Honeycote (50 page)

‘Oh, and where would I get those from?’

Her tone was teasing. Lawrence gave a self-deprecating grin.

‘I’d give you a discount.’

The banter was light, disguising the deadly weight of the meaning underlying it. Flora waved her hand in the air, like a miniature referee, during what seemed to Lawrence like an interminable pause. Ignoring every sales trick he’d ever utilized, he made the next move, making himself vulnerable, probably for the first time in his life.

‘Come back.’

It was more of a plea than a command, and Kay looked at him sharply. There was so much left unsaid, and they both knew it. They were equally guilty, equally innocent. Fear collected momentarily in the pit of her stomach and travelled up to her heart, until she felt it would burst. Could they really start again? They were both cynics, not romantics, but perhaps that would work in their favour.

Of course it could work. They had a focus now. Whereas before they’d been floundering in self-indulgence, unable to communicate because there was nothing to bond them except their empty success, which didn’t seem to afford them any happiness.

Lawrence showed his cards, yet again, in a desperate attempt to close the deal.

‘We’d better put her down for Cheltenham Ladies’ College. We might already be too late.’

Kay heard the desperation underneath his flippancy. She pouted.

‘Rubbish. Eldenbury High. I’m not letting her out of my sight now I’ve got her.’

Kay reached out and took Flora from his arms. Lawrence stood helpless, not sure how to take what she’d said. Was that the end of it? Was he being dismissed? Was she asserting her independence and throwing the offer back in his face?

Kay marched down the path and called back over her shoulder.

‘Come on in. She needs a feed in a minute. She’ll start squawking and then you’ll know about it.’ She grinned. ‘You might change your mind.’

Minutes later, Lawrence held a furious red bundle that emitted ear-splitting shrieks as Kay desperately tried to cool down her bottle, and found himself laughing. The two of them, arch manipulators, putty in the hands of a tiny creature. Kay shook tiny droplets of milk on to her wrist and, satisfied that it wasn’t going to cause further shrieking, handed the bottle to Lawrence.

‘Come on. You’re a new man, aren’t you? You can do the nappy afterwards.’

Lawrence was amazed at Flora’s tenacity as the six inches of milk fell to five, then four. Kay sat back and he looked at her.

‘Well?’

‘Who shall we put it on the market with?’

29

As she slid a huge pan of potatoes for roasting into the Aga oven, Lucy realized that she felt lighter-hearted than she had done for months. After all, she was preparing for what she loved best – friends and family round the table, mountains of food, gallons of wine… James and Caroline were due back from their honeymoon that afternoon. Mickey still wasn’t up to driving long distances, so Patrick had offered to go and pick them up from the airport. They were coming back to Honeycote House for Sunday lunch to give everyone all the gory details about their fortnight in Tuscany. Everything was always a bit of an anticlimax after a wedding, so Lucy thought it was time for a get-together. Keith and Mandy were coming too; they’d become like extended family. And Ned. Though he’d always been around anyway, so he made no difference.

She looked around the kitchen, mentally working out her Sunday lunch timetable. Sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, lifting the yellow walls to a golden glow. The air was filled with the rich smell of roasting pork, the juices melting into a bed of onions. Homemade apple sauce was cooking down in a pan. Carrots and spring greens were chopped, ready and waiting.

Lucy felt happy that everything was perfect and allowed herself to sit down for a moment to enjoy the peace. It felt like the old days again, warm, hospitable, welcoming. It was, thought Lucy, as if some sort of ghost had been laid. Which in a way perhaps it had.

She and Mickey had gone for a ride that morning, only at a walk, and a gentle one at that. Lucy had wanted to show Mickey the wonders she had worked on Phoenix, how the hours of patience she’d put in had turned the unpredictable animal into a perfect gentleman. As they had reached the brow of the hill that looked back down over Honeycote, allowing them a view of the house, the village and the brewery, they had gazed down in companionable silence.

As they both surveyed everything they could have lost, they each knew without speaking that life had gone beyond recrimination, beyond revenge. It was time to look forward. To enjoy everything they’d got. It had definitely been a turning point, as they each rode home with a lighter heart.

To anyone watching the Liddiards at lunch, they would have seemed like a normal, ordinary family sharing their experiences. No one could have guessed the turbulence they’d all been through to get to this point. But everyone understood their role, their boundaries, what could be said and what couldn’t, what eye contact could be made and what should be avoided.

Mickey was just emerging from the cellar with a couple of well-chosen bottles of claret when Caroline came out of the loo that led off the scullery. He had to admit that she looked like a different woman. Sure, she had looked beautiful on her wedding day, but that had been with the help of various beauticians and hairdressers. Two weeks in the Tuscan spring sunshine had brought out a natural beauty: her skin was dusted with golden freckles, the whites of her eyes had lost the red veins of overwork and over-indulgence, and the copper flecks in her irises sparked.

Mickey went forward to greet her.

‘Welcome back, Mrs Liddiard,’ he teased.

‘Thank you.’

She stood in front of him, smiling salaciously. Mickey could feel the warmth of the Siena sun radiating off her skin. He wanted to touch her, feel the warmth for himself through his fingertips. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. They were full, luscious – honeymoon lips swollen with kissing. He imagined them devouring ripe figs on her wedding night. She took a step closer and he could feel her breasts against his chest. He held the kiss, savouring it, inhaling her scent of burnt honey and orange blossom; something delicious bought in Florence.

Suddenly, he felt a familiar surge of excitement. Relief flooded through him. He was getting an erection! Thank God! He’d been convinced he was never going to get another one in his life; that his real punishment was that he’d never be capable of sex again. The ultimate irony.

But no. Here it was. The hard evidence, so to speak. Mickey grinned in delight. He wanted to do a dance of triumph. He realized that Caroline was staring at him, bewildered but amused. He wanted to show off his achievement. But he supposed it wasn’t really appropriate behaviour, and it might take some explaining if anyone walked in.

Their eyes met. Mickey stepped back reluctantly, willing his erection to dwindle. She looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, questioning his next move. He coughed, feeling he had to say something.

‘I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘What for?’

He could hardly say ‘for giving me a raging hard on’. Even though he suspected she’d understand. She was a babe. James was a lucky chap.

‘Saving me from myself.’

Caroline met his gaze, a small smile playing round her lips.

‘It’s a pleasure.’

Mickey turned and walked away, his slight limp still evident, despite the physio. He went back into the dining room. It was still alive with chatter; there was no hiatus as he took his place. No one had found his simultaneous absence with Caroline remotely suspicious. Lucy smiled and offered him another slice of banoffee pie. Mickey grinned and pushed his plate forward.

‘I can resist anything except temptation.’

He met Caroline’s gaze steadily as she took her seat opposite him. She raised her glass to him over the table with a wicked grin. Mickey turned pointedly and caressed Lucy’s leg under the table. She looked at him, a little surprised. He’d been wary of real physical contact lately, being self-conscious about his lack of performance. Mickey smiled, satisfied that everything was still in full working order – it hadn’t just been a fluke out there in the scullery. Though he supposed he still had to put it to the test. He couldn’t wait until everyone had gone so he could take Lucy upstairs, check things out…

Caroline took a tiny sip of her red wine. She was glad Mickey hadn’t made a pass at her. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if he had. But it hadn’t come to that. He’d obviously learned his lesson.

She thought about her honeymoon. It had been an exquisite two weeks. James, of course, had been in seventh heaven, surrounded by so many treasures, and had bounded from church to gallery utterly enchanted with his surroundings. Caroline at first had found it boring – one painting looked much like the next to her – but slowly, under his expert tuition, she’d allowed herself to open up to new experiences and begun to appreciate a little of the treasures he was revelling in, even if deep down she had to admit she’d rather be shopping. But overall the warmth of the Tuscan sun and the rustic simplicity of the food and wine had been an assault on all her senses, and the intensity of their love-making had increased as the holiday went on. They’d been reluctant to leave their honeymoon suite on the last day, lingering in bed until the very last minute, so that they’d had barely any time to rush round Florence buying souvenirs.

And she suspected they’d brought back another souvenir, though she wasn’t going to share that with anyone yet, just in case. But, she thought, if it was a girl, they could call her Siena.

Lucy had taken the pudding plates out to the kitchen and was in the pantry unwrapping the cheese from its waxed paper when she sensed a presence behind her. She turned to find James. He was smiling, tanned and handsome.

‘I brought you a present.’

‘You shouldn’t have.’

Lucy wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to take a little package from him, wrapped up in white tissue paper and tied with a piece of ribbon stuck with blood-red sealing wax.

It was a tiny, impressionistic sketch of a horse rearing, done in terracotta chalks and framed in a heavy, Venetian frame. Lucy knew it wasn’t from a museum gift shop, that this was the real thing, and that it had probably cost more than the whole honeymoon put together. It was exquisite. She couldn’t have chosen better herself.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed. ‘But why?’

‘You deserve it,’ answered James simply. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’

Lucy shrugged almost dismissively.

‘We all have.’

‘And it’s just to remind you’, he went on, ‘that I’ll always be here for you.’

Lucy swallowed, not sure whether he meant that he’d always be a shoulder to cry on, or something more. She chose to interpret it as the former. It made life simpler, somehow.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She leaned forward to kiss him her thanks. As his head came forward to meet hers, she caught the familiar scent of bergamot. She hadn’t smelled it for over a fortnight.

Approaching footsteps made her turn. It was Patrick. For a fleeting moment, Lucy wondered if she should hide James’s gift, cover it with the tissue it had been wrapped in, but surely she had no need to feel guilty.

‘Look what James brought me back. From Tuscany.’

Patrick admired the little picture politely, but was more interested in where the cheese had got to. Lucy retrieved the rest of it from the shelf where it was breathing, safely out of Pokey’s reach (she had a taste for Stilton) and handed the plate to Patrick. The two men went to rejoin the table. Before she followed them, Lucy tucked the picture into a kitchen drawer. She wasn’t sure if James and Caroline had brought presents back for anyone else and she wasn’t one to crow.

At the table, James cut himself a generous slice of Brie.

‘By the way, there’s a country house sale down near Bath on Tuesday. I thought I’d better start stocking up for the summer trade. Does anyone fancy joining me?’

Caroline shook her head.

‘I’d love to, but there’s piles to do at the brewery. I’ve got people coming for interviews, you name it…’ Not to mention an appointment with the doctor.

‘It promises to be a good one. These sales are getting few and far between these days.’ James’s tone was persuasive. Lucy looked at Mickey.

‘Shall we go? We could do with a couple of new dining chairs. Especially as this family seems to keep getting bigger and bigger.’

Mickey shook his head.

‘I’ve got a hectic week myself. Keith and I are hoping to finalize all the paperwork to do with the brewery this week. Why don’t you go?’

Patrick chipped in.

‘Yeah – you could see if there’s anything we could use for the pubs. We’ve got big refurbishment plans. Stuffed moose heads, suits of armour – you know the sort of thing…’

Lucy grinned.

‘I wouldn’t be seen dead bidding for a moose head, thank you very much.’ Lucy turned to James. ‘But I’ll come along for the ride, if you like.’

‘I’ve got a copy of the catalogue. I’ll drop it over tomorrow.’

It seemed it was agreed. Lucy hesitated, momentarily, not sure what everyone would think. No one seemed to bat an eyelid, however. To her, it was proof that the hideous events of the last few months were water under the bridge and she sat down with a sigh of relief. It was almost as if none of it had ever happened.

Mickey smiled to himself as he looked round the table at his family, talking and laughing, and marvelled at the way things had turned out. It could have been so different. Everything had teetered on the brink for a moment there: the brewery could have gone down the pan, his marriage could have collapsed… Christ, he’d nearly died, hadn’t he? But somehow, miraculously, things had turned themselves round and everyone was happy.

He looked round at his family. Sophie was positively glowing. She’d lost that awful hollowness around the eyes and was putting a bit of weight back on, enough to make her look healthy again but not throw her into a panic about being fat. Patrick was relaxed, happy, confident – Mickey was proud of the maturity he’d shown over the past few weeks. Keith had praised him for his hard work, and he seemed to be thriving on the challenge. James and Caroline were basking in the aftermath of their honeymoon, quite obviously as happy as pigs in the proverbial. And Lucy – Mickey watched her as she handed round the Bath Olivers. She’d got back her old sparkle at last, thank goodness. He’d never have forgiven himself for extinguishing that. But she was herself again, laughing at something someone was saying, the strain of the last few months dissipating before his very eyes.