Chapter 5
FIVE
I could do nothing more than gape in total mortification at Alexander as he stood in the doorway. My mother, however, brazen in these situations, burst out laughing.
‘Oh, hello, what marvellous timing! I was just saying to Fallon how handsome you are, but she wasn’t having any of it. Mind you, she always flatly refuses to discuss her sex life with me, so who knows what she’s really thinking.’
What I was thinking was that I wanted to howl with embarrassment, then immediately return to London, but I rallied.
‘The only thing that I’m thinking right now, Mum, is that I’d like some rest. Why don’t you go and find Douglas?’
‘Very well!’ she trilled, squeezing Alexander’s shoulder as she passed him, then saying in a stage whisper, ‘Don’t give up hope, darling!’
I had no idea who that last comment was directed at, but I chose to ignore it, and instead looked imploringly at Alexander.
‘I’m so sorry about that. Mum can be a bit…’ Intrusive? Pushy? Rude? ‘… giddy sometimes, and I get impatient with her. Please don’t be offended.’
‘Offended? By being talked about like an object behind my back? I can’t imagine why you think I might be. Anyway, I just came to say that we normally have drinks before dinner at seven, so we’ll meet in the Hall then.’
I started to say thank you, but he had already left, closing the door behind him with a sharp click. I threw myself down on the bed flat on my stomach and moaned into the pillow. Could there have been a more cringe-making start to my stay here?
‘Fallon?’
I lifted my head from the bed to see Alexander standing in the doorway once again.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, just, er…’ I tailed off miserably and tried surreptitiously to wipe away a small dribble of drool from the corner of my mouth, which had escaped during my smothered wails.
‘Right. Well, I forgot to say that we don’t bother dressing for dinner, just in case you were wondering.’
I nodded, still prone on the bed, and he left the room again. I may well have cried, had a gentle, soft muzzle not pushed itself into my hand, and a warm, scraggly body pressed against my leg.
‘Oh, Runcible,’ I said with a sigh, ‘thank goodness you’re here.’
Tightly wound though I was, I managed to fall asleep for an hour, and woke feeling better. All right, so things hadn’t got off to a brilliant start, but there was plenty of time to redeem myself as the perfect house guest. Alexander had said that they didn’t ‘dress for dinner’, something that hadn’t even crossed my mind as a possibility, but nonetheless I could do with freshening up after the long car journey and nap. I gave Runcible her supper – boring-looking dry food, which the vet had recommended and she always gobbled up – then went to the amazing bathroom and had a quick shower, gazing out into the darkness through the deep-set window. I got dressed in a pair of soft trousers and a cosy cashmere jumper, scooped up Runcible and entered the Hall just as the large clock on the mantelpiece struck seven, with a tasteful tinkling of bells. Punctual I may have been, but I was the only person there. I popped my little dog down, then wandered about marvelling at what I suppose an estate agent would describe as ‘original features’ but anyone else would consider museum pieces. I had come in through a sort of anteroom, with an ornately carved wooden wall separating it from the main room. Above this I could see a minstrels’ gallery. There was a second doorway in the wooden wall, covered by a curtain, and I poked my head around this to see some very old wooden stairs leading up. I was just debating whether or not to give them a go, when a voice behind me made me jump.
‘You can go up if you like.’
I turned around to see Alexander and Theo standing behind me, with matching amused smiles on their faces. I felt my cheeks flush pink and wished I’d been a few minutes later to come down.
‘Caught in the act of snooping. I’m sorry, it’s just so intriguing. I think the last time I saw a minstrels’ gallery was at Hampton Court. In my defence, part of my job is looking at amazing venues, so really, it’s work, kind of…’
‘It’s fine,’ said Alexander. ‘It is a wonderful house; we’re very lucky to live here – and we discover new things all the time, don’t we?’ He turned to his son, who had crouched down to pet Runcible, the dog bustling over to greet her new friend.
‘Yes, we do,’ Theo answered eagerly. ‘In the summer we found a weird little stone dish thing hidden behind a panel on the wall.’
‘That’s right,’ said his father. ‘It was an in-built holy water stoup that we think was hidden during the English Reformation. I’ll show it to you at some point, if you’re interested?’
I was about to reply when a quick clicking of heels announced my mother’s arrival, followed by Douglas. She had clearly decided to ignore the instruction not to dress for dinner and was wearing a burgundy silk tea dress with a cream mohair cardigan which was begging to be stroked, it looked so soft and cloudlike. It wasn’t my mother’s usual style, but she looked stunning. Maybe, I thought, glancing down at my own outfit, she hadn’t dressed for dinner, but, in fact, this was considered normal clothing, and it was I who needed to up my game? Eurgh . I shook the thought away and instead paid attention to Douglas, who was asking everyone what they wanted to drink. Given my exhausted state, I had decided alcohol was to be strictly limited, but as I saw Mum’s eyes raking my poorly dressed body, I cravenly asked for a gin and tonic and promised myself I’d try again tomorrow. Oh no, wait. Tomorrow was that blasted James Bond-themed welcome party. I wasn’t getting through that on mineral water. I’d try again…when I could. After a few minutes, Alexander and Theo disappeared.
‘They’re making the dinner tonight,’ said Douglas. ‘We usually have help in the house with cooking and cleaning and so on – a wonderful married couple who look after us all marvellously – but their daughter has just had her first baby, so they’ve gone on a sort of grandparental leave for a few weeks and we’re fending for ourselves.’
‘So generous of you, Dougie,’ said Mum, simpering at him in a way I had never seen before.
‘It was Alexander who suggested it,’ he replied. ‘He’s here all of the time so misses Stephen and Chrissie’s cooking the most, but he believes that family should come first for everyone, and it’s not like we can’t manage – we just lower our standards dramatically.’ He smiled self-deprecatingly and I thought again how very nice he was. ‘We normally take it in turns to cook when they’re away,’ he continued. ‘So, prepare yourselves for my unrivalled pasta pesto on repeat.’
Oh God, if that was his signature, what on earth was I supposed to make? I didn’t want to make anything, actually, and felt a pang of longing to be at home and not having to make an effort to impress anyone.
I summoned up a smile, though, as Douglas was so well-meaning. ‘Sounds good to me, but you’ve stolen the main dish in my repertoire. I’ll have to Google something else. Or maybe I’ll just buy some Christmas puddings and dish those up – they’re usually filling enough not to need another course. What about you, Mum?’ I asked, naughtily, as I know my mother can’t make toast. To my surprise, she pulled what I can only describe as a comical face, and answered grandly:
‘Darlings, I shall do what all sensible people do. Order in!’
Douglas roared with laughter.
‘Now that, my darling, you are exceptionally good at!’
Self-deprecation had never been one of Mum’s acts; maybe Douglas would be good for her. She certainly seemed different around him – softer, I suppose. I was about to ask him about some of his Bond memorabilia, when Theo came back in, gleefully whacked the huge gong that stood at one end of the hall and announced:
‘Dinner is served!’
We followed him through to a strange, windowless room at the other end of the hall from the minstrels’ gallery and sat down at a large, simply laid table.
‘Welcome to your first meal at Blakeney Hall,’ said Alexander. ‘In case you’re wondering why we’re eating in a prison cell, this is the Buttery – the room where the butler would have kept the provisions, wine and so on.’
Theo took over from him.
‘In the past they would have eaten in the Great Hall, but that’s more of a sitting room for us as you’ve seen, so we use this because it’s nearer the kitchen. It is a bit weird with no windows, but you get used to it.’
‘Exactly,’ said Alexander, smiling at his son. ‘Right, we’ve made our favourite – baked potatoes with a selection of toppings – so please just dig in.’
The food was delicious, and I began to relax as we ate and the conversation flowed. The talk turned to Christmas.
‘When do rehearsals start for the Nativity?’ Alexander asked his father, adding some more cheese to his potato.
‘This week,’ replied Douglas. ‘Theo and I are raring to go, aren’t we?’
‘Yes! We’re innkeepers this year, so much more exciting than boring old shepherds like last time.’
‘And no sheep to misbehave either,’ said Douglas wryly. He turned to me. ‘I should explain, Fallon. Each year the village holds a live Nativity performance which winds its way through the streets – well, street, since Lingfoss is a tiny place – with anyone who wants one taking a part and the vicar narrating the whole thing. It’s been done for centuries and it’s fun to be part of. Last year, as Theo says, we were shepherds, and we had the stubbornest sheep in Yorkshire as our companion. That blighter would not move !’
‘I’ll look forward to seeing it,’ I said. ‘Are you going to do it too?’ I looked at Alexander.
He shook his head.
‘No. I have done in the past, but I’m getting my new business up and running this year, so I’m way too busy. I did wonder if Jacqueline might take a turn, though – I’m sure the village would love it.’
I hardly dared look at Mum. If it doesn’t go through her agent six times, she doesn’t do it: that’s pretty much the rule to get her out of bed. But, to her credit, she forced a smile.
‘Now then, I don’t think Nativity is my métier , darling. And from what I’ve seen of the photos, it requires wearing a woollen robe, no matter what part you have.’ She gave that smile which makes you question whether she’s joking or not. ‘My fans would never forgive me; I think I’ll resign myself to a supporting role.’ She smiled soppily at Douglas, who reached over to stroke her face, and I hid my smirk in my wine glass. My mother has never ceded the limelight to anyone; I wouldn’t put it past her to appear in a surprise star turn as an angel in some Dior gold silk number. Alexander saw my face and grinned.
‘How about you, Fallon? I’m sure there’s still time to sign up?’
Over my dead body.
I raised an eyebrow at him.
‘No, thank you, I’ll leave the theatrics to everyone else.’
He wasn’t going to stop teasing me, though.
‘Oh, what a shame, don’t you like dressing up? I’m sure they could find you some lovely old wool cloak that’s been sported by various members of the village over the past hundred years.’
Theo pulled a face.
‘Yuck. It’s not that bad, Dad. Mine was only a bit itchy last year.’
‘Absolutely, you should consider it, Fallon!’ chimed in Douglas. ‘The authentic scents increase as the wool warms up and really add to the atmosphere.’
I dropped my head into my hands and laughed.
‘I’ll pass! I’m dressing up for the party tomorrow night, so I think that’s going to be the beginning and the end of costumes for me.’
No doubt Alexander would have carried on ribbing me, had his phone not rung.
‘Oh, sorry, I’d better get this. Won’t be long.’ He answered the call: ‘Finally, Hetty!’ and left the room. When he returned, he was as white as a sheet and sat down heavily in his chair.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Douglas, looking concerned. ‘Bad news?’
Alexander had a long drink of water and refilled his glass. I thought he was going to cry.
‘It’s Hetty,’ he whispered. ‘She’s had to go up to Scotland – her mother has been in an accident and has to have surgery. I’m awfully sorry for her, but what on earth am I going to do about the Christmas Fayre?’
A sympathetic silence fell. It was Douglas who broke it.
‘Oh, Alexander, that is a setback. Can I help in any way? How much is there left to do?’
Alexander sighed deeply and raked his hands through his thick hair.
‘Too much, far too much for me to manage without Hetty. The actual product is fine, I’ve distilled and bottled that, but I still need to do the publicity, labelling, setting up a stall…I’ll have to manage somehow, but it won’t be the launch I had in mind, and it was such a golden opportunity.’
I stared bleakly at my plate as the conversation continued around me – Douglas, Mum and even Theo trying to suggest ideas. I already had about five I could action quickly and that would be successful; this was my job, after all. But with visions of the last six months of stress whirling around my exhausted brain, I couldn’t organise my mouth to speak the words I should: I’ll help . Instead, I just sat silently, uselessly, praying that someone else would come up with a proper solution. Then, my mother piped up:
‘This is ridiculous, none of us has the first idea about any of this. Fallon will help, of course. She knows what she’s doing with this sort of thing.’
I used to write down compliments my mum had given me in my diary, treasuring each one as they were so scarce. But as I grew up, they became basically non-existent, the diary was lost during a house move and I learned to rely on my own inner voice to give myself credit where it was due (and sometimes where it wasn’t). So, when my head snapped up, it was more in surprise at my mum’s approval than in horror at the suggestion I should help. Alexander didn’t see it that way.
‘Absolutely not. Fallon is here as a guest and to get some rest. I won’t hear of it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mum, in a voice that meant business. ‘Of course she’ll help, won’t you?’
I was wishing vehemently now that I hadn’t had that gin and tonic. My head started buzzing and there was a telltale pinprick of pain behind my left eye, foretelling one of the crushing headaches that had been hounding me over the last year. I opened my mouth to speak, but was stopped by Alexander who had not, to be fair to him, ever had experience of arguing with my mother.
‘No. It’s fine. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll probably just drop it for now and then find somewhere else to take it when Hetty’s back…’
‘But Christmas was the perfect…’ started Douglas, tailing off when he saw the look on his son’s face and laying a hand over Mum’s. Silence fell again. I was desperate now to get some of my pain medication before I was stuck with a bad headache, but through the fuzziness I knew what else I had to do.
‘Look, it’s fine, of course I’ll help. I really, really don’t mind. Maybe it will do me good, keep me ticking over or something. It sounds like you’re already well on the way, and it’s not like some investment bank do at the National Gallery. Much more manageable?—’
‘Right, then that’s settled,’ said Mum. ‘It was obviously the best idea.’
‘It’s a super idea,’ said Douglas. ‘As long as you’re sure, Fallon?’
A scimitar stroke of pain shot through my head, and I clenched my teeth.
‘I would be hugely grateful,’ said Alexander stiffly. ‘This company does mean a great deal to me.’
‘I’m absolutely sure,’ I said, not really caring, now, one way or the other. ‘Christmas events are my favourites. I’ll be glad to get started tomorrow. Er, would you all excuse me? I just need to pop upstairs.’
I pushed my chair back and moved as smoothly and quickly as I could up to my bedroom, Runcible trotting after me, where I took some painkillers and pressed my head against one of the cold windows, staring out into the darkness. A tear of exhaustion and pain ran down my cheek. I hoped I hadn’t made a colossal mistake.