Country Pursuits (41 page)

Harriet rushed over and threw her arms around her. ‘Oh Mummy, I am so sorry! I had no idea the police had got involved. I feel so terrible.' As mother and daughter embraced, Ambrose gazed at Harriet in wonder. She looked like a different person entirely.

Gone was his podgy, dumpy daughter with her frizzy mop of hair, unflattering wardrobe and ungainly walk. In her place was a stunning young woman. Harriet must have lost at least two stone, and her hair, which Frances had so despaired of, was now a poker straight, glossy chestnut, and styled in a flattering layered cut. Harriet's once-pasty complexion was tanned, and she looked beautifully elegant in a long, white chiffon dress and strappy silver heels. She stood up again and looked at her father. A tear-stained Camilla moved next to Harriet, arm linked in hers. She hadn't stopped crying or hugging her best friend in the last fifteen minutes.

‘Where have you been, Harriet?' Ambrose asked again.

She looked round at them and smiled hopefully.

‘I've been in South East Asia. Back-packing.
Don't
look like that, Daddy, it was the best thing I have ever done! The place, the people . . .' Harriet looked at Ambrose imploringly. ‘I had to get away. Please understand.'

‘But why?' he croaked. ‘I've always made sure
you've never wanted for anything. You're Sir Ambrose Fraser's only child, for goodness' sake.'

Harriet threw out her hands despairingly. ‘But that's exactly why! Can't you see? I know you have my best interests at heart – both of you – but I felt like I was suffocating here. I was never allowed to be my own person, and too scared to stand up to you or for anything else I believed in. Because I wasn't a boy, I always felt like a disappointment.'

Ambrose opened and closed his mouth again, for once struggling for words.

Frances understood and nodded weakly. She knew what her faults had been as a mother. ‘How long had you been planning it?' she asked gently.

Harriet gave a small smile. ‘I hadn't, really, it was just a knee-jerk reaction. One minute I was gazing out of the window wondering what to do with my life. The next I'd booked a ticket with Trailfinders for a flight out of Heathrow that evening and was suddenly running around like a mad thing trying to get packed!'

‘Why didn't you tell us where you were going, so your mother didn't have to go through all this?' asked Ambrose, a familiar hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

Harriet stared at him, aghast. ‘But Daddy, I did! I left two envelopes, one to you and Mummy and one to Camilla, on the desk in your study. I couldn't face telling you face-to-face because I knew you'd probably talk me out of it. Oh, please don't tell me you didn't get them . . .'

Now it was Ambrose's turn to look horror-struck.

‘Two white envelopes with purple handwriting?'

Harriet nodded.

‘I thought they were another set of those God-awful invites!' Ambrose looked at each of them in turn, with a pleading glance. ‘I'm too old for all this gallivanting around, I'd had enough of the blasted things.'

When Frances spoke, her voice was dangerously quiet.

‘What did you do with the letters, Ambrose?'

He turned to her, shame-faced.

‘I threw them away.'

Frances's face darkened in anger. ‘For God's sake, man! Can't you for once in your life stop charging around like a bear with a sore head, with no thought for anyone but yourself? Look where your bloody-mindedness has got us!'

In all their years of marriage, Frances had never questioned or criticized her husband. Harriet, expecting the Third World War to kick off, threw herself in-between them. ‘Mummy, please don't take it out on Daddy. He didn't know what he was doing.'

Ambrose exhaled loudly. It sounded like a thousand regrets in one breath. ‘Your mother is right,' he said quietly. ‘I've been a bloody fool. You're better than a dozen sons!' His voice cracked. ‘I know I've always been hard on you, but I thought I was doing the right thing. Will you forgive me?'

Harriet threw her arms around him. ‘There's nothing to forgive, Daddy.'

Eventually, she pulled away and looked around the room at them. ‘Oh, I've missed you all so much! I'm sorry I made you all sick with worry.' She shot Camilla a pleading look. ‘Bills, do you hate me?'

‘Of course not, you dolt!' Camilla said tearfully. ‘I'm just so pleased you're home again!' She hugged her friend. ‘We have got
so
much to discuss!' she whispered in her ear.

Harriet laughed. ‘So I see,' she told her wryly. ‘When I was plucking up the courage to come in I saw you with Jed. Are you happy?' Camilla nodded. Harriet clapped her hands in delight. ‘I always knew he had a soft spot for you, how romantic!'

Ambrose put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. ‘Are you sure you want to go ahead with this tonight?' he asked her.

Harriet nodded. ‘I wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, we've got a village to save, haven't we?'

As they got up to leave, Frances stopped her daughter. ‘Darling, there is one thing I must ask you. I hope you don't think it's inappropriate but how did . . .' She trailed off uncertainly.

Harriet, intuitive as ever, grinned at her mother. ‘I've discovered the joys of hair-straighteners, Mummy!'

Pierre had excelled himself. As the courses were brought out, guests ‘oohed' and ‘aahed' over the exquisite plates of lobster, foie gras and roast veal. The dark chocolate mousse was so delicious that dozens of guests asked for the recipe afterwards.

Just after coffee was served, Stephen and Klaus approached Clementine at her table. ‘Would you like to come and meet Belvedere? He's just arrived,' asked Stephen.

The famous auctioneer was pulling off his coat in
a small study off to the side of the ballroom when Clementine walked in.

‘Delighted, dear lady!' he cried. ‘I've heard so much about you and the Meadows, thrilled I can be of service!'

Clementine smiled. ‘It's very much appreciated.' Belvedere Radley was a short, rotund man with a small, neat moustache. With his immaculate well-cut dinner jacket covering his portly frame, he reminded her of David Suchet's Poirot.

‘What kind of result are you hoping for?' Belvedere asked her briskly.

‘A lot,' admitted Clementine. ‘We've raised a significant amount already, but we really need to raise at least ten million.'

Belvedere raised an eyebrow, reflecting on the amount. ‘I've seen a few familiar faces as I walked in,' he said. ‘If they're in a generous mood tonight, we'll be laughing all the way.'

‘And if they're not?' she asked.

‘Don't even think about it,' Belvedere muttered darkly.

‘Oh dear,' said Clementine faintly.

By nine thirty on the dot, the coffee cups had been cleared away and the waiting staff had retired discreetly. Voices and laughter filled the very eaves of the impressive, stately room. Harriet, sitting with her parents at one of the head tables, was by far the most sought-after person of the evening, and had a constant flow of people coming up to clasp her hands and marvel at her miraculous reappearance. At one point Ambrose, his nerves fortified by several large single malt whiskies, became so fed up
with the interruptions that he started chasing the unfortunate well-wishers away with a solid silver candelabrum.

At the far end, the stage had been set up with various speakers, microphone leads, and a red and black drum kit. The dance floor was immediately in front, and a portion of it had been set up for the auction. When Belvedere Radley regally climbed up to his wooden rostrum and surveyed the room, the audience's attention was instantly claimed. As the chatter faded away naturally, it was for sheer effect that he brought his hammer down loudly, three times.

‘He's a showman, I'll say that,' whispered Tink to Clementine from their table. ‘Look at him working the crowd!'

Belvedere studied the crowd more closely, nodding solemnly at the people he knew. Then, clearing his throat, he addressed the audience.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I take great pleasure in welcoming you to the Save Churchminster Ball and Auction,' he announced. ‘I would like to thank Lord and Lady Fraser for opening their charming home to us, and I would like to thank the SCBA Committee, as I believe it is called round these parts, and all who have worked so tirelessly to put on this splendid night for us.' He cleared his throat again. ‘Now, I am sure you are all aware of the real reason we are here tonight—'

‘Drink, eat and hopefully get a shag!' a young voice brayed from the back of the room. The Countess of Radmore and several of the older guests frowned in the direction of the heckler. Belvedere allowed a ghost of a smile to flicker
across his face, and smoothly moved on.

‘The reason we
are
here tonight is, of course, the Meadows,' he told them. ‘An area of outstanding natural beauty, it is even mentioned in the Domesday book.' Clementine raised an impressed eyebrow; the man had clearly done his homework. ‘Now it is under threat of disappearing, as are
many
other places like it. Concrete jungles, busy roads and other such horrors are descending in their droves upon the countryside.' The little man was getting quite worked up now, his forehead and bald spot shining under the lights. He gripped the sides of the rostrum and leaned forward. ‘It's up to you folks tonight to put your hands in your pockets and do the decent thing. Save the Meadows and save Churchminster!'

Cheers resounded around the room as Belvedere pulled a spotless white handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at his brow dramatically. Then he raised his hammer aloft and cried, ‘Let the auction begin!'

Brochures listing each item had been left on each guest's chair and now they studied them intently, remarking to their neighbours and pulling faces at some of the guide prices. A door opened to the side of the dance floor and four men in dark suits and shiny black shoes emerged, carrying between them a large, ornately patterned rug.

‘Lot 1, a Tabriz carpet from north-west Persia, early twentieth century,' Belvedere informed the crowd. ‘Approximately twenty-two feet by nineteen feet, original flat woven end finishes. Bidding starts at £71,000. £71,000 do I have anyone?'

Things did not start well. Belvedere's worst
prediction seemed to have come true: the crowd were not in a buying mood and showed little interest in the items displayed before them. The eye-catching Persian rug went for barely above the reserve price, while the early Louis XV table and chairs donated by the Frasers was sold for £125,000, half the price the set was really worth. An oil painting by a seventeenth-century landscape artist went for a scandalously low £23,000. One of Babs Sax's more successful paintings, a murky grey and brown affair called
A Vagina's View of Berlin Pavements
, didn't get one bid. ‘At least people here have got good taste,' Calypso tried to console Clementine. Afterwards, the highly offended Ms Sax stormed out, leaving a trail of yellow feathers in her wake.

‘That's the problem with these things, one has just seen it
all
before,' the sour-faced wife of one of Sebastian's friends announced loudly. Caro winced as several people on the nearby tables turned around. This wasn't going to help the situation! As she glanced around nervously, she noticed an over-made-up blonde woman in a very short pink dress hovering by their table, and staring directly at her. Caro wondered if they had met, and smiled at her. But the woman shot her a dirty look and walked away, making a great show of squeezing past Sebastian's chair as she did so. Sebastian didn't even look up from his brochure, but something about the way his shoulders tensed made Caro feel as though an icy droplet had fallen into the middle of her heart. She quickly took a large glug of her wine.

On the Fox-Titts' table, worry was etched across Freddie and Angie's faces. They were swiftly
realizing that if it carried on like this, they'd barely be able to buy one square foot of the Meadows.

A few tables away, Clementine looked so stricken her companions were left feeling utterly helpless, unsure of what to say.

Meanwhile, a huge, ten foot by fifteen foot canvas was wheeled out. A mixture of schizophrenic green, purple and yellow streaks, Clementine thought it looked like the work of a two-year-old child in the midst of a tantrum. Her heart sank further; there was no way anyone was going to buy this rubbish. They were finished!

Then, something wonderful happened. As the canvas was put in place, a buzz broke out in several parts of the room. Belvedere quickly put his reading glasses back on. ‘Lot 5.
Urbane Jungle
by Ezru.'

The chatter was growing louder now, some people standing up from their chairs to get a better look.

‘Oh, I've heard about this!' Johnnie said excitedly. ‘Ezru is a 43-year-old African elephant from Zimbabwe. He's been doing the most extraordinary self-portraits from his zoo pen. Apparently the old boy suffered from dreadful depression for years. Nothing was making him better until his trainer read something about animals expressing themselves through art. He gave him a paintbrush and easel and old big ears hasn't looked back since. Experts reckon he's the best since Dali!'

‘Looks like a load of rubbish to me,' remarked Jed wryly. Johnnie burst out laughing. In spite of Camilla's earlier fears, Jed and her parents were getting on like a house on fire, and Jed's good looks were certainly wowing the other ladies at the table.

‘I agree, old boy!' cried Johnnie. ‘Not my cup of tea at all. But ever since Ezru trampled Robert Mugabe on a state visit to the zoo two years ago, the damn creature has become some kind of national hero. There were furious calls to have Ezru put down, but someone influential in the Mugabe camp turned out to be an animal lover and the elephant was saved. Now the paintings are going for ten times as much!'