Chapter Fourteen
~~MARK~~
I didn’t go straight back to my guests. Instead, I walked round the car park a few times and returned just as they were studying the dessert menus.
I wondered if our orders reflected our individual states of mind.
Mary, Jane and I had nothing; Churchill chose Devil’s Food Cake, which he ate with relish; Emma went for Passion Fruit Fool and left it untouched.
Everyone else had home-made ice cream; apart from Henry, who ordered crème br?lée — much to my surprise.
‘Not really,’ she said in a subdued voice, her eyes downcast.
‘That’s odd.’ Henry turned to me. ‘She seemed very impressed at the time, couldn’t stop talking about the place for days afterwards.’
‘She’s always had a convenient memory,’ I said heavily. With a savage sort of pleasure, I watched her go red and knew she was thinking about our bitter confrontation in the bedroom at Forbury Manor, just as I’d intended.
While we were moving through to the lounge area for coffee, Churchill’s mobile went off. He immediately left the room and came back a few minutes later, face flushed, eyes glittering.
‘That was Stella, she’s just landed at Gatwick. Sorry, must dash, my taxi’s due any moment. Thanks for the meal, all the best.’ He gave a dismissive nod in my direction and turned towards the door.
Tom put his hand none too gently on his son’s shoulder. ‘Hang on, what’s Stella doing in England? The woman’s never been over here for thirty years. I think you owe us more of an explanation than that!’
Churchill edged away from him. ‘OK, but it’ll have to be quick, she’s not the most patient of people.’
I saw Kate’s lips tighten and suspected she was running short of patience herself. I wondered briefly why Churchill hadn’t mentioned Stella’s visit earlier and glanced across at Emma to gauge her reaction; but she was looking down at the floor, so it was impossible to tell.
A petulant note crept into Churchill’s voice.
‘I was going to tell you anyway, it’s just that Stella’s got the final say-so, it’s her money after all.
’ He paused and his eyes flicked across at Emma — or was it Jane?
‘Here goes, then. Most of you know I’ve been in the Lake District for the past couple of months.
What you don’t know is that I’ve been getting my own restaurant up and running, the Brook Inn, near Kendal.
Once Stella’s happy with how I’ve spent her money, I’ll be ready to start filming my new show for the BBC, Flynn’s Cook-in at the Brook Inn.
’ He gave one of his flashiest grins. ‘Hope to see you all up there on opening night.’
We all made appropriate congratulatory noises — with varying degrees of sincerity, I was sure.
Tom brightened visibly. ‘That’s great news, Flynn, I’m looking forward to hearing all about it when you’ve got more time. Where’s Stella staying? Have you booked her in anywhere?’
‘It depends on — various things,’ Churchill said evasively. ‘Look, my taxi must be waiting, I’ll phone you later.’
And with that he was gone, leaving Tom with just enough information to be able to speculate long and loud about his son’s brilliant career prospects.
* * *
~~EMMA~~
I was barely aware of Flynn dashing off; I simply wanted the evening to end. Only then would the ordeal of saying goodbye to Mark be over.
Before, I’d been terrified of breaking down and making a fool of myself.
Now, after that scene outside the Ladies, I couldn’t wait for him to be gone.
When the time came, we played our parts well and kept up the pretence of normality in front of the others; a brief, clumsy hug and some glib lies about staying in touch.
And yet, back at Hartfield, I felt duty bound to wish Harriet well, whatever my feelings. I rang her from my bedroom and she answered immediately, dashing my hopes of just leaving a message.
‘Yeah?’ I could tell from the wariness in her voice that she recognised my number.
‘I wanted to say . . .’ I took a deep, painful breath. ‘I know you’re going there, to India, and I hope you’ll be — very happy, with him .’ The words came out stilted and wrong, but it was a miracle I’d said them at all.
‘Shit, so you know, did Mark tell you?’
‘Oh Harriet, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.’
Brief pause; then she said, sounding relieved, ‘I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, Mark said you might try and talk me out of it.’
I felt a surge of anger at being judged so unfairly.
‘If you really want something, no one should be able to talk you out of it—’ I broke off, remembering how easily I’d persuaded her to drop Robert Martin for Philip Elton.
Maybe Mark had a point, maybe he already knew Harriet better than I did.
‘I need to go, it’s late and I’m sure you’ve still got packing to do.
Have a good trip and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. ’
‘If I come back at all,’ she said cheerfully and hung up.
I threw the phone on the floor and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache.
Dad made me his favourite hangover remedy, uncooked porridge oats in barley water, but after a couple of mouthfuls I couldn’t face any more.
There was something weighing on my mind, something I needed to do as soon as possible.
I found an unopened bottle of vintage port in the cellar, grabbed my car keys and poked my head round the door of the dining room, where Dad was tut-tutting over the Sunday papers.
‘Just popping into Highbury to give this port to Mary’s mother, I promised it to her ages ago.’
‘Fine, darling, best to call now before they go to church.’
Kings Row looked congested, so I parked on the high street and dashed across the grass verge that separated it from Batty’s house. I rang the doorbell and waited as patiently as I could.
When Batty eventually came to the door, she seemed even weirder than usual. ‘Oh, it’s you, have you heard already, did Kate tell you?’
I decided to ignore her ramblings and get my apology over and done with. ‘I brought this for you and your mother, I know how much you both like port.’ I paused. ‘And I’ve come to say sorry for last night, I don’t know what got into me.’
She took the port with a distracted smile. ‘That’s very kind of you, of course I thought nothing of it really, after . . . Do come in, dear, we’re all at sixes and sevens this morning but I’m just about to make another cuppa.’
As I hesitated, she added in a stage whisper, ‘Jane’s gone off to live in sin with Flynn Churchill, Mother would have kittens if she knew! I’ve had to say she’s in Ireland visiting Charlotte Dixon.’
I stood stock still for a moment, absorbing what I’d just heard. Then I closed the door behind me with a firm click and almost pushed her into the tiny kitchen. I switched on the kettle and stood between her and the tea things, in an attempt to keep her focused on the task in hand.
‘Right, Mary,’ I said with an encouraging smile, ‘I’ll make the tea and you can tell me all about Jane.’
* * *
~~MARK~~
As far as I knew, this morning would be Rob and Harriet’s first meeting for several months. I’d told each of them that they could back out of the arrangement at any time, but neither of them showed any signs of doing so. Still, until they saw each other again, I was on tenterhooks.
Rob lived outside the village, on the road we’d be taking to Gatwick Airport, so I planned to pick him up last. At eight o’clock sharp, Jack Thomas collected me from Donwell in his taxi and we went from there to Harriet’s house.
I could see in a split second that she had too much luggage, but it took far longer to persuade her to ditch any of it.
At last, she agreed to leave all the fake leather behind; January might be Mumbai’s coolest month, but temperatures could still reach twenty-eight degrees and the humidity was always high.
It was just after nine o’clock, well behind schedule, when we turned into the high street on the way to Rob’s. In the distance, I saw a familiar figure in red trousers come out of Mary’s cottage and walk slowly down the path.
I spoke without thinking, my voice taut with regret. ‘Oh God, there she is, there’s Emma.’
I needn’t have worried; Harriet caught only the name, not the undercurrent of emotion. She loosened her seat belt, leaned across me and banged on the window.
‘Oi, Emma!’
Emma didn’t seem to hear. The traffic lights were on red and the taxi rumbled to a halt right opposite her as she opened her car door.
Harriet banged on the window time and again, shouting her name and waving frantically, but Emma had her head down, as if in a little world of her own.
Then the lights changed. The taxi lurched forward, Harriet fell on top of me and Emma glanced in our direction at last.
I was hardly aware of Harriet straightening herself up with an embarrassed giggle; all I could see was the look of utter anguish in Emma’s eyes. And I had to find out what, or who, had put it there.
‘Pull over,’ I said to Jack.
As soon as he stopped the taxi, I jumped out and ran back down the street. Too late — Emma had driven off in the opposite direction. In three strides I was at Mary’s front door, almost hammering it down.
She did a double take when she saw me. ‘Mark, dear, aren’t you meant to be—’
‘Going to the airport, yes, and I’m in a hurry. But I’ve just seen Emma and she looked very upset. And I had to know — is everything all right?’
‘She wasn’t upset when she left here, more shocked than anything.’ She gave a nervous titter. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard our news.’
I smiled grimly. ‘It wouldn’t be to do with Jane and Flynn Churchill, would it?’