Naked Truths (32 page)

‘The Maltings,' Saffron read.

‘That's where the Fox-Titts live. Freddie and Angie are a hoot, they're holding a party on Christmas Eve, if you fancy it.' Harriet shifted the car down a gear. ‘Have I told you they're taking someone on from
Soirée
Sponsors? He's going to work in Angie's antique shop. Some young chap called Ashley.'

‘Wow,' said Saffron. ‘It's going to be a bit different for him out here.' A trio of quaint thatched cottages had materialized on their right, each front door adorned with a colourful wreath.

Harriet was giving a running commentary. ‘That first one with the wishing well is Bluebell Cottage, Stephen and Klaus's.'

‘Ah, the famous weekend retreat!' said Saffron. ‘I always wondered where they disappeared to. It's very cute.'

‘Isn't it? And Pearl Potts lives next door at Rose Cottage. She keeps an eye on the place when they're away.'

A flashing Santa Claus took pride of place in one of the windows of the end cottage.

‘Who lives there?'

‘Brenda and Ted Briggs. Brenda runs the village store. If you want any local gossip, she's your woman.'

A few hundred metres down the road, they pulled up at a T-junction.

‘Well, this is the heart of Churchminster. What do you think?'

Saffron felt like she had just stepped on to a film set. In front of her was a large village green, with a striped maypole in one corner and a war memorial in the other. A collection of houses, all built in the famous yellow Cotswold stone, stood nestled around it. Dusk was starting to fall and welcoming light shone out from windows, while puffs of grey smoke curled up out of several chimneys. On the other side of the green stood a large, handsome church.

‘That's St Bartholomew's. Mummy and Daddy got married there, and it's where I was christened.'

Harriet indicated right and they passed another trio of cottages, slightly larger than the first ones. Saffron had a sudden vision of herself in an apron, pulling a freshly baked cake out of a gleaming Aga range.

‘That's Camilla's cottage.' Harriet pulled up outside the last one, which had the number ‘5' etched into the garden gate. Behind it, the house sat dark and quiet.

‘Must be weird not having her around for Christmas,' said Saffron. Harriet had told her at length about her best friend.

Harriet sighed. ‘It does feel a bit strange, like I'm missing a body part. Although she and Jed are having a jolly good time, by all accounts.'

Two minutes later they were on another road heading out of the village. Everywhere she looked, Saffron could see swathes of muddy brown fields, the frozen ploughed furrows looking like piles of half-mixed cement. She shuddered slightly; this was most definitely farming country. What if Harriet's parents expected her to get up at the crack of dawn every day to milk the sheep or something?

‘Nearly there!' announced Harriet cheerfully. On the left of the road stood a pair of impressive stone pillars. Slowing down, Harriet pulled off and drove in over a cattle grid.

‘Bloody hell!' said Saffron. Even through the fading light, she could see the long drive flanked by sweeping grounds. At the top was a magnificent manor house. Built in the finest Cotswold stone, it rose up imperiously out of the landscape with a frontage that seemed to go on for ever.

As they drove forwards, a small cottage appeared out of the gloom.

‘That's where I live. I'll bring you back tomorrow for a look,' Harriet said. She desperately wanted to go in, but she knew her mother was expecting them. They were staying at the Hall for the holiday; Gate Cottage's antiquated heating had finally given up the ghost, and needed a whole new system installed.

‘I'd much prefer to have our guest in the Hall, anyway,' her mother had told her. ‘We can't have you living like a pair of barn animals at the end of the drive.'

As the car approached, Saffron had another chance to take in the sheer size and splendour of the building. Saffron knew Harriet came from a good family, but she'd always been very modest about it. Saffron hadn't been expecting something on this scale. In front of the house the drive widened into a large gravel turning circle. A huge stone fountain stood in the middle of it. Saffron imagined that long ago this had been where carriages would deposit their well-heeled occupants for one grand ball or another.

Harriet pulled to a stop outside the front door, which Saffron noticed was big enough to get an elephant through.

‘Now, I must just tell you about Daddy,' she started. ‘He's a bit . . .'

But before Harriet could finish, the door opened and two silky grey lurchers came bounding out. A trim, elegant woman appeared behind them on the step. Her blonde hair was styled immaculately, and she was dressed in a cashmere cardigan and expensive wool skirt.

‘Darling!' she cried, in a voice that could slice through diamonds.

Struggling to move in her thick quilted jacket, Harriet somehow got her foot caught in the seat belt and fell out of the car. Lady Frances Fraser winced.

‘Hello, Mummy!' said Harriet. Saffron watched as the two embraced warmly. Lady Fraser stepped back to look at her daughter.

‘Darling, haven't you been using that serum I sent you? Your hair looks dreadfully frizzy.'

Harriet rolled her eyes good-naturedly. ‘I didn't have time to blow-dry it this morning.'

Saffron made her way round to the other side of the car. She pulled her coat around her, trying to keep the cold out.

‘Mummy, this is my good friend Saffron Walden. Saffron, this is my mother, Frances.'

Saffron wondered briefly if she should curtsy, but decided on a smile instead.

‘Hi, Lady Fraser. Thank you so much for inviting me.'

The other woman smiled, revealing well-kept teeth. ‘Frances, please.' She stepped forward and delicately kissed Saffron on both cheeks. ‘Welcome to Clanfield Hall!'

‘Your father's out in the Land Rover. Something about poachers in one of the fields,' said Frances, as she led the two girls through to her private sitting room. ‘I don't expect he'll be too long.'

Saffron's eyes were out on stalks. This was like something from
To The Manor Born
! Every room they passed was easily as big as the whole of her aunt's house in Montague Mews. Tapestries and family portraits hung from every wall, while the stone floors were covered with huge, ornately woven rugs. Saffron would put money on them being fabulously expensive family heirlooms.

Despite the wood panelling, dark portraits and a suit of armour at the bottom of the imposing staircase, Clanfield Hall definitely had a woman's touch. Vases of flowers stood in every room, while Frances's sitting room was elegant but comfy with pale-pink striped wallpaper and heavy cream curtains. A large watercolour of the Hall hung over the fireplace, where someone had just lit a fire. Saffron guessed that would not have been Lady Fraser.

‘Mrs Bantry just laid the fire,' said Frances. ‘Ambrose hasn't put the heating on yet, I'm afraid.' She gestured to an immaculately upholstered sofa.

‘Do sit down.'

Saffron sank down, as close to the fire as she could get. The house was freezing.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,' Frances called. A tall, trim man in a pristine butler's uniform entered. Saffron couldn't believe it: they really did have a butler!

‘Hawkins,' said Frances.

‘Lady Fraser?'

‘We'd like a pot of tea, please.'

Frances looked at the two girls.

‘Was there anything else?'

‘Ooh, I wonder if there's any of Cook's homemade shortbread?' asked Harriet eagerly. Her mother looked disapproving, but didn't say anything.

‘I believe the requested items are already waiting for you in the kitchen.'

‘Good old Cookster! They're world-famous, you know,' she told Saffron.

Hawkins gave a ghost of a smile as he exited the room as noiselessly as he had come in.

A few minutes later, they were seated round the fire drinking sweet, hot tea from bone china mugs. Cook's biscuits had indeed lived up to their reputation. Saffron had just had her fourth, but refrained from dunking them like she normally did.

‘Did your Christmas party go well?' Frances asked. Saffron noticed that, even sitting down, she had the elegant, upright poise of a ballerina.

A memory of Thomas head-butting the Christmas pudding swam into Harriet's mind. ‘Yes thanks, Mummy.' She changed the subject. ‘How are things here?'

‘Oh, the usual. Your father's latest thing is driving round bawling out any hapless ramblers that stray on to the estate. I really think he needs to get a new hobby. He's been rather trying to live with since he decided he was too old to carry on shooting.'

‘I'm sure that won't last, Daddy lives for his shooting trips in Scotland!'

Saffron, who couldn't even kill a spider if she found it in her room, wasn't sure if she liked the sound of Sir Ambrose Fraser.

Frances noticed her face. ‘We must be painting a dreadful picture!' she laughed. ‘It's not like that at all. Ambrose is just rather set in his ways and . . .'

A door slammed somewhere in the building, and footsteps headed their way. The closer they got, the more they sounded as if the person who was making them was stamping. Saffron found she was holding her breath. Frances and Harriet looked at each other.

‘Oh dear, it doesn't sound like Daddy's in a very good mood,' said Harriet.

Just then the door flew open, bringing with it a cold gust of air and a very muddy black and white dog.

‘Ambrose!' Frances exclaimed. ‘Get Sailor out. I don't want her jumping all over the furniture.'

‘Get, girl! Sailor, OUT.' Tail wagging furiously, the dog scampered away.

Sir Ambrose Fraser stood in the middle of the room, clad in a pair of plus fours and a waxed jacket. Beneath the red face and watery blue eyes were the unmistakable high cheekbones of the aristocracy. He had the look of someone who'd had a lot of outdoor living and even more whisky. He was much older than Frances; Saffron would have put him in his late seventies. He also looked distinctly grumpy.

‘Bloody vermin, crawling all over my land!'

Harriet jumped up. ‘Daddy!'

Sir Ambrose Fraser's eyes swivelled on to his daughter, as if he hadn't realized she was there.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you weren't back until the twenty-second.'

‘It is the twenty-second,' Frances told him patiently. ‘I reminded you yesterday morning that Harriet was coming.'

‘What's that? Well, I can't remember.'

‘You probably weren't listening.'

‘Humph,' said Ambrose. He turned to Harriet. ‘Let's have a look at you, then!'

Harriet ran across and flung her arms around him. ‘It's so good to see you!'

‘Good grief, girl, you almost knocked me over,' Ambrose said, but his face had softened. Over Harriet's shoulder, he noticed Saffron. ‘Who's this?'

Frances rolled her eyes. ‘This is Harriet's friend, Saffron Walden. She's staying for Christmas. I did tell you all of this.'

‘Saffron Walden? As in the village? Nice little place; I've hunted with the Cambridgeshire over there a few times.'

Saffron smiled sweetly. ‘I'm really not sure. I think my dad named me after a boat.'

Ambrose looked her up and down, taking in the skin-tight jeans, peroxide hair and black pixie boots. ‘Are you in one of these God-awful rock groups? I won't have you playing your bloody guitar all hours of the day and night, it'll send the dogs mad.'

‘Ambrose!'

‘Oh, Daddy.'

His eyes glinted mischievously. ‘Settle down, I was only pulling her leg.' He stuck out a hand. ‘How do you do?'

Saffron grinned. Despite her earlier reservations, she thought she might rather like Sir Ambrose Fraser.

After a tour of the Hall, including the kitchens and an introduction to the revered Cook, Harriet showed Saffron up to her room. It was huge, with a high ceiling, four-poster bed, and an impressive fireplace. A pair of unseen hands, most probably Hawkins's, had brought up Saffron's bag. A vase of freshly cut winter flowers stood on the dressing table.

‘That'll be Mummy,' said Harriet fondly. ‘She likes all our guests to have flowers in their rooms.'

Despite the grandeur Saffron shivered.
This place was bloody freezing!

‘It is a bit chilly,' said Harriet apologetically. ‘Daddy doesn't like putting on the heating unless it's completely necessary, says it's a waste of money.'

‘It's D-d-december,' said Saffron. Her teeth were chattering.

Harriet smiled. ‘Never fear, Mummy's persuaded him to put it on tonight. Now, your bathroom is next door, and I'm just down the hall. Shall I come and knock on your door for dinner?'

‘Cool,' said Saffron. ‘I didn't pack my ball gown,' she added, only half-joking.

‘You don't have to dress up,' Harriet laughed. ‘Stay as you are, I think Daddy was rather taken with your outfit.'

Dinner was served at eight o'clock precisely in the dining room. Saffron had expected it to be a stuffy affair, but it was rather more informal, with Frances bringing in the plates herself on a silver tray from the kitchen. Saffron noticed hers had more on it than everyone else's; Cook had obviously taken in her slender frame and decided to feed her up. Thankfully, it seemed Ambrose had stuck to his word and the radiators were on, although Saffron was still wearing three vests under her jumper.

‘I've sent Cook home early tonight, she looks as if she could do with a rest,' announced Frances.

‘Cook has been with us ever since I was little,' Harriet told Saffron. ‘She's almost like a grandmother to me.'

Frances took a sip of wine. ‘I think that's the only reason she stays on.'