Doubting Abbey

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I squished back comfortably and did my best not to stare at the big fluffy mic the sound guy had just manoeuvred over our heads. ‘James’ sat at one end of the table, in between the Viscount – Ernest, as he insisted I call him – and his wife, Annabel. Next to her was Henrietta, with me and Edward opposite. My Uncle Pete would have loved this table for pasting his wallpaper on. It must have seated, ooh… at least twenty toffs.

I tipped my chair back (a habit I’ve always had) and smiled across at Annabel. Right, time to have a crack at conversation. I didn’t fancy politics or the recession. That left personal stuff and the weather.

‘Have you had to travel far this evening?’ I asked.

‘Only for an hour,’ she said. ‘The last half of the journey was through such heavenly countryside.’

‘We adore visiting here,’ said Henrietta and beamed at Edward. ‘Tell me, what’s the state of apple prices this year? Are they still in the doldrums because of the economic downturn?’

I did my best to look brainy as they discussed, in great detail, when it would be best to bring contract workers into the orchards. Henrietta’s comments sounded so eloquent. How delicately she sipped her wine. He even let her straighten his tie. Jeez, she was like some automated Stepford wife!

‘And how’s the car boot business?’ she said.

‘Not bad,’ said Edward. He caught my eye. ‘I rent out the acres of land that stretch to the left, behind the maze.’

‘Ah, for that summer rock festival?’ I said.

‘Yes. Plus several funfairs that tour through here each year.’

‘And a bloomin’ mess they make as well,’ interrupted the Earl, a grimace contorting his jowls.

Edward sighed. ‘But needs must, Father. Along with renting out the land for car boot sales, it brings in something of a steady income.’

‘Sounds like a lot of work to organise,’ I said.

‘When it comes to this estate, Edward is terribly industrious.’ Henrietta smiled. ‘When he inherits, there’s no doubt in my mind that he will do his ancestors and the Croxley tradition proud.’

You’d think such a compliment would bring a smile to his face. Instead, Edward loosened his tie and bit his lip, his eyes dulling for a second. However, the moment soon passed and, as the two friends chatted, my ears perked up at the mention of a Lieutenant Robert Mayhew.

‘Is that the Lieutenant Robert Mayhew?’ I said, interrupting their conversation – soz, Lady C, but I couldn’t contain my interest. ‘My, um… flatmate Gemma calls him “the Forces Pin-up”. Didn’t he make it back from Afghanistan, despite gun wounds and second degree burns?’

Henrietta smiled. ‘Edward went to school with Robert. They are the best of friends.’

‘Such a courageous—’ read that as gorgeous ‘—person,’ I said, ‘returning to that burning vehicle.’

Edward smiled. ‘Only a madman like Rob would go back in when he was drenched in fuel. Apart from his helmet, Rob’s uniform was in ashes by the time he’d hauled everyone else out.’

‘Terribly modest about it all, wasn’t he?’ I said.

Edward shrugged. ‘He says, just like thousands of other troops, he was simply doing his job.’

‘He’s organized a big charity ball next month,’ said Henrietta, ‘to raise money for injured soldiers. He’ll be pleased to see you there, Edward.’

‘It should be a wonderful evening,’ said Annabel.

‘Damn brave lad,’ said the Earl. Ernest grunted his agreement.

‘I remember the first time I met him,’ said Henrietta. ‘It was at your twenty-first birthday party, Edward; do you remember?’

‘Rob was home on leave and danced with anything in a skirt. Even Dundee Douglas, who’d put on his kilt.’

‘Your mother always thought him a decent chap,’ said the Earl to Edward, ‘even when he led you astray at school by suggesting you skip school for the cinema. Rosemary wouldn’t hear a bad word against him.’

Henrietta put her hand on Edward’s. A display of emotion like that, in public, must have meant they were really good friends, or even…? For some reason, an uncomfortable twinge niggled my stomach.

‘Poor you, Edward,’ she said. ‘Those afternoons at the pictures couldn’t have possibly been your idea.’

‘Son?’ The Earl raised his eyebrows. ‘All these years poor Robert took the blame?’

Edward grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

My stomach tingled. A smile on Edward’s lips was a rare thing and, for a few seconds, made him look a decade younger. Just then, in tailcoats and a butler’s jacket, Nick entered through a door from the left hand side and the pantry, cellars and kitchens. He’d combed his hair over into a greased-down side-parting and winked at me as if to say: ‘this geeky look is deliberate’. His hand brushed against mine as he poured my wine. Clearly, he took my Plan Sex-up seriously. Edward stared at me, only turning away when the starter arrived. I swallowed. This was going to be hard – clinically putting on a show, pretending not to care what other people thought about my actions or about me.

‘Asparagus?’ Henrietta put her napkin on her lap. ‘My favourite. Kathleen really is a treasure. I assume she froze these, freshly picked from your garden. What a joy to eat them out of season.’

Phew! Good thing Lady C had taught me how to eat these green monstrosities that looked like witch’s fingers. They lay on a bed of lettuce and were sprinkled with chopped red stuff. I picked one up. Euw. There was only meant to be sauce on the ends but these were slippery all over and had obviously been…’

‘Marinated,’ said Henrietta, daintily cutting them up with a knife and fork. ‘Quite lovely.’

‘Have you been away on holiday this year, Annabel?’ I said, hoping no one saw me quickly wipe my fingers on a napkin.

While she described her mega Caribbean cruise, I dug into my starter, suddenly starving, doing my best to chew with my mouth closed and not talk with it full. My only faux pas (impressive, eh? Lady C even taught me French) was eating the bed of lettuce. Well, how was I to know it was a garnish? Perhaps the rabbit dish would be easier. Certainly it smelt yummy, with gravy-covered chunks of meat, served with mushrooms, roasted cherry tomatoes and baby onions.

‘No haggis tonight, then? That’s a change,’ said Annabel. Eyes twinkling, she glanced at me. ‘Kathleen is fiercely proud of her Scottish roots.’

‘She is making a special effort to cook English meals for the cameras,’ said the Earl. ‘No doubt in two weeks it will be back to normal.’

‘Whatever that will be,’ muttered Edward. He cleared his throat. ‘So, tell me, Henrietta, all about this local animal charity you have recently become patron of.’

Carefully I chewed each morsel and, without dribbling, managed to chat to the Viscountess (Mrs Minty Chocolate Biscuit). We swapped opinions about the Royals (K-Mid of course and the awesome Diamond Jubilee celebrations). It couldn’t have gone better until I plunged my fork into one of the tiny onions.

I caught its side and the shiny ball flew into the air, at speed, across the table. Shiiit. It landed right on top of Henrietta’s head and, like an egg in a nest, settled in her bun. The camera zoomed in. Eerily, everyone stayed silent. No one swore or shrieked. Clearly, they knew Lady C’s rule about staying as cool as a cucumber. I glanced at the Earl, who had put down his pipe.

It was no good. If I suppressed the gigantic giggle inside me any longer I’d spontaneously explode. Oh, God… Here it came… A snort escaped my lips. Then, nearby, Nick cracked and that really set me off as I spied his crinkly, watering-with-laughter eyes. For several seconds we were the only ones laughing, until Henrietta’s face scrunched up to release a high-pitched giggle. Next, Ernest and Annabel crumbled. Even Edward’s face broke into a grin. He removed the onion while Henrietta whispered something to him about not making a fuss. The Earl shook his head.

‘I can’t apologize enough,’ I stuttered. Must control myself in front of the camera.

‘Do you play golf, Abigail?’ said the Earl. ‘Because I suspect you’d be a whizz at landing a hole-in-one.’ For the first time since my arrival he smiled at me properly, eyes all shiny.

Nick cleared away the plates and announced pudding would be simple apple pie – cue a massive sigh of relief from me. However, the Hamilton-Browns teased me relentlessly and ducked for cover when I reached for coffee sugar lumps. Even Henrietta kept giving me grins, so perhaps I could forgive her for being perfect and not spilling a drop of gravy on her silk blouse.

‘How wonderful that you are heading up the Applebridge Food Academy, Abigail,’ said Annabel as she unwrapped an after-dinner mint.

‘Please – call me Abbey.’ I tipped my chair backwards. ‘Yes, it’s, um, a challenge, no doubt about that.’ One that I’d rather block out, for the moment. Otherwise, the temptation to go on the run would win.

‘Our last chance, that’s what it is,’ muttered the Earl and puffed on his pipe. ‘A great deal is hanging on Abigail’s expertise.’

No pressure, then.

‘Reverend White is attending Monday’s first course, as well as a teacher from the high school in town,’ continued the Earl. ‘Also, my accountant—an enthusiastic woman… We thought just three students was a sensible number for starters.’

Roxy walked past in the background and stopped chewing sweets long enough to pull a face. She was right. I needed to focus. Catapulted onions were hardly sexy. The camera crew had gone into the kitchens to film the staff. This was my chance to find Nick, get him on camera next to me and instigate Plan Sex-up. Deep in thought, I tipped back on my chair again.

There was an ear-splitting crack as the wooden legs collapsed. Ankles over head, I crashed onto my back. Fuck! I must have flashed my sequinned scarlet thong, having refused, point blank, to borrow Abbey’s big pants. This was more Porno than Sex-up.

‘Are you all right, Abbey?’ asked Henrietta, on her feet. ‘Poor you – I bet that hurt. At least the cameras have gone.’

Edward reached my side quicker than a bullet out of Mr Thompson’s gun. Gently he sat me up and made sure no bones were broken. Then, straight away, cheeks flushed, he backed off and examined the chair. Nick helped me to my feet.

‘The two back legs are completely ruined,’ Edward announced after a quick glance at me rubbing my back. ‘It’s a shame. This is a matching antique set.’

For some reason, my eyes felt all watery. I couldn’t help thinking he was more worried about permanent damage to the furniture than me.

‘I’m okay,’ I mumbled to everyone else. Lady C hadn’t prepared me for such a situation and I’d never seen Abbey spreadeagle her legs in the air.

Edward didn’t look at me again, cos I was probably some mega embarrassment – one that felt about as small as the flying onion.

‘Although my back is, um, a tad sore,’ I said, annoyed at the wobble in my voice.

‘You’ve probably bruised it,’ said Henrietta, voice still full of concern.

‘Do we keep painkillers in the house, Uncle?’ My cheeks burnt. I had to get out of here. This bonkers pretence was over. It would be best to quit before I let Abbey down any more. I couldn’t even behave like a lady for the length of one fancy dinner.

‘Kathleen has a supply in the kitchen,’ he said and nodded in that direction. ‘Shall I ring for a couple?’

‘No, I’ll, um, stretch my back and walk the long way around, through the front of the house. Please, everyone, do excuse me. Apologies, once again, for the disturbance.’

Still rubbing my back, I left the dining room and headed along the dark corridor, back past the Low Drawing room. With a groan, I slumped at the bottom of the staircase. Aarghh! That could not have been more humiliating. Actually, it could – thank God I’d not gone commando to avoid visible panty lines. But then maybe that would have got some reaction out of those po-faced Croxley men. So much for Edward being a knight in shining armour.

With a sigh, I stood up and walked to the other side of the building, past another winding staircase. Edward had told me that here was the newly converted kitchen area installed for the Food Academy and, curiously, I went in. Talk about fancy.

With a sniff, I inspected the white-washed room and its five new workstations, one extra at the front where the teacher (that’s me) would demonstrate her skills. They were basic, each with a silver sink, cooker and cutlery, plus cupboards well stocked with pans, sieves and graters. It was the only part of the house I’d seen, so far, that showed no hint of its noble status. A door at the back must have led to the pantry and cellars and real kitchen, where Kathleen cooked for the house. On tiptoe, I let myself in.

Sure enough, Kathleen and Mr Thompson sat at a large table, mugs in front of them, dead pheasants by the estate manager’s feet. In front of a rolling camera, they chatted about how self-sufficient the estate was. Elvis Presley music played from an old-fashioned tape cassette machine on one of the units. Whilst huge, this kitchen was much more homely, with pine units, a huge scratched table and cross-stitch pictures on the walls. A whiff of baked pastry and fruit cut through the air. It was dark outside now. Nick had taken off his butler’s coat and was downing a glass of water. He winked and joined me at the back of the kitchen, by the dishwasher. The cameraman and sound guy faced our direction but remained focused on Mr Thompson and the cook.

‘Perhaps,’ he muttered, ‘this is an ideal opportunity to do something romantic – we’ll get caught in the background of this shot.’

‘No, you see… It’s all a mistake, me at Applebridge Hall, and I’ve changed my mi—’

‘Shh!’ said Nick, eyes a-twinkle, and crept behind me, expensive cologne overpowering the smell of apple pie. He snaked his arms around my waist, before nuzzling my neck. Ooh—spiky unshaven cheeks. I’d always liked the feel of that… Finally, the gardener drew away and winked as he walked back to Kathleen and Mr Thompson. Back to my senses, I hurtled out of the room.

So much for Lady C’s Three Ms – Modesty (thong flashed), Manners (rocketing onion) and No Men (unsightly stubble marks on my neck). At this rate I’d leave Abbey’s reputation in tatters. It was over. I’d leave Applebridge tonight, before I made an even bigger fool of myself and lost lovely Nick his job. Run, girl, run!

LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

Saturday 1

September

‘Comments’

11.45p.m. Thank you for your interest today, blog-readers. Here’s one last comment from me before hitting the hay. This evening’s dinner has not been without incident and, after an hour or so of reflection, I can only conclude that my cousin will bring more to Million Dollar Mansion than I ever imagined.

Of course, I knew she would as we, um, are a jolly close family. However, I’d forgotten the more…spontaneous side to her nature. It’s reminiscent of my dear mother, who used to say, like sweet apple with pork, like cranberry jelly with turkey, she compensated for the stodgier aspects of my father and me.

However, what has flummoxed me is that an accident occurred tonight – nothing serious – but it surprised me how much I… If anything bad had happened to… Forgive me – the extra glass of port I drank must be responsible for this rambling. It’s just that the power of shared DNA has a lot to answer for—nothing else could explain the strength of a new, unexpected feeling…

Knityourownmansion, many thanks – there’s no doubt the Earl would very much like to receive a knitted mohair pipe through the post.

Drunkwriter, thank you for gracing us with your presence again, and I’m sure you’ll understand why I had to moderate your comment – references to parts of the anatomy aren’t for the everyone, however poetic.

Cupcakesrock, you hope that the answer to my poser question is the Croxley Coffee Shop? And Blogger569, I like your suggestion of us producing cider with cloves and orange – no doubt it would sell well at Christmas. I hope you both watch tomorrow’s show and approve of the poser question’s answer.

Right. Good. Done for the day. Sleep well, all.

Chapter 6 (#ulink_7d9b9299-2ad2-582f-aae0-79731251d8cd)

Ever declared to the world that you’re starting a diet, but then eaten three bacon sarnies, one multi-pack of crisps, two pizzas and a family-sized tube of cookies? Then you’ll understand why I didn’t leave Applebridge Hall last night, despite my, um, dramatic announcement. As I was about to go upstairs, the Earl appeared. In a gruff voice, he asked how I was and patted my shoulder. Apparently, everyone was worried I’d feel too embarrassed to return to the dinner table. Mouth open, I listened as he muttered some story about his trousers falling down at a charity fund-raiser. It was nineteen ninety-five and gave him the push to finally ditch braces. Perhaps these Croxley men did have more running through their veins than stand-offish, cool tradition.

I yawned, having just got up, showered and carefully selected one of Abbey’s outfits. It had a definite KMid feel, with the immaculate skinny jeans (okay, a bit of a squeeze on me) and white T-shirt. If I went out later, there was a short grey jacket to go with it, which was okay, but I was already missing wearing black – and especially my face bronzer.

My phone rang. I sat down on the four-poster bed (love saying that) and grabbed my mobile from the bedside table.

‘Hiya. Yeah, I’m okay. Dinner? Um…Fine—there were no problems.’ Hope Lady C didn’t notice my voice suddenly squeak. Even though the truth would worry her, there was clearly no way she’d agree to me leaving the mansion now. So it was best to spare her the gory details of the astronaut onion and dress-above-waist faux pas. ‘So have you chosen the menu I should demonstrate tomorrow, in my first lesson?’ I grabbed my handbag from the foot of the bed and rummaged inside it. Finally, I pulled out a pen and a scrunched up tissue – that would have to do for writing down the ingredients.

‘Right… An apple theme? What a mega idea, what with the orchards! Okay, Apple and English blue cheese salad to start…’ I said, scribbling furiously. Yay for ingredients that wouldn’t even need cooking! ‘Pork and apple stew for the main, okay…’ Chucking everything into a pot seemed doable. ‘And baked apples for pudding?’ Lady C said I should avoid cake or pastry-making for my first session and to say I’d chosen something less challenging, for ‘the sake of the students’.

I kept the call brief, worried I might let slip about my kitchen-smooch with Nick. Also, I had a mega busy day ahead – the Earl was giving me an on-camera tour of the top floor late afternoon, then, at eight, we’d all watch the first Sunday episode of Million Dollar Mansion: the Final. It was the first opportunity the Croxleys had to see exactly how the smarmy Baron of Marwick had spent his twenty-five thousand quid. And it was my first chance to get a good look at the opposition.

Ingredients list in hand, I headed down to the kitchens to see if I would need to visit a supermarket. Kathleen greeted me with a warm smile. I felt bad tweaking the truth and telling her I was late up due to my back still aching. Despite her motherly protests, I insisted on simply munching an apple for breakfast (I couldn’t face the Croxleys’ usual sausage and black pudding). The cook took the piece of tissue and skimmed the items.

‘Not bad choices,’ she said, ‘although I could recommend some hearty Scottish dishes. I mean, if they were good enough for the Queen Mother…’ Ten minutes later she was still describing weird-sounding dishes like Skink Soup and Clap shot! I smiled sheepishly. That Queen Mum thing was a random comment. Perhaps even the staff here were posh and she used to know royalty.

With a flourish, she opened the pantry door and seemed pleased with my gasp of amazement.

‘We never run out of anything here,’ she said and wiggled her generous bosom.

It was as if the Croxleys had their own corner shop, what with the massive bags of flour, tubs of seasoning, rows of cereals, pickles and preserves… The freezers were chock-full of meat they’d bought from local farmers. Kathleen took out some pork and showed me all the fruit and veg I needed. Plus the fridge’s selection of cheese was awesome and even included the English blue for my salad, which was apparently Viscount Hamilton-Brown’s favourite.

‘Right… I’ll lunch alone, downstairs with the computer,’ I told her as she shut the fridge door. ‘I must brush up my knowledge of, um, reality TV shows and how they work.’

‘Och, that’s true dedication – good on you,’ she said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

I smiled back, having bent the truth again. More likely I’d be surfing YouTube clips about the basics of cooking. Part of the twenty-five thousand the Croxleys won had been spent on a long-awaited Internet connection. Although Kathleen tutted at the idea of on-line shopping, proudly declaring that Mr Thompson drove her into town twice a week and that the fishmonger and milkman delivered to the doorstep.

Several hours later, eyes twitching from staring at the screen and the artificial light in the cellars, I leant back in the chair – then immediately leant forward again, not wanting to risk snapping another piece of furniture. The time jumped out at me from the bottom of the screen – eek! Quarter to five already. I logged off and scurried past racks of wine, up the whitewashed stairs and into the kitchen.

‘I’d better get upstairs for this tour,’ I said to Kathleen who, wooden spoon in hand, was swaying to her Elvis Presley music. I glanced down at my culottes. ‘Do you think I should change into something…grander?’