The Sweetness of Liberty James (20 page)

‘Indeed,' responded Jonathan, ‘but until your mother started helping them by making their cakes they only sold bad scones and old teacakes with watery tea. They had been losing money for years, but carried on, as they enjoyed the gossip and wanted to be part of the village. Neither Gwen nor Paul had any interest
in cooking at all, and were going to have to close until, as I said, your mother helped out. I bet you don't even charge them for your cakes, or for using your name to advertise, do you?' He looked quizzically at Deirdre.

‘Well, no, but Gwen is so lovely, and she was a little desperate. She thought they were moving here to enjoy the quiet life, until her beast of a husband told her she was to start a tea room, when she could barely cook fish fingers for her kids. They have been here for a while, and he was blaming her for the slow trade. I couldn't imagine them sitting looking at each other all day in their tiny cottage, until one of them decided to murder the other with an old iron railing, just for something to do after watching two hundred reruns of
Midsomer Murders
.'

‘You strange woman,' was Jonathan's only response to this. ‘Anyway, I decided Gwen might be the perfect waitress to help with your café. The locals all like her, and she would pull them in before they had time to moan about change and the way things have always been done. And she is really good with customers. She can be trusted, and she works very hard. She is only in her late fifties, and although I disagree with your mother that murder is the only alternative, I'm not sure she could sit at home with that husband of hers either! She definitely wants to carry on working.'

‘But what about their tea room?' asked Liberty, her brow furrowing.

‘Well, I have thought for a while that the village needs more independent shops and a young chap who used to be in wine, supplying restaurants in town, has shown an interest in opening a fine wine shop. The property would lend itself better to being a shop, whereas this place is much more atmospheric. He will sell online as well – he has already set that part up and it is doing well – but he gets fed up on his own, sitting in an office with just a computer and warehouse. He is in the business park just outside Wadhurst, and would love to be among people again. We think the holiday rental cottage people would use him. They
always seem to have oodles of spare cash, and we know some of the villagers have an interest in wine.' And at that he glanced at Deirdre.

‘
Moi
? I never drink! Well, not on my own. Well, not more than a glass with supper – and maybe one after work, well . . .' And she went quiet, blushing an attractive burgundy.

‘Anyway, let's look around the rest of the place,' said Liberty to save her mother's embarrassment.

There was a good-sized cloakroom (‘Loos are always so important,' said Liberty) and a good-sized storeroom at the back, ideal for baking ingredients, coffee beans and teas, and two rooms upstairs with a bathroom. There was also a lovely courtyard at the back. With a bit of jiggling, tables could be put outside during the summer. It was walled and had some good planting.
It's not ideal to live over the shop, but I could stay here until I find a cottage
, she thought.
It could be extremely pretty, lots of pots, that sort of thing, and some decent chairs and tables
. An ancient apple tree drooped in one corner and a wisteria clambered over the back of the building. ‘It must be lovely in summer,' she said out loud.

As they exited by the front door, Jonathan told Liberty to turn around. She stood in front of her restaurant-to-be and looked. Yes, she loved it. She now noticed that a wisteria also climbed up the front and over the bay windows. It covered an old sign with the original butcher's name painted on it, and she thought of getting the local blacksmith to make a sign that could swing over the door.

‘Right, you love it, and you are about to love it even more,' said Jonathan. ‘Take a look next door.'

‘The shop?'

‘No, the other way.'

Along the right-hand side of the building was a narrow alley, and on the other side of that a low wall enclosing the front garden of a stone cottage. In the centre of the wall that ran along the lane a pretty white gate opened on to a box-lined stone path
that led up to the front door, painted a lovely gleaming green.

Bay windows on the ground floor flanked the door symmetrically, and upstairs were other windows with what looked like eyebrows, as the cottage had been recently thatched. A sweet array of birds and animals had been added to the thatch. Aran, the thatcher, had been so chuffed with himself – it was his first job after being an apprentice for years – that when he finished the work he decided to add them to all his roofs as his signature. ‘He adds them as his calling card, apart from on those where the owners don't pay on time,' Deirdre told Liberty.

‘Why are we looking at it?' Liberty asked a beaming Jonathan, who was feeling rather smug.

‘This,' he explained, ‘is Duck End, so named because it is located in what used to be the wet end of the village, where the ducks would naturally come before humans re-routed and made village greens with ponds for cattle and livestock to graze and drink on. It was where the sheep used to be washed too.' He smiled at the two bemused women. ‘It is also for sale!'

The front garden was neatly laid out in four squares, surrounded by lavender, each divided into triangles of roses, which had to be exquisite in summer. Two huge pots sat by the front door. They seemed to contain hydrangeas, but were covered with fleece as frost protection. Over the porch rambled honeysuckle and winter jasmine.

‘I've always thought it the prettiest cottage,' said Deirdre. ‘Everyone who comes to the school says it's like the dream country house, but what about the delightful'– she made little air quotes at this point for Jonathan's benefit –‘Sabrina and Neville? They spent a fortune doing it up as a second home, and I haven't seen them for ages.'

Jonathan was by now looking smugger than ever. ‘They have now fallen in love with Marbella, and have decided they prefer the sun to quaint village life, which as you know they never embraced, so they have visited only twice, both times coinciding with our hunt ball, which, as villagers, they get an automatic
invitation to, although goodness knows why they would want to attend. They always seemed so uncomfortable.'

Deirdre was giggling despite the cold, remembering the tiny gold-sequined dress that Sabrina had worn to one of Jonathan's balls. ‘She was so cold, poor dear, we had to wrap her in a duvet.'

Jonathan was rather sensitive to the temperature of his ancient home and blustered on. ‘They rang last week to ask me to recommend an estate agent, and if it would be all right to put up a for sale sign. I told them we probably need not bother with the sign, and since your mother's call, I think I was right, hmm?'

‘Oh, yes, oh my God, yes!' Liberty was totally overwhelmed. ‘When can I see it?'

‘I happen to have the keys in my pocket.'

An hour later the three of them were sitting with steaming cups of coffee and sour cream cake at Deirdre's kitchen table, with Dijon drooling by the Aga, hopeful for a piece, and Custard far more obvious, sitting beside Jonathan's chair gazing wistfully up at his fingers. They chatted about how miraculous it was that so many events had made possible the perfect starting point for Liberty, and all in Littlehurst.

‘If I didn't know better, I would think you had planned all this!' Liberty was trembling with excitement. Duck End was a dream come true. Take out all the suits of armour in the hall, the vast flat-screen TVs above the fireplaces and the zebra rugs, and it was simply stunning. Sabrina and Neville Smythe (everyone in the village knew they had changed their surname from Smith to Smythe to make themselves sound smarter, as Miss Scally, the doctor's receptionist and serious gossip, had gleefully told them so), despite having appalling taste and little time for locals, did have heaps of money, with which they wanted to make their home their castle and show it off to all their city friends. Encouraged by Jonathan, who intimidated them slightly as they saw him as Lord of the Manor, they had employed the best local joiner, stonemason and builder, to bring Duck End out of dereliction after being lived in by the same family for 150 years. The workmen had re-coved
and pointed cornices, wired and plumbed. The original flagstone floors had been left untouched throughout the ground floor, and there was a huge family kitchen, a dining room, a small office and a sunny sitting room downstairs. Upstairs were five good sized bedrooms and three vast bathrooms. Modern comforts of underfloor heating upstairs and a new Aga helped the house to feel cosy, but the games and cinema room they had put in the cellar could be stripped out and the room turned into a bakery with some decent ventilation. Without the silver wallpaper and bright red lacquered walls which made the dining room look like a bordello, and the pink marble kitchen, it would be a heavenly home. Most of the horrors were in the furnishings, and they would leave with the unfortunate Smythes, who had never fitted into village life.

‘I just need to know what the agents will value it at,' said Liberty. ‘I know the demand for commuter homes here is high, and that it will create a lot of interest; one look at the pretty facade in a magazine will see to that. I could imagine a bidding war, and I'm not sure I could compete. I have to be sensible and think of the café as well. I shall have to offer them the asking price and hope they really are desperate to leave.'

‘Well, I shall get Digby and Rest on to it,' said Jonathan, smiling. ‘They are good local agents, and sold it to the Smythes two years ago. They will advise. With the housing market as bad as it is, they would be unwise to turn down your offer. Do you need to release money from the house in London?'

Liberty explained that her previous home had been a gift from her in-laws, and therefore she had no claim. But she had her savings, and there would be no problem.

As Jonathan rose to leave he said, ‘It's so lovely to have you here again. Savannah will be thrilled to hear you are back. We may even get her over for Christmas. Although, she is now living in the Middle East, and Khalid, her husband, seems a little reluctant to come. We will just have to persuade her that it's a good idea for the children to experience an English Christmas.'

‘Oh, my goodness me!' exclaimed Liberty. ‘In all the excitement I forgot to ask after her. I must catch up on all her news, and on Gray, as all Grahame's friends called him and I suppose they still do.'

‘Well, then, do come for supper this evening. Mrs Goodman will be delighted to have people to cook for rather than my usual omelette. See you at eight.'

With that he stood, kissed them both and left by the back door to walk back through his park, leaving Custard thoroughly put out and hungry.

‘Here, darlings,' said Deirdre as she placed a piece of cake in each of their bowls. ‘Isn't he a sweetheart?'

‘Yes, he really is. Any romance there? You seem very close.'

‘Yes, too close – he is more of a brother than a possible lover. He was so good to me after your father left, making sure I didn't hear any of the local gossip, and trying to stop the more insulting stories. He enabled me to stay in the village without feeling like a leper. So many of my girlfriends whose husbands went off had to move away from their family homes where they had happy memories of bringing up children, and so on, as they seemed a threat. Single women and friends who had often had them for a meal, or parties, abandoned them in case they flirted or took their husbands, and all that after fighting to keep the house they had lovingly looked after for years. Your father was always very gracious, letting me stay here with no question of my having to buy him out.

‘Now, we do have more important things to discuss. You may have no need of Percy's money, but you will have to contact him and let him know what is going on. How long has it been since you spoke to him?'

‘Three months,' replied Liberty wearily. ‘Must we talk about this on such a very happy day?'

‘Just phone him, leave a message and see if he gets back to you. Or at the very least, email.'

17

Back in London, Percy was amazed to see Liberty's mobile number light up on his BlackBerry – so amazed that he didn't pick it up. He had to collect his thoughts before speaking to her. He knew he must control himself and not do what he felt like, which was to give the bloody bitch a tongue-lashing. He had been humiliated by her, by the hotel manager in Florence, and humbled by his parents. After Liberty had met with them, he had been summoned to their home, and although in Liberty's eyes Isabelle had been against the separation, she had been very harsh with Percy. After dismissing Cecil with a wave of her hand in case she lost her nerve, the over-indulgent mother, realising she had raised a spoilt, selfish and self-indulgent son, decided it was time to point out his faults.

‘You do realise that you treated her very badly. We had always only wanted what is best for you both, and didn't interfere, even when you lived with us, but you really treated her like a trophy wife, and abused her willing nature. You simply didn't respect her and certainly did not appreciate her for who she is and what she is capable of.'

Percy was fully aware of this. Since his sister had died he had always felt the pressure to do the right thing, earn oodles of dosh to keep the old family seat from crumbling and find a wife to breed with. He had managed the earning oodles bit, but as far as a wife and children were concerned, he really just wanted to have fun. When he met Liberty she was so stunning that he had instantly fallen in lust, and he realised that she would be an asset to his family. He had thought that she would toe the line, enjoy
the lifestyle he could give her, and be there when he needed her. When exactly it became more of an ‘I don't want anyone else to have this gorgeous creature' situation he wasn't sure, but he knew in his gut that before his wedding day, he was fooling himself if he thought that a family life was for him. But because he couldn't bear the idea of Liberty being with someone else, he married her anyway, made her ‘his'. However, since she had left him, he had realised how good she was for his business, how many of his colleagues said he was crazy to let her go.