It Had to Be You (19 page)

‘Beeston Hall,’ Poppet read out. ‘But Elliot said they lived at Beeston Lodge, didn’t he?’

Nic peered up the long drive. ‘We haven’t seen another house for miles. Let’s try our luck.’

They started down the long drive. ‘It’s just like
Downton Abbey
!’ Poppet said excitedly.

Lizzy looked out of the window at the rolling parkland. Elliot’s mother had sounded very grand on the phone. She could just imagine some snooty aristocratic blonde.

A full five minutes later the house came into view. Actually, ‘came into view’ was an understatement. The magnificent building rose out of the ground like the
Titanic
.

Nic gave a low whistle. ‘It
is
like
Downton
bloody
Abbey
.’

Poppet was so overcome that she stalled twice. The car finally pulled up on the huge gravel turning circle. They gazed up at the building. ‘Something tells me this isn’t Beeston Lodge,’ Nic said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

The lodge turned out to be a ramshackle cottage off to the right of the main house. The unkempt garden would have given Alan Titchmarsh nightmares. Whoever lived there had obviously let nature take its course. Six giant head sculptures sat around the perimeter of the overgrown lawn, as if standing sentry over the property. They were an incongruous sight amongst all the weeds and wild flowers.

Elliot’s car was nowhere to be seen, nor indeed were any other vehicles. ‘Where is everybody?’ Poppet asked. ‘It’s a bit spooky.’

‘Let’s go back to the hall,’ Lizzy said, but she didn’t hold much hope. The stately home had looked as deserted as the rest of the place.

Up close it was clear that Beeston Hall was in need of serious repair. The stonework was covered in green moss and several bits looked like they were crumbling dangerously. In every window they looked through there were rooms covered with dust sheets. The odd gilt-framed painting over a fireplace or a chandelier hanging in an empty room were the only remains of grand lifetimes that had been long lost. One room was filled entirely with what looked like easels, all stacked up in long rows against each other.

They skirted round the perimeter of the house and came back to the front. ‘No one’s in,’ Nic said. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

She started violently as an unearthly screech sliced through the air.

Poppet pointed into the distance. ‘Someone’s coming!’

A figure with a walking stick was moving across the lawn, followed by a boggle-eyed chihuahua, two waddling ducks and a mangy peacock. As the extraordinary menagerie got closer the huge bird let out another blood-curdling shriek.

The woman waved. ‘I’m sorry if Leonardo startled you, but he makes a damn good guard dog.’

Lizzy couldn’t stop staring. Everything about the woman was … red. Wild, curly, hennaed hair escaping from a polka-dot red headscarf, a T-shirt with a red lipstick pattern, a long red leather coat that flapped around her ankles. The outfit was finished off with a pair of battered red suede knee-length boots. A pair of sparkly red glasses sat perched atop the mound of hair, and what appeared to be miniature tomato soup cans dangled from each ear.

‘We’re looking for Mrs, er, Anderson?’ Lizzy called. The woman had to be some sort of eccentric housekeeper.

She arrived in front of them breathlessly. ‘I’m so delighted you could make it! I’m Cassandra Beeston, Elliot’s mother.’

‘It’s so nice to have visitors. When my husband was alive we did a lot of entertaining, but it’s pretty quiet these days.’

They were in the kitchen of the ramshackle cottage. Cassandra was moving around in the background boiling kettles and hunting out cups and saucers.

She came back to the table. ‘I’m afraid it’s not the good china.’ When she put the tray down Lizzy noticed the puffy, arthritic hands.

‘Shall I pour? How does everyone take it?’

They sat in silence, politely sipping their tea. ‘It’s so fortunate that you were in the area,’ Cassandra said eventually. ‘Have you known Elliot long?’

Lizzy felt Nic kick her under the table. ‘We’re more email acquaintances.’

‘Elliot isn’t the most communicative of people at the best of times, but he’s barely said a word since the split. I suppose he’s finding it hard to open up to people.’ Cassandra peered hopefully at Poppet. ‘Has he said anything to you?’

A look of panic crossed Poppet’s face. ‘Um, only that he’s, er, hurting and he’s feeling really … sad?’

Cassandra sighed. ‘I just wish I could reach out to him, but he won’t let me in.’ She looked at the clock again. ‘I don’t know where Elliot could have got to. He knew you were coming.’

Nic put her cup down. ‘We should think about making a move.’

‘Already?’ Cassandra asked anxiously. ‘But you’ve come all the way up here. At least let me show you round.’

She took them next door to Beeston Hall. Apparently Cassandra had moved into the cottage when the stately home had got too difficult to maintain.

‘After all, there’s only me now.’ She looked round wistfully. ‘I feel dreadfully guilty when I come in here. It feels like we’ve abandoned an old friend.’

It was easy to see what she meant. The hall’s interior was even worse than the outside. The opulent wallpaper was peeling and mouldy velvet curtains hung at the windows. A clammy smell of damp was unmistakable.

Cassandra’s pets had accompanied them into the Hall. Leonardo the peacock seemed to have taken a particular shine to Nic.

‘If that motherfucker doesn’t stop eyeballing me I’m going to kick its beak off!’ she hissed to Lizzy.

‘Try not to show your fear. It’s probably picking up on it.’

‘Nic’s got a phobia of giant birds,’ Poppet told Cassandra. ‘Her mum used to leave her in front of the Rod Hull and Emu show when she was little.’

The peacock came even closer. Nic shrieked and leapt behind Lizzy.

‘Don’t mind Leonardo, my dear,’ Cassandra told her. ‘His bark is worse than his bite.’

Despite the decay it was obvious the building had once been breathtaking. A mahogany staircase as wide as the deck of a ship dominated the cavernous entrance hall. It flowed up into a landing bigger than the upstairs of Lizzy’s parents’ house.

‘That’s Elliot’s great grandfather, Radcliffe.’ Cassandra pointed to an oil painting on the wall. A man with giant white whiskers gazed jauntily off into the distance. ‘He’s the black sheep of the family, gambled away all the money.’ She chuckled. ‘The Beestons are very much a dynasty of two halves. Elliot definitely hails from the more serious side. I think he used to despair at his father and me.’

Poppet loved nothing more than a stately house tour. ‘What’s down there, Cassandra?’ She pointed down a dark passageway.

‘There goes the path to my secret lair! Come along, Popsy, I’ll show you.’

‘It’s Poppet actually.’

‘What a lovely name.’ Cassandra linked arms with her. ‘Where did it come from?’

Nic pulled Lizzy back as they strolled off. ‘Why didn’t you tell her we’re not friends with her son? This is totally weird!’

‘I couldn’t! You saw how excited she was to think Elliot had some friends!’ Lizzy watched the chihuahua cock its leg against a curtain.

‘Half an hour more and we’re out of here. It’s going to be obvious when Elliot comes back that we don’t know each other!’

A few minutes later even Nic had stopped moaning. Cassandra had taken them into a vast conservatory with a glass roof that arched upwards like a chapel. Sunlight poured in through the huge windows. It was as if there was no separation between them and the open countryside.

The room was in a state of creative chaos, with dripping paint pots and unfinished canvases everywhere. The only bit of furniture was a sagging chaise longue in the corner with a large tabby cat asleep on it.

‘What used to be the orangery,’ Cassandra told them. ‘Now it’s my humble studio.’

One of the windows had a random pane of green glass. Cassandra walked over to it. ‘That was from when Elliot shot his catapult through the window,’ she told them. ‘I was in here working and suddenly I heard the glass shatter and this thing flew straight in and knocked the easel over! I’d been working on a sunset and red paint went everywhere, me included!’ She laughed. ‘Elliot came running in, thought it was blood and was inconsolable! The poor boy thought he’d maimed me!’

‘Did you go mental?’ Poppet asked. ‘My mum would have chopped my head off!’

‘Not at all, we thought it was funny. His sister was normally the naughty one, it was very un-Elliot, showing a bit of rebellion!’ Cassandra sighed. ‘It didn’t last long.’

There was an easel by the window, facing out on to the view. Lizzy went over to have a look.

‘Cassandra, this is amazing!’ Lizzy was the first to admit that she knew nothing about art, but even she could see Elliot’s mum had a real talent. There was something Van-Gogh-like about the way the bold brush strokes had elevated the landscape.

‘You like it?’ Cassandra looked down at her swollen knuckles. ‘These damn things don’t help much these days.’

There were canvases stacked up around the room. ‘Do you sell your work?’ Poppet asked.

‘I sure do, although there’s not so much of a market for artists like me these days. We’re considered a bit twee and old-fashioned. What I’d really love to do is turn this place into an artists’ retreat, or start up an academy for kids with talent.’ Cassandra smiled ruefully. ‘Elliot is dead set on selling the place off. Thinks I’m a silly old woman with my head in the clouds. We’re kinda in a stand-off about it.’

They continued the tour outside. Cassandra had a mobility buggy that she used to get around on longer walks, and she took off across the grass at a terrific pace with the girls in hot pursuit. With each passing minute Lizzy became more enchanted with the place as Cassandra showed them the lake, the private stretch of river, the woodlands and the yard that had once housed top racehorses.

‘It must have been an amazing place for Elliot to grow up,’ Poppet said. ‘Like being in your own enchanted kingdom!’

‘That’s what Max and I thought. We didn’t impose many rules and regulations on the kids. We both grew up with strict parents, so we wanted our kids to have the freedom to find their own way in the world.’

Lizzy looked across at the derelict stables. It was so sad that the place had been left to fall into such disrepair, but even she could see what a colossal – and costly – task it would be to restore Beeston Hall to its former glory. She couldn’t blame Elliot for wanting to take the money and run.

As they made their way back to the cottage, Cassandra told them more about her life.

‘My father was a big Bible man, but the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. My mother died when I was a little girl, so for years it was just me and him. I used to lie in bed at night and plan the day I got outta there.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, maybe Elvis himself was going to come through town and sweep me up in his arms and save me, but in the end I ran away from home when I was fifteen and became a wing walker.’

‘What’s a wing walker?’ Poppet asked.

‘You know, girls who stand on the wings of planes.’ Cassandra deftly swerved the mobility buggy to avoid a clod of earth.

‘You used to do that?!’

‘I did, Popsy. It was the most thrilling time of my life, when everything really began for me. We were part of a travelling troupe called The Jets, and we used to go all over the country performing at air shows. There were four of us girls, and we had the most outrageous pink flying suits with our stage names written across the front.’ Cassandra laughed again. ‘I was Scarlett Sue, on account of my hair.’

Lizzy was fascinated. Why wasn’t her mum this cool? ‘How long were you a wing walker for?’

‘Three years. I saw and did things I didn’t think were possible – and not all of them to do with aerobatics! It was the best education life could have given me, but then the head pilot went and got himself killed by flying into a tree.’ Cassandra sighed. ‘I think he’d smoked a bit too much marijuana that day. After that the troupe broke up, and I decided to head to New York to try and make my fortune. To tell you the truth, I was kinda over it by then anyway. They didn’t have waterproof mascara back in those days, and your face just looked a
state
half the time.’

By the time they got back to the lodge the Jeep was parked outside. Lizzy’s heart sank.

‘The prodigal son finally returns!’ Cassandra exclaimed a little too brightly.

Elliot was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, morosely drinking tea from a floral mug.

‘There you are,’ his mother said. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

‘I’ve been mending the fencing up by the lake.’

Cassandra smiled at the others. ‘My son is quite the handyman when he comes home. Only this morning he was on my roof fixing a leaky tile before the bad weather sets in. He risks life and limb to keep us all together!’

‘I wouldn’t have to if we sold the bloody place.’

The silence seemed to stretch on for ever.

‘Will you excuse me?’ Cassandra said. ‘I just have to go and take my tablets. I get all these stupid pains if I stand up for too long.’ She left the room rather stiffly.

Elliot remained where he was, staring at a fascinating spot on the worn flagstone floor.
How can someone who has a career on TV be so socially inept in real life?
Lizzy wondered. Then again, he probably hadn’t been anticipating having to entertain a bunch of random girls in his kitchen, especially when one of them had insulted him on two separate occasions, as well as being responsible for him getting covered in dog diarrhoea.

‘Do you come home a lot?’ Poppet asked Elliot.

His green eyes briefly flickered on to her. ‘When I want to get away from everything.’ It couldn’t have been more pointed.

It seemed like an age until Cassandra came back. ‘Look at you all still standing there! Elliot, why haven’t you offered our guests a seat?’

‘We
really
should think about going,’ Nic said. ‘We’ve got to check into our B & B.’

‘Oh, but you must stay here!’ Cassandra exclaimed. ‘Mustn’t they, Elliot?’