Prologue #2
Theo doesn’t respond. Doesn’t want this beautiful only daughter of his to see the reaction to Immi’s use of the word duty.
Has it all been a duty? A duty to his ancestors and to the ancestral seat of Mandeville first granted to one Charles Mandeville back in the mid-1600s?
Sometimes, he’s so weary of it all, weary of the responsibility of keeping the place going, of doing his duty alongside his wife, Honor, who, descended from her own Scottish lineage, has never appeared to see the role she’s been handed down as duty.
More her entitlement and right. And one she has no intention of relinquishing to Angus and any future wife just yet, thank you very much.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Immi asks.
‘Last-minute Christmas shopping in Harrogate or Wetherby, I believe.’
‘And the boys?’
‘Miles is out somewhere in that ridiculous motor of his and Angus is on the way home from Edinburgh. He’s only calling in for a long weekend to see you, Immi, and then he’s off to London for three days.
Some vet course he’s on. I’m not sure if he’s back here for Christmas or staying in Edinburgh.
’ Theo looks momentarily sad. ‘You’ll have to persuade him to stay, Immi. ’
Immi adores her big brother, Angus, who, at thirty-eight, is already preparing to take over some of the responsibility for the Mandeville estate.
Unwillingly, Immi thinks. She knows he’d rather be anywhere but here in Yorkshire, knows he’d much rather be back in Edinburgh living a simpler and more independent life as a vet, apparently living alone (but who knew with Angus – he’d always kept any romantic liaisons to himself, rarely introducing anyone to the family) with just his dog for company in the rural village of Gifford, fifteen miles or so from the centre of the city.
By the time Immi’s showered and unpacked – interrupted several times by long and really rather wonderful phone conversations with him – the dinner gong has sounded, and she relinquishes the jeans that not only have seen better days but are well overdue a good wash.
Her mother, Immi knows, won’t be impressed if she goes down to dinner in said jeans and Timberlands.
On the first evening back home for Christmas, even if it is two weeks away, there’s always been a familial understanding that the Mandevilles dress more soberly for dinner.
Especially as Granny Mandeville will be in situ, sitting like some relic from Downton Abbey as the perceived head of the family and hence in her position at the top of the dining table.
At ninety-one, Lady Ava Mandeville has long been demoted to the Dower House, kicked out of the main hall by a determined Honor once Grandpa Hugh had gone to meet his maker twenty-seven years or so ago leaving her dad, Theo, to take on Mandeville Hall and its many acres of estate.
‘Oh, Angus, you’re here.’ Seventeen years older than herself, Angus has to be one of Immi’s absolutely favourite people.
Tall, blond, but certainly not as handsome or as charismatic as Miles, Angus Mandeville has, from birth, carried with him the knowledge that one day, the whole of his family’s estate will pass to him.
A burden he doesn’t appear to want to take on, and Immi has long wondered if he’ll pass on the baton to Miles, just eighteen months younger and more than happy to accept the estate, as well as the title.
‘I’m here.’ Angus grins down at Immi before sweeping her up in a hug. ‘How’s your second year going?’ He pauses, taking a good long look at her. ‘You certainly look well. What have you been up to? Or should I say who?’
‘Oh, Angus…’ Always her confidante, she’s desperate to tell this big brother of hers all about him but breaks off as Honor comes down the stairs trailing a veritable rainbow of pashminas and a particularly heady perfume.
‘This house is bloody cold,’ Honor complains, wrapping the mauve pashmina more tightly around her shoulders.
‘Your father won’t up the heat even though it’s almost Christmas.
Hello, darling. How lovely to have you home.
’ She proffers her face in Immi’s direction and, dutifully, Immi plants a kiss on her mother’s cold cheek.
‘Angus. You made it then, dear? Able to leave your scabby cats and dogs? Or are you out in the fields these days? Sheep and cows, is it now?’ Honor doesn’t appear particularly interested either way and Angus doesn’t reply.
‘Oh,’ she adds as an arthritic mutt limps over in greeting.
‘You’ve brought that dog of yours with you, have you? ’
‘I’m not going to leave him by himself, Mum,’ Angus says mildly. ‘Where’s your Christmas spirit? And, talking of spirits, I’ve a bottle of Scotch somewhere. Anyone going to join me?’
‘I’m sure your father will.’ Honor continues to peer down at the dog as he suddenly sits, scratching fiercely at his right ear. ‘He looks a bit flea ridden. Just keep him away from our pack if he’s lousy.’
‘Mum!’ Immi tuts as, only five minutes back in her mother’s company, she feels the inherent anxiety of childhood and adolescence caused by Honor’s constant disapproval.
‘He’s a bloody vet. He’s not going to let his dog have fleas, is he…
?’ She breaks off as three black Labs, claws skittering across the wooden floor, race towards Angus’s dog who, unfazed by the resident dogs’ arrival, simply sits and stares before continuing with the scratching of his other ear.
‘God, it’s like a bloody dogs’ home in here,’ Miles says, as he arrives in the Great Hall with yet another Labrador – golden this time. ‘Why the hell are you all hanging around in this freezing hall like you don’t have anywhere else to go? Isn’t there a fire lit somewhere?’
‘Hello, Immi. How are you, Immi? Lovely to see you, Immi. How was uni?’ Immi parrots the words in her elder brother’s direction as she bends to greet his dog. She hates to admit this, even to herself, but she reckons she likes Midas, the golden Lab, rather more than she does his owner.
‘Dinner in half an hour,’ Honor says, moving towards the door leading to the kitchens.
A century ago, these kitchens would have been teeming with staff all hurriedly preparing food for the Mandeville family and guests.
Now, there’s just Sue Brady who drives up from the village four times a week to clean and housekeep on an ad hoc basis and, when she can be persuaded, to lend a hand with preparing and serving dinner when the family have guests.
‘So, Imogen, are you studying hard?’ Ava Mandeville lifts her wine glass with an arthritic, blue-veined hand. ‘What is it you’re doing down there, dear?’
‘History and politics, Granny. You ask every time I see you.’ Immi smiles as the old lady passes a basket of bread in her direction.
‘Hmm, but will it help you find a job at the end of it all? D’you want a job? Or are you aiming to come back to help run the estate? I was always at your grandfather’s side, you know.’
‘Bit different that, Gran.’ Miles upends his wine glass, reaches for the bottle and refills his glass. ‘You were married to the owner of Mandeville Hall. Immi would just be a hanger-on unless Dad finds a job for her here.’
‘Excuse me!’ Immi glares at Miles. ‘I have plans of my own…’ As she speaks the words, she has to concede she really doesn’t know what those plans might be.
‘Oh?’ Miles puts down his glass, leaning back in his chair, a smirk on his handsome face. ‘And do those plans include the son of the Right Honourable Secretary of State for Justice?’
‘Sorry?’ Immi’s confused. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Miles?’
‘Noah Wrathmell? A little bird tells me you’ve been seeing rather a lot of him recently…’ Miles breaks off, Immi’s scarlet face assuring him he’s bang on target.
But that’s nothing to Theo Mandeville’s. His full glass of red wine drops and spills, a river of blood spreading and pooling across the starched tablecloth, a direct contrast to his white, shocked face.