‘Oh yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll see how I get on.’
Oliver started talking about nice Vermont villages I could visit and cute country stores that sounded wonderful if I had the nerve and the necessary insurance.
‘I might just find out where everything is and how stuff works. I might go for a walk tomorrow.’
‘You’re a keen walker? I didn’t have you down as an outdoor type.’
‘Oh gosh yes, there’s nothing I like better than a good walk,’ I replied.
Especially if there’s a wine bar at the end of it.
‘It’s beautiful down in the woods beyond the meadow. By the way I meant to ask—’
I never did find out what Oliver meant to ask because Pippa came downstairs with a new outfit, a fresh face of make-up, and exactly the same bobble hat I had imagined wearing in my earlier daydream.
Rats.
‘Ready!’ she said, standing by the door as though she couldn’t wait to go.
‘Oh, fine give me a moment, I’ll find a coat,’ Oliver said, and he went off somewhere to look for one.
Jake came downstairs in a quiet, sort of useless don’t-ask-me-to-do-anything mood. I saw Pippa shoot him a quick look and I felt rather sorry for her. I mean she was such a pretty girl and Jake didn’t seem to see her.
‘I seem to have left my charger at the airport,’ I said. ‘Does anyone have one to fit this phone?’
I held up my mobile and Jake pulled a face.
‘Where did you get that? Antiques Road Trip?’
Hmm apparently not. I’d have to buy another one. Or do without. Was it possible to be without a mobile phone these days? The idea was quite alarming.
After a few more minutes messing about and Pippa checking in the hall mirror to make sure her fur bobble was at precisely the right, cute angle, the three of them went out to the car.
Back home there would have been a thirty-minute delay while the snow was cleared off the windscreen, followed by someone searching fruitlessly for the de-icer and probably calling out the AA. No such problem here. Oliver’s SUV had after all been nestling cosily in a centrally heated garage and it started and drove off down the lane with no trouble at all.
I waved from the balcony and waited until I was sure they really had gone and weren’t about to come back for lip gloss or scarves. Then I sprinted back in and had a good look around.
Upstairs there were six bedrooms, all of them with their own bathrooms and walk-in dressing rooms. I poked my head into each of them. Jake’s room was messy; Pippa’s was worse. For heaven’s sake they’d only been here five minutes. I took the snowman name card off my door and stowed it away safely in my suitcase before anyone thought to throw it away. Then I continued exploring. There was also an additional bathroom, in case six weren’t enough.
I was surprised and rather pleased to see while all the bedrooms were lovely mine was undoubtedly the best. There was also a sitting area on the landing with a fab view out over the field and the mountains beyond.
I went back downstairs and took some ground beef – what I’d call mince – out of the freezer to defrost. Then I explored the other rooms. There was of course the big sitting room, a more formal dining room, and a book-lined study with a giant Mac computer on the desk. There was an oil painting of a grey-haired man on the wall above the fireplace in that room. He was standing with one hand on the head of his dog, and he looked rather nice and more than a little like Oliver so I guessed this was his grandfather.
Perhaps this was where Oliver wrote, sitting behind the green leather-topped desk, rocking back in the swivel chair, occasionally staring out of the window for inspiration? Perhaps he set a strict timetable for himself, with pre-determined breaks for a run, or maybe he had a personal trainer who turned up.
It would be a man of course – I wasn’t going to allow any Lycra-clad, fat-burning, ripped skinny woman to bend over backwards for him. Or forwards. So to speak.
Someone muscular and monosyllabic who talked about reps and said things like: You don’t get the ass you want by sitting on it.
What really surprised me was when I eventually found Oliver’s room. Compared to the others it was tiny. A single bed, built-in wardrobe units, a chair, and that was all. No pictures or photographs anywhere, not even a stray sock left balled up in the corner. Everywhere was immaculate. This was his house. Why did he have the smallest bedroom with no view of anything other than the garage wall?
I couldn’t believe he had moved out of his usual room because we were staying. There were still three bedrooms unoccupied upstairs. Weird. I suddenly noticed a Belfast sink in one corner behind the bedroom door. Why was that there? And then I saw something else. Tucked away in one corner was the plumbing for a washing machine. Oliver was sleeping in what was originally a sort of utility room, not a bedroom at all. Why? Why on earth was he sleeping in such a dull little room when there were six glorious bedrooms available upstairs? It didn’t make any sense at all.
I did some more food preparation and then sat down with my laptop. Wi-Fi? Password?
I hunted around in my bedroom until I found a hastily scribbled note with it on and then logged on. Nothing important seemed to have occurred in my absence, although there was an email from Uncle Peter saying how much they liked staying in my house and the builders in the shop were driving them mad with their terrible singing, and there was one from Helena saying Nick had booked somewhere in Scotland.
*
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to discover how to work the oven and wondering what the difference was between bake and broil. Having worked it out, I made a cake and while I was waiting for it to cool I googled Oliver again to see if I could find out anything new about him.
There still wasn’t much. There was more about his alter ego Ross Black including the trailer from the film version of The Dirty Road. I watched it a couple of times just for the thrill of seeing based on the novel by Ross Black in the title credits and thinking Oooh I know him; I’m making him his dinner. It made me feel rather excited and pleased. I suppose that was the sort of effect celebrities had on people?
There was a bit of newsreel from the premiere where an excessively thin actress pouted all over Channing Tatum and tried to look as though she could be some use in an emergency and not as though she would be blown away by a single puff of a sandstorm. She wasn’t my idea of Selina; it was hard to imagine any of her dresses being ‘tight in every place’ unless her clothes came from Ladybird.
Oliver’s footprint on Google was irritatingly patchy. There was some detail about his charity work and a great deal about several court cases he had undertaken in order to protect his privacy. Two years previously he had won an undisclosed settlement from some tabloid paper and donated it to charity. Well that was very unsatisfactory, but at least there weren’t dozens of pictures of him with beautiful woman or tales of paternity suits and drunken evenings falling out of nightclubs.
I put the radio on – the same music seemed to be playing; a man was crooning about wanting to be back home with Momma. I went to check the worksheet I had been given and decided to make some bread. There was of course a bread maker but after my adventures with the coffee machine I decided to ignore it and do it by hand.
There’s a lot of pleasure to be had out of kneading dough and while I did I thought about my list. I certainly hadn’t lost a stone and the clean-eating regime had lasted for half a day until I found some chocolate I’d forgotten about. I’d have to try again when I got home. It would be a bit hard to do in a house where the fridge contained two pints of heavy cream.
PXVO – The Voice of the Green Mountains – was having a country music celebration day. There seemed to be two sorts of songs: sad (death, divorce, lost love, failure) or resolutely upbeat (love of spouse, children, country, or dogs). Should I get a dog?
His eyes looked into mine and he loves me all the time as the song said. No; let’s be honest pets cost money and vets’ fees were worse than any elect
ricity bill. I’d make do with next door’s cat.
*
I yawned and suddenly realized it was beginning to get dark and it was nearly four-thirty. Or nine-thirty according to my body clock. I supposed they would all be back soon, and I celebrated by having a glass of red wine from the bottle I had opened so I could add a glassful to the cottage pie. I like putting wine in things, especially me.
I went and sorted out the fire. I wasn’t so particular I was prepared to clean out all the ash, but I did find some kindling and stirred the embers of last night’s logs into life so there was soon a merry blaze for me to sit next to. Outside it was snowing again and as the light faded the landscape was almost luminous.
I sank back into the cushions and closed my eyes. It had been an amazing day. I definitely wasn’t in Lower Bidford.
*
‘So this is what you’ve been getting up to while we’ve been slaving away! Nice for some!’
I woke up with a jump to see Pippa standing in front of the fire, unwinding her scarf, her fur bobble drooping with melting snow like a wet cat on top of her head.
‘I was just—’
‘Asleep. Yes I could see you were. Honestly!’
She took off her coat, an expensive-looking waterproof, ski-type of garment, and shook it so I was splattered with dollops of icy water.
‘It’s all right for you, lazing about. I’ve got hours of work to do now.’
She looked exhausted. I felt unexpectedly sorry for her.
‘Shall I sort your coat out?’
‘Thanks.’
Pippa handed it over and I went to the lobby where there was a mudroom and hung it up. Jake was standing in there already, dripping onto the tiled floor.
‘Flipping cold out there,’ he said.
‘Is Oliver with you?’
‘Putting the car away in the garage. Is there a drink to be had? I’m gasping.’
‘I’ve opened some wine.’
‘Good idea.’
At that point Oliver came in. I went to take his coat.
‘How did the interviews go?’
‘Fine,’ Oliver said. ‘I like to do the local paper a favour. And the radio station. They have absolutely no budget. I’d rather speak to Wes Wesley from PXVO than some self-important prat from the national networks.’
‘That man from Sky was OK,’ Pippa muttered.
Oliver gave her a look.
‘You only think that because he tried to bribe you with muffins and a trip to Vienna. I was the one who had to listen to him pontificating about hidden agendas and the morality of Harry Field and which country England should apologize to next. You talk to him if you’re so keen; I’ve got better things to do.’
‘But surely you have to do publicity?’ I said.
‘I do,’ he said. He sent Pippa a glaring look. ‘I thought you were going to get those emails sent?’
‘Going now,’ Pippa said.
I went too, not prepared to listen to Oliver grumbling for longer than I had to. When I came back in with a tray of cashew nuts and pretzels, there was someone new in the room.
‘Look, I’m beginning to think this was a mistake. I don’t know why I’m doing this in the first place,’ Oliver said.
‘Because people are excited about this book,’ Jake said.
‘And it wouldn’t hurt your sales figures,’ said the newcomer.
He noticed me coming into the room and turned and looked at me. A rather wolfish smile crossed his face.
‘Well and who is this lovely creature?’ he said. He came and took the tray and held my hand. ‘Do introduce me, Oliver.’
‘This is Billie Summers; she’s looking after us. Doing all the catering here while we get on with the launch,’ Oliver said. ‘Billie – Gideon March, my American publisher.’
His tone had suddenly become rather cold and clipped. I think I had interrupted a fledgling row.
‘Well I wish I could find someone as charming to look after me. I’m delighted to meet you, Billie,’ Gideon said, squeezing my hand and covering it with his. ‘Delighted.’
‘I’m delighted too,’ I said.
So now we’re all delighted, could you let go of me so I can get back to the kitchen, please?
‘Come and have a drink with us,’ Gideon said, bending his head towards me.
He was good-looking in a tanned, white-toothed, American way, like a Kennedy who had escaped from the Martha’s Vineyard compound. Tall, muscular, healthy – I could imagine him fussing over his diet, going to the gym as a lifestyle choice not just a way to escape from his children, taking his life and his cholesterol levels very seriously.
‘No thank you, Mr March, I have things to do,’ I said, tugging my hand away. ‘I must sort out the cheeseboard.’
‘I hope it’s properly aired?’ Oliver said, straight-faced. I didn’t dare look at him.
Meanwhile, Gideon was twinkling at me in a practised manner I think I was supposed to find irresistible. ‘And what are we having for dinner? Something smells wonderful.’
‘Cottage pie.’
Gideon raised one eyebrow. ‘Made with real cottages?’
Very funny.
I explained what it was, retreating a step at a time to get away from him and his rather overpowering cologne.
‘Ah, what I would call a Military Special,’ he said, following me.
‘Either way …’
‘Well we’ll talk more later then, Billie; after all, don’t forget, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,’ Gideon said with a wink.
Well yes, especially if you use an upward thrust with a spear, I thought.
‘Super,’ I said and beat a hasty retreat.
From my place at the kitchen sink scrubbing vegetables I could hear the argument continuing even though they were obviously trying to speak quietly.
‘You know I hate this sort of thing,’ Oliver said.
‘It’s just a few idiots,’ Gideon said soothingly. ‘It’s publicity.’
‘So why should I spend time with idiots?’
‘It might be fun.’
‘It won’t. God, I wish I’d never agreed to this.’
‘You just need to show up and smile. I’ll do all the talking,’ Gideon said.
‘Yes I bet you will.’
‘No need to be like that; I’m on your side, Ollie. Just trust me.’
‘The comment of someone who has no real answer.’
‘Maybe but everything is in place now for the paperback of Glory 17. Let’s just roll with it and see what happens, eh? And you do realize you are already months late with Death in Damascus don’t you? I mean are we anywhere near?’
‘Nearly,’ Oliver said, his voice rather clipped.
‘When can I expect to get hold of it?’
‘I’ll let you know. I’m doing some structural edits at the moment. And you’re not in a position to push me. We still have that contract to sign, Gideon. I still haven’t decided.’
‘Don’t I know it. You’re killing me with this. Let’s open the kimono on this one shall we? You are going to sign aren’t you?’ This last bit in a cajoling, friendly tone.
Open the kimono?
‘We’ll see.’
‘So you’ve worked through the – you know – writer’s block? You’ve made progress?’
My ears pricked up. Writer’s block? Writer’s block? Hang on a minute; I thought there was no such thing?
Oliver gave a short laugh.
‘I’ve told you I’ll let you know. I started to get somewhere that week I was away. I had some new ideas just coming to me and then somehow … anyway. Let’s just get this one out of the way.’
Gideon laughed. ‘You’ll sign. We go so well together, Ollie. I’m the pretty face and you’re the brains.’
‘Crap!’
‘All right then you’re the pretty face and you’re the brains too but I’m the one on the tail of a very lucrative film right deal. It could be fun for both of us.’
‘Y
our definition of fun is not the same as mine, Gideon.’
Gideon gave a chuckle. ‘Looks to me like you have some fun lined up already.’
‘Meaning?’ Oliver said frostily.
‘Well I always thought that PA of yours was a cute thing. And now you introduce little Betty into the mix. Hey, you have all the bases covered!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. She’s nothing.’
I frowned. Betty? Who was Betty? Was there someone else joining us?
Just as things were getting interesting, they came back inside and closed the door behind them.
Jake wandered into the kitchen. I grabbed a saucepan and pretended to dry it.
‘Enjoying yourself here?’ he said. ‘Nice kitchen?’
Having got over his jet lag, which as a man was always going to be far worse than mine, Jake had become chattier. Either that or he was bored.
‘It’s brilliant,’ I said. ‘One of the best ever. Fantastic … er … knives.’
He went to have a look. ‘Yes, you wouldn’t want to clean your nails with this bad boy would you?’ he said pulling out an eight-inch chef’s knife from the block and eyeing it with respect. ‘Are you coming to the launch party?’
‘No,’ I said getting the coffee tray ready and putting some muffins out in a basket.
‘Poor old Cinders eh?’ Jake said pulling out a wicked-looking Santoku knife and holding it up to his face so his eyes crossed slightly. ‘Stuck in the kitchen, not going to the ball.’
‘I’ll survive,’ I said. ‘Put that back before you cut your nose off. Anyway, you can look after Pippa. I don’t think she’s having much fun.’
Jake frowned and considered this statement. ‘Pippa? Isn’t she? Oh well I suppose not. I hadn’t really – I expect she’s used to it. Do you think these cost a lot of money?’
‘No one gets used to being treated like a moron, Jake. Is Oliver always this objectionable?’
Jake sat watching me while I cut up vegetables.
‘I know you won’t believe me, but Oliver is a great bloke. He’s kind and funny and generous. OK I’m his agent so I am going to defend him but he’s also one of my best friends. You don’t realize how much pressure he has been under for the last few years. I know it seems as though he’s behaving badly but there are two sides to every story. And Pippa should stand up to him a bit more. I’ve told her that. She’s too nice.’
A Year of New Adventures Page 16
