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‘Right? But they are, aren’t they? I thought you were happy. Is it you that’s getting bored?’
‘Don’t be daft. I didn’t mean between us in that way. I meant money-wise, this place. Nobody is making bookings for next year, they’re all too worried it won’t be fixed.’
‘It’ll be fixed.’ He said it with the type of conviction he knew she needed to hear. ‘Come on, gorgeous,’ he pulled her to her feet and drew her in close so that he could look straight into the big green eyes he loved so much. She still looked the same old Lottie, his Lottie. The money thing was obviously worrying her more than she let on, that was the trouble – she was just too good at coping sometimes. ‘Let’s see the year in with some baby-making practice. You don’t want me to forget how to do it, do you?’ He winked. ‘Just in case.’
Chapter 5 (#ulink_947dbe20-b8dc-56e8-83df-54a08b288647)
‘What are you doing here, Andy? Up to no good, I bet.’ Sam grinned at the slightly overweight middle-aged man, then transferred her attention to Lottie. ‘Everything okay, babe?’
‘You know each other?’ Lottie raised an eyebrow. The man standing on her doorstep had just announced that he had an appointment with Lady Tipping, then had smiled reassuringly at her as though she was ten years old, although she probably did look like a kid in her scruffy breeches, old fleece, and spotty socks. A very big kid, though.
Quite honestly everything wasn’t okay. She was fed up of fending off property developers and trying to be nice to insurance investigators. This one hadn’t even bothered to do his homework properly. There was no such person as Lady Tipping (well, not to her knowledge, and certainly not in Tippermere). There was Lady Elizabeth Stanthorpe and there was her, Charlotte Steel.
‘Course we do. We go way back.’ Sam winked. ‘This bugger ran a full-page spread about me and my Davey when he played in the World Cup, didn’t you, darling? Called us girls plastic fantastic.’
‘Spread? So he’s a journalist?’
Andy ignored Lottie’s interruption. ‘Well to be fair, Sam …’
‘There was nothing fair about that, babe.’ She waved a stern finger. ‘Martina was well pissed off with you telling everybody how much her nose job cost. She’d told her Frankie that it cost half that. Made him out to be a right dickhead, you did. And you know the boys don’t like to look stupid in front of the rest of the team.’
Lottie, who had been trying to work out how to slam the front door in the stranger’s face in a polite way, looked from Sam, who was a vision in skin-tight maroon leather trousers, matching jacket and brown thigh-high boots, to the guy and back again.
‘And you said I’d been to that dodgy London geezer for my new boobs. Davey wasn’t pleased at all when he’d arranged it all special for me. I mean, look at them.’ She opened her leather jacket with a flourish and cupped her generous breasts in both hands. ‘They’re perfect. There’s nothing cheap about my Dave. No way would he let just anybody mess with my body.’ She jiggled them about. ‘These are as real as fake ones get, you know. Look.’ He was looking. ‘And they’re quite squeezy – not solid at all like those cheap ones.’ She flexed her fingers. ‘You have to look dead close to see the scar. Davey was really insulted when you said that.’
‘Sorry, no er insult intended.’
He didn’t look sorry, thought Lottie, more like transfixed.
‘So you don’t have an appointment?’ She took the opportunity, while the pair of them were engrossed with Sam’s boobs, to get a word in.
‘You’ve made an appointment?’ Sam let go of her boobs and said the word in such a tone of astonishment that Lottie giggled.
‘Well not an actual appointment, more like an arrangement. Give her the first chance to comment on this.’ He shoved a newspaper in Sam’s direction, tapping a finger on the headline. ‘Only fair to get her side of the story, isn’t it? In the interests of fair play and all that.’
‘Fair play?’ Sam guffawed. ‘You’re a cheeky bugger, you are.’ She grabbed hold of the paper before Lottie could and took a swipe at the man’s head with it. ‘You don’t want to look at that, babe, it’s a real load of bollocks. That’s why I came. They’ve not got it right at all, have they, babe?’ She waved it in the air so that Lottie had to bob her head up and down to try and catch a glimpse, although she wasn’t quite sure now if Sam was telling her she should or she shouldn’t read it.
Lottie had never thought any of the headlines associated with the Tipping House Estate and her family could be called ‘right’, though.
The ‘Billy-the-Bonk’ headlines about her father (while she was still at school) had made her cringe, the more recent ‘Flaming Family Pile’ one had nearly made her cry, as had the ‘Lady Elizabeth’s Ashes’, which was just plain cruel. Then there had been the ‘Wizard of Oz’ one, when her Australian ex-lover had arrived unexpectedly in the village, which had made her laugh and the ‘Tippingly-Good Theme Park’, which she’d actually torn up and was going to use as loo paper until Rory pointed out that the ink would leave her with a black bum.
But this one, flashing before her eyes as Sam waved it like a flag, brought a sharp pain to her chest. ‘Upstairs Heiress Rips Off Down-town Bride.’ She opened her mouth to object and got a warning look.
‘Don’t you say anything while he’s here listening, Lottie,’ Sam glanced at the journalist, ‘cos he’ll write it down, won’t you?’
‘Well that is my job.’ He looked affronted. ‘Some of us have got to earn a living, we can’t all be lords and ladies, you know.’
‘I’m surprised at you, Andy, I really am.’
For a brief moment Sam sounded just like her daughter Roxy, Lottie thought.
‘Not my headline, darling, I’m just here for a quote. So you’re Lady Lottie?’ He raised an eyebrow and gave Lottie a once-over from head to toe.
‘I’m not a Lady.’ She said it automatically and folded her arms, trying her best to look like a somewhat affronted Lady rather than an angry kid. ‘That’s why you came round, Sam?’
‘Come on, let’s get inside, babe. And you,’ she blew a kiss at the journalist, who looked like he was intent on following them inside Tipping House, ‘can bugger off back to Fleet Street or wherever it is you come from.’ The man looked unsure whether to make a bolt for the door with them, but Sam waggled a very long (which Lottie thought probably qualified as a lethal weapon) glittery-bronze fingernail at him.
‘So, it’s no comment then?’ He had one hand raised, as though to ward off the inevitable.
‘You can write the truth about my boobs instead. Move your fingers, babe, you don’t want them getting squashed, do you?’ And with that Lottie found herself pushed firmly back into Tipping House and the door slammed behind them.
Lottie glanced worriedly at her watch. She really had to muck out the horses before Rory got back from the gallops, and she’d had a summons from her gran, Elizabeth, which she really couldn’t afford to ignore or her life wouldn’t be worth living. ‘You came to show me the latest headlines, then?’
‘And my new extensions, babe. What do you think?’ Sam flicked her hair back over her shoulder. ‘Do you think they look natural?’
‘Well,’ Lottie paused, how natural could that particular shade of bleached blond look?
‘Never thought I’d need them, but my hair has been a right state since I had Roxy. I mean, at first it was really thick, you know?’ Lottie didn’t. ‘I mean that happens when you’re preggers, doesn’t it?’ She didn’t pause for an answer. ‘But then it started coming out in handfuls. I mean, we’re going to have loads more kids, so I suppose it will get thick again,’ she looked doubtfully down at her handful of hair, ‘but I can’t wait, can I, babe? I mean, it has to look right for Davey every day, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Lottie truthfully. It was. Sam always had a full head of perfectly tamed hair, even if the colour wasn’t always a shade that nature intended. Unlike her own hair, which tended to resemble something a bird would make a nest in, and was a kind of very natural brownish shade. Like bark. The same colour and not far off the texture when she got out of bed in the mornings.
‘Aww thank you, babe. I know you always say it as it is. Mandy said it suited my personality, isn’t she the sweetest?’
‘Very. Er, where’s Roxy?’
‘She’s in the car, babe. Scruffy is looking after her.’
‘He’s a dog.’
‘I know that, but he’s dead protective, wouldn’t let anybody harm a hair on her head.’
Lottie, who had been worrying more about what Roxy might be doing to the dog and the car (she had what Sam called an ‘inquisitive nature’) let it go.
‘Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got the key this time.’ Sam waved it in the air; leaving it in the ignition one time had led to the roof being put down, which was quite handy seeing as Roxy had managed to lock all the doors and was howling as she’d then shoved the keys down the back of the seat and got her fingers trapped trying to get them out again. Heaven only knew, Lottie thought, what she’d be like by the time she was four years old. ‘She was good as gold when I left her, promised to stay in her seat with the seatbelt done up and everything, bless her.’
‘That’s, er, good.’
Sam beamed, totally confident in her role as mother. ‘Well, it was little Aggie told me.’
‘Aggie?’
‘My new au-pair. She arrived the other day and she’s such a sweetie. That other one decided to stay in Croatia, said me having little Roxy had reminded her how important family is and she was homesick. Isn’t that sweet?’
Lottie had a feeling that generous and lovely as Sam and her family were, trying to cope with them would remind anybody how much they treasured their own.
‘So, anyway, Aggie said had I seen the paper? She never stops reading stuff, was asking where my library was the other day.’ Sam giggled. ‘She’s a right card. I gave her a pile of mags, but she seems to prefer to go and get her own from the village, says it’s no trouble and she wouldn’t dream of taking mine. Anyhow, she brought this back.’ Sam opened the newspaper out. ‘Makes you out to be a right cow, and we all know you’re not. You didn’t do that though, babe, did you?’ She frowned. ‘Says here that you wouldn’t give this poor girl any money back or let her have her special day here and she’s skint, can’t afford to get married at all now.’
Lottie sighed and sank down into a chair next to the Aga as she studied the picture of the distraught bride-to-be. ‘I never said she couldn’t get married here.’ The problem was there had been so many cancellations lately she was struggling to remember exactly what she’d said to this one. ‘But, I wouldn’t have given her a deposit back, cos you don’t do you? That’s the point of a deposit, isn’t it?’ She chewed the side of her thumb.
‘Well, yes,’ Sam looked doubtful, ‘but if she can’t have her wedding here, then it’s only fair to give it back, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not her fault the place burned down, is it? Haven’t you got insurance for that type of thing, you know Acts of God, or whatever.’
‘It wasn’t God, it was the act of a drunken toe rag.’ It was rather unfair that this article was all about how evil she was and barely mentioned the inebriated groom, who had nearly toasted his family and friends as well as her own. ‘But I haven’t cancelled her wedding. It’s not until next year and the house should be fine by then, so she can still have it here. That’s why I haven’t given her a deposit back.’ She skimmed over the article again. ‘In fact it’s right at the end of next summer, I remember her now.’ And she did. It had only been yesterday and one of the shortest conversations of the lot. In fact it consisted of ‘I want to cancel and can I have all my money back?’ followed by the dial tone before Lottie had even had time to discuss reduced rates or extra flowers (which was her latest tactic in the effort to stop the rush of cancellations). ‘She says here I’ve ruined her fairy tale, wrecked her dreams, and it has to be perfect or her whole life will be destroyed ‘cos his family will think she’s cheap.’ Lottie pulled at Harry’s ears absentmindedly and he wriggled, trying to lick her hand. ‘And she didn’t say any of that to me.’
‘What about this one, babe? Here’s another one.’ Sam pointed to a paragraph further down the column. ‘I think this is the Downton bit, where she says I just wanted to be like Lady Charlotte.’
‘And I’m not bloody Lady Charlotte,’ sighed Lottie, knowing she was sounding a right grump.
‘Look here, she says I was promised I’d be treated like a lady of the manor on my special day and now they won’t give me my money back or give me my dream wedding, they just think they can do what they want to normal people like us, it’s a disgrace.’
Lottie peered at the photograph, this time the bride-to-be had actually gone to the trouble of putting on a wedding dress. ‘Isn’t it bad luck to let your groom see the dress beforehand?’
‘Probably not hers, hun. I bet the press lent it her.’
‘I remember her.’ Lottie jabbed at the picture. ‘We bloody did offer her some money back. I gave her a cut price and offered them a marquee.’ She hugged Harry to her. ‘The thing is they’re not the only ones. They’re all pulling out. It’s like somebody has told them to. None of them will discuss it. The moment I ask they just slam the phone down.’
‘Like who, babe? Who would tell them to cancel? I mean that Andy that was just here. He’s a bit naughty but he wouldn’t do anything like that, not on purpose.’
‘I don’t think it’s the papers,’ she paused, ‘I keep getting these other phone calls all the time, as well as the cancellation ones.’ In fact the phone rang almost non-stop and Lottie always leapt on it in case it was good news. But it never was. ‘There’s this bloke who says bungee jumping is the answer to all my problems, then there’s the boot-camp lot who want to do squats on the front lawn, and this hyper weirdo who says we need an adventure park, not forgetting the loony who said we need lions because they are so going to be the in-thing next year.’
Sam giggled.
‘Then there’s the luxury hotel chain who want to offer spa breaks.’ Lottie frowned, but Sam clapped her hands.
‘Ooh a spa sounds exciting, that would be amazing.’
‘But I don’t want somebody running a spa here. It’s my home, Sam, but it’s just like there’s a load of vultures circling; you know, waiting for us to cave in and accept an offer. Do you think one of them is behind this?’ She sighed. ‘I can’t really afford to pay back all the deposits for next year. We actually are pretty broke, you know.’
Sam shrugged, but looked far more serious. ‘I don’t know, babe, but it’s quite a lot of work to find out who all these people are, isn’t it? I mean how would anybody do that, get their names and phone numbers and everything?’
‘Oh I don’t know. Am I just imagining it all? And then there’s the insurance people. They keep asking so many questions, it’s as though they don’t believe a word we’ve said.’ She opened the paper out fully. ‘They asked just how hard up we are, and even though I told the last one how well the business had all been going and asked why on earth I’d set fire to my own home, he still gave me a look over the top of his specs and then made a harrumph noise, muttered something like not for me to say and wrote something down.’
‘Isn’t it scandalous or libellous or something, what she’s saying here? About you not being honest about everything?’
The problem was, Lottie thought, she had every intention of being up and running again by next spring, but what if she wasn’t? What if the insurance company still hadn’t paid out and she really did have to start paying the remaining deposits back? Not that there were many, but it would leave their bank balance in rather a dire state. She’d be back to square one, just as she’d been when she agreed to take on the responsibility of the Tipping House Estate and try and save it from rack and ruin.
‘Aww don’t look so sad,’ Sam gave her a hug, ‘it will all work out. Tell you what, I’ll work my charms on Andy and find out who put that girl up to this. I’ll give him some goss.’ She grinned. ‘He’s a real pushover, if you know what I mean. Oh no, look at the time. I’m going to have to go soon. Me and little Roxy are going to the Botox clinic.’
Lottie looked at her horrified. ‘You can’t …’
‘Oh don’t be daft, babe, she’s coming with me not having it done.’ She giggled. ‘You’re a hoot, babe.’
‘Oh shit, I didn’t realise it was that time either. I said I’d go and talk to Gran, and you know she hates me being late. Oh God, I hope she hasn’t seen this.’
‘She probably has, babe. She doesn’t miss much. Amazing isn’t she?’
Amazing was one word, thought Lottie, but there were many others. She did love her gran, but sometimes wished she didn’t interfere quite so much. It just made her feel worse, as though she really was totally incompetent and not up to the job.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I, hun? I hope Roxy hasn’t tried to plait Scruffy’s tail again or got stuck under the seat. She’s the spitting image of me at her age, you know. My mum says I used to hide all the time and the other day she was stuck under the car seat. Like a cork in a bottle she was, with her bottom in the air.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave her on her own?’
‘Aww you’re so sensible, Lottie. I suppose it’s having all these horses and stuff. You know, my Roxy can’t wait to ride her little horse again. She might grow up just like you. You can give her lessons if you like.’
Lottie tried her best to look thrilled at the honour and headed for the front door, half expecting to discover Roxy had somehow managed to drive the car off. She hadn’t.
‘Bless, look how pleased little Scruffy is to see me.’ Sam waved in the direction of her convertible and Lottie was fairly sure that the poor dog was desperately trying to dig his way out of the car, rather than enthusiastically greet his owner.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_75885f2f-79c2-582c-bb38-6fcb6245cb65)
‘Oh good, you’re here.’ Elizabeth checked the clock. ‘And on time. Sit down. Now, I think it is time you met an acquaintance of mine, Charlotte.’
Lottie looked at her grandmother and wondered what she was up to. Elizabeth Stanthorpe liked to meddle. Despite handing over the day-to-day running of the Tipping House Estate to Lottie, she had the distinct feeling that when decisions were made, her gran was often behind them. And now she was pretty sure that the old woman had something up her sleeve. She didn’t indulge in idle chit chat, there was always an agenda. Even Bertie managed to look guilty as he lay at her feet, raising his eyebrows alternately and giving an occasional lazy wag of his tail.
‘Now, don’t look like that. I think this person may be able to help you, dear.’
Lottie raised an eyebrow.
‘You are doing splendidly, but if anything, matters seem to be getting more difficult. This problem isn’t going to be resolved overnight, is it, Charlotte?’
‘No.’ Every last hint of hope had disappeared from the long, drawn-out syllable.
At first Lottie had thought it was a case of putting the flames out, getting the cleaners in and carrying on as normal. Instead, the room had been declared out of bounds (there had even been a strip of red and white tape at one point that made it look like the scene of a murder) and there was a lot of poking about by firemen, none of whom matched her mental image of a muscled-up firefighter stripped to the waist and smeared in soot.
It was a good job, thought Lottie, that she’d not seen the Hunky Heroes calendar in the village shop before the fire, or she’d have been sorely disappointed.
The heroes that had clambered out of the fire engine bore no resemblance to the hose-wielding hunks who were raising money for charity: no nudity (covered by helmets or otherwise), no cheeky grins, no offers of a fireman’s lift. In fact, totally covered up they looked more like her dad than Mr January, February, or March.
The first lot had very efficiently put the blaze out and the second lot had poked around, grimaced, and written notes.
She would never look at a firework or bonfire in the same way again.
‘Are you listening, Charlotte? I do sometimes wonder how you get anything done with your head in the clouds.’ Elizabeth tapped her stick impatiently against the table leg.
‘It’s not in the clouds.’ Lottie, brought back to the present abruptly, decided to change the subject. ‘Why did you really buy Alice a pony?’
‘The girl needs to get in the saddle – nothing wrong with a bit of responsibility.’
‘It’s cold, wouldn’t it have been better to wait until the weather warmed up?’
‘No point in putting things off, and ponies are too easily ignored when they’re turned out to grass.’
Lottie sighed and wondered if it was too early to crack open a bottle of wine. ‘She’s only three years old, Gran.’ Although she was three going on thirty, but that was irrelevant.
‘Nearly four, by my reckoning, so she’s got long enough legs. And you can stop raising your eyebrows, young lady, she’s tall enough to sit astride. No good these little podgy toddlers, roll straight off a pony.’
‘Did you ask Amanda first?’
‘I think it’s time for a G&T, don’t you? Then I can tell you all about this nice young man I’ve invited for you to meet. Ah,’ she paused, ‘that must be him now, his name is James and I want you to be nice to him. I told him to come straight up. I do like punctuality.’ She gave Lottie, who usually raced in at the very last minute, a pointed look.
