Just a Family Affair (30 page)

For a moment she felt tempted to grab her car keys, drive over to Honeycote House and confront him in the comfort of his own kitchen. She wasn’t going to be his dirty little secret any more. But she couldn’t face the fallout. More than anything, she couldn’t bear the thought of Lucy. Lucy was always so calm, so dignified. She would never in a million years get herself into a predicament like Kay’s. And Kay didn’t need to be made to feel any more worthless than she already did.

She told herself to sit tight and be patient. She tried to visualize herself in a year’s time, when she had her money. She pictured a tiny cottage on the edge of a village. A coat rail in the hall with Flora’s school blazer hanging on it, and a pair of red wellies underneath. A rabbit hutch in the garden. A friend round for tea, with Marmite sandwiches and Jaffa cakes. Simple things.

Surely none of it was too much to ask.

 

‘Look,’ Kitty was saying firmly to Mandy. ‘Forget all the crap we’ve seen today. It was all over-designed, tarty rubbish made for people with no imagination. I think I know what you like. I’ve seen every outfit you possess. I understand your personality. I know the sort of wedding you’re having. Let me do some simple sketches.’

They were all having a debrief back in the kitchen at Keeper’s Cottage - everyone except Lucy who’d gone back to Honeycote House.

Mandy nodded gratefully. Her head was whirling.

‘I didn’t think it would be so difficult. It’s not as if I even care that much. I mean, I want to look nice, obviously. But I want to feel myself.’

‘My point exactly,’ said Kitty. ‘None of those dresses was made with you in mind.’

‘Let’s see what Kitty comes up with.’ Sandra looked extremely dubious. ‘But for my money you looked like an angel in the Collette Dinnigan.’

‘I don’t want to look like an angel,’ said Mandy. ‘I want to look like me.’

‘Trust me.’ Kitty grinned. ‘I’m a fashion student.’

Sandra looked rather dubiously at Kitty, who was wearing a pinstripe waistcoat over tweed shorts and footless leopardskin tights, then opened up her white leather wedding planner with a flourish. Mandy peered inside her mother’s folder. It was bulging with brochures, quotations, catalogues, sample CDs, swatches of material and snippets of ribbon.

‘Mum, what is all this?’

Sandra snapped the folder shut. ‘Never you mind.’

‘No, seriously. What have you got planned?’

‘What haven’t I got planned?’ Sandra’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Don’t you worry. It’ll be all right on the night.’

‘We are just having a disco and a pig roast?’ Mandy suddenly felt very nervous. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

She thought she and Patrick had been quite firm about not going over the top. In the end, they had decided to invite everyone from the brewery to the evening do. There had been certain key members of staff who they wanted to invite, but it was hard to know where to have the cut-off point without causing dissension amongst the troops, so the most diplomatic solution was to ask them all. But she thought they had made it quite clear to Sandra that they wanted something down to earth. Anything too flash would be sending out the wrong message.

Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough.

‘You are keeping it simple?’ Mandy persisted.

‘I’m just arranging a couple of little surprises.’

‘Like what?’

Sandra gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Don’t panic. There’s not a lot I can arrange anyway at such short notice. Just a few little embellishments to make it a night to remember.’

Mandy knew that if she protested, her mother would dig her feet in further. So she decided to keep quiet. After all, how bad could it be? At least the wedding breakfast was safe in Lucy’s hands. She trusted her future mother-in-law implicitly. Anyway by seven o’clock, when the evening guests arrived, everyone would be completely sloshed.

Just then Sandra’s mobile trilled. She leapt on it and walked across the room.

‘Hello?’ Her face broke into a smile as she listened. ‘Oh, that’s absolutely marvellous. I knew you’d swing it for me. I’ll pop you a deposit in the post straight away.’

She snapped her phone shut. Everyone looked at her expectantly. She closed her folder and zipped it up defiantly.

‘You’re not getting anything out of me. You’ll all have to wait.’>

 

When Keith came in ten minutes later, he was hugely relieved to find the kitchen full, the wine open, and everyone chattering nineteen to the dozen. He had been dreading finding Ginny on her own, because he couldn’t have kept quiet about what had gone on at the brewery that afternoon. It was killing him as it was, keeping quiet. The temptation to give in and spill the beans was enormous. But it wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t burden her with it all. Keith simply didn’t believe that problems were halved by sharing them. To his mind, they were doubled. So the fact that he clearly wasn’t going to get a word in edgeways in his own house was, for once, a huge bonus.

‘Dad!’ Mandy jumped up, clearly pleased to see him. She pulled out a chair and poured him a glass of wine. ‘We’ve got so much to tell you.’

‘How was the wedding-dress hunt?’

‘Disastrous. But Kitty’s got a plan. And Mum’s had the most brilliant idea.’

Keith looked at Sandra warily. She was looking particularly smug.

‘The hen weekend,’ she said dramatically. ‘I’ve arranged for them all to go to the villa. The weekend before the wedding. Puerto Banus is becoming a very popular hen-night destination. They’ll have a wonderful time. They’ll all be able to top up their tans, get a bit of rest and relaxation before the big day. And it’s a fantastic night spot. Bars, clubs, restaurants, millionaires . . .’

‘Bring them on!’ cheered Sasha.

‘That sounds a very good idea.’ He looked around the table. ‘So who’s going?’

‘Everyone, I hope,’ said Sandra.

‘Not me,’ protested Ginny. ‘I’m far too old to go on a hen weekend.’

‘No you’re not!’ protested Mandy. ‘You’ve got to come. You need a break. Doesn’t she, Dad?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Keith. ‘I think a weekend in the sun is probably just what she needs.’

He smiled over at Ginny, but she flushed and looked away. He remembered the night before with shame. She’d been so sweet. He’d longed to follow her upstairs, but the prospect of his humiliation had been too much to bear. It wasn’t long now, he told himself. He would soon know his fate.

‘Can I ask Caroline as well?’ Mandy had a flashback of her soon-to-be sister-in-law looking exhausted the weekend before. ‘Caroline’s a real party animal given half the chance.’

‘Good idea,’ said Sasha. ‘Get her away from that arrogant pig of a husband.’

‘Sasha!’ chided Ginny automatically.

Sandra beamed. ‘You can ask whoever you like. There are five double bedrooms in the villa. The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned. And you’ll have Alejandro to look after you.’

‘Who’s Alejandro?’ everyone chorused.

‘Alejandro,’ replied Sandra, ‘is my man that does. Everything. ’

She smiled, giving herself a private recollection of exactly what.

‘Everything,’ she repeated. ‘He’ll make sure it’s a hen weekend never to be forgotten.’

Later, as Ginny took a load of pizzas out of the freezer and chopped up a salad, she felt overwhelmingly depressed. Keith could barely look her in the eye any longer. He’d deliberately - or at least she felt sure it was deliberate - sat at the other end of the table. And he’d been so adamant that she should go on the hen weekend, when they could have taken advantage of the girls being away to spend some time together. But he’d gone straight on line and booked all their flights. And paid for them. Ginny knew she should be grateful, but she felt as if she was being shunted out of the way.

Lucy wasn’t coming. They’d phoned her and asked, but she’d protested that as it was the last weekend before the wedding she would take the chance to get the house and grounds into shape. Caroline had been asked too, but wasn’t sure. She’d never left Percy for any length of time, and James wasn’t exactly keen on the idea. But they could work on her.

She poured oil and vinegar into the dressing jar and gave it a good shake. She shouldn’t be ungrateful. Maybe a break was what she needed. Some time out to get her head around things. And she’d be glad of some sun. At least if she was a bit brown, she wouldn’t look so blobby in whatever outfit she finally managed to get herself into. Maybe she’d try and talk to Keith before she went. Screw up her courage and see what was the matter. If he wanted rid of her, she’d rather know. She’d still have her girls, after all. In fact, the way things were going it looked as if she’d have Kitty and Sasha for the rest of her life.

D
eath, Mayday had decided, brought out the best in some people.

It had been an extraordinary few days. Coupled with still grieving for her grandmother was the curious notion of knowing she was rich beyond her wildest dreams. The cheque had been lodged. The money was hers. But still she hadn’t touched it. Everything she thought of to buy seemed pointless. And so she carried on at work as if nothing had happened, even though she was entitled to time off for compassionate leave. What was she supposed to do? Sit up in her bedroom snivelling? Instead, she spent a satisfying day with the chef deciding what would go on the summer menu. And another day composing a letter to send to all the customers on their database, urging them to look ahead and book an autumn break. She’d walked around on automatic pilot, feeling nothing, because her grief cancelled out her euphoria. But the one thing she had appreciated was how kind people had been.

In particular, the staff. They were still being brilliant, keeping on top of any obstreperous guests and resolving any problems that came to the fore without running to her in a panic. The hotel consequently ran like clockwork, which just went to show that they could do it when they wanted to.

And then there was Rob Dunne. Rob had been in every day since her grandmother had died. It had almost become a ritual, to the point when she made sure there was fresh coffee in the pot just after ten, and had a plate of shortbread sent out from the kitchen. She’d usually been up for several hours by then, as she liked to tackle the paperwork before guests started checking out, so she was ready for a break when he ambled in, his cheery face beaming. She fed him biscuits, and he fed her gossip about suspected cockfighting, a shoplifting ring consisting entirely of pre-pubescent girls, rumours of an illegal rave. Torrid tales of the underbelly of Eldenbury life kept her entertained, and helped her forget about the fact that her mother hadn’t checked up on her once.

She knew Angela was all right, because she’d seen Roy once or twice in the high street and he’d told her she was bearing up under the strain. It had been all Mayday could do not to laugh in his face, because the only strain for Angela was probably the wait for probate until she could sell Elsie’s house. But she didn’t, because she liked Roy, and he had to live with Angela, poor bugger.

Mayday also knew it wouldn’t be long before she saw Patrick again, because they never went for more than a few days without seeing each other, whether it was business or just a quiet drink. And she wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to feel when she saw him. So when Patrick walked into the bar that evening, she felt as if she’d taken a huge hit of amyl nitrate. Her pulse rate tripled, her heart pounded, the blood rushed to her head. She could feel her face burn and her pupils dilate. He kissed her cheek and asked how she was, running an affectionate hand down her arm and looking at her with such concern. She muttered a reply and asked him if he wanted a drink.

‘Definitely,’ he confided, then glanced around to see if there was anyone in earshot as she went behind the bar to serve him. ‘I can tell you, but keep it quiet. I don’t want the staff getting worried. We’re selling the brewery. Lock, stock and barrel. Ha ha.’

He laughed dryly at his own pun. Mayday looked at him aghast as she handed him a glass of Shiraz.

‘But why? You can’t! I mean, I know things are rocky. But . . .’

‘The whole thing’s a fucking disaster. James is practically bankrupt and wants out. Keith’s windy about something; I’m not sure what, but he’s definitely lost his nerve. And as for Dad . . .’ Patrick rolled his eyes up to heaven. ‘He’s surpassed himself this time.’

‘How?’ Mayday was curious. She knew Mickey was no angel; Patrick had often asked for her advice about his wayward father. But she thought he’d calmed down since his accident.

Patrick was silent for a moment. He knew he shouldn’t divulge the truth, but he would trust Mayday to the ends of the earth. And, frankly, he wanted someone to share the burden with. Someone who wasn’t directly involved. Mayday wouldn’t be judgemental. She’d take it all in her stride.

‘You remember Kay Oakley? From Barton Court?’

Mayday made a face. ‘The stuck-up blonde who thought she was God’s gift to everything in trousers?’

Patrick smiled. Mayday had a way of putting her finger on the button.

‘You’ve got it. Anyway, she’s tipped up with her daughter. And no prizes for guessing who the father is.’

He gave a wry grin, and Mayday’s eyes widened.

‘Not you?’

‘No, no. Not me.’ Patrick assured her hastily. ‘Dad.’

Mayday thought back for a moment. ‘But weren’t you . . . ?’

She clearly remembered Patrick admitting an affair with Kay.

‘Yes. But she’s definitely not mine. I’m not as dim as Dad. I managed to use some protection for a start. Anyway, Kay wants serious money. Money we ain’t got. So . . .’

‘You’ve got to sell? Just like that? Who to? And what happens to everyone?’

‘Don’t worry. We’re going to be very careful who we sell to. And there’s going to be some sort of deal in place where I stay on as a consultant. So don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’