Love Letters (5 page)

Laura was wearing her interview suit, which was now a little tight over the hips. It was the day of the meeting. The entire bookshop was rooting for her, possibly anxious, she suspected, that she would back out. Henry had given her the afternoon off, ordering her to use it wisely, and Grant had offered her the use of his car. Now, Grant came round the back of the shop with her, to help her get it out.

‘I haven’t driven for ages, Grant,’ said Laura, suddenly nervous about it. ‘The last time was when I was staying with my parents and Dad wanted me to drive back from a restaurant.’

‘And you didn’t hit anything?’

‘No, but it was my home patch! I could have driven those roads blindfold on a bicycle!’

‘All roads are much the same really. And you’ve had your practice run.’

Laura nodded. ‘I know.’

‘I just wondered if blind panic had wiped your memory.’

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the blind panic that was washing over her with alarming frequency. ‘It’s only natural to be nervous. This is a big deal! I don’t go to meetings and before you say anything, I don’t count what we all do when we get together in the staffroom. That’s quite different.’

Grant did his best to be reassuring but as she’d been fretting all week, he was obviously getting just a bit tired of it. ‘Just take some deep breaths, you’ll be fine.’

‘But supposing this Fenella woman is just like her aunt? Scariness is bound to run in the family!’

‘Laura dear, are you like your parents? No. I rest my case.’

‘But genetics don’t always work that way.’

‘So Fenella will be a perfectly nice woman. She sounded nice on the phone, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘But nothing. Just get in and drive, girl!’ he said. ‘It’s insured for any driver. And you’re insured if I’ve given you permission to—’

‘I’d feel happier if I had a letter saying you’ve given me permission, or something.’

‘Oh for goodness sake! You’re far too law-abiding! Go to your meeting and tell us all about it when you get back. Remember, you don’t have to agree to anything if you don’t want to but I’ll want to know why! Now, here’s your route.’ He handed her some sheets of paper. ‘This one’s off the computer, and this is mine. Here’s the map Fenella faxed through.’ He paused. ‘You’ve got a sleeping bag, an ice axe and a boxful of emergency rations in case you’re stranded overnight.’

Anxiety had slowed her reactions and it took her a nano-second to realise he was joking. She pushed his arm and got into the car. Then she hooked her curls back behind her ears and turned the key. Grant patted the roof and she was off.

She found she liked driving his little Fiat Punto. It was light and nippy and she soon forgot to worry about handling it. Now it was only getting lost she had to concern herself with. Fenella’s map looked perfectly straightforward but as she got nearer, all her nervousness came back and she started muddling up left and right. But at last, after a brief unscheuduled detour around the village, it was before her, on a hill, as described in the directions.

Somerby was a truly lovely house. Surrounded by pasture, currently grazed by a few picturesque horses well rugged up against the winter cold, it looked like a calm, benign being surveying the countryside it presided over.

Although it was still early afternoon, the January day was thinking about closing. The leafless trees stood out clearly against the pale sky and a faint glow from the sun lent a soft glow to the scene, as in an old oil painting.

Laura, who had stopped to double-check she had the right place before going up the drive, took a few moments to enjoy the picture. Some days in January, she always felt, teetered between the melancholy of winter and the optimism of spring. This matched her own feelings: sadness about losing her beloved job, but a stirring of hope at the prospect of something that might be quite exciting. She just had to be brave enough to take the leap. She spent a few moments enjoying the view, wondering just how courageous she was.

Then she noted the several cars drawn up in front of the Georgian façade and glanced at her watch, worried that she was late. In fact she was exactly on time, her watch confirmed this, but she liked to be punctual – early, Grant called it – and turned the car into the drive.

She found somewhere to park it and then, when she could put off the moment no longer, got out. Up until this point a meeting to her meant an informal event held in the staffroom of the shop and consisted of Henry, Grant, the part-time staff and her discussing things. There was no agenda and everyone said what they wanted to say and no one wrote anything down. It worked fine. Laura knew this was going to be different. It was likely to be extremely nerve-racking – if she had any nerves left to rack, that is; she was nearly all racked out simply from the journey!

The doorbell jangled and the door opened swiftly on a tall young woman with blonde hair, wearing a Cavalier shirt, velvet trousers tucked into fabulous pale green suede boots that nearly reached her thighs and a worried expression. Spotting Laura, she smiled and looked slightly less concerned. ‘You must be Laura Horsley?’

‘Yes. Am I the last? I got a bit lost towards the end.’

‘No, there’s still another couple of people who aren’t here. Come in.’ She closed the big oak door and ushered Laura into a large hallway with a sweeping staircase. Laura tried not to feel too intimidated. It was all so grand.

‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from Eleanora,’ the woman went on. ‘Isn’t she terrifying?’

‘Well . . .’

‘Heart of gold, of course, but tough as old boots in some ways. She thinks very highly of you and she’s very perceptive.’

‘Oh no, now I’ll have to live up to her expectations!’

The woman chuckled. ‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Do you want the loo or anything or shall I take you straight upstairs where the meeting is being held? I’m Fenella, by the way. It was my mad idea to have a festival here.’ She glanced round to check that Laura was following her up the staircase. ‘The trouble with having such a massive house is that it’s very expensive. It has to earn its keep and if we need to do more renovations – and we always do – we have to do something big. We mostly do weddings. Here we are.’

She opened the door to a room with floor-to-ceiling windows and, Laura guessed, fantastic views. There was a huge table in the middle with chairs all round. Most of the chairs were occupied; voices bounced off the parquet floor as people chatted animatedly. Laura licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, certain she would never be able to open her mouth in such circumstances.

Just as Fenella was about the introduce her, the doorbell jangled and she gave Laura a worried look. ‘Do you mind if I answer that? Sorry to abandon you.’

‘No, not at all, I’ll be fine,’ said Laura, feeling anything but fine.

One young woman, who seemed somehow familiar, had looked up as Laura entered and raised her eyebrows in greeting, waving her fingers. ‘Another girly,’ she called across the table. ‘What a relief!’

Laura hadn’t ever thought of herself as a ‘girly’ before and found she rather liked this new status. She waved back.

‘Find an empty chair,’ said Fenella. ‘Here, between Rupes and Johnny. They’ll look after you. Rupert is my husband. Johnny is a friend. Now I must answer the door.’ She hurried off, adding to the sense of bustle and busyness that filled the room.

Both men smiled in a friendly way and Rupert, in jeans and an old tweed jacket, got up and pulled out the chair for Laura. She sank on to it, wondering how soon she could go home. There was no way she could make a useful contribution at a meeting like this. She would just sit quietly and listen. Johnny, in black jeans and T-shirt with a cashmere scarf looped round his neck, poured her a glass of water and wrinkled his eyes at her in greeting. He was young and had an earring that looked to Laura very like a hearing aid. As almost everyone else apart from Fenella and Rupert, but including Laura, was wearing some sort of a suit, he seemed like welcome light relief.

‘Is Hugo coming?’ called Rupert as Fenella returned, followed by an attractive young woman carrying a bundle of files who apologised for being late, but oozed efficiency in spite of it.

‘No. He’s working.’ The young woman took a seat and arranged her papers into neat piles in front of her, making eye contact with everyone.

She seemed to epitomise everything Laura was not; she was outgoing and utterly confident. She has a nice smile, Laura thought, and she can’t be much older than me, but I’m still scared of her.

‘Right,’ said the man sitting at the head of the table, ‘shall we start?’

Everyone shuffled and coughed in agreement.

‘I suggest we go round the table introducing ourselves, and saying what our role is in all this,’ he said. ‘Fen, maybe we could have name badges?’

Fenella looked horrified for a moment until the woman who had arrived last said, ‘I’ve got some!’ She pulled out a packet. ‘You will have to write on them yourselves, though,’ she added. ‘I couldn’t do them beforehand because I wasn’t sure who was coming.’

‘We don’t usually do meetings like this,’ murmured Rupert. ‘I prefer the kitchen table and a few bottles of wine.’

Johnny, to whom this aside was addressed, laughed. ‘Mm. I know. I’ve been to a few like that.’

Rupert smiled at Laura to include her in this conversation but it didn’t help much. The delay while people found pens and wrote their names postponed the moment when she’d have to introduce herself to a room full of strangers, and was very welcome. But she’d have to do it eventually, and to think up a role for herself, when she didn’t think she had one.

She caught the eye of the girl who’d said hello and she made a face in solidarity. Laura raised her eyebrows back and wondered why she felt she recognised her.

‘OK,’ said the man at the top. ‘I’m Bill Edwards, I’m going to keep us all in order. Let’s go to the left.’

‘Sarah Stratford,’ said the woman who’d produced the badges. ‘I’m here because Fen thought I’d be useful. Not sure if I will.’

‘You’ve been useful already,’ said Fenella. ‘Producing name badges.’

‘If we could press on,’ said Bill Edwards, sitting down hard on any inclination to chat.

‘Sorry,’ muttered Fenella. Laura felt the man was being officious. It was Fenella’s house, and her festival, she should be allowed to at least open her mouth.

‘I’m Dylan Jones, representative of Alcan Industries.’ He sounded as if giving presentations to hundreds of people was all in a day’s work for him and he made Laura feel she should have heard of Alcan Industries, although she hadn’t.

‘Monica Playfair,’ said the self-confessed ‘girly’. ‘Here to liven things up!’ She made it sound as if her role was vital. She raised her eyebrows conspiratorially towards Laura who allowed herself to smile back.

‘I’m Tricia Montgomery, I’m here on behalf of Eleanora Huckleby.’ Tricia sounded confident and smiled at the table full of people. ‘She couldn’t come.’

Laura couldn’t decide if she was glad Eleanora was involved or not. And why hadn’t Eleanora mentioned her assistant was coming? Still, if she didn’t have to work with her directly it might not be too bad. Tricia seemed a lot less daunting than her boss.

‘I’m Fenella Gainsborough. Eleanora Huckleby is my aunt, and this festival was my mad idea to begin with.’ Fenella said all this in a rush, as if confessing her sins at a self-help group.

‘Jacob Stone,’ said the man on Fenella’s right. He just stated his name and didn’t try and engage with his audience.

‘I’m Rupert Gainsborough – also responsible for the mad idea.’ Fenella smiled across at him, obviously grateful for his support.

It was her turn now. She cleared her throat and thought of Grant, egging her on. ‘I’m Laura Horsley and I’m not sure why I’m here, really, but I was asked to come, so I did.’ Although she knew that Grant would have been ashamed of her, she couldn’t really say that Eleanora Huckleby had felt she could make a contribution.

‘Johnny Animal. I’m in charge of the music side of it. Getting artists, stuff like that.’

‘Stage name,’ muttered Rupert.

Well, he may have a silly name and be very young but he had an air of huge confidence about him, thought Laura.

Now everyone had introduced themselves they began chatting again. Sarah dished out pads of paper; people who hadn’t done so before wrote on their nametags. Bill Edwards looked around, fearing he’d lost control already, coughed and tapped his water glass.

‘May I declare this meeting open?’ he said.

‘If you must,’ muttered Johnny to Laura and she smiled.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we’re all here?’ He looked around eagerly. He obviously loved being in control of a room full of people.

Everyone nodded.

‘So, can we have a report on the music side?’

Several people began to speak. Bill held up his pad and waved it until they stopped. ‘Please, one at a time, and through the chair please!’

Johnny Animal looked confused for a moment and then said, ‘Do you want me to tell you about the music side?’

‘Yes please,’ said Bill, writing hard.

Laura wondered what on earth he could be jotting down and noticed similar wonder on Sarah’s face.

‘Not sure how to speak through a chair, but we’ve got some quite big names booked – or nearly booked. It’s always quite hard to get people to commit.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ muttered Monica, who received a frown from the chairman in reply.

‘So who have you got – Sorry . . .’ Rupert looked at the chairman. ‘Mr Chairman, may I ask which bands have actually agreed to come?’

‘The Caped Crusaders,’ said Johnny. There was silence when he obviously felt there should have been applause, or at least approving murmurs. ‘They appeared at Glastonbury last year?’

‘Oh yes,’ said a few people as their memories kicked in. Laura decided she was probably the only person there who had never been to Glastonbury. Well, her and Bill Edwards, anyway.