Chapter TWELVE
It was the morning of Hallowe’en, and Katja, Maddy and I were putting the finishing touches to the scary cupcakes, sweet pastry twists and iced biscuits destined for the tea dance reception at Riverbend Hall.
We’d spent the whole of the previous day baking our socks off over at Maddy’s. We’d worked hard and sweated quite a lot with the oven on continuously, but we’d had a brilliant time, helped along by the playlist Maddy had prepared, which included popular wedding tracks and a few songs on the very important subject of cake.
We’d swayed dreamily t.
‘Chapel of Love’, we’d shimmied along to Bruno Mars’
‘Marry You’, and we’d had new-to-u.
‘Sugartime’
on repeat because it was so very jolly and sublimely appropriate.
Sugar in the morning, sugar in the evening, sugar at suppertime!
After our mammoth baking session, we all swore that singing the lyrics to this 1950s song at the tops of our voices had boosted productivity sky-high as we’d decorated hundreds of white-iced melt-in-the-mouth biscuits with spider’s webs made from black icing.
‘Is the icing set on the witch’s cat cupcakes?’
I asked Maddy, who’d been in charge of piping the red whiskers onto the kitty sponge cakes. I had to admit they looked really cute.
‘Yup. All ready to go,’
said Maddy, loading them carefully into cupcake boxes that were stackable so we could transport them safely to the venue.
‘So you haven’t changed your mind about inviting Caleb as your “plus one” to the wedding?’
Maddy asked Katja, as we loaded up the Little Duck Pond Café mobile cake van, which we’d borrowed for the purpose.
‘Nope.’
Katja shrugged.
‘Look, inviting a guy to partner you to a wedding is significant. It means something.’
‘Does it?’
Maddy grinned.
‘I thought it just meant having someone nice to talk to and dance with. No biggie.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong.’
Katja, looking flushed, seemed to be avoiding our eye, concentrating instead on making sure the cake boxes would be steady as we drove along.
‘At weddings you get introduced to family members, and we’re just not at that stage yet.’
I nodded.
‘Oh, of course. Olga . . . your gran will be there.’
‘Exactly. Gran is one of Sylvia’s best friends, so if I invite Caleb to the wedding, I’ll have to introduce them and that’s a really big thing.’
‘So Olga hasn’t met Caleb yet?’
Maddy looked puzzled.
‘You’ve been together six months, haven’t you?’
‘Five,’
snapped Katja.
‘But it’s still too early for all of that.’
‘Right. Fair enough. I suppose it was quite a while before I introduced Jack to the family,’
Maddy conceded.
‘There you go, then. Now, can you stop talking and pass me those boxes, please?’
I exchanged a smile with Maddy and she shrugged.
It was obviously a tricky subject. I had a feeling Katja and Caleb were crazy about each other. But Katja had just recently had her heart broken by Richard, so she was probably wise to want to take this new relationship slowly.
As we drove over to Riverbend Hall to join Sylvia and all the other guests who’d been invited to the Hallowe’en dinner hen party that night, we were all in high spirits – even Katja, who’d been a little subdued lately.
It had been raining heavily for the past few days, although on the drive over there, the clouds parted briefly and a perfect rainbow appeared in front of us.
‘Wow, look at that,’
breathed Ellie.
‘Maybe it’ll be blue skies for the wedding tomorrow,’
I said, although I didn’t really believe it. There was lots more rain in the forecast.
Sure enough, as we were turning into the entrance to Riverbend Hall – the van rattling over water-filled potholes – the light suddenly dimmed, as if we’d been plunged into a solar eclipse. At first, I thought this was because the trees hanging over us on either side were blocking out the light. But when we emerged into the open, I gasped at the sight of the huge black clouds, like witches’
powder puffs, looming menacingly over the rooftop of the Gothic mansion.
I stared at it, taking in its trul.
‘Hammer House of Horror’ setting.
A long rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance, lightning flashed overhead and then the heavens opened once more. And as Katja drove the van slowly round the back of the house to the car park behind it, she had to lean close to the windscreen to see out because even with the wipers moving at full speed, the rain splattering down noisily was obscuring the view.
We decided that because the rain was hammering down, we’d leave the cake boxes in the van for now and bring them in later. It was certainly cold enough outside to act as a fridge.
Grabbing our overnight bags, we got out and ran, shrieking, for the back door, which thankfully was open.
Sylvia greeted us with hugs in the tiled passageway. Looking rather pale, she glanced outside.
‘It’s still coming down,’
she said.
‘I’m a bit worried about my family doing the drive tomorrow morning. It’ll be awful if it’s like this. Mick seems to think it’ll be fine. He reckons the storm will have passed over by tomorrow, but I’m not so sure.’
‘It’s coming down sideways at the moment,’
said Maddy cheerfully.
‘The sort of rain where you can forget about using a brolly because you’ll get soaked anyway. I quite like it, actually. Very dramatic.’
Katja glared at her.
‘Yes, but not very helpful just now, is it?’
‘Er, no. I suppose not.’
Maddy rubbed her nose.
‘But Mick’s right. The UK weather is so changeable, we’ll probably be enjoying an Indian summer by tomorrow.’
As Sylvia led us through to the impressive hall with its grand staircase in the centre, we gazed around us in awe. My face felt wet after the short dash from the van and I blinked water droplets from my eyelashes. But it was cosy in here, if a little dark, with pools of light here and there from various artfully-placed table lamps. And Celia had clearly been hard at work because the floral displays were wonderful. Purple blooms and blood red roses struck a dramatic pose alongside displays of golds, reds and burnt orange, celebrating the arrival of autumn.
Sylvia went over to speak to an older woman, who I assumed must be either Joyce or Evelyn from the care organisation, and I glanced up at the central chandelier with its droplets of black crystal. It wasn’t lit up at the moment but it occurred to me that while I’d thought our electricity bills were bad, it would be a million times more costly running this cavernous mansion through the winter.
It would be fine if there was a steady stream of paying guests to the house, but according to Sylvia, the poor woman who part-owned and ran Riverbend Hall was in deep despair over lack of funds. I’d only been in the house five minutes, but already I could see that it was terribly run down and in need of renovation.
Sylvia was back and we explained about the cakes in the van. She smiled.
‘I can’t wait to see what you’ve made. Now, why don’t I show you to your rooms and you can get unpacked . . . do what you need to do. There’ll be afternoon tea in the morning room in about an hour, so you’ve got plenty of time to have a look around the place. There’s an amazing library, full of old books that’s definitely worth a browse. All the grand paintings you see on the walls have apparently been there undisturbed for at least a century, according to Sarah . . . Miss Frobisher.’
‘And she now owns the place with her brother?’
said Maddy.
‘That’s right. When Lady Annabel died without an heir, the hall passed to Lord Alfred Fortescue’s niece. She married a Frobisher, and they had two children, Sarah and her brother. The house is a bit of a millstone around their neck by the sounds of things. I think Sarah’s torn between wanting to sell up for the sake of her sanity, but also feeling guilty that she’s even contemplating letting the house go. Her brother wants to hold onto it and turn it into a proper wedding venue but with no money for the renovation and no likely investor on the horizon, poor Sarah is stuck living here like a caretaker.’
‘Sounds awful,’
I murmured. Then I spotted a familiar face.
‘Oh, there’s Celia!’
I waved, but she was half-hidden behind a stunning looking bowl of black dahlias, red ornamental grasses and what looked like artichokes.
‘Hi, Fen.’
She poked her head round the side of the display with a smile.
‘Good to see you all.’
‘That looks incredible,’
said Sylvia in wonder, and we all murmured our agreement.
‘Whoever would have thought that an artichoke could look so beautiful and decorative.’
‘I thought it would look good on the mantelpiece above the fireplace in the drawing room?’
‘Perfect. You’re an absolute marvel, Celia.’
‘Not really. I’m just doing what I was trained to do,’
murmured Celia with an awkward little smile.
‘I happen to agree with Sylvia,’
said a deep voice, and we all turned to find a rather handsome man with cropped silver hair and even, white teeth standing there smiling at Celia, a camera slung around his neck.
‘You are amazing.’
‘Ah, Mark.’
Sylvia turned to us.
‘This is our photographer, Mark, and he’s doing a quite marvellous job of capturing the atmosphere here.’
‘Kind of you to say so, Sylvia. It’s just a shame the weather isn’t playing ball today, although I have managed to take a few shots of the exterior in between downpours. Amazing Gothic architecture. A photographer’s dream, really.’
He glanced over at Celia but she didn’t comment, and instead kept her eyes firmly trained on the parquet flooring beneath our feet.
Sylvia glanced outside at the pouring rain and sighed.
‘You know, with the river already in full spate after all the rain we’ve been having, I’m starting to worry we might get cut off if it continues like this. Mick’s decided not to venture out tonight, after all. He’s cancelled his “boys’
night out” at the Swan, and I must say, I’m really very glad. Maybe you should stay here overnight, Mark, just in case?’
‘Oh. Well . . .’
‘Plenty of bedrooms here. It would be no problem at all. It’s just you never know what might happen if these storms continue.’
Celia had glanced up at Sylvia then, a quite horrified look on her face when Mark was asked to stay over, although I noticed she was quick to change it to a stiff little smile.
Mark paused and looked at Celia before replying.
‘I . . . well, don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll be okay.’
‘It would make things so much easier for you, though,’
persisted Sylvia.
‘You wouldn’t have to drive home in the dark in this awful weather and then drive back again tomorrow. They’re saying on the news that trees have come down everywhere in these high winds.’
‘You’re probably right,’
Mark conceded.
‘I’d hate not to be able to get back to take the photos of the ceremony and the reception.’
‘Good.’
Sylvia looked relieved.
‘I’ll . . . nip home now and grab my stuff before it gets dark.’
‘Good idea. Celia’s staying the night, aren’t you, my love?’
‘I am.’
She flicked her eyes briefly in Mark’s direction.
‘Right . . . I’d better get on. I need to get the table decoration for the dining table from my van.’
‘Lovely.’
Sylvia smiled at Mark.
‘You’ll be able to join us for the Hallowe’en dinner if you’re staying here tonight. What was supposed to be my hen do has become a celebratory dinner for everyone who’s staying overnight, so you’re more than welcome. You might want to bring something spooky to wear.’
Mark nodded, amused.
‘I think I’ve got some devil’s horns kicking about somewhere. That would be great. Thanks, Sylvia.’
He glanced at Celia.
‘I’ll help you get the flowers out of the van. It’s blowing a gale out there.’
‘No, no. It’s fine,’
said Celia, setting the arrangement she was carrying on a nearby side table and walking briskly towards the back door, calling back.
‘I’ll manage, thanks.’
But Mark, apparently undeterred by Celia’s cool manner towards him, smiled at us and followed her out.
Celia