Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas (2 page)

‘He'll never retire,' laughed Jenny. ‘Same as Marjorie the tour guide and Edith in the shop.'

‘But he couldn't speak highly enough of you, Andy,' Sheila added. ‘I didn't realize that you'd been going round to their house to help out.'

‘Bravo, Andy, bravo,' bellowed Lord Fortescue, reaching across to pat Andy's shoulder.

Andy squirmed in his chair, blushed the colour of his shirt and picked up his teacup to hide his face. ‘It was the least I could do,' he mumbled.

Hmm, I had my suspicions as to why that should be.

I looked at him sharply and for a split second he caught my eye and a look of panic flashed across his face. Nikki had been adamant that her team hadn't put any polystyrene in the bonfire. The gift shop, on the other hand, had piles of the stuff . . .

Today was the day, I thought, I'd collar him on the way out of this meeting and confront him.

‘Holly?' Jenny prodded me with her teaspoon. ‘Sheila asked for a progress update?'

‘Oh, yes, sorry!' I gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Nearly all the Christmas events are sorted. A lady from Henley library will read stories around the Christmas tree in the Red Sitting Room every day at four. All tickets are sold out for the celebrity chef demo with Daniel Denton.'

‘Told you.' Jenny nodded smugly.

‘The only thing still to be arranged is someone to run our Christmas crafts workshop. The man who had originally agreed has broken his wrist, so I'm searching for a new person.'

Andy cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. ‘I'll do it.'

‘Really?' I blinked at him.

He nodded. ‘The hall will be decorated by then, so I'll have time. Edith can cover for me in the shop.'

I could hardly believe it: Andy, offering to help me out? Wonders would never cease.

‘Andy's wonderful with stuff like that,' said Nikki. ‘Remember the button holes he did for Zara's wedding?'

‘Well, OK.' I shrugged. ‘Thank you.'

‘Right, everyone.' Lady Fortescue clapped her hands together to signal the end of our meeting. ‘I think we'll leave it there. If you could just stay for a minute, Jenny, to talk me through Daniel Denton's recipe choices.'

Andy was first to leave the room and I hurried after him.

‘Andy?' I called as soon as I was in the corridor. ‘A word please.'

He looked shiftily back towards the Great Hall.

‘Make it quick then,' he said, folding his arms. ‘I've got a delivery of hampers due any second.'

‘Sure,' I said, gazing at him intently. ‘It's about the bonfire.'

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

I gave an exasperated sigh and mirrored his body language by folding my arms. ‘Admit it, Andy. You hid a load of toxic packaging in the middle of the bonfire, didn't you?'

His face drained of all colour. ‘I . . . um . . . I . . .'

‘Well?' I demanded. ‘It's time you and I cleared the air.'

‘Oh hell,' groaned Andy, lowering himself to the bottom step.

‘So it was you!' I gasped. ‘You do realize that someone could have died – Jim, for starters. We were very lucky that none of the spectators were seriously injured.'

‘I'm so sorry.' Andy pressed the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. ‘What an idiot. It was all me, all my fault. Are you going to tell the Fortescues? I wouldn't blame you if you did. But, please don't, Holly, please don't.'

To my horror his shoulders began to shake.

Along the corridor, the door to Lord Fortescue's office opened and I heard Jenny saying her goodbyes to Sheila. She would be appearing at any moment and even though there was no love lost between Andy and me, I didn't want our discussion to become public knowledge.

I grabbed Andy's arm and pulled him up the stairs to my office, closing the door behind us.

‘Sit down,' I muttered, handing him a tissue. ‘Now, tell me everything.'

I busied myself making us both a coffee that probably neither of us wanted while he sat at Ben's desk and sniffed.

‘It was that bonfire meeting.' He sighed. ‘I'm ashamed of it now, but I felt so humiliated. Everything I said was dismissed and everything you suggested everyone was like: “Oh, yes, Holly, a Guy Fawkes competition, fabulous idea.” And then when Benedict turned up after being away in the Orkneys for weeks, I was so pleased to see him and he only had eyes for you.'

‘Me! Really?' My voice went a bit wobbly and I turned away before Andy noticed my secret smile. That was lovely to hear, especially as I'd really missed Ben since he'd left in November and I was tempted to press Andy for more.

‘Yes. And when I tried to compliment him on his art, all he did was order me to clear up the rubbish. It was the final straw.'

‘So you hid the packaging rubbish on the bonfire?'

‘I cleared it away from the store room, as Ben asked, but there was no bin collection for weeks and rather than dispose of it properly, I hid it in one of the old sheds. That was back in September. By the time I came across it again, Jim had started to build the bonfire.' He shrugged weakly. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.'

I frowned. ‘That explains the smoke, but why have you been so against me ever since I arrived?'

‘I've always wanted to work in a creative environment.' He sighed. ‘And when the job came up in the events department as Pippa's assistant, I thought it was meant for me. And Pippa was going to give it to me, I was sure. Until she interviewed you and then my dreams went up in smoke.'

‘But isn't your job in the gift shop creative?' I frowned, setting a mug in front of him.

‘Huh,' he grunted. ‘Lady F is so controlling; other than a free rein with the window displays, my hands are tied. And I never get to choose stock.'

‘Well, my job is ninety-nine per cent organization,' I argued. ‘Only the initial ideas for events and marketing campaigns are creative. I spend a lot of my time writing copy for press releases and leaflets.'

Andy blinked at me. ‘Oh, I didn't realize that. I'd be rubbish at that, I'm a bit dyslexic. I have to get Edith to check anything I've written.'

‘There you go, then!' I attempted a smile and sat at my desk. Inside I was gritting my teeth. All this childish behaviour for a job he'd probably have hated anyway.

‘You still get to work with Benedict, though,' he muttered. ‘I'd love to be in your shoes.'

‘But you do know that Benedict is unlikely to . . . you know,' I waved my hands awkwardly, ‘reciprocate?'

‘I know,' admitted Andy, twirling his diamond earring distractedly. ‘As soon as you came on the scene, that was it.' He mimed a knife across his own throat.

I blinked at him. ‘But . . . Oh, never mind.'

‘Anyway, Holly, other than stealing my thunder, my job and my prince, you've really done nothing wrong,' Andy said with a rueful smile. ‘So I apologize wholeheartedly and I promise not to be such a bitch in future, starting with running the Christmas craft workshops for you.'

He stood up and walked over to me, holding his arms out. ‘Hug it out?'

I suppressed a snort and submitted to his dainty hug. ‘Yes, sure.'

‘Now I really must dash,' gasped Andy, ‘or poor Edith will have disappeared under a sea of wicker hampers. Laters.'

He blew me a kiss and dashed out, leaving me bemused by the whole experience.

I didn't have long to dwell on it, though, as my desk phone rang its special internal ring and I swooped to answer it. ‘Events department, Holly speaking.'

‘Holly, sorry to bother you, but could you join me in the library?'

I jumped to my feet.

‘Of course, Lord Fortescue. I'm on my way.'

I skipped down the stairs as quickly as I could, curious to know what he could want me for. I decided to take the quickest route, which was to walk along the east-wing corridor past his office.

Wickham Hall closed for the season at the end of October and didn't reopen until Easter, with the exception of the last two weeks of December when we opened the doors to the public for the Christmas season, and I still hadn't got used to the lack of people around the place. The hall felt lonely without Marjorie waiting at the door to impart some unusual facts about Lord Wickham's ancestors, or members of the public asking me questions.

But as I drew level with Lord Fortescue's office, Sheila called out to me.

‘Holly, do you happen to have an address for Esme Wilde?'

I nipped into her office and she held up an envelope.

‘Invitation to Lord and Lady Fortescue's Christmas at Home evening,' said Sheila, answering my questioning expression.

‘Wow. Of course.' I beamed at Sheila. ‘She'll be flattered. In fact, I doubt I'll hear of anything else from now until Christmas.'

‘How lovely.' She chuckled, her blue eyes crinkling with delight. ‘Your presence is required too, Holly, although on a strictly professional footing, of course.'

‘Sure,' I said and wrote down Esme's address for her.

I turned to go and then remembered something that had been niggling me for ages. ‘Sheila, what do you know about the renovation of the art gallery?'

She removed her reading glasses and peered at me. ‘Goodness, Holly, that's an old one. What made you ask?'

I shrugged. ‘It was a leaflet I found months ago. Nothing really, I just wondered about it because nobody has ever mentioned it in all the time I've been here.'

‘That project got mothballed several years ago, unfortunately.' She frowned thoughtfully and pushed her chair back from the desk. ‘Take a pew; I think I might have a folder about it somewhere.'

‘Actually,' I smiled mysteriously, ‘I have an assignation with Lord Fortescue in the library. Can we do it another time, Sheila? Sorry.'

‘No problem, dear,' she chirped. ‘Run along now.'

Which I did. All the way to the library.

I knocked lightly on the door and Lord Fortescue called me in. I hadn't been in the library since that press conference when I'd caught my first glimpse of Ben, courtesy of Lady Fortescue's iPad, looking tantalizingly naked in full view of our local press. The room was every bit as inviting as I remembered it: several reading lamps were lit against the fading wintry light, and the smell of leather and old books was mixed with woodsmoke from the roaring fire in the grate. There was no iPad in sight, although Lord Fortescue had a laptop balanced on his knee.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Your Lordship,' I panted.

He waved me into a seat and I chose a leather armchair facing him, cosily close to the fire. We sat in silence, watching the flames for a moment or two, until I couldn't bear the suspense any longer.

I cleared my throat. ‘So. How can I help?'

Lord Fortescue templed his fingers together and peered at me.

‘There has never been anywhere else for me but Wickham Hall; I knew from an early age that my future lay here. So I finished my law degree, got married and started working as a solicitor, biding my time until I found myself as the new owner of the hall.'

‘And I understand your father passed away quite suddenly?' I asked, wondering where this conversation could possibly be heading.

‘Indeed.' He nodded. ‘Benedict, on the other hand, forged another life for himself as an artist as soon as he left home for university, a world away from anything his mother and I have ever known. He seems to have found something that makes his heart sing and if running Wickham Hall doesn't have the same hold on him then who am I to force him down a road he doesn't wish to travel?'

‘That's exactly how I feel,' I blurted out.

Lord Fortescue blinked at me, looking startled.

‘I think he'd do a brilliant job here,' I continued boldly, ‘but I also know how much it means to him to stand in front of a blank canvas and create something beautiful, to do his own thing.'

‘Well put,' he said, smiling softly. ‘And I agree with you. I am proud of what he's achieved with his art.'

My heart lifted; Ben would be over the moon to know that his father was proud of him. I cast my mind back to the launch of his art collection at the gallery when Ben said that neither of his parents valued his work. It would completely change their relationship if only they would talk to each other.

‘You should tell him, I don't think he knows how you feel at all,' I urged.

‘You're right. I'd rather come to that conclusion myself.' He clasped his hands across his chest. ‘That's where I need your help.'

‘Well . . . of course, I'll help if I can,' I said, intrigued.

‘Thank you, Holly.' He swivelled the laptop around so that I could see the screen. ‘I haven't a clue with all this techno stuff. Zara has given me Benedict's Facebook address. Apparently he has been posting to his page, whatever that means. But I must be doing something wrong . . . I can't seem to find him.'

I stared at the picture on the screen.

‘Facebook?' My face broke into a wide smile of relief. ‘You want to join Facebook?'

If anyone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a winter's afternoon teaching a man in his sixties, who also happened to be eighty-fifth in line to the throne, how to work Facebook, I'd have laughed my head off. And yet here I was: doing just that. One of the many reasons why I loved my job.
Loved
it.

Within thirty minutes Lord Fortescue had a profile, although we decided to keep it private for the time being until he got the hang of it. He'd sent friend requests out to some of his chums who included several high-profile politicians and quite surprisingly a few celebrities too. My eyes were out on stalks by the time we'd finished, and when the friend request to Daniel Craig was accepted I nearly fell off my chair.