Chapter 20
‘Oh?’ I was momentarily nonplussed to find not three snarling out-of-control German shepherds or Rottweilers, but three fussy little balls of fluff.
‘Damned dogs.’ A tall fair-haired man in jeans and a black roll-necked sweater was attempting to swipe the creatures from his legs, but with little success. I started to laugh. ‘Goodness, I thought they must be guard dogs.’
‘Guard dogs? These excuses for dogs? No, not these…’ He trailed off and I looked round momentarily, searching for some that perhaps were, but no others hove into sight and I began to relax. The man stared, obviously trying to work out who I was.
‘Hi, I’m Jess Butt… Actually, Jessica Allen.’ I quickly recalled my intention to be known by my former name, with nothing at all to link me to Dean. It was a start in the ‘conscious uncoupling’ – damned stupid phrase – from my husband.
‘Jess Butt?’ The man continued to stare, glancing towards my backside, and again, I wanted to laugh.
‘Jessica Allen. I’ve just changed my name.’
‘Have you? Why?’
‘Because my husband and I are no longer together – well, to be honest he’s moved in next door…’
‘Gone off with your next-door neighbour?’ The man whistled.
‘No, no, with my mum.’
‘Your husband’s gone off with your mum?’
‘No, my mum’s not there.’
‘She had enough of him as well?’ The man smiled. ‘He can’t be up to much.’
‘He’s not, actually.’
‘So, sorry, why are you here?’ The man peered round the wooden gate to the main entrance gates where my battered white van was parked. Badly, I now saw. ‘Oh, you’re in a van? ? Or Tesco?’
‘No, no, I’ve come to pick up my daughter. She’s here… well, I hope she is… my husband dropped her off here this morning, apparently.’
‘I’ve been in a meeting for the last couple of hours, so I wouldn’t know.’
‘Do you have a daughter?’ I was beginning to get worried. I’d murder Dean when I got back. Actually, death was too good for him: a coming together of a rusty razor and that appendage of his he was so happy to put about sprang immediately to mind.
‘Ruby?’ he asked.
‘Ah, right, yes.’ Relief flooded through me.
‘Oh, has your daughter come to stay?’
‘Well, a play date. Isn’t that what it’s called?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘But, playing is perhaps something of a misnomer these days…?’ I trailed off as two figures came out of the house, making their way towards another gate at the far end of the huge garden. What was this place? Fort Knox?
‘Ruby?’ The man shouted in their direction, but the pair sped up, pulling back bolts on the far gate and disappearing behind it. ‘As deaf as her mother,’ the man said, muttering under his breath to himself.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I sympathised. ‘Ruby and your wife are both deaf?’
‘Only when they want to be,’ he went on. ‘Selective hearing. I told her to take these damned dogs with her when she went but…’
‘Oh?’ I cocked my head in what I hoped was an empathetic gesture. Had Ruby’s mother gone shopping? Or somewhere more permanent? But the man was not forthcoming on his wife’s absence.
‘A woman let me in?’ I ventured. ‘Well, her voice did.’
‘Kateryna.’
‘Oh?’
‘The housekeeper.’ The man looked at his watch. ‘Do you want your daughter back then?’
‘Well, I’d appreciate it. You know, sooner or later?’ I gave a little laugh, realised I’d done little but utter volleys of nervous laughter interspersed with garbled explanations about the state of my marriage. I tried to be business-like and said, ‘The thing is, I’ve a lot of cooking to do.’
‘Oh?’ The man didn’t seem overly interested. ‘Sunday lunch?’
‘It’s actually Monday. And I’m about to open a new restaurant.’ I reckoned we’d need punters like this one if The White House was going to be a success. Fabian would be pleased with me when I told him I’d been promoting the place.
‘A new restaurant?’
‘Yes. It’s a converted summer house called The White House. We’ll be hopefully opening in three or four months’ time.’ My pulse raced at the very thought.
‘Your restaurant?’ The man pulled a disbelieving face, glancing once more at me and then across at poor old battered Vera where the words J SIC DIN were all that remained of my former business.
‘I have a third share of The White House.’ No, you don’t, Jessica, you great big fat fibber; you’re going to be one of the chefs there. Why was I trying to impress this man when he hadn’t even been polite enough to introduce himself? I’d still no idea what he was called.
He held out a hand in my direction. ‘Henry…’ Of course, someone with his good looks, accent and living in this pile wasn’t going to be Darren or Wayne or… or Dean. This man was as upmarket as Fabian. ‘…Henry Cavendish-Brown.’ He smiled down at me.
Hell, he was rather attractive when he smiled.
‘Listen… Jessica? I think the girls are having a good time here. Why don’t we get your daughter…?’
‘Lola.’
‘Why don’t we get Lola home after the pair of them have eaten? I’m sure Kateryna will oblige on both scores?’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ I looked at my watch once more. I did need to get back to let Arthur out, had another pudding to plan and… Oh hell, the police were on their way round at some point to talk to me about Blane Higson’s accident.
* * *
‘So, how come you’ve never mentioned this Ruby before?’ I put a plate of spaghetti Bolognaise in front of Lola. Despite Henry CB offering to feed Lola at his place, she appeared to have had nothing but crisps and sweets.
‘Ruby Cavendish-Brown,’ Lola said proudly, tucking in. ‘A double-barrelled name. I’m going to start calling myself Lola Butterworth-Allen.’
‘Fair enough.’ I smiled, pleased that Lola was actually talking to me after what she’d overheard and learned about her dad’s propensity for putting it about.
Although, shouldn’t it be Dean Lola wasn’t speaking to, after learning that?
‘Look, Lola, about what you heard Granny Pat and me discussing yesterday…’
‘And isn’t her house fabulous?’ Lola didn’t appear overly interested in what I was trying to say; trying to apologise for. ‘She has a humungous bedroom all to herself. With a double bed and a bathroom in the bedroom…’
‘An ensuite?’
‘…and a walk-in wardrobe. Like Sorrel says she’s got at Kamran’s house.’
‘It is fabulous. Not sure about those three dogs though.’ I laughed. ‘Fussy little things.’ I bent to stroke Arthur’s silky ears. ‘Nothing like Arthur here.’
‘Oh, the real dogs were at the back of the house.’
‘The real dogs?’ I stared. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the Pomeranians – they’re Pomeranians, Mum – belong to Ruby’s mum. But she’s gone off somewhere…’
‘Poor Ruby!’
‘Oh, she says she doesn’t care. It’s not her real mum anyway.’
‘Oh?’ I sat down across from Lola, intrigued. ‘Where’s her real mum then?’
‘She died when Ruby was a baby. Actually, giving birth to her.’
‘Really?’ I pulled a face. ‘That’s very unusual these days.’
‘Well, it wasn’t these days, was it?’ Lola was back in combative mood.
‘It was eleven years ago. Anyway, her real mum is dead’ – Lola uttered the word, attaching as much romantic ghoulishness to it as though describing a poor little orphan in a Victorian novel – ‘and the real dogs are behind an electric gate.’
‘More dogs than the three… Pomeranians… that were making all that noise? Really?’
‘There were four huge dogs.’ Lola paused, obviously thinking. ‘Two Dobermanns and two Rottweilers.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’ Lola gave me a look.
‘Why would anyone want four big guard dogs like that? Is Ruby’s father famous?’
When Lola didn’t appear to have answers to either of my questions, I asked, ‘So how come you’ve never mentioned Ruby before?’
‘I have.’ She sighed and tutted somewhat theatrically. ‘I told you we had a new girl in our class.’
‘I don’t think you did.’
‘Yes, I did. You were too busy going on at Dad, or too busy baking or too upset about that Blane boy.’ Lola gave me a look. ‘Or too busy looking at Fabian.’
‘What do you mean, looking at him?’
‘You’ve gone pink, Mum, just like Nicholas Armitage does when we say he fancies Jodie Blackwell.’
Poor Nicholas Armitage. I knew just how the poor kid felt. I hadn’t realised the daft, little schoolgirl crush I’d once had on Fabian to get me through dark days – and now totally in the past – had been at all obvious to others.
‘You’re being very silly about Uncle Fabian, Lola. He and I are going to be working together.’
‘Yes, I told Henry.’
‘Ruby’s dad?’
‘Hmm.’
‘So, when did Ruby start in your class? It’s a long way for her to come from Queen’s Gardens. It’s a good six or seven miles away.’
‘Kateryna brings her.’
‘Oh, the housekeeper?’
Lola nodded. ‘She was at The Mount.’
‘The Mount?’
‘You know, it’s that posh school that posh kids go to.’
‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Why has she ended up at Beddingfield C of E?’
‘She was thrown out of The Mount.’
I stared.
‘She’s really naughty in class. Mrs Gateshead gets really cross with her.’
‘What do you mean? What does she do?’
‘Oh, she’s really funny. She makes us all laugh. She talks all the time and leaves the room without permission. Says she’s desperate for the crapper, you know…’
‘No, I don’t, Lola. She doesn’t sound like the kind of girl to be friends with if she’s constantly in trouble. You’ll end up in trouble yourself.’
‘Well, if I do, what does it matter?’
‘Lola, you’ve your SATS in four weeks’ time.’
‘Oh, Ruby says they’re just a waste of time. They’re just something the government made up so teachers and kids won’t sleep at night. You know, like Ofsted as well.’
I looked long and hard at Lola. ‘Have you got make-up on?’
‘Not any more. I knew you’d get cross.’ Lola didn’t appear particularly bothered about that possibility.
‘I would. I will. Don’t spoil your lovely skin when it’s so beautiful and natural. So, Lola, I suggest, even though it’s Easter Monday, you sit at that kitchen table and make a start on your school holiday work.’
Lola yawned. ‘Oh, not now. I will later. Can I borrow your iPad and take it to my room?’
‘No, I need it for recipes. What do you want it for, anyway?’
‘Oh, just to go on TikTok and Snapchat.’
‘You’re not allowed on them,’ I snapped. ‘You have to be thirteen.’
‘Well, Ruby’s allowed.’ Lola’s tone was sulky, combative.
‘Yes, well’ – I looked at my watch – ‘the police should have been here an hour ago. I’d watch my step if I were you. Holiday work! Now, Lola!’