by Jo Carnegie
‘Jack’s sorry he can’t come, he’s got to open up!’ she shouted across the room at Clementine. ‘He says to pop over after this and it’s drinks on the house!’
‘Wicked,’ said Calypso, who was standing by her grandmother.
‘Yes, well, let’s see how we get on, darling,’ said Clementine. ‘We don’t want people rolling home drunk. I need everyone to be on tip-top form these coming few months.’
She looked down at her carefully prepared speech. She had read it so many times she knew it off by heart. As she stepped in front of her audience, a silence fell. Clementine was the kind of woman who commanded attention. She observed the familiar faces. ‘May I take this opportunity to welcome you all here tonight, and to thank you for giving up your evening. I am sure all of you are aware of the exciting news by now, but just in case any of you aren’t, Churchminster has got through to the final of Britain’s Best Village competition!’
The room broke into spontaneous applause.
‘Bravo!’ cheered Angie Fox-Titt.
Clementine briefly glanced down at her notes. ‘I don’t need to tell you this is a huge achievement in itself. Thousands of villages entered, and to get this far is remarkable. Especially after the challenging year we have just experienced.’
Several heads in the audience nodded vigorously, including the Fox-Titts and Brenda Briggs, who’d all been badly affected by the floods.
‘Judging week is the third week in July. Which means we have roughly five months to get the village into the best shape it has ever been in! With this in mind, I would like to form a committee to make sure all the criteria of the competition are met.’ Clementine looked over her reading glasses expectantly. ‘Who would like to join?’
Hands shot up. Camilla and Calypso had already been told, before the meeting, by their grandmother, that it was obligatory to volunteer.
‘We’ll do it!’ called out Freddie Fox-Titt. On the row behind, Ted and Brenda Briggs followed suit, and so did the Bellowses. After what looked like a momentary struggle, Beryl gave up trying to get Stacey’s arm in the air, sighed and put her own up. Stacey slumped down in her seat and returned to looking out the window.
A toothy woman, with coarse blond hair pulled back in a headscarf, stood up. ‘You can count on me, Clementine!’ Lucinda Reinard was the District Commissioner of the Bedlington Valley Pony Club, and lived in a rambling house on the outskirts of the village with her husband Nico and three children. She might be a bit overbearing, but at least she could be relied on to get things done.
‘Excellent,’ said Clementine briskly. ‘I propose to hold a fortnightly committee meeting here in the hall, and I will let members know what their duties are.’ She surveyed the crowd sternly. ‘Of course, that doesn’t mean the rest of you can slack off! Every villager is responsible for keeping his or her own property shipshape. I shall be counting on each and every one of you. A huge amount is at stake.’
‘Three-quarters of a million quid!’ someone shouted.
Clementine nodded. ‘I don’t need to tell you how much this village needs that money.’ Folding up her speech, she looked round keenly. ‘So! Do you think you’ve got what it takes to make Churchminster the best village in Britain?’
‘Yes!’ they all shouted.
Clementine’s face broke into a smile for the first time. ‘Good. Now, are there any questions?’
Fifteen minutes later the meeting was over, and everyone started to file out. Over the other side of the green in the gathering dusk the Jolly Boot waited enticingly.
‘I’m going to give it a miss,’ Jed told Camilla.
Her face dropped. ‘Really? But I’ve hardly seen you all week.’
Since returning from travelling, Jed had been promoted from handyman to estate manager at Clanfield Hall. Camilla had been thrilled for him, and still was, but he was working longer and longer hours. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a night out together.
Jed kissed her softly on the lips. ‘One of the fences in a back field is down, I’ve got to go and sort it out before morning.’
‘Camilla, come on! Beryl’s said all committee members can have a glass of bubbly!’ Calypso waved at her impatiently.
Camilla glanced over, and looked back at Jed. ‘OK, sweet boy. I’ll see you later.’
Jed started to walk over to his truck. He turned back with a wink that chased away Camilla’s gloom. ‘Keep the bed warm for me.’
Chapter 5
AT CLANFIELD HALL, Frances was going through her correspondence. She was in her study, a beautiful, tastefully decorated room with high ceilings and two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on to the rolling grounds of the estate. Frances got up from her desk and went to stand at one of them; the view always made her feel good. It was another fine March day, and the muddy browns of winter were gradually being replaced by the first spring flowers and crisp shades of green.
Frances thought about the Britain’s Best Village meeting, which had been held a few days previously, and which she’d wanted to attend. Ambrose had pooh-poohed the idea so much – ‘Clanfield isn’t even in the competition, why on earth do you want to go along?’ – that Frances had thought it better not to. Besides, she would have felt a bit awkward: no one expected to see Lady Fraser turning up to a meeting in the village hall and mucking in.
In the distance Frances could see Jed driving along one of the fields in the tractor. Frances smiled; she and Ambrose had taken a gamble giving Jed the estate manager’s job after their last one had left them in the lurch, but it had paid off. It was a big responsibility, but no one had such love and innate understanding of the countryside as Jed. She was sure he’d learn quickly. Frances had always found Jed a man of few words, but he seemed a very together young man who was devoted to his girlfriend. Frances thought of her own daughter Harriet, who worked for a glossy magazine in London. Harriet and Camilla were best friends, and Frances wished her daughter could find a nice stable chap. Frances had had high hopes for an officer in the army that Harriet had been seeing, but then he’d been posted abroad and the relationship had fizzled out.
She turned away from the window. There was a huge pile of invites to stifling lunches, dinners and charity events that had to be replied to, but Frances’s normal efficiency had deserted her. Distractedly she wandered over to the radio and turned it on. A familiar song was playing, which took a few seconds to register.
Heart catcher … You’re a heart catcher
You’ve caught my heart and I don’t want it back …
Frances gave a start. The song was by a rock star called Devon Cornwall, who owned a huge Gothic house on the edge of the village. Devon had moved into the village a few years back, when his career had been on the rocks, trying to start a new life. Then he’d met Frances, and the two had started an unlikely friendship, which had eventually led to a passionate affair.
Not one other person in the world knew it, but Devon had written ‘Heart Catcher’ for her. She started singing along softly, every word seared into her for ever.
Heart catcher, you’ve stopped me in my tracks.
In that moment, it was like Devon was in the room with her. Frances felt a brief twinge of elation. She had never dreamed of being unfaithful to Ambrose, but the marriage had been in trouble for years and Frances had found her world turned upside down when Devon had come into her life. There had been a chemistry between them she’d never felt with anyone before not even her husband. It was like they were soulmates.
Their liaison had been short-lived. After much agonizing, Frances had felt she couldn’t go on living a lie, and had broken it off. Shortly afterwards, Devon’s career had picked up, and he’d been away touring pretty much ever since. They still kept in contact occasionally, with the odd text message or email, but Frances hadn’t heard from him for a while. She had told herself it was for the best: she had made the choice between Ambrose and Devon and chosen her husband. After all, it was her duty.
A tremendous
racket suddenly started outside. Frances ran back to the window and looked out. Ambrose had driven his quad bike into the new pergola. She pulled the window up and stuck her head out, Devon forgotten for the moment. ‘Ambrose! What on earth are you doing?’
Her husband looked up, blue eyes sharper than ever against his red, wind-whipped cheeks. His black-and-white sheepdog Sailor was sitting on the back of the quad, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a red ribbon. ‘Who put that bloody thing here? I could have fallen off and killed myself!’
Frances tutted. ‘You did! You told the gardener to do it last week. Don’t you remember?’
Her husband looked puzzled and let out a loud guffaw. ‘I must be going mad. Bloody stupid place to put it.’ He revved up the engine and zoomed off, Sailor hanging on with his paws for dear life.
Despite herself, Frances shook her head, smiling. Sometimes, Ambrose was like a little boy! Only last month he’d driven into a ditch after swerving to avoid a pheasant, and Jed had had to go and get the tractor to pull him out.
She turned back to the radio. ‘Heart Catcher’ had ended and Devon was gone again, some nondescript pop song playing in his wake. Frances walked over and turned the radio off. The silence was almost deafening.
She sighed and looked at the uninviting pile of letters. There was no point putting it off any longer: she was known for her prompt replies, and people expected her to attend all these things. It was what she did. ‘Duty first,’ she thought, and sat back down behind her desk.
Chapter 6
THE COMMITTEE DECIDED to call themselves the ‘Garden Party’. ‘It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’ declared Angie Fox-Titt, who’d come up with the name herself. Clementine had been appointed chairperson, and she had wasted no time in assigning committee members their duties. Litter-picking, hedge-trimming and fly-tipping duty were just a few of the things that needed to be done, and Clementine organized the whole thing with her usual military precision.
That morning, she was at Hollyhocks Cottage, Brenda and Ted Briggs’s house. It was the first of three little cottages that sat on the Bedlington Road. The floods had affected all the houses along that particular stretch especially badly. As Clementine pulled up outside, she could still see the aftermath of the devastation. Brenda’s beloved garden – which probably housed the biggest gnome collection in the whole of South West England – was still a muddy brown patch, while a tidemark ran across the front of the cottage, a permanent reminder of that dreadful week last summer.
Clementine could still remember turning up in the early hours of the morning to find the stricken Briggses coping with three feet of raw sewage and their neighbours’ used toilet paper swirling through their cottage. All Brenda’s family heirlooms, furniture and her new three-piece suite had been destroyed. The couple had literally been left with nothing. Brenda, who was the village gossip and could normally talk the hind legs off a racehorse, hadn’t been the same since.
As Clementine made her way down the path to the front door, she looked up at the roof of Hollyhocks Cottage and frowned. Brenda loved Christmas decorations as much as her garden ornaments, and the garish Santa and Rudolph were still up there from Christmas. Brenda had said it cheered her up and, ‘Lord knows I need it,’ and Clementine hadn’t had the heart to disagree up until now. But a ten-foot flashing Santa whipping Rudolph while the words ‘Ho ho ho!’ came out of his mouth in a speech bubble was not going to win them Britain’s Best Village.
Brenda took a few moments to answer the door. ‘Sorry I didn’t hear you, Mrs S-F!’ she said. ‘I’ve been giving the place a good Hoover. The insurance money finally came through, and we got the new carpets in last week.’
Clementine followed Brenda into the kitchen. The cottage still had a bare, desolate feel to it, and one room was piled up with odd bits of furniture.
‘The place isn’t how I want, but we’re getting there,’ said Brenda. She gave Clementine a weary smile.
‘Any word from Pearl?’ asked Clementine sympathetically. Pearl Potts was a sprightly pensioner who lived in the middle cottage. Her elderly terrier, Kenny, had died of a heart attack the day they were flooded. Pearl had moved out soon after, and not been back since.
Brenda’s face dropped. ‘Still at her son’s in Gloucester. Says she can’t face coming back yet, not without the four-legged little fella here. I went to see her a few weeks ago, she’s aged something terrible, you know, Mrs S-F. Says the whole thing’s put twenty years on her.’
Clementine was upset to hear that. Pearl was a longstanding member of the village, and her cleaning and gardening skills could match those of a person half her age.
‘Anyway!’ said Brenda trying to lighten the mood. ‘Can I offer you a brew?’
Clementine declined. ‘I’m just making my rounds, and I thought I’d pop in and see how you’re getting on.’
Brenda already ran a weekly bingo evening for local pensioners in the village hall once a week, and now she was starting a coffee morning for mums and babies in the café area of the village shop. This last had been Clementine’s idea: not only did it tick the ‘community spirit’ box in the BBV competition, she thought it might be an ideal way to get Brenda back on her feet again.
Her idea seemed to be paying off.
‘It’s going a treat!’ Brenda exclaimed. ‘I’ve put posters up in the shop and have been out seeing all my old mates, spreading the word. The first one is next week, should be a good turnout.’
Clementine smiled. It was so nice to see Brenda getting back to her normal self. But there was one subject that she still had to broach. ‘I noticed you’ve still got your Santa and Rudolph decoration up on the roof.’
Brenda chortled. ‘Great, isn’t it? Who says Christmas decorations are just for Christmas? Warms my cockles every time I see it.’ She gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Well, something’s got to warm me cockles since Ted put his back out!’
‘Hmmm,’ said Clementine. ‘As, er, nice as it is, I can’t help thinking it’s rather a distraction. Really rather out of keeping with the village, especially with the competition coming up.’
Brenda looked at Clementine. ‘You’re asking me to take it down?’
‘I suppose I am,’ Clementine admitted.
Brenda frowned, thinking. ‘You’re right,’ she said eventually. ‘It has been up there for six months. OK, I’ll get Ted up there when he gets back from work.’
Clementine had been expecting more resistance. ‘Excellent,’ she said, pulling her driving gloves back on. ‘Well, I’ve got a mountain of things to do so, I must be off.’
‘Talking of changing things,’ Brenda said as she led Clementine back through the cottage. ‘I’m thinking of renaming ‘Hollyhocks Cottage’ ‘Hollyoaks Cottage’. What do you think? I mean, fresh start and all that, and it is one of my favourite programmes. I got the idea when I was watching it the other night.’
Clementine had no idea what she was talking about. It sounded like a gardening programme. Why had she never come across it? It must be one of those dreadful satellite channels everyone seemed to have these days. At least Brenda could be applauded for keeping with the spirit of the competition. ‘Whatever makes you happy.’
Brenda looked chuffed to bits. ‘Hollyoaks Cottage it is, then! See you, Mrs S-F.’
‘Goodbye, Brenda.’
Chapter 7
CAMILLA AND JED were taking a walk around the Meadows, a peaceful fifty-acre woodland site on the edge of the village. For once, Jed had got home from work early, and they had decided to make the most of the lighter evenings.
They walked in companionable silence for a while. Camilla never felt the need to fill the air with unnecessary chatter when she was with Jed; he had a depth and stillness she found very peaceful.
Camilla found it bizarre to think that she’d spent all her life growing up in the same village as Jed, and yet, until three years ago they’d barely exchanged two words. She couldn’t imagine life without him now. For over two decades
they’d existed in separate worlds: Camilla in a big happy family, her life full of boarding school and skiing trips, Jed more out on the land than in school or college. Mr Bantry had run off with another woman when Jed was little, and it had been just him and his mum for as long as Camilla could remember. From what she could gather, Jed had practically bought himself up, as Mrs Bantry had worked all hours at the Hall as a housekeeper to make ends meet. Jed had always been a loner, and Camilla had wondered if his upbringing was something to do with that, but he had brushed off her enquiries, only saying his dad was dead to him and a waste of space. Jed was so self-contained and self-reliant; she’d never seen him get upset about anything.
Camilla had worried that he would feel claustrophobic in a proper relationship. She was his first serious girlfriend; in fact, make that his only girlfriend. She’d never asked him, but Camilla had the feeling there had been enough brief flings. A few whispers of gossip had floated her way over the years: an attractive divorcée from Chipping Norton, the young Cirencester riding instructor with legs up to her armpits and of course a brief liaison with Stacey at the Jolly Boot. Camilla tried to not think about that one too much. Besides, as she told herself, Jed was one of the best looking men in the Cotswolds. It was hardly surprising women were going to be interested. But no one had tamed him, no matter how hard they’d tried, until he’d confessed to Camilla – on one of their rambling walks in the early days – that he’d been in love with her for years. It was a rare show of emotion, and after that their union had come together wonderfully. They were both nature-lovers, both practical-minded and hands-on. Camilla was a natural homemaker and loved making a nest for her and Jed. Despite his physical and mental strength, she felt protective towards him; he’d been so alone most of his life, although she reminded herself that that didn’t always equate to loneliness. Still, Jed was a challenging one to figure out. Her grandmother often referred to him as the ‘Bantry enigma’.
