Caught in the Act (25 page)

It was too nice a day to take five in the hall. Adie limped miserably across the lawn towards Carol and Netty, bearing a mug of tea and a grim expression.

‘I don't want you to say anything but I think there's a fair chance I'm not going to be able to do the show,' he whispered, gingerly easing himself down alongside them. ‘Alternatively I may have to do the bloody play sitting in a bath chair with a cane, and a tartan blanket over my knees.'

‘What is the Macduff tartan anyway?' asked Netty conversationally.

Carol stared at him. ‘I thought you said you were OK. Does it re ally hurt that much?'

He looked up, all hangdog and pale. ‘Sure
does, and I'm so bloody annoyed. I've been looking forward to doing this for weeks.' He whisked his cloak over his shoulders, pulling it tight round him like a security blanket. ‘Bloody thing, I should have got a shorter cloak.'

‘Wouldn't that have affected your super powers?' asked Carol.

‘Men,' said Netty, looking heavenwards. ‘They're obsessed with size. Don't panic. We've got plenty of time before kick-off. I'm sure someone can rustle up an ice pack, or maybe we could find someone to strap your ankle up for you. Surely at least one amongst our merry band must have decided nursing was a good career move. And if there's no one in our lot we could always ask the Christians. After last night I'd say they owe us. Big time.'

‘How bad is it?' asked Carol.

Without a word Adie pulled up the leg of his trousers. Above expensive Italian loafers his ankle had swollen to twice the size it ought to be, while red, purple and blue bruising crept up his leg like angry wisteria.

‘Oh, bugger me,' said Netty, wincing in sympathy. ‘OK, so maybe you're not overacting after all.'

Carol moved her attention from the bruising
to his face. ‘Do you think there's any chance that it might be broken?'

Adie shrugged. ‘How would I know? I don't think so—you can't walk on something if it's broken, can you?'

‘God knows, it looks terrible. What do you want to do? Shall I go and find Mr Bearman?' said Carol. ‘That looks absolutely awful.'

‘re ally?' Adie said grimly. ‘You know what they say, the show must go on. I'm going to find some ice; we've only got another hour or so before we break for lunch. I'll rest it up for a while then and see how it feels afterwards. Bearman says we don't have to do the fight scene again until the performance, so it might be OK.'

Nobody else looked that optimistic, having seen the swelling and the bruises.

Netty glared at him. ‘You know, you men are all the bloody same. One minute you're saying you're dying and the next you're saying it will all be just hunky dory after all. What is that about? Wanting us to admire how big and brave you are? Getting the sympathy vote? Being nominated man of the match? Carol's hangover still has my vote—did you see her first thing this morning? Those bags are going to take some beating.'

Carol growled in her general direction.

Adie sighed. ‘Don't get so stressed. I just wanted a second opinion, that's all. It hurts like hell but I'm going to give it a shot, although I would be grateful if you could discreetly ask around to see if there is a doctor in the house—or a nurse.'

‘Or a vet?' suggested Netty helpfully.

‘That's the kind of thing I'd expect Jan to say,' said Carol. ‘Which reminds me, where exactly is she?'

‘On the phone to her mum, telling her the good news, probably,' said Adie offhandedly as he adjusted his trousers.

‘And exactly what good news is that then?' Carol said.

He blushed but looked pleased. ‘I think you should talk to Jan about it.'

Carol stared at him, but he just shrugged. ‘Oh, come off it, Adie. We're all mates, for goodness' sake. She was like a bear with a sore butt until last night, and now she's like the cat who got the goldfish.'

Still he said nothing.

‘Do you know anything about this?' Carol said to Netty, who frowned in a gesture of exasperation. Carol glared at Adie; it was no good,
she was going to have to get him on his own and bully him or she might never find out what the hell was going on.

Back in the main hall Diana was busy helping to supervise the setting up of chairs for the afternoon's invited audience.

‘One way and another it's been rather an interesting weekend,' said Mr Bearman cheerily. He was carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a selection of chocolate biscuits on it.

‘I'm glad you're enjoying it,' said Diana.

‘Wouldn't have missed it for the world. How many are we expecting to come and see the performance this afternoon?' he asked, looking round the hall.

Diana followed his glance; the crew were all beavering away with huge stacks of chairs. ‘I think most people invited at least one other person, and a lot have invited their whole family. Then there are quite a few people from the school. I'm hoping that we're going to get a full house, but even if we don't it doesn't matter. At least the ones that do turn up will all be on our side.'

George Bearman laughed. ‘Well, there is that. Sounds like a damned good idea to me. We'll
just do another hour or so after tea break, and then stop for lunch. If we could have everyone back here by what—shall we say one thirty?'

Diana nodded. ‘The audience should be here any time after two, performance starts at two thirty—sounds perfect.'

‘Righty-oh. Is your husband coming?'

Diana shook her head. ‘I don't know, most probably not. He's a vicar; Sunday is his busy day.'

‘A great shame that he can't see all your hard work. You know, all in all this was a wonderful idea, Diana.'

She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Mr Bearman, although perhaps we should save any congratulations and crowing until after the show.'

George laughed as he headed off towards Callista with the tea and biscuits. ‘How very like a woman,' he said.

Diana lifted an eyebrow; she didn't like to tell him it wasn't just the play that was on her mind.

‘I re ally don't understand this at all, Gareth. You were all over me like a rash last night,' hissed Fiona, hands on hips, her face reddening
to magenta. It didn't take a psychologist to work out that she was all wound up and ready to pounce. ‘I'm very hurt—terribly, terribly hurt, Gareth.
Do you understand?
I feel like you've used me and now you're just throwing me away like a broken toy. Casting me aside.' Her tone was icy and yet at the same time Fiona somehow managed to convey a childlike vulnerability, which was what had probably got her the walk-on part in
Emmerdale
that she had told him about the night before.

‘I think that you're overreacting, Fiona,' Gareth said, and instantly regretted it as her face got even redder. God, maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. The woman was totally crazy. ‘What I mean is, I'm just saying that we should keep the whole “us” thing under wraps while we're here. It'll only be for a while longer, a couple of days at the most, that's all,' he added, speaking calmly but quickly, trying to stem Fiona's rising emotional tide. This wasn't how he imagined the morning-after meeting with Fiona going at all.

‘But you told me that you wanted me, that you had come here to see me, that you had always loved me. Or was that just a game too, Gareth? Some sort of nasty trick to get me into
bed? From where I'm standing it looks like you've had what you want and now you're off.' Her voice quivered slightly and then broke. ‘I feel so used, and so very, very cheap,' she sniffled, a single crystal tear rolling down her cheek. It was a masterly performance.

‘Of course I want you,' said Gareth softly, lifting a hand to stroke the tear away, hoping to appease her and also encourage her to keep her voice down. She could project like Pavarotti. They were standing at the back of the stage and he re ally didn't want anyone else hearing. ‘I just don't think that this is the place to make it public, that's all. I'd prefer if we kept it to ourselves, at least till we're away from Burbeck House.'

‘Why?' she wailed. ‘Why not here? It's crazy. Who on earth cares if we're a couple or not? We're both free, we're both single, we're both adults—or is it that you're ashamed of me?'

‘No, no, not at all,' he began. God, the woman re ally was barking mad. Worse still, it sounded for all the world as if she was reading from a script.

Fiona glared at him. ‘Men are all the same, you know. You just use me, treat me like some sort of sex toy—it's because I'm beautiful, I
know that—but no one ever sees past my looks. That is what Mummy says. I know that they just see the face and the body and not the real me. I want someone to love me for what I re ally truly am, Gareth. I want a man who cares about me, the inner me, and isn't just attracted by my natural beauty,' wailed Fiona, all red-faced, with eyes puffed up like jam doughnuts. The irony wasn't lost on Gareth. ‘I thought you were different,' Fiona concluded.

Gareth didn't like to say so, but he had had much the same thought; it seems that they had both been proved wrong. It was such a pity that Carol had run off like that. She might not be as classically pretty as Fiona, but she was nice-looking, great eyes, re ally nice smile and good body, and hadn't struck him as bunny-boiler material, while Fiona on the other hand…

Before he could finish the thought, Fiona sobbed, ‘All those years, wasted, all those hopes dashed…' And then blew her nose into a large white lace-trimmed hankie.

Gareth stared down at her, wondering what the hell Fiona was on about but decided on balance that he didn't want to know and didn't plan to ask.

‘Don't leave me,' she whined in a voice that would have shattered crystal. ‘Stay with me, please.' She threw her arms around him and hung on tight. ‘Please stay, I can't bear it.'

‘Please calm down, Fiona. I'm not planning on going anywhere,' he said hastily, trying to extricate himself from her clutches. ‘I wasn't saying I didn't want you, it's just we ought to keep this—' Gareth lifted his hands to indicate some seminal moment, well aware that he was repeating himself—‘to ourselves for a while longer, just until the weekend is over. That's all.' He enunciated every word in case there was some possibility of her misunderstanding.

She stepped back. ‘So you said,' she sniffed. Wiping her tears away, Fiona added sulkily. ‘I just don't understand why.'

Gareth sighed. ‘No, I don't suppose you do.' Her skin was so thick that it would probably take a blow torch and hammer to get through to her.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?' she snapped.

It was exhausting talking to Fiona. Gareth felt as if he was taking part in a particularly high-octane tennis match. It was a terrible shame that Fiona hadn't put as much effort into
the sexual stuff. If she had it might almost be worth the effort. Unfortunately Fiona seemed to think that nice girls still laid back and thought of Queen and Country.

‘You think that I'm stupid, don't you—that's it, isn't it?' Fiona whined. She was capable of an extremely wide range of emotions for one so small.

‘No, no, that isn't it at all.'

‘re ally?' she growled.

‘No, it's not. OK, look, I'll be honest with you.' Gareth took a deep breath. ‘Carol has got a bit of a crush on me. You must have seen her this weekend—it's been so obvious—and I don't want to rub it in. I don't know if you remember but we used to be a bit of an item when we were at school.' Gareth paused, watching Fiona's face to see how he was doing. ‘She took it hard when I finished with her and, to be perfectly honest, I don't think she re ally ever got over it. She's been all over me since we arrived.'

Fiona's jaw dropped. ‘All over you? Carol, Carol French? Lady Bloody Macbeth?' she spat. ‘Good God. re ally?' She laughed and then shook her head.

Gareth stared at her. He wasn't sure what
sort of reaction he'd been expecting but incredulity was not top of the list.

‘What do you mean, “re ally”?'

Fiona wrinkled up her nose as if she could smell something deeply offensive. ‘I've always thought that Carol was very ordinary. I've still got no idea why they cast her in the lead instead of me. Not that I'm jealous or anything—that would be ridiculous—but Mummy always used to say she thought it was out of pity. You know, trying to give everyone a chance at the brass ring, although it obviously lowers production values. I'm amazed she had the gall to show up and think she could step straight back into the role. I always thought the reviewers were very kind—' And then Fiona's eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, wait a minute. Yes, you're right, wasn't she the one chasing you before we met, when we first got together? I remember now. We had to keep it quiet then too, at least until after we left school. I think Mummy was worried about me getting involved with someone when I was so young, you know, in case I lost sight of my career goals.'

There was a moment's pause and then Gareth, as if pulling the memory up from the cobweb-strewn depths, nodded. ‘You know, I think you're right.'

Fiona sighed. ‘So we've still got to keep it quiet because of Carol French, have we? Even after all these years?' She sniffed. ‘Unbelievable.'

Gareth smiled. ‘It would be cruel to rub it in,' he said.

Fiona stared at him as if considering the possibility. Gareth waited for his sentence to be meted out and then, unexpectedly, Fiona smiled and stroked his arm. ‘You know, you are so thoughtful, Gareth. I'd totally forgotten.'

‘So you agree then?' he said, trying hard to keep any sense of relief to himself.

Fiona smiled, her expression now totally beatific. ‘I suppose under the circumstances it is the kindest thing to do, re ally. We don't want to rub it in, do we? Not when we're so perfect for each other.' Fiona purred and began to preen. ‘Carol's divorced, you know. It must be very hard for a woman in her position. He probably got bored and left her, if you ask me. And I know it's very sexy at the moment but working outside can be so unkind on the skin. So very ageing. I would have thought it must be terribly difficult for someone like her to find anyone else. I mean, if you think about it, gardening is practically manual labour.'