[Churchminster #3] Wild Things

by Jo Carnegie

  As Wes stalked over to yell at Evelyn Vesper that they weren’t filming a bloody smut movie, Stacey Turner hoisted her breasts up even higher. She was going to get in this film if it bloody killed her.

  It had been a long day and dusk was falling by the time they started to pack up. Clementine had decided to come down with Errol Flynn to make sure the green was left as it had been found. From the amount of activity going on earlier, she was convinced a huge mess was going to be left behind.

  She was pleasantly surprised to see the village green was nearly back to normal. All the stalls had been dismantled, the pigs taken back to the local farmer, and the grass had thankfully escaped unscathed. Despite her earlier reservations Clementine was impressed; they obviously ran a tight ship. She watched as the last of the props were loaded into a huge white lorry parked by the side of the green. It was a simple job for the truck to reverse back along the road, but for some reason, the back wheels were heading towards the green. Clementine hurried over waving her arms.

  ‘Stop! You’re going to go on the grass!’ But under the noise of the engine her shouts went unheeded. Clementine watched in dismay as the vehicle reversed on to the green, leaving two huge tyre tracks in its wake. It was going to take months to grow back!

  ‘Why didn’t you look where you were going, man!’ she cried at the cab driver. He wound down his window.

  ‘Sorry, love, I was only following that woman’s directions.’

  He pointed his arm and Clementine saw Pam Viner, with both hands over her mouth.

  She looked distraught. ‘Oh good heavens, I’m so sorry!’ She rushed over.

  ‘I said reverse to your right!’ she cried at the driver.

  ‘You said left!’

  ‘No, I didn’t!’

  Pam turned to Clementine, face stricken. ‘Mrs Standington-Fulthrope, I don’t know what to say.’

  Clementine didn’t, either. A sinking feeling washed over her. ‘It was just an unfortunate accident, please don’t upset yourself.’

  ‘If I can do anything …’ Pam trailed off. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.

  Clementine shot a death stare at the driver. ‘Honestly my dear, don’t blame yourself. There was an obvious breakdown in communication.’

  ‘’Ere, are you talking about me?’ exclaimed the driver. ‘She told me left, God’s honest.’

  ‘I suggest you get your vehicle out of here before you do any more damage,’ Clementine said icily. After placating Pam one more time, she made her excuses and left. She couldn’t bear to look at the damage for one moment longer.

  Sometimes it felt like invisible forces were conspiring against them.

  Chapter 32

  CAMILLA HAD BEEN asleep when Jed had finally got in, and he was already gone by the time her alarm went off the next morning. A pair of dirty socks on the floor by the door was the only indication he had ever been there. Camilla felt a stab in her stomach that he hadn’t at least woken her to say goodbye.

  Is that all we are now? Ships that pass in the night?

  She lay staring at the Cath Kidston rosebud wallpaper. Something imperceptible had shifted between her and Jed. From having complete faith in herself and their relationship, Camilla now felt as if she were on shifting sand, no longer able to be sure of anything. Having the boss from hell didn’t help either; she felt she was going from one bad atmosphere to another each day.

  Why had Sophia’s companion looked at her in that way? Camilla was convinced that she wasn’t being paranoid. A nasty little thought that had been rustling at the back of her mind flared up. Was Sophia the reason Jed had been so funny recently? Camilla realized with growing panic that she didn’t really have a clue what Jed got up to at work. He could be off with Sophia at this very moment!

  Stop this, she told herself. She was getting carried away. Camilla sighed, she was sick of this: thinking and dramatizing everything in her head. It was exhausting. She had to stop worrying about whether or not her boyfriend had the hots for a gorgeous film star. Camilla shook her head wrily, even she could see the irony in that sentence. But apart from Jed being a bit distant, where was the real, hard evidence? He’d told her the reason for that: he was tired and a bit stressed from work. Their conversation about Sophia flashed back into her head, after she’d been flirty with him on the green. Jed had made a joke about how Sophia wouldn’t fancy him if she saw him mucking out the pig sties and Camilla had joined in.

  ‘Or fast asleep on the sofa, cupping your balls!’

  ‘I only do it when you won’t cup them for me.’

  Camilla couldn’t help but smile at the memory. That was what their relationship was about: affection, closeness, sexuality. It was as if a little light had been switched back on, making her feel a hundred times better. She and Jed were rock solid. He wouldn’t have his head turned by someone like Sophia Highforth, no matter how stunning. She was going to go up to the Hall and tell him how she’d been feeling, and they’d both have a good laugh about it. Full of resolve, Camilla swung her feet on to the bare wooden floorboards. She’d take him some lunch, start building the relationship back up again.

  A few hours later she was driving along the sweeping drive to Clanfield Hall, two rounds of doorstep sandwiches and a large piece of fruitcake in a basket beside her. It was Jed’s favourite. She’d got a bottle of home-made lemonade out of the pantry and put it in there as well. With lunches like this and a home-cooked dinner every night, she’d have Jed back up to speed soon.

  As she drove up she saw Jed’s van, parked outside the little trailer he was using as a makeshift office. Camilla parked up behind it and got out, clutching the basket. There was a small patch of daisies growing in the grass outside and Camilla plucked two and put them behind her ears.

  ‘Jed,’ she called out. ‘Flower-girl delivery for your lunch … oh!’

  Jed and Sophia Highforth looked round, surprised expressions on their faces. He was sitting in his chair behind the desk, and even though there was a chair on the other side, Sophia was perched on the desk in front of him. There was an air of intimacy in the room that Camilla really didn’t like.

  ‘Hey, you!’ said Jed, springing up. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Camilla tried to smile. She noticed Sophia looking at the flowers tucked behind her ears, and pulled them out, feeling stupid.

  Jed gestured to Sophia, who was looking even more ravishing than normal in her costume, her hair piled up sexily and a low-cut dress making the most of her creamy white décolletage.

  ‘Er. This is Sophia. Sophia you remember meeting Camilla, don’t you?’

  Sophia smiled, showing little white teeth. ‘Hello Camilla.’

  The use of her name made a nasty little stab in Camilla’s stomach.

  ‘Hello!’ Camilla said over-brightly. There was an awkward silence. Camilla didn’t know what to do. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’ Putting the basket down on Jed’s desk she walked out. Camilla felt sick to her stomach. What was Sophia doing in Jed’s office? Isn’t that perfectly obvious? a nagging little voice said in her head. She hadn’t gone ten yards before he’d caught up with her.

  ‘Camilla! Are you OK?’

  She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t know. Are you?’

  He flushed. ‘Is this about Sophia being in my office?’

  Camilla tried to keep her voice neutral. ‘It was a bit of a shock, if I’m perfectly honest.’

  ‘She just dropped in, I could hardly shut the door in her face.’

  ‘Does she often drop by, then?’

  Jed hesitated, uncomfortable at the tone of her voice. ‘A few times. She wanted me to show her round the estate so …’

  The shock hit Camilla like a punch in the stomach. ‘You’ve been on walks with her? No wonder you’ve been so “busy” at work!’

  Jed took a step towards her, surprised. ‘Whoa, calm down it was only once!’

  Camilla bit her lip. She was sure Sophia was listening at the office door. ‘I’m go
ing now.’

  ‘Camilla …’ But she was already halfway back to the car.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  His apology didn’t sound heartfelt. They were in the kitchen, washing-up in silence. Camilla had put together a half-hearted supper of cold meats and salad, neither of them having an appetite for much.

  She carried on drying the plate in her hands, not knowing what to say.

  Jed turned to her. ‘Did you hear me? I’m sorry.’

  Camilla remained silent. Jed threw the dishcloth down in exasperation. ‘Why am I being made to feel like the bad guy, anyway? I haven’t done anything wrong. I can’t keep myself under lock and key when I’m away from you!’

  Camilla’s irritation flared up. ‘That’s not what this is about,’ she replied hotly, ‘I’ve never stopped you being your own person, Jed. It was just a shock, coming in and finding you together like that.’

  ‘Like what? We were just having a chat, for Christ’s sake.’

  Camilla threw her hands up in exasperation, ‘Sophia fancies you, Jed! And don’t tell me you don’t know it.’

  Jed sighed. ‘I can see how it might have looked. But it didn’t mean anything, OK?’

  Camilla looked at him evenly. ‘Do you fancy her?’

  An almost imperceptible expression crossed his face. ‘No! He was defensive, almost angry.

  Have I hit a raw nerve? Camilla wondered.

  There was a long silence. Jed sighed again. ‘Why are we fighting like this?’ He caught Camilla’s wrist and pulled her into him. ‘I’ll avoid Sophia from now on if that makes you happy.’

  ‘You can’t do that, it’s silly,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not trying to be difficult …’

  ‘The estate’s big enough,’ he interrupted. ‘OK? Please can we make up? I really don’t need this at the moment.’

  Numbly, Camilla let herself be embraced by him. Jed was hiding something from her and she knew it.

  Chapter 33

  FRANCES HAD ARRANGED to have lunch with her daughter at Claridges, but Harriet had apologetically cancelled at the last moment because of a work commitment. Frances was disappointed, but understood. Harriet had a career now, and was awfully proud of what she was doing. A career was something that had never been an option for Frances: she had been married off young and expected to provide an heir for Ambrose. Even though she had failed in that, Frances had thrown herself into what was expected of an aristocratic wife.

  I wonder where I’d be now if I’d had a career? she wondered. Would she be happy, satisfied with her life?

  A sudden bleep made her jump. It took several moments for Frances to realize it was her mobile phone. No one really sent her text messages apart from Harriet.

  The text had been sent from a number she didn’t recognize, but Frances’s heart skipped a beat when she realized who it was from.

  ‘Hey, princess, how ya doing? D xx.’

  Devon! Just as she was thinking what to reply, her mobile started ringing. Startled, she put it to her ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, darlin.’

  ‘Devon! Is that you?’

  A chuckle. ‘The one and only. Are you going to let me in or what?’

  Frances didn’t understand. ‘Let you in where?’

  ‘Your front door, you doughnut! I’ve been standing here for ages.’

  The phone cut off. Frances stared at the screen, disbelievingly. Devon was outside? He couldn’t be! She rushed over to the front window and sure enough, saw the little MG Devon used as a runaround when he was in Churchminster parked on the gravel outside.

  She ran over to her handbag and pulled out her silver compact mirror to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Thank God she’d had her hair done that morning at the hairdresser. Smoothing her chignon down, Frances shoved a dirty teacup and saucer behind the curtains and hurried out down the long hallway. One of Ambrose’s ancestors, in full armour astride a rearing horse, seemed to look down on her frowningly. As Frances got to the huge wooden door she paused to regain her composure, took a deep breath and pulled it open.

  At first she didn’t recognize the strange man standing on the doorstep. The tall, lean physique looked familiar, but the man was wearing an odd combination of a stripy top, baggy black trousers and a floppy hat on his head. A bushy beard covered the lower part of his face, and his eyes were hidden behind dark round sunglasses.

  The man pulled the glasses down his nose and winked at her. The piercing blue eyes were unmistakable. They were ringed by more crows’ feet than she’d remembered, but that didn’t stop Frances’s heart doing a full somersault.

  ‘Hello, princess,’ said Devon Cornwall. ‘What do you think to the outfit? I call it my “French painter” look.’

  ‘Devon! What on earth are you doing here?’ Frances exclaimed, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  Devon grinned back. ‘Come to see you! Are you going to let me in, or what? I’m bloody dying of heat under this get-up.’

  Frances quickly checked to make sure Mrs Bantry or Hawkins the butler hadn’t heard the front door open and come to investigate.

  ‘Of course, how rude of me. Do come in.’

  As she shut the door behind him, Frances could smell the woody scent of his aftershave. Even though they were being careful to maintain a polite distance, just being in Devon’s presence was having a disturbing effect on her.

  She led him back down the hallway into her study, where the pair settled opposite each other in rather formal hardback chairs. With a sigh of relief Devon removed his hat, glasses and beard, flinging them on the table. Now Frances could see again the long, lean face properly. It was still on the right side of craggy, and with an obnoxious tan, hair curling round the back of his neck and a small gold crucifix in one ear, she thought he looked more like a raffish pirate than ever.

  ‘Can I ring for anything?’ she asked. ‘Tea, coffee? Or else I’ve got sherry in the decanter.’

  Devon shook his head. ‘No thanks, Frannie, I’m on a bit of a detox at the moment.’ After spending two decades battling drink and drugs, Devon had turned his life round and was now the epitome of clean living.

  He settled himself back on the chair, one long leg thrown over the other and looked approvingly at Frances’s Chanel shift dress, pearls at her ears and neck.

  ‘Looking as good as ever, babe.’

  Frances accepted the compliment with a gracious nod. She hesitated. ‘How did you know Ambrose was out?’

  Devon grinned. ‘Thought I’d take a bit of a punt and see if his old Range Rover was here. If he’d caught me out I was gonna plead ignorance and pretend I’d got lost on my way to some art convention. Can’t say my French is up to much, though.’ He pulled a funny face.

  Frances laughed. ‘Oh, Devon, it is good to see you!’

  And then the ice was broken and it was like they’d never been apart. Devon entertained her with tales of his touring, while Frances filled him on the latest with the film crew and what had been happening down the village. Devon did like a good gossip.

  She was just telling him about how well Harriet was doing when she noticed Devon studying her intently. Frances raised a hand self-consciously.

  ‘Is there something on my face?’

  ‘It’s not that, you look different.’ Devon reached over and touched her cheek. ‘There’s a sadness to you Frannie, that wasn’t there before.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, rather defensively.

  Devon’s gaze was unfaltering. ‘What’s up, princess?’

  Frances stared back, before her eyes dropped to her lap. She could feel her bottom lip starting to wobble. ‘I know how lucky I am to have my life. I really do. It’s just that I feel something is …’

  ‘…missing,’ Devon finished softly. Missing. That was exactly the word she had used before. In a heartbeat Devon had understood everything.

  Frances sighed unhappily. ‘Still, what can one do about it now? One must accept one’s lot in life. It’s too late to ch
ange anything.’

  Devon took her hand and it comforted her. ‘It’s never too late to change things. Look at me.’

  After two decades in the pop wilderness, Devon had had a career comeback and was bigger than ever.

  There was an expectant pause, in which Devon gripped her hand harder. The next thing he said knocked her for six. ‘I’m selling Byron Heights.’

  ‘Oh!’ Frances sank back heavily in her chair. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.

  Devon tried to smile. ‘Not much sense having a huge place like that when I’m hardly ever here any more. Least that’s what my financial advisors keep telling me. They’re on to me to buy some poncy condo in Hawaii, most of my work will be that side of the world over the next coupla years.’ He looked at her. ‘What do you think, Frannie?’

  Frances still felt like she’d been punched in the gut. ‘I think you should do whatever feels right,’ she said eventually.

  If Devon was disappointed by her non-committal answer, he didn’t show it. ‘After all, there’s not much left here for me, is there? The meaning was explicit. ‘Is there, Frannie?’ he repeated.

  Frances looked at him sadly. ‘Oh, Devon.’

  Somewhere in the depths of the house, a grandfather clock struck.

  Frances looked at the dainty watch on her wrist regretfully. ‘Ambrose will be home soon.’

  Devon jumped up. ‘I should be off, anyway.’

  ‘You’re staying at Byron Heights?’

  ‘Nah, all me stuff’s been cleared out of there. I’m staying at an old mate’s pad near Stow-on-the-Wold.’ He looked hopeful. ‘Say you’ll come and visit me? We’ll have the place to ourselves.’

  Frances knew she shouldn’t. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something,’ she heard herself saying.

  Smiling, she watched Devon put his disguise back on, and walked him out; this time there was a companionable silence between them.

  At the front door, Devon paused and leaned in softly to kiss Frances on the cheek. ‘I can’t tell you how good it’s been to see you, princess. I’ll be in touch.’