Honeycote (26 page)

Mickey rolled over with a confident grin.

‘Merry Christmas, darling.’

Over in Solihull, Mandy and Keith were exchanging presents and both secretly hoping that Sandra would neither embarrass nor insult them by phoning to wish them Merry Christmas. Mandy had bought him a pair of silver cufflinks in the shape of foxes’ heads that he put on immediately. Then he gave her an envelope containing a voucher for half a dozen driving lessons, apologizing profusely for what he considered a very boring gift, and she protested, saying it was what she wanted.

She made them breakfast, scrambled eggs on granary toast, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. Keith finished his eggs appreciatively, then remembered something.

‘I forgot – I got you something else.’

He disappeared out of the kitchen. Mandy started stacking the dishwasher. He came back in with an awkward-looking package wrapped in tartan paper. It felt like a belt. Puzzled, Mandy opened it.

It was a leather headcollar. She turned it over in her hands, mystified, till a little brass nameplate glinted up at her. She read the name engraved upon it. Monkey. She looked up at Keith, who was grinning from ear to ear.

‘You’re joking.’

‘I’m not. He’s yours. He’s waiting for you at the Liddiards’, so you’d better hurry up and get dressed.’

His daughter nearly knocked him flying as she enveloped him in a huge hug. Who was it who’d said it was better to give than to receive? They were bloody well right.

‘You total sodding fucking arsehole.’

‘Come on, Patrick. When’s the last time you rode him, for God’s sake? You’re two stone too heavy – ’

‘That’s my horse. You don’t just go round selling other people’s things. Certainly not without asking first.’

‘I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘Well, I do.’

He did. More than he would have thought. For an awful moment, Patrick thought he might cry.

‘I want him back.’

‘Sorry. No can do. I’ve spent the money.’

‘On what? Not your wife, that’s for sure. That wasn’t three grand’s worth of pyjamas.’

‘Look, Patrick. There are things you don’t understand – ’

‘Don’t fucking patronize me. There are things I understand perfectly, that I’ve been too polite to mention up until now. So don’t give me that shit.’

Mickey gulped. This was going to be even worse than he’d imagined. Patrick decided it was time to put the knife in. He was tired of pussyfooting round his father.

‘The brewery’s totally up the creek, isn’t it?’

‘Says who?’

‘The world and his wife, as far as I can make out.’

‘Idle gossip.’

‘Kelly told me about the Honeycote Arms.’

Mickey rolled his eyes in exasperation. He’d made it clear to Ted it would be better for all of them if they kept the news quiet till the New Year. That’s what you got for being honest and upfront with people. He needn’t have told them what he was doing.

‘We need some serious capital investment across the board. It’s the only way.’

‘We’ve always said we’d never get rid of any of the pubs.’

‘In an ideal world. But that’s not what we live in, is it? It’s either sell the Honeycote Arms or get in some investor who’ll stomp around in his jackboots telling us exactly how to run things. And the first thing he’d probably do is get rid of you, so if I were you I’d keep my mouth shut.’

Father and son glared at each other angrily.

‘First you sell my horse. Then my birthright – ’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s a question of survival. Look, Patrick. You’ve had everything on a plate up till now. And I’ve never begrudged it for a single moment. So you could at least do me the courtesy of backing off. Things are tough enough without you behaving like a brat.’

Patrick bit his tongue. It was Christmas Day and he didn’t want to spoil it. He turned on his heel and marched back into the house. Mickey was left in the courtyard and decided he’d better go and taste the wine he’d chosen for lunch. If it wasn’t up to scratch there’d be time to chill down something else.

In the kitchen, Patrick was accosted by a flushed and slightly panic-stricken Sophie. She used his childhood nickname, which meant she wanted something.

‘Patch. Would you absolutely, absolutely kill me if I gave your present to Ned?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what it is yet.’

‘I’ll get you another one. In fact, I’ll get you something even better in the sales. I’ve got to have something to give him.’

Patrick looked at Sophie and grinned.

‘Is there something I should know?’

Sophie looked mortified. Patrick put her out of her misery.

‘Of course he can have my present.’

‘You won’t tell him?’

‘Course not. And Sophe – good on you. I always thought you’d be a perfect match.’

If it was possible, Sophie blushed even redder and ran upstairs to change the tag on the bottle of Ralph Lauren aftershave she’d bought him. Patrick was delighted. Ned was a decent bloke. He’d look after Sophie; he knew he would. And if he didn’t, he’d have Patrick to answer to.

It had been a perfect, picture-book Christmas Day, thought Lucy. They’d had champagne and blinis with smoked salmon in the drawing room while everyone exchanged presents. Sophie had flitted about with a notepad and pen making a list of who’d got what, as everyone would get so drunk they’d have forgotten by the end of the day. She’d been wearing a silver scarf round her neck and kept exchanging little smiles with Ned that went unnoticed by nobody. Mickey was on good form, as he always was when hosting a houseful. Never happier than when filling people’s glasses. The Walshes, as ever, were relieved to get away from the rigours of the farm. The Sherwyns mixed in well. Only Patrick had seemed tense, but had done his best to hide it – Lucy could only tell by the number of cigarettes he got through that something was bothering him. Trouble with Kelly, perhaps. James was delighted with his present. She knew that because he’d thanked her three times. Which was three more times than Mickey had – he’d admired the little picture she’d bought him for as long as was necessary to be polite, then tossed it to one side. She’d tried not to be hurt, then reasoned that Mickey had never been a great lover of art – as far as he was concerned, pictures were for covering up stains on the wall.

Things had only turned a little sour after lunch. Ned had persuaded the other youngsters to go for a walk – he was desperate for a fag and his parents were rabidly anti-smoking. The adults were picking over the remnants of the cheese. Until now, no one had seen fit to mention Lawrence’s plight, or question where Kay was, until Keith Sherwyn had looked at his watch and made a gloomy remark about not particularly wanting to go back to an empty house, although he supposed he ought. Lawrence had been drunk by then. Well, they all were, but he was clearly turning maudlin.

‘Have you got any tips? It’s something I’m going to have to get used to.’

He’d glared defiantly round the table.

‘I suppose you’re wondering where the silly bitch has got to. I’ll put you all out of your misery. I’ve no idea. All I know is she’s not going to darken my door again.’

He’d taken a slurp of port and slammed the glass down. Lucy winced.

‘She’s only gone and got herself pregnant. Not mine, of course. So that’s it. I’ve banished her. Mind you, no doubt she’s found some gynae to sort it all out for her. Expect she’s on the slab as we speak, having it hoovered out. Can’t see Kay as a single mother, can you?’

He’d smirked around the table. There was a horrified silence. Mickey sloshed another good two inches of port into his glass and passed the decanter to his left with a trembling hand.

‘More cheese, anyone?’ murmured Lucy.

Sophie, Patrick, Mandy, Ned and Georgina walked off their lunch with an over-excited Pokey in tow. Mandy had been desperate to go and see Monkey again, perhaps even tack him up and go for a ride, but he’d lost a shoe and Lucy didn’t think she’d be able to get the farrier until after the New Year. Mandy was consoled by the prospect of being in close proximity to Patrick. Sophie and Ned had taken the lead, tightly clutching mittened hands and stopping every now and then for an indiscreet snog that made Georgina gag with embarrassment.

Mandy fell into step beside Patrick.

‘I’m really sorry about Monkey. Sophie told me he was yours. I didn’t realize.’

Patrick nodded an indifferent acknowledgement of her apology.

‘I’m not taking him straight away. Your dad said we could keep him at yours for a bit. We might be moving soon.’

‘Really.’

Patrick was uninterested.

‘Dad’s going to sell his business. He wants to do something totally different. I think he’d like to move down here. So if we’re nearby, you can visit Monkey whenever you like.’

Patrick looked at her.

‘It’s a big business, isn’t it? He’s going to make a few quid.’

‘I don’t think he cares how much he makes, as long as he gets rid of it.’ She paused. ‘But he’ll get a few million, whatever.’

Patrick almost stopped dead in his tracks, but not quite. He was a master at disguising his emotions. Instead he nodded politely.

‘So what’s he going to do instead?’

‘I don’t know. Anything, as long as it’s got nothing to do with bathrooms. He wants to make a new start, now mum’s left.’

Mandy sounded matter of fact, not self-pitying, so Patrick didn’t feel the need to offer any sympathy on this front. Instead, he subtly changed tack.

‘Listen, I’m really sorry about the other night.’

Mandy coloured furiously.

‘I behaved appallingly. The thing is – ’ He ransacked his brain for a plausible platitude – ‘I thought I was taking advantage of you. I thought you’d probably had too much to drink, like Sophie, and you’d regret it.’

‘Oh no. I don’t drink, really.’

Patrick stopped and turned her to face him. He tucked a strand of her long, shiny hair behind her ear, watching as she trembled under his touch, nervous as an unbroken foal. Putty. Absolute fucking putty. As Ned in his inimitably charming way would have put it, she was gagging for it.

He just had time to brush his lips against hers when Georgina stomped into view. He couldn’t have paid her to make a more opportune appearance. The two sprang apart and resumed their walk.

‘You’re going home tonight, aren’t you?’

‘I think so.’

‘What are you doing New Year’s Eve?’

‘I don’t know.’

Patrick left a cruel gap in the conversation while he mulled the options over in his head. Honeycote House came into view. Patrick stopped and looked at it proudly. The thought of anyone else ever living there appalled him. Yet he was strongly starting to suspect, from the snippets of information he’d picked up from his snoop round the brewery, from his conversation with Kelly and from the way his father was behaving, that it was not such a remote possibility. After all, people were turfed out of their ancestral seats all the time. But he couldn’t just sit there and watch it happen, not like Mickey.

‘If you’re not doing anything, a mate of mine’s having a party in Cheltenham. It should be a laugh.’

‘Definitely. That would be great.’

‘I’ll call you nearer the time.’

‘OK.’

Mandy smiled at him and her face lit up. She was really quite beautiful, realized Patrick. That was going to make the job an awful lot easier. If she’d been a dog, people might have got suspicious.

The group stomped back into the hallway, kicking off wellies, dropping coats, scarves and gloves into a heap on the chest. Ned, overheated, took off the tie his mother had forced him into that morning and unbuttoned his collar. Sophie was looking at him in horror. With a strangled sob, she ran up the stairs.

‘What is it?’ Ned looked bewildered.

‘You’ve got a sodding great lovebite on your neck.’ Patrick blew out a laconic stream of cigarette smoke.

Ned rushed to the nearest mirror and examined his neck anxiously. Bloody hell. Patrick was right. A big purply blotch reminded him of the moment Mayday had nipped him in a frenzy of passion two days earlier. Why the hell hadn’t he noticed it? And how was he going to explain it away? He could hardly say he’d done it himself – it was anatomically impossible.

*

Sophie lay on her bed tearing at the gossamer scarf, which soon lay in shreds. She held it to her face, sobbing. The cloying scent it bore with it suddenly overpowered her as she remembered where she’d smelled it before. It was Mayday Perkins’s perfume. The Horse and Groom always stank of it. Patrick’s flying jacket sometimes stank of it, when they’d been out on a session together. And now Ned’s present to her stank of it, because he’d been with her. She must have given him that lovebite. And not long ago, either.

Sophie couldn’t believe it. She counted on her fingers. For nearly eighteen hours, ever since midnight mass, she’d been bursting with happiness, filled with a bubble of excitement that made her head, her heart, her every limb sing with joy. And now she’d been brought crashing cruelly down to earth.

By nine o’clock, everyone had gone. James had to see to his two Labradors who had been locked up all day. Lawrence had things to sort out at the garden centre, which was expecting its usual rush of Boxing Day visitors. The Walshes had to do whatever it was farmers had to do, as their livestock didn’t recognize national holidays. Keith and Mandy took Sophie and Georgina back to Solihull – Keith had tickets booked for the pantomime in Birmingham on Boxing Day and invited the two girls along. Sophie had been only too glad to get away from everyone’s curious stares at Honeycote and had cried all the way there. Mandy had been sweet, making sure the noise of the CD had covered her sobs so as not to embarrass her father, who anyway had Georgina jabbering away at him in the front seat.

In the kitchen, plates and bowls and glasses were stacked up on the table, surrounded by greasy serving bowls and cooking utensils. It was an unattractive proposition. Mickey, rigid with shock, offered to do the washing-up. It might take his mind off things for half an hour at least. But to his irritation, Lucy, fuelled by champagne and Pouilly-Fumé, wouldn’t stop ranting on about poor Kay. She was scandalized, not by Kay’s predicament, but by Lawrence’s treatment of her.