing his arm and pouting.
“Relax. Go with the flow.”
“But then things like this happen.”
“Like what?” she asked, and then he was upon her, stepping forward and gathering her into his arms. She had no fight in her, and no desire to fight. She let his embrace hold her tight against his broad chest, and when he dipped his head to kiss her, so lightly and so gently, she squeezed her eyes shut and let herself fall into the moment, storing away every sensation of his breath and his heartbeat and his fire, into her memories for ever.
* * *
When Helena got to the school field around mid-morning the next day, she was amazed to see the clean-up operation was nearly complete. The WI in particular had been out in force, and an army of brow-beaten husbands and sons were trudging across the grass with rubbish bags, while Henderson was supervising the removal of the rented portaloos.
Vicky was sorting through a pile of lost property. Everything had been labelled as it was handed in, with time and place, and she was making a list to photocopy and put up around the village. She was wearing what appeared to be four layers of varying lace garments, in differing lengths, like she’d had a fight in an alternative clothing shop. And come off second to a clothes rail.
“Morning! You’re a bit late to do anything,” Vicky said cheerfully as Helena approached. The lost property was spread over a folding table she’d set up in the school car park.
“Sorry. I just overslept.”
“No bother. So did I. I got here half an hour ago, and everyone was already at it! I nearly cried. Actually I think I did, a bit, but that’s because Henderson bust the lock on the gates to be able to back the trailer in. He’s already done one run to the local tip.”
“Wow. I’m feeling kinda overwhelmed myself. We did it! And no major disasters. I think I’m in a daze.”
Vicky ruled a line at the bottom of the page and straightened up. “I know. It does feel odd. But we have to remember that this is only the start.”
“Have you any idea how much we’ve raised so far?”
“Not a clue. It’s going to take a while to get all the takings in, and there are a few things to pay out for when the invoices come in. But I am pretty sure, with my rough estimates, that we’ve got over half of what we need to buy cables and techie stuff. Well over half, I’m sure of it.”
“Wow,” Helena said again. “My head is mashed. You know, I barely slept last night. Or I didn’t feel as if I slept, at any rate.”
“Me too. I thought I was going to collapse unconscious but once I was lying in bed, my mind was buzzing.” Vicky started putting the lost property in a cardboard box. The portaloo lorry chugged away, and one by one the helpful WI ladies and their minions drifted home. The field, now scuffed and churned, was returned to normal. Not a scrap of bunting littered the grass.
“Mind you,” Vicky said, as they carried the box into the school hall. “I wonder what else might have been disturbing your sleep?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Helena replied loftily, in exactly the calculated kind of smugness that suggested she had every understanding of what Vicky meant.
“Well, Tom told Henderson who told me that Richard, our glorious lord, was seen carrying you over his shoulder like he was taking you back to his manor for Prima Nocta.”
“For what? And I wasn’t over his shoulder, anyway. He was, um, just carrying me normally.”
“There is no normal way of carrying someone. Prima Nocta - you know, the rights of a lord to have his way with the serfs on his land.”
“I’m not a serf. And I am pretty sure that right doesn’t really exist.”
“It should,” mused Vicky. “I looked it up once. There was another one, the right of a lord to disembowel his serfs to keep his feet warm.”
“That’s sick.”
“It’s probably not true. But you should ask him, the next time you see him.”
“How do you know I’ll be seeing him again?”
Vicky grinned. “Well, you’ve got to, now, to ask him about the disembowelling thing.”
They brought the folding table inside and Vicky sighed heavily as she looked around. “Come on. I’ve got some cakes and sausage rolls that the WI ladies gave me. Shall we go for a walk? Have you found the waterfall yet?”
“No, I haven’t. Rea
lly, a proper waterfall? I would like to see that. Okay then. Lead on.”
Vicky locked up carefully. Henderson had left a new padlock so she could make the field secure, and they rambled out of the village together, heading first towards the main road.
The busy A-road went east to Ingholme, and west further onto the moors and more tiny villages, climbing higher and higher before dropping the other side of the hills and to larger towns once more. Most of the homes were on the side roads but the main road was where the pub, The White Hart, lay, with a vast car park and daily specials of home-cooked food. Spenser was watering the glorious hanging baskets that hung from the eaves, and waved frantically to them as they passed. He was wearing lurid floral shorts and a bright green singlet, and his skin was deeply tanned in a way that spoke of sunbeds.
“How was yesterday?” he yelled.
Helena and Vicky crossed the road at a shambling run. “It was fantastic,” Vicky told him. “But why weren’t you there? I’m hurt.”
“Business. Ray was going to pop across but then our barmaid phoned in sick, and I’m sure it was because she wanted to go to the fete. We just couldn’t make it. And we were busy because I think a lot of people travelled in from Ingholme and beyond for it, and then they popped in to us, so that was great.”
“Oh, I am glad!”
“Well, we think you’re doing a marvellous thing. So good of you.”
“Aww, thanks.”
He waved them off with a hearty grin. “Go on with you, now!”
Vicky led Helena along a marked path that followed the road for a little way before branching off and heading towards a wooded hill. “I have to ask,” Helena said as they pottered along the dry path. “Did they encounter any homophobia when they took over the pub? I’m just thinking, you know, small village and all that.”
“I don’t know. Well, yeah, there was gossip and stuff. People said things but that was mostly ignorance. They said things to each other, and I think it’s because they were testing it out, and they didn’t want to say anything directly to Ray and Spenser because ultimately everyone’s pretty polite around here. No one really wanted to cause offence but yeah, some of the folk were a bit… disconcerted. It was funny, actually. I remember some of the parents mentioned it to me in horror, like they’d suddenly find seven-foot drag queens dancing through the streets or something. They only had stereotypes from the media to go on. One old chap, Jake, told me he’d been quite disappointed that the pub didn’t change too much; it just smartened up and the food improved. He had been hoping for, I dunno, a bit more sparkle.”
Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles) Page 51
