Take a Chance on Me (29 page)

‘Oh hooray, you’re here, come on in, thanks so much for doing this!’ Honor greeted her warmly at the door and ushered her through to the living room. ‘Come and meet Clarice. Poor old darling, she’s a bit crotchety but we’ve only got her for a few days. Here we are, then!’ She pushed open the door and raised her voice. ‘Aunt Clarice, this is Cleo, she’s going to be keeping you company this evening, isn’t that nice?’

‘How would I know if it’s nice? She might be the most boring creature on the planet.’

Okaaaaaay
.

‘Well she isn’t,’ said Honor. ‘She’s lovely, so there.’

‘And I’m crotchety.’ Johnny’s aged aunt eyed her over the top of her reading glasses. ‘Mainly because you keep calling me a poor old darling and acting as if I’m stone deaf.’

‘Hey, how’s it going? Thanks for doing this.’ Johnny hurried into the room, pulling on his jacket. He nodded at Cleo, then at his aunt. ‘You’ll be fine with Cleo. There’s whiskey in the cupboard and food in the fridge. Just help yourselves to anything you want. We won’t be late home.’

‘Baby, can you do this for me?’ Honor approached Johnny holding out a narrow gold chain. Sweeping up her hair and turning her flawless back to him, she waited while he fastened it around her neck.

‘There, done.’ He stepped back.

‘And that’s us all ready to go!’ Flashing them the kind of smile that made Cleo feel about as alluring as a squashed frog, Honor waggled her French-manicured fingers and said, ‘See you later! Have fun!’

They let themselves out of the house and Clarice echoed dryly, ‘Have fun. If only I’d remembered to bring my time machine with me.’

She was in her late seventies, as thin as a whippet, and with practically translucent skin. Her hair was grey and fastened back in a ballerina’s bun. She was wearing a plain white shirt, pale green wool skirt, and darker green cardigan. No makeup. Miss-nothing grey eyes. Impressive diamond studs in her ears and a hefty steel watch on her left wrist.

Cleo sat down opposite her. ‘I’m so sorry about your sister.’

‘Thank you. Yes.’ Clarice nodded briefly and closed the book on her lap. She removed her rimless reading glasses and said, ‘First Lawrence, then Barbara. Only one of us left now.’

‘Are you down here for long?’

‘Just a few days. Then it’s back to the nursing home.’

‘What’s that like?’

‘Full of old people. Who keep
dying
. Oh, it’s a laugh a minute. The conversation just sparkles.’ Clarice heaved a sigh.

‘If you don’t like it,’ said Cleo, ‘why are you there?’

‘Oh, God knows. It was Barbara’s idea, when the house got too much for us. And she seemed to like it. She was happy there.’ Clarice paused. ‘I wouldn’t call it my idea of heaven.’

‘So couldn’t you leave?’

‘What, run away and join the circus?’ With a brief smile, Clarice said, ‘Unfortunately, I’m a decrepit old bat, just in case you hadn’t noticed. I have heart problems, joint problems, eye problems, you name it. Oh yes, it’s a bundle of laughs being old and in possession of a body that’s falling to bits.’ She dismissed the topic with a shrug. ‘Anyway, enough about me and my disintegrating bones. Why don’t we talk about something more interesting? Johnny tells me you’re a chauffeuse…’

The next couple of hours passed effortlessly. Contrary to expectations, Cleo really enjoyed herself. Clarice might be a decrepit old bat, but she was hugely entertaining, as sharp and scurrilous as Paul O’Grady, and with a wicked sense of humor to boot. Having slightly dreaded the prospect of having to spend an entire evening keeping her company, she was now glad she’d come over. Clarice asked plenty of questions and provided acerbic comments. She also spoke about her family and told brilliant tales of Johnny’s childhood.

‘He came to stay with me once when he was… ooh, six or seven. I was driving us along when all of a sudden a mouse ran across my foot. Damn near crashed the car! And Johnny said, “Oh no, I forgot I had Harry in my pocket. Poor Harry, if we’d had an accident he could have been
killed
.”’

Hopeless case that she was, just the mention of Johnny was enough to cause a flutter of excitement in her chest. Quelling it, Cleo said, ‘That almost happened to me once. I had a client in the back of the car, and we were heading along the M5 when he said, “Now don’t panic, Miss Quinn, but I have to warn you that my snake is heading for your gearstick.”’

‘Ha!’ Clarice almost spilled her tumbler of whiskey and water. ‘I once had a work colleague like that.’

‘Except this was a real snake.’ Shuddering at the memory, Cleo said, ‘And I was doing eighty in the outside lane.’

Clarice took a sip of her drink and surveyed her through narrowed eyes. ‘Quinn… Quinn… that’s interesting. Are you just a few months younger than Johnny?’

Cleo nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Hmm. Birthday at the beginning of September?’

OK, slightly spooky. Was she Derek Acorah in her spare time? ‘Um, that’s right,’ said Cleo. ‘September the fourth. How do you know that?’

Clarice looked pleased with herself. ‘We’ve met before, dear.’

‘Well, I was at Lawrence’s funeral. I saw you there, and in the Hollybush afterwards, but we didn’t get a chance to talk…’

‘No, not then. Many years before that.’ Clarice watched her with amusement. ‘It’s all right, I’m being unfair. You won’t remember. In fact, it happened before you were born.’

Cleo hesitated; now they were wandering into the realms of the downright bizarre. Had Clarice been topping up her whiskey glass while her back was turned? Warily she said, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I was down here visiting Lawrence and his family. It was the August bank holiday and there was a summer fair being held out on the village green. It was a sunny day,’ Clarice remembered. ‘Very hot. I was holding Johnny in my arms and he kept trying to pull his little sunhat off.’

The image of Johnny in a cotton sunhat was one to treasure. Cleo said, ‘Go on.’

‘I was with Johnny’s mother when we were approached by a man. His wife was pregnant and in something of a state, because she was almost at full term but her baby had stopped kicking. In fact they were both beside themselves, worried sick, but because it was a bank holiday there was no doctor’s offices open. And they were terrified that something had happened to the baby. So I offered to examine his wife.’

Cleo made the connection at last. ‘Because you were a doctor.’

‘I was a consultant obstetrician,’ Clarice crisply corrected her. ‘And the couple’s name was Quinn. We went back to their cottage on the other side of the green, and I examined your mother, whose name I
do
remember, because that was the name of my secretary at the time. And I was able to assure Belinda that you were still alive in there. In fact, I woke you up and you started kicking like a donkey. Your parents were so relieved. You were a very much longed-for baby, you know. So there you go.’ Pleased with herself, Clarice said, ‘And a week or so later, Lawrence called to let me know that Belinda Quinn had given birth to a healthy baby girl. So you and I may not have exchanged too much in the way of conversation, but I gave you a jolly good prod and a poke, and you kicked me in return, which seems only—good Lord!’ She stopped abruptly. ‘My dear girl, are you
crying
?’

Embarrassed, Cleo shook her head. ‘No, not really…’ Using the backs of her fingers she wiped her wet cheeks. ‘OK, maybe a bit…’

‘Well it’s been a while since I retired but they look like tears to me. I’m sorry, my dear, did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘It’s all right, I’m fine.’ This time Cleo managed to smile. ‘Sorry about that. My mum died when I was eleven, so it’s just nice to hear you talking about her.’

‘She was a nice lady. Very grateful. I was happy to help. Now, could you be an angel and fetch some cheese and biscuits from the kitchen? Then we’ll have a chat about you. Oh, and here…’ Diamonds flashed on Clarice’s arthritic fingers as she held out her empty tumbler. ‘Pour me another whiskey, dear, if you would.’

***

Johnny and Honor arrived back just before midnight.

‘We’re home!’ sand Honor, and Cleo’s heart sank, because she said it as if she meant it. Ravenswood was her home now, and she and Johnny were a proper couple. A stunning, golden couple with everything going for them.

Johnny surveyed them from the doorway. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Perfect. We’ve had a wonderful evening.’ Patting Cleo’s hand, Clarice said, ‘Couldn’t have asked for a nicer babysitter.’

He smiled briefly. ‘Good.’

‘How about you two?’

‘Great.’ Johnny shrugged. ‘The evening was a success. The art was… interesting.’

‘It was modern,’ Honor cut in. ‘Basically, it looked like it had been done by a bunch of drunken monkeys. Paint spattered everywhere. But we raised a ton of money, so that’s the main thing. Right, I’m off to bed. Night, everyone! See you, Clarice!’ She blew kisses and retired upstairs.

Clarice said dryly, ‘See you.’

‘Clarice isn’t happy in that nursing home. She was only putting up with it to keep her sister company. And now she doesn’t have to stay there anymore.’

Johnny had offered to walk her home and Cleo had taken him up on it. This was something he needed to hear and she suspected that for all her straight-talking, Clarice wouldn’t dream of telling him herself.

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I did wonder.’

‘She calls it God’s waiting room. She hates it.’

‘That bad?’

‘Yes.’ She was firm.

Johnny shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as they made their way across the wet grass. ‘Well then, we need to get something else organized.’

‘Can I say something?’

In the darkness she detected a glimmer of a smile. ‘Can I stop you?’

Only with a kiss. But that’s not going to happen, so don’t
even think about it.

Aloud she said, ‘Your aunt is brilliant. I really like her.’

‘So do I.’

‘But when she told me about how much she hated the nursing home, I said hadn’t she thought about moving to this part of the country? And she said she couldn’t do that because then you’d feel obliged to visit her all the time. She doesn’t want to be a nuisance and put you under pressure.’

Johnny stopped walking. ‘She’s my only living relative. Why would she think I’d feel pressured?’

‘Because she says you have your own life to live and you don’t need some ancient relative taking up your time. Which is why I’m telling you now.’ Cleo looked at him. ‘Even though she made me promise I wouldn’t. But I do happen to know a good nursing home in Bristol. One of my regular customers lives there and she loves it.’

‘And when I’m at home she could come and stay here… it’d be easy if she was that close.’ Johnny said, ‘Whereabouts is this nursing home? What’s it called? God, she spent forty years terrifying the life out of young doctors. She’s such a professional battleaxe I can’t believe Clarice didn’t want to ask me herself.’

‘She’s considerate. She doesn’t want to be a burden.’ Brimming with fresh emotion, Cleo said, ‘Look, if you ever needed a hand with her, I’d be more than happy to help out.’ Oh God, did that make her sound like a creep, desperate for contact with him no matter how tenuous it might be?

They’d reached the cottage. Johnny lightly touched her on the arm and the unexpected contact made her shiver with suppressed longing.

He looked down at her and said, ‘What is it?’

Cleo shook her head helplessly; it wasn’t as if she could blurt out how she felt about him and how utterly bereft Honor’s reappearance in his life had made her feel.

‘Nothing. I’m OK, just… you know, tired…’

Johnny’s dark eyes glittered. ‘I meant what’s the name of the nursing home?’

‘Oh God, sorry…’ Just as well it was dark; she squeezed her eyes tight shut and felt her cheeks heat up. ‘It’s Naish House in Clifton, up on the Downs.’

‘I’ll have a look at the website when I get home.’ He paused. ‘Thanks for tonight. I owe you one.’

Owed her one what? A favor? A moment of rampant passion? For a long moment they looked at each other and Cleo wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking. What would happen if she were to grab him now, just go for it and, God,
launch
herself at him? And was she imagining it or did he—?

‘Yee-ha!’ The whoop came out of the darkness, closely followed by the sound of running footsteps and panting and muffled laughter. Together they turned and saw Ash racing across the grass towards them with his striped shirt untucked and Fia in his arms giggling and shrieking to be put down. On their way back from the pub, it wasn’t hard to guess why they were in such a hurry to get home. Watching them, Cleo was glad they were so ecstatically happy, but Ash’s timing definitely left something to be desired.

Then again, maybe it was just as well.

‘Evening!’ Grinning broadly at the sight of them, Ash lowered Fia to the ground but kept his arm around her; practically inseparable for the past few days, it was as if they couldn’t bear to let each other go.

‘Evening.’ Johnny nodded, smiled briefly and said, ‘Right, I’d better get back then.’ He looked at Cleo, his expression unreadable. ‘Thanks again.’

She dragged her gaze away from his mouth and heard herself say as chirpily as a girl guide, ‘No problem, I really enjoyed it. Goodnight!’

Ash gave Fia’s waist a squeeze and murmured, ‘It isn’t over yet.’

Smiling, Fia whispered back, ‘But the next bit’s going to be even better.’

God, newly-in-love people. They could really make you sick.

***

From her darkened bedroom window, Cleo watched as Johnny made his way back across the green to Ravenswood. And to Honor Donaldson, curvy and irresistible and more than likely currently lying naked in his huge king-sized bed.

Not that she’d ever seen it, but she’d bet any money it was king-sized.

From next door came whoops and squeals of helpless laughter. Cleo rubbed her hands over her face and turned away from the window. It wasn’t much fun feeling unwanted, unloved, and like a third wheel in your own house.

***

The last eight days had been a whirlwind of work. The upside to this, Cleo had discovered, was that it kept your mind occupied and stopped you daydreaming hopelessly about your last unsatisfactory encounter with Johnny LaVenture before he and Honor had disappeared from the village. Well, it almost stopped you daydreaming about him. The downside was that she was exhausted, and today had been another long day. A long, loooonnnngggg day. Nor, sadly, was it over yet. When she called Grumpy Graham and tried to wriggle out of the third booking, he informed her in no uncertain terms that she was out of luck.

‘But I did the Heathrow run this morning.’ She wondered if he had a heart at all. ‘And I’ve done the wedding anniversary thing in Devon. Couldn’t someone else do this one?’

‘Bloody hell, no they flaming well can’t.’ Graham heaved a sigh of annoyance. ‘I’ve already told you, everyone else is
busy
.’

Cleo flexed her spine; she was shattered and seizing up. ‘What about Shelley?’

‘Taking that kid of hers to the dentist.’

For crying out loud, did Shelley really have to? Saskia was only six. Wasn’t the whole point of baby teeth that they were all just going to fall out anyway?

OK, she probably shouldn’t use that as an argument. With resignation, Cleo gave up and ended the call. Despite starting work at eight o’clock this morning and having driven over four hundred miles
so far
, it looked as if she had a couple more hours to go yet. And another hundred miles at least, in order to collect someone called Lady Rosemary from her home outside Stratford on Avon and take her to her daughter’s home in Shepton Mallet.

Because some people simply didn’t
do
trains, dahling.

Cleo could guess what Lady Rosemary would be like. Loud for a start, with an offhand, peremptory manner. She would complain about bumps in the road, be wearing too much makeup and nostril-shriveling perfume, and she would exhale with irritation every time they were forced to stop at a zebra crossing, because how
dare
people in polyester skirts and ghastly tracksuits want to cross the road…

Oh well, no point dwelling on it. Cleo gave herself a mental shake; she was tired, her back was aching, and her life was shit. But hey, the job was booked and she had to do it. Served her right for being indispensable.

An hour later she was almost there. Compton Court was in the depths of the Warwickshire countryside, and it was proving to be extremely well hidden. The battery on the GPS had died and she was due to pick up Lady Rosemary at eight o’clock. Finally arriving at a junction, Cleo saw that the rustic wooden road sign had had its arms wrenched off—evidently what passed for teenage entertainment in these parts. Pulling in to one side of the narrow lane, she reached across to retrieve her map from the glove compartment. Maps didn’t have annoying robotic voices, they didn’t run out of battery and stop functioning, they were reliable and trustworthy and they—

Oh
fuck
.

And they were held together with a spiral of wire that had sharp ends capable of snagging a hole in your tights just when you
really
didn’t need it to happen.

Fuck and bugger, a hole
and
a ladder now, on the one day she didn’t have an emergency pair stashed in her bag. If this wasn’t a shining example of how completely crappy her life was at the moment, she didn’t know what was.

Two miles down the road, possible salvation presented itself in the form of a tiny petrol station of the post-war kind. Two old-fashioned pumps stood on a minuscule forecourt amid piles of used tires and several dusty, rusty cars. But by some miracle it appeared to be open. A fat man in dusty overalls was tinkering with the engine of an old van. Cleo jumped out of the car and said, ‘Hi, I’m looking for Compton Court.’

He straightened up and wiped sausagey fingers on a cloth. ‘Lady Rosemary’s place? Straight along this road, take the second right, then half a mile along, and you’ll see the entrance on your left.’

‘Thanks. Um, is your shop open?’

The man nodded and said, ‘Feel free.’

Calling it a shop was possibly overstating the case. The tiny room was part of the garage and the air tasted of dust and oil. There were crisps on sale, cartons of UHT milk, bottles of limeade, and crates of fresh-from-the-garden vegetables. In addition, on a series of shelves were piled assorted motoring magazines, petrol cans, bottles of engine oil, stretchy steering wheel covers, and a box of wheel nuts.

And then, the second miracle, Cleo spotted a selection of rain hats, plastic macs, and packets of tights.

This was the good news. The bad news was that the tights were all nearly opaque, extra large, and American Tan in color. The worst kind you could imagine.

Cleo turned to the man who had followed her into the shop. ‘Um, do you have any other tights?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Oh. It’s just that I’ve got a hole in mine. And these are a bit grannyish.’

He lit a cigarette. ‘They’re my wife’s tights.’

Eek
.

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘She died last year.’ He breathed out a lungful of smoke. ‘So I thought I might as well sell them.’

Oh good grief. At least they were still in their packets; his wife hadn’t actually worn them. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll have this pair.’ Cleo hurriedly paid for them; bare legs would look so much better, but her uniform demanded that she wear tights and Lady Rosemary would be bound to complain if she didn’t.

A mile down the road she pulled into a gateway and changed into the Nora Batty tights. They were the color of really strong tea and absolutely huge, wrinkling around her legs like a snake halfway through shedding its skin. Oh well, never mind.

Cleo followed the garage owner’s instructions and finally reached the entrance to Compton Court. The sun had just set, a misty dusk was falling, and the driveway leading up to the house was lined with chestnut trees.

Very nice too. It was like one of those houses you saw featured in the pages of
Country Life
when you were sitting in the dentist’s waiting room. Quite Jane Austen-esque, in fact. Cleo’s mood began to improve as she reached the top of the driveway. You could imagine the lady of the house holding a Regency ball here, greeting her guests on the steps, and graciously—

‘Oh hi, you the driver?’ The front door had swung open to reveal a teenage girl with multiple facial piercings, fluorescent pink eye shadow, and leopard-print jeans. Clutching her mobile phone to one ear and gesturing with her free hand, she said, ‘They’re round the back, just follow the path down past the rose garden and go through the arch in the yew hedge… yah, I know, I
told
Zan she was a slapper but he didn’t believe me!’

Probably not Lady Rosemary. Engrossed once more in her phone conversation, the girl wandered back into the house and kicked the door shut with her bare foot. The good news was that she hadn’t even noticed Cleo’s legs.

The tights were loose around the waist too. She was forced to hold them up as she made her way through the misty gloom. Her shoes crunched on the gravel and the smell of freshly mown grass hung in the air. Rooks were cawing in the trees, disturbed by the drone of a single-engine plane as it crossed overhead, leaving a silvery vapor trail in the darkening sky. At ground level, a thickening low mist floated like white ectoplasm above the lawns. As Cleo passed the carefully tended rose garden, she began to hear voices in the distance. Ahead of her stood the yew hedge, twelve feet tall and with an eight-foot arch carved into it. Something was happening beyond the arch; as she moved towards it, the voices grew louder and she glimpsed flashes of color and movement through the gap.

Some kind of garden party, by the look of things. Although the timing was bizarre, what with it getting darker by the minute. Cleo bent and attempted to smooth out the accordion pleats in her tights then grabbed the waistband and yanked them up Benny Hill style as high as they’d go.

Then it all began to make sense. As she reached the archway, a switch was flicked, the area beyond it was suddenly flooded with light, and the assembled audience burst into applause.

Behind them, Cleo’s heart did a dolphin-leap of disbelief. A surge of adrenaline shot through her body and her skin prickled with recognition, because there in the center of the clearing, illuminated by the expertly angled uplighters, stood a family of deer. The proud stag, antlers stretched and like wings, directly faced them. To his right stood the graceful female, her neck bent as she grazed. And between them, playful and inquisitive, was their fawn.

Not a real family of deer, but constructed from stainless steel and larger than life-size. The stag was over twelve feet high. Bathed in silvery-white light and surrounded by trees, the effect was ethereal and otherworldly. And the woman leading the applause was now drawing their creator forward.