Country Pursuits (33 page)

‘Don't be so fucking ungrateful,' Sabrina yelled. ‘It's not my fault you're a, you're a . . .' Before she knew it, another giggle burst out.

‘I am NOT a ginger.
Comprende?
' he bellowed again. By now hysterical with laughter, Sabrina fled the bathroom before he did serious damage to her with the spatula.

Two hours later, after she had spent the entire cab ride telling him redheads were sexy – ‘Think of the actor Damian Lewis, darling, half of London's dying to sleep with him' – Sebastian was just about talking to Sabrina by the time they'd reached the restaurant. Anticipation of the evening that lay
ahead had raised his spirits even more. His work colleague Charlie Simpson had just closed a lucrative business deal and, to celebrate, had booked Ramsay's coveted chef's table. As well as Sebastian and Sabrina, Charlie and his German wife Irina had invited Ferdinand Chatsfield, one of Charlie's polo-playing friends, and his new girlfriend, a stunning six-foot underwear model called Bunny. Sabrina was not good with competition; Sebastian knew she'd hate the model on sight.

They were met by the maître d' and led through the restaurant. Sabrina, tanned, tousled and immaculately made-up, was wearing a black cutaway dress by Julien McDonald that barely covered her gorgeous body. Revelling in the open-mouthed glances she was attracting as she pouted past a mirror, Sebastian caught sight of his own reflection in his new dark blue Oswald Boateng suit and smiled. He really was a handsome fellow! Ego fully restored, he strode through the restaurant, looking down his nose at those not so well-connected, handsome or rich enough to be able to sit at Gordon Ramsay's best table.

Then, suddenly, like an apparition in some awful nightmare, Benedict Towey was standing in front of him, wiping the corners of his mouth with a snow-white napkin. Sebastian, momentarily fazed, stood there, mouth agape. ‘What are
you
doing here?' he said eventually. A nasty taste found its way into his mouth as he remembered the bitter defeat meted out to him by Towey at the Save Churchminster Fun Run. The bastard!

‘Business dinner,' Benedict said coolly. ‘You?' He looked pointedly at Sabrina, who was now
smouldering provocatively at this mysterious, handsome stranger. God, he was gorgeous! She didn't think she'd seen such devastating good looks since an ex-boyfriend had made her watch
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
and she'd ended up lusting after a young Robert Redford. Next to this man, Sabrina thought with a stab of satisfaction, Sebastian looked positively ordinary. And the stranger really
was
a natural blond!

‘Hello, I'm Sabrina,' she purred.

‘Hello,' Benedict said, giving her a cursory once-over. He turned back to Sebastian, who by now was making a big show of looking round the room uninterestedly. ‘Friend of yours?' Benedict asked him, unsmilingly.

‘Yah, something like that,' Sebastian said nastily. ‘Now, if you don't mind? We're eating at the chef's table tonight and I'd like to talk to Gordon about the menu.'

‘Of course, I'm sure you'll have a wonderful dinner,' Benedict replied. ‘Even if Gordon can't be there. He's not working tonight. I just spoke to him.'

‘What, best friends, are you?' Sebastian snarled.

Benedict gave him an amused, quizzical look. ‘I wouldn't go that far. Anyway,' he stepped back to let them pass.

Irritation, humiliation and disappointment seeping out of every pore, Sebastian gave him one final murderous look and dragged a pontificating Sabrina off in his wake.

His evening went from bad to worse when Sabrina, already shooting daggers at Bunny across the table, found out that Bunny had won a
modelling contract that Sabrina herself had been coveting for weeks. ‘Accidentally' spilling her red wine all over Bunny's white Balenciaga dress, Sabrina had unconvincingly pleaded a headache and stomped off home to sulk.

Back at the marital home a few days later, Sebastian was watching his wife unpack the shopping. As she leaned up to put something away, her top rose up, showing off her slender shape. Sebastian ran his eyes over her lasciviously. ‘Have you been on a diet?' he asked. Caro turned round to face him, a packet of couscous in one hand. She blushed, it made her look endearingly pretty.

‘Not really, I've just been watching what I eat,' she half-lied, not having the courage to tell him it was because she was so bloody miserable.

Sebastian slipped off the bar-stool he'd been sitting on and made his way towards her. Caro looked at him uncertainly, almost fearfully. ‘It's all right darling, I'm not going to bite,' he whispered. ‘Not yet, anyway.' He was pressed against her now, his hands running greedily over her body. ‘You look fucking sexy,' he told her, as his hand slid up her jumper and into her bra.

Caro winced as he tweaked her nipple roughly, his tongue hot and insistent in her ear. This was what she'd wanted for months, wasn't it? To have physical contact with her husband, to feel wanted and loved again. But there wasn't an ounce of affection in his touch. Caro wished he would just leave her alone. She could feel his rock-hard manhood pressing against her, and knew she should unzip his trousers and take it in her mouth,
enthusiastically pleasuring him the way she used to. But instead she just kissed him back half-heartedly, arms hanging by her sides as if paralysed.

Sebastian groaned and slid his hands into the front of her knickers. Caro winced again as he stuck two fingers up her. ‘You're as dry as a bone!' he exclaimed. ‘Make a bloody effort, darling.' He plunged them up her again, merciless and probing.

Caro couldn't stand it any longer. ‘Get off, GET OFF!' she shouted and pushed him away from her. Shock, then confusion, and finally contempt crossed his face.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?' he asked coldly.

‘You haven't laid a finger on me in months, and then you just turn up and expect it
like that
?' Caro was crying now, but she was angry too. ‘It's not on, Sebastian!'

He stared at her, arms folded across his chest. ‘Well, what do you want,
darling
? First you're moaning I don't come near you, then when I do, you act like a frigid fucking bitch! I mean, cut me some slack here! What am I supposed to think?'

‘What
about
bloody you?' Caro shouted at him. ‘It's always about you! What about
me
? What about your son? You spend so little time here, you're like a bloody stranger to him.'

As if on cue, Milo started crying in his nursery upstairs. Sebastian took a step towards her and then stopped. His face was an icy mask. ‘That's a bit rich coming from you,' he sneered. ‘Every time I come home or ring, that bloody baby is crying in
the background. Handling him a bit roughly, are you?'

That was enough. Caro took the nearest thing she could find – the packet of couscous – and threw it at Sebastian. It hit him squarely on the head, and he flinched as it burst open, grain spraying all over the kitchen.

‘How DARE you!' she screamed at him, shaking with rage. ‘Get out with your disgusting insinuations. Go on, get OUT!'

Sebastian thought about going over to calm her down, but there was a strange, wild look in his wife's eyes that made him stop. ‘Suit yourself,' he said contemptuously, and went over to pick up his bag and the keys to his Aston Martin. He had an old school friend who lived near Oxford in a stately home; he'd crash there. Not that he'd tell Caro that. He wanted her to lie awake racked with guilt all night, wondering if he was shivering in a lay-by somewhere.

As he drove off, Sebastian thought about his week. Kicked out by the mistress
and
the wife! He laughed out loud. The boys were going to have a field day with this one. Who'd have thought Caro had it in her? At least it spiced things up a bit at home, and he'd win her over soon enough.

Back at the house, Caro held a now-sleeping Milo to her chest. Silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn't go on like this.

‘
NIGHT, PRINCESS, SPEAK
soon, yeah?'

‘Goodnight, Devon, I'll call you when I can. Look, I'm going to have to go, Ambrose is calling me. Bye for now.'

There was a click and a dialling tone. Frances had gone. Devon slowly put the receiver down. Even though the physical side of their relationship had stopped, they still found strength in phone calls to each other. God, she was a gutsy woman. Frances had thrown herself into running the Hall, preparing for the ball, looking after her husband and ringing the police every day to find out if they had learned anything new about her daughter. Devon didn't know how she was coping, but he knew he couldn't have handled it. He was also worried Frances was living in denial.

‘Until they find a body, I won't think any different,' she had told Devon shakily a few nights ago.

But by now Devon, like the majority of the village, was convinced Harriet had been bumped off by the Revd Goody's murderer. It had become an open secret. No one dared bring it up in earshot
of the Frasers or even the Standington-Fulthropes, but they were all thinking it. Harriet was such a sweet, home-loving girl. How could she just disappear into thin air?

Just after eleven o'clock that night, Freddie was climbing into his Land Rover outside the Maltings. Angie had retired to bed with a copy of
Homes and Gardens
, and Archie had been in his bedroom with Tyrone for hours, the familiar thud of music accompanied by incense smoke wafting gradually downstairs.

For most of the evening, Freddie had been working on his accounts in the study at the bottom of the stairs. He had thought it strange that, even after Angie had cooked him the most delectable duck for dinner and he'd finished it off with his usual biscuits and cheese, he was having the most incredible cravings for sweets. Freddie was salivating at the thought of Yorkie bars and Fruit Gums, all washed down with a chocolate milkshake. After a disappointing rummage through the cupboards and fridge, his cravings became so strong that there was only one thing for it: a late night trip to the Texaco garage on the outskirts of Bedlington. He put on his waxed jacket and opened the front door.

Outside, the crisp night air hit him like a sledgehammer. Christ, he felt weird! Spaced out, was that what they called it? Maybe he was coming down with something. Struggling to fit the key in the car door, Freddie eventually climbed in.

Fifteen minutes later, he was wandering around the harshly lit aisles of the Texaco garage. He homed in on the confectionery. With their brightly
coloured wrappers lined up and glinting at him, they looked like rows of glittering jewels. He no longer knew what he fancied, but wondered if that was because he suddenly fancied everything. Freddie started throwing bars of chocolate into his basket. Dime bars, a box of Roses, family-sized bags of Revels. Eventually, he made his way to the checkout. Now, where was his wallet?

There was a giggle behind him in the queue. ‘Check it out, that old geezer has got some
serious
munchies!' Freddie turned around to find two teenage girls in tracksuits and matching ponytails staring at him.

‘Hmm, what's that? Munchies?' he said absently. ‘I've got a packet of them in here somewhere.' He turned around again, patting his pockets. Where was his blasted wallet? He just couldn't bloody remember.

The two girls burst out laughing. ‘He is
off
it!' one of them cackled. Freddie eventually found his money and slowly counted out £28.73p for the bemused cashier. ‘Sure you don't want some
Rizlas
with that?' the girl said, and they both cracked up laughing again. Freddie peered at them hazily through bleary eyes; their voices sounded miles away. Like they were underwater. Extraordinary. Shaking his head he delved deep into a packet of chocolate-covered raisins and made his way back to his car. It was parked haphazardly on the forecourt with the windows open.

Freddie climbed in and drove off slowly, forgetting to put his headlights on. By Jove, the Snickers bar was good. He couldn't get it in his mouth fast enough! After a few minutes, the
country lanes once again yawned open ahead of him. He didn't know if it was his eyesight, but he was finding it damned hard to concentrate. Now, where was that green triangle one in the Roses?

Suddenly, blue lights appeared in his rear-view mirror, accompanied by the wailing of police sirens. A car chase, thought Freddie dreamily. For some reason he burst out laughing and, with some difficulty, pulled the Land Rover over into a grassy lay-by and waited for the police car to pass. But to his surprise, it stayed behind him, lights flashing insistently in his mirror. Freddie cut the motor. Must have a flat tyre, he thought, pulling out a caramel toffee with which to ponder the situation.

Moments later, there was a rap on the window. Freddie wound it down and peered out into the gloom. He was confronted by a stern DS Powers and red-nosed PC Penny.

Powers took in his red, unfocused eyes and the discarded sweet wrappers all over the passenger seat. ‘Do you know why we stopped you, sir?' he asked grimly.

Freddie shrugged, his mouth half full. ‘No idea, officer, got a flat have I? Can I offer you a sweet?' He thrust a box of chocolates in Powers's face.

‘No, thank you.' DS Powers slapped away PC Penny's gloved hand, hovering hopefully around the sweets, and fixed Freddie with his scariest police officer look. ‘You were driving erratically. Not only that, you have no lights on. Were you aware of that?'

‘Golly, no!' replied Freddie, more intent on looking for the giant-sized fruit and nut bar he knew he'd bought. Locating it in the plastic carrier bag, he
pulled it out. ‘I like a good nut, don't you?' For some reason, Freddie found this hysterically funny and started chortling uncontrollably.

‘This one's away with the fairies, isn't he?' Penny whispered excitably.