by Jo Carnegie
A few minutes later he returned with the smoked salmon on a silver platter. It was dressed simply with cracked black pepper, lemon wedges and cucumber strips.
‘This is delicious,’ Frances said, delicately helping herself. Devon held up his glass.
‘Cheers, princess.’ He forked up some smoked salmon. ‘So how’s life been treating you since I saw ya?’
‘Fine, I suppose.’
Devon raised an eyebrow. ‘Just fine?’
‘All right then, wonderful, sparkling, fantastic,’ she said wrily. ‘As you so perceptively put it last time, I think you know how I feel at the moment.’
Devon put his fork down and looked at her. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.
‘Are you going to leave him?’
There was a long silence. ‘I don’t know that either.’
‘Run away with me,’ Devon urged, but he was only half-joking.
She smiled. ‘Is that why you’ve really come back, to come and sweep me off my feet like Prince Charming?’
He conceded with a grin. ‘I’d give you a fantastic life, Frannie, think of all the things we could do together, all the places we could go!’
She laughed. ‘Are you suggesting I become one of your groupies?’
Devon reached across and took her hand. ‘I’d like you to be a lot more than that, Frannie.’
Frances found she couldn’t speak.
Suddenly Devon leaned across the table. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you,’ he said softly and kissed her gently on the lips.
Frances found herself melting helplessly into the moment. How many times had she had thought about this happening since he had left? She pulled away, heart hammering in her chest. ‘Devon, I …’
He stroked her face. ‘Sorry, princess, I came on a bit strong. I just couldn’t help myself, you look so beautiful and elegant and fresh sitting there.’
‘No, I wanted you to,’ she said. ‘I just …’ She trailed off again. ‘I should go,’ she said abruptly.
Devon put a placating hand on her arm. ‘Don’t. Let’s just sit here and have a nice lunch, eh? It’s such a beautiful day and I’ve got raspberry syllabub for afters. I’ll stop being a silly old fool and declaring my undying love for you.’ He grinned at her, blue eyes twinkling.
‘Well, if you have got syllabub …’ she laughed, relieved he’d lightened the moment.
‘I’ll go and get the next course,’ Devon told her. He paused in the doorway for a moment, face serious. ‘I’m not putting pressure on you, but just think about what I’ve said. Promise me.’
‘I promise, Devon.’
‘How was work?’ Camilla tried to keep her voice casual.
Jed barely glanced up from across the kitchen table, where he was reading the Bedlington Bugle.
‘Fine, thanks.’
She took a sip of tea. It was lukewarm. ‘Go out anywhere?’
Jed looked up this time. ‘No, I was on the estate as normal.’
Camilla put her mug down. ‘Only I rang you earlier, and Pete answered your phone, and said you’d gone off on an appointment somewhere.’
Jed’s face flushed. ‘Have you been checking up on me?’
‘No, Jed, that’s just what Pete told me!’
‘Oh right, yeah, sorry, I did go out, actually. Had to pick up some new stock.’ He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘You know what it’s like, one day runs into another.’
He picked up the paper and disappeared behind it. Unseeingly, Camilla stared down into her tea.
Chapter 36
ANGIE AND LUCINDA Reinard were sitting in Lucinda’s Volvo estate in a little lay-by a mile outside Churchminster. They were on fly-tipping duty. Fly-tipping was the scourge of the Cotswolds: beautiful parts of the countryside ruined by people dumping old mattresses, rubbish and anything else they couldn’t be bothered to take to the tip.
Fly-tipping had become Lucinda’s particular bugbear, after she’d found an old washing machine dumped in one of the ponies’ paddocks. Angie glanced across at her fellow Garden Party committee-member. With her daughter Hero’s old hockey stick clutched firmly in her hands, Lucinda looked like she was about to go into battle.
‘Do you think the hockey stick’s a bit much?’ Angie asked tactfully. It had been Lucinda’s idea to sit here and do a stake-out – this particular lay-by was a notorious dumping spot – but so far no one had driven past apart from a farmer in his tractor and a fleet of lycra-clad cyclists.
Lucinda’s grip tightened on the stick. ‘They’ve got it coming to them. I’ve some Mace in my handbag, too, if anyone tries any funny business.’
‘Isn’t Mace illegal in this country?’ Angie asked in alarm.
Lucinda muttered darkly about doing what was needed to protect one’s village.
Twenty minutes later even she had to concede that they could sit there all day and not see one fly-tipper. Angie suggested driving round all the other dumping areas instead, to make sure they were clean and tidy. At least they wouldn’t get arrested for doing that.
But at another spot on the far side of the village, they were dismayed to see scattered bags of rubbish and old clothes that had been carelessly chucked in the hedgerow. One of the carrier bags had split, tatty old magazines spilling out.
‘Bloody people! Have they not heard of recycling?’ cried Lucinda. ‘If I could get my hands on them now …’
‘Hang on!’ Angie cried. ‘There’s a car parked down that track. Do you think it’s up to something?’
Lucinda squinted into the distance and saw a dark vehicle parked in the shade of a small wood. She reached over into the back seat for the hockey stick. They could catch the buggers in the act!
‘Maybe we should call the police,’ Angie said anxiously. ‘They might turn nasty!’
‘We’ll be all right,’ Lucinda said. ‘You stand behind me.’
Silently, they approached the car. The driver’s window was open and someone had chucked an empty Lucozade bottle and cigarette packet out on the ground. As they reached the car, they saw that it too was empty. Lucinda tutted and reached in the car window, then looked about, frowning.
‘Maybe they’ve gone into the wood!’ They inched forward, eyes darting back and forth. Angie wished Freddie were with her.
All of a sudden, Lucinda stopped dead in her tracks, making Angie bump into her. ‘Look!’ She pointed her arm towards a little enclave of trees. Angie followed it with her eyes. In amongst the gloom, she could see a flash of white. Then a loud moan was emitted.
‘Someone’s having sex!’ announced Lucinda. She didn’t care if they were in the middle of copulation; she was going to tell them exactly what she thought of them chucking their rubbish out of the car windows.
‘Lucinda!’ whispered Angie urgently. ‘We can’t just barge in on them!’ But Lucinda was already tramping towards the trees, hockey stick swinging purposefully. There was nothing for Angie to do but follow her. As they got closer, they could see it was a young couple, both completely naked, except the boy on top still had his baseball cap on, perched high on his head. He was going hammer and tongs rogering the life out of the girl underneath. Angie winced in memory, young men could be so relentless. She didn’t have her first orgasm until she was twenty-three.
Intent on their rutting, the couple didn’t realize they weren’t alone until Lucinda was nearly on top of them.
‘What’s going on here?’ she said.
Startled, the couple looked up. The girl, a pretty young thing with long blonde hair, screamed, but the youth, a gangly creature with a Celtic tattoo round one of his stringy biceps, curled his lip.
‘What are you, some kind of pervs? Fuck off!’
‘I will do no such thing, you little oik,’ Lucinda retorted crisply, ‘until you come and clear up the mess you’ve left outside your car. You can’t treat the countryside as your own personal rubbish dump, you know!’
Angie noticed the girl turning
her head away, shielding her face.
‘Celia!’ Lucinda suddenly cried. ‘Celia Blakely-Norton, is that you?’
‘Oh Christ, District Commissioner, don’t tell Mummy!’ the young blonde cried.
Lucinda shook her head and looked at Angie. ‘Celia’s one of our stars in pony club. Has a wonderful mount called Teddy.’
Angie thought Celia was being quite wonderfully mounted by this young chap as it was.
‘Don’t tell Mummy, she’ll kill me!’ Celia implored again.
Lucinda sighed. ‘Well, as you’re not underage I suppose it’s none of my business. I must say though, Celia, I thought you would have more class than to go cavorting round the countryside with undesirables.’
‘Oo you calling undesirable?’ said the youth. Lucinda recognized him at the same time Angie did.
‘You’re one of that lot from Bedlington, who turned up and tried to ruin our Churchminster’s Got Talent evening!’
The youth sniffed, seemingly unperturbed his skinny white buttocks were out on display for all to see. ‘So what if I am? Place needed livening up anyway.’
‘I’ll give you livening up!’ cried Lucinda, prodding his bony bum with the hockey stick.
‘Ow, get off!’
‘I’m giving you thirty seconds to get dressed, and then you’ll meet us back at the car.’ Lucinda dangled a pair of car keys in the air. ‘And I’ve got these, so don’t try any funny business.’
The youth’s face darkened. ‘It’s my old dear’s car. Give ’em back!’
‘Driving round in mummy’s car?’ enquired Lucinda. ‘Not so full of it now, are we?’ A minute later she and Angie watched as the youth picked up his litter, muttering under his breath. ‘And don’t you dare let me catch you around here again!’ Lucinda said.
The youth got back in this car. Once behind the safety of the locked door, he seemed to rediscover his confidence. ‘You Churchminster lot are a bunch of tools! Someone ought to teach you a lesson.’
‘And I’ll teach you a lesson if you don’t sod off!’ shouted Lucinda. The youth revved his engine and roared off, flicking the bird, while Celia Blakely-Norton looked back apologetically out of the rear-view window.
‘Honestly,’ Lucinda said, watching the Ford Mondeo disappear in a cloud of dust. ‘What on earth does Celia find attractive in someone like that? She comes from a jolly good family. Her parents would have a blue fit.’
‘Oh, you know what it’s like when one is young. Lure of the bad boy and all that,’ said Angie. ‘You were awfully brave then, Lucinda!’
Lucinda snorted. ‘When you’ve had two hundred rowdy kids at Pony Club camp to deal with, a mouthy hoodlum from Bedlington is nothing!’
Drama over, they got bin liners and plastic bags out of the boot and set to work clearing up the rest of the rubbish.
‘How can some people live with themselves?’ Lucinda said crossly a few minutes later, holding up a doll with no head and what looked like a rusty hamster cage.
Angie didn’t reply, she had her head stuck under the hedge trying to pull a length of old carpet out. She had just managed to stuff it in her bag when Lucinda gave an exclamation. ‘I say! Look at these!’ She held up a collection of tatty old magazines. ‘It’s someone’s porn collection.’ She started flicking through them. ‘Soapy Tit Wank, Dirty Angels, Filthy Farm Girls.’ Lucinda gave a dismissive sniff. ‘It’s very tame, I’ve seen a lot harder.’ She brandished one at Angie, in which an excited-looking man was chasing a nubile young girl round a bedroom. She was wearing a big smile, a tiny pair of panties and not much else.
‘They don’t look recent,’ said Angie, taking in the 1980s perms and tacky furnishings.
‘Someone’s wife has obviously found this little stash and told him to get rid of it,’ said Lucinda. ‘How frightfully cul-de-sac and suburban.’
She started stuffing the magazines into the bin bag, and both of them were blissfully unaware that if they’d just turned over the page, they would have had the shock of their lives.
Katie knocked on the door of Sophia’s Winnebago. There was no answer, even though she could hear Sophia speaking to someone inside.
A fat splodge of rain fell, threatening to stain the delicate silk gown bundled up in Katie’s arms. She knocked again, harder. She was going out for drinks with some of the girls from make-up later, and had no desire to be stuck for ages with Sophia doing this dress fitting.
Eventually the door opened and Sophia stood there, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe. ‘You interrupted my phone call!’ she scolded, but her tone was playful, not cross.
Katie followed her back into the van. A script stood on the kitchen table, waiting to be read.
‘Yes, I was just on the phone to someone,’ Sophia repeated.
‘Anyone important?’ Katie dutifully asked. It was obvious Sophia wanted her to ask.
Sophia looked mock shocked. ‘You can’t ask me that!’
‘OK.’ Katie didn’t give a shit anyway. She thought longingly of that first vodka and lime in the pub later.
‘But since you asked, it was someone very special.’
‘A bloke?’
‘A gentleman, yes.’ Sophia looked coquettish. ‘But it’s going to cause awful ructions when it gets out, so I’d rather you didn’t say anything.’
Katie went to open her mouth, but Sophia went on. ‘A girl’s got to follow her heart, after all. Have you ever had such chemistry with someone that you just have to be with them, no matter the repercussions?
‘No,’ said Katie. ‘I can’t say that I have.’
Sophia looked off dreamily. ‘This man is amazing. He’s going to change my life!’
Katie thought fleetingly of the black-haired estate manager Sophia was always banging on about. It was a bit of a comedown for Sophia, who normally dated the rich and titled, but Katie didn’t blame her. Jack, or whatever he was called, was bloody gorgeous. It is him, she thought. I’d bet my life it is.
Chapter 37
AS THE WEATHER had held out all weekend, Clementine decided to hold that week’s Garden Party meeting in her garden at Fairoaks. Calypso and Camilla came over early to help put out chairs on the veranda, while Clementine busied herself making jugs of Pimms in the kitchen. She decided not to make the mixture too strong: with the heat the alcohol would go to everyone’s heads, and she needed them to have their wits about them. She had also made trays of canapés to keep hunger at bay, as Jack Turner was lugging over his barbecue to cook them all dinner afterwards.
Calypso came bouncing in and went to the fridge to help herself to orange juice. ‘Smoked salmon blinis, my favourite.’
‘Get your hands off, those are for later,’ Clementine said, as Calypso stuffed one in her mouth.
She swallowed loudly. ‘They’re bloody good, Granny Clem.’ She threw her arms round her grandmother, planting a fishy kiss on her wrinkled cheek. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day? I do love you.’
Clementine couldn’t help but smile at her granddaughter’s exuberance. This Rafe Wolfe chap seemed to be doing wonders, and for once Clementine thoroughly approved of Calypso’s choice of boyfriend. She thought briefly of Calypso’s ex-girlfriend, who had turned up at a rectory sherry evening with a T-shirt with ‘Helmet Hater’ emblazoned across it, and shuddered. ‘Where’s your sister?’ she asked, trying to disentangle herself from Calypso’s perfumed grip.
‘Gone for a walk. I did ask if she wanted me to come but she said she wanted to be by herself. She says she’ll be back for the meeting.’
Clementine was concerned. ‘Camilla hasn’t seemed herself lately. Is everything all right?’
Calypso hesitated, Rafe’s words ringing in her ears. ‘I think her and Jed are having a few problems.’
Clementine thought very highly of Jed. ‘Oh dear, I do hope it’s nothing serious.’
‘Mmmm,’ said Calypso non-committally. ‘I’m sure they’ll work it out.’
Calypso had agonized over whether to tell Camilla what Rafe had said ab
out Sophia. She had finally decided not to, it was only hearsay and she didn’t want to make Camilla any more miserable. But Jed was behaving strangely and Calypso had her doubts. Especially with his history, she knew he’d been a bit of a shagger before he’d started going out with Camilla. She would have had a word with him herself, except he was barely at home and seemed to be avoiding her when he was. Jed mate, don’t fuck it up, she thought. Why were some men such cheating arseholes?
By 6 p.m. everyone had arrived and was enjoying drinks on the terrace. Clementine clinked her glass, signalling the meeting was about to start. She waited until people had sat down and made themselves comfortable.
‘Welcome to the seventh Garden Party committee meeting. As I’m sure you’ll agree, the last two months have flown by and we have achieved a great deal, but there is still even more to be done. We only have four weeks left until the judges come round and change the fate of Churchminster. For ever!’
Slightly alarmed, everyone glanced at each other. It had all come round so quickly. Four weeks was nothing!
Clementine looked down at her list of copious notes.
‘As you know, we have had to use up some of the money meant for the Church that we raised at Churchminster’s Got Talent to not only reseed the village green from where the film truck reversed over it …’ At this her mouth set in a grim line as she thought to herself: I told you the film was a ridiculous idea. ‘…but more worryingly, we have had to repair the spiteful acts of vandalism this village has suffered recently.’
Despite Clementine’s hopes that they could have started restoring St Bartholomew’s, they’d ended up having to call out industrial cleaners to get rid of the graffiti on the rectory wall because the paint was impervious to Jack Turner’s special brew. Only days later, the new flower tubs had been kicked over on the village green and ruined. PC Penny was proving as much help as a chocolate teapot, and short of sitting up playing vigilante all night, they didn’t know what else to do.
