“No not yet. We need to make sure it’s safe before anyone goes in.”
“Let me have a look,” Sophie ducked under the front archway and cautiously stood up.
It was amazing, the old stones on the sides and roof had been placed with skill, without cement or mortar, and the paved floor was smooth and flat.
“Don’t go too far love, I want to get the surveyor out before we risk going in.” Mick warned her.
Sophie reluctantly came out “It’s amazing, can we keep it like this. How can we work the gabions around it?”
“Well if it’s safe and not going to collapse we can place the gabions either side and then brick up and over to follow the original arch. Cost a bit more though.”
“You could? That’s fantastic, don’t worry about the cost. What a fabulous feature, my own grotto. Do you think it goes very far?”
“Don’t know, but I do know that it was rumoured that an old monastery stood over the hill, and they had escape tunnels or places to hide their wealth if they were raided.”
“I didn’t know there was a monastery here. When was it built?”
“Oh I don’t know that love but it could have been one of the ones destroyed in Henry VIII’s days.”
“Oh, yes, that makes sense. Well let’s get the surveyor out and we’ll take it from there. Gosh this hill is full of surprises.”
Chapter 8
Over the next six weeks Sophie applied herself to her business, turning out dozens of pots in her bread and butter line, but also some very nice one offs in large ones. Having a large kiln as well as her original small one meant that she could fire a lot of pots at a time and was only limited by how many her hands could make before they seized up.
The kitchen extension was built and knocked through into the old cottage and at Mick’s suggestion a back door had been fitted to one side wall so that when Sophie had been working with her clay or in the garden she could enter the little utility room at the back of the kitchen and wash her hands, without having to trail through half the cottage. Now extending into the old kitchen, the modern kitchen was bright and airy and a large free standing breakfast bar separated it from the new dining area and family room which now occupied where the old lounge had been.All the walls and ceilings had been plastered and thanks to the dry, warm weather many already had their first coat of paint.
Calum hadn’t managed to get home so Sophie had gone ahead and chosen paint, wallpaper and tiles, for kitchen and bathrooms by herself. She’d spent money very carefully, well aware that she may be left on her own and not wanting any more debts. Mick had been very helpful, sourcing discontinued and discounted items for all the rooms and they had become close friends. He knew that things weren’t right between her and Calum, having seen many stories about him and Carla Blaine in the magazine’s his wife bought regularly, but never mentioned anything to Sophie.
The tunnel at the back of the cottage had been surveyed and declared safe, but when Mick and Sophie had explored it they’d discovered a heavy stone wall, about fifty metres in, blocking their way. It would have been time consuming and expensive to demolish so they had left well alone. The entrance now had a new archway, between the retaining gabions, made from some of the old stones salvaged from when the drive was was made, and once plants had grown over the gabions it would be a perfect ‘secret’ grotto.
Sophie was in the kitchen discussing the wall tiles with the tilers when her phone rang.
“Hello, Sophie Dickton here” she said not recognising the number.
“Hello, this is Andy Parker from The Sun. I just wondered if you would like to give a statement about your husband’s new fiance.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well seeing as how Carla Blaine has issued a statement saying that she has agreed to marry him as soon as he is free, I thought you, as his wife, might like to get your story across.”
“No thank you, I have nothing to say.” Sophie ended the call and stood there, shaking.
Then the phone rang again, and every time she stopped the call it rang again, and again, until she turned it off completely.
The tilers had stopped work to watch her and one said “Are you OK love? You’ve gone very white. Do you feel alright?”
“Yes I’m OK” she managed to say as she fled the cottage. She was about to run down the drive to the caravan when half a dozen vehicles, cars, motorbikes and vans screeched to a stop on the side of the road and people got out and hurried to the area by the barn. The noise attracted Mick and a few of his men and they hurried to Sophie’s side. The paparazzi at the bottom of the drive were shouting questions and taking photographs of Sophie and the cottage.
“Give us a statement love. Did you know that Calum’s been having it off with Carla?”
“Has he left you?”
“Are you upset? What are you going to do?”
“Will you forgive him?”
Sophie blindly turned away as Mick and his men blocked the drive.
“Call the police love.” Mick called after her. “There’ll be an accident the way they’re blocking the road.”
In a daze she switched her phone back on; before she could ring the police it rang again. Declining the call she dialed and when a voice said “West Mercia police, how can we help you.” she explained what was happening.
“Are they trespassing on your land?”
“Well yes they are, but more to the point they are causing a hazard on the road.”
When asked where she was she explained that she was on the main Worcester to Bromyard road and that more paparazzi were arriving as she spoke.
“We’ll get someone out there as soon as possible” and they hung up.
She went to tell Mick who had gathered more of the workmen around him and was walking to the bottom of the drive. When the reporters saw her, more questions, some of a very personal nature were thrown at her and more photographs were taken.
One chap shouted “We’ll pay you for your story” and another shouted “The Mail will pay you more.” Then they all started to argue among themselves until Mick shouted “Clear off, you’re trespassing on private land.”
“There’s no gate, it’s just a layby,” a woman said.
“There will be a gate by tonight, the land as far as the next field is private, so bugger off.” Mick growled.
Sophie was worried that there might be a punch up so she called Mick back to her and told him “The police are on their way, just ignore them, I don’t want to give them any more to write about.”
“OK love, I’ll leave some blokes here to make sure they don’t sneak up the drive and I’ll get on the blower and order some gates a.s.a.p.”
“Oh god, more expense.” Sophie’s eyes filled with tears “and we don’t know what size we’ll need.”
“Don’t worry, I know where I can get a couple of second hand farm gates. They’ll keep the buggers out and I’ll make them fit. Leave it to me.”
“What would I do without you?”
“Mmph, probably get ripped off something awful.” Mick said acerbically, taking out his phone.
Sophie went and hid in the cottage, trying to work out what to do. Should she ring Calum, her solicitor, definitely not her Dad, or should she just do nothing?
Then in the distance she heard police sirens and gratefully went to the lounge windows to look out. The police had arrived in force, two cars stopped the traffic in both directions while two more cars approached the reporters and the officers got out, putting on their hats as they did so. Some of the reporters moved away but the majority stood their ground not at all worried about being approached by the police.
There was a lot of talking, waving of press badges and notebooks, then two of the policemen walked up the drive waving Mick’s men ahead of them. They spoke to Mick and he ordered hi
s men back to work, then accompanied the officers up to the cottage. Sophie opened a sliding door and stepped out.
“Ms. Dickton?” one of the officers asked.
“Yes that’s my working name, but I’m actually Mrs. Livesey.”
“Ah, yes, Calum Livesey’s wife. Now can you tell us what occurred?”
So she explained about the phone call from The Sun and the others she hadn’t answered, and how the reporters had suddenly arrived, trespassing on her land.
“Well we can certainly stop them obstructing the road and move them off your actual land but we can’t stop them hanging around, If I were you I’d put a gate across the opening onto the road.”
“That’s already in hand,” Mick cut in.
“And you are?” the second officer asked.
“I’m Mrs. Livesey’s builder. We’re refurbishing the cottage and land for her.” Mick’s feathers were ruffled.
“Right, just make sure you don’t go too far with those reporters. They’d love you to get rough with them. Make a juicy story. wouldn’t do your business any good to end up in court for A.B.H!”
Mick growled under his breath but managed a nod “Point taken.”
“Now Mrs. Livesey, we’ve got your statement, I’ll give you an incident number in case anything else happens and I’ll leave a car here until you get that entrance secured.”
“But you can’t get rid of them, then?” Sophie was exasperated.
“As long as they don’t trespass or course an affray, no we can’t move them off the queen’s highway.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“It’s the law, we’ll make them leave their vehicles in a safe place but they can stand across the road for as long as they want. The best thing for you to do is give one of them an exclusive, then they’ll bugger off.”
“But I don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Then I suggest you find out PDQ. Don’t you know what your husband’s up to? Surely you’ve spoken to him about all the magazine stories?”
“Yes I did, when it first started. He told me it was just publicity for the film.”
“Hmph” the officer went cynically.
The other, kinder officer said “Maybe if you just went down the drive and told them something they’d leave you in peace.”
“Well” the first said “we’ll go make them move their vehicles and point out what is private land.”
As they went back down the drive Mick said “About as much good as a spare... Well never mind. once they’ve moved that scum I’ll get the lads to put in the posts for the gates. My mate’s bringing them as soon as he can this afternoon.”
Sophie burst into tears “Oh my god, how could he do this to me?”
Mick patted her shoulder gingerly “I don’t know love. I know I’d rather cut off my right arm than hurt my old lady. But then, maybe it’s all a mistake. Could be as he said, just a publicity stunt. Come on, buck up, once that lot are moved make yourself a nice cup of tea and phone that husband of yours.”
With the paparazzi moved off her land and Mick directing his boys in the positioning of the gate posts, Sophie plucked up the courage to go down the drive and into the caravan. She dutifully made a cup of tea, although she felt too sick to want it and taking out her phone switched it on. There were more than twenty missed calls and it started ringing almost immediately. She declined the call and quickly keyed in Calum’s number.
“Calum Livesey’s phone” a male voice said.
“Oh, um, this is Sophie, his wife. I need to speak to him.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Livesey isn’t taking calls at the moment.”
“What? Look I’m his wife, tell him to ring me.” Sophie snapped as she was disconnected.
Throwing the phone onto the sofa she swore viciously calling Calum all the terrible names she could think of.
The phone rang again so she grabbed it and said “Calum?”
“No it’s not Calum, it’s Mark Jeffries, his agent.”
“Oh yes, Mark, so what’s going on? I’ve got reporters phoning me every two seconds and more camped out at the bottom of my drive.”
“You haven’t spoken to them have you.”
“No of course not, what could I say? Now I need to speak to Calum.”
“I’m afraid Calum is unavailable but he has asked me to speak to you.”
“Unavailable? Surely nothing’s more important than this!”
“Well, of course this film is of vital importance to his career. He has made me aware that you don’t think so and have been unsupportive.”
Sophie could barely speak “P-pardon?”
“Because of your irreconcilable differences and your attitude towards his career he has reluctantly advised his solicitor to start divorce proceedings against you. In future all correspondence should be between your solicitor and his. If you make any adverse comments to the press Miss Blaine will sue you. Now, I advise you to behave in a sensible manner. If you don’t make a fuss Mr. Livesey will make adequate provision for you. Oh, and incidentally all joint bank accounts have been frozen as of today, until the divorce is settled, which will be quicker if you don’t contest it. Mr. Livesey will no longer be available on this number and I advise you to change yours to stop the press from bothering you. Goodbye Miss Dickton.”
Sophie stared at her phone in a state of shock. So it was true, he’d done the dirty on her and didn’t even have the guts to tell her himself. Then she smiled, how lucky she knew him so well, and that after she’d seen him and Carla in the newspaper she had kept abreast of what was going on by buying the gossip magazines. She may have lost her husband but she wasn’t going to lose Goldhill. A week after that first realisation that he was cheating on her she’d moved the money they’d borrowed to do up the cottage from their joint account to her private one. He’d think that she had gone on blindly trusting him, but would get a shock if he looked at the joint account.
Feeling as if she’d been run over by a bus she sat there letting the pain of lost love sweep over her. She’d loved him so much at the beginning but slowly he’d spoilt that love and now had completely destroyed it. What a fool she had been to trust him so completely. Idly she wondered how many affairs or one night flings he’d had even while still professing his love, or was it need, for her. Of course he’d stayed with her, until now, he needed her to keep him and look after him until he hit the big time.
Then she pulled herself together, she’d face this with dignity and make a new life for herself, here if possible, somewhere else if not.The first thing she’d do would be to get rid of the reporters, so she sat at the little table and wrote a statement;
‘It is with sadness but a feeling of strength that I tell you that Calum and myself have separated. I understand he is seeking a divorce and I will not contest it. I wish him and Carla all the luck they deserve.’
Leaving the caravan she walked out of her drive and crossed the road to the reporters, where she delivered her statement, declining to answer any questions.
***
Over the next few days things slowly settled down. the gates had been hung and Mick had supplied a heavy padlock to be fitted when Sophie was alone. Apart from the occasional paparazzi hanging around hoping for a photograph, preferably of Sophie looking rough, the reporters had gone.
The tabloids had run a photograph of her, looking work worn and bedraggled, next to one of Carla looking at her best so most people weren’t surprised which one the ‘gorgeous’ Calum Livesey had preferred. Those photos had caused Sophie many sleepless nights and tears and she took great care not to give them any more opportunities to demean her. It seemed she couldn’t turn on the television either, as Calum and Carla were shown regularly attending one function or another.
Mick and his wife had taken her under their wi
ng, him turning up regularly with meals his wife had made for her, to keep her strength up, and Jenny popping in to see her and drag her to R.D.A meetings or just out for a ride. Sarah and Aidan , her neighbours, invited her for dinner or lunch, and basically kept an eye on her, horrified at the way Calum had behaved. John Langtree had called and asked if he could help in any way, and was relieved to hear that she was coping well and earning again. When she told him what she’d done with the loan money, he said he couldn’t really approve, but did tell her that legally Calum was still responsible for paying back half the money, no matter where it was.
“No, I’ll pay the loan off. I don’t want him to have anything to do with Goldhill.”
“But Sophie he does still own half of it.”
“Then I’ll wait and see what happens in the divorce and then if necessary buy him out.”
“Mmm, your books will have to look good for the last three years. Do they?” John sounded worried.
“I don’t know really. I was working at college quite a bit so the first couple of years will look a bit sparse.”
“That’s the trouble, you were so busy earning a wage your ceramic business was a bit neglected.”
Sophie sighed “Well the mortgage had to be paid and a lot of the time what Calum earned was peanuts, plus he had to spend on clothes to keep up his image for auditions.”
“Yes I know. You know Sophie you must get all this information to your solicitor, otherwise you could end up having to sell Goldhill or let him buy you out.”
“I can’t see him wanting it. I don’t think she’d want to live here.”
“No, but she may not want you to have it!” John knew how bitter divorces could get.
“Well it’s no good me worrying until I know for certain. I’ve got enough to think about. I’ve got shops all over the country wanting my pots and a delivery is being picked up this afternoon, so I must get on. I’ll see you soon John, bye.”
“Yes, keep in touch,Goodbye” and he rang off.
Going into the barn Sophie went back to packing up the ceramics that were being collected that afternoon, to go to an exclusive shop in Leeds. Since she had let it be known that her pots were being made in sufficient number to supply them, shops and galleries all over the country had vied to be the ones to stock them. She had picked her outlets carefully, no more than one in each city and now Sophie Dickton pots were on display in places as far apart as Edinburgh, Dublin, and Cardiff. Although she was exhausted having worked, most days, eighteen hours out of twenty four, her business was flourishing.
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