Just a Family Affair (7 page)

‘Stop!’ Mandy was laughing at the enthusiasm her invitation had unleashed. ‘I’ve got no idea what I want yet. Patrick only proposed to me this morning. The only thing I’ve set my mind on is the colour.’

‘Oyster pink?’ Kitty sounded hopeful. ‘No - pale grey.’

‘Scarlet!’ said Sasha lasciviously. ‘You could easily do scarlet with your colouring.’

‘Too tarty.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

The twins were soon arguing the toss. They were so different. Sasha was the antithesis of bohemian Kitty, all gloss and glimmer in designer jeans and a sparkly halter-neck top that showed off her fake tan, her hair poker straight and gleaming.

‘Sorry,’ said Mandy firmly. ‘I’m going to be dead boring, I’m afraid. I want to get married in white.’

She smiled round as everyone stared at her. Caroline snorted. James raised an eyebrow. But Mandy stood her ground.

‘I’ve always wanted a white wedding.’

‘Then you shall have it,’ said Lucy soothingly. ‘There’s nothing boring about being traditional. I think it’s a lovely idea.’

‘To a white wedding,’ said Mickey, raising his glass. He loved any excuse for a toast.

‘A white wedding,’ everyone chorused, raising their glasses in response.

 

When everyone had gone, Lucy paced out the lawn from the bottom of the stone steps that led down from the terrace at the back of Honeycote House. She’d already ignored the fact that the steps were crumbling. They couldn’t afford to repair everything that needed doing. Not that anyone would notice, for Lucy was an expert at making everything look just so.

She felt light of heart as she walked down the garden. She absolutely wasn’t going to be the interfering mother-in-law, but having the wedding here was going to give her something to get her teeth into. It would take her mind off her ennui and stop her going completely barking mad. Even though Mandy and Patrick were insisting that they wanted things kept simple, Lucy knew that this meant as much hard work as something more elaborate. If people weren’t going to be distracted by gimmicks, then everything had to be perfect. In an understated, rough-round-the-edges way. She wasn’t daunted, for so many things that seemed to be wedding prerequisites these days were superfluous and, usually, rather tasteless. As long as the food was delicious and there was plenty of booze, everything else would fall into place.

Lucy looked back up at the house from the bottom of the lawn and smiled in satisfaction. Mother Nature would provide most of the decoration. The bank that was studded with snowdrops and crocuses would be a brilliant green by May. The soggy ground would be dry, the lawn soft and lush, not yet parched. The countryside would be glowing in shades of emerald and lime interspersed with pinky-white blossom, the air thick with its heavenly scent. Why look any further for a source of inspiration? Mandy was right, decided Lucy. A white wedding. There was no point in trying to be clever about it. It was absolutely perfect.

 

Not far away, at Keeper’s Cottage in Kiplington, Keith slipped into the bathroom to freshen himself up. He looked at his reflection critically. He didn’t look as bad as he felt. He kept his hair clipped short these days now it had all turned steel grey, and there was no doubt it took a few years off. His face was slightly pink from rather too much to drink at lunch, but other than that he looked the picture of health.

Tomorrow might contradict his reflection. Tomorrow would bring the truth . . .

He brushed his teethed vigorously, spitting the foaming paste back into the sink, wondering if all the rich food would stop him falling asleep later. He hoped not. When he didn’t sleep, the nights were long and full of terror. Worst of all were the nights when he did drop off, then woke with a start at about three, drenched in sweat. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

He put his toothbrush back carefully, splashed water on his face and towelled it dry. He’d go back downstairs and watch the Sunday-night drama with Ginny. He often tried to slip into bed early these days, so he could feign unconsciousness when she got in beside him and thus avoid any embarrassment. But it wasn’t fair. He was pushing her away, just when he needed her most.

 

Given the choice, Kay would never have plumped for a metallic purple Nissan Micra. But her father had insisted on buying her a car. She knew he couldn’t really afford to part with five grand, but he’d wanted to do it. And now she had Flora, she understood how, as a parent, you would make any sacrifice for your children. Besides, her father knew a bloke who was selling his wife’s runaround, and he knew it had been looked after from brand new. So here she was, bowling along the road out of Eldenbury with Flora in a child seat that her mother had bought from the local paper and steam-cleaned until it looked like new, in a car that had ‘one careful lady owner’ written all over it, when what she was used to was a motor that screamed ‘reckless speed freak’.

But, as she reminded herself, that was what had got her where she was today.

Lawrence had only had his car for two weeks when it had left the coast road on a notorious bend. Forensics said he had been doing over a hundred and had lost control. She found it hard to believe. Lawrence was a good driver, and he knew that road like the back of his hand. Her unease grew when her lawyer outlined the bare facts to her rather gravely after the funeral. Lawrence had left her without a bean. Every last penny, including the money he’d raised by remortgaging their villa, unbeknownst to her, had been invested in his latest development project. This had gone mysteriously bankrupt at the time of his death. Even more mysteriously, his partners had emerged unscathed, somehow managing to get their money out before the project crashed.

Kay knew Lawrence had been unhappy with the way business had been going just before he died. The latest project was not to his taste: cheap apartments that were being thrown up using low-grade materials and badly finished. And the sales tactics being used went against the grain. Extremely high pressure techniques being used mercilessly on people who didn’t know better; people who had been lured out on free flights and promptly cornered by ruthless salespeople who filled their heads with the promise of a better life. Lawrence knew that nobody was actually held at gunpoint, but he didn’t agree with the mind games being used. His partners scoffed at his protestation that their customers were being exploited. Strangely enough it was the female salespeople who were the most aggressive, using a combination of their tanned sexuality and innate cunning to secure the most names on the dotted line. Lawrence loathed them, and refused to have anything to do with rewarding their success.

Kay wondered if he’d threatened to pull his money out. He’d had a meeting the week before he died, and come home in a very dark mood. Unusually, he hadn’t wanted to share his misgivings with Kay, whom he often used as a sounding board. Instead, he’d taken her and Flora for a meal at their favourite harbour-side restaurant, and his mood had soon lightened when Flora ordered for them in perfect Portuguese. The little girl always managed to make him smile. So Kay hadn’t grilled him any further, which she now bitterly regretted. Had she known what was troubling him, she might now be able to prove her suspicions - that his partners had sacrificed Lawrence to their own ends. Money was king in their world; loyalty meant nothing. Had they forced him off the road or done something to his brakes? Or was she being completely paranoid?

It was a better theory than the other possibility. That Lawrence had found the pressure too much and taken the only way out. She didn’t believe he would have done that; he loved Flora too much. So in the end, she came to terms with the fact that it was an accident. Any other theory was too difficult to cope with.

And life was hard enough. She learned with a shock just how fickle the circles they moved in were. At the merest whiff of scandal all their so-called friends had withdrawn hastily. None of them had attended Lawrence’s funeral. Not a single woman who had lounged by Kay’s pool, drunk her champagne or eaten at her table phoned to commiserate. No one asked how she was, or offered to have Flora. She was a social outcast.

She got through it. Kay was tough, and the doctor was kind enough to give her something to soften the harsh reality. Nothing too strong - she wanted her wits about her, if only for Flora. Her heart ached for the bewildered little girl, who didn’t really understand that her daddy had gone for ever.

Each day got worse and worse, until the day her solicitor told her gravely that, after the house had been sold and the debts paid off, she was left with the princely sum of just over five thousand pounds. Kay couldn’t help thinking it would have been better to be left with nothing. Somehow that would have been easier to take than the paltry sum she had to start a new life with. Penniless somehow rang truer than merely poor.

She’d got away as quickly as she could. There was nothing keeping her in Portugal, after all. And it was pretty humiliating, being ignored in the supermarket, walked past in the street. Kay resisted the urge to march up to her old acquaintances and accost them with a cheery greeting. As soon as all the paperwork was tied up, she’d taken the first plane out and landed on her parents’ doorstep in Slough. Just as she had a few years before, when she’d found out she was pregnant with Flora, and Lawrence had kicked her out. Unsurprisingly. For what he’d failed to tell her throughout their marriage was that he was infertile. She could hardly pass the baby off as his, when he’d been firing blanks all along.

It had been all right, in the end. Lawrence had come to find her, just after she had Flora. He wanted her back. He admitted he’d been wrong to withhold the information from her. That didn’t excuse her infidelity, of course. But in a funny way two wrongs had made a right. The incident had brought them closer than they’d ever been. And he had become a wonderful father to Flora.

As she turned off the main road and drove into the village of Honeycote, a lump rose in Kay’s throat. Perhaps they should never have left. They had never openly discussed it, but they had both felt that bringing up Flora in such close proximity to her biological father was not a good idea, and so they’d left for Portugal. As far as she knew, no one in Honeycote was even aware of their reconciliation, or the truth about Flora’s parentage.

Kay’s sharp eyes raked the landscape around her for signs of change. It was getting dark, but she noted a development of rather splendid new houses behind a set of gates. Honeycote Grange, read the slate sign. The best part of a million each at the very least, she estimated. She’d once been an estate agent, and her instincts had never died.

As she passed the driveway to her old house, her throat constricted. Barton Court Spa, it announced. For a moment she was tempted to check in. Whereas once she had tired of her weekly massage and exfoliation, now she longed for soothing hands to ease her aching bones. She had never felt so exhausted. It was the emotion, of course. And the uncertainty. The horrible, horrible fear. She’d lost over a stone since Lawrence died, and the one thing Kay didn’t need was to lose weight. But there had been a knot of worry in her stomach - the knot that had materialized the second she’d seen the shadowy figures of the policemen through the door, and hadn’t gone away since. And it seemed there wasn’t room for a knot and food.

If it had been just her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Kay was a survivor. She’d always kept her wits about her. But with a five-year-old child to look after, she was incredibly restricted. She needed somewhere for them to live.

It was a catch twenty-two. A vicious circle.

Of course, what it boiled down to at the end of the day was money. Which was why she was back in Honeycote. Kay hadn’t asked herself too many questions about what she was about to do next, because she didn’t have any choice. It was the easiest way she could think of to get her hands on a decent lump sum, and she wasn’t proud.

She pulled into the car-park of the Honeycote Arms. The crunching of the tyres on the gravel woke Flora up.

‘Where are we?’

Kay was almost tempted to say ‘home’. For Honeycote felt like home. She’d never been one for sentimental attachments in the past. But somehow here she felt safe. There were no swarthy-skinned bandits likely to run her off the road here.

The Honeycote Arms had undergone a total transformation since she’d left. Then, it had been a typical English village pub, complete with horse-brasses and hunting prints, inoffensive but uninspiring, smelling of stale fags and the faintest whiff of wee. Now it was completely stripped out, with polished flagstones, creamy walls, and low sofas. A huge glass vase crammed with brightly coloured birds of paradise stood on the bar, behind which was a chalked-up menu and wines by the glass. It still felt traditional and English, but with a contemporary edge.

This boded well, thought Kay. Honeycote Ales had clearly got their arse into gear.

‘Did you want an extra bed for the little one?’ The landlord was polite. And rather gorgeous. Early thirties, she guessed. Quite posh. Things had definitely changed. The previous incumbent had been a dishevelled drunk. She smiled at him, wondering if he might be a useful source of information. Not now, because she was exhausted. But perhaps tomorrow.

‘No. She can share with me.’

It was a habit she had got into, and one she knew would be hard to break. But it gave her comfort, to have Flora’s warm little body next to her at night. And the urge to protect her was enormous. Flora had almost stopped weeping for Lawrence, but she still talked about him, her little face screwed up with anxiety as to where exactly he was and what he was doing. And Kay knew that one day she was going to have to tell her the truth.

‘Fine. Well, I’m Barney. Barney Blake. My wife Suzanna runs the kitchen. So if there’s anything we can do for you during your stay . . .’

His welcoming smile reached his eyes, and Kay felt heartened. She knew she probably couldn’t afford to stay here for long, but while she could, she was going to enjoy the luxury. She decided to have supper sent up to her room. She didn’t quite have the nerve to go down to the bar to eat, even though they had assured her she was welcome, as she couldn’t be sure who might pop in for a Sunday evening pint. She refrained from telling Barney that she used to live in the village, explaining that she was in the area on business. Which wasn’t so very far from the truth.