Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
V iola pressed her hand to her stomach. Nausea had lingered since Caroline’s call about Country Life publishing an article on her. She’d never felt nerves like it, not even when she was performing for thousands of people. There were always a few butterflies beforehand but nothing like the last few days of feeling sick.
She knew why: Her performances she was prepared for; Country Life she wasn’t. How could she be? She wasn’t exactly a true model of what they were looking for. She was a wealthy woman who had bought a house in the South Downs and knew nothing of ‘country life’.
She’d already spoken with the features editor earlier that week. The call came unexpectedly, leaving her no time to ask Gillian for support, so she answered the editor’s questions honestly and concisely. Caroline had briefed the editor beforehand, suggesting that the article touch on Viola’s time away from the spotlight and her journey through grief. The editor promised she could look over the article before it was published, but it was the photographs that concerned her the most.
With the photographer due any minute, there was nothing more she could do to prepare. Mrs Johnson had deep-cleaned the previous day, so all she needed now was Gillian’s steady presence to hold her together, in the way only Gillian could.
The thought made her smile as she remembered Gillian toppling off her chair at the restaurant. Although she had managed to stifle her laughter behind the menu, Gillian’s glare suggested she didn’t fully appreciate it.
Viola was looking forward to seeing her again; it had been too long for her liking. Although her feelings for Gillian confused her, she was equally baffled by her behaviour. Was she overanalysing everything, thanks to Caroline’s influence?
Having questioned her agent about her hands-on behaviour at their dinner together, she admitted that she’d tested the waters to see how Gillian reacted. Viola hadn’t even noticed Gillian shifting uncomfortably, and yet Caroline had. When she disclosed that Gillian asked outright if they were a couple, Caroline of course gloated. The relief that crossed Gillian’s face when she learnt they weren’t couldn’t be mistaken, but why? It wasn’t possible that Gillian had any interest in her like that, surely. Maybe she didn’t like Caroline and was relieved they weren’t an item.
A knock at the door made her heart jump into her throat. When she looked at the time it was ten minutes before anyone was due. Gillian wouldn’t be early, would she? Opening the door confirmed Viola’s thought — no, she would not.
A short, balding man in his fifties or even sixties, with an unkempt beard, held his hand out. “Miss Berkley, a pleasure. I’m Colin, the photographer for Country Life Magazine. You are expecting us, I believe.”
“Yes, come on in,” Viola said, standing back for him to enter. Two young men followed him carrying equipment, then a young woman with what looked like a make-up bag. “Go through to the hall.”
“Mind if we have a scout about?” Colin asked as he passed.
“Be my guest.”
She contemplated calling Gillian to say the crew were early, only to hear gravel crunching up the drive and the woman herself marching down the drive toward her. All attempts to rein in her smile failed; nothing could contain her relief at the sight of Gillian.
“Typical,” she said as she approached. “I heard them arrive… early.”
She didn’t catch the rest of Gillian’s words; her imagination took over, urging her to silence the woman with a kiss and throwing Viola completely off balance in the process. “Are you well?” Gillian asked as she entered the porch.
“Nervous,” Viola replied, though she realised her nerves were already dissipating.
Gillian faced her. “Don’t be. I’m here now.” She hung her handbag on a peg, extracting a notebook and pen. “I took the liberty of making a few notes.”
“Great,” Viola said as she led them through to the great hall, where her visitors were busy erecting equipment and setting up laptops on the banqueting table.
“Miss Berkley, I need you in make-up, and we need to discuss your outfit.” He stopped to look at her, his eyes casting over her white shirt and blue chinos, which made her uncomfortable. “Actually, no need. What you are wearing is perfection.”
She turned to Gillian — after all, it was her creation — only to find she was looking her over too. Her eyes lingered, thoughts seemingly miles away. This time it didn’t make her feel uncomfortable; it made her feel all kinds of things — hot, sweaty, breathless, light-headed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could push away those feelings, to keep telling herself that they were nothing, that she wasn’t falling in love with Gillian when that was exactly, precisely, completely, and utterly what she was doing.
“Gillian, this is Colin the photographer, and this is my—”
“Coffee, black, two sugars, dear. We had an early start,” he said, giving Gillian nothing more than a cursory glance.
“I’ll make that for you,” Viola offered, noticing a slightly contorted appearance fall over Gillian’s face.
“You are her PA?” Colin questioned Gillian with a crumpled forehead.
“I am not,” Gillian scoffed. “I used to own Kingsford Manor, and I am here to support Viola in its presentation.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” he replied abruptly. “Now Viola, have you got an old tea set we can use? Anything will do as long as it’s old.”
Fearing her modern mugs wouldn’t cut it, she looked to Gillian, hoping for help.
“And that is precisely why I am here,” Gillian cut in, giving a satisfied lift to her chin. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Viola flashed her a smile as she passed her, mouthing a thank you. As Gillian had said, this was exactly why she had asked her to be on hand; she was the sort of woman who could find a solution to anything.
Gillian returned, carrying a heavy cardboard box, just as the make-up artist was adding the finishing touches to Viola’s cheeks. Viola caught Gillian doing a double take at her, sending butterflies fluttering through her entire body.
Gillian turned pink and looked away, placing the box on the table and lifting tissue-paper-wrapped objects from inside. “Erm… do we need to fill it with tea?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“We don’t bother with that, dear.” Colin laughed.
Viola cringed as Gillian visibly twitched at the word ‘dear’.
“The camera can’t see what’s inside, can it?” he added.
Gillian’s face twitched, probably at the lack of authenticity, which was amusing, considering her lack of it.
“Right, we’ll have our first shot in the drawing room; those Chesterfields are perfection. Then we’ll have one in the study with that beautiful desk,” Colin barked. “James, set up the tea set.”
One of the young men jumped to attention and approached Gillian, tentatively taking a cup and saucer from her. The items rattled a little as they passed between hands.
“I’ll take them through for you,” Gillian said, retaking them. “You can carry the teapot, with both hands.”
“Good idea.” James grasped it, taking considered steps towards the drawing room.
“Still nervous?” Gillian asked Viola as they followed.
Viola gulped, then nodded, feeling unsettled again.
“You must have done photoshoots before.”
“Yes, of course, in gorgeous dresses with my hair glammed up. It’s a far cry from this, being me.”
“Imagine you’re performing; exude the same confidence.”
She was performing, just not in her natural habitat. This was tantamount to faking.
Colin looked around the room at the lights set up by the other young man, who had been introduced as Matt, and made minor adjustments to their positions. “Something is missing,” he said, scratching his beard. “Can we get a fire lit? Add a bit of atmosphere?”
Viola looked to Gillian to ask for permission, only to realise it was her house. “Of course.”
After several failed attempts by James to get a fire going, Gillian took over, and in seconds a fire was roaring in the hearth, much to the surprise of everyone except Viola.
Taking a seat on the Chesterfield where Colin directed her, Viola was immediately pounced on by the make-up lady who made some finishing touches. She began to feel a little claustrophobic with the heat of the fire radiating onto her and hoped she wasn’t going to sweat through her shirt before the end of the shoot.
Colin crouched by the door, putting himself at eye level with his camera as he directed her on how to hold the cup and saucer. She realised she was pulling a fake half smile and tried to change it, only to fail miserably.
“Look natural, like you’ve lived here for hundreds of years. Not you obviously, your ancestors.”
Wondering if Colin would survive the comment, Viola’s eyes drifted to Gillian, who stood by the door. Fury darkened her face. As their eyes met, Gillian’s expression softened, making a smile form on Viola’s mouth.
“Yes, that’s it. Perfect.” Colin took several photographs and then stood behind James at a laptop where they whispered until Colin shouted, “Okay, everyone, let’s move to the next shot in the study.”
The small room, by Kingsford’s standards, housed a beautiful antique desk and shelves crammed with old books.
“Have you got some old family photographs we could use?” Colin asked, taking in the room. “Ideally sepia if you have any that old. They would look great on the desk.”
She didn’t. Her photographs extended to one of her mum taken shortly before her death, which sat on the mantelpiece in the drawing room. Whether there were some in her mum’s belongings in storage, she wouldn’t know until she was brave enough to go and sort through everything.
“I’ll be back in five,” Gillian said with an exasperated breath.
Viola’s stomach tightened. She hoped this wasn’t all too taxing for Gillian. She returned a few minutes later with a handful of old framed photographs Viola recognised from her sitting room in the lodge. It probably wasn’t the time to ask after the identities of the sitters. Considering Gillian’s childhood issues, she assumed they were members of Jonathon’s family.
“Thank you, dear,” Colin said, selecting two that looked similar in age, one of a man and the other of a woman.
“I am not a four-legged woodland creature, so do not address me as such,” Gillian snapped. “The word is steeped in ageism and sexism, as are you, and it underscores your lack of respect. I’m not here to fit into whatever outdated assumptions you have about who deserves to be taken seriously. If you wish to address me, drop the ‘dear’ and use my name, Gillian, and speak to me with the respect you would give anyone else.”
Viola found her hands clapping together, but upon receiving a glare from Gillian she stopped her applause immediately. All Colin could muster was an awkward nod before quickly moving on to directing the shot.
He positioned Viola so that she was leaning back in the chair with her feet on the desk, reading a copy of Country Life . Gillian’s face was a picture. It wasn’t as if Viola wouldn’t clean the desk after. By the time they finished the set of shots, though, Gillian was nowhere to be seen.
When they reconvened in the great hall, Viola was relieved to see her sitting at the table. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she’d left.
“I don’t suppose you have a cap for that outfit,” Colin enquired. “Maybe a walking staff? Pet dog?”
“I have a cat — well, Gillian has a cat. I’m sure it will be around here somewhere.”
“Not quite the look we’re going for. What about a horse? You must have one of those,” Colin said, his tone implying a touch of impatience.
Viola turned to Gillian, eyebrows strained, silently asking for help.
“Let me guess — Gillian has one of those,” Colin answered for her, his sarcasm as unwelcome as ever.
“Indeed, Gillian does,” Gillian replied coolly.
Realising this would require another change of trousers, Viola slipped away, returning five minutes later in her jodhpurs.
Colin gave her a once-over. “Have you not got a proper riding jacket?”
Viola looked at Gillian again, just as the woman rolled her eyes.
“I’m sure I have a jacket in the wardrobe from when I was younger — and thinner — that might fit you well.”
As Gillian made to leave, Colin called out, “Could you show James where the stables are so he can set up?”
With a huff she left with James in tow, then returned with a shapely black velvet jacket that fitted Viola like a glove. She could have done without it in the hot summer air which currently suffocated Kingsford.
“Perfect,” Colin said, admiring Viola. “Are you sure this isn’t really your house, Gillian?” He chuckled.
Viola cringed, bracing herself for a response.
“It most definitely is not my house,” Gillian snapped.
Colin pulled himself back and straightened his face. “Where’s this horse then?”
Gillian marched outside, followed by everyone else. As Viola caught up to her, she realised she would have to ride Dudley. As if sensing her unease, Gillian placed a hand on her back as they walked.
“I’ll suggest we go into the paddock; at least it’s familiar. Remember everything I taught you.”
Viola nodded. She could walk Dudley around the paddock; she’d done it before.
The crew busied themselves arranging their equipment while Gillian tacked up Dudley. Agatha emerged from the stable and stretched. Approaching Dudley, she rubbed her head and then body against his leg. It surprised Viola that he didn’t react. Instead, he lowered his head and appeared to nuzzle the cat’s side, pulling on her heartstrings in the process.
“I’ll stay close by in case you need me,” Gillian whispered as she gestured for Viola to mount.
“Thank you.”
Once mounted, she retraced the steps they had taken during her lesson. Gillian opened the gate ahead of her, then closed it once everyone was through. Colin called out directions, asking Viola to position Dudley in a certain spot for the ‘perfect light’ and ‘perfect backdrop’.
She was sure Dudley was completely biddable; unfortunately, she failed to instruct him correctly, and the pressure made her more flustered. Every time Gillian stepped forward to try and assist, Colin called for her to get out of the shot.
“Left — no, not that left. The other left,” Colin barked.
“I’m trying,” Viola said through gritted teeth, biting back a sharper reply.
After fifteen minutes, Colin called time, and they returned to the stables, where Jason immediately held a laptop in front of Colin. Viola could only assume they were analysing the photographs of her and Dudley.
“We’ll have to work with what we’ve got,” he grumbled.
“You asked if I owned a horse, not if I could ride one,” Viola said, jumping down, pleased to see Gillian close at hand should she need her.
“I assumed all country folk rode, regardless of horse ownership,” Colin retorted.
The smile on Gillian’s face as she removed Dudley’s saddle didn’t escape Viola’s notice. She’d let her have that one.
“We could do with another external shot,” Colin said. “Have you got some sort of outdoorsy vehicle? Although that car in the drive is very nice, it’s not befitting the look we go for at Country Life . I thought I spotted an old Land Rover on the way in; that would be perfect.”
Gillian rolled her eyes. “Give me five minutes.”
“Thank you, Gillian,” Viola called after her, wondering at what point the woman’s patience would give out and she would snap completely.
“Calls for a wardrobe change, I’m afraid,” Colin said, gesturing with his arm that they return to the house. “Reset on the drive,” he called to his crew.
By the time Viola had changed back into her country attire, complete with her tweed cap, Gillian’s Land Rover was in front of the house. This time she was more comfortable than in the previous shot. Standing beside a vehicle was more natural to her than riding a horse.
It appeared to suit Colin better too. He snapped away as she posed around the car.
“Perfect!”
If the man said perfect one more time, she may have to injure him.
“It suits you,” Gillian said, nodding at the Land Rover as soon as Colin called the shot.
“It suits my outfit, not me.”
Gillian smirked. “True.”
“We’ll take some extra internal and external shots, pop a drone up, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Colin said, appearing beside them.
“Great.”
“I understand you’ll be at the Proms next month,” he said, seemingly attempting to make conversation.
“Yes.”
“My wife and I are going this year.”
“Oh,” Viola said, a little too questioning. Colin wasn’t the type of man she would have expected to attend the Proms.
As if picking up on her confusion, he said, “It’s not my thing, but the wife loves it. She’s been badgering me about going for years. At least I’ll know someone on the stage.”
Viola gave him a quick smile as he walked off; it soon disappeared at the reminder that she’d have to go back to work soon and leave Kingsford for a while.
“Drink?” Viola asked Gillian as they walked toward the manor, assuming she could use several.
“Yes, please!”
Viola was about to tell Gillian to take a seat as they entered the drawing room only to notice her collapsing onto the nearest sofa. It brought a smile to her face at how relaxed Gillian was around her, or was it the house she felt at ease in? Viola poured a small measure of whisky into a glass for herself and then what she considered to be a normal measure for Gillian.
“Thank you for today. I wouldn’t have managed it without you… and your Chesterfield… your tea set, photographs, Land Rover, horse, and riding jacket, which I must remember to give you back.”
“Keep it. It fits you better than it will ever fit me, and as for the rest, let’s not make a habit of it,” Gillian replied with a neutral tone, as she took the glass Viola offered her. “There is only so much humiliation I’m willing to take — even for you.”
“Thank you, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked for your help today,” Viola said, letting out a quiet sigh as she sat beside her, realising just how much she had asked of her.
“It’s fine,” Gillian said with a wave of her hand. “I enjoyed giving the photographer a piece of my mind at least.”
Viola smiled. That moment had been the highlight of her day. Everything else only reinforced her feeling that she didn’t quite fit in at Kingsford.
“I don’t feel I belong here,” she said. “I feel like a fraud. You know I paid a contractor, whom I don’t even know and don’t remember employing, hundreds of pounds the other day for trimming hedges. I have no idea if I even own them. He said he did it every year.”
“Ah, Wakes it’s not far off.”
“Anything I can help with?” Viola asked. “I must admit to feeling a little guilty leaving it all to you.”
“It’s what I do best. Enjoy the evening.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Even though she trusted Gillian’s abilities, she couldn’t help feeling nervous about what awaited her at the manor ball. Underlying it there was excitement, though, mainly at spending more time with Gillian.
Draining her glass, Gillian stood. “I should head off.”
“Thanks again,” Viola called.
Gillian flashed her a smile, and with that she was gone from the room, leaving a slightly empty feeling inside Viola that she was beginning to experience every time she left.