Honeycote (31 page)

Yet despite the unpalatable squalor, Caroline could imagine the original splendour of the feast. Lucy was renowned for her hospitality, her ability to welcome the slightest acquaintance to her table and make them feel part of the family. Caroline felt a twinge of regret that she hadn’t been there. You could always judge the success of a social occasion by the number of empty bottles, and there was a veritable battalion scattered around the room, waiting to join the rest in the crates outside.

Pokey was snoozing on the sofa, but slid to the ground and came to investigate the arrival of a relative stranger in her territory. She looked hungry, and Caroline tore a few strips off the unappetizing turkey to placate her. She walked through the kitchen, the metal tips of her spiked heels grating on the flagstones, and ventured out into the corridor that led to the hallway. The fairy lights on the Christmas tree were still blazing, seeking admiration in vain. Why hadn’t anyone turned them off?

Caroline tiptoed into the drawing room and her heart leaped into her mouth. Mickey was stretched out on a large chenille sofa, and she thought for an awful moment that he was dead before detecting the slight rise and fall of his chest. She was relieved. She would have felt a moral obligation to attempt mouth to mouth resuscitation, and Mickey was not an inviting prospect. Drunk, dishevelled and unshaven, he resembled little the lithe, vibrant character that Caroline had on more than one occasion eyed up from afar. She winced as she spotted an empty bottle of port by Mickey’s elbow. It would have induced the worst sort of hangover, she knew from experience, and she mentally prescribed paracetamol and strong, sweet tea, followed at a safe interval by copious amounts of toast and honey. She’d been in that state often enough to know that her remedy would alleviate all but the most vicious symptoms.

Before she woke Mickey, she looked around for any clues that might shed light on the mystery. A brass bucket by the fireplace was filled with wrapping paper that had been eagerly ripped off presents only twenty-four hours earlier, and some of these were still lying round the room. There was a pile that was obviously Lucy’s: a pair of leather gloves trimmed with fur at the cuffs, a small suede-bound photo album, a tiny pair of heart-shaped silver earrings. They were just the sort of presents Caroline would have liked to receive. She thought with regret of the prosaic gifts her own family had bestowed on her. The latest Delia Smith from her mother, who wistfully hoped her daughter might start cooking one day as she’d never get a husband if she didn’t. A CD rack from one of her sisters (actually, that would probably come in useful – but who wanted useful presents?) and a Body Shop gift basket from the other. Caroline wondered what James had bought her, but got the feeling that she was never going to find out. She’d had nothing that made her feel special, or wanted, or feminine, whereas Lucy’s were all the sort of things she’d have loved, but would never buy for herself. For a moment she was tempted to chuck the whole lot on the fire, but managed to resist the urge.

She saw a glass on the mantelpiece, which she recognized as the Murano crystal James collected, and read the tag that had been tied to its stem: ‘To James, all our love, Lucy xxx’, it read, and Caroline noted with a wry smile that Mickey had added his signature, no doubt as instructed. But she knew it had been chosen by Lucy with James in mind, and felt sure when she’d written ‘our love’ she actually meant ‘my’. Other gifts lay around the room, all no doubt perfectly chosen and perfectly wrapped and received with gasps of pleasure and delight. Honeycote always seemed to Caroline like something out of a magazine come to life; everything was always just right, somehow without trying. She pretended to scorn it, but deep down she knew she was jealous. Whatever she did always screamed ‘high street’.

But now it looked as if the picture-book perfection was flawed. A light had gone out in the house. It wasn’t just that the fire was lying dead, that there was a resounding silence, that no one had cleared up the mess. It was something deeper, and it made Caroline shiver. And it was the reason she’d found Lucy jumping into her shoes that morning. It was time to find out what was going on. She’d spent enough time snooping, trying to see if she could find any ammunition. Now she needed to bite the bullet.

She shook Mickey by the shoulder none too gently and he came too with a deeply unattractive snort, dispelling any fantasies she may ever have had about him. He looked confused when he saw her.

‘Caroline? Have you come for lunch? James isn’t here…’

‘No, I know he isn’t. Nobody is. And James is at Denham, with your wife.’

Caroline swallowed her impatience, as Mickey rubbed his head stupidly, not sure if he was dreaming.

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘I want to know what’s going on. I came down to have a nice cosy Boxing Day romp with my boyfriend and I got the old heave-ho. Not exactly what I wanted in my stocking.’

‘Shit.’

‘Total shit. He didn’t even give me a present, just pushed me out of the door. Meanwhile your wife’s sitting in his kitchen wearing his long johns. What’s going on, Mickey?’

Mickey explained what had happened. That Lucy had found out about his affair with Kay and had gone running off to James. He, having no leg to stand on anyway, had just proceeded to get totally legless.

Caroline was incredulous.

‘Kay Oakley!’ What the hell did Mickey want to have an affair with her for? A person less like Lucy she couldn’t imagine. Kay was harsh, a bit scary, even for Caroline, who wasn’t intimidated by many people. Kay clearly worshipped money over everything, else why marry Lawrence, who was a cold and calculating fish and plug-ugly to boot. Furthermore, Caroline was pretty sure Kay didn’t even have a sense of humour: she took herself and her position very seriously indeed. So what on earth was the attraction? ‘For God’s sake, Mickey. Kay Oakley? Why?’

Mickey looked at her dully. He was reminded of a joke he’d once heard.

‘Why does a dog lick its balls?’

Caroline looked nonplussed. Mickey smiled wryly.

‘Because it can.’

Caroline didn’t think it could get any worse, until Mickey told her Kay was pregnant. He tried to reassure her that it was OK, that she was going to get rid of it, but like many women who suddenly become keenly aware of their body clocks, Caroline had become very judgemental and disapproving about abortions. Mickey thought she was being unrealistic – what century did she think she was living in? – and she snapped back at him.

‘If you’d kept it zipped up, we wouldn’t be having this debate, would we? And anyway, it’s not Kay that’s the problem, is it? It seems to me she’s well out of the picture.’

‘So what is the problem? Lawrence doesn’t know it’s mine.’

Privately, Caroline doubted if this was so. On the few occasions she’d met Lawrence, he’d struck her as all-seeing, prescient, with an almost Mafia-like calm and cunning that could prove deadly. She thought Mickey would be lucky not to find his entire stable yard decapitated and tucked up in his bed. But she didn’t put voice to this observation, for there was a real threat only two miles up the road, and it was the only one she was interested in.

‘Your brother. He’s got her in his clutches now, hasn’t he? He’s got her imprisoned in that house of his. He could totally brainwash her in the next couple of hours, if he hasn’t already.’

‘Why would he want to do that?’

‘For God’s sake, Mickey. Get a grip. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.’

‘What?’

‘That your brother is…’ She searched for a word. ‘Obsessed. That’s the only word for it. He’s obsessed with your wife.’

‘James?’ Mickey nearly fell off the sofa with shock.

‘Do you honestly mean you haven’t noticed the way he looks at her? When he thinks no one else is looking?’

Mickey looked utterly dumbfounded. It was obviously news to him.

‘Do you go round with your eyes shut or something? Haven’t you seen his body language?’

Mickey shook his head, baffled, and Caroline realized he didn’t have a clue what she was on about. She supposed it was her sales training, as she’d been taught to observe people’s behaviour in order to give herself the advantage whilst negotiating. It was a useful tool, and not just at work. She persevered with her theory.

‘Believe me, Lucy’s the only person your brother cares about. He certainly doesn’t care about me. Not really. I know when he’s screwing me he’s thinking about her.’

Mickey winced.

‘Don’t worry. I haven’t minded up till now. Because I’ve never considered Lucy a real threat. I’ve always thought she was out of James’s reach. And anyway, I never wanted James to start paying me too much attention. Our relationship’s always been about convenience. I cover up for his obsession…’

‘And he pays your bills.’

Caroline glared at him.

‘I earn enough to pay my own way, thank you.’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Mickey wasn’t tooled up for an argument, especially not with Caroline.

‘And you’re going to have to be nicer to me if you want me to help.’

‘Help?’

‘Help you get Lucy back. We’re going to have to have a truce.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re not going to get her back sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Not while she’s sitting in the lap of luxury at James’s, being cosseted and pampered and adored. You’ve played right into his hands.’

‘But Lucy’s almost like a sister to him.’

‘Don’t be so bloody naive.’

‘Do you think she’s in love with him?’ Mickey looked utterly horrified at the prospect. Caroline pondered this possibility.

‘No. I don’t. She loves you, Mickey. At least she did up till now.’

‘I’ve fucked everything up, haven’t I?’

‘You’ve certainly made a good go of it. But if we play our cards right, we can sort it out.’

‘Why do you care whether I get Lucy back? What’s in it for you?’

‘I want to marry James.’

Caroline couldn’t believe what she’d said. The words had popped out before she had actually even thought them. She wished they hadn’t when Mickey burst out laughing incredulously.

‘You – get married? But you’re Miss Independent. Miss Career Girl.’

‘I can change, can’t I?’

‘What – just like that?’

‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. I’m nearly thirty. I’m burning out. There’s people younger and hungrier and fitter than me out there. I have to work harder than they do to prove myself, and frankly I’m knackered. I want a rest.’

‘So what you need is a rich husband?’

‘Why are you so cynical about me and James?’

‘Come on, Caroline. You can’t really pretend to me he’s the love of your life. The way you treat him – ’

‘James and I understand each other. And I don’t mind living in Lucy’s shadow. I’m always going to know I was second best, but I can live with that. Not many other women would, I can tell you.’

She fixed Mickey with a defiant glare.

‘But I’m tired. I want to be looked after. And to have someone else to look after.’ She paused for a moment. ‘And I want… babies.’

There she went again. Voicing things; admitting them to someone else almost before she’d admitted it to herself.

Mickey eyed Caroline thoughtfully. Earth mother she was not. Caroline could read what he was thinking. She leaped in with a justifiable defence.

‘Hormones are a terrible thing. I suppose otherwise, without them, the human race would have died out. Once they kick in, you know, there’s nothing you can do about it.’ She paused. ‘I suppose that’s why we’re all here. It is the meaning of life.’

A tiny vision of his putative offspring crept into Mickey’s head. He supposed Kay would have got rid of it by now. He sighed and put his head in his hands. Caroline misunderstood his despair.

‘I’m sorry if you find the prospect of me as your sister-in-law so offensive – ’

Mickey tried to protest, but Caroline was in full flow. A year of being marginalized by the Liddiards flooded out.

‘You’ve never really liked me, have you? I’ve never been good enough for your brother, have I? I know what you all think. That all I’m interested in is James’s money. But I work hard for my own money. I pay my own way. If James chooses to pamper me sometimes, that’s his choice. I certainly never ask for anything. I can’t help it if he’s well off. And that’s not why I’m with him. I have got my pride, you know. I have got some self-respect.’

Mickey looked at Caroline and realized with alarm that her eyes were welling up. He panicked slightly – he hated it when women, any woman, cried, and the thought of Caroline in tears was most disconcerting. He patted her awkwardly on the hand, only to find her throwing herself on to his shoulder and dissolving into a torrent of tears. The stress of the morning had proved too much for her. She’d always prided herself on her strength, but it was all too much. The row at the yard, the confrontation with James, the realization that she was unhappy with her lot… Mickey tried his best to console her. Eventually her tears subsided and she managed a watery apology.

‘I’m sorry. It’s just been a crap day, that’s all.’

She told him about Demelza. About the mess she’d got into because she was useless with money. About how she didn’t have a clue what to do, and how she was furious with herself because it was her own stupid fault, for not budgeting and for carrying on regardless.

‘You know, I could swallow my pride and ask James for the money. I know he’d bail me out. But I don’t want to.’

Mickey smiled ruefully.

‘Sounds like you and me are in the same boat.’ And he told her about the brewery. About the knife-edge it was on and how he didn’t really have a fucking clue what he was going to do about it. About how he’d even sold Patrick’s horse to try and recoup some of his losses, and realized he was pissing in the ocean. And although his debts paled into insignificance next to the mess he’d made of his marriage, nevertheless it was a problem that wasn’t going to go away.

Four miles away, Ned and Patrick were bowling down a tortuous lane in the Healey, wrapped up against the elements. They were on a Boxing Day treasure hunt for local classic car enthusiasts, organized by a formidable old bird called Agnes Porter-Wright, who hared round the lanes at top speed in a magnificent old Bentley with scant regard for her brakes. Patrick thought she was wonderful and wondered why there weren’t more women like her these days – eccentric forces to be reckoned with. She had a vociferous boom that could be heard for three counties and dressed in fox fur and gardening trousers, with or without the family diamonds, depending on the time of day and the social occasion. The treasure hunt meant without, but she added a pair of motoring goggles for good measure.