Doubting Abbey (4 page)
‘What a, um, charming bracelet,’ I said and pointed to her wrist.
‘Oh, ta.’ She grinned. ‘My fiancé gave it to me.’
‘Fiancé? Oh, of course, I didn’t see the ring.’ It was no Elizabeth Taylor rock, but, nevertheless, a mega diamond to me. ‘Amaaaaazin’,’ I cooed. Oops. I caught Roxy’s eye. Her lip twitched. We giggled and then quickly I recovered my stuffy act. ‘My flatmate… that’s um, one of her words,’ I said. ‘Occasionally, I pick up these things.’
Roxy examined her wedding finger. ‘My boyfriend proposed in New York. Although I don’t suppose this compares to the huge pendants and tiaras you’ve grown up with.’
‘The, um, setting is utterly exquisite,’ I said. ‘It’s a ring I’d be proud to wear.’
Roxy eyes crinkled at the corners. She held up her clipboard and flicked through the paperwork quick-smart. ‘The arrangements, let’s see… Late morning arrival – greetings with family and staff. Then you’ll have a little private time before, at one o’clock, your uncle and cousin make a special announcement.’
‘What about?’ I said.
‘The business idea they’ve come up with, to save Applebridge Hall. Lord Edward has been hinting about it on his blog.’ She grinned. ‘Gaynor had to work on him for ages before he’d agree to spill his thoughts and feelings on-line. But, to be fair, he’s gone for it with gusto and is determined it’ll attract more fans and contribute to Applebridge Hall’s success.’
Ah, yes – Edward’s E-diary. Last night Lady C and I had taken a peek. His tone sounded a bit old-fashioned but, to my surprise, he seemed mega friendly towards the blog-readers.
‘And this announcement…?’ I said airily.
Roxy’s eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t you know anything about it?’
‘No. Cousin Edward, he, um, wanted it to be a surprise.’ Better not mention the coffee shop, seeing as other people didn’t know yet.
She shrugged. ‘Even the crew and I don’t know for sure. We’ve only just returned to the properties, since the preliminary rounds.’ Roxy consulted her clipboard again. ‘Tonight, at seven, you’ll be having dinner…’ She shot me a look. ‘Look, can I give you a tip, Abigail? Woman to woman?’
‘Do call me Abbey,’ I said and squished back into the comfy seat. Thank God these media types didn’t stand on ceremony. In fact, so far, so bloomin’ good. My false accent hadn’t been rumbled. This speaking malarkey was manageable as long as I gave it more Toff than
TOWIE
.
‘Abbey—you seem pretty down-to-earth. If you really want your family to win…’ She threw her hands into the air. ‘For God’s sake, sex things up!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ I said in my best plummy voice. Ooh, it was hard not to laugh, but Abbey would have certainly cringed at the S word. Not that she was a prude, but once I’d read out a chapter of
Fifty Shades of Grey
– her eyes bulged so much, I thought she was going to croak and search for a lily pad.
‘No offence meant,’ she said and shoved another pastille in her mouth. ‘It’s just that word’s out that the Baron of Marwick has something wild planned for this evening. In contrast to your uncle, whose idea of an entertaining Saturday night is sharing good food with friends… That’s fine for an earl pushing eighty, but your average reality show viewer wants arguments, intrigue or, even better, nudity.’
‘Yes, last year’s
Big Brother
was jolly good,’ I said. ‘Um, so my flatmate told me.’
‘She’s right – viewing figures topped ten million. One of the housemates got pregnant and the police had to break in and stop a brawl.’
I put on a shocked voice. ‘How dreadful.’
Roxy stopped chewing for a moment. ‘As you probably know, your uncle is a bit camera-shy. But, to stand any chance of winning, he’s got to wake up to the fact that
Million Dollar Mansion
is more than a posh version of
Come Dine With Me
. Marwick Castle is a strong contender – the Baron is media savvy and doesn’t much care what he has to do to pull in votes.’ Roxy took out another sweet. ‘To be honest, the production team was amazed Applebridge Hall got this far, and can only put it down to your hunky cousin appealing to female viewers.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Not that you heard any of this from me.’
‘You can trust me,’ I said, concentrating now. ‘Thanks awfully, Roxy. I’ll do what I can. Your input’s appreciated.’
As we turned off the motorway and stopped at traffic lights, she consulted her watch. ‘We’ll be there before you know it, so here are a few tips. Try to act natural in front of the cameras—as if us TV folk are invisible. There’s me and the director, Gaynor, various camera operators and sound guys, some set up in the house. Others will follow you Croxleys around the estate doing your daily business. Just consider us part of the scenery, the fittings and fixtures – discreet, unthreatening.’ Roxy gave a wide smile. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. And you look fab – those shoes are to die for…’ Her smile broadened. ‘The viewers are going to love you.’
My stomach relaxed. Perhaps I’d been worrying about nothing, I thought, as we overtook a tractor on the dual carriageway and I took in the quaint countryside.
‘How many episodes will be broadcast each week?’ I asked eventually.
‘Three – Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday, at eight p.m. sharp, with the Live Final – a special Saturday show, on the fifteenth, two weeks from today. Cameramen have spent the last five days at both locations, filming a fresh load of stock shots – you know, house exteriors, the grounds…’ Roxy smiled. ‘Don’t be nervous, Abbey. I can tell that you’re really photogenic.’
If only my appearance was the main concern, now. The mega hard part would be keeping my act up from sunrise to sunset, with all those TV people around.
Roxy texted madly on her phone for a while until, about twenty minutes later, a car cut in front of us, just as we turned into a road welcoming us to Applebridge. The chauffeur braked and Roxy’s clipboard fell on the floor. I collected up the papers as the driver sped up once more.
‘Thanks,’ mouthed Roxy, who was now on the phone to Gaynor. I gazed out of the window again. Wow. What a tiny village. At a first glance, there was nothing in Applebridge, apart from a post office, corner shop and pub called The Green Acorn – although the place was famous for staging a rock festival on some of the Earl’s land every summer. According to Lady C, that was at least one source of income for Abbey’s uncle.
I swallowed hard. Not long now to meeting my flatmate’s posh relatives and potentially being discovered, on camera, as a fraud. To distract myself, I glanced at Roxy’s papers and a list of everyone who’d be filmed at Applebridge Hall. With lots of exclamation marks, the names had been divided into two categories: ‘Above’ and ‘Below’ stairs.
I gazed at a photo of sharp-eyed Kathleen, the Scottish cook and housekeeper, and the estate manager, Mr Thompson, with a Sherlock Holmes style hat and hunting gun. Then there was a woman in her thirties, wearing cords and a T-shirt – that was Jean, apparently, the head-gardener. She looked nice. Mmm—her assistant, unshaven Nick, was about the same age as me. Sexy eyes! Not that I’d be able to get to know him well. Imagine the scandal if he and I really hit it off.
Roxy ended her call as the car turned into a drive longer than the street I’d grown up on. We drove past rows of little trees, bearing plump red apples, shinier than Snow White poisoned ones—when we were small, my brothers and I would have had heaps of fun playing hide and seek amongst them. Downhill to the right as the orchards fell behind us, was a pond with tall grasses and bulrushes on the nearside. Even the ducks were a fancy type, with purple chests and red bills.
My throat felt funny. I felt sick. How could I ever have thought this would work? What if the Croxleys saw straight through me? Perhaps they’d laugh at my choice of words or sneer at the way I walked. Or perhaps they’d be over-the-top friendly and I’d feel even worse about fooling them. Either way, I didn’t belong here. Urgh! Deep breaths. Focus, Gemma. You can do this. Think of the positives – it’s lush; what an amazin’ place to be a gardener.
Mmm, yes, talking of gardeners and that photo of Nick, with his short dark hair and eyes, all twinkly…
Oh My God! Forget the nerves for a moment—I’d just thought of an awesome way to sex up Applebridge Hall! That’s what Roxy said I needed to do, right? It was my duty. Sorry, Lady C, but I’d have to ignore the last of the three Ms: ‘No Men’. To beat Marwick Castle, the Croxleys had to keep the viewers glued to their seats and now I had a wicked plan!
Oblivious to the scene ahead, as the car slowed, I worked hard to suppress a chuckle. Above and below stairs…The answer to winning was obvious. The nation had to believe that the Earl’s well-to-do niece and the gardener’s assistant were having a forbidden secret affair!
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Saturday 1
st
September
11.30a.m
. Today is going to be jolly busy and I’ve just been informed that my cousin’s car has pulled into the drive, so quickly… First of all, thank you to everyone who is already ‘following’ this blog. The TV company has linked us to their website and several local stations have kindly spread word of this diary. Do please connect us to other social sites – no doubt many of you belong to Facebook.
Right, on now with the business of the day—I hereby formally announce the beginning of the competition. Let me use this domain to officially throw down the gauntlet to the opposition: Baron Marwick, if you are reading this, I declare our very determined intention to win
Million Dollar Mansion
. In the tradition of the Croxleys’ duelling ancestors, we challenge you to beat our family’s honourable loyalty and values. Or, as a more modern opponent might say: Game on!
Just to add, I’ve done my research and apparently blogs thrive with plenty of interaction. So what about answering this poser question?
How do you think we have invested our semi-final winnings, in order to defeat Marwick Castle? On…
Machinery to produce our very own ‘Croxley Cider’?
Transforming part of the mansion into kitchens, for the ‘Applebridge Food Academy’?
Converting the old stables into the ‘Croxley Coffee Shop’?
I shall attempt to bob on here later to view responses and briefly comment. On a speedy lighter note, may I respond to
bustyfanDownton
: no, I don’t dye my hair, nor can I acquire Prince Harry’s phone number – apologies.
Don’t call the police, Uncle… I mean, Earl…There’s a good reason I’m pretending to be your niece. Mr Thompson, put down that gun!
I took a deep breath. There was no point practising in my head what I’d say if found out. Go, girl! You can carry this off.
I looked out of the window as the car ground to a halt. My brow relaxed. Talk about picture perfect. Clearly I’d snuffed it and this was some heavenly palace or, Mary Poppins style, I had jumped into some painting of old England. Looming before me was the mega grand Applebridge Hall.
‘Don’t know how anyone gets used to living in a place like this,’ said Roxy.
‘Me neither,’ I mumbled, eyes transfixed. Although my older brother Ryan’s gaff was a former stately home – he was staying there at, um, Her Majesty’s Pleasure! Mega stupid he’d been, crashing into a parked car while texting.
Wow. Applebridge Hall was huge. Mahoosive. Bigger than Hogwarts. My home for the next week had gardens ten times the size of the sports grounds at my old high school. I fanned myself with Roxy’s clipboard, in anticipation of stepping out of the air-conditioned car and into the sticky end-of-the-summer heat. The mansion stood three storeys high and triangular gables (I knew that word from builder Uncle Pete) lined the top, where parts of the roof came forward. Where each one peaked, twisted ornamental bits rose into the air like mini totem poles. I’d seen similar ones in the book on Elizabethan architecture that Lady C had given me to speed-read.
‘Remember,’ said Roxy. ‘Big smile as soon as the car door opens. Cameras will be rolling.’
I think I nodded in reply. Not sure. I was still gawping. Although, this close, you could see why the Earl needed those million dollars. The building was made from reddish-brown stone wall and needed a mega good clean. Mouldy patches covered large areas – lichen, I think. Slate roof tiles had slipped out of position and several of the chimneys were missing chunks of stonework.
Yet, despite the crumbling brick and odd cracked window, it was pretty impressive, from the outside at least. Green ivy sprawled across the front and around the window frames. There was a protruding arched entrance in the middle, either side of which the building stretched sideways for the length of four window bays. At each end, Applebridge Hall extended forward so that, from the air, the building looked like a capital E. A tribute, perhaps, to the seventeenth century Queen Elizabeth, in which case it was just as well English letters didn’t look like Arabic or Chinese.
‘Ready?’ said Roxy.
I swallowed. ‘What’s Charlie Chingo like?’ A washed-up eighties pop star, with his trademark quiff and
Blues Brothers
suit, he’d reinvented himself as a chat show host and was presenting the show.
‘A total diamond.’ Roxy grinned. ‘On screen he behaves like a carefree teenager, but no one works harder—he often hovers around our outside broadcast van, helping edit footage for the next show.’
I nodded and stared at the mansion’s many windows. Vertical bars divided them into panes. It would take forever to make them all sparkle. Good thing all I had to do for this fortnight was serve cream teas.
The chauffeur opened my door and, thighs together, I slid out. In front of the car was a three-tiered fountain, overgrown with green slime and moss. Across the lawns, birds chirped and the sound of tinkling water filled the air. A line of people gathered at the entrance. Enough of admiring the estate – it was time to kick off this charade.
The cameraman and sound guy hovered like sprinters waiting for the off. Lord Edward stood in front, looking pretty lush (eek, mustn’t think that, he was supposed to be my cousin). His eyes were fixed on me. Members of staff were just behind him, with the old Earl. Nearby, hovered a tall woman with a shiny Jessie J bob, black-rimmed glasses and clipboard.
