Chapter 25
‘The tea bag tin is empty.’ At Starbourne Manor, Constance Peverell cast a beady glance around the kitchen. She narrowed her eyes at her older son. ‘Did you use the last one?’
Hugo marvelled at the fact that he was always the first to be accused. He said evenly, ‘One of us has a mug in his hand. And it isn’t me.’
‘Oh darling!’ Constance turned to shake her head at Tristan, who was gulping down his tea. ‘You are naughty.’
Tristan shrugged and flipped back his hair. ‘Didn’t know it was the last one.’
‘The clue is in the empty tin,’ Hugo pointed out. It was hardly rocket science.
‘Someone needs to go to the shop,’ said Constance.
‘I would, but I’m in a major rush.’ Tristan dumped his empty mug on the table – because taking it to the sink would evidently be far too much trouble – and jangled his car keys. ‘Bye, Ma. See you later.’
And bam, just like that he was gone. As Hugo had known she would, Constance said brusquely, ‘You’ll have to go and get them. We can’t do without tea bags.’
It would be more trouble than it was worth to argue. Outside, the rain had grown heavier and was now rattling against the windows. You certainly couldn’t fault his younger brother’s eel-like qualities. As the sound of the new car being revved up reached them, Hugo finished his last triangle of toast and rose to his feet.
‘Better pick up some milk as well. And take a coat,’ Constance added as she dug into her porridge. ‘It’s wet out there.’
The rain, typically, had only started once Cami had left Pine Lodge. Having caught up with all the transcribing following last night’s two-hour chat with Lizzie, she’d come out to clear her head and stretch her legs. Within minutes a light drizzle had begun to fall, but she’d ignored it. The air was still fresh and the scenery beautiful. But as she made her way across the fields, the drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Oh well.
Reaching the end of the village, she looped around the outside of the churchyard and headed for the mini supermarket at the far end of the high street. Today seemed like a day to treat herself to a big bag of sherbet lemons. Or mint chocolate toffees. Or both.
There was a fancy dark green sports car parked outside the supermarket. Still a couple of hundred yards away, Cami saw the driver emerge from the shop carrying a newspaper and a bottle of something. Jumping into his car, he fired up the engine – bbbbbbrrrr mmmmm – and executed a rapid three-point turn in the road. Heading in her direction now, he put his foot down and accelerated along the high street. It wasn’t until he was fifty feet away that Cami realised he wasn’t going to swerve away from the puddle on her side of the road.
As the car reached her, she saw the driver’s face. He was around her own age and good-looking. He was also grinning.
He didn’t swerve and she’d left it too late to back out of the way. A great wave of muddy water rose up and drenched her from head to foot.
The next moment, she heard a furious shout from some way behind her. Still gasping from the shock, she spun round and saw another man standing his ground slap bang in the middle of the road, forcing the car to screech to a halt.
‘You absolute . . . moron ,’ he yelled at the driver. ‘What is the matter with you?’
Cami ran towards them. The driver had definitely been a moron but she didn’t want the situation to escalate into violence.
As she reached the car, the driver buzzed his window down and announced, ‘It’s dangerous to swerve on a wet road, especially in a car like this.’
‘Look at you.’ The slightly older man was red-faced with anger and what sounded like disdain. ‘You’re pathetic.’
‘You’re calling me pathetic? That’s hilarious.’ The driver laughed. ‘You should take a look at yourself. Pot, kettle.’
‘The very least you can do is apologise.’
‘Jesus, it’s like being back at school.’ The driver turned to look at Cami. ‘Hello. It was an accident and I’m sorry.’
‘She’s drenched,’ said the man at Cami’s side.
‘To be fair, she was already drenched. And it’s hardly as if I ruined her best outfit.’
There was a copy of the Racing Post on the passenger seat of the car, alongside a bottle of Mount Gay dark rum. Cami looked down at her long-sleeved navy and white top from Next and her mud-splashed navy maternity trousers. ‘Actually, this is my best outfit.’
The driver eyed her in disbelief, then drawled, ‘OK, but you can’t blame me for the weather. And I really need to go now, don’t want to be late for the races. Bye.’
When the car had disappeared from view, the man on the pavement peeled off his own waterproof coat and said, ‘Please, at least let me lend you this.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘I insist.’ He held it out so she could slide her arms in. ‘And I’m sorry about that.’
Cami said, ‘You stuck up for me. Who was that guy?’
‘My younger brother. Tristan. My name’s Hugo. Good to meet you. Shame about the circumstances.’
He had ruddy cheeks and a shy smile. She’d heard the names before; they were the sons of the local landed gentry, the Peverells of Starbourne Manor. Maeve had mentioned them and Lizzie had exclaimed that the younger one was a dick with a sky-high opinion of himself.
‘Hi. I’m Cami. And you don’t need to apologise for your brother.’
Hugo pulled a face. ‘I know, but I always seem to be doing it anyway.’
They resumed walking in the same direction and continued to talk. It was known in the village, Cami discovered, that she had moved into Pine Lodge following the abrupt break-up of her relationship in London and was working with Lizzie on her upcoming autobiography.
‘Did Lizzie say anything about me?’
‘She said you were much nicer than your brother.’
‘Kind of a low bar.’ Hugo’s tone was self-deprecating, but Cami couldn’t help noticing his ears had turned pink.
The shop smelled of fresh bread and warm sausage rolls. Cami made her way over to where the sweets were sold and spent a happy few minutes choosing which ones to buy. When Hugo rejoined her, he had tea bags, milk, a block of vintage Cheddar and a rustic-looking loaf in his basket. At the till, he inhaled with longing and said, ‘OK, I definitely need some of those hot sausage rolls.’
Cami paid for her sweets then moved over to wait by the window. There was a corkboard on the wall next to it, covered in handwritten cards. In amongst the lawnmowers and air fryers for sale were people offering lessons in Spanish and ballroom dancing, and a plaintive request for someone to take over the care of her late husband’s collection of tarantulas and long-tailed lizards. But Cami’s attention was caught by a small photo of a three-in-one travel system comprised of a carrycot, car seat and pushchair, capable of seeing a baby through from birth to the age of four.
She’d looked online at such systems and nearly fainted at the prices. Everyone wanted the best for their children, but when they cost a fortune, what could you do? Now she was shortly to become a single parent, she was going to have to economise.
This one, the advert stated, was brand new, still in the original packaging and on sale for sixty pounds.
Which sounded like the bargain of the year, if it hadn’t already been snapped up.
There was a ballpoint pen in the pocket of Hugo’s waterproof jacket. She pulled it out and began copying the phone number onto the back of her hand.
‘All done.’ Hugo appeared at her side and leaned forward to read the card. ‘Interested?’
‘I’m going to need one. And it’s really cheap, which is good news.’ Cami hesitated, then said uncertainly, ‘I’m just wondering why it’s never been used. If it’s a tragic story, I don’t think I could cope.’
‘Let me see.’ Producing his phone, he tapped out the number. ‘Hi, has your pushchair been sold yet? No? And could I ask why it’s never been used?’ Pause. ‘Ah, thanks. We could come over now, if that suits you?’ He raised his eyebrows at Cami, who nodded vigorously. ‘Great, could you give me your address?’
When he’d ended the call, he explained, ‘It’s OK. She won it in a competition, but her granddaughter had already bought the one she wanted. Shall we go and collect it now?’
Cami was grateful that he’d broached the delicate question of why the pushchair was unused. ‘You don’t have to take me.’
‘Do you have a car?’
‘No.’
‘It’s seven miles away, so it might be easier if I drive you there.’
‘Oh! I thought it’d be here in the village.’
‘Look, no problem. You wait here,’ said Hugo. ‘I’ll drop this stuff back at the house, then come and pick you up.’
‘But you really don’t need—’
‘Hey, let me do this.’ His ears had gone pink again. ‘To make up for my brat of a brother.’
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the address and were greeted at the door by a roly-poly woman in her late seventies.
‘Hello! Here you are,’ she exclaimed, arms spread wide with delight. ‘The happy couple, soon to be a lovely family . . . and don’t you look perfect together!’
Uh oh.
Cami opened her mouth to explain, but Hugo gave her a discreet nudge and said cheerfully, ‘Hi, great to meet you!’
The woman, whose name was Patricia, was addicted to entering competitions, they discovered when she showed them into her dining room, piled high with items she’d won. She cooed over the size of Cami’s impressive bump and asked all kinds of questions about how long they’d been together and how the pregnancy was progressing.
‘And when’s it due?’ she continued excitedly.
‘Um . . . sometime soon?’ said Hugo, and Patricia tut-tutted at him.
‘You men, honestly. My husband was just the same when I was expecting. And squeamish like you wouldn’t believe. He stayed out in the waiting room while I was having my two.’ Her eyes twinkled as she gazed up at Hugo. ‘You won’t do that, though, will you? I want you to promise me!’
‘Oh no.’ He shook his head at her. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll definitely be there.’
‘That was fun,’ said Cami when Hugo had finished loading the heavy box into the back of his mud-splashed Range Rover. ‘When are we getting married?’
The rain had stopped at last. He ruffled his hair so it stood up in haphazard spikes. ‘I don’t usually do things like that. She just assumed, and I didn’t want her to decide she’d rather sell to a proper couple.’
It wasn’t until Cami glanced at her phone and saw the messages stacked up on the screen that she realised she’d had it on silent.
Lizzie had sent: Where are you?? Come back NOW!
She gulped and showed Hugo, who pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Is she cross? Does this mean you’re in trouble with the boss?’
Cami felt a surge of panic in her chest. ‘I hope not. I don’t want to get the sack.’
But when they arrived back, rather than trouble awaiting her, there appeared to be some kind of small but noisy celebration taking place in the kitchen at Pine Lodge.