Country Pursuits (35 page)

‘You might as well be topless with a flashing sign above your head saying “Look at my tits!” ' he told her hotly. ‘Beryl, she can't serve punters looking like this. We're not a bleeding knocking shop!'

His wife came bustling around the corner, bags of coins for the till in her hands. She cast a quick, practised eye over her daughter. ‘I think she looks pretty, Jack,' she said. Stacey flashed a triumphant glance at her father, but he was standing firm.

‘We are not opening until you go and put something more decent on,' he told her.

‘Daaad!' Stacey stamped her foot, bottom lip starting to wobble. She turned to Beryl. ‘Mum, tell him!'

Beryl knew to expect an all-out screaming match if she didn't defuse the situation. She stepped forward and tugged Stacey's dress up a few inches. ‘There, that's better! Stace, if I see you pulling that neckline down there'll be trouble for you, my girl.' Beryl turned to Jack. ‘She hasn't got time to go and change now, so please just leave it,' she said soothingly. ‘Besides, we don't want her in a sulk all night, frightening off the customers.'

Jack sighed; he knew when he was losing a battle. ‘If I see those knockers hanging out over the bar, there'll be no tips for you tonight,' he warned Stacey.

‘Yes, Dad,' she said obediently, the spark in her eye suggesting otherwise.

Beryl checked her watch. ‘Blimey, it's ten past. We'd better get the doors open.'

By nine o'clock the place was packed. It seemed the whole village and beyond had turned out. Even Devon had been cajoled by Nigel into coming along.

‘I don't like things like that,' Devon had told his PA when he had suggested it earlier that day.

‘Oh come on, party-pooper,' Nigel had said, a firm look on his face. ‘It will be good for you to mix with the locals, especially with the ball coming up.'

‘Don't remind me,' Devon had replied gloomily. Everything had gone like a dream for him up until now, but he was starting to have a nasty attack of nerves. Several times over the last fortnight, Devon had woken from an awful nightmare in which he was playing in front of the Queen at the ball, but every time he opened his mouth to sing, the nursery rhyme ‘The Grand Old Duke of York' came out instead. At breakfast, exhausted and hollow-eyed, he had recounted his fears to Nigel. ‘What if it's an omen? What if it's someone's way of saying I'm going to be the biggest fuck-up in music history?' Of course Nigel had told him he'd be no such thing and he was bound to be feeling a bit nervous, but privately even Nigel had been having doubts. Was Devon ready for something like this again? He'd always suffered from performance anxiety, but Nigel had never seen his boss so jittery.

As it turned out, Devon was having a good evening. Nigel, rather at home in a blonde wig and satin cocktail dress, was listening agog to Angie Fox-Titt recount a bizarre tale about a local legend called Sir Jonas ‘Mad Dog' Winterbottom. Devon hadn't wanted to be Fred Astaire to Nigel's Grace Kelly, so he stood by the bar in normal dress taking in the atmosphere. He'd avoided coming down here so far, not wanting to be stared at all night or given any hassle. But people constantly came up to him, just to wish him luck for the ball and to say how excited they were about seeing him perform. Devon was rather touched. He'd had so many drinks bought for him, he'd had to ask Jack to hide them behind the bar.

Most people were in fancy dress. Camilla and Calypso looked horrifically funny with blackened teeth, false warty noses and gaudy, voluminous pantomime dresses. ‘We've come as the Ugly Sisters, although Camilla didn't have to try too hard,' giggled an increasingly sozzled Calypso to anyone who would listen. Lots of people commented on how nice it was to see Camilla out and about again, before whispering something about Harriet in a sad undertone. In actual fact, Camilla had almost backed out at the last minute. Harriet had always loved fancy dress and had once spent two weeks hand-stitching a giant caterpillar costume for their end-of-term sixth-form party. Camilla, overcome by sorrow and guilt about going out and having fun without her, had been given a firm talking-to by Calypso and sent off to get changed into her outfit.

Lucinda and Nico had come as the Two
Musketeers, while Freddie and Angie, minus a grounded Archie, had looked resplendent as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara in costumes they'd somehow borrowed from the BBC costume department. There was a hairy moment when one of Angie's skirts caught on a candle and started to smoulder, but luckily a nice young gentleman dressed as the camp policeman from ‘YMCA' was at hand with his novelty NYPD water pistol.

Sebastian had seen the party as the perfect chance to show off his honed physique, and had hired a very realistic Superman outfit from the fancy dress shop in Cirencester. Most men would feel – and look – ridiculous dressed in a skintight body-suit complete with blue pants and red boots, but Sebastian was positively revelling in it. Caro had made her own cat outfit and was now feeling very self-conscious in a black leotard, her whiskers and ears made out of cardboard. It had looked all right in the comfort of her bedroom, but now, in this crowded bar, if one more person pulled on her tail and said ‘Nice pussy', she was going to swipe at them with her claws.

Caro's bad mood was also attributable to her husband. A few days after their blazing row Sebastian had managed to talk her round. Now in an uneasy truce, the tension between them simmered unbearably close to the surface. While Sebastian thrived on it, it was slowly killing Caro. As she looked across the bar and saw him flirtily flicking his cape over his shoulder and chatting up Stacey, she felt like walking straight out of the door and going home.

Her sisters, on the other hand, were having a whale of a time. Leaving Calypso showing an astonished group of young men from Bedlington how to light a cigarette using only her toes, Camilla stumbled out into the corridor to go to the loo. Feeling a bit tiddly, she pulled her skirt up with some difficulty and sat down on the toilet. Angus suddenly flashed into her thoughts. She had been a bit worried he might turn up, but to his credit he had temporarily removed himself from the scene. Camilla was grateful for that, and her heart ached at his unfamiliar thoughtfulness.

She pulled up her knickers, pulled the chain and wobbled out of the cubicle. Washing her hands at the sink, Camilla caught sight of her reflection. Cripes, she thought, I really do look hideous! Lucky I'm not about to meet my Prince Charming! She laughed to herself, drying her hands on a paper towel. She opened the door, stepped out into the corridor, and nearly went flying as she collided with a tall, lean figure in an all-in-one skeleton suit, complete with grinning skull's face. ‘Oops, sorry!' she giggled as the skeleton went to catch her. ‘Bit too much to drink.'

The skeleton remained silent as it slowly peeled off its facemask. Underneath was Jed Bantry, face chiselled and black hair tousled, his extraordinary eyes taking her in.

‘Oh!' said Camilla, not knowing what to say. ‘It's you.'

‘Are you OK?' Jed asked her, still holding her by the elbow. ‘You banged your head on the door just then; is it hurting?'

Camilla had never heard him say such a long
sentence before. ‘Er, yes, I'm fine,' she said, rubbing her head for bumps.

Jed stepped closer. ‘Here, let me,' he said softly, and before she knew it she could feel his strong fingers gently caress her head. Standing this close, she could also smell the spicy, masculine scent of his aftershave and feel the warmth from his body. Her skin turned to goose-bumps. The moment seemed to go on for ever, and then he pulled away and looked at her. His eyes almost drove through her with their intensity, and Camilla felt completely powerless to look away. At that moment the door to the bar swung open, filling the corridor with noise. The spell was broken. Self-consciously, she stepped away from him.

‘Oh, excuse
me
!' cried a sarcastic voice. Suddenly Stacey was in front of them, voluptuous and seething.

‘I just bumped my head, Jed was helping me,' stuttered Camilla, remembering when she'd caught them unawares at the French evening.

Stacey raised a theatrical eyebrow. ‘So? Why are you telling me?' With an imperious look at Jed, she swept into the Ladies.

Camilla started edging away, not entirely sure what had just happened. ‘Er, I'd better be getting back.'

Jed stared at her again, holding her gaze. ‘Just be careful, all right?' he said, something unfathomable dancing across his eyes.

Back in the bar, Caro was downing her fourth glass of Dom Perignon when the door to the pub swung open, bringing with it a cold wind. Automatically,
everyone shivered and turned to see who it was.

Standing on the doorstep, legs astride and hands on his hips, was Benedict Towey. Dressed in a Superman outfit exactly the same as Sebastian's, his body was taut, powerful and rippling. He looked like a natural-born super-hero, and there were ‘Oohs' of admiration from several females around the room.

Benedict stepped back and held the door open. A stunning girl glided in dressed as Cleopatra, her eyes bewitching against a jet black wig, and her toned, sensuous body shown off perfectly in a white toga dress that looked like it had come straight off the rack at Gucci.

As she watched them make their way to the bar, so perfectly in tune and familiar with one another, Caro wondered why she felt so wretched. Maybe it was because they clearly had what she and Sebastian didn't, she thought, watching Benedict tenderly brush a stray hair from the woman's face.

Before she knew it, her husband was at her shoulder positively fuming. ‘I can't believe that twat has got the same costume as me!' he spat furiously. ‘Stupid bloody cow in the shop told me there was only one. I'm getting a refund, that's for sure.' He stared at Benedict and then turned to his wife. ‘I look better than him, don't I?'

‘Yes, darling.' They both knew it was a blatant lie. Benedict had the kind of God-given body that no amount of hours in the gym could match.

As he paid for the drinks, Benedict scanned the room, eyes soon resting on them. He said something to the beautiful girl, and to Caro's
mortification they headed over, Benedict's hand resting in the small of her back.

‘Hi,' he said moments later, holding out his hand. For one excruciating moment, it didn't look like Sebastian would take it, then he grabbed it, squeezing as hard as he could.

‘Towey,' he said ungraciously. ‘Nice outfit, although my wife here was just telling me how much better I look in it than you.'

Benedict looked at Caro, one eyebrow raised in a slight look of amusement. ‘Were you, indeed?' he asked.

‘Er, it wasn't like that, exactly,' said Caro, feeling more stupid than ever in her amateur costume. She turned to the girl. Close up she was even more ravishing. ‘You must be Benedict's girlfriend, I love your outfit,' she told her.

The girl let out a delightful peal of laughter. ‘He'd be lucky! But thank you for the compliment.' She noticed Caro's perplexed expression and quickly added, ‘He's my brother.'

‘Oh, I see,' said Caro, annoyed at how relieved she felt.

The girl stuck out her hand. ‘I'm Amelia, I've heard lots about you.' She had an air about her that put Caro at ease.

‘Have you?' she laughed, shaking Amelia's hand and shooting a quizzical glance at Benedict. ‘Not all bad, I hope!'

Amelia smiled. ‘Of course not.' Her gaze travelled on to Sebastian and cooled slightly. ‘I've heard lots about
you
, too.' Sebastian's lips curled up into a smile; he didn't quite know what to make of her.

‘I think you've said enough for now, little sis,' said Benedict, giving her a gentle warning look. ‘Let's go and get some food, I'm starving.' He added curtly to Caro and Sebastian, ‘Have a good evening.'

‘Nice to meet you, Caro,' Amelia shouted over her shoulder as Benedict propelled her away.

‘You, too!' Caro called after her. ‘She seemed lovely,' she said to Sebastian.

‘If you ask me, she's just as full of it as her brother.' He sniffed dismissively and looked at his empty glass. ‘Go and get me another drink, will you?'

At midnight the party was in full swing, and no one seemed to have any intention of going home. Jack Turner had already had to prise apart a pair of fornicating pumpkins he'd found in the disabled toilet. Freddie was so drunk he'd fallen asleep face first in his Scary Soup, and had to be pulled out and shaken by Angie until he showed signs of consciousness again.

Someone else was feeling the effects of all the booze, as well. Devon, more than a little tipsy and already regretting the hangover that would surely follow, had somehow been coaxed by Calypso into singing her one of his new songs. After protesting for five minutes he'd finally given in. ‘This is a song about someone who means a helluva lot to me,' he had told her. Taking a deep breath, both physically and metaphorically, he had tentatively eased into the first verse of ‘Heart Catcher'. He'd never felt so vulnerable, without instruments or his backing band; just him on his own, to be judged accordingly.

As it happened, his fears were misplaced. The effect was spellbinding. One by one the rowdy crowd fell silent as his voice – raw, powerful and haunting – filled the very eaves of the building. Devon could feel that high he remembered from years ago as he opened his soul and held the audience in the palm of his hand. They were reacting just as he wanted them to. Jack and Beryl stopped working for the first time that night, and swayed against each other behind the bar. Lucinda Reinard, sitting on her husband's knee, whispered intimately to him during certain lyrics in the song. When Devon finished and trailed off uncertainly, the room remained quiet. Then, suddenly, somebody cheered – and the whole place erupted.

‘Devon, that was like, totally amazing!' gasped Calypso, wiping a tear away, as Devon was besieged by people congratulating him and slapping him on the back. Through the hubbub, he searched for Nigel, and found him staring back across the bar, his eyes brimming with pride. They smiled at each other in understanding. Something big had happened here tonight.