Chapter 37
It was seven thirty in the morning, a low-lying carpet of cotton-wool mist covered the fields and birds were singing lustily in the trees as a milky-white sun rose above the trees, promising another glorious mid-May day.
Jed hadn’t been able to help himself. Out of bed by six, he’d showered and dressed, then found himself heading in the direction of the hitherto unexplored churchyard. It hadn’t taken long to spot the over-the-top monument from a distance, but he’d held off for a while, reading the inscriptions on the other gravestones.
OK, wasting time, putting off the moment. But finally he approached it, smiling at the words carved into the marble, evidently chosen by Eunice Honeywell herself.
Never married, never wanted to .
The gold angels, he now realised, were a kind of diversion. The carved marble chicks and eggs were discreetly positioned around the base of the memorial, tiny surprises to be discovered by passers-by who bothered to look hard enough. Taking out his phone, he googled her name and found a single black and white photograph of Eunice surrounded by her beloved chickens, beaming into the camera lens and wearing dungarees and a battered wide-brimmed straw hat. She looked as much of a character as Esme had promised, and exactly the kind of person who would name her home Egg Cottage.
As he was making his way back to the Cedars, taking the long way round via the lower end of the high street, he saw the front door of that same cottage open, allowing Rhoda and three small children to emerge. They spilled noisily out onto the pavement and into a red Nissan parked at the kerbside, and there was Esme locking up before following them into the car. She was wearing a green and white polka-dotted shirt over white pedal pushers and strappy green sandals, and the sight of her made Jed realise that this was why he’d come out so early, in the faint hope that they might exchange a few words.
The red Nissan started up with Esme in the passenger seat and Rhoda behind the wheel. They were heading towards him, and yes, it was ridiculous, but Jed found himself hastily combing his fingers through his long hair and sucking his stomach in. But after indicating for all of two seconds, the car turned sharp right and disappeared along a narrow side street signposted Crow Lane.
Great.
He relaxed his muscles.
Esme was on her way to Exeter and would be gone all day.
He wondered what time this evening she’d be back.
It might be Sunday morning, but Nella was already hard at work in the office, planning an intricate itinerary for next week’s occupants of Bay House. On the other side of the desk, being a great deal more distracting than he knew, Nick was exclaiming over an email that had just come in from another upcoming client.
‘They’re flying over from Milwaukee for a week and they want to visit Loch Ness on the Monday, then Cornwall on Tuesday, then catch the little underwater train to Paris on Wednesday.’ He exhaled. ‘And on the Friday they’re doing London. He says his wife wants to know if we can arrange for them to meet a member of the royal family, but if it’s an afternoon-tea situation we have to let the palace know his mother-in-law’s on a low-carb diet and his stepdaughter doesn’t eat fish.’
‘And they’re not doing anything on Thursday? Lazy.’ Nella tutted. ‘They could at least squeeze in a spot of skiing in the Swiss Alps.’
‘Scuba diving in Lake Como,’ said Nick.
‘Irish dancing in Dublin.’
‘Belly dancing in Bodrum.’
‘Ziplining in Zanzibar.’
He opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, ‘Damn, can’t think of one fast enough. You win.’
‘I’ve told you before. I always do.’
The door to the office swung open and Hugo came in carrying a small cardboard package, his fair hair even more all over the place than usual. ‘She always used to. Competitive isn’t the word.’
‘Table tennis in Toledo,’ Nella blurted out, because they were queued up in her head so she had to say them. ‘Boules in Bordeaux. Quidditch in Quebec.’ OK, she needed to stop; there was a fine line between healthily competitive and outright obsessed.
‘Quidditch doesn’t count,’ Nick objected.
‘Fine. Deck quoits in Quebec.’ Right, definitely stopping now.
Under his breath, Nick murmured, ‘Tiddlywinks in Timbuktu.’
‘Stop it, you two. I come bearing gifts.’ Looking pleased with himself, Hugo waved the package at Nella, then dropped it onto the desk in front of her like a Labrador offering up his favourite toy.
‘What is it?’ She gave it a shake. Nothing.
‘A present. For you.’ He indicated Nick. ‘And you too, if you like. It was buy one get one free.’
‘It’s probably lipstick.’ Nella grinned at Nick.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Be embarrassing if it’s deodorant.’
‘You won’t find out until you open it.’ Hugo was impatient.
She opened the packet and peered inside. Tipped the two smaller boxes out onto the desk.
‘DNA tests to find my relatives?’ She looked up at Hugo. ‘I said I wasn’t that bothered.’
‘I know, but it could be interesting. You don’t know how you’ll feel until you try. And the thing is, you weren’t keen on putting your details out there for other people to see, but that doesn’t have to happen. You can opt to keep your own privacy until you’re happy to make contact. But if you decide you don’t want to, they won’t know anything about it. Or about you. I double-checked. Then when you get your results, if you think you might want to know more about any of them, you can have a little look at them first, do a bit of secret snooping.’
‘Snooping?’
‘I mean research. So basically, there’s nothing to lose. But you never know, it could turn out to be the best thing ever, and you’ll be so glad you did it.’
He had a point. The fact that she could be in control was a big plus, and something she hadn’t realised before. Reassured, Nella said, ‘What would I have to send off? A blood sample?’
‘Not even that. Just a cheek swab.’
‘What do you think?’ She looked across the desk at Nick, who was reading the instructions. ‘Shall we both give it a go?’ God, she loved the way his eyebrows tilted at that angle when he was concentrating. Then again, they were excellent eyebrows; she pretty much loved them whatever they were up to.
But Nick was already shaking his head. ‘My family’s already done it. One of Mum’s friends found out she was related to an Indian princess and got completely overexcited. She bought these kits for practically everyone she knew last Christmas. It’d be a complete waste me using it now.’
‘Oh.’ Hugo sounded crestfallen.
‘Look,’ said Nella, ‘I’ll do it, maybe tonight when I get home.’
‘No.’ He shook his head and took the box back from her before she could drop it into her bag. ‘It doesn’t take two minutes, so why don’t we get it sorted now? I’ll use the other one so you aren’t doing it on your own. Here, all we need is to download the app on our phones and register our details – they’ve made it really easy. Come on, let’s get started.’
Nella realised he had bought this for her as a surprise, thinking he was helping her. And maybe he was, who knew? Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she opened her box. In no time at all, both swabs had been taken and sealed in their respective envelopes, and they’d filled in their details on the app. Complete privacy was assured.
‘Well done.’ Hugo beamed. ‘See? Wasn’t so hard after all, was it? I’ll drop them into the postbox on my way home.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great if I found out I was related to someone completely lovely? Maybe Brenda Blethyn.’ Nella was joking, plucking a random name out of the air, but it was what everyone wanted, wasn’t it? It didn’t matter whether you were famous or incredibly successful in whatever job you did; it was just that nobody wanted to discover they had horrible people in their family tree.
The event at Hay House was due to begin at two o’clock, but from midday onwards a procession of vehicles began filling up the car park and the area around it buzzed with excited fans of the UK’s most charismatic artist, TikTok and Instagram sensation, the one and only Dane Cruse.
Well, that was what was written on the huge banner that had appeared earlier, strung up over the entrance to the grounds of Hay Hall.
‘Anything else you need?’ Nella double-checked as two o’clock approached. The weather was fine, the event was being held outside and the extra-long table in the kitchen was full of gleaming glasses and silver ice buckets crammed with bottles of Prosecco. ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?’ was currently playing through speakers. Dane was wearing a hands-free headset so he could chat to his audience whilst he painted, and his dark hair was artfully dishevelled. He’d changed into his tuxedo and ruffled white shirt, and his tanned feet were bare. He was also wearing enough Tom Ford cologne to knock a horse off its hooves, but each to their own.
He grinned at Nella and winked. ‘Now you mention it, I need you to wish me luck. Just because everyone’s here to see me doesn’t mean I don’t get nervous.’
God, how she despised him. ‘Good luck.’
He moved towards her. ‘Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?’
Vile, hideous, oh-so-pleased-with-himself man. Stepping smartly back, Nella said, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Coming to watch the show?’
‘Sorry, I don’t think I’ll have time.’
He regarded her shrewdly. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Since you ask, I think the way you treated Maeve was pretty disgusting. She’s a teenager. And she trusted you.’
‘Hey, it was just a bit of fun. Besides, it was what she wanted.’
‘She’s been through a rough time recently.’
‘You can’t blame me for that. Nothing to do with me.’
‘I just wondered if you have any kind of conscience.’
‘About what? She was a complete pushover. If anything, I’d say I taught her a valuable life lesson. Which can’t be bad, can it?’
Through the wall of glass Nella could see his assistant outside, checking the microphones and placing a half-finished canvas on the easel. Having encountered Billy briefly a few times during their stay, she’d noticed how worn down he appeared, but he seemed more cheerful now.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ As she spoke, the wealthy woman who had arrived yesterday to stay with Dane descended the staircase in a diaphanous turquoise and silver kaftan. She crossed the kitchen, kissing Dane on the mouth as she passed him on her way to pour herself a fizzing glass of Prosecco.
‘How long before you can get rid of them, darling?’ Her voice was low and husky.
Dane’s manner was offhand. ‘They’ll be gone by four.’
‘Two hours.’ She yawned without bothering to cover her mouth. ‘See if you can persuade them to leave early.’
By two fifteen, the event was in full swing. The gates had been opened at two on the dot, the fans had swarmed into the garden and the squeals of delight had been ear-splitting. Everyone was taking photos and videos of themselves and clustering around their hero, desperate to get a selfie with him.
Lurking at the back of the crowd, Nella took it all in. Give him his due, when it came to showmanship Dane gave Phineas Barnum a run for his money. Everyone there loved him, lusted after him and competed to tell him just how brilliant and talented he was. In return, he feigned modesty, flattered them outrageously, then posed for photographs whilst more glasses of Prosecco were poured and the music he’d used during his most popular videos blasted through the speakers.
Everyone was having a spectacular time. Well, apart from those who now knew what he was really like. As Maeve came to stand beside her, Nella rested a consoling arm around her shoulders. ‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ Maeve nodded in the direction of the woman in the translucent kaftan. ‘Good luck to her. He’s probably got the next one lined up ready to take her place.’
‘I expect so.’
As Billy turned the music down, Dane raised his arms in the air to request silence and attention from his adoring fans. He told them they were all amazing and thanked them for coming, then announced to whoops and cheers that he’d be painting for the next ten minutes, after which the first set of recently completed paintings would be put on display so people could buy them and have them personally signed to their new owners.
It was cleverly done; he was whipping them into a frenzy of excitement aided by yet more Prosecco. Having travelled all this way to see him, none of them wanted to go home empty-handed.
‘Feel free to video me in action,’ Dane told them with an irresistibly broad smile. ‘But my faithful assistant Billy will be making a recording too. OK, let’s get started . . .’ He punched the air; the music grew louder. He picked up his brush and palette, pre-loaded with acrylics, and started to dance in front of the half-finished painting on the easel.
Dance, dab, step-step-step, another dab, then a twirl and a flourish. He was like a cross between a rock star and a bullfighter, and his audience were on their feet, drinks sloshing out of their glasses as they danced too. When bright spots of paint flew off Dane’s brush and landed in their hair or on their clothes, they shrieked as ecstatically as if it were droplets of his sweat.
Then the music stopped blaring, Dane gave a final swoosh of his brush, and the landscape – of sky and mountains, trees and a river – was done. He executed a dramatic bow and his audience burst into whistles, cheers and wild applause.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he announced, white teeth gleaming as he accepted their appreciation. ‘You’re too kind, I just—’
‘Dane, sorry to interrupt, but I wonder if your fans are secretly thinking this painting isn’t quite finished yet?’ Billy’s voice came booming through the microphone he was holding. Standing some twenty yards away, he went on cheerfully, ‘I think maybe they’d like to see you add one of your signature horses to complete the picture.’
At her side, Maeve clutched Nella’s arm and gave a muffled snort of joy. The rest of the audience, assuming this was all part of the show, screamed their approval and clapped even harder.
‘Sorry, I’d love to do that, but I’m afraid we don’t have time.’ Was that a fleeting what-the-fuck? glare Dane was directing at his assistant?
‘Come on, we can make time,’ replied Billy. ‘We want to see you finish the painting. Don’t we, everyone?’
‘Yeeahhh!’ the audience yelled, beside themselves with the joy of being included in the game.
‘The painting is finished,’ Dane insisted firmly. ‘Now, if we could move on and bring out the—’
‘But Dane, you don’t want to disappoint your fans, do you?’ Billy sounded so in control, so much more relaxed than his boss, and at Nella’s side, Maeve’s short fingernails were now digging into her arm.
‘Unless . . .’ Billy paused, then went on in faux confusion, ‘unless you don’t know how to draw horses? I wonder, could that be the reason you won’t do it?’