Chapter Thirteen #2
She surveyed us all with a condescending smirk.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I know it’s the middle of winter but I thought I’d bring you a taste of summer with a little cookery demonstration.
I’m making Fraises à la Neige, which means strawberries in snow for the uninitiated, so simple that even my better half Philip can do it.
Everything’s set up through here’ — gesturing grandly at the conservatory — ‘although it’s impossible to get decent strawberries at this time of year.
These ones were flown in from Spain or somewhere, but of course in the summer I’d pick them, fresh. Make a little outing of it, you know.’
Batty piped up, ‘That’s just what we do every June at Bob Taylor’s pick-your-own fruit farm on the Kingston road. Poor man, he’s never been the same since he . . . We take a picnic and have a wonderful time, you’d be welcome to join us, dear.’
Gusty scowled. ‘I’m going to be organising my own pick-your-own outing. Up to London, Fortnum at least, almost everyone. The sight of Mark leading Harriet off in another direction wasn’t a dream — it was a short, sharp dose of reality. Behind me, I heard a loud curse as someone collided with the door.
I whirled round to find Flynn rubbing his elbow. ‘Oh hi, Tom said you were on your way.’
He grimaced. ‘I gave up dinner at the Ritz for this, hope it’s bloody well worth it. Funny how people are too ill to see me but not too ill to come here .’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ I said, giving him a bemused look.
He forced a smile. ‘Sorry, it’s been a long day. Don’t suppose there’s any decent whisky in this place?’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Just then, Gusty came marching up to us. ‘Flynn, you gorrrgeous man, I want your professional opinion of my strawberries in snow.’ She slipped her arm coquettishly through his. ‘Come along, don’t be shy.’
Flynn jerked his arm away. ‘You can stick your strawberries up your—’
‘We’re not in the mood,’ I put in quickly. ‘Another time maybe.’
Gusty glared at me. ‘I hardly think so. Do you realise how much time and effort this demonstration’s taking? Not to mention the expense, although I told Sheila Burn to claim back every penny she’s spent from Mark, it’s nothing to do with me.’ She spun on her heel and stalked off.
Flynn ran his hand through his hair. ‘Any chance of that whisky?’
‘Mrs B will track some down, she’s probably in the kitchen. This way.’
‘What would I do without you, my lovely?’ he said, flinging his arm casually round my shoulder.
As we entered the hall, Mark and Harriet came out of the study opposite. At that moment, my worst fears were realised. He seemed rather pleased with himself; but she . . . she looked like she’d just won the National Lottery, a rollover jackpot on a ￡1 ticket.
‘Remember, not a word to anyone,’ Mark said. When he saw us, his expression darkened. ‘Can I get you something?’
I dropped my gaze from Harriet’s radiant face and stared at her high-heeled, open-toed shoes.
They were black patent, like her dress, and through her black tights — or was she wearing stockings, all set for seduction?
— I could see that her toe nails were painted alternate black and pink.
I wondered what Mark would think . . . But then, if he was besotted with her, he’d find everything about her irresistible, wouldn’t he?
‘Whisky,’ I said, quietly. ‘Flynn’s had a long day and he’d like a whisky.’
Mark’s voice was cold and clipped. ‘Shall I bring it to you here or are you looking for somewhere more private?’
We weren’t; but I felt a sudden need to get back at Mark, make him believe someone found me desirable, even for just one minute. So I leaned in closer to Flynn and pressed my lips to the pulse just below his ear. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it; instead, his arm tightened round me.
I gazed up at Flynn but my words were for Mark. ‘The drawing room’s private enough, everyone’s in the conservatory. Come on, Flynn, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
As soon as we reached the drawing room, Flynn shut the door and pulled me gently round to face him.
‘What is it, Em?’ he said. ‘I mean, I’m very flattered but I don’t believe for one moment that you fancy me.’
I buried my face in his shirt in a useless attempt to shut out my despair. ‘Just hold me,’ I whispered. ‘For a minute or two. Please.’
And he did. He held me so tight that all I could hear was the steady beat of his heart. It soothed me, kept the tears at bay. When at last I stepped away from him, I noticed that someone had placed a decanter of whisky on the little table just inside the door.
There were two glasses, not one. That was Mark, thoughtful to the last.
* * *
~~MARK~~
My conversation in the study went well. As I’d anticipated, Harriet needed very little convincing to come to India.
In fact, I had the feeling she’d need very little convincing to jump off a cliff; which was why I always knew I’d have to get her away from Highbury, to give the relationship a chance — although maybe India was taking things a bit far.
Not that she asked me anything about the place; all she wanted to know was what clothes she’d need and whether she could take emergency supplies of something called Lambrini, which apparently always got her ‘in the mood’.
Her next question took me even more aback. ‘What’s that big white thing stuck in the middle of a pond, somewhere in India?’
I hazarded a guess. ‘The Taj Mahal?’
‘That’s it, Mum’s always wanted to sit on that bench where Princess Di sat. Now at least I can send her a photo of me doing it.’
I was about to explain that the Taj Mahal was over a thousand kilometres from Mumbai and I wasn’t sure there’d be time to visit it, when she came out with the question I had been expecting. ‘What shall I tell Emma?’
‘As little as possible,’ I said firmly. ‘She’ll only try to talk you out of the whole thing, that’s why it’s got to be a secret.
Just tell her you’ve had the offer of a holiday out of the blue, all expenses paid, too good to miss and so on.
It’s the truth, isn’t it? If she kicks up a fuss and says she needs you in the office, let me know immediately.
But, as you’re a temp, there shouldn’t be a problem, the agency can always send someone else to do your job. ’
She nodded eagerly. ‘Oh Mark, you’re brilliant, you think of friggin’ everything.’
‘I’ll finalise the travel arrangements and phone you tomorrow,’ I went on, opening the door into the hall. ‘Remember, not a word to anyone.’
As soon as I saw Churchill standing there with Emma, I knew India wasn’t too far away.
When I took the whisky into the drawing room, they were already in each other’s arms; nothing passionate, just being close.
Over the top of her head, Churchill caught my eye and smirked, as if he could see right through my air of indifference.
Just three days to go. Then there’d be no more need to pretend.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
After Flynn had poured himself a large whisky, I suggested letting Kate and Tom know he’d arrived.
We found them in the conservatory, next to George and Harriet.
Gusty was behind a table at one end of the room, stirring something in a pan over a little primus stove, with Philip hovering devotedly beside her.
Mark was nowhere to be seen; neither was Saffron.
‘I’m using white chocolate, but it needs to be excellent quality.’ Gusty gave a supercilious smile. ‘Philip thought the cheap stuff would do, he can be so half-witted at times. Pass me the platter, Philip — no, no, that’s a bowl, I said the platter .’
‘You know who she reminds me of?’ Tom said, with a chuckle. ‘Fanny Cradock, bossing Johnnie about in those old TV clips. Ah, watch out, I think she’s looking round for her next victim.’
Fortunately, Gusty’s beady gaze got no further than David Perry. ‘ Doctor Perry, I’m sure you’ll be an expert at this, it’s quite a delicate operation and needs a steady hand!’
As David stepped forward apprehensively, Kate said under her breath, ‘For heaven’s sake, doesn’t she know he’s a GP, not a surgeon?’
‘You take a strawberry and hold it by the stalk — so,’ Gusty continued.
‘Then you dip it into the melted chocolate, wave it about to cool and put it on the platter like this. Strawberries in snow, you see?’ She pretended not to notice the spattering of white chocolate across the pristine slate-grey Amtico tiles.
‘You try this one, David. Anyone else like a turn?’
Batty darted to the table and picked up two strawberries at once. She was about to dip them into the chocolate when she hiccupped and promptly dropped them. She then staggered into Philip, causing him to lurch sideways and squash the fruit to a gooey pulp with his heel.
Kate groaned. ‘I think Mary’s had too much to drink. Flynn, you’re nearest, bring her over here before she gets hurt, that floor looks lethal.’
Flynn frowned. ‘Isn’t her niece looking after her?’
Kate shook her head. ‘Jane went home about ten minutes ago. She felt ill, but she insisted she was OK to drive and we said we’d give Mary a lift later.’
As Flynn hesitated, Saffron and Mark arrived and swung into action.
Saffron thrust a roll of kitchen towel at Philip and a mop and bucket at Gusty, while Mark led a flustered Batty to a chair.
I saw Flynn fidget with his mobile and leave the room, presumably to make a call away from the general chaos.
Meanwhile, Saffron raised her delicately sculptured eyebrows in distaste and surveyed the scene in her once-immaculate conservatory. ‘Now you two can start clearing up this mess.’