Just a Family Affair

by Veronica Henry

  ‘Oh.’ She looked from father to son warily.

  ‘We want to offer you Little Orwell Cottage,’ Patrick went on. ‘It belongs to me, but it would be perfect for you and Flora.’

  Kay blinked. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d been convinced they were going to try and fob her off somehow.

  ‘Of course, if you don’t like it we can think again,’ Mickey finished.

  Kay couldn’t help it. She threw herself on his shoulder and wept. She was tired of being strong and brave. She was tired of doing the maths and coming up with zero on the bank balance. Most of all, she was tired of being alone. But now it seemed as if she might have a future.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Mickey, patting her shoulder. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Kay pulled herself together, wiping the tears away, thinking that she must now look even worse, if that was possible.

  Flora appeared in the doorway, clutching her colouring book.

  ‘I need a purple,’ she announced, totally ignoring the visitors. ‘And I haven’t got one.’

  Kay sighed. If only real life was that simple, and all you wanted was a purple. How easy would that be?

  Mickey was insistent that she should only come for supper if she felt up to it. He didn’t want her to feel intimidated.

  ‘You’re joking,’ she said. ‘I’m desperate for a meal with other human beings. I’d have dinner with Genghis Khan and Hannibal Lecter, given half the chance.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Patrick. ‘We’re not going to eat her.’ Mickey was gazing through the doorway at the little girl, still engrossed in her colouring. ‘What do we tell Flora?’ he asked.

  Kay had liked the idea of moving into Little Orwell Cottage. And she nearly bit Mickey’s hand off when he suggested working at the brewery.

  ‘At least I’ll have a sympathetic boss,’ she managed to joke, ‘if Flora gets chicken pox.’

  But they hadn’t really discussed how to explain everything. Kay sighed.

  ‘Can we cross that bridge another day?’ she asked. ‘I just don’t know. I think she’s too little to take much in. Can we just say . . . we’re friends? For the time being while she gets to know you?’

  Mickey nodded, marvelling yet again at how complicated the situation was. Every time you solved one problem, it threw up another, which was astonishing given the split second it had taken to get into the situation in the first place. With a bit of luck, things would get easier now.

  An hour and a half later, Kay’s mouth was dry with nerves as she drove towards Honeycote. She’d had a shower, blow-dried her hair properly, put on some make-up. She was wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a cream cotton twin set; comfortable, but low key. She knew Lucy would look stunning. She always did.

  Was Lucy Liddiard actually a saint? Kay wondered. How could anybody be quite so good, welcoming her husband’s ex-mistress into the family home? Kay hoped sincerely it wasn’t some sort of trap. Maybe Lucy planned to push her down the cellar steps, lock her in and keep Flora for her own?

  Kay told herself not to be paranoid. Lucy was just being practical and grown-up. As she came to the outskirts of Honeycote, she wondered if she should have stopped off for chocolates or flowers. It seemed rude to turn up empty-handed when Lucy was going to so much trouble at short notice. But the village shop was closed and she wasn’t going to turn round and go into Eldenbury just so she could appear with a box of After Eights.

  Anyway, she pointed out to herself, they were family now.

  As she turned into the drive of Honeycote House, she suddenly felt another flood of nerves. The house looked stunning in the early evening sun and the scent of freshly cut grass evoked a wave of nostalgia.

  Lucy appeared on the doorstep. Kay felt her courage leaving her. What if Lucy turned on her?

  She wouldn’t. She was far too gracious. Kay got out of the car, and busied herself helping Flora get out. Together they walked hand in hand to the front of the house.

  ‘Kay,’ said Lucy, and ran down the few steps to greet her. Kay felt her arms around her, her cool cheek against hers.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Lawrence,’ Lucy kept her voice low, so Flora wouldn’t hear. ‘You poor thing . . .’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kay had learned to accept condolences automatically and without emotion.

  ‘And is this Flora?’ Lucy knelt down and looked into Flora’s face with a smile. ‘Flora, I’m Lucy.’

  Flora gave an uncertain smile, and held on to Kay’s hand. Lucy stood up, and ushered them into the house.

  ‘It’s only shepherd’s pie,’ she said. ‘Pot luck, I’m afraid. And everything’s a bit chaotic, because of the wedding.’

  Half an hour later, Kay was eternally grateful for the wedding. It had given them all something neutral to talk about while drinks were prepared and Lucy put the finishing touches to the meal.

  ‘How long’s supper?’ asked Mickey.

  ‘About ten minutes.’

  ‘Can I take Flora outside? I want to show her something and it will be too dark after we’ve eaten.’

  Kay nodded her consent, and Flora seemed quite happy to trot outside with him.

  She was left alone in the kitchen with Lucy, who brought over a thick white envelope and dropped it on the table in front of her. Kay opened it uncertainly. It was an invitation to the wedding, with Kay and Flora written in ink on the dotted line left blank for guests.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kay. ‘We’d love to come.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Lucy. ‘It’s up to you what you want to tell people, by the way. We won’t say anything unless you want us to.’

  She smoothed the mashed potato over the top of the mince. Kay watched her evenly. She’d got the measure of Lucy now. She was cleverer than the men gave her credit for. Acknowledging Kay’s presence and bringing her into the family fold like this was damage limitation at its best. Kay now had absolutely no leverage over any of them. Her power had been diminished. She was no longer a shameful secret to be kept at all costs. There would be no danger of her using emotional blackmail. Lucy had made sure, very subtly, that from now on Kay would have to toe the line and play by their rules.

  Frankly, she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to rock the boat. She had what she wanted. Correction, she had what she was entitled to. It had been a long haul and now, at last, perhaps she could start looking forwards. Any trouble had already been caused.

  But she wasn’t going to let Lucy intimidate her.

  She picked up her wine. ‘Anyway,’ she said contentedly. ‘Cheers.’

  And she met Lucy’s gaze boldly as they clinked glasses.

  Outside, Flora stood open-mouthed in front of Pudding’s stable. Pudding peered over the top nosily.

  ‘I really need somebody to ride him,’ Mickey was explaining. ‘He gets very bored, you see. And my girls are too big for him now. Would you like to come and ride him for me?’

  Flora reached out her hand to stroke his nose. ‘Is he naughty?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s very naughty sometimes,’ replied Mickey. ‘But he needs someone to love him.’

  ‘I love him,’ decided Flora. ‘Definitely. Will I need a hat?’

  ‘We can sort you out a hat.’

  ‘Lift me.’

  Mickey hesitated for a moment, then picked her up and held her so she could peer into the stable. All the memories came flooding back, of warm little bodies in his arms. He blinked back tears. He might not have been a model husband, but he thought he’d been a good father. He’d always had time for his children, played with them, taken them riding, built them dens. He could do it all again for Flora.

  He heard footsteps behind him and turned. It was Lucy. His instinct was to put Flora down. He felt guilty.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Lucy. ‘I don’t mind. Not really. Another baby would have been silly.’

  They stared at each other while Flora went on patting Pudding’s nose, oblivious. ‘Supper’s ready,’ said Lucy eventually.

/>   Mickey let Flora drop back down to the floor. ‘You better wash your hands,’ he told her.

  As Flora trotted back across the yard to the back door, Lucy and Mickey followed. She slipped her hand into his.

  ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said definitely. ‘Flora will fill in the gap before the grandchildren arrive.’

  ‘Grandchildren?’ echoed Mickey, alarmed. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for grandchildren yet . . .’

  But it was with a considerably lighter heart that he stepped back into the kitchen.

  Twenty

  The day of the wedding dawned with a dense, hazy sky that would not reveal whether it hid sunshine or rain. In the kitchen at Honeycote House, Mickey, Bertie and Ned stood next to the radio, waiting for the weather forecast with bated breath. The announcer’s dolorous tones informed them that it was going to be dry and sunny, with temperatures in the mid-twenties.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Mickey fervently.

  ‘Right,’ said Ned, rubbing his farmer’s hands together. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

  Bertie stretched out his arm for the teapot and lit another cigarette.

  ‘It’s barely dawn,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m not awake yet.’

  Mickey grinned. Bertie was rarely up before noon, but he’d hauled himself out from between the sheets and driven over with a truck of furniture pillaged from his own home to supplement the chairs and sofas from Honeycote House. It had been Lucy’s idea to ‘bring the inside outside’, but they could only do it once they were sure it wasn’t going to rain.

  ‘It’s going to be a scorcher!’ Sophie bounded into the kitchen, her curls wilder than ever. ‘I can smell it.’

  Lucy and Georgina were lugging in tin buckets of flowers from the scullery where they had been sitting in water overnight.

  ‘We’ve got four hours,’ said Lucy, looking at the kitchen clock. ‘I’ll do sausage sandwiches at midday, then everyone can go and get themselves ready.’

  ‘We’ll never do it!’ wailed Georgina.

  ‘Yes, we will,’ replied Lucy firmly, brandishing her secateurs. ‘And I’d advise you all to get moving before Sandra arrives. Or God knows what she’ll have you doing.’

  No one needed telling twice. The kitchen emptied rapidly, leaving Lucy alone with Sophie. Together they laid all the flowers out on the kitchen table, ready to arrange.

  ‘Are you OK, Mum?’ Sophie asked.

  Lucy hesitated. She had felt much, much happier since Ned and Sophie had arrived home on Tuesday night, followed by Georgina on Wednesday. She and Mickey had sat them all down and told them about Kay and Flora. They had been shocked, of course. Georgina had been very indignant, and had spoken about Kay in very disparaging terms. But it was the more sensitive Sophie who had waited until afterwards to come and see Lucy, and make sure that she was all right. She was obviously still concerned.

  ‘Darling, I’m fine,’ she reassured her daughter. ‘There’s nothing I can do about what happened, so we just have to get on with it.’ She started snipping the stalks of a sheaf of white tulips. ‘And don’t worry. We’re not going to turf you or Georgina out of your rooms. This is still your home.’

  Sophie busied herself with a bundle of freesias. This just wasn’t the time to tell Lucy that she and Ned were thinking of emigrating. And anyway, now she was home she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Australia was paradise, but Honeycote was home, and it always would be.

  Mandy had decided to get ready for the wedding at Keeper’s Cottage. It didn’t seem right to get dressed in the home she shared with Patrick. Besides, the twins were on hand as her stylists, hairdressers and make-up artists. And she wanted to be near her father.

  Keith had brought her a cup of tea this morning, and sat on the end of her bed. Even though she’d lived with Patrick all this time, she felt very aware that today she was going from her father’s care into her husband’s, and for a few moments it made her feel very small, and a bit sad. She’d had a little weep on his shoulder, and he’d patted her on the back.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to cry about. I promise you that. Today is going to be a very beautiful day.’

  Mandy sniffed. ‘What’s the weather like?’

  He drew back the curtain. ‘Hazy at the moment. But it’s going to be hot, once those clouds have burnt off.’

  She managed a smile as Sasha banged on the door and barged in.

  ‘You better get your hair washed,’ she ordered, ‘or there’ll never be time to dry it properly. And don’t forget to moisturize or your tan won’t take.’

  Kitty appeared behind her. ‘Your mum’s just phoned,’ she announced. ‘She’s bringing over Danish pastries from the deli in Eldenbury. She says she knows you won’t eat otherwise.’

  Keith knew when he had been outnumbered.

  ‘I am, as they say, out of here,’ he chuckled. ‘Shout if you need me for anything. Not that I can imagine I’d be of any use whatsoever.’

  He shut the door carefully behind him, not wanting to be party to any of the mysterious female preparations that were, as far as he was concerned, akin to witchcraft.

  He’d been allowed out of hospital on Monday afternoon. Sandra had sent a car for him, and had been profusely apologetic at not coming to collect him herself, but she had a crucial meeting to do with the wedding. He was rather relieved, because it meant he had an hour or so to gather his thoughts at home before Ginny got back with the girls.

  It had been an agonizing wait before he had been able to get her on her own. The twins had babbled all the way through supper, telling him all the things he wanted to hear and some of the things he didn’t.

  ‘And oh my God . . . Sandra’s pool-boy housekeeper driver type person Alejandro . . . he was soooo fit. Wasn’t he, Mum? We wanted to bring him back home. He could make a fortune around here keeping all those frustrated rich housewives happy. In fact, Mum - that could be our new marketing ploy. Hunky Butlers. What do you think?’

  ‘Very good,’ murmured Ginny, clearing away the plates.

  Keith thought she seemed tired, but it had probably been exhausting being the only responsible adult. Eventually, Kitty and Sasha had gone upstairs, and he had sat her down in the drawing room and told her the truth.

  Now, Keith stepped into the bedroom he had shared with Ginny for the past three years. He thought he could do with a lie down. He still felt tired after the operation - it hit him every now and again. And if he didn’t rest it was going to be a long time before he got the chance. Well into the small hours, he imagined. He’d just have five minutes, he told himself as he lay down on top of the bed. If you didn’t actually get under the duvet then it didn’t count.

  He awoke with a start to find Ginny looking down at him. Keith thought he had never seen her look so beautiful, her eyes shining blue against her Spanish tan - the redness had faded at last to a golden brown. She was dressed just in her underwear - a pale pink silk bra and French knickers. In his head, he wanted her so badly. But his body . . . it was still very early days. The consultant had said it would take time, but now the tumour had been removed, now the pressure was off, he should be back in working order. He just had to be patient.

  He lifted a hand to take one of hers, and drew her towards the bed.

  They lay in each other’s arms for a few moments. Then Keith cleared his throat.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘how you’d feel about . . . us getting married? I know we’re not exactly love’s young dream. But I’d like to think I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. And it would be nice to make it official.’

  Ginny felt her heart contract. When Keith had told her about his tumour, his cancer, his operation, it had been a double-edged sword. She had felt huge relief, that his treatment of her over the past few months had a logical explanation. She had felt regret that he had gone through the whole nightmare on his own, without anyone to confide in or to reassure him. Most of all, she felt guilty that she hadn’t had the strengt
h of character to discover what it was that was wrong between them, but had been rather introspective and self-indulgent about it, with almost disastrous consequences. But then, perhaps if Keith had been open with her in the first place, she wouldn’t have descended into the maelstrom of self-doubt that had made her succumb to Alejandro’s advances.

  As she lay there debating Keith’s proposal, she told herself that she had to bury what had happened between her and Alejandro. There was no point in bringing it out into the open. It would only cause Keith distress; distress that he certainly didn’t need while he was trying to recuperate. And why should she let it stop her and Keith finding happiness together? It had been a moment of weakness brought about by a powerful combination of her insecurity, his irresistibility, and the after-effects of the hot sun. She needn’t say anything to anyone. Ever.

  And it wasn’t as if she and Alejandro would ever have come to anything. She had made it quite clear to him that it was a one-off, and didn’t flatter herself that he had been anything other than relieved. At the airport, he had grabbed her by the magazine rack and given her a rather passionate kiss goodbye that had made her quite giddy, but there was never any hint that it had been anything other than a one night stand.

  So she needn’t say a word.

  ‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ she said dreamily. ‘But we mustn’t say anything today. Today belongs to Mandy and Patrick.’

  ‘It does,’ agreed Keith, but he felt filled with a secret delight that he knew would be with him all day long, as he fell to sleep, and when he woke the next morning. A delight that was the perfect antidote to the dread he had been burdened with for so many weeks.

  Recovery was just around the corner.

  Lucy looked at her dress hanging from the knob of the wardrobe and smiled.

  It was perfect. Pale grey silk chiffon with pink polka dots. Sleeveless, with a bow tied under the bodice, and soft pleats falling to the knee. She had grey suede slingbacks, and a huge pink floppy hat to wear with it.