Well Groomed (6 page)

The Merediths still saw Sophia as flighty and light-weight, but they could not deny the benefits of her tireless work. She was meticulously organised in everything she did – memorising names before parties, plotting exactly who to introduce to whom, researching the backgrounds of the most important or influential people in any one room. Even her own family Boxing Day drinks – held at Home Farm, where she and Ben lived, not the Hall which was still occupied by the incumbent earl – was organised with the same crib-sheet social skills.

The heating in Home Farm was turned to almost sub-zero because Sophia’s dress was angora and made her glow as though straddling a radiator, the Christmas decorations glittered just as they had in the Harrods’ seasonal display three weeks earlier and subtle strains of Elgar in her father’s honour were battling to be heard over the guests’ chatter (James loved Elgar for the simple and singular reason that he was British). In Sophia’s vast Smallbone kitchen three local girls, the French nanny and a rather thick cousin of her husband’s who had done a Prue Leith course recently were peeling, grating, basting, chopping – and bitching about her like mad. The house reeked of beeswax and Floris-scented candles. Even the dogs were sitting in a neat, bus-queue line by the closed kitchen door, looking as though they were fresh from a week with Dunbar. Yet still Sophia flapped and fussed and could not settle into conversations beyond a polite enquiry into someone’s health at the same moment as she excused herself to check the pheasant soup.

Etty pursued her into the kitchen.

‘Seet Niall next to your sister at lunch,
chérie
,’ she demanded.

‘Don’t be silly,
Grandmère
,’ snapped Sophia, dipping a little finger into the soup. ‘That would ruin my seating plan.’

‘Just do it,’ Etty ordered, striding over to the range to help herself to more Glühwein, ‘or I’ll pretend to have dementia all afternoon.’

As Sophia raced off to swap around her place cards, Etty winked at the fat French nanny who was helping herself to a hunk of cooking chocolate. That, she reflected, would make their announcement far easier.

Tash and Niall, unaware that they were the subject of family scrutiny, were examining Sophia’s Christmas cards, trying hard not to giggle at the more revolting photographs of chinless aristocratic children which various of Sophia’s and Ben’s friend had deemed picturesque enough for the front of their Season’s Greetings. They certainly had a lot of cards – several hundred if counted – but not one from Tash and Niall who had missed the last Christmas post again this year.

‘Of course it’s all a complete secret – I’m not even supposed to know yet.’ Alexandra took a huge slug of Glühwein and settled back into one of Sophia’s sumptuous new brocade sofas while James perched uncomfortably on the arm. ‘Mummy thinks they’re going to announce it today. Doesn’t she look well, by the way?’

‘Needs a damned haircut.’ James looked at Tash critically. She was excitedly waggling a card featuring Wills and Harry and whispering to Niall that Sophia must have forged it. ‘So does her chap, come to that. Both look like a pair of gypsies.’

‘I was talking about Mummy,’ Alexandra said kindly, and then looked up to see James’s wife hovering nervously in the doorway, the lipstick-stained glass of her third Glühwein already half-empty.

‘Here, Henrietta darling!’ she called out, patting the seat beside her. ‘Come and sit down – you must be exhausted after all that cooking yesterday. How many did you have?’

‘Oh, just James and the girls,’ Henrietta swallowed nervously and perched as far away from Alexandra as possible, avoiding that warm, friendly gaze as she cast her blue eyes down to her knees, uneasily pleating her flowered Laura Ashley skirt with her fingers. ‘Emily wanted to bring her boyfriend, but James felt we should just have family this year.’

‘Chap’s a dratted yob.’ James cleared his throat, desperate to prod Henrietta into a more animated state. She was usually far more effervescent than this, but whenever she encountered Alexandra, his cool-headed, blonde second wife – to whom Alexandra could give almost twenty years – became ridiculously gauche, like a lower-third schoolgirl with a crush on a sixth-form lacrosse captain.

‘Em adores Six Pack,’ she said gently. ‘And, after all, he’s her third boyfriend since she went to university last October, so I don’t think we need panic. You know what they’re like at that age.’

‘Gosh, yes – Sophia had loads of simply ghastly boyfriends before she met Ben,’ Alexandra sympathised. ‘Tell me, why is he called Six Pack? Is he a bit of a party animal or something?’

Henrietta shook her head. ‘Something to do with his tummy, I gather. Em tried to explain, but I found it all rather baffling.’

‘Is she here today?’

Alexandra looked around the gathered throng, a mixture of her own children and grandchildren, Sophia’s in-laws and various honking Worcestershire locals that her elder daughter had deemed socially vital for Boxing Day lunch. The only noticeable absentees were various of the Merediths who were still out hunting, Ben’s great chum Hugo who – usually a regular at Sophia’s Boxing Day gathering – had Christmased in Australia this year, and, now Alexandra came to look, Henrietta’s fractious but likeable elder daughter Emily was also not in evidence.

‘She’s spending the day with some friends.’ Henrietta gave James a sideways look, but he showed no sign of guilt. There had been a huge row that morning as he’d tried to bully Emily into coming, culminating in his telling her that he wouldn’t pay off her overdraft unless she came to lunch. She’d refused, and stormed away from the house in Henrietta’s car.

‘I see Beccy’s here, though.’ Alexandra grinned at Henrietta’s younger, pudgier blonde daughter, who grinned back and then, blushing furiously, scuttled over to attack a tray of hors d’oeuvres. She reminded Alexandra of Tash at that age – shy, easily intimidated and desperate not to be noticed.

‘Is she doing “A” levels this year?’

‘Next.’ Henrietta watched as her daughter crammed back three smoked salmon parcels on the trot.

‘You and I must get our heads together soon.’ Alexandra dropped her voice and touched Henrietta’s arm. ‘About the most exciting event of next year.’

‘Oh yes?’ Henrietta hoped it wasn’t anything that might annoy James.

‘Tash and Niall’s wedding,’ Alexandra whispered. ‘I hope you’ll chum up with me to organise it – I think we can give them quite a splash, don’t you? Particularly if we keep the details a surprise. Pascal’s agreed to pay for most of it, so I’m planning to spend a lot of time in England this spring. Gosh, we can be lavish!’

That, Henrietta realised, was truly going to annoy James.

‘Lunch!’ Sophia chimed at the same time as her synchronised antique clocks all pealed the first hour of the afternoon throughout Home Farm.

‘Christ, it’s like the Feast of Lanterns,’ Sally muttered under her breath as they filed through to the long dining room to be faced with a table positively groaning under the weight of its piled goodies – most of them priceless crockery and silver rather than food.

Beside her, Matty, who was rebelliously donning his crocheted hat, was looking hugely sulky. They had spent a ludicrously uncomfortable night on the floor of the forge whilst the kids shared the sofa like Dickensian waifs. As a result they were both walking like rheumatic OAPs and Matty was convinced he had developed a chill. He was absolutely furious that his mother had called the forge from her plush hotel first thing that morning to pass on the news that Sophia was now expecting them for lunch and was delighted that they could make it after all. Knowing that Tash and Niall were likely to announce their Big News that day, Sally had insisted that they cancel their London lunch and go to Worcestershire.

‘She told me there was nothing veggie here apart from bloody veggies,’ Matty hissed under his breath.

‘Great – can I have ham then?’ Tom looked up at his father hopefully.

‘No, you can’t.’ Matty grumpily sat down next to Niall, completely ignoring Sophia’s placings.

Sighing, Sally winked at a downcast Tom and headed for the opposite end of the table where she realised happily that Sophia had placed her between her affable, easy-going husband Ben and a very dishy local who’d already filled her glass several times, told her some lovely gossip about the Parker-Bowleses and peered into her cleavage with surreptitious admiration, much to Matty’s disgust – more because she had her cleavage on display than because he had looked, Sally suspected.

‘Tom, you’re eating in the kitchen with the other children.’ Sophia smiled coolly at her nephew.

‘But I’m nine!’ he protested, looking deeply affronted.

‘Quite,’ Sophia waved him away impatiently. ‘Beccy can eat with us this year, though.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Beccy pushed back her alice band and noticed to her delight and terror that Sophia was booting Matty out of his chair and indicating for her to sit in it. This meant she would be sitting next to Niall. Next to her all-time hero, idol and crush. Next to the man she most wanted to take her breath away, take her virginity, and just basically take her away.

‘I think I’d really rather eat with the children, actually,’ she said in a terrified bleat.

‘Nonsense!’ Sophia looked aghast. ‘You’ll muck up my numbers.’

‘Oh, do sit next to Niall,’ encouraged a soft voice behind Beccy as Tash wandered back from washing her hands upstairs. ‘He thinks your’re great – and he’s dying to give you all his opinionated clap-trap about horses and courses.’

Beccy blushed even more deeply. Try as she might to hate Tash for having Niall, she admired her riding too much to truly detest her. Beccy was on the lower rungs of eventing – just out of juniors and into young riders – and Tash was something of an idol.

‘Besides, he’s got Granny opposite him, and he’s terrified of her.’ Tash winked at Beccy and nodded towards Etty, still sporting her bearskin hat and fur coat to ward off the cold of Sophia’s house. ‘You can hold his hand and keep him distracted.’

Beccy gulped with gratitude and fear.

Tash was rather alarmed throughout the meal to find herself being peered at with avid interest by a number of her relatives. Her every move, from using the wrong spoon for her starter to dribbling red wine down the front of her cream jumper, was noted and contemplated by several sets of amber or green eyes.

She tried to catch Niall’s eye for support, but he was wrapped up in flirting with Beccy on his far side, making Henrietta’s daughter turn pink with delight as he flattered her like mad to cheer her up. Tash helped herself to more devilled turkey and dropped most of it in her wine glass.

By the time the dessert was circulating the table on a second lap, Sally had winked at her three times, her father had asked her if she had anything she wanted to tell him, and Etty loudly enquired why she wasn’t wearing her lovely glass ring today.

‘My what?’

‘Your ring,
chérie
.’ Etty waved her wine glass around in an expansive gesture which caused the men either side of her to duck. ‘That lovely
bijou
that you were wearing
hier soir
.’

‘Oh, that thing!’ Tash laughed. ‘I think I’ve lost it.’

There was a shocked silence at her end of the table.

Niall, who’d had rather too much wine, let out an enraged faux-theatrical wail as he turned to face her again. ‘But that was your engagement ring, dammit!’

‘And I told you yesterday that my answer was no.’ Tash grinned at him.

‘Ah, no, my darling.’ Reaching out a hand, he lifted her chin and stared her out with relish. ‘What you actually said was that you’d think about it.’

‘I might change my mind then.’ Tash pouted cheerfully, giving him a slight wink.

The rest of the table was hushed now. From the gloomy far end, Tash caught sight of her gossip-mad Aunt Cassandra frantically shushing various waffly locals.

‘I might even say yes, just for the hell of it,’ she halfheartedly pursued the role-play, increasingly aware that it was eliciting rather too much attention, particularly from her mother, who was almost in the flower arrangement in her attempt to listen in.

‘Might you now?’ Niall was growing aware of the attention too and relishing the prospect of playing to a crowd, although several glasses of Ben’s best port was blurring the plot somewhat. He seemed to recall that Tash was entertaining a proposal from Wally the collie at Lime Tree Farm.

‘Oh, yes, you must!’ Alexandra joined in eagerly. ‘You absolutely must!’

‘Must what?’ Tash and Niall both turned to her in confusion.

‘Say yes.’ Alexandra sounded slightly less sure of herself now. ‘I actually thought you already had. I’ve told your father and he’s terribly excited about it.’

‘Is he?’ Bewildered, Tash looked at her father.

James cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Very pleased. Yes,’ he muttered grimly.

‘What on earth are you all on about?’ Sophia piped up from the end of the table, furious that this loud family dispute had just interrupted a wonderful, gossipy story she was being told about a local landowner’s marijuana plants.

‘Tash and Niall are going to get married!’ Alexandra announced dreamily.

‘We’re
what
?’ Tash gaped at her.

Niall started to laugh uproariously. Beside him, Beccy’s face was fading with disappointment through the various shades of high blush like a dying sunset.

It was at this moment that Etty Buckingham realised that she might have started something of a faux-rumour. She dabbed her nervously puckered mouth daintily with her napkin as she let the gravity of her misapprehension sink in. Never one to take being proven wrong on the chin, she realised that hasty and drastic action was called for.

‘Eeeeegh!’ She let out a delighted, creaky wail which silenced the table from its increasingly excited, congratulatory babbling.

‘You are going to make a dying woman so very, very ’appy,
ma jolie petite
!’ She rose shakily from her seat, mustering a few tears as she stretched across the table to embrace Tash, hugging a lot of the flower arrangement at the same time. ‘I sink zere is not a lovelier sing I could want to ’appen before I leave zis world.’