Naked Truths (11 page)

In front, the twisting spire of St Bartholomew's church rose up from the horizon like a welcome beacon. As Caro shifted down into third gear to negotiate the winding road, a house appeared on her left. Incongruous as always in the postcard-perfect surroundings, Byron Heights was a nineteenth-century Gothic extravaganza, complete with turrets and jutting towers. The owner, pop sensation Devon Cornwall, was away at the moment on a world tour, much to the disappointment of Clementine's housekeeper, Brenda Briggs, who still hadn't got over the fact that her idol had moved into the village.

Twisty Gables, the gorgeous rambling house Caro had grown up in, appeared a little further on. Mauve-blue flowers caressed the outside walls, almost covering several of the windows. Four ponies were grazing in the fields flanking the house, and Caro noticed the current owners, Lucinda and Nico Reinard, had built an outdoor riding school. She had heard through Clementine that Lucinda had just been made the new district commissioner of the Bedlington Valley Pony Club.

Opposite two gateposts signalled the entrance to the Maltings. Caro grinned as she passed. Angie! Although they had phoned each other regularly since Caro went to London, she'd missed their lively, fun-filled catchups. Her spirits rose even higher when she pulled up at the village green. Across the shimmering mirage of grass, looking more inviting than ever, was Mill House.

Caro couldn't wait to get home, but knew she'd better see her grandmother first. News travelled fast in Churchminster, and Brenda, who lived in one of the cottages on the Bedlington Road, had probably seen her drive past and been straight on the phone to Clementine.

Her grandmother's house was on the opposite side of the green to Mill House, down a little lane fringed by bramble bushes. Brenda was clearly on razor-sharp form today. As Caro drove up the driveway to the large, imposing house, the front door was already opening. A rather portly black Labrador shot out, followed by Clementine in a floppy canvas sun hat.

‘Darling!' she said. ‘I've just got off the phone to Brenda. How was your journey? Oh, Errol Flynn, do stop barking!'

In the back seat Milo was wriggling. ‘Sweeties!' he shouted happily.

Clementine's mouth twitched. ‘I see city life hasn't diminished Milo's appetite.'

Opening the car door, Caro got out and threw her arms round her grandmother. ‘Oh, Granny Clem, I can't tell you how good it is to be home!'

At six o'clock the village was still bathed in the warmth of the day. Armed with a G and T, Caro was walking with Milo through Clementine's extensive gardens, pointing out all the different flowers. Milo, however, was more interested in finding worms, and so far three were curled in the palm of his hand like forlorn strands of spaghetti.

‘Snakies!' he shouted, trying to tip them in Caro's glass.

Caro tried to look disapproving and failed. ‘You little bugger!'

Milo ran off, his hand held aloft with the wriggling pink bodies. Caro watched her son in fond exasperation; he was going through an awfully naughty stage at the moment.

‘No, darling! Don't put that thing in your mouth! Oh Christ.'

‘Having trouble?' a familiar voice chuckled. Caro turned round to see Angie Fox-Titt. She looked fantastically healthy, new sun-kissed streaks running through her hair.

‘I can't believe you've got that colour from sitting in the garden!' Caro exclaimed. ‘You look fantastic!'

Angie inspected a tanned arm. ‘I look grossly fat. Freds has just been on a trip to France with the boys, and he brought back mountains of cheese and wine. I seem to have single-handedly worked my way through most of it. I could barely do up my shorts this morning!'

Caro laughed. ‘Don't be so silly.'

‘No Benedict?'

‘He's having to work this weekend, some drama with one of his clients.'

Angie smiled sympathetically. ‘We'll just have to keep you amused ourselves. Freddie is dying to see you.'

On cue, Freddie came bouncing towards them, waving a bottle.

‘Caro! Your grandmother said I'd find you out here. Thought you might be in need of some refreshment.'

A few minutes later, the garden gate swung open and a rather mismatched couple walked in. He was tall, dark and languid-looking, a spotted neckerchief tied casually round his neck, and a crumpled linen shirt undone one button too low. She was blonde, broad-shouldered, and looked just like she'd stepped straight off the pages of
Horse and Hound
, with a horseshoe-patterned neck scarf and matching white shirt with the collar turned up.

‘Oh look, it's the Reinards,' said Angie, adding in a mischievous undertone, ‘Lucinda's looking
very
district commissioner!'

‘
Bonsoir
,' murmured Nico, kissing them all on both cheeks, including a rather taken-aback Freddie. Lucinda sent her husband off to get a corkscrew from the kitchen, then moved straight in on Caro.

‘Have you thought about getting Milo a pony when you move back?' She flashed a gap-toothed smile and Caro thought fleetingly how horse-like her teeth were.

Lucinda continued. ‘You can always take out one of ours this weekend. Pippin is just standing in the paddock doing bugger all. He'd love the exercise.'

Caro scrabbled around for an excuse. ‘I don't think we'll have time, Lucinda, but thank you anyway. Besides, Milo is more into racing cars than anything with four legs at the moment.'

‘Well, don't leave it too long!' she trilled. ‘Bedlington Valley PC is in dire need of some more youngsters. I'm counting on you!'

Caro was saved by Brenda Briggs, who had appeared brandishing a tray of what looked like little burnt CDs. ‘Miss Caro?' she asked. ‘Broccoli and Stilton mini-quiche? Made 'em myself this morning.'

Caro looked down at the shrivelled offerings and picked up the least blackened one. If Brenda's housekeeping skills were bad, her cooking was even worse.

‘They look lovely, Brenda.' She winced as her teeth encountered rock-hard pastry.

‘'Ere, did you hear about Babs Sax getting trollied at the church barbie?' Brenda asked. Babs Sax was Churchminster's rather flighty resident artist. ‘Drunk as a skunk she was, couldn't even walk in a straight line to her house. Lucky my Ted nipped home and got his wheelbarrow . . .'

A few hours later, Caro was helping her grandmother clear up the last of the glasses in the living room. Milo was fast asleep face down on the sofa, the ever-faithful Pickles squashed underneath him.

‘Poor little chap, it's way past his bedtime,' said Caro.

Outside the night air was mild. An owl hooted overhead as Caro carried a sleeping Milo to her car. Clementine followed with her granddaughter's oversized bag.

‘What are your plans tomorrow?' she asked.

‘Nothing huge, I was going to meet Angie for lunch at the Jolly Boot. She says Pierre's created his best menu yet.'

‘Would you like me to look after Milo?'

‘Ooh, that would be great, Granny Clem! Only if you're sure . . .' said Caro.

Clementine smiled. ‘Of course! You know I love spending time with my great-grandson.'

‘Just keep him away from any worms,' warned Caro, laughing. She wound the window down and started the car. ‘See you tomorrow.'

It was a clear starry night and the village green stood bathed in luminous light. Caro drove past her sister Camilla's cottage with its darkened windows. It felt funny being back in Churchminster without her. By contrast, several doors down the Jolly Boot pub was ablaze with lights, as locals made the most of landlord Jack Turner's lax attitude to calling time.

Following the road round to the left, Caro pulled up outside the impressive three-storey building that had once been the Old Mill. It had been converted into two houses, one of which belonged to Caro, Milo and now Benedict. The other, which Benedict had previously lived in and still owned, was about to go on the market.

Caro cut the engine and looked up at her house. The climbing plants and creepers stretching attractively across the front reminded her for an instant of Montague Mews. She turned around to her son, who was still flat out in the back seat.

‘Come on, cherub, let's get you inside.'

CARO WOKE UP
with a start. Where was she? It took a while to adjust, as her eyes took in the low beams, cream walls and rose-patterned curtains. A flush of happiness surged through her: she was home! Sleepily her hands moved over the empty side of the bed before she remembered with a stab of disappointment Benedict wasn't with her. She hoped he'd got some sleep; he'd sounded shattered when they'd spoken late last night.

Swinging her legs out of bed, Caro went to the windows and flung back the curtains. It was another beautiful day. Below, the green was spread out before her like a sparking emerald sea. Caro leaned out of the open window to breathe in the morning air. The scent of freshly cut grass wafted up enticingly. It was not a day to be indoors. Heart light, she pulled on a dressing gown and went to get Milo ready for his day with Granny Clem.

A dusty-looking Angie looked up from behind the counter as Caro pushed open the door of Angie's Antiques.

‘Just having a clear-out, won't be a minute!'

‘Do you want some help?' asked Caro, putting her bag on the floor beside the counter.

‘You are an angel, but I wouldn't inflict this on my worst enemy! I've been here since 8 a.m., and so far I've found three mouldy Tracker bars, a peregrine falcon minus his perch, and a pass to No. 1 court at Wimbledon from 1987. I think I've just about earned myself a break.'

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in the beer garden of the Jolly Boot. Brightly coloured hanging baskets hung from hooks, while heavy cream canvas umbrellas shaded the wooden tables. As a treat, Angie had ordered a bottle of Bollinger vintage 2003. ‘Oh, sod it, I had a good sale in the shop yesterday,' she declared.

Glasses filled, they clinked them together.

‘Lovely to see you, darling.'

Caro took a sip of the ice-cold liquid and sighed in contentment.

‘Tell me about Archie, is he having fun at college?'

Angie smiled wistfully. ‘The last time we spoke he was about to go out to some toga party. And before that I seem to recall it was a Hawaiian-themed ball. His social life sounds fantastic, although I do hope he's getting some work done as well, the fees aren't cheap.'

‘You miss him, don't you?'

Angie's lip wobbled momentarily. ‘Dreadfully! I'm being such an old bore about it, but I really do feel bereft. Freds has told me I've got to stop calling him every day.' Angie put on a gruff voice. ‘Not good for a young chap's street cred.'

‘Maybe you should start fostering,' joked Caro.

‘Ha, I doubt any sane young person would want to come and stay in our madhouse.' Angie took a glug of champagne. ‘Anyway, I'm dying to know all about Montague Mews.'

‘It's a dream,' admitted Caro. ‘And I must tell you about the enigma living at No. 1.'

‘Gosh, how intriguing!' said Angie, when she'd heard about Rowena. ‘One must wonder what on earth happened to her, to live a life like that.'

‘I'm thinking of inviting her round for dinner,' Caro admitted. ‘Stephen says hell will freeze over before she comes, but you never know.'

She refilled their glasses. ‘Now then, you must fill me in on all the village gossip. Granny Clem does give a rather sanitized view of things.'

A little light-headed, the pair made their way out of the pub some time later. ‘What are you up to now?' Angie asked.

‘I must walk and pick Milo up. He's going through the terrible twos stage at the moment, and I'd better get him before he smashes up Granny Clem's beloved Wedgwood collection.'

Angie rolled her eyes. ‘Sons!'

‘Wonderful day, isn't it?' a well-bred voice called out.

They both looked up. Lady Frances Fraser, wife of Sir Ambrose and mother of Harriet Fraser, was making her way towards them atop a huge brown horse. The horse was at least seventeen hands, with a gleaming coat and handsome, well-shaped head. Lady Frances Fraser was a slender and elegant woman, and anyone else would have looked lost and out of place on such an enormous beast. Somehow, her mount suited her perfectly.

‘He's beautiful!' said Caro, as horse and rider made their way off the edge of the green and clip-clopped over to them.

‘He's called Harry, he's been with us a few weeks,' said Frances. ‘Thoroughbred cross, I got him from an eventing yard in Yorkshire. He's only five, so he's still a bit green, but his schooling is coming on marvellously. Good boy, stand still.' She ran her gloved hand along the animal's neck as he pawed the ground impatiently. Frances looked at Caro. ‘You're back for the weekend? Harriet mentioned it on the phone the other night. We rather hoped she'd come back to Clanfield, but she's gone to visit friends in Norfolk.'

‘I hear she's doing a marvellous job at
Soirée
,' Caro told her. The slight look of disappointment on Frances's face was swiftly replaced by one of pride.

‘Yes, isn't she? I've never heard Harriet so excited about something before. She's in the middle of organizing
Soirée
's autumn cocktail party.'

‘Gosh, I went to one of those in the eighties!' exclaimed Angie. ‘It was a riot. I ended up losing my shoes – God only knows where – and we all got drunk as skunks on these deadly cocktails they kept bringing round. We ended up gatecrashing this club in Knightsbridge, where we were swiftly thrown out for trying to limbo dance under a feather boa. Oh, and because one of our party thought it would be a good idea to dance naked.' She chuckled at the memory, and a faraway look came into her eyes. ‘Those were the days. I seem to remember an extremely lascivious cross-dressing dwarf turning up at one point . . .'