Chapter 17
17
H alf an hour later, Cassie caught her first glimpse of Lullington Cove Manor, which stood high on the cliffs that overlooked the cove. According to her information sheet, which she’d stuck in all the goody bags, the original manor house had burned down in 1875 and some years later, it had been rebuilt in the Arts and Crafts style.
On this glorious late summer’s day, the sun shone down on the sandstone, the leaded windows and the gabled roof. It looked impressive without being imposing and elegant without being elitist. Not the kind of place where the owners would expect Cassie to nip round the back to the tradesmen’s entrance.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed as they came up the drive, the tyres crunching over the gravel. The front door, painted a muted sage green and framed by a trailing rose, suddenly opened and an elderly but sprightly woman stepped out. ‘That must be Lydia.’
It was Lydia, quickly followed by her husband Frank, who was in navy overalls, which Cassie quite coveted, and clutching a toolbox.
Introductions were made, then Lydia ushered them into a wood-panelled hall, which smelled of beeswax and the distinctively spicy scent of the pink and white stocks in a vase on a side table.
‘There’s a small drawing room on your right then the formal dining room, but the owners have opened up the rest of the ground floor,’ Lydia said as they walked through a large arch on the left into a huge open-plan room which incorporated both a lounge and a spacious sit-in kitchen with a walk-in pantry, then a shower room-cum-boot room and a utility room in a side extension.
There were French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows, which took up the entire exterior wall and led out to a terrace with another dining area plus seating around a fire pit. ‘Just like Love Island ,’ Cassie felt like saying but she didn’t want to lower the tone, as Lydia took them round the side of the house where there was a vegetable garden, herb patch and …
‘This is Miss Rose’s rose garden,’ Lydia said reverently, as she fingered the leaves of one of the plants, which was no longer in bloom. In June, they must have been a glorious sight. ‘A sprinkler system comes on at four. The only thing we’re really precious about are the roses.’
‘Was Miss Rose the former owner?’ Cassie asked as they walked back along the terrace to the tennis courts and swimming pool, which were situated on the other side of the house. ‘Russell – he made the original booking – his grandparents, I think, had a house in the village and he spent summers down here. Apparently, his grandparents knew the owners of the manor.’
Lydia was a very bustling sort of person but now she came to a halt. ‘That would be Mr Edward, but he died in the 70s and then we lost Miss Rose a few years back. Her great nephew and his wife live here now, but they’re in Australia for six months so we’re renting out the house to a few very select guests.’
Cassie straightened up from her slouch and wished that she didn’t still have her curling rod in. ‘We’ll take very good care of the place.’
Marc had been mostly silent up until now, but he put his hand on Cassie’s arm for a fleeting second. ‘This one will keep everyone in line,’ he said. ‘She’s provided an itinerary, an information sheet and a floorplan.’
It was hard to tell if he was teasing but Lydia nodded. ‘It makes my life so much easier when I’m dealing with someone as organised as you.’
‘I felt exactly the same way about you.’ Cassie allowed herself a little preen, which Marc ignored as he asked Lydia about access to the cove.
There were a few more pointers about the dishwasher, the oven and the grill area on the terrace, then Lydia and Frank took them upstairs to see the bedrooms, which were all as beautifully decorated as the downstairs, each with an ensuite bathroom.
Cassie deposited her goody bags as they went, although Lydia had also provided a pretty tin of homemade biscuits in each room.
‘Then there’s this last one,’ Lydia said, as they came to the end of the corridor. ‘It has a lovely view of the lawn.’
‘That’s you,’ Cassie told Marc, who nodded. ‘I’m on the second floor.’
Lydia frowned. ‘I hope you’re going to be all right. The rooms up there have been shut for years; there are plans to renovate them, but I’ve aired that one out and given it a deep clean.’ She gave Cassie a doubtful look. ‘Will you be comfortable in a bunk bed?’
Cassie smiled with what she hoped was a lot of enthusiasm. ‘I love a bunk bed. I get a choice of top or bottom each night. It’s great.’
‘You’re quite short so I expect you’ll fit,’ Frank noted sagely. ‘There’s a loo and a sink next door. You have to give the chain a bit of a yank.’
‘I’ve done my best with that room but the original booking was for the four rooms on this floor plus the cottage,’ Lydia said with another frown. ‘There’s a shower room downstairs.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ Cassie insisted, although, of course, she’d much rather have slept in a pretty room with its own bathroom rather than being on a deserted upper floor with a loo with a dodgy flush. ‘I really appreciate that you let us squeeze two more in.’
Lydia looked at her watch. ‘Well, we’ll let you get settled in and we’re in Brighton, so half an hour away if there’s an emergency.’
‘There won’t be an emergency,’ Marc said firmly. ‘Not on Cassie’s watch.’
Again, it was very hard to tell if that was a compliment or a roast.
They watched Lydia and Frank head down the stairs, then Marc walked along the corridor to his room. ‘It’s not the biggest,’ she hurried after him. ‘Because everyone else is a couple.’
She glimpsed over his shoulder as he opened the door but all she could really see were dark walls and a huge bed. ‘Looks fine,’ he said non-committally.
‘Here’s your goody bag.’ Cassie shoved it at Marc, who stared at the stiff grey cardboard bag in bemusement. ‘There’s a copy of the itinerary and the information sheet in there too, so don’t bother me with questions that I’ve already—’
Marc closed his eyes and groaned. ‘God, that bloody itinerary of yours will be imprinted on my brain until the day I die.’
‘But in case it isn’t, I printed it out and stuck it in the goody bags.’
‘Let’s see your room. It doesn’t sound that great,’ he said in a softer voice.
‘I’m only going to be there to sleep.’ Cassie put a hand on his arm to stop him from heading to the stairs.
‘If I were you, I’d stick Heather and Davy in there,’ he said, his face settling back into the grim expression from earlier that morning. ‘You know it too.’
Cassie shook her head. ‘I don’t have the strength to cope with Heather kicking off about sleeping in a bunk bed. Can you imagine the hysterics?’
‘Worse than sushi-gate.’
‘Worse than hen weekend-gate and sushi-gate combined,’ Cassie whimpered. ‘Do you hate me so much that you’d put me through that?’
Marc tugged gently on her sleeve. ‘You keep saying that. I don’t—’
The chime of her phone immediately claimed Cassie’s attention. ‘That’s the supermarket delivery. It’s being unpacked now. I didn’t even hear the van.’ She was already scurrying away. ‘I’ll see you in a bit. I’ve got so much stuff to sort out.’
Although she often grumbled about it, there was nothing Cassie enjoyed more than having a lot of stuff to sort out, as long as it didn’t involve relying on other people who couldn’t follow instructions.
The delivery driver left a multitude of carrier bags in the entrance hall and Cassie rolled up the sleeves of her hoodie, all ready to get stuck in as Marc came down the stairs.
‘Do you have a system?’ he asked, surveying the vast amounts of shopping needed to keep ten people very well fed and watered for a long weekend.
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ Cassie said as she lifted up two of the bags.
‘You can’t do this all on your own.’ He peered into one of the bags. ‘If Russell were here … I mean if Russell was …’
Cassie took pity on him. ‘Even if Russell were here and in full working order, he’d be too busy playing Mine Host to be of any practical help.’
‘That’s very true.’ Marc hefted up some of the heaviest-looking bags. ‘But I’m not Russell and we still have the wine merchants’ and the butchers’ deliveries to come, so for the next hour I’m going to let you boss me around …’
Cassie followed him towards the kitchen area with her lighter load. ‘I prefer to think of it as taking on a leadership role.’
‘As I was saying, I’m happy to be your little bitch for the next hour, but don’t let this generous offer go to your head. It’s never going to be repeated,’ he said as he set the bags down on the marble counter.
‘That’s a shame,’ Cassie said, her mind suddenly going to a strange, dark place where Marc had to do everything she told him to do and … ‘No! Marc! The red-handled bags are for fridge stuff, the green ones for the freezer. I’d put a good half of that milk in the second fridge in the utility room, so people don’t guzzle it down and we’ve nothing left by Sunday. We’ll put the meat in there when it arrives too.’
‘To think that you accuse me of micromanaging,’ he muttered as he headed for the utility room with a four-litre bottle of milk in each hand.
‘No backchat from the little bitch, thank you very much.’ Cassie snatched up a tea towel and cracked it like a whip. ‘Also, when the champagne arrives you’ll have to put some of it in the fridge straight away so it’s chilled in time for the welcome drinks.’
‘I can’t hear you,’ Marc shouted, though he could hear her perfectly.
It took just over two hours for the deliveries to arrive and be put away. To get glasses and bowls of snacks ready for their friends’ arrival and to make sure that the cottage was absolutely perfect for Lucy and Russell.
Although it was very much outside his remit and below his pay grade, it would have taken her much longer without Marc. She’d tried not to be too bossy but he’d taken her instructions and orders like a champ – though there had been pursed lips, eye-rolling and, yes, a lot of backchat.
It was just after two when Cassie finished lighting the last scented candle and placed it on the low coffee table, which was surrounded by four huge plush velvet sofas in contrasting jewel tones. The vibe of the place from the open-plan living space stretching right down to the kitchen, with its pink Shaker-style cabinetry and Moroccan-tiled splashback, was eclectic but both cosy and stylish.
‘What’s the point of lighting scented candles when we have the French doors open?’ Marc leaned against the arch that led back into the entrance hall.
‘I’m creating a vibe.’ Cassie assessed said vibe. Ideally, she’d have liked to fill the room with flowers or at least some greenery but she didn’t think Lydia would be pleased if she took the kitchen scissors to the garden hedges. ‘OK, I think we’re done.’
‘I can’t believe that you do this for a living,’ he said and before Cassie could bristle, he continued, ‘There are so many different elements to think about. I imagine most of your team aren’t as obliging as I am.’
Cassie perched on the arm of the emerald green sofa and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Well if they roll their eyes, then they do it behind my back.’ She stretched her arms out in front of her and laced her fingers together until she heard something crack. ‘But thank you. It would have taken me twice as long without your help.’
Marc frowned. ‘Come on, I’m waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’
‘For the sarcastic closing remark that you’re building to,’ he said with a grin. ‘Don’t leave me hanging.’
‘It was a genuine and sincere thank you. Clearly I need to work on my delivery.’ Cassie stood up and walked towards him. ‘Though I’m sure you’ll say or do something in the next ten minutes that will deserve some sarcasm.’ She made sure she bumped him with her hip as she brushed past him, then ducked out of the way of his hand as he tried to grab hold of her. ‘I’m going to check the bedrooms one last time.’
‘You might want to take that strange contraption out of your hair while you’re at it,’ Marc reminded her as he watched Cassie take the stairs, one tired step at a time.