Fair Game

by Sheila Radley

  Ann’s only regret was that he wasn’t there more often. She longed for the time when he would retire and come back to Chalcot for good, so that she could get rid of old Reg Brunt and devote the rest of her life to looking after Lewis.

  She knew her place, of course. Even though he always came down to the kitchen to thank her on a Sunday evening after his guests had gone, and often lingered to chat about the family history, she knew better than to indulge in foolish day-dreams. She had no doubt about the nature of their relationship; it was and always would be ‘Mr Glaven’and ‘Mrs Harbord’. But that in a way was a comfort, because Ann had been hurt often enough to know that intimate relationships always turn sour.

  Yes, she ached for him sometimes. He was a very fit, distinguished-looking man, and she was only human after all. But as long as she could stay there to take care of him, receiving courtesy and consideration in return, she would be satisfied.

  That was why she’d been so furious when Laura had had the nerve to say she was going to tell Lewis that shooting was wrong. Ann knew he was easily angered – she’d heard him having more than one shouting match with his son – and he couldn’t be expected to take kindly to being lectured about animal rights by his housekeeper’s daughter.

  Naturally, Ann loved Laura. That went without saying. But she was deeply in love with Lewis Glaven. Having at last found some happiness of her own, she was determined not to let her selfish daughter ruin it.

  The school day seemed longer than usual. Laura was one of the leading Greens at Breckham Market High, and she knew she could count on her friends to support her in stopping the pheasant shoot. But she didn’t want to tell them about it until she had planned what to do. And that was very difficult to decide, particularly with Will coming for the weekend.

  Sitting unusually quietly in the classroom, Laura nibbled a strand of hair and debated with herself. She would have to start her campaign by trying to convert Mr Glaven. That would be worth more than any amount of confrontation. But would Will support her? He rarely joined a shoot, but she didn’t know whether that was because he was a conservationist at heart, or simply because he preferred riding.

  And supposing Will wouldn’t support her. Supposing his father refused to be converted, and the shoot went ahead? Worst of all, supposing Will decided to join it? That would be a real test of her commitment.

  Will was the one person who cared about her, and the one she loved best in the world. Yes, of course the pheasants mattered to her desperately; but without Will to dream of and depend on, she would have nobody.

  How would she feel, though, if she saw him shooting at her specials birds? How if he were to blast her glorious Fitzroy out of the air and drop him tumbled and bloody at her feet?

  Fear for the pheasants rose thickly in her throat. She swallowed hard. Will couldn’t be so callous, surely? He’d understood how she felt about her father, and so he’d understand how she felt about the birds. If he was as fond of her as he said, he would be able to convince Mr Glaven that she was right.

  She didn’t want to think too much about the alternative. As far as she could see, the only way for her to stop the shoot once it started would be to run out of hiding and make a stand in front of the guns.

  Chapter Three

  As she waited for Lewis to arrive, Ann spent a happy evening cooking and freezing in preparation for the weekend. He had told her he would be later than usual, and that he wouldn’t want a meal that evening. But he always came to greet her before he changed out of his city clothes, and she planned to suggest a light, late supper of scrambled egg and smoked salmon.

  Lewis always travelled to London by train. The gamekeeper, Len Alger, who looked after the dogs while Lewis was away, ferried him to and from Breckham Market station in the Range Rover. Eager as any loving wife – and looking her best, she hoped, with discreetly applied eyeshadow, lipstick and blusher – Ann listened for its return and fretted when it wasn’t on time.

  Infuriatingly, Laura chose to make her nightly appearance in the kitchen just at the moment when the vehicle came crunching back into the gravelled yard. As usual the girl was wearing a glazed look and her Walkman, so as to avoid conversation. Ann regarded that as a deliberate snub. When Laura wasn’t out with friends (or, thinking her mother wasn’t aware of what she was doing, chattering to them on the telephone extension in the gun room) she shut herself away in her bedroom every evening. She said she had homework to do, but from what Ann could hear she spent most of her time watching the portable TV that Major Will had lent her.

  Ann deplored the fact that her daughter got away with calling him ‘Will’. She resented the brotherly attention he paid to the girl. It wasn’t right, when she herself took such care to remain properly deferential towards the Glavens. It wasn’t fair. And it was particularly unfair that Mr Glaven should hold her responsible (though he was too gentlemanly ever to mention it) for the size of his telephone bill, when she herself never used it socially because she had no one to ring.

  ‘Hurry up!’ Ann mouthed at Laura. ‘Mr Glaven’s coming!’

  She washed her hands at the sink, pulled off the cooking apron she was wearing over one of her nicest dresses, and ran to her bedroom to check her hair and ear-rings and face. When she returned to the kitchen Laura was still mooching about, making a major performance out of topping a slice of wholemeal bread with curd cheese and beansprouts.

  Ann was annoyed. Quite apart from wanting Lewis to herself when he arrived, she felt embarrassed by her daughter’s sloppy appearance. It might be the height of fashion, according to TV, but Ann considered it downright ugly. With her long thin legs in dark leggings, her microscopic skirt, her baggy black sweat-shirt, and her big eyes staring from an unusually pale set face, the girl looked as though she ought to be on stage doing a mime. Exasperated, Ann snatched off Laura’s headphones.

  ‘Take your supper and go! Mr Glaven will be here any minute.’

  Laura snatched the headphones back, though she didn’t put them on again. ‘I know that,’ she snapped. ‘Why else d’you think I’m waiting?’

  It was then, just as she heard Lewis’s footsteps coming down the corridor, that Ann realised why her daughter was so pale. Laura was trembling with nervous tension. Despite Ann’s previous warnings, the wretched girl was obviously determined to upset him. Her sweatshirt bore a hand-made legend: SHOOTING PHEASANTS IS WRONG.

  Lewis was in the open doorway before Ann could say another word. As always the sight of him – so upright and distinguished, with his high cheekbones, his trim moustache, and his greying hair winged back above his ears; so immaculately dressed in a double-breasted city suit and a handsome silk tie – reduced her to a breathless, adoring silence.

  There was, though, something different about him this evening. His blue eyes were distinctly bloodshot. His complexion, which was normally as pink as if he’d just come in out of a sharp wind, was definitely red. Ann knew that he would sometimes drink the best part of a bottle of claret when he dined alone, and that he liked a night-cap of malt whisky, but she had never before seen him come home so well-oiled. Or carrying a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Good evening to you, Mrs Harbord! And to you, Laura!’ His voice, usually abrupt, was positively jovial. ‘This weekend’s going to be a family celebration, and I’d like you both to share it.’ Not noticing – or ignoring – the message on Laura’s sweatshirt, he began to tear the gold foil from the neck of the bottle. ‘Three glasses, Mrs Harbord, please.’

  Ann was both flattered and flustered: ‘Oh thank you, Mr Glaven! But Laura’s only fifteen –’

  ‘Just the right age for her first glass of champagne! Eh, Laura?’

  Obedient to his wishes, Ann put three flutes on the table. Laura, keyed up to make an impassioned speech and now obviously thrown, looked paler than ever. ‘I don’t want any of your champagne,’ she said through her teeth.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ Lewis said amiably, twisting the wire and loosening the cork. ‘Just a little to humour
me, eh?’ He gave the girl a charming smile, one that Ann would have preferred for herself. ‘No reason why vegetarians shouldn’t drink wine, y’know.’

  Ann gave her daughter a ‘don’t-you-dare-refuse’look. ‘What are we celebrating, Mr Glaven?’ she asked.

  ‘Some excellent news. Something we’ve all been hoping for.’ He paused, and drew breath: ‘The official announcement isn’t being made until next week. But I’m happy to tell you that my son is engaged to marry Miss Hope Meynell.’

  The cork popped. Lewis filled the glasses with an unsteady hand, foaming them over. ‘Do please join me in a toast,’ he said: ‘Will and Hope!’

  Laura made a small noise, something between a gasp of protest and a moan. Her mother gave her a warning glance and a heavy nudge. ‘To Major Will and Miss Meynell!’ Ann said loudly, raising her glass.

  The next sound was an unmistakable sob. With the back of her hand pressed against her mouth, Laura fled.

  Ann was mortified. Far from being concerned about her daughter, she was annoyed that Laura might have offended Lewis. ‘I do apologise for her, Mr Glaven! I’m afraid she’s been a bit, well, silly over Major Will –’

  ‘Silly?’

  ‘Over-fond of him, I’m afraid. Not that Major Will encouraged her, of course, but she’s at an awkward age.’

  Lewis stared after the girl as though he had become aware of her for the first time. ‘Ah, I see … Well, she’ll soon get over it.’ He drained his glass, and then – unusually – sat down at the kitchen table and unbuttoned his jacket. His joviality had evaporated with the foam from the champagne. He was tired, Ann could see that. She longed to put out a hand to him, but made do instead with more apologies.

  ‘Not your fault, Mrs Harbord,’ he interrupted her, refilling both their glasses. ‘Difficult time, adolescence. A lot to be said for being our age and on an even keel, eh?’

  ‘Oh yes – yes indeed …’ Ann took a wry gulp of champagne and pulled herself together. ‘I really am so pleased for you about the engagement, Mr Glaven. It will be lovely to have a little Lewis to hope for, to carry on the family tradition. Miss Meynell is the rather shy, beautiful young lady who came last Easter, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes. Quite different from most of Will’s other girlfriends. Seems to have bowled him over.’ Frowning, Lewis knuckled his moustache. ‘Pity of it is, she’s not a country girl. Lives in suburban Hertfordshire. Works in a London bank, plays tennis and badminton, sings in a choir – that kind of thing. Perfectly good upbringing, but not right for Chalcot. Doesn’t ride. Half-scared of the dogs. Wouldn’t know a pheasant from a partridge.’

  He drained his glass and became more positive. ‘Still, she’s young. She’ll learn. That’s why I’ve arranged a shoot for this weekend. Give her a good introduction to country life.’

  Ann had been brought up in Breckham Market, where her father had owned a hardware shop. She’d lived in a village for most of her married life, but she wasn’t at all keen on what Lewis thought of as country living. Not that she had her daughter’s emotional objection to shooting, but she couldn’t imagine what pleasure there could be in spending a cold November weekend standing about on the edge of a wood watching birds being killed. She certainly didn’t envy Hope Meynell the introduction she was going to be given.

  ‘Have you met her family, Mr Glaven?’ she asked.

  ‘I called on them recently. Met her father and brother – her mother’s dead.’ Lewis reached absently for the champagne he had poured for Laura, and downed it. ‘Father’s a dentist. ‘Strordinary profession, dentistry. Who’d want to spend a lifetime peering into people’s mouths?’

  ‘And what about the wedding?’ Ann asked eagerly. ‘Has a date been fixed?’

  ‘No, no, plenty of time for that.’ Evidently disinclined to discuss the subject, he topped up the glasses with what remained in the bottle.

  ‘They’ll be living in army quarters when they’re married, I suppose?’

  ‘What?’ Lewis seemed to have something else on his mind. ‘Oh no, I shouldn’t think so. No, Will’s army career’s just about finished. He’s going to come back to Chalcot next year and run the estate for me.’

  Ann was as physically shocked as if a bee had plunged its sting into a sensitive spot. She felt the blood drain from her face. She shuddered, and heard herself utter just the kind of whimpering noise that Laura had made when she heard that Will was getting married.

  ‘But – but if they come and live here,’ she protested through numbed lips, ‘you won’t want a housekeeper any more!’

  He seemed not to hear. Preoccupied, he pushed back his chair and rose to go.

  Ann had always prided herself on keeping her distance from Lewis: on being unobtrusively helpful, on making no personal requests, on never revealing her emotions. Now, utterly shaken, she heard a cry of desolation emerge of its own accord.

  ‘What about me, Mr Glaven?’ She ran to him and seized his sleeve. ‘What about me!’

  It was clear that Lewis had never given the matter a thought. He looked down in astonishment at her detaining hand. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘This job – it’s my whole life! When the Major brings a wife here, you won’t want me.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Mrs Harbord!’ He pulled away from her hand on the pretext of buttoning his jacket, but there was no mistaking his irritation. ‘We can discuss all that when the time comes. They’re not even officially engaged yet. Anything could happen before they’re married. Just let’s concentrate on this weekend’s shooting party, eh?’

  He walked to the door without giving her another glance.

  Laura, lurking in the passage, had heard and understood. She had no sympathy for her mother, though. She had no sympathy now for anything but the pheasants.

  She’d done with crying, at least for the moment. The news of Will’s engagement had hurt her deeply; she felt deserted, betrayed, completely alone in the world.

  But now she’d got over the first shock, she was angry. When she had agonised over whether or not to try to stop the shoot, she’d been afraid of losing Will’s approval. Now that she knew he no longer cared about her, the problem was solved. She was determined to go ahead with her protest, just to show him that she didn’t care about him either. If she ruined the weekend for him and his stupid girlfriend, good. Saving the pheasants was going to be the most important, worthwhile thing she had ever done.

  The best way to save them was still going to be by convincing Mr Glaven, though. This was the opportunity she’d hoped for, but it took some courage to block his way as he emerged from the kitchen. He wasn’t as tall as his son but he seemed to tower over her, red-faced, radiating suppressed displeasure.

  ‘Mr Glaven,’ she began, resolute but nervously breathless: ‘I’m asking you please to cancel the shoot. I don’t think you realise just how cruel it is to –’

  Eyebrows and moustache bristling, he gave her a thunderous look. ‘Young woman,’ he interrupted, pointing a stern finger at her, ‘I’ve seen the message you’re wearing. I know exactly what you’re going to say because I’ve heard it all before. You people don’t begin to understand the values and traditions we live by in the country. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Now please let me pass, and let’s hear no more of this nonsense.’

  ‘It’s not nonsense!’ cried Laura passionately. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand! Pheasants have the right to live too. They have feelings, they love and protect their chicks, and they’re terrified when you shoot at them. It’s wicked, wicked to kill them for your selfish amusement. If you won’t cancel the shoot I’ll –’

  Mr Glaven wasn’t listening. He’d already turned angrily to her mother.

  ‘Mrs Harbord, will you please control your daughter? You’ve both been given every consideration and courtesy while you’ve been living here. But this is a shooting estate, and I won’t tolerate any interference with our way of life. The shoot goes ahead. If there’s any attempt at disruption by your daug
hter, I shall hold you personally responsible. Goodnight to you.’

  He brushed past Laura and stalked down the passage to the main house, slamming the dividing door. She stared furiously after him, not knowing which she most hated him for, being patronising or being bloodthirsty. And then she heard a strange hissing noise behind her.

  Her mother was advancing on her in a rage, her face a sizzling red, her ear-rings jangling, her mouth ugly, her hands stretched forward as though to grab Laura by the shoulders and shake her.

  ‘You bitch! You little bitch. Now you’ve ruined everything – I’ve lost his respect and it’s all your fault!’

  Laura backed, astonished. They quarrelled often enough, but her mother had always specialised in being cold and sarcastic. Laura had never before seen her so nearly beside herself with fury.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me!’ she retorted, one foot on the bottom stair ready to make a dash for her room. Her mother hadn’t laid a hand on her in years, but Laura was taking no chances. ‘If you’ve lost his respect it’s your own stupid fault, drooling over him the way you do. It’s gross. I heard you making a fool of yourself just now – “Yes Mr Glaven, no Mr Glaven, what about me Mr Glaven?” Can’t you see that you’re nothing to him? He’d never look at you, not in a million years. You’d better settle for Reg Brunt, before you get too old even for him.’

  She hadn’t reckoned on the length of her mother’s reach. The stinging slap on her cheek came as a shock, but the indignity of it hurt more than the pain.

  ‘Right!’ she shouted, nursing her face. ‘Right, that’s it then. I’ve had enough. By this time on Saturday I’ll have gone for good!’

  She’d often threatened to leave home, but now she really meant it. There was no point in staying where she wasn’t loved or wanted. All she cared about now were the pheasants, and she was determined to save them before she left.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Running out to stand in front of the guns just as the pheasants came over would be terrifying. And she would have to do it alone, because it didn’t seem right to involve any of her friends.