Party Games (8 page)

Moments later he loped past the kitchen windows. Vanessa raced through the house to peek out the drawing room, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he’d magically melted back into the countryside.

She flopped on the sofa, out of sorts. What a peculiar man! Who did that, turned up at people’s back doors to try and find work? He definitely had to be some sort of traveller.

‘Hopefully we won’t be seeing him again,’ she told Sukie. An image of Dylan’s eyes, a pair of shimmery moons, flashed into her mind.

From Paisley to Plymouth the weather continued its balmy run. A holiday atmosphere descended over Britain and a Tuesday morning on Brighton beach looked like something out of a Thomas Cook holiday brochure, while office workers abandoned soggy sandwiches eaten at their desks and descended on pub gardens with relish. Parks everywhere teemed with life: rollerbladers, mothers with small children and bikini-clad teenagers absconding from GCSE leave to share bottles of cider and the odd mid-afternoon joint.

Driving back to Beeversham that day in her open-top MG, Catherine was in a great mood. It was one of those spring days where everything was in glorious Technicolor. Engorged verges threatened to burst on to the roads at any moment while apple-green trees were framed perfectly against royal-blue skies.

Flicking through the radio, Catherine came across Katrina and The Waves. Nothing like a bit of cheese on a day like this. Catherine whacked it right up and started singing along tunelessly. ‘Woo yeah yeah …’

She zoomed down into a tunnel of trees. She’d been thinking a lot about her mum today. Catherine had never known her dad, a travelling salesman who had neglected to tell Annie Fincham he had another family, but Catherine had never felt like she had missed out. There might not have been much money, but she had always felt secure and loved.

She glanced across at the passenger seat. She suddenly had the strangest sensation that her mother was sitting there, her radiant smile and long auburn hair blowing in the breeze.
Cathy, how are you, pet
…

As she came back out into the light again Catherine was filled with the most wonderful warmth. Blinking back the tears, she smiled.

I love you, Mam. And I’m doing OK
.

John was in the back garden on his iPad. He looked up and greeted her with a smile. ‘All right, gorgeous?’

‘All right.’

He looked mock hurt. ‘I’m not gorgeous?’

‘I said you’re all right,’ Catherine laughed, going round to give him a kiss. She caught the headline. TORIES FACE ABYSS AS SUPPORT CRUMBLES.

‘Another MP has just defected to Labour,’ he told her.

‘God, who’d be a Tory politician at the moment? They’re about as popular as a raging case of herpes.’

The house phone started ringing. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said.

It was a cold-caller, trying to sell her a stair lift. Catherine was in such a good mood she patiently endured his waffle, even wishing the man a nice day before putting the phone down. ‘I’ll start on lunch,’ she yelled out the door.

She had spent a fortune at the deli, including a six-pound bottle of organic sparkling apple juice in a pretty glass bottle. An extravagance, but it was an occasion that should be toasted in style.

She emptied out a tray of quails’ eggs on to a plate. Normally regular to the hour, her period was a week late. Her breasts were tender and achy and she was off her normal beloved morning cup of coffee. Smells and tastes were sharper and more pungent. She didn’t need to do a pregnancy test: her own body was telling her.

Catherine went over to the window, where John was at the table engrossed in his iPad. As she looked at his big, dark head bent over, she felt such a rush of emotion. What would their child inherit from each of them? John’s practicality and winning smile, the ability he had to sleep through a gale-force wind? Or her flat feet and stubborn insistence on seeing anything she did through to the bitter end? The thought of him or her with their whole life in front of them: experiences, triumphs, defeats and all made her feel exhilarated and terrified in equal measure.

Picking up the tray, she went to break the news to her husband.

It was official: Conrad and Vanessa were the hosts of that year’s Silver Box Awards.

‘My wife and I are delighted to be presenting such a prestigious occasion,’ Conrad said in the couple’s official statement. ‘It’s every actor’s dream.’

In private he was equally ebullient. ‘It might just have been a few lines in someone’s office, but we all felt the magic.’ His dark eyes glistened. ‘I’m seriously expecting an Oscar nomination within two years.’

Vanessa laughed. Conrad shot her a look.

‘Don’t take the piss,’ he said sharply. ‘This is a big deal for me.’

‘Conrad, I wasn’t …’ God, he was being serious!

At least Dominique could be counted on to side with her son-in-law. ‘I’m sure you were wonderful, Conrad. There was never any doubt in my mind you’d get the job.’

‘What about me, Mother?’ Vanessa asked. ‘Are you pleased for me?’

Dominique shot her an odd look. ‘Of course I am, Vanessa. It’s just that Conrad is the actor in the family.’

Silly me
, Vanessa thought.
As if I’m anyone important
.

They were in the dining room, a vast all-white room dominated by a marbled fireplace at the far end. The greasy remains of the starter lay on the Wedgwood plates in front of them. Tonight’s pan-fried scallops had not been a great success. To make matters worse, Conrad’s wine snobbery was on fire tonight. He’d already sent two perfectly acceptable Burgundies back.

‘Vanessa, you’re really going to have to do something about Renata’s cooking skills,’ Dominique said. ‘This simply isn’t good enough.’

A spark of annoyance flared inside Vanessa. ‘I’ve got an idea; why don’t you cook one night?’
And lift a bloody finger for once
, she wanted to add.

Dominique shot her daughter an icy stare across the table. Vanessa picked up her glass. Conrad was too involved in celebrating his success to notice the drop in temperature. ‘Ah, the Puligny-Montrachet from the Côte de Beaune,’ he exclaimed as Renata shuffled back in with a new bottle. He took it and inspected the label with a flourish. ‘And a fantastic year, 2001.’

‘Oh, Conrad,’ Dominique cooed. ‘You are knowledgeable.’ She turned her back on Vanessa, making her annoyance clear. ‘Tell me about the time you worked with Sir Michael Caine again, Conrad, I do love to hear it.’

As Conrad starting waxing lyrical about his screen presence Vanessa gazed round the imposing dining room. What a beautiful, cold house this was. She found
herself thinking again about the mysterious Dylan Goldhawk. It was obvious he wasn’t coming back. Vanessa thought of Dylan’s kind smile and shimmery eyes and was shocked at how disappointed she felt.

Fleur and Robert Blackwater sat in silence at the kitchen table. She’d made them up a simple chicken salad, but neither seemed to have much appetite.

‘Come on, Dad, eat your greens or you’ll never grow,’ she said. It was a weak joke, but she was worried about how ill he was looking.

He reached for his glass of beer instead. ‘Concentrate on your plate and I’ll concentrate on mine.’

A few painful moments dragged past. Mustering up a smile, she tried again.

‘I saw Ginny Chamberlain in town earlier. Loads of people are going to the meeting at county hall.’

‘Can’t say I see the point.’

‘Dad, if this theme park goes ahead, it’s really going to affect us!’

‘We’re fighting a losing battle up here anyway.’

‘That’s not true.’

He laughed unhappily. ‘Wish I shared your optimism, lass.’

She wanted to reach across the table and shake him.
She wanted to throw the stupid beer bottle against the wall and tell him she couldn’t do this all by herself. Instead she sat there and held her tongue.

The dogs started barking outside, signalling they had visitors. Robert frowned and checked his wristwatch. ‘Who’s this?’ They didn’t get many people dropping in these days.

A silver Citroën bumped cautiously into the yard. A man in a smart suit was behind the wheel. From the vehicle’s pristine appearance, it was clear the driver wasn’t someone who had much to do with farming.

Tinker and Bess were still barking, straining at their chains. The man sat behind the wheel looking nervous.

‘He must be lost,’ Fleur said. ‘I’ll go and see.’

‘He’s not lost.’ Robert’s ruddy cheeks had drained of colour. ‘That’s our bank manager.’

Herbert Stanley perched awkwardly on the chair looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. His glossy black briefcase was on the seat next to him.

‘Robert, you haven’t returned any of my calls.’

Fleur’s dad crossed his arms and glowered.

‘I’ve also written several times,’ Mr Stanley ventured.

‘I haven’t got time to go through correspondence!’ Robert growled.

An embarrassed silence fell over the room. Fleur studied her dirty fingernails. Why had their bank manager driven out here to see them? Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

Eventually she heard Mr Stanley sigh. ‘Look, Robert, I’ve known your family a long time now. I know how
difficult things are, but we have to come to some arrangement. I’ve been prepared to use my discretion on this, but I can only go so far.’ He sat up, and got down to business. ‘You have to start paying the loan back, Robert.’

Fleur’s head snapped up. ‘What loan?’

Mr Stanley looked at her uncertainly. ‘The loan you’ve taken out against the farm.’

What loan? ‘How much for?’ she asked, trying to sound calm.

‘With interest, the current amount is,’ Mr Stanley shuffled through his paperwork as a formality, ‘three hundred thousand and twelve pounds and seventy-nine pence.’

The numbers fluttered meaninglessly in Fleur’s ears, coming to settle like a pinball machine. ‘Three hundred thousand?’ she gasped. ‘We haven’t got that kind of …’

‘Be quiet, Fleur!’ her dad shouted.

Mr Stanley looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘If you don’t meet your side of the arrangement, the bank will have no options but to start legal proceedings against you. Or else …’

‘Or what?’ Fleur whispered.

Her dad’s voice dropped to an unnerving calm. ‘They’ll take Blackwater Farm off us, that’s what.’

‘Dad …’ Fleur was struggling to find the words. ‘How could you take out a loan without
telling
me?’

Father and daughter faced each other across the table. Mr Stanley had talked in financial jargon, but she understood the gist of it. To get the loan her father
had had to secure the farm against it. If they couldn’t start paying it back, the bank could force them to sell to recoup their money.

‘It’s none of your concern.’

‘Of course it is, Dad! We’re meant to be a team!’

‘You’ve got enough on your plate.’

Fleur was trying so hard to stay calm. ‘What about the money we got from Beau Rainford?’
I can’t believe you went behind my back again
, she wanted to scream at him.

‘It’s all gone.’ Robert saw his daughter’s face and gave a derisive laugh. ‘Open your eyes, lass, we’ve been going under for years.’

‘I wonder why,’ she muttered.

‘What did you say?’ he said sharply.

She dropped her eyes. ‘Nothing.’

They sat there in an awful silence. ‘How are we going to pay it back?’ Fleur asked. ‘Three hundred thousand pounds. It’s a huge amount of money!’

‘Thank you for pointing that out,’ he said tightly. ‘We’ll find a way.’

‘What way? We’re struggling as it is.’

‘It’s not your concern.’

‘Don’t treat me like a child. I’m not stupid!’

‘And I’m your father,’ he roared. ‘So stop challenging me!’

Tears sprang into her eyes and a look of anguish flashed across Robert Blackwater’s face. He got up and walked out, leaving his daughter alone at the table.

‘Thanks so much for seeing me, Felix. I didn’t know who else to call.’

Fleur sat nervously on the hard-backed chair and glanced round. Chamberlains & Co. wasn’t a big office, with the low roof and uneven floor of an old building. A SNOW poster was tacked up in the front window, while sepia photographs of a bygone Beeversham were framed on the wall.

His secretary’s desk was at the front of the office, while Felix’s more superior one was down the far end. A photo of Ginny in a summery dress stood next to graduation pictures of a young blond man and woman. The woman had Ginny’s sweet smile and Fleur guessed they must be Felix’s children.

Felix sat back in his chair. ‘Do you want to fill me in on what’s been going on?’

She told him what had happened the previous day, omitting the part where her dad had passed out later on drunk in his study. Felix listened and took notes, interrupting Fleur occasionally to clarify something
she’d said. At the end he laid his fountain pen down.

‘And you say the loan is three hundred thousand pounds.’

‘Yes.’ Hearing the amount again made Fleur feel sick. ‘They can’t take the farm off us, can they?’ she asked anxiously.

‘The general principle is that if you take a loan out, you have to pay it back,’ Felix said gently.

‘I didn’t realize how bad things have got. I should have done something sooner.’

‘I would imagine you’ve got quite enough to worry about, Fleur.’

She was horrified to feel her eyes filling up. He handed her a tissue from the box on the desk. ‘Here. I always keep these here for emergencies.’

‘I didn’t mean to come in and start blubbing,’ she sobbed.

‘It’s all right, Fleur, I’m quite used to it.’ He gave her a wink.

She managed a small smile back. ‘Couldn’t we just sell the farm and buy back what we could afford? It has to be worth five times what our loan is.’

‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. The bank could insist on what’s called a “forced sale”. The property goes to auction and is usually sold at a fraction of its value.’ Felix looked concerned. ‘Mr Stanley is saying it’s not just the amount you owe, Fleur, it’s the unpaid interest as well.’

Fleur’s trump card had been snatched away. She felt tears prickle in her eyes again. ‘Then I don’t know what to do …’