Doubting Abbey (36 page)
‘Since your arrival,’ she continued, ‘Edward, he’s less… contained. Less…’
‘Uptight?’
She glanced sideways at me. ‘Exactly. You’ve been a tonic. Clearly, you understand him well. Dear Abbey.’ She slipped on arm around my waist and squeezed tight.
‘Come along, Henrietta,’ said Annabel. ‘It’s a quarter to seven. Roxy just told me Robert is upstairs changing and your father is helping James sort out the parking. Let us wait at the main entrance, in case some of the guests are early. Constance says some cameras are set up there, to film us greeting any arrivals.’
‘Showtime!’ I muttered to Henrietta.
Her eyes crinkled before she followed her mother out to the front entrance. My feet itched to dance, even though the music was what Dad would call ‘old hat’. Yet it was kind of romantic and I could just picture me and Edward smooching under the stars… Deep sigh. I turned to look at the band, yet was instead met by… Wowsers—an amazin’ sexy sight.
‘Cousin. You look… delightful,’ said Edward.
Blimey – that was quite a compliment from him. And forget popping candy, we were talking firecrackers, as I ogled him in his sharp black tux, pristine white shirt and tailored trousers. Forget Hollywood, Applebridge was home to the lushest hunk in the world.
At that moment, Roxy touched my shoulder and asked for a quick word. Reluctantly, I left Edward, to follow her outside to the patio, as guests started to file into the room. We headed for the tables, which were set up in the sunshine with vases of cream flowers mixed with green leafy stuff. Chatting ten to the dozen, the three GCSE students stood there in uniform.
‘You’d better get in,’ I said to them. ‘Those delicious canapés you made will need serving.’
Roxy glanced around, as if to check that we were quite alone.
‘Nick worked hard on this vegetable patch, didn’t he?’ she said.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You know that he handed in his notice, don’t you, Roxy?’
‘Yes. Just before he went, we had a chat. Blazing angry he was and called your cousin all sorts. He mumbled something about revenge being sweeter than pineapple…and he was smirking.’
‘How odd,’ I said, cheeks feeling hot.
Shiiii – sugar
.
‘I just wanted to warn you… That angry look of his, I’ve seen it before. A couple of years ago I worked on a documentary about some art gallery. An artist had his work rejected by the owner. Deluded as hell, he said he was the next Damian Hirst. I caught his face just before he left – the same expression as Nick’s. That night the gallery was torched.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, all thought of yummy food and romantic dancing suddenly forgotten.
‘Just be careful. And…remember, lots of people, me included, think you’re really fab. What with the lawnmower and fountain…. The fridge… Good actress or what. I know you’ve done everything for the right reasons…’
I stared vacantly, not sure what to say – admitting nothing.
‘Right.’ Roxy smiled. ‘Must go—just heard Lieutenant Mayhew’s voice. Charlie Chingo is supposed to kick off the evening with a quick interview with the happy couple.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘Good luck tonight.’
Mouth dry, I followed her back inside. At least the outfits were a distraction. Henrietta and Lieutenant Mayhew’s friends were either in uniform or cocktail dresses that swished and sparkled, with dreamy shoes to match. Slightly out of place, two old ladies sat in a corner, in pastels and pearls. I headed over. The jazz music played just loud enough so that the rhythm got into your feet but you didn’t have to shout to make yourself heard.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ I said. ‘May I introduce myself? I am—’
‘No need to tell us, dear,’ said the shorter one, wearing thick pink rouge. ‘Miss Abigail Croxley. Such a lovely young lady, you are. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching your cookery lessons.’
The other woman, in a smart trouser suit (was that a
purple
rinse?) stood up and kind of bowed.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she said in a bubbly voice ‘I’m Brenda – that’s Shirley, my sister— we won the competition to join these celebrations. Out of all the thousands who rang up to answer the million dollar question, our phone number was picked.’
‘Congratulations!’ I said. ‘What was the question about—Applebridge Hall’s history or a scene from the show?’
Brenda shook her head. ‘Nothing so difficult.’
‘It was: which show is the favourite programme of the American businessman putting up the prize money for
Million Dollar Mansion
?’ said Shirley. ‘
Downton Gabby
,
Downton Tabby
or
Downton Abbey
?’
‘See, not much skill involved to win,’ said Brenda and we all smiled.
‘Is someone looking after you both?’ I asked as neither of them had a drink.
‘Oh, don’t worry about us, dear,’ said Shirley. ‘That nice Gaynor woman said she’d be back in a moment.’
Yeah, right. There she was, black bob girlishly flicking from side to side as she flirted with Edward.
‘How about champagne cocktails?’ I said and called over one of the GCSE students, who carried a tray bearing full glasses, moonwalker-slow. Clearly, she was terrified of spilling a drop.
‘Thank you, dear. It’s a wonderful building,’ said Shirley and took a sip of her drink.
‘Would you like a behind-the-scenes tour?’ I asked. If I stayed one minute longer I’d be tempted to throw my cocktail over Gaynor. Ahem. Not that I was the jealous sort, of course.
The old women’s eyes widened.
‘Follow me,’ I said. ‘Bring your cocktails. We can start off in the library.’
As it turned out, both sisters were huge fans of countless antiques TV shows. What’s more, over the years they’d visited practically all of the National Trust’s stately homes. They pointed out a cubbyhole in one of unused bedrooms and informed me it was probably for hanging wigs, centuries ago. Servants would have cleaned them with arsenic powder to kill the nits.
Ick!
They cooed over ornate door frames and lovingly ran fingers over intricately carved banisters. They explained how bedrooms leading off the Long Gallery wouldn’t have been popular due to the noise at night when people exercised up there, or sat and chatted until all hours. In awe, they admired the grandfather clock in the Low Drawing Room and nodded knowingly as I pointed out leaking ceilings and crumbling stonework.
By the time we got back, the guests were eating and I left Brenda and Shirley helping themselves to the bacon and egg tartlets. The Lieutenant and Henrietta were laughing with Edward. Lady C danced with the Viscount while his wife shimmied with the Earl. The students huddled in a corner with mini trifles and I gave them the thumbs-up across the room.
I took a glass of white wine from Mr Thompson who, armed with a tray of drinks, patrolled the party. Then, balancing a plateful of food in the other hand, I headed outside. A ladylike helping, of course – not like the pyramid of salad I would build from Pizza Parlour’s free salad bar. As I approached the French windows, a man’s voice shouted from behind, ‘Get off me!’ It must have come from the hallway.
I turned around
. Shit
(forget all earlier comments about not swearing).
It
-hitting-the-fan time was here.
Dressed in designer jeans and a shirt, Nick stumbled into the dining room. He shook off the two men hired to guard the main entrance. Mr Thompson put down his tray, hurried over and grabbed his shoulder.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ said Nick in a loud voice.
As horrified gasps circled the room, the band stopped playing.
‘Watch your manners!’ said Lieutenant Mayhew, by Nick’s side within seconds. He looked at me. ‘Edward nipped to the library, Abbey – please go and fetch him.’
But, for a moment, I stood transfixed, staring at the gardener, wringing my hands.
The Earl shook his head. ‘You are no longer employed here, young man, so have no right to attend this party. I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.’
‘Really?’ Nick sniggered. ‘You might be interested in what I’ve got to say, first.’
He didn’t sound like Nick the gardener any more. It was the jerk from the other night who’d insulted me, dressed as Gemma.
‘For God’s sake, man, this is an engagement party,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Let’s at least take this outside.’
‘No. These good people and the viewers at home have a right to hear what I’ve got to say. All I want is for the truth to come out.’ Nick smiled at me. ‘Isn’t that right, Abbey, mate? May I address you in such a familiar way, because, let’s face it, your behaviour over the last week or so hasn’t exactly befitted an aristocrat…?’
Henrietta mouthed ‘get Edward’ and I hurried away to find him, while Nick was dragged from the room.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Wednesday 12th September
8.45p.m.
As promised, I have slipped out of the Drake Diner to give you an exclusive insight into the engagement party. The band is playing well known tunes by Frank Sinatra and Father has even taken to the dance floor.
When I mentioned that I was bobbing out to write this e-diary, Roxy instructed me that female blog-readers might be disappointed if I didn’t describe at least two outfits. So, if I remember rightly (Roxy kindly summed up for me) Lieutenant Mayhew’s sister is wearing a ‘burnt orange off-the-shoulder chiffon midi dress’. His dear friend Bombardier Zoe Churchill is in a ‘little black cocktail number with diamanté trim’.
Roxy also insisted I provide some ‘gossip’. I had to ask what she meant. After a roll of her eyes, she just told me to say, quote… “Mr Thompson actually blushed and broke into a smile when first introduced to Bombardier Zoe Churchill’s widowed mother, and throughout the evening has regularly returned to her side – and even asked her to dance.” In addition…
Erm, excuse me, friends, my cousin has just entered the library and clearly needs to talk…
‘Any of you toffs seen the movie Nine and a Half Weeks?’ said Nick with a smug grin, just as a purple-faced Edward and me entered the Long Gallery. I felt faint. At least Nick had been taken up here, away from the guests. Lady C and the Earl sat on one of the seats at the foot of a large window. Edward and I stopped by the portrait of the Earl’s glamorous mum. Mr Thompson and Lieutenant Mayhew had gone back downstairs. The TV crew quickly set up.
‘This’d better be good,’ snarled Edward and glared at Nick, ignoring his question.
Less familiar than usual, Gaynor reminded him that whatever Nick had to say was part of the reality show we’d all signed up for.
‘I doubt anyone has seen that film, Nick,’ I said, afraid of throwing up. ‘It’s, um, a favourite of my flatmate Gemma’s, which is the only reason I’m familiar with it.’
‘Really? So, what about
Dirty Dancing
or
Ghost
?’ He swaggered up and down.
‘I’ve heard of them,’ muttered Edward and loosened his collar. ‘Look, what’s this all about? My best friend’s engagement party is underway downstairs. If we’re going to play guessing games then I’ll leave right now.’
‘That’s a bit hasty, mate,’ said Nick. ‘You might be interested in what I’ve got to say. Abbey – will you tell them about our cinematic antics, or shall I?’
‘Abbey? It
was
you?’ said Edward, the colour draining from his face.
After a long silence, I blurted out my Plan Sex-up while staring at the floor.
Edward muttered that he’d seen something on the Internet about a movie competition, but had dismissed it as online gossip.
‘Huge apologies if I’ve brought the Croxley name into disrepute.’ I lifted my head. ‘But, quite simply, I was prepared to do anything to help us win this show. I thought a relationship between, um, the so-called upstairs and downstairs of the house might prompt some interest.’ I turned to face the camera. ‘I wasn’t trying to fool the public in a malicious way – all I wanted was to provide entertainment.’
After a silent minute or two, the Earl eventually spoke.
‘Don’t be too harsh on yourself,’ he muttered, in a gruff voice and scratched his beard. ‘No real harm done. Although, young lady, I suspect your father might want a few words.’
‘So that’s why you and Nick always seemed to be in cahoots?’ said Edward, the colour having returned to his cheeks. His gaze shifted down the gallery to the portrait of his grandfather— the serious-looking suited man with the sagging shoulders. ‘Over the generations, no doubt many Croxleys have done difficult things for the good of the family.’ He thought for a moment. ‘The whole plan lacked dignity but…Forget it, Cousin. What’s done is done. We’ll say no more.’ His top lip curled. ‘In fact it was quite brave of you, agreeing to spend more than a second necessary with this scoundrel.’ He turned to Nick. ‘What I don’t understand, man, is why you decided to tell us all now. From all accounts, you and my cousin got on well. Why would you reveal this secret? Why are you trying to ruin our chances of winning this show?’
He snorted. ‘Do you really think this family means anything to me, with your snooty noses and poncey clothes? As for Miss Croxley…’ he said. ‘Nice try, love, feeding me chilli strawberries. It took me all of yesterday and today to finally work out exactly why that scene was so unpleasurable.’
‘What’s he going on about now?’ muttered the Earl and opened his pocket watch. ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense.’
Gaynor and Roxy looked at each other and shrugged.
‘It was, um, only a joke, Nick,’ I said. ‘Please forgive me. I thought you’d see the funny side.’
‘Oh, it’s hilarious, all things considered. You must have felt right at home, feeding me fruit like some little tart – excuse the pun.’
‘Take that back!’ snapped Edward.
Nick put up his hands. ‘Keep your hair on, mate. I just need a few more minutes of your time. Take my word, you’ll thank me, soon enough. Now, Abbey…Tell the room – where did you go to finishing school?’
Huh?
Lady C and I exchanged looks. She was fiddling with her pearls. A shiver ran down my spine.
