The summer wedding, p.64
The Summer Wedding, page 64
‘I’ll get the cold-fingered bastard!’ shouted a deep voice.
Terrified, Haff fled, racing across the lawns towards the safety of the stable yard.
Chapter 54
When Hope had shown her new babysitter around Red Gables earlier that evening she’d reminded Chloe vividly of her younger self, trotting from room to room in the big, chaotic house, explaining her parents’ ambitious plans and reducing Chloe to tears of laughter more than once with her own ideas of how to enhance the space: ‘Daddymon wants oat panelling and packet floors, and Mummy and me want a Disney Princess ballroom with furniture that talks and lots of sandal ears.’
‘You mean chandeliers?’
Most of the rooms in the extraordinary house were still uninhabitable. On the ground floor, the Demons appeared to live in the huge kitchen and one bombsite of a makeshift office. Chloe was hardly surprised Laney escaped to the boathouse so often.
‘Mummy’s computitator got dropped in the river yesterday,’ Hope had explained sadly. ‘She said she lost all her work, but the dog saved Dalrymple.’
Chloe had stared at her in shock, then turned to look at Kensington and Chelsea, who’d panted up at her. ‘What dog?’
But Hope didn’t know and was much keener to talk about ponies. Once she’d settled her in bed, Chloe wandered around the kitchen and office, glancing half-heartedly at the piles of papers and clutter in case anything doggy jumped out, but she had no real enthusiasm for the task. She felt like a common thief. She knew that she had struck a deal with her father, and he would be proud that she had got into Red Gables already with an opportunity to snoop, but she suspected that his story about Laney taking the film script without his permission was not the whole picture. Iris certainly didn’t seem to think so. Now she’d had a look, she could stop, she told herself. That was all she’d promised to do.
The storm was breaking at last, thunder seeming to shake the house around her, the sky lighting up outside. Standing in the Demons’ kitchen, she found herself plunged into darkness.
With no idea of the geography of the room, she walked straight into the big peninsula, almost winding herself. She felt along the shelves and drawers for a torch, fingers cautious in case she encountered glasses or sharp knives. In a drawer full of napkin rings, her hand closed around what felt like a small model animal.
The lights came on.
Chloe was holding a black plastic dog. She already knew that if she pulled at each end it would come apart to reveal a flash drive. She wanted to stuff it back into the drawer, but she could imagine her father’s face wreathed with pride, his bear hug, his undivided attention on her for the first time in months and his open acknowledgement as he collected his Best Comedy Oscar that he owed it ‘all to my clever daughter, Chlo, a chip off the old block’. And she remembered the terms of their deal. She couldn’t back out. She needed his help too badly.
She’d just plugged the back end of the dog into her tablet’s USB drive and was clicking her way through to its contents to copy them when Hope appeared, woken by the thunder. ‘I’m frightened. What are you looking at? Can I stay?’
She hurriedly crammed the tablet into her duffel bag and held out an arm. ‘Would you like some hot chocolate?’
‘Are you going to have a gin and tonic? Mummy always has a gin and tonic when I have hot chocolate. She says it’s what grown-ups do.’
‘I think I’ll have a hot chocolate too.’
‘Are you not grown-up yet then?’
‘I don’t feel very grown-up right now,’ she admitted.
Five minutes later they were cuddled up together on the kitchen sofa with the dogs when Laney and Simon stumbled in, far earlier than Chloe had expected, sopping wet and kissing like teenagers. Simon tried to hide his frustration when he realised the babysitter had not only failed to get their child to sleep, but also needed driving home.
‘Where’s Malin?’
‘Self-defence class,’ Laney said, rushing across to kiss Hope. ‘I’ll take you straight up to bed, my darling.’ She threw her arms round her sleepy daughter while Simon let out a deep sigh, clearly having hoped such a statement would be directed at him.
He was as charming as ever, driving Chloe back to the Obelisk, asking her about university and her placements, telling her how marvellous it was to see her at Red Gables at last. ‘I think it’s absolutely wonderful that you’re getting to know Hope,’ he said, as they chased the storm. ‘Laney’s so thrilled. It’s broken her heart that you two haven’t been close.’
‘She’s a nice kid.’
‘So’s her big sister. I hope we see a lot more of you. We’re just coming through a bit of a tough patch.’ He cleared his throat. ‘This is a real icing-on-the-cake thing for Laney, you and Hope making friends. She works so hard and she gets very few breaks. I’m tremendously proud of her.’
Suddenly Chloe saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks. She pretended not to have noticed, uncertain what to do. ‘Mind that tree,’ she pointed out helpfully as they started to weave around on the Obelisk’s long drive.
‘Sorry.’ Simon laughed, mopping his face with his cuffs. ‘It’s the Russian ancestry.’ He fell back on the old de Montmorency myth as standby, a family tree which Chloe knew was as artifical as a plastic fir hung with baubles at Christmas, but which the public still adored, herself included. ‘We all cry. You only have to watch Chekhov, Chloe – in fact, I recommend you do. Three Sisters is a real nail-biter.’
Chloe thought guiltily about the dog’s bottom still plugged into the tablet. She reached inside her duffel bag and her fingers closed around it, but she couldn’t bring herself to hand it back, terrified that if she confessed to stealing, the Demons might stop her seeing Hope again.
Instead she leapt from the car with a gruff farewell as soon as they reached the Obelisk, running through the pelting rain. Then, waiting for the lift, she looked back at the tail lights of the Demons’ car: if a man cried because he was so proud of her, she knew she would have found true love.
She summoned Skype on her tablet as soon as she was inside. It was lunchtime in LA and he was online on his cell phone.
‘Dad, I’ve found it.’
‘Already? You star! The car’s yours.’
‘I said I didn’t want a new car. You already gave me what I want.’ She looked out of the huge windows to the garage hangar where a large, high-sided white trailer was now parked, its contents protected from the elements by tarpaulins and bungees. The weather could ruin everything, she thought, looking down at the maps on the table in front of her. ‘But I do need something else.’
‘New teeth? Boob job? Name it.’
‘I want credit where credit’s due, Dad.’
‘Wow.’ Griff fell back against the pillows.
‘Wow,’ Iris agreed breathlessly.
Exhausted, they lay side by side, sweat cooling on their chests, hearts slowing towards normal.
‘Poor old Ptolemy, missing out on that,’ chuckled Griff. ‘I’d take mortality any time.’ It was intended as a joke, referring to the cruel twist in the Ptolemy Finch movies whereby the boy hero risked losing his immortality if he kissed his comely sidekick, but to Iris it was a reminder of everything she longed to forget.
She lay in silence staring at the ceiling before turning her back to him.
‘What is it?’
‘You did not just sleep with Purple, Griff. You slept with me.’
‘I know, Iris.’ He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. It was supposed to be funny.’
‘Well, it wasn’t.’
There was another long pause.
‘You know it’s not Purple I’m falling in love with,’ he said quietly.
Her heart thundered far louder than the passing storm, lightning flashing in her head. Love. He felt it too, and he was brave enough to say it out loud, her lion-hearted Griff. As she turned to kiss him, her phone rang on the bedside table.
‘Leave it.’ He kissed her deeper.
‘It might be Chloe.’ She wriggled away to snatch it up before it cut out.
‘I love you with all my heart, Riz.’ It was Dougie’s languid voice. ‘I can’t bear how bad life feels without you. I’ll do anything to have you back. Please don’t forget that.’
She hung up and switched off her phone.
‘Was it Chloe?’ Griff asked, lifting his head.
‘Voicemail service,’ she said quickly.
As Griff enfolded her in a muscular arm, she curled tightly into him, loving how protected she felt, yet riddled with confusion.
Chapter 55
On the morning of the gala, Haff was woken just after seven by a phone call from Mia in tears. ‘Where are you?’ she sobbed.
‘Good question.’ He looked around blearily, then remembered he’d ended up in the Wootton horsebox after some confusion involving a man chasing him from the Folly insisting he was a ghost.
‘I need you!’ Mia was sobbing.
Haff sat up in bed and groaned. Typical! The beautiful Mrs Devonshire had finally come to the boil when he had spent the night alternating between a back-breakingly uncomfortable mattress and sitting on a chemical loo. His body ached so much, he could barely move. ‘Ssh, cariña.’ He wondered if he was capable of standing up. ‘I am not far away.’
‘We’ve lost two quadrille riders!’
He made it up on the third attempt, then sat down in shock as he took in what she was saying. ‘There has been an accident?’
‘Kerri Hughes has just phoned me. The Daily News is running a story today accusing her husband of having an affair with Gabby Santos da Costa. All hell’s broken loose her end. There are paparazzi everywhere.’
‘So? They can still ride. I stand on podium for team bronze between two warring mistresses and it was all good.’
‘Of course they can’t ride, Haff! It’s a disaster. We’ll have to pull it and you can do a longer ridden display or something.’
‘It will go ahead as planned. Leave it with me.’ He hurried outside, grunting and groaning as he tracked down Vicente, who was in the stallion barn mixing breakfast feeds. ‘You and I will ride the quadrille, mi amigo.’ He explained the crisis. ‘We will take the places of Kerri and Gabby. We both know the routine. Nobody will spot the difference.’
Vicente looked doubtful, glancing down at his chest and then across at Haff’s, but he nodded. ‘You are the boss.’
He phoned Mia straight back to announce that the problem was solved. ‘¡Feliz cumpleaños!’
Mia laughed. ‘That has indeed made my birthday much happier already. You are magnificent, Haff. And I’m sure you’ll look very dashing in a fiesta dress.’
He shuddered. ‘I am red-blooded Mediterranean. We’re not like your British men who like to dress up as ladies at every opportunity. I will phone around for campero costume.’
‘Don’t get much camper than a frilly dress, chuck,’ Mia teased, then agreed to phone Sylva Rafferty and get her to Wootton quickly so that the new line-up could rehearse together before the guests started arriving.
Haff stretched his stiff legs by taking his presentation notes and the slide show to the marquee where the computer geeks were setting up, then marched to the Folly to have a much-needed shower and pick up his breeches and boots.
He went straight to the bathroom, failing to notice the couple asleep behind the muslin on the sleeping platform.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ Griff yawned, ‘but the ghost is having a shower now. Listen. He’s moaning in pain.’
‘That’s a Spanish flamenco song,’ Iris corrected, sitting up groggily. She’d fallen asleep with her phone beneath her cheek and it had switched itself back on. It was flashing with a text message.
I love you with all my heart, Riz. xxx
She deleted it. There was another text, this time from her mother, demanding to know where she was and asking if she or her new friend could pick up some hats urgently that morning, then call in at the Burley deli for twenty croissants, and eggs for the torrijas that Jacinta insisted were cooked in Leo’s honour. However many crises raged around her, Mia Devonshire was in full-throttle, multi-tasking gala-hostess mode. Two last-min subs needed for quadrille, she had added as a PS. Can you two vacate the Folly so that one of them can fetch his breeches?
Then she spotted the silk pyjamas poking out from beneath the pillow. ‘Oh, fuck.’ She turned to Griff, horrified. ‘The ghost is a house-guest.’
The previous night’s storm had left the gardens at Wootton sparkling, as though they had been pressure-washed and glossed especially for the gala.
Overnight, discreet signs had sprung up guiding guests along the back lane to the rear entrance, where a security team was already in place, ensuring that nobody entered without an invitation or a pass.
Returning from Henley in the Devonshires’ huge off-roader, which had all the fashion-show hats and accessories piled in the back, Griff was forced to phone Iris for a pass. A few minutes later, she limped up with a luminous pink wrist tag and climbed in beside him. ‘Apparently we have to wear one of these at all times.’ She strapped it around his broad wrist. ‘Sylva Rafferty’s handbag dog had already eaten both hers and the Rock Godfather’s and puked them up in a potted bay, but I don’t suppose anybody’s going to throw them out for not showing their ID.’
Griff ignored a parking steward, who was shrugging on a luminous tabard and waving at him to a field, and drove to the arrivals bay by the stable yard instead. To their left Pete Rafferty’s helicopter was sitting in one of the paddocks like a huge, shiny black insect, the first of several destined to land that day.
‘He is a total Ptolemy Finch freak.’ Iris groaned. ‘I was so relieved you called. I couldn’t get away.’
The ageing rocker’s fury that he’d been asked to pilot his wife from the Cotswolds to Wootton early for an emergency rehearsal had been soothed by meeting Iris. A huge fan, he’d been entranced to find himself guided round the Wootton gardens by Purple herself.
‘I was trying to text Chloe,’ Iris fretted, ‘but he kept grabbing my hand and telling me he wants to write a new album based on the books. I ended up sending texts to half my address book asking them to call me urgently. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing. The only one who hasn’t called back is Chloe. I think she’s up to something.’
‘She’s probably still asleep.’ Griff yawned, wishing he himself was. A night of non-stop sex had left him woolly-headed and sluggish. But even with his senses dimmed, he was aware that Iris was unusually jumpy and excitable, and he had a suspicion it was to do with last night’s late phone call.
He followed behind as she jumped from the car to meet the quadrille riders returning from their run-through. She patted her mother’s horse and fed him mints from her pocket, then apologised, blushing, to Haff for taking over the Folly and thinking he was a ghost. ‘You and Vicente are so brilliant, stepping in at the last minute to ride. Are you really going to wear dresses?’
Griff longed for his own heroic mission as an opportunity to prove himself to the Devonshires as the rightful pretender to Iris’s heart. So far they’d treated him with polite indifference, clearly thinking he was Iris’s summer distraction while she recovered from the Dougie heartbreak. But his blood was up and he was determined to make his mark.
Incredibly fresh, Scully was dancing on the spot and snatching at his bit, and Mia was struggling to make him stand still enough for her to jump down. She was wearing the pendant Iris had given her for her birthday, Griff noticed, its green opal glinting in the sunlight. He stepped forward to hold the horse.
