Twenty-nine
In the morning, Clare woke with a strange sensation in her tummy. She rolled over and looked at Sam. He was flat on his back, his head tilted to one side. Grey stubble covered his cheeks, and he was breathing softly. He didn’t even snore. She didn’t want to disturb him, so slipped out of bed, gathered her clothes and went in search of Stop-it.
The dog was asleep in a basket in front of the Aga, his untouched bowl of kibble next to him. She prodded his side. An eyelid slipped open, then he snuffled and dug his nose under his front paws. Clare found a scrap of paper and wrote a note for Sam, then, throwing a last look at her dog, left. She had a lot to do, and it would be quicker without Stop-it in tow. Sam could try and persuade the dog to eat kibble.
Back at Orchard Farm, she showered, slipped on overalls and went to complete the morning chores. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the wind was barely a whisper, heralding a gorgeous spring day – a perfect day for new love.
She sprinkled food into the trough and stood watching the hens. Hilts was at the centre of the trough, guzzling. If anything happened to her cockerel, she knew she would name a new one Richard. Walking past the orchard, she pictured her mother, that last day she’d seen her alive. It must have taken a great deal of love to risk losing touch with her only daughter. It was soothing to understand what had prompted her mother’s speech that day.
Today, she had her own speech to make. She collected another dozen eggs and drove the short distance to the Hall, tossing phrases around in her mind. How could she persuade him to stop trying to force industrial scale schemes on the village? Sam was certain she could, but she didn’t share his conviction.
Halfway down the drive, she passed one of the Hastings’ gardening team on a mower so large it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a golf course. Further down Clare saw another man trimming a hedge. She pulled up in front of the house behind a trailer filled with bedding plants. There were two gardeners wearing Brambleton Estate overalls: one was using a Rotavator, the other sprinkling fertilizer in front of the machine’s path.
Clare switched off the engine and sat looking at the vast house. Richard’s electricity bill must be stratospheric, on a par with her mother’s when she’d been dairy farming; but that was to run the milking parlour, not keep the lights on. Scaffolding hugged the sides of the west wing like ivy – three floors of it. She counted the windows she could see. There were over thirty. How much did it cost to keep the woodwork in order?
She heard someone crunch over the gravel. Her wing mirror showed it was Magnus. He opened her door, and with his back to the house, whispered, ‘Tread carefully. He’s in a foul temper.’
She picked up the eggs and handed them to the butler. ‘These are free-range, from my own chickens this morning. Thank you for what you did. Coming to see me took a lot of courage.’
Magnus swallowed several times, blinking rapidly, making Clare wonder if he had welled up. ‘It’s not often anyone thanks me for anything,’ he mumbled.
‘I’m curious, why do you work for him?’
He gave her a weak smile. ‘Do you like everyone you work with?’
Clare imagined Hilts crowing at five-thirty in the morning, laughed and shook her head, then pictured herself planting out the saplings with Stop-it pawing at the ground near her feet. She reached over to the passenger seat for her handbag, asking herself why she hadn’t thought about her London job instead.
‘It’s a way of life, being a butler ... not a job.’ Just like farming , thought Clare. ‘And there’s no one else in these parts who would allow me to live as I do.’
She got out and walked beside him. She could see Richard framed by the porch pilasters; his arms were crossed. Behind him stood Sam.
The meeting took place in Richard’s study, beneath the elegant birds, cherubs and sheaves of wheat. Wearing a scowl, Richard lounged in a chair with his feet on the desk; Sam sat on the fire fender. Clare remained standing. She glanced at Sam. His eyes were smiling at her, sending a mixture of adrenalin and lust through her body. This was Sam’s scheme, not hers. Would his brother accept? ‘I’ve got a proposition for you,’ she said.
‘I’m listening,’ said Richard, but his tone suggested otherwise.
‘Why not go for solar?’
He sat up, removed his feet, and leaned across his desk. ‘Solar? In a shed?’
‘No shed. I’m thinking small scale, well screened and undetectable from the village. For most of the year, the panels – if you backed them up with batteries – would generate enough electricity to power the estate. You might have surplus.’
‘And no doubt you’re going to tell me what I can do with that,’ sneered Richard.
‘Any surplus could provide the almshouses with free power.’
Richard threw back his head and laughed. ‘Are you for real? You come here to suggest I run a cooperative energy scheme. Next, you’re going to ask me to let Fred and Ivy move back into the cottages I’ve spent a fortune renovating. Thanks for the advice, but I know exactly what’s going in that shed - an anaerobic digester.’
Her mind went blank. She’d warned Sam that she didn’t think his brother would be receptive. A black fog of rage filled her head, and she battled to stop herself from picking something up and hurling it at Richard’s smug face. Richard rose and spoke in a low voice. ‘Get out.’ Then he shut his eyes.
She was being dismissed with no discussion. Sam was right. He was a very sore loser. Richard opened his eyes. ‘Why are you still here?’ he asked.
Sam pushed himself off the fender. ‘Because she’s not going anywhere, Richard. You are.’
Richards’s jaw dropped. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yes, unfortunately for you, I do.’
‘Not after what you promised Pa.’
‘I promised Pa I would look after you, protect you. I have, but you’ve gone too far this time. You can’t compromise with a bully. I’ve tried. Clare just tried. The entire village has tried. Enough. Go!’
Clare gasped. Impressive speech, but how was Sam proposing to get Richard to comply?
‘You will live to regret this, Sam,’ snarled Richard.
‘I probably will,’ said Sam.
Richard stormed out of the room. Sam got up and followed him, leaving Clare scrambling to make sense of what she’d just witnessed. Richard wouldn’t compromise on the contents of that shed, nor would he back away from the defamation case. She’d lit the fuse on a powder keg and there was nowhere to hide from it.
Ten minutes later, Sam returned with two glasses of red wine and handed one to her.
‘It’s a bit early for me, but I think I need it,’ said Clare, taking a gulp. ‘Well, that went well, didn’t it! I wonder what Machiavelli’s next move will be.’
Sam laughed, then said, ‘If he’d been smart enough to follow that sixteenth-century philosopher’s golden rule, Richard wouldn’t be pondering his next move.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Richard sees Brambleton Hall as a fortress, but as Machiavelli said, “The best fortress to be found is in the love of the people ... No fortress will save you if you are hated by the people.”’
How true , thought Clare. The villagers had united against Hastings because he treated them with contempt. None of them felt that way about Sam.
She took a gulp of wine. They needed to get away before Richard returned, but first she had to defuse that defamation time bomb.
‘Before your brother bankrupts me, you told me you know who sent him that draft leaflet. Who was it?’
He smiled, and Clare remembered the strange look in Ivy’s eyes that day she’d confronted BARS on the terrace. ‘Was it Ivy?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but Ivy worked out who did.’
So that explained Ivy’s expression that day. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Because she thought you knew but didn’t want to admit it.’
‘What? Who sent it?’
‘It was you.’
‘I did not!’
‘You did. Richard showed me. I think you might have been a bit tipsy. It was clear from the covering note you meant to send it to Anna – Rianna ? I can only assume your email bar inserted Richard’s email address instead of Rianna’s.’
She gasped, then spluttered into laughter. That was why Anna had looked so shocked when she’d read the poisonous leaflet. It was the first time she’d seen it.
‘Ivy worked it out. When she saw how shocked Anna was reading that leaflet, she checked the original email you sent, spotted Anna wasn’t included, guessed you’d tried to send it to Anna separately, and by mistake sent it to Richard instead.’
‘So, it was Richard who circulated those rude leaflets? He set out to trap me?’
This time, Sam was smiling as he shook his head. ‘Do you really think such a proud man would circulate something which ridiculed him? That was me. No one knows Richard like me, and he was behaving like a medieval squire complaining the peasants were about to storm his grain stores. I thought I’d stir things up a bit, give him something to worry about.’
She let out a huge breath, her eyes locking onto his. Clare felt light-headed. She put down her glass and reached out for him. He held her, murmuring into her hair. ‘I didn’t think he’d launch a lawsuit against you. I’ll get him to drop it. You might have to apologize for emailing it to Fred and Ivy, but he can’t claim compensation. You didn’t circulate the leaflet, I did.’
‘What did you mean earlier, about protecting your brother?’
‘I promised our father I would look after Richard, and I have tried. But I can’t forgive him for writing you that spiteful note all those years ago. And after the way he just treated you, I’ve had enough.’
Clare paused, letting his words sink in. Her life could have turned out very differently if Richard hadn’t meddled in it. ‘I must get out of here before he comes back. I’d rather not be in in his study when he returns.’
‘I told you – he’s not coming back. Can you keep a secret?’ asked Sam.
‘I’m a lawyer. I’ll take many secrets to my grave.’
‘The reason Richard and I don’t get on is because of my father’s will.’
She swallowed a final mouthful of wine, remembering the bizarre meeting with Magnus in the supermarket. ‘Magnus told me, about your farm; how Richard tried to talk you out of splitting up the estate.’
‘That’s not quite right. That’s the story we agreed to circulate, but it’s not the truth. The truth is our father left everything to me.’
Her mouth went slack. She cleared her throat, then said, ‘But you’re the younger son.’
‘Pa was free to leave everything to whomever he wanted to. Traditionally, the estate would be left to the eldest son, but he could see how much I loved the village, how in tune I was with it, and how out of tune Richard was. I think he foresaw the kind of battle we’ve just had; that Richard would expect the village to doff the proverbial cap like it did in the nineteenth century, whereas I wouldn’t. That’s why I promised to look after Richard. I was always the favourite son, the one who would inherit everything, and Pa knew how much that hurt Richard.’
‘Wow. So why don’t you live here instead of Richard?’
‘Because I didn’t want to, and Richard did. It’s lovely to visit, but I didn’t want the responsibility. I’m much freer to live the life I want where I am. But I think it’s time I faced up to my responsibilities. My father chose me for a good reason and now I must fulfil his wishes.’
‘You swapped the Hall for your cider farm?’
‘Yes. But it’s an informal arrangement. Richard has no legal right to live here. He won’t be homeless, I’ll find him somewhere on the estate, maybe the shoot lodge, or my house.’
‘Somehow I’m having difficulty picturing Richard and Cora in a farmhouse.’
‘Why? This is a farmhouse right here. The perfect Devon farmhouse.’