Country Pursuits (19 page)

On this particular morning, the sun was already beating down at eleven o'clock. Calypso had joined her grandmother for a walk around the Meadows. They headed down Bramble Lane, Errol Flynn trotting in front of them with his pink tongue hanging out. Calypso filled the older woman in on how far she'd got with the VIP list for the ball; the next committee meeting was scheduled for the
following week. Clementine was impressed by the number of names Calypso was chasing, even if she had never heard of most of them. ‘This DJ Dawg, who is he?' she asked, her clipped vowels struggling with the unfamiliar slang.

‘He is totally, like, the hottest rapper ever!' Calypso exclaimed. ‘P Diddy, like, discovered him when he came over here, and has made him, like, this massive star! Here and in America. I read in the
Sun
last week that Dawg was going out with this totally famous supermodel called Fifi B but they had a huge row and split up. According to Octavia's sister's friend's cousin who is, like, a
really
cool stylist, Fifi is really upset about it.'

They turned off the lane on to a grassy path which led down to the Meadows. The long grass tickled Clementine's ankles as Calypso ran in front chasing Errol Flynn. Clementine watched her granddaughter. With her bare legs and long hair flying, she looked like a child again. Which Clementine still thought she was, no matter how hard Calypso tried to pretend she was grown-up.

‘Do you remember when we used to come down here and look for fairies when you were little?' she asked when Calypso skipped back, slightly breathless.

‘Yah, what a dolt I was!' Calypso scrunched up her face disparagingly, then smiled. ‘It was fun though, wasn't it?'

They clambered over a rickety wooden stile into the first of the many grassy, rolling fields that constituted the Meadows. Wild flowers grew in abundance, while birds chirped from the shady knolls of huge oak trees. It was idyllic.

Clementine couldn't bear to think about how it would change if Sid Sykes got his hands on the place. ‘How are things going with Samantha?' she asked briskly, forcing her thoughts elsewhere.

Calypso gulped. Her grandmother always went straight to the point. ‘Er, OK.'

‘Is it a long-term thing?' Clementine pressed. ‘Or just a bit of fun? She does seem to be spending an awful lot of time at No. 5.'

‘Has Camilla been moaning about it?' flashed Calypso defensively.

‘No, of course not,' replied Clementine. ‘You know she adores you. No, I was just wondering myself, darling. Sorry if I'm being a dreadful busybody.' Clementine admittedly also had an ulterior motive in finding out the state of play in Calypso and Sam's relationship. She wanted to know whether it was worth telling her son his daughter was going out with someone so butch she made Frank Bruno look effeminate. Johnnie kept asking her about this ‘Sam chap' whenever he phoned up, and Clementine was fast running out of excuses to change the subject.

‘It's going fine,' said Calypso. She felt a bit weird talking about this with her grandmother. ‘We're just having fun, you know . . .'

She trailed off and Clementine shot her a kindly glance. ‘I
do
know, darling. Even though you probably find the idea of an old dinosaur like me having fun somewhat ridiculous.'

‘Really? Were you a bit of a wild child, then?' Calypso loved the idea of her grandmother hiding a colourful past, but before she had a chance to interrogate her Clementine stopped suddenly in her tracks.

‘Look, smoke!'

From a large tree in front of them, they could see white wispy puffs trailing around the trunk. Errol Flynn bounded ahead towards it. ‘Do you think it's a dry grass fire?' asked Clementine anxiously. ‘Errol, come back here!' But he was too busy barking at something around the other side of the tree.

Suddenly there was a shout. ‘Get 'im off me, bro! I 'ate dogs!'

They both dashed for the tree. Behind it sat a very stoned Archie Fox-Titt and Tyrone, who was being licked to death by Errol Flynn. Archie stared up at them blearily, a huge spliff smouldering in his hand. He took a few seconds to focus. ‘Shit! Mrs Standington-Fulthrope! I, er . . .' In vain, he looked around for somewhere to hide the spliff.

‘Archie, I can see perfectly well what you are doing,' Clementine informed him sternly. Calypso tried not to giggle.

‘You're not going to tell my dad, are you?' he moaned, trying to stand up. Tyrone was still being slobbered on by Errol, and Clementine decided not to call him off just yet.

‘Well, that depends,' she said crisply.

‘On what?' Archie looked hopeful.

‘On whether you are able to take time out of your
busy
schedule to hand out flyers in Bedlington town centre. Lucinda Reinard is putting on a fun run and we need to advertise it.'

Tyrone finally pushed off Errol and started laughing at his friend. ‘Bruv, that is so uncool. All da homies are gonna
rip
it out of you!'

Clementine eyed him with her frostiest stare and Tyrone shut up. ‘
Both
of you.'

‘What? I ain't handing out no leaflets!'

‘Oh yes, you are,' she said firmly. ‘Unless, Archie, you want your father to find out about this?'

‘OK, OK, we'll do it,' groaned Archie. Tyrone started to protest but received a kick in the shin. ‘I'll get my allowance stopped!' Archie's money from his dad bought most of their weed.

Tyrone eyed Clementine balefully. ‘Whatever.'

‘Excellent! I knew we could come to an agreement. Now get out of my sight, the pair of you!' The boys scrambled to their feet, trying to gather the various cigarettes, Rizlas and matches lying around.

‘Oi!' shouted Tyrone. ‘Bring that back!' Errol Flynn had got his Burberry cap between slobbering jaws and was making off across the field. Tyrone took after him, followed by a queasy looking Archie, who promptly tripped over the undone laces in his trainers and fell head-first into a dry ditch. Clementine collapsed into gales of laughter.

‘Granny Clem, you are so naughty. You blackmailed them!' scolded Calypso, before she too fell about laughing. Clementine composed herself and wiped her eyes.

‘All's fair in love and war when it comes to charity, darling,' she said.

IT WAS CAMILLA'S
thirty-first birthday. As she'd had a black tie do in a marquee at Fairoaks for her thirtieth, she wasn't that bothered about doing anything special this time. But to her surprise, Angus had offered to cook a birthday supper at his place. Highlands Farm was one of the biggest in the county, and to Angus's credit, the outbuildings and land were well looked after. It was inside the actual farmhouse, a rambling low-roofed building that had been magnificent in its day, that the problems started.

Since his widowed father had gone into a home five years ago, Angus had been living there alone. Algernon Aldershot had subsequently died, leaving the farm to his only son and rightful heir. Having spent most of his childhood at boarding school, it was fair to say Angus didn't know the meaning of ‘domesticity'. The house had become the ultimate bachelor pad – and not in a good way. On the rare occasions Camilla had been persuaded to stay there she had found old pizza boxes and empty bottles of beer strewn across every room. Even the downstairs loo. She had once found a
dead rat in the cupboard under the sink, which Angus had left there because he thought it was some kind of scrubbing pad. Not that he did any cleaning; the whole place was covered with a thick layer of grime. Camilla always brought her own towels and bedsheets when she stayed, and always felt she had to have a shower the minute she got home. Thankfully Angus was fairly hygienic himself; it was just unfortunate that he lived in the domestic equivalent of a compost heap.

So far, Camilla had had a lovely birthday. Calypso had woken her up with breakfast in bed and a pretty pair of handmade silver-drop earrings. ‘You have got good taste, thank you!' Camilla had said as her sister had carefully put them in for her. Next had come a call from Barbados, with her parents singing ‘Happy Birthday' down the phone. They had already generously offered to buy her a new Golf to replace her rather battered old one, it was just up to Camilla to go to the Volkswagen garage in Cheltenham and choose what she wanted. After that Harriet had popped round with a beautifully wrapped, deliciously scented candle set from Jo Malone. ‘They're gorgeous!' Camilla had said, hugging her friend. ‘You will join us for lunch at Fairoaks, won't you?'

Even though Camilla had told her she didn't want any fuss, her grandmother had insisted on holding a lunch in her honour. ‘Just family, darling.' Harriet was practically part of the clan, anyway, so just before one o'clock, two Standington-Fulthropes and one Fraser made their way round to Clementine's, where Caro and Milo would also be joining them.

After champagne in the drawing room and another round of presents, Brenda announced lunch was being served and they moved into the dining room. For once, she hadn't burnt anything and they ate a perfectly respectable chicken dish, followed by raspberry fool. One of Brenda's friends had even made a wonderful birthday cake in the shape of the gold signet ring Camilla always wore on her little finger.

‘So Angus is cooking for you tonight, then?' Caro raised an eyebrow in jest as she tucked into a slice of cake.

‘Oh, don't!' said Camilla. ‘God knows what it will be. I don't think he's ever cooked a proper meal in his life.'

‘Do you know what he's getting you?' asked Harriet.

‘No idea,' Camilla replied, leaning over and feeding Milo a bit of icing as he sat gurgling in his high chair.

‘Probably a lifelong membership to
Tractor Weekly
or something,' suggested Calypso wickedly.

As she clattered up the muddy mile-long track to the farm that evening, Camilla wondered what present she
would
receive from Angus. She didn't hold out much hope. Last year he'd proudly presented her with a hideous cashmere tartan dressing gown with her initials monogrammed on the breast pocket. It had been swiftly recycled by Clementine into a lining for Errol Flynn's basket.

The lights of the farmhouse twinkled in front of her, and as Camilla drew into the stone courtyard she was surprised to see Angus already waiting for
her by the front door. What's more, he was dressed in black tie, his huge shoulders straining to get out of his dinner jacket.

He rushed over to the car and opened the door for Camilla. ‘Angus, what's all this?' she said. ‘You've made such a special effort. I'm afraid I didn't dress up. I feel like a right scruff, now.'

‘You look beautiful to me,' said Angus. He looked extremely nervous, his left eye twitching slightly and sweat gathering at the back of his neck.

Camilla had never seen her big, oafish boyfriend like this. She stared at him. ‘Are you OK?'

‘Of course, of course!' he replied in an over-hearty fashion, before leading her through the front door and into the kitchen.

Camilla's jaw dropped. It was like a different house. The pots and pans hanging from the overhead range were polished and shining brightly. The stone floor had been washed so you could almost see your face in it. A jug of fresh flowers stood on the wooden table where a pile of old newspapers used to be. Instead of the usual musty, damp smell the scent of fresh lemons permeated the place.

‘I hired a cleaner to come in and tidy the place up,' Angus said shyly. He grabbed her by the hand. ‘Let me show you the rest of the house.'

He led her from room to room, and they had each been given an injection of new life. There wasn't a cobweb or muddy footprint to be seen. All the antique wooden furniture had been polished until it glowed. Clean curtains hung from the crystal clear windows. Now all the dirt and dust had gone, Camilla could see just what a beautiful place it really was.

‘Angus, it looks wonderful!' she gasped.

‘I'm not finished yet,' said Angus, and dragged her back to the drawing room, where, as if from nowhere, a butler appeared with two flutes of champagne.

‘Madam,' he said solicitously, and presented her with one.

‘I hired him from “A Night to Remember” in Cirencester,' Angus explained, after the butler had graciously backed out of the room. The clatter of pots could be heard from the kitchen. ‘Er, he cooks as well,' said Angus apologetically.

Camilla finally found her tongue again. ‘I can't believe this! I'm gobsmacked.'

‘So you like it?' he asked.

‘I love it!' she cried. ‘But, why . . .?' This was such a turnaround from the Angus she knew, and Camilla was struggling to take it in. Angus was sweating even more now, his fingers pulling at the collar of his shirt. Camilla half-laughed. ‘What
is
wrong with you?' she asked, kindly.

Before she knew it, Angus was down on one knee in front of her, with a small blue box in his bear-like hands. He opened it and a stunning diamond ring glittered up at them. ‘Camilla Beatrice Candida Leonora Standington-Fulthrope,' he said, his voice wobbling slightly. ‘Since I met you, I've been the happiest chap alive. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Camilla felt like she was dreaming. ‘Goodness! I wasn't expecting this. Er, er . . .' Why was she stuttering like such a bumbling idiot? Angus looked at her beseechingly, his brown eyes like a puppy dog's, and Camilla felt her heart melt. ‘Oh Angus,
of course I will!' He slid the ring on her finger and they collapsed to the floor clasping each other tightly.

After that, it was like a whirlwind. Angus had already phoned Johnnie to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage, but it didn't stop Tink crying tears of joy when Camilla phoned her parents to tell them the news. Camilla had barely had time to admire the sparkling ring before Clementine was on the phone, with Caro and Calypso in the background. ‘Darling, that's wonderful news! We're all so pleased for you both.'