by Jo Carnegie
Clementine eyed her granddaughter. There was some sort of stain from lunch on the front of her string vest, and her hair looked like it hadn’t come into contact with a brush for a while. ‘Darling, are you sure you’re not working yourself too hard? You look a bit rundown.’
‘I’m cool, I just didn’t realize running your own business was such hard work. Though hopefully, if things keep going like this, I can take someone on next year.’
Calypso was normally the most sociable of her three granddaughters, but Clementine couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a night out.
‘Why don’t you go out? See some friends.’
Calypso shook her head. ‘I’m about business, not pleasure, these days. That extends to my love life as well. I might as well be a nun.’
‘I’d rather not know, thank you,’ said Clementine.
A phone started ringing upstairs.
‘Shit, that’ll be them!’ said Calypso, flying out the door. Clementine could hear pounding up the stairs again and the door to Calypso’s office slamming shut. Clementine winced as the house shuddered, but she didn’t really mind. She was awfully proud of what Calypso was achieving.
A few seconds later Clementine’s own phone started ringing. She reached over the desk and picked up the receiver. ‘Churchminster 498.’
The voice at the other end needed no introduction.
‘My dear Clementine,’ exclaimed Veronica Stockard-Manning. ‘How wonderful to hear you! After all these years.’
Clementine sat up straight in her chair. Veronica’s over-modulated tones seeped into her ear like treacle.
‘Family keeping well? I had to ring up and offer my congratulations, you’re in esteemed company, you know, getting through to the final of Britain’s Best Village!’
‘Quite,’ replied Clementine acidly.
‘I was rather surprised, I must admit. I hear the place has been left looking like Armageddon after the flooding. But still, it was nice of them. You know, the head judge Marjorie Majors is a close friend of mine. Typical of old Marjorie to bestow charity where it’s needed.’
Clementine was in no mood to listen. ‘Was there anything in particular you wanted, Veronica?’
Veronica laughed. ‘Just a few friendly words of support! We’re all in this together.’
Clementine was about to end the conversation when Veronica stopped her dead in her tracks.
‘Of course, you’ll be really up against it with this film crew arriving. I would never have agreed to such a thing for Maplethorpe, although I suppose we aren’t as desperate as you for the money.’
Clementine couldn’t hide her astonishment. ‘How do you know about the film crew? It’s only just been agreed.’
Veronica laughed. ‘Oh, don’t expect me to reveal my sources. Let’s just say I heard it through the grapevine.’
If Veronica had expected Clementine to start begging to find out, she was wrong. ‘Goodbye, Veronica,’ she said.
‘Goodbye, my dear!’ said Veronica. ‘And good luck.’ She couldn’t resist a final put down. ‘You’re certainly going to need it.’
Chapter 9
CAMILLA FLOPPED DOWN in the Laura Ashley chair by the fireplace. Around her the little cottage sparkled and gleamed like a shiny new ten pence piece. She had spent the last three hours doing a thorough spring clean. All the cupboards in the kitchen had been scrubbed. Every window had been cleaned. Carpets had been Hoovered, wooden floors mopped and beams dusted. A scent of fresh pine and lemon wafted though the building like a blast of spring. With the help of Jed’s toolkit, Camilla had even mended the broken lock on the downstairs loo. She had always been the most practical of the three sisters.
Looking round, it was hard to believe that the room had ever been under six inches of water. The walls had dried out, and the tidemarks had been painted over. Camilla counted herself one of the lucky ones that only the living room, which was slightly lower than the rest of the downstairs, had been affected. Her mother, always an alarmist, had offered to stump up tens of thousands to have the whole cottage floodproofed, but to her surprise, Camilla had said no. Even Clementine had urged Camilla to take up her parents’ generous offer, but Camilla had explained she would feel uncomfortable, when everyone around her was struggling to cope. Especially as she was one of the least affected; it would be like rubbing people’s noses in it. Until a solution had been found for the whole village, Camilla was prepared to rely on sandbags and goodwill like the rest of them. Significantly, Clementine had backed down.
Normally a good bout of cleaning left her with a feeling of satisfaction, but Camilla was still fidgety. She reached over for her mobile and called her sister. Maybe Calypso fancied lunch in the Jolly Boot.
The phone went straight to voicemail. She was probably in a meeting with clients. Calypso had barely been at home since she’d started Scene Events, and so her famously messy ways had not unleashed themselves on the cottage much. Camilla wouldn’t have believed it, but she missed the ashtrays of overflowing fag butts, dirty plates, and fishnet tights hanging off the radiators.
She decided to call Jed instead, and was pleasantly surprised when he answered. Jed hated having a mobile and rarely took it out with him.
There was a lot of engine noise in the background and she could hear the ‘beep beep’ of a lorry reversing.
He had to shout to be heard. ‘Camilla? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine!’ Camilla said. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Was there anything?’
‘I just wondered what you wanted for dinner tonight.’
‘I’m easy. You know I’ll eat anything you give me.’
‘How about some kind of chicken dish? I’ll use some of the herbs from the garden.’
‘Great! Look, I’ve to go …’
‘See you tonight. I love you.’
‘Love you too, Cam. See you later.’
Camilla put the receiver down happily. Jed was working so much at the moment, it was a treat to have him back for dinner at a reasonable time. She loved having a busy house, looking after people and feeding them with hearty home-cooked dinners. For a moment she envisaged their children sitting expectantly round the kitchen table, filling the room with their laughter and chatter while she stirred a big pot on the stove. They’d have little girls with blonde hair and a little boy with dark hair and green eyes, just like Jed. Maybe he’d take after his dad and go to work at Clanfield Hall. Camilla had a vision of father and son returning after a fulfilling day at work, dirty but happy …
She shook herself. You’re getting carried away. She’d only just come off the Pill, and things might not happen for a while. Her older sister Caro had taken ages to get pregnant with her first child, Milo. Camilla could already feel herself getting swept away with it, though, wondering, waiting …
Giving herself another shake, Camilla went to start on dinner.
The next day, as she drove back from another frustrating morning at Top Drawer Travels, Camilla’s good mood was somewhat dimmed. She had been doing some research of her own on South America, and had found what she thought would make a great new tour, but when she’d broached it to her boss, Mr Fitzgerald, he’d looked at her as if she was mad.
‘You stick to what you know, and I’ll do the same,’ he’d told her. ‘Be a good girl and stick the kettle on, will you?’
Camilla had gritted her teeth. She was beginning to feel more like a glorified dogsbody than a trainee travel agent. Hopefully things would start to pick up.
Her stomach rumbled. Camilla decided to stop at the shop and pick up something nice for lunch, maybe a piece of one of the home-made quiches Brenda had started selling recently. A local farmer’s wife made them; Camilla would never risk her teeth on Brenda’s famously rock-hard cuisine.
The upcoming film had made the front page of the Bedlington Bugle two days running.
‘RAFE TO RUN RIFE IN THE COTSWOLDS!’ said today’s headline on the board outside the shop.
/> The bell on the door tinkled as Camilla entered. Brenda popped up from behind the counter. ‘Afternoon!’
‘Hi, Brenda, how are you?’
Brenda slid a copy of the Bedlington Bugle across the counter. ‘’Ere, what do you think about this! Rafe Wolfe, in Churchminster! I never thought I’d live to see such a thing.’
Camilla looked at the front page, which had a picture of Rafe in a dinner jacket on a red carpet somewhere, looking extremely dashing. ‘Yes, it is exciting, isn’t it? I saw his last film at the cinema, it was awfully good.’
Brenda cackled. ‘I’ll say. Cor, if I was twenty years younger! I’m driving my Ted up the wall going on about it.’
The quiche was still warm in the brown paper bag as Camilla left the shop and made her way round the green to No. 5. It was a rather blustery day and Camilla saw an empty crisp packet flutter across the road. She went to pick it up.
A blacked-out Mercedes pulled up beside her. Camilla’s heart stopped. The passenger window slid down and Camilla leaned eagerly in the window. To her disappointment the glorious vision of Rafe Wolfe was not sitting there, but a rather bloated, raddled man with an outsized diamond stud in his left ear. He reminded Camilla of a downmarket Simon Le Bon.
‘Howdy. I’m Wes Prince.’ He had a strong transatlantic twang. ‘Director on A Regency Playboy.’
‘Oh, hello!’ exclaimed Camilla. Wait until she told Calypso about this!
Wes flashed Colgate-white teeth. Even in the gloom of the car, Camilla could see he had rather orange-coloured skin. ‘Yeah, just got back from LA, and thought I’d come and do a recce. Nice little place you’ve got here. Can you recommend any good sushi joints or wheatgerm bars for lunch?’
Camilla pointed out the pub. ‘The Jolly Boot does delicious food. I’m sure they can find you a table.’
Wes flashed the teeth again. ‘We’ll give it a whirl. Ciao.’ The window slid up again and the car glided off down the road.
As Camilla let herself in through the front door of No. 5, she was surprised to see her sister’s handbag lying in the hall, its contents spilling everywhere. She called out. ‘Calypso, are you here?’
A voice sounded from the kitchen. ‘In here, Bills.’ ‘Bills’ was a nickname for Camilla her family and close friends used. The kitchen Camilla had left sparkling now had milk and sugar all over the surfaces, while breadcrumbs were scattered all over the table. Calypso looked up from her chair. ‘Came home for some tea and toast.’
Camilla’s maternal instinct kicked in. ‘You can’t just have that for lunch. I’ve got some home-made quiche here, would you like a piece?’
Calypso’s eyes lit up. ‘Wicked!’ Even though she was as slim as a rake, her appetite was legendary.
‘I’ll dig out some baked potatoes as well, and pop them in the microwave.’ Camilla put the quiche down on the side. ‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen!’
Calypso took a slurp of tea. ‘Bin Laden.’
‘Only the director of A Regency Playboy! Wes Prince. He’s here doing a recce,’ Camilla added knowledgeably.
Calypso didn’t look as impressed as Camilla’d hoped, but then it took a lot to impress her. ‘Well, I’ve got a bit of news for you as well,’ Calypso said. ‘Someone from Seraphina Inc. called me this morning, they’ve asked me to put on a welcome party at the Jolly Boot.’
‘Wow,’ gasped Camilla. ‘That’s amazing!’
‘It is pretty cool,’ Calypso grinned. ‘Apparently I was recommended to them, which shows people are already talking about Scene Events. Seraphina want to put on a party to “integrate the crew and locals”. Show we’re all one big happy family.’ She giggled. ‘I reckon Granny Clem’s really got to them.’
‘Ooh, do you think Rafe Wolfe will turn up?’ Camilla asked excitedly.
Calypso pulled a face. ‘Hardly. It’s for the crew mainly, I can’t see a big star like him hobnobbing with the hoi polloi.’
Camilla sighed. ‘Shame. He’s utterly gorgeous.’
‘If you like that clean-cut look. He’s a bit “frat-boy” for me. I prefer someone with an edge.’ Sexually curious, Calypso’s last serious relationship had been with a rather gruff girl called Sam. Apart from the odd fling, she hadn’t been with anyone, male or female, since.
‘I was reading about his latest dalliance in OK! Some LA heiress called Daphne. He always has gorgeous girlfriends.’ Camilla sighed. ‘I loved his last film, I cried my eyes out at the end.’
Calypso rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t believe you buy into all that crap. Are you going to put those potatoes on – or just look at them all day?’
Chapter 10
LIFE WENT ON for the Churchminster residents, but there was a new frisson of excitement that not even getting through to the final of Britain’s Best Village had produced. On a grey April morning, after weeks of anticipation, the film crew finally rumbled into town. Stacey Turner, who had never got up early in her life, was out at dawn posing by the phone box in full make-up and push-up bra. Beryl, worried her daughter would catch her death in the early morning air, went out with a coat for her, only to be told in no uncertain terms to go away.
‘Leave it, mum!’ she said crossly. ‘How am I gonna get noticed with a full-length duffle coat on?’
Beryl gave up and went back in to make Jack his morning fry-up.
From 8 a.m. the first vehicles had appeared on the horizon. The village had never seen so many: huge articulated lorries, white trucks, what looked like a thirty-foot-long mobile home. Clementine watched from her attic-room window as they manoeuvred through the village like a procession of metallic ants, towards Braithwaite Hall. At least they’re out of sight for the moment, she thought, dreading the day they would take over the whole village.
She eventually dragged herself away and went downstairs to make her morning cup of Earl Grey. She switched on the old-fashioned radio in the kitchen. The local newsreader was full of excitement about the goings on.
‘Usually, A-list celebrities like Tom Cruise or Angelina are only seen on the red carpet of Hollywood, but today the world of showbiz has come to the Cotswolds! Our intrepid reporter Abby Jarvis is in the picturesque village of Churchminster, which has been chosen as the location for costume drama film A Regency Playboy. Over to you, Abby, can you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear, Ray!’
‘Abby, can you describe the scene around you?’
‘I certainly can, Ray. Churchminster hit the headlines recently after it was revealed the village had made it through to the final of Britain’s Best Village competition, but today it’s more about glamour than garden gnomes. For the past few hours the cast and crew have been arriving in the village to start their ten-week shoot. We’ve certainly never seen the like of it before, Ray. I’ve just seen two Winnebagos go past, which I presume are for the two leading stars, Rafe Wolfe and Sophia Highforth. There goes a truck full of camera equipment and, wait! Look at that! A lorry has just gone past with a life-sized pig strapped into the passenger seat! It’s wearing a baseball cap and seems to have some kind of frill round its neck!’
‘Abby, I noticed you mentioned the cast are expected to arrive today as well. Any sightings of the lead actors, Sophia Highforth or Rafe Wolfe?’
‘Indeed, Ray. A blacked-out Range Rover, reported to be carrying 30-year-old Hollywood star Rafe Wolfe, drove through the village earlier. It’s understood that while many of the cast and crew are staying at the Travelodge outside Bedlington, Rafe and his co-star Sophia are being put up in private accommodation during their stay here in the Cotswolds.’
‘Sophia can come and stay at my house if she wants, heh heh! What do the local residents make of these extraordinary happenings?’
‘Well Ray, standing with me is 22-year-old Stacey Turner, whose parents run the Jolly Boot public house. Stacey, I understand you’re a rather big fan of Rafe …’
As Stacey’s excited gabbling took over the airwaves, Clementine turned on to the more soothing tones of Radio 4. At leas
t they’d mentioned the competition. It didn’t stop the trepidation that was mounting in her by the minute, though. Shaking her head, Clementine switched on the kettle.
Luckily the village green seemed to have escaped unscathed as Clementine took Errol Flynn for a walk later. The film crew had finally passed through, and the village was back to its relative quietness.
Suddenly, the Reverend came rushing out of the rectory. It was a square, rather gloomy building which stood a few hundred yards up the Bedlington Road. ‘G-good day to you, Mrs S-s-standington-Fulthrope!’
‘Ah, hello, Reverend,’ said Clementine. Much to the clergyman’s horror, Errol Flynn bounded up and shoved his nose in the Reverend’s crotch. ‘Errol! Get down,’ Clementine reprimanded, pulling him away. ‘I am sorry about that.’
Reverend Bellows backed away. He was scared of animals, which didn’t help his cause in a parish where every second person had dogs and horses. ‘I just saw you through the window. Did you see the p-procession earlier?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I did indeed.’
‘Joyce and I have watched all of S-S-Sophia and Rafe’s films, you know, we’re quite a p-pair of film buffs. Although Joyce did find Rafe’s last one a little violent for her tastes.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘B-between you and me, I quite enjoyed it!’
Dear Lord, thought Clementine, even the vicar’s had his head turned. She had expected more from a man of the cloth.
‘Joyce and I are going to put our names down to be extras,’ said Reverend Bellows.
Clementine arched an eyebrow. ‘My dear fellow, are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?’
Reverend Bellows’s face fell. ‘Oh. D-do you think it’s a bad idea?’
‘I’m sure I can rely on your good judgement to make the right decision.’
‘What do you think?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I don’t want to offend my p-p-arishioners.’
‘My good man, it really isn’t my place to tell you what to do,’ she solemnly informed him.
