Rumours (29 page)

Stella

Xander read and reread the letter. He folded it carefully and placed it on the coffee table, next to his glass of water. He sat there awhile and thought, if I looked in the mirror, I'd see I'm smiling.

Christ, he didn't want to know what time it was now. He took the letter and the water upstairs with him. His bedside light was on. He read the letter once more, switched off the light and settled himself for sleep.

Then he laughed out loud and said into the silence, ‘But you didn't leave your number, you daft mare.'

But you know where she lives, came the reply.

‘She'll kill us,' Juliet said to Alistair while he patted shaving foam onto his face. ‘I don't think it's right – I think we should warn her. I mean, I know if she's forewarned the risk is she won't come – but I still think it's unfair.'

Alistair looked at his wife then looked in the mirror and slicked his razor down his cheek; the swipe of smooth pink skin as satisfying as a path cleared from pristine snow. He swilled his razor under the hot tap and continued to shave, giving his wife a thoughtful ‘hmm' at regular intervals while she fretted. Splashing his face with cool water, he then pressed a towel across it and, in the soothing cotton, he thought about it.

‘It'll be me she wants to kill,' he said, while Juliet sluiced his bristles down the plughole. ‘Rupert is my contact. You're in the clear.'

‘But you're Stella's big brother – she trusts you.'

‘Exactly,' said Alistair. ‘And it's not like we're staging some intervention, it's not like we're going to force her into an arranged marriage there and then. It's only a dinner party. It's only a regular Saturday night. There'll be others there – she knows the Hendersons and the Griffins. Tell you what, sit her by me and sit Rupert opposite her.'

‘But then it won't go girl-boy-girl-boy!' Juliet protested as if to abuse the seating plan was unthinkable. Alistair raised his eyebrows at her. ‘All right,' she grumbled. ‘I'll rethink it all. He's not vegetarian or anything, is he?'

‘He's normal,' said Alistair. ‘He's a nice guy – that's why I want my little sister to meet him.'

For the last few weeks, Saturday mornings had been given over to cricket and, with a play date organized for Will for afterwards, Stella had no time constraints for accompanying the Tompkins to Longbridge for their second visit. She'd thought about Xander over the last couple of days – often. But she wasn't waiting for him to call or spending time on fanciful imaginings of what might happen. As she'd said to Jo, she simply felt oddly euphoric that she'd had the courage to write that note and deliver it.

If I was Xander, said Jo, I'd be rereading it over and again, wondering how to respond. Take your time, Stella had said. Thanks babes, said Jo. And then they'd both become a little confused by their role play, as to who was who, and when had the other turned back into the real them. What Stella did know was that the laughter and fizz that all this had created was a lovely state to be in.

‘Come on, Will!' She didn't want him to be late for cricket and she absolutely couldn't be late for Lydia.

‘I'm just getting changed.'

‘You said that an hour ago.'

‘It's cricket – you have to be smart.'

You're seven years old – that's a contradiction in terms, thought Stella but she cooed when Will appeared in his whites with a big grin on his face and told her not to forget he was more than seven and a half.

‘We need some of that flower glump,' he said, trying to pat down an errant frond of hair which refused to lie smooth. ‘Like Lady Lydia Fortescue uses for royal children.'

‘I don't have any flowers,' said Stella, glancing at a potted orchid that had bloomed only the once but which she couldn't bring herself to throw away. ‘You can use some of Mummy's hairspray.'

‘No way!'

‘Just hurry up – you need your clothes for Luca's afterwards.'

‘I don't know where they are,' said Will.

‘Your clothes? You don't know where your
clothes
are?'

Will could never work out why his mother frequently sounded so incredulous about the things he said he didn't know about.

‘I'll get them,' she huffed, taking the stairs two at a time. They really needed to be going if they were to make it to cricket and Longbridge on time and unflustered. She must go to the toilet.

The doorbell rang just as she entered Will's room.

‘See this door?' she said to him. ‘It's a
cupboard
door and watch! We open it and – hey presto!
Clothes
! And guess what! They fit
you
! Well I never!'

There was now knocking at the door.

‘Maybe it's the postman with my Lego Hero Factory!' Will said.

‘Go and answer it, pumpkin. I'll get your stuff. I must go to the loo before we go. You too, Will.'

Will slithered down the stairs on his bottom, praying that the Danish gods were looking kindly upon him.

But it wasn't the postman.

‘Mummy?'

No answer.

‘
Mummy
!'

‘I'm on the loo,' Stella's voice came hollering down. She'd forgotten all about postmen.

‘She's on the loo,' Will told Xander.

‘Yes,' said Xander, ‘I think the whole street heard.'

‘My mum says that going to the loo when you really really need it is one of life's pleasures.'

Xander looked at Will. ‘Does she now?' He laughed.

‘Yes,' said Will. ‘Hopefully it will put her in a good mood because she's always grumpy when she's in a rush.'

‘Well, I'd better not hang around then – I don't want to make you late.'

‘Bye! I'm going to cricket and then to Luca's. Bye!'

‘Bye, Will.'

‘Bye! PS – I still have that napkin!'

‘Good – keep hold of it.'

‘I will!' said Will. ‘I am!' said Will. He thought about it. ‘I! Am! Will!'

Xander laughed. ‘Just tell your mum I called on the off chance – OK?'

Will saluted. Xander saluted back. And then he went.

‘Right,' said Stella, pulling up at the cricket club. ‘Have you forgotten anything?'

‘Don't think so,' said Will.

‘Good,' said Stella. She parked and gave Will a squeeze as they walked from the car. ‘Sorry to rush you, poppet. I don't like having to work on Saturdays.'

‘That's OK. Oh!'

‘Oh God – what have your forgotten?'

‘I forgot to tell you – it wasn't my Lego at the door.'

‘The door?' She'd quite forgotten. Then she remembered. ‘It'll come on Monday – I'm sure of it.' Stella was now bundling him up towards the cricket pitches which were strewn with white-clad boys in little squiggles, like scatters of spring lambs in a vast meadow. She'd never make it to Long Dansbury in quarter of an hour. She'd have to phone Lydia. And the Tompkins. She'd phone the Tompkins first. No, Lydia first.

‘It was Xander.'

His mum was suddenly silent, now standing stock-still, staring at him.

‘What?'

‘At the door – I forgot to tell you. It was Xander at the door, not the postman. We had a chat. But then you were rushing and I'm sorry – I only just remembered.'

‘Xander was at
our
door?'

‘When you were on the loo – remember?' His mum was still staring at him. ‘I told him you were on the loo and he said the whole street heard. Anyway, I think he just said to tell you he came over. Sorry.' Why was she standing so still? Wasn't she in a rush any more? He dragged her towards the grass. ‘Bye, Mum. There's Luca's mum.'

‘Bye, darling.'

My mum sounds like she's turned into a robot.

Will scampered off, turning to wave. Then he remembered. ‘Mum!' he yelled. ‘I remembered! Xander didn't say to tell you he came over. He said it was an off chance. Something like that. Bye!'

And the grown-ups turned to look at Stella. They all noted her eyes glinting and wide, the blush blooming her cheeks, and they all thought, who's Xander, Stella! And when she gave Luca's mum the bag with Will's clothes in it, Luca's mum raised her eyebrow and said, Xander eh!

* * *

Though Stella drove sensibly to Longbridge, it felt as if she was breaking the speed limit because suddenly everything seemed super-fast. Her heartbeat, her rattle of thoughts, the replay of Xander's message. The zip of excitement, of anticipation, of wondering – what did he want, what did he want! The bare brilliant fact that he really had come to her house, on the off chance. What was the off chance? She squeaked it all out to Jo, who finally phoned her back just as she was turning up the driveway at Longbridge.

‘I have to go – the Bentley's here already,' Stella laughed, overlooking the fact that she hadn't mentioned the Tompkins or their car to Jo.

There was no one outside. She skipped up the stone steps, patting one of the lions as she went, and rang the doorbell. Her prayers were answered when it was Mrs Biggins who answered it.

‘I'm late!'

‘I know – and I wouldn't look so happy about it,' said Mrs Biggins who thought for a terrible moment the girl was going to hug her in greeting.

‘I'm not! I'm appalled!' said Stella with a Cheshire cat grin.

‘They're over in the Garden House,' said Mrs Biggins.

‘Shall I go there?'

‘Lady Lydia told me to tell you to wait here,' she said. Then she looked askance at Stella. ‘Cuppa?'

‘You are a star,' said Stella and Mrs Biggins liked it. She'd give her a rock cake too, she decided. She wasn't expecting Stella to follow her into the kitchen, but she didn't mind that she had. Stella watched as she made the tea.

‘Mrs Biggins – how long have you worked here?'

‘Since I was twenty-one. Almost fifty years. Lady Lydia tells everyone we're the same age – but there's seven years between us, in my favour. Sometimes I remind her of that.'

‘Wow – do you dare?'

Stella's remark wasn't catty, it was said in awe. ‘When she's frustrated,' Mrs Biggins told her. ‘When she can't open a sticky door, or a jar of pickles. When she found the old iron kettle heavy.' She paused, looking over at the new electric one that she always boiled when Lydia came into the kitchen, but rarely used. ‘When she feels the cold. That's when I say to her, I say, “Well, Lady Lydia – I
am
seven years younger than you.” I don't say she's seven years
older
than me, you see.'

‘I see,' said Stella. She sipped her tea and munched her rock cake, surprised that Mrs Biggins decided to join her in both. ‘Mrs Biggins, where will you go?'

‘Go?'

‘When Longbridge is—' Suddenly Stella couldn't say it out loud. It seemed so tactless, as if the plans were being kept secret from the bricks and mortar for the meantime.

Mrs Biggins ate thoughtfully. ‘Depends if Lady Lydia has need of a housekeeper, I reckon.'

‘She won't talk to me about where she sees herself, what type of property, which location – she keeps saying, “All in good time.” I worry – partly because I don't honestly know where someone goes, when they've lived their life in a place like this.'

‘Hard to imagine,' said Mrs Biggins. ‘Hard to imagine not being here. Me. Her. Any of us.'

‘What if the new people – whoever they might be – want you to stay on?'

Mrs Biggins looked at Stella as if the suggestion verged on barbaric. ‘It's the Fortescue family I work for,' she said. She looked at once uncomfortable and Stella felt bad.

‘Sorry – I didn't mean to offend you.' Mrs Biggins offered her another cake. ‘Will – my son – says hullo.'

‘Nice little lad – you take a cake for him.' And Mrs Biggins wrapped one in another napkin.

‘A piece of kitchen paper will do,' Stella assured her.

‘They're my rock cakes!' Mrs Biggins retorted. ‘Kitchen paper will
not
do.' And though she put her smile against her mug of tea as if it was the shape her mouth made when she was blowing on hot liquid, she winked at Stella all the same. For a split second, Stella had the urge to tell her about Xander. Just to say his name out loud. Perhaps chat about him. But she felt shy and she thought better of it and the two of them sat there and sipped until, minutes later, they heard Lydia rattling the front door, the bell chiming out.

Mrs Biggins tutted. ‘She knows the French doors are open – she does this on purpose.' And she huffed off to open the front door, with Stella following behind.

After profuse apologies brushed away by the Tompkins but sternly accepted by Lydia, Stella joined them for another tour of the house before she took the Tompkins off to see the stable courtyard. Lydia had said to her not to bother Clarence. He was under the weather, apparently. And she told Stella the Tompkins didn't have time to see the Lime Grove Cottages today, at which point Stella just stood there and grinned like an idiot.

‘I've offered to take them next week,' Lydia told her.

‘I can do that,' Stella said, like an annoying, over-keen school goody-goody. ‘I can do that – let me!'

Lydia thought, what is wrong with the girl? She preferred Stella when she was deferential and sensible and behaving like a proper estate agent. She didn't even have a clipboard today – just the silly smile. And she was wearing the sort of pumps that used to be seen only on a tennis court.

Lydia took her leave of the Tompkins and nodded gravely at Stella. But she was quite taken aback when Stella found a moment out of earshot of the Tompkins to tell Lydia of three forthcoming viewings for the next week. It was suddenly apparent that for Lydia, the Tompkins were her favoured buyer.