‘Go where? I thought we were eating here?’
Corey pulled a face. ‘If their dinners are anything like their breakfasts, I think I’d rather not. I’ve always fancied that place up the road – Clementine’s, is it? – and with it being Monday, and after Christmas, I actually managed to book a table.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We need to go.’
‘That is so kind, Corey,’ Daisy smiled politely, ‘but do you mind if I drop out? I actually work there a couple of nights a week, plus I did come with Matis…’ She trailed off, but not before she’d given me a knowing kick under the table with her heavily booted foot.
Corey stood. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me then, Charlie.’ He smiled down at me, his beautiful brown eyes warm. Goodness, he really was rather lovely when he smiled. He passed me my coat. ‘Shall we go?’
*
I’d never eaten at Clementine’s, but always wanted to. I felt a bit underdressed in my jeans and sweater, but at least the latter was cashmere and the jeans my best ones.
‘Oh, hello.’ I was surprised to see David, Mandy and Seb Henderson, together with Harriet and Liberty, and another man I was introduced to as Nick Westmoreland, Harriet’s husband. I shouldn’t have been surprised: I’d forgotten that David actually owned the place, although it was Clementine Ahern who had made such a success of the restaurant, it usually being booked up months ahead.
‘It’s Seb’s birthday,’ Libby smiled. ‘We’re celebrating that, as well as starting on the building work, of course.’
‘We shouldn’t be too long now,’ I smiled back. ‘We’ve spent all day on site starting the initial work on the cottage and, once we get the go-ahead, Josh’s team will begin simultaneously on the farm.’
‘I’m very envious.’ Corey extended a hand to the newcomers and he and Seb immediately started chatting. ‘It was my great-uncle’s dream to live there many years ago. He was a good friend of Mrs Booth’s during the war.’
Bit of an understatement, that, Corey, I thought.
‘Unfortunately, it didn’t work out and he remained in London.’
‘There is certainly some story behind the place.’ David shook his head. ‘We know about the tragedy of Arthur Booth’s shooting of the two policemen there, but you say your great-uncle knew of the place?’
‘Corey’s great-uncle is Jim West.’ I felt immensely proud of the connection. He’d been, in his time, an incredibly popular, if somewhat infamous cabinet minister. The last I’d heard of him was his involvement in the anti-war movement against Iraq in 2003. I was only thirteen at the time but filled with an adolescent zeal to join the march and, if Mum and Dad had let me, I’d have gone with the coachload of sixth-formers from school, who spent the day there with their banners.
‘Goodness, I’m a great admirer of his,’ Harriet exclaimed, wide-eyed. ‘I’ve read all The West Diaries. Fancy that!’
Corey and I were shown to a small table in the Orangery and settled ourselves down with a drink and the menu.
‘I’ve a bit of a confession to make.’ Corey was smiling at me.
I looked up from trying to decide what to choose from the most delicious-looking menu I’d ever seen. ‘Oh?’
‘When I helped you shift that blinking badger the other night, I recognised you.’
‘Oh?’ I stared at Corey.
‘I’d seen you at the speed dating. It was the first time I’d stayed at the Jolly Sailor and I wandered upstairs to see what was happening. I wanted to laugh because you looked so cross, sitting there.’
‘I was bloody cross. I didn’t want to be there.’ I laughed at the memory. ‘And, actually, I didn’t want to be back at home either.’
‘I can’t tell you how much I wanted to come and sit in front of you and get to know you.’ Corey took my hand.
‘Really?’ I squeaked, going pink with pleasure. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Well, firstly I didn’t have a ticket and, secondly, you were monopolised by another man.’
‘Josh, the builder at Holly Close Farm. We were at school together.’
‘You were with him on the motorbike on the lane at the farm.’
‘Well, yes, but how on earth were you able to tell? We both had helmets on.’
‘You’d taken them off and were just sitting at the top of the lane, admiring the view. I recognised you instantly.’
‘So why didn’t you say anything when we stopped you to help us with the badger?’
‘Humping a great comatose badger into a car in the sleet is not particularly conducive to general chitchat. And anyway, I wasn’t quite sure it was you: you were looking remarkably like a reindeer at the time.’ Corey began to laugh at the memory. ‘A rather bad-tempered one, if I recall.’
‘Long story,’ I smiled. ‘I do seem to have become one big bad-tempered cross patch since I had to leave London. It’s not really me, you know.’
‘So, how come you’re back in the north? Is it for good?’
‘I was working as an architect in London; for a company called Abraham Developments? I fell in love with the boss. The boss was married. End of job and end of story. There, that’s condensed it.’
‘Do you want to talk about it? I’ve told you all about Rowena.’ Corey stroked my fingers and little shivers of lust went through me. ‘Actually,’ Corey frowned, obviously thinking aloud, ‘I know him.’
‘Know who?’
‘The Abraham Developments boss.’
‘Do you?’ I stared at Corey.
‘Yes, tallish bloke, dark curly hair, rather a charmer?’
‘That’s Dominic.’
Corey laughed. ‘He charmed my mother. When she decided to move in with Uncle Jim to keep an eye on him and Constance, she said she’d only do it if she had free rein to bring the house in Eaton Square up to date. Nothing had been done to it for years, walls needed to come down, new kitchen and bathrooms, the lot. Dominic – is that his name? – got the job and, to be fair, did a brilliant job too.’
I was just about to comment, somewhat shaken that Corey had actually met Dominic, when my phone rang. ‘Sorry,’ I apologised, ‘I should take this. It could be the hospital.’
It was my mother. ‘The hospital has just rung, Charlie. I can’t get hold of Daisy. Nancy’s here with me. I think we all need to get over there as quick as we can.’
30
It was lucky that neither of us had had much to drink. Corey and I gave our apologies to the waitress and jumped into his car. The night air was frostily cold and the January Wolf Moon hung like an old silver sixpence to our right. We drove rather too quickly back to the Jolly Sailor but, while Madge’s car was still where I’d left it, Daisy and Matis, when I did a quick search of the pub, appeared to have already left.
‘Is she all right?’ I asked as soon as we were by Madge’s bed. Mum and Nancy were sitting on either side, each holding one hand.
‘Actually, she’s breathing a lot better now,’ Mum said with obvious relief. ‘She had a bit of a bad turn an hour ago, the nurse said, quite distraught about something and desperately trying to communicate. That’s when they rang us. They wondered if she’d had another stroke.’
‘Granny Madge?’ Her eyes were open and she was staring at Corey. ‘Madge this is Corey.’ I took her hand and ushered him forwards. ‘Do you remember, Madge, I said we’d met a nephew of James’s? On Christmas Eve.’
‘Don’t confuse her,’ the nurse directed. ‘Asking her questions isn’t the best way to help her.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Nancy too was staring at Corey. ‘If this is my father’s – my real father’s –nephew, then he must surely be a relative of mine? I’m actually in enough shock about this whole affair of my mother’s, without being bombarded with a raft of new relatives into the bargain.’
‘Hardly a raft, Mother. You do exaggerate,’ Mum tutted as she stood and came over to Corey. ‘Hello, Corey, how very nice to meet you.’ She turned as she felt Madge’s hand on her arm. ‘Madge? What is it? Do you want to tell us someth
ing?’
‘She’s still very beautiful,’ Corey whispered. ‘Uncle Jim loved her so much.’
*
Madge was restless, she didn’t know where to put her damned leg. And who were all these people in her bedroom? All looking grave and worried. She did hope they weren’t worrying about her. She did know these people: there was Nancy, her little girl, getting cross about something, as usual. Her big girl now; in fact, she was getting to be quite an old lady. Mind you, she still had her skirts too short, and her heels too high. Apart from the brown eyes, she really didn’t look anything like her beloved James. Where was he? He said he’d never leave her. But he did leave her. He had to, really. Madge screwed her eyes as tight as she could, trying to remember. She’d been to London, hadn’t she? Fran had told him she’d be at King’s Cross. Of course, she’d spent the night with him. Oh, but it was such heaven. Madge frowned and then opened her eyes once more. He was here! James was here, standing right here in her bedroom with her favourite girl. Confused, she closed her eyes and tried again to remember. Was she dying? Was this how you went, remembering the past; still hoping for a future? What had happened after her night in London? Oh of course, of course. She remembered it all now.
*
‘You knew he wasn’t dead. You told me he was dead and you knew.’ Madge didn’t care that people were looking, turning from their newspapers as they waited for their train, agog with interest at this furious woman in the beautiful Dior costume.
‘Not here, Madge.’ Arthur took her arm but she shook it off and marched to the car park where he’d left his Ford.
‘You lied to me,’ she hissed. ‘And he came to find me and you put a gun in his face.’ Madge opened the car door, slamming it shut as she sat down.
Arthur’s face was white. ‘He didn’t love you, Madge. Nobody loves you like I do. Everything I do is for you. I bought you Holly Close Farm, you know I did.’
‘But, Arthur, I didn’t want it. Not without James. Nancy is his daughter. You stole her from him, you never gave him the chance to know he had a daughter. You never gave Nancy the chance to know her real father.’
‘I did it for you, Madge. For Nancy. I’m Nancy’s father. Haven’t I been the best father a little girl could ever have?’
Madge nodded. ‘Of course, of course…’ then shook her head. ‘Arthur, please. Just drive us home. I want to see Nancy.’
‘What are you going to do? Are you going to tell her? She’s not at home.’
‘What do you mean? What have you done with her?’ Madge was terrified.
‘I haven’t done anything with her, you stupid bitch.’ Arthur was furious. ‘She’s gone to Blackpool with Lydia and the boys and Isaac. They’re staying in a B and B for three nights.
‘But what about school? She’ll miss school.’
‘And who pays the damned teachers’ wages? If I want to let my daughter go off on a little holiday with her aunt and uncle for a few days…’ He didn’t finish what he was saying as grief overcame him and he angrily brushed at his face.
‘Arthur,’ Madge tried to remain calm as he drove, ‘it’s just that you’ve never wanted her to leave your side before. It’s a surprise that’s all.’
They drove in silence the remaining ten minutes of the journey home. Madge felt bone weary, tired in every fibre of her being. And yet, and yet, she was on fire. She was exhilarated. She had James. He wasn’t dead. James wasn’t dead and he loved her. He was going to tell Constance that very morning, and Arthur already knew. She was going to take Nancy, James’s daughter, and go back to London and live with him there. She and James had talked into the night, making plans. And if there was a scandal, which of course there would be: all divorces were a scandal but particularly the divorce of a Member of Parliament – the divorce of a viscount – well, they would just have to face it. Together.
Madge couldn’t bear to stay another night in the same house as Arthur but she couldn’t go to Lydia’s: Lydia was in Blackpool. And for that she was grateful: she didn’t want Nancy here while she was packing their things up. She couldn’t just turn up at her dad’s. He’d not been himself since her mum died two years ago and he and Isaac wouldn’t understand what was going on. Madge went upstairs, took off the Dior and moved to the bathroom where she started to run a bath.
‘You’re not leaving.’ Fifteen minutes later Arthur was at the bedroom door, tears rolling down his face as Madge pulled on a pair of grey slacks and a black blouse. ‘Please, Madge, don’t do this to me. Or to Nancy.’
‘Arthur, James is going to drive up and collect us, Nancy and me. I shan’t take anything with me, none of the jewellery or the dresses. They belong to you.’ Madge held his gaze as he stared at her. Would she ever be able to forgive him these wasted years, for keeping Nancy from her father, for keeping her from the only man she’d ever loved?
‘He’s not coming here. He’s not, Madge. I won’t have it. I won’t let him take you, I won’t let him.’
‘Arthur, you can’t stop us. This time you’re not going to come between us.’
*
As the afternoon and evening wore on, there was something in Arthur’s demeanour that made Madge afraid. He reminded her of a trapped animal that would bite off its paw in order to save itself. She shivered at the thought and stepped outside into the garden she had made glorious with an abundance of flowers and shrubs. She’d pruned and cut back the yellow roses around the cottage, feeding them and talking to them, bestowing them with all the love she’d been deprived of giving to James and now, on this early July evening, as she walked down the path to Harry, they beckoned and welcomed her with their profusion of colour and heady scent.
‘You’re back?’ Harry was sitting in the cottage garden, cigarette and beer in hand, enjoying the evening sunshine. ‘And how was it? Did you wow all those women with your Dior? Were they wildly envious of your sophistication and good looks?’ He put to one side some papers he’d been working on and smiled at her.
‘James is alive. He never died. He’s not dead. Arthur knew all along he was alive.’
Harry stared at her. ‘You’ve seen him?’
Madge started laughing and rushed over to him, hugging him, her friend who’d been her life-line since he moved into the cottage two years previously. ‘Yes, and I’m going to him. He’s telling his wife, Constance – he married Constance, of course he did – he’s telling her and he’s going to drive up and Nancy and I are going back with him to London…’
‘Whoa, whoa, slow down.’ Harry was smiling but cautious. ‘Are you sure about all this? Who is this man? You’ve only ever talked to me about “James”. What does he do? Where are you going to live? How do you know his wife is just going to let him go without a fuss?’
‘He’s an MP.’
Harry stared. ‘In the government? Oh, lovey, there is going to be one hell of a scandal. You do know that?’
‘He’ll leave politics… He’ll go back to train as an architect… We can go and live abroad…’ Madge trailed off, suddenly uncertain.
‘What’s his full name? Who is he, Madge?’
‘James Montgomery-West.’
‘But, Madge, I know of him. Why did you never tell me his full name? You must have seen him in the papers?’ Harry looked at her in bewilderment.
‘You know I don’t read the papers. Arthur won’t have one in the house.’
‘I bet he won’t.’ Harry lit a new cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. ‘Well, what about Lydia? Has she never put two and two together?’
‘Harry, I’ve never told anyone about James except you. I promised Arthur when we got married that no one up here in Yorkshire would ever know that he wasn’t Nancy’s real father.’ Madge shrugged. ‘Everyone, including my family and his, assumed he was still my boyfriend, I’d got pregnant when we were on leave together and that’s why we got married so quickly and I left the WAAF. It happened all the time. You know it did.’
‘Why would his wife let him go? You’ve
not thought this through, darling.’ Harry shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s all a bit of a fairy tale.’
‘James is coming to collect Nancy and me. He’s going to drive up.’
‘He’s going to drive up here?’ Harry shook his head. ‘Madge, just think about it. You can’t have him here, where Arthur is. If you’re going to go to him, take Nancy and join him in London. For heaven’s sake, get yourself down there, but don’t let him anywhere near Arthur.’
‘You’re right, of course you’re right.’ Madge felt feverish, suddenly panicky at the thought of the two men meeting at Holly Close Farm. What on earth had they been thinking of to assume he could just come and drive away with her and Nancy? They’d thought they were doing the right thing, being civilised about it all. ‘He can’t come here… I need to telephone him. Fran is helping us: I’ll telephone her and she must tell him not to come. As soon as Nancy is home, we’ll get the train down and stay at Fran’s in Chelsea. It will be all right, it will. I know it will.’
*
The first gunshot had Madge out of bed, the second had her running at speed down the stairs and out into the night. Arthur, as was often the case, hadn’t yet been to bed. She ran, barefoot, heart pounding, to the wooden fence that separated the garden from the farm’s acres of land down the valley, her eyes straining against the summer night as she tried desperately to work out where the noise was coming from. Please, not James. Please, don’t let him be dead. Not when she’d just found him again.
Madge climbed over the fence, her nightie billowing behind her in the still air, the perniciously pungent perfume of the garden’s night-scented stocks left behind as she ran down the fields, desperately searching for James.
‘Get back. Get back to the house.’ Arthur suddenly appeared in front of her, running at speed, his breath laboured, his voice coming in gasps.
‘What have you done to him?’ Madge was screaming. ‘What have you done to him? Where is he?’ She started running again, totally oblivious to the sting of nettles at her bare feet; slipping and falling in the long grass, searching, all the time searching.
Coming Home To Holly Close Farm Page 28
