Chapter 45
Petey
Adrone shot of Jonty and Lola kissing on the steps of Buckford Hall slowly pulled back to reveal the house in all its twinkling nighttime glory. Music swirled around our winners, then the screen cut to black and the credits rolled. Haruto and Thandiwe erupted into whoops of applause.
“That’s it, we’re done,” Thandiwe cheered, dragging me out of my chair so we could dance in the middle of the Old Coach House. I spun her around under my arm. She was really going for it. I couldn’t keep up. She frowned.
“I thought you were gay, why you dancing so white?”
“I’m sorry, I’m tall. I dance like a giraffe on ice.”
A champagne cork popped. Haruto had found a bottle in the fridge.
“Since when did we have champagne?”
He bounced his shoulders. “It had a note on it from your boyfriend.”
I dashed over, plucked the envelope from the tangle of wire and foil, and ripped it open.
Congratulations on the last day of your edit! That overpowering smell is impending BAFTA glory! (Actually, it’s probably horse shit. But underneath that, I definitely detect strong undertones of BAFTA.) So proud of you. WW xxxxxxx.
God, he was so thoughtful. My lip quivered.
Haruto shoved a glass of bubbles into my hand, and Thandiwe switched to a party playlist. The landline rang.
Haruto answered it. I couldn’t believe we had finished.
In a week, Indira would watch our edit. Looking at what we had created, I knew we had a hit on our hands.
She was going to love it. At least I hoped so—because I was now officially unemployed.
“Derek wants his duck back,” Haruto said, rousing me from my thoughts. “Asked to come up tomorrow. I said that was fine.”
I looked at him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Is that OK?”
Tomorrow was the summer solstice. The stone circle would be mobbed with revellers, the drive would be full of my father’s Jaguar car club, and two hundred battle re-enactors would be pretending to belt the shit out of one another on Home Field.
The estate couldn’t be busier if we turned it into an IKEA and offered free pony rides to the kids in the crèche.
“Sure,” I said. What was one more person to add to the chaos?
William marched past the window without stopping to wave or touch me up. Something had to be wrong. I stuck my head out the door and caught him just before he disappeared into the stables.
“You OK?”
He turned to look at me. “I need to get out of the house. I’m going for a ride.” His voice was tight, and it worried me.
“Has something happened?” I walked towards him. “Has Gran said something, because she can be a bit of a menace—”
“Your gran’s fine. Last I saw her she was playing Hungry Hungry Hippos at the Dower House with Mum.”
I reached for his hand. “Then what’s up? You’re scaring me.”
“Wetherby’s Auction House has set the date for the art sale. It’s going to be held here, in the Great Hall, on the twenty-first of September.”
My shoulders relaxed.
“But that’s great news.” And it was. The Love Manor would already be going to air by then, which was excellent publicity, and it gave the cheques time to clear before Halloween, when William had to pay HMRC.
“They want me to do some press for the release of the catalogue.”
“OK.” That seemed logical. I waited for the great revelation that explained William’s mouth looking like someone had pissed in it.
“I’m not doing it.”
“William—”
“I don’t know anything about the art. What am I supposed to say?”
“You say whatever you need to say to generate interest in the auction. Tell your story—”
“Everyone’s already heard my story,” William snapped.
I stepped back. This wasn’t the William I was used to. “If you want to save Buckford, you have to tackle the hard stuff.”
His arms flew wide, his face red. “What do you think I’ve been doing day in and day out?”
I tried to hug him, but he pulled away.
“I want a quiet life,” he said.
“You can have one. Once we get through the auction.”
“Don’t you remember what Sunny said? If we go seeking media attention, we give them carte blanche to invade our lives forever.”
“That’s not exactly what he said—”
“I can’t risk it.”
“It’s a few interviews about some paintings. You don’t have to talk about us, your family, or—”
“It won’t be enough. They’ll want more. I’ll end up piling on more lies to cover the ridiculous lie we’re already caught in. I’m trying to protect us before things get worse. One of us has to.”
The words landed like a slap. My kindness evaporated.
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“You do, Petey.” He was agitated, arms flailing. “Have you got the injunction Sunny mentioned? Have you called your father?”
My jaw clenched. I hadn’t. He knew that. We hadn’t spoken about it, but he knew it.
“How dare you?” If I could have picked him up and flung him into his dung cart, I would have.
“I’m not judging you for it,” he said, hands pumping invisible brakes.
“You just did. What do you know about it? What do you know about any of it?”
“I know that you can’t ask for his help.” William’s stormy eyes softened. “And I don’t blame you for that. I don’t question it. But if that door is closed to us, then the only door open to us is privacy. So no, I don’t want to do any interviews.”
My God. This arsehole. Even when he was being a total dick, he was trying to be honourable. He’d white-knighted me into a corner right as I was dialling up my fire-breathing-dragon setting to “toasty.”
“William, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”
But he was already shaking his head, already backing toward the stables.
“I need to clear my head. I’m going for a ride.”
I watched him disappear through the barn-style doors, fisting my hands in my pockets to stop them trembling. I didn’t chase him. I turned on my heels and went back into the Old Coach House.
“Is everything all right?” Thandiwe asked.
Haruto handed me my glass of champagne. “You look like you could use this.”
I downed it in one. “Have we got anything stronger?”
Haruto refilled my glass. Thandiwe turned down the music. This should have been my moment of triumph, but instead, I felt like I’d dropped something precious and watched it smash on the floor.