Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
The meeting is arranged for the next night, and I am nervous. I barely know these people, not really, and yet I have convinced Charles that he should trust them, throw himself on their mercy. The stakes are high, and my stomach is tied in knots.
‘What if it all goes wrong?’ I say to Eejit, who is curled up in front of my fire. Thanks to a quick tutorial from Eileen, I am now a dab hand at it, and the cottage is warm and cosy. My canine friend appeared again last night, though thankfully at a much earlier hour. ‘What if they tell Charles where he can stuff his pleas for help? What if we all end up with egg on our face?’
He looks up at me with one sleepy eye, keeping the other one closed as he drowses.
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I say, stroking his furry head. ‘I just need to chill.’
He thumps his tail once on the carpet, and goes back to sleep. I glance at my phone for the thousandth time today, and see that it is actually now time to go. I grab my coat and bag, and waver on the doorstep for a few moments.
‘Do I leave you here?’ I ask. ‘Or will you feel too confined?’
He answers my question by climbing to his feet, stretching into a perfect downward dog, and trotting out of the door with me. He disappears off into the evening, and I lock up. I probably don’t need to lock up, but I guess there’s still too much big city in me for that to feel right.
The lights that are strung across the streets light my way, and the Christmas tree twinkles cheerfully at me as I pass. All will be well, I tell myself, as I push open the door to the pub.
I suck in a breath when I see how full it is. Literally every person I’ve ever seen in the village is here, along with quite a few new faces. I return hellos and waves, and find Charles sitting by the bar on one of the tall stools – in exactly the same spot we were the first night we met. I’m amazed at how I managed to get myself into this mess so quickly.
He’s wearing a dark suit, no tie, the collar of his white shirt opened a few buttons at the top. I can see that he is also nervous, and am glad that Roberts is with him. I know he’s asked Georgie to stay at home, allegedly to keep an eye on Allegra, but I suspect it’s to protect her in case things don’t go as well as he hopes. Georgie is clearly very fond of the villagers, and it would hurt her to see them refuse her family the support they’re asking for.
There is no music tonight, but the place is loud with chatter – everyone must be curious to find out why they’re here, and possibly they’re expecting the worst. I definitely see a few dour faces at some of the tables.
Charles greets me, and I smile reassuringly. I sit next to him, and look at the crowded room. Eileen and Ryan are nearby, and Ryan gives me a terse nod of recognition. I’m hoping that this whole project doesn’t get derailed by their testosterone wars, and remind myself that neither of them is a thug. Charles is a gentleman, and Ryan is, well, an artist, I now know. For all of his play-acting at being a humble handyman, there is more to him than that, and I hope that side of him wins out.
Cormac rings the bell that hangs over the bar, and everyone goes silent. Charles thanks him, takes a sip of his water, and turns back around to face the room.
‘Hello, everybody,’ he says, ‘thank you so much for coming. I know how busy you all are, and I very much appreciate you turning up on such short notice. I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s going on, so let me start by saying this – I, like my father and those who went before him, hold you all in very high esteem. We value the life and energy that you bring to Campton St George, as well as all your hard work. It wouldn’t be the place it is without you.’
A round of cheers goes up, which breaks the tension somewhat. Charles manages a small smile, and ploughs on.
‘As I’m sure many of you are aware, my father wasn’t the most natural of businessmen, and financial management wasn’t his forte. Add to that his illness during later years, as well as some very poor investments, and… well, to cut a long story short, the family accounts are not what they were.’
‘Are you wanting a loan, Charlie boy?’ some clown in the corner pipes up. ‘I’ve got a fiver for you, pass the hat around!’
‘Very kind, Martin, but I’m afraid a fiver isn’t enough. I’m going to be very honest with you all, because you deserve it – if things continue the way they are, within the next four years the Bancroft estate may have to be sold. Even before that, I might have to consider increasing your rents, which believe me I have no desire to do. I know times are tough for everyone, and the last thing I want to do is make them any tougher.’
‘Why don’t you sell your Jag, then, fella?’ the same man yells, earning some applause but also some glares of disapproval.
‘You be shutting your gob now, Martin Byrne,’ Eileen shouts at him sternly. ‘If hot air was money, we all know you’d be a millionaire – let the man speak, will you?’
There’s a smattering of laughter at this, and Martin looks suitably chastened. I’m guessing Eileen is not somebody you want to mess with.
‘Thank you, Mrs Devlin – and Martin, believe me I have looked at selling my Jag. But in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s over fifteen years old, so no quick fixes there I’m afraid. I do, though, hopefully have a solution – I want to make the most of the manor, and more importantly make money from it.
‘Money that will pay for its upkeep, pay to keep the village in good condition, continue to provide you all with fair wages. Plus – I’m as selfish as the next man – ensure Georgina’s future, and allow her to be independent. Nobody wishes there was a magical pot of family cash that I could endlessly dip into more than I do – but there isn’t. You know how we live up there – it’s not all Champagne and caviar, it’s also closed off rooms and enormous fuel bills.’
‘That’s the truth of it,’ responds Mary Catherine. ‘Your man there’s not lying – I fair freeze to death when I’m doing the cleaning!’
More laughter follows, and I start to unclench a little.
‘What would happen to us,’ Cormac asks from behind the bar, ‘if you sold the estate?’
‘Frankly I don’t know,’ replies Charles. ‘Obviously, if it comes to that, I’ll do my best to secure a buyer who will treat you all fairly – but at the end of the day, it won’t be up to me anymore.’
‘So it’s better the devil you know, is that what you’re saying?’
That question comes from Ryan, who is sitting with his arms crossed, staring at us intently. Uh-oh, I think, this could be where it all goes horribly wrong. If Charles rises to the bait, or reacts the way he usually does to Ryan, then we could be in trouble.
‘Fair point, Ryan,’ Charles says, his tone even and neutral. I can see it’s taking some effort, but he’s not stupid – he knows he has to handle this the right way. ‘And I suppose yes is the answer. I hope that none of you see me as the devil. We’ve come a long way since your families first started coming here, and I certainly don’t see us as master and servant. But if I am the devil, then I’m one who has tried his very best to do things correctly.’
The two men make eye contact, and you could hear a pin drop in here. I’m kind of wishing that Martin ‘Hot Air’ Byrne might chime in to break the tension.
Ryan seems to turn over his answer, and nods abruptly.
‘Okay, Your Lordship,’ he says after a few tense seconds. ‘Good enough. There are far worse devils out there, we all know that. So, why are we all here? What are you expecting us to do about it, if you’re not telling us the rents are going up?’
‘Well, first of all, let me say that this was all Cassie’s idea – so you can blame her!’
I hold my hands up in acknowledgement, and hope he’s not going to ask me to make a speech. I don’t mind chipping in, but I hate being in the spotlight. There’s a ripple of laughter around the room, so at least I’m good for something.
‘I met with some potential investors in London recently,’ he continues, ‘in an attempt to get some backing for my plans. Those plans at the time were quite vague – making the house available for weddings, parties, that kind of thing. Cassie, as you might know, is actually a professional events planner back home in New York, and she had several other very excellent suggestions.’
‘Lap dancing bar?’ shouts Martin again, and somebody lobs a full packet of Taytos at his head to shut him up. He shrugs, opens the pack, and starts eating them.
‘Most definitely not, though I’m sure you’d be first in the queue, Martin! No, some of her ideas included wellness retreats – yoga, massages, that kind of thing – art classes, cookery classes, corporate events. She pointed out how versatile the place could be, and how many options we could offer.’
‘That’s a good idea, sure,’ says Sarah, who runs the tea rooms. ‘Me and my sister were at one of those wellness thingies last year. We spent most of it drinking the Champagne, like, but the place wasn’t any better than yours, Charles. And Eileen could do your baking classes! Nobody better in the land!’
Everyone agrees with this, and before long people are shouting out their own ideas. Someone suggests fishing weekends, another offers up bird-spotting, and Mary Catherine throws in ‘murder mystery dinners in full Agatha Christie costume’, which is actually an excellent concept. Martin, who I am fast learning is the village clown, kindly offers to be a nude life model for the art classes.
‘They’d pay you good money to keep your clothes on there, Martin!’ he gets told, and pretends to look offended. As he’s in his seventies and has a magnificent beer belly, I suspect that’s true.
Charles lets them have their head for a while longer, then regains their attention by raising one arm in the air.
‘These are all wonderful ideas!’ he says. ‘I’m glad you can all see the potential. But before we make any of these things happen, there’s work to be done, and investment to be found. We need to decorate, and buy new furniture, and look into things like a massage suite or small spa. We need to refurbish some of the rooms so they’re suitable for guests, and look at boring issues like insurance, and suppliers, and marketing. And before we can do any of that, we have to find the money.’
‘There’s an awful lot of “we” being used there, Charles,’ Eileen points out. ‘And while we all accept that you not selling is for the good of all of us – that we need you and you need us – I’m still not hearing you get to the point. What are you after?’
Charles nods, and replies: ‘Basically I need your help to make Bancroft Manor look like all of the things we just discussed. Cassie believes, and I trust her on this, that to attract the financial backing, we have to show what we’re made of. Her idea is to stage all of this, just for one day, so we can take photos and video, and really show the place off. We need people to play the roles of guests. We need help setting up a big dinner. We need someone to pretend to lead classes. We need all kinds of things – and we need them quickly, because I’m due to go back to the investment company in January.’
There’s a momentary silence, and then everybody seems to want to talk at once. Charles holds up his hand again, and says: ‘Cassie, anything to add before we discuss things further?’
I take a deep breath, and look around the room. I see all the familiar faces, and note that Ryan is giving me one of his lopsided grins, raising his eyebrows as though daring me to speak. I can do this, I tell myself – I am among friends.
‘Look,’ I begin, ‘I haven’t been here long, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a bunch of people with so many different skills, and so much energy. I think that’s also what we need – it’s not just someone to set up tables or whatever, it’s everything that you bring with you. This is a big ask, but I think it’s doable – with your help. Plus, it occurred to me while Charles was speaking that this isn’t just about saving the estate. It could be a really fantastic opportunity for all of you too.’
I pause, wondering if I’m out of order, but Charles gives me an encouraging nod and I go on.
‘He mentioned suppliers – well, I think he has them sitting right here in this room. There are farms all around us as well. If this takes off, it wouldn’t just make money to keep Bancroft afloat – it would mean more business for you all. More jobs. More scope for entrepreneurship. More everything.’
‘That’s true!’ Charles replies, looking enthused. ‘Why would I look elsewhere for someone to create a wedding cake when I have Eileen, or source wine when I have Cormac? Why would I employ a beautician when Orla is here?’
‘Why would you look for a comedian when you have Martin?’ someone shouts, to much amusement.
‘Even that,’ he says. ‘Who knows? But definitely I’ll need musicians, and people to run classes, and drivers, and waiters… we might even end up with too much work! But to start with, we need to ask you this favour – will you help us? I know there’s a lot to think about, and a lot to discuss, and I know Cassie has already started filling a notepad with her wish list. We won’t move forward until we know your views. I think that’s enough for now – I’m going to linger a while longer and have a much-needed drink. Feel free to come and chat.’
I gaze around the room and see people nodding, considering. Charles and Roberts move away from the bar to sit at a table, and I see the older man pat Charles on the shoulder in congratulations. I think he did as well as he could – now we just have to wait and see.
I leave them to it, and join Ryan and Eileen. I realise my hands are shaking, and I’m pathetically grateful when Eileen reaches out to steady them in hers.
‘You did fine, darlin’,’ she says, squeezing my trembling fingers. ‘And I for one think it’s a grand idea. None of us are afraid of a bit of hard work, and maybe it’s time for a change in the way things are done around here.’
I nod, and she goes off to buy me a drink. I’m left alone with Ryan, who is looking at me seriously. I’m desperate to hear what he thinks, but he seems to be making me work for it.
‘So?’ I ask. ‘What are your views? We were really hoping that you’d get involved – I’m told you’re not too bad with a camera…’
He snorts out a laugh, and slowly relents. I didn’t realise how worried I’d been until he smiles.
‘I have been known to take a few snaps in my time, yeah. And okay, I’m in – it does sound like a good idea. As long as His Lordship keeps his distance, I’ll be your photographer. I don’t like being bossed around by anyone, but especially not him.’
‘What about if I boss you around instead?’
He raises one eyebrow, and I want to kick myself for giving him the opening.
‘Whatever floats your boat, Cassie – not my usual style, but I’ll try anything once.’
‘You’re an eejit, did you know that?’
‘I have been told, once or twice.’