Doubting Abbey (30 page)
‘And what’s more,’ continued Abbey’s aunt, ‘to extend their favour, the couple insist on holding an engagement party here, next Wednesday evening. Robert will organize a raffle for his army charity – Edward, didn’t you suggest the prize could be a short stay at Applebridge Hall and lessons at the Food Academy?’
He nodded. ‘Gaynor also suggested a competition, linked to the show, for two viewers to win the chance to attend the party.’
‘Are you all right, Abbey?’ asked Lady C. ‘You look terribly pale again, dear.’
I smiled weakly, ignoring Edward’s dagger glares. Finally, he looked away as Charlie Chingo entered the room.
‘Yo! How ya doing, folks?’ Charlie ran a hand through his quiff and stood still for one second as Roxy powdered his nose. ‘Everyone ready to
Chat with the Chingo
? I believe the lunch is at one. From twelve, the camera and I will mingle among the guests.’
Gaynor came in with a clipboard.
‘Can we speak for a moment, Charlie, darling?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to run you through the types of questions to ask. We want to see real emotion on the screen – you’ve got to remind the evacuees how much they missed their parents. Dig deep. If any were treated badly, all the better.’
Now it was her turn for a glare from Edward.
‘Not that anyone would have been abused here, of course,’ she said brightly and flicked her black bob. ‘But perhaps some spent several years elsewhere, before or after their stay at Applebridge Hall. Ask if their dads returned from military duty. Maybe they lost relatives during the bombing.’
‘Brutal business, this reality shoe malarkey, isn’t it?’ said Lady C and shook her head as Charlie disappeared with the director. ‘Right, I must find James. Roxy asked me to make sure he was in the Drake Diner by half past eleven.’ She stood up and left.
‘You must, um, be very pleased for Henrietta and the Lieutenant,’ I mumbled to Edward when we were alone.
But he’d closed off from me and simply continued flicking through the ration books on display. Through the patio windows I saw Nick, working in the vegetable garden. He stood up and waved. Discreetly, I waved back.
Okay, Gemma. Get a grip. Forget your huge cock-up with Edward, just for one moment. Forget wanting to jump up and down because Edward isn’t actually engaged to somebody else. Concentrate on the bigger picture instead.
Plan Sex-up needed to move forward. Nick and I had a romantic scene to re-enact. What with the reunion dinner and engagement party and Facebook fan page, things were finally coming together. I couldn’t lose it now and allow all this love stuff to ruin my week’s hard work. If nothing else, I now owed it to Edward, more than ever, to make sure the Hall won the show.
‘Do excuse me,’ I muttered to no one in particular, and went out through the patio doors just as Roxy appeared and pointed out things on the trestle table she wanted filming to the cameraman. Edward left by the other entrance and muttered something about going to the library for a moment.
Phew. Fresh air. There was nothing like it for clearing the head – well, apart from a Coke and Alka Seltzer.
I gazed around. This was the first mega overcast morning in ages, yet the estate still looked wicked. Not like where I’d grown up, which looked down and out, even on a blistering August day. I walked over to Nick, who was leaning on his hoe.
‘Have you heard about the competition on Facebook, Miss Croxley?’ he said, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Yes. If that doesn’t keep the viewers hooked, nothing will,’ I said.
‘You sound as if you planned it yourself.’
I smiled. ‘Um, I wish—it’s a really good idea. What’s the final result? I’ve been off-colour and haven’t looked. Somehow we have to re-enact the chosen movie scene this afternoon.’
‘
Ghost
won, by a long stretch.’
I looked at my watch and then pictured that movie scene in my head. Urgh. I kind of wished now that I’d chosen more conservative film scenes. What a good thing I’d played down the sex-up plan with Lady C – she’d have done everything possible to talk me out of this latest re-enactment. Plus I’d done her a favour; now she was closer to the Earl, it was one less thing for innocent her to lie about. Along with everyone else, she could speculate about who was the Demi Moore to Nick’s Patrick Swayze.
My heart fluttered and an adrenaline rush surged through me as a plan popped into my head – wacky as it was – how Nick and I could re-enact that pottery scene right now and get it over with.
‘Could you fetch some overalls and a bucket of water and meet me out the front, by the fountain, in five minutes? Cameras are out there as well today, to catch the guests as they arrive. I’ve got an idea.’ The part of me that still recalled Lady C’s lessons about modesty just wanted to get this over with now.
He grinned. ‘Certainly, Miss.’
I went back inside, past Edward, who looked as if he was only half-listening to Roxy. Chest thumping, I walked to the front of the house. Sure enough, another cameraman was there, taking shots of the drive, waiting for the ex-evacuees to turn up. Charlie and Gaynor smoked outside as she gave the presenter some last-minute instructions. They’d headed back inside by the time I stopped by the fountain and turned around to see where Nick was. I gazed back at the water feature, eyes focusing for a second on the chunk missing, due to gun-slinger Mr Thompson. The whole ornament was filthy with mud and green algae.
‘This needs a jolly good clean, don’t you think?’ I said to Nick as he appeared by my side. ‘Thanks for the overalls,’ I said and quickly slipped into them.
‘Nick… Just set the bucket down there,’ I said and pointed towards the fountain’s base. ‘Right… Think of that scene from
Ghost
,’ I whispered.
‘Sure,’ muttered Nick. ‘Who could forget Patrick Swayze, crouching behind Demi Moore whilst she runs her hands up and down that wet, vase-like shaped clay that’s spinning around. He puts his hands on hers and…’
‘Exactly,’ I whispered and jerked my head towards the base of the fountain. ‘Don’t you think that looks like a vase?’
‘You don’t mean…?’
‘It does need a jolly good clean. First impressions are important and there are, um, a lot of people visiting Applebridge Hall today.’
He gazed at me, mouth open.
‘Now or never, Nick,’ I said. ‘Hopefully, the cameraman will catch a few seconds of footage.’ I knelt down on the ground at the bottom of the fountain. Nick brought over the bucket and sat right behind me. He passed me the cloth. I dunked it in the water and started to scrub the column, up and down. My other hand moved at the same time, around the other side of the vase-shaped stonework. Nick moved closer behind me and placed his big fingers on top of mine. They felt surprisingly smooth for a gardener. Subtly, I glanced up. Sure enough, the camera was focused on us.
‘Lean in closer,’ I whispered. ‘Make it look as if you are kissing my neck – hopefully, that will hide my face.’
I dunked the cloth in the bucket again. Torrents of water dripped down the base. Now our arms swapped positions and my hands lay on top of his. Up and down, up and down… Demi Moore eat your heart out…
Except this wasn’t as much fun as I’d expected. Damn me getting used to being a Lady. All I could think of was how the Croxleys might react if they saw this. Luckily, our cue to stop quickly came: the sound of a car on the drive.
I glanced at the camera – thank God it now focused on the vehicle. Gaynor would have fired the cameraman if he’d missed the shot of the first evacuee arriving. Nick and I stood up and, heads down, we hurried across to the pond. I crouched behind some bushes and slipped out of the overalls. Well, almost. One foot got stuck and aargghh! No! I fell sideways towards the pond.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Saturday 8
th
September
11.45a.m.
Before logging on here, I still wasn’t sure whether to carry on with this blog. If I did, this morning’s contribution was to be brief and dedicated to last-minute preparations for the imminent lunch. So, I’ve bobbed into the library, with only minutes to spare until the guests arrive – it has been awfully busy and this is the first moment I’ve had to myself.
All I can say is…dear blog-readers, instead, I shall dedicate this post to you. Thank you. I am…overwhelmed…Clearly, you sensed that, at the moment, all is not well in my world. Yet there are no prying questions, no sarcastic comments, simply support – (apart from the rather unpleasant contribution from
Internetking
. Thank you for the advice, all – I shall simply remove his comments if he returns in future).
I think what touches me most is that you don’t see me as an aristocrat. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in line to inherit an estate or who my family is or what I sound like… It’s as if the online world has removed all barriers and my loyal blog followers just see me as me – you’ll never know just how much that means.
Drunkwriter
, you wonder if it is due to a woman. I am sorry your current, frequent inebriation follows a brutal break-up.
Cupcakesrock
is right—perhaps you are better off parted from someone who laughed at your poetry. Maybe you could meet like-minded people at a local writers’ club?
Knityourownmansion
, so you understand feeling low and downhearted? I’m sure that, like you, many people, post-retirement, feel they have lost their sense of worth. Clearly, knitting has filled a hole in your life. Have you ever considered setting yourself up online and selling your own handcrafted goods?
BusyfanDownton
, nice to see you back here (and no, I won’t tell Baron Marwick that you’ve visited my blog). I’m sorry to hear that you are on medication for low self-esteem. Just by supporting me, whilst still wishing the Baron to win, shows what a charitable, kind-hearted person you are.
And
Lovehotnoble
, that’s an exceedingly generous offer, but I must decline. Apart from anything else, Mr Thompson could be tempted to shoot if he saw you creeping into my bedroom with sadistic equipment – I don’t think he’s read
Fifty Shades of Grey
.
Phew. That was close. Nick caught me just in time. My clothes were still as dry as the infamous pork and apple stew I made. A bald man with a wrinkled face and cheeky smile stared right at me as I headed towards the car. I smoothed down my trouser suit and hoped my mascara hadn’t run, due to splashes of fountain water. Quickly, I shook hands with the first guest and then dashed in as he stayed to chat with the driver. I flashed an innocent smile at the cameraman as I walked by. It was just before midday when I hurtled into the Drake Diner. The Earl and Lady C were chatting to Edward who, for some reason, looked a little brighter than before. Extra cameramen and boom operators had been brought in for the reunion. Gaynor strode in.
‘The first car has just arrived!’ she said, while Roxy came over and offered me a mint.
As slow footsteps approached, we all glanced towards the door. The bald man came in. He wore a smart grey suit and held a walking stick.
‘Jonny? Jonny Jackson?’ said the Earl. ‘I’d recognize that mischievous smile anywhere!’
‘James…Jimbo!’
The two men shook hands as if they were never going to let go. In fact… Blimey! The Earl actually leant forward and gave him a hug. My eyes tingled. Even Lady C couldn’t disapprove of that uncharacteristic show of emotion.
‘How are you doing, lad?’ said Jonny as they finally drew apart. ‘It’s great to be back at Applebridge Hall. I can’t believe it’s been over seventy years since I was last here.’
At that moment another more familiar guest walked in.
‘Bill!’ said the Earl. ‘Here’s Jonny!’
‘You old rascal!’ Bill clapped the guest on the back. ‘Good Lord. This is a rum deal – us in this room again, as old codgers! Remember that time we got lost in the maze? Matron blew a gasket when we returned, covered in blood and scratches, having forced ourselves through the hedges.’
‘Always leading me astray, you two were,’ said Jonny and gave me a wink. He gazed around the dining room. ‘I’ve watched the show. It’s been nice to see the old familiar rooms and gardens – reminded me of days spent running through that forest. Do you two remember us stealing ladybirds from the girls and threatening to drown them in the pond?’
The Earl gave a hearty laugh. ‘Weren’t we horrors?’
Bill chuckled. ‘No—soft as putty, more like. We used to secretly release them onto lily pads so that they were all right.’
Light footsteps approached and a sprightly man with dyed brown hair combed over to the side came in. He wore a sharp slate suit and flash stripy tie.
‘Well, I never,’ muttered the Earl.
‘Gerry Green,’ said Bill.
‘Congratulations, old boy,’ said Jonny. ‘I’ve followed your comedy career over the years. You’ve done all right.’
Gerry shook hands with them all. ‘Sod, this, maties,’ he said with a guffaw and pulled them all close for a hug.
‘Lovely to meet you, Gerry,’ I said. ‘I’m Abbey, the Earl’s niece – we spoke on the telephone.’
‘But where are my manners?’ said the Earl, eyes sparkling, as he proceeded to introduce everyone. Then the next hour until lunch was served passed in a bit of a blur. Linda Sloggit turned up from Manchester. Everyone chatted and laughed as if the world might end tomorrow. Eventually Charlie Chingo strolled in and worked the room as the rest of the ex-evacuees turned up. Lady C and I cringed at his gruesome questions:
‘
You must have missed your parents?’
‘Any members of your family killed by bombs?’
‘No doubt some of your childhood friends weren’t so lucky as you, and ended up with abusive families…Could you tell us their tragic story…?
’
‘Linda? Is that you?’ stuttered a short woman with Arctic-white hair and lips surrounded by smoker’s wrinkles. ‘It’s Irene. Irene Cooper.’
Linda held out her arms and, like a little girl, Irene ran towards them. The whole room went quiet for a moment. Even Charlie shut up. After several minutes, the two women stood back from one another.
