In 1981 Cheshire was created a Baronet for services to manufacturing. One of only two people to be bestowed this honour since 1964.
He leaves his wife, Lady Edwina, two daughters, and a son Christopher who inherits his title.
It’s a shock to see it in print. Chris is now Sir Christopher 2nd Baronet of Borringbrook! I’m also a little shocked at the lack of proofreading at the BBC. Lady Edwina shot her gardener in the testicles, not the tentacles.
March
Thursday 1st March
Marika and Rosencrantz came round at six, bringing some of Chris’s favourite sushi, and four bottles of champagne. They busied themselves putting it out on plates, whilst Adam rooted round in one of the unpacked boxes and found some extra glasses. We were all a bit tense, not quite knowing what we were going to say to him.
‘What time does he land?’ asked Marika.
‘He told me five o’clock, so he should be here around seven,’ I said.
‘Who’s picking him up?’ asked Rosencrantz.
‘I booked him a taxi,’ said Adam. Then Ethel appeared in the kitchen doorway. Rocco ran up to her for a cuddle.
‘’Ello loves,’ she said putting a Tesco bag down on the kitchen island.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘Oh thas’ nice, good to see you too Coco,’ she said taking off her coat and folding it over a chair. ‘I’m ’ere fer Chris.’
Rosencrantz gave her a big hug.
‘Ooh you smell nice love,’ she said. ‘Woss that you’ve got on?’
‘It’s the new Paco Raban,’ he said. ‘A two month anniversary present from Oscar.’
‘Is ’e comin’ tonight? Seeing as I’m the only one not invited,’ she said.
‘No. He’s up north, filming a part in Emmerdale. He’s a sexy passerby who mends a puncture for Lisa Dingle,’ said Rosencrantz. His voice had a tinge of bitterness.
‘Gawd she’s a poor old cow Lisa Dingle…’ said Ethel. She went and hugged Adam and Marika.
‘I didn’t hear the doorbell. How did you get in?’ I asked.
‘If you really don’t want visitors, you should put the deadbolt on Coco,’ she said poking at some mahi mahi on a plate. ‘Someone could break in and ’ave is way with you, although I think you’d be safe… ’ow far gone are you?’
‘I’m eighteen weeks,’ I said, as she hugged me.
‘Thas’ gonna be a big baby! Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. Now can I have your key?’ I put out my hand and she reluctantly placed another door key in my palm.
‘I’ve never met a real life Lord before,’ said Ethel. ‘Well, I once went backstage in Bromley and met Michael Flatley after ‘Lord of the Dance’, but I don’t think that counts…’
‘Chris wants to be treated normally. He’s just lost his father,’ I said.
‘I din’t come empty ’anded,’ said Ethel pulling three bottles of Lambrini out of the Tesco bag.
‘Ah Lambrini,’ said Marika. ‘We used to mix this with Blue Bols, didn’t we Cokes? What did we call it?’
‘Anti-freeze,’ I grinned.
‘Sounds hardcore,’ said Adam.
‘It was, there was this one time Coco got so drunk that she…’ Marika saw everyone’s expectant faces. ‘Maybe that’s a story for another time…’
‘’Ow much money do you think Chris ’as got now?’ asked Ethel, changing the subject.
‘Ethel his dad isn’t even cold, let’s talk about something else.’
‘We’re all thinking it, Mum,’ said Rosencrantz sheepishly.
‘I heard ninety million,’ said Adam.
‘I heard a hundred,’ said Marika.
‘An ’undred million quid!’ shrieked Ethel.
‘Whatever we’ve heard. We’re just going to act normally,’ I said. ‘Chris is grieving.’
‘An ’undred bloody million quid!’ cried Ethel again.
The doorbell rang.
‘Shit, do I ’ave to cursty?’ she asked.
‘I Googled greeting a Lord, and you have to use his title unless he invites you to call him otherwise,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘No one is curtseying, or calling him anything other than Chris.’
The doorbell rang again and we all fussed our way to the hall. When I opened the door, Chris was standing in the drizzle, looking nothing like a Lord. He was wearing a gold bomber jacket, ripped jeans, and sliver high-top trainers.
‘Oh Coco!’ he said falling into my arms on the doorstep. His blond hair was sticking wildly out from under a baseball cap and he had foregone his contact lenses for glasses. We all gave him a hug.
‘Yer Lordship,’ said Ethel, and she squatted down as if she’d stopped in a motorway lay-by to relieve herself.
‘Please, no Ethel, get up,’ said Chris. She stayed in her squatted down position.
‘Ethel, get up!’ I said.
‘I can’t,’ she groaned. ‘My bloody knees ’ave gorn!’ Marika and Rosencrantz pulled at her arms, and Ethel slowly rose to a standing position with a loud click.
‘I won’t do that again yer Lordship, if you don’t mind love,’ she said.
‘Don’t do it ever, I just want to be normal,’ said Chris. ‘Please just call me Chris.’
‘Come on gaylord let’s get you a strong drink,’ said Marika. ‘I take it gaylord is allowed?’
Chris grinned bleakly.
‘I’ve so missed you all,’ he said. Marika took him down the hall to the kitchen.
‘An ’undred million quid an’ ’e dresses like that!’ whispered Ethel watching the back of his gold bomber jacket.
‘Stop it,’ I hissed. ‘Go and offer him some sushi!’ I followed Adam and Rosencrantz outside where they were helping the taxi driver unload a series of Louis Vuitton cases onto the pavement.
‘Good job you ordered him a mini van,’ I said seeing the cases pile up. ‘How many are there?’
‘Fourteen’ puffed the taxi driver, red in the face. ‘Who is he? I’ve driven Joan Collins and Victoria Beckham and they pack lighter than him.’
‘He’s Lord Cheshire,’ piped up Rosencrantz. The taxi driver rolled his eyes and heaved another huge case.
I went back into the kitchen where Marika was now pouring the Lambrini and Ethel was shoving a tray of mahi mahi under Chris’s nose. He was sitting on the floor cuddling Rocco.
‘How was your flight love?’ I asked.
‘So much turbulence,’ said Chris. ‘And I left my Xanax in my luggage. I had absolute clarity, which was awful.’
‘Get this down you then,’ said Marika handing him a full glass. The landline began to ring, so I went and hunted for it under the luggage piling up in the hallway.
‘Hello, hello? Is this Coco Pinchard?’ said a posh smoker’s voice. It was Chris’s mother.
‘Hello Lady Cheshire,’ I said.
‘I am now the Dowager Lady Cheshire… But you are correct still to address me as Lady Cheshire.’
‘I’m so sorry about Lord Cheshire, he was so young,’ I said.
‘Yes, thank you. It happened during his usual game of golf. Such bad timing too, it was his best handicap…’ she said. ‘Look I haven’t got time to chit-chat. Is Chris-tah-fah there?’
Chris had heard the phone ring and staggered into the hallway with his glass, making frantic movements not give his whereabouts away.
‘Um, no, no he’s not,’ I said. ‘I think he’s still in the air.’
‘Coco, I know you two are close. When you do hear from him, order him to call me. He is needed not just by me, but by the British aristocracy… Are you writing this down?’
‘No I think I’ll remember, Dowager.’
‘Don’t call me Dowager. You’ve been watching too much bloody ‘Downton Abbey’,’ she snapped and hung up. I relayed the message to Chris.
‘This is all my nightmares rolled into one,’ he said. ‘She’s going to make me be Lord Cheshire. I’m going to have to wear a tie, an
d make complicated business decisions, and do charity work… I’ll have to plant trees. You know I’m hopeless with a spade! I’m going to look an idiot.’
I put my arm around him.
‘You only have to tip a little soil in with a polished spade. It’s just a formality… no real digging…’ I said.
Chris buried his head in my neck and sobbed. Ethel crept into the hall with a big grin.
‘’Ere Chris, can I get a photo?’ before he could say yes, she held her phone out in front of us and took a picture. The picture popped up on her screen.
‘That’s horrible Ethel,’ he said. ‘I look jet lagged and puffy.’
‘Iss fine love,’ she said pocketing her phone gleefully. I dragged her into the living room.
‘Did you listen to anything I said?’ I hissed.
‘Coco, I ’ave to get a picture of me with a rich lord! Irene ’as got a picture of her and David Hasslehoff, an I never ’ear the end of it. This’ll show ’er!’
‘Ethel this is unacceptable. How would you like it?’
‘Everyone loves ’avin their photo taken,’ she said staring at the picture on her phone.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed Ethel’s coat. I came and found her in the hall where she was peering at Chris’s cases piled high.
‘I bet these set ’im back a few bob,’ she said.
‘Come on, you’re leaving,’ I said. I opened the front door, pulling her out onto the step, and closed it behind us.
‘I’m ’ere for Chris,’ she protested.
‘No you’re not. You’re taking photos, you keep talking about money. It’s insensitive.’
‘If I won that much on the lottery we wouldn’t talk about anything else!’
‘This is different. He hasn’t won anything. He’s just lost his father.’
Ethel started to protest but saw my face.
‘Well ’ow do I get home?’
‘I’ll get you a taxi,’ I said pulling her down the steps and out onto the street. A taxi saw me waving and came to a stop by the kerb.
‘Are you free to go to Catford?’ I asked through the window.
‘That’ll cost a fortune!’ said Ethel. ’Ere there’s a bloke in ’er house ’oose just won…’
‘No Ethel, not won…’
‘Alright. Inherited an ’undred million quid!’
The driver didn’t seem impressed. ‘How many bags?’ he asked miserably.
‘Just one,’ I said indicating Ethel. Before she could protest I pushed her in, slipped him some cash, and he drove away.
When I came back inside, everyone was in the living room where Adam was lighting a fire.
‘What is this champagne?’ asked Chris who was now on his third glass.
‘It’s Lambrini,’ said Marika. ‘Ethel brought it.’
‘Do you remember when we used to add Blue Bols and make anti-freeze?’ said Chris. ‘That was so much fun…Hey remember when we went to Alton Towers and got so drunk on it that Coco pissed herself on the Nemesis ride?’
‘Thank you Chris,’ I said seeing Rosencrantz and Adam’s faces.
‘You told me you all got soaked on the Log Flume,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘No, it was when Nemesis went upside down,’ laughed Marika. Everyone joined in and despite being mortified I was so pleased Chris was smiling.
‘Of course, those carefree days are over,’ he said and we all went silent.
Then he changed the subject. He wanted to know everything about Marika and Milan, our baby, Rosencrantz and Oscar. He didn’t want to talk about his time living in Los Angeles, or the future.
We stayed up talking until late. Chris, Rosencrantz and Marika got very drunk on anti-freeze, (Rosencrantz had wanted to try it) so they all stayed the night, curling up on the sofas downstairs.
‘God, I’d love to be a millionaire,’ said Adam as we were brushing our teeth before bed.
‘This house is worth quite a bit, and you own half,’ I said.
Adam laughed, dropped his toothbrush in the cup and went to the bedroom.
‘What was that laugh for?’ I said, following. Adam was now in bed and I climbed in beside him.
‘Daniel was married to you for twenty years, he didn’t get a bean.’
‘Because he had an affair.’
‘But it’s not real, half of the value of a house, it’s all hypothetical,’ said Adam.
‘If we sold this house we would have the money, and half would be yours,’ I said.
Adam laughed again.
‘You would never sell this house! It defines you. It’s been in your family for, what? A hundred years?’
‘A hundred and fifteen. But it doesn’t define me… Do you want to sell the house?’ I added.
‘No. And even if I did, you don’t want to live outside London. And we need the good schools, and hospitals.’
‘You say it like it’s not negotiable?’
‘It isn’t, and that’s fine,’ he said grinning and kissing my belly. ‘I know I’ll never be as rich or successful as you, and I just have to deal with it.’
There was a pause and we lay there.
‘You own your flat Adam,’ I said remembering.
‘The bank owns most of my flat,’ he said. ‘And it comes with its own elderly prostitute…’
With that he turned over, clicked off the light, and within minutes he was snoring. I stayed awake for a long time mulling over what he had said.
Saturday 3rd March
Chris was here for one night before his mother tracked him down. Lady Cheshire sent the family solicitor, Mr Spencer, who knocked on the door on Friday night. He was terribly polite but told Chris in no uncertain terms that his presence was required immediately.
We drove Chris up to Cheshire Hall this morning. I had to sell the Land Rover last year, and its replacement, a rusty second-hand Fiat Panda could only cope with a few of Chris’s cases; even then it was almost scraping the tarmac on the motorway.
When we turned into the gothic iron gates of Cheshire Hall, it started to rain. The Fiat’s suspension creaked and groaned on the gravel driveway, which went on for miles, past acres of fields and trees. Chris became more agitated. I stared up at the canopy of bare trees as their reflections moved across the windscreen and hoped that he would be okay. Then Cheshire Hall rose up from the gravel road ahead. An imposing Jacobean mansion with lots of cream carved stone, red brick, proud windows and a grey roof. Chris now owns the place with its seventeen bedrooms, a ballroom, library, billiard room, umpteen reception rooms and fully-functioning servants’ quarters. Two fields away we could just make out the squat factory, where the Cheshire brand paper napkins are manufactured and shipped all over the world. Chris is now Managing Director and majority shareholder in this multi-million pound company. I looked at him wrestling with the wrapper on his Starburst. How was he not prepared for this day?
Adam parked the Fiat outside the main doors, and we climbed out. Lady Edwina came bowling down the steps in her wax jacket and wellingtons. She has terrible teeth and a bowl cut of bristly steel-coloured hair. The Honourable Rebecca (Chris’s sister, blonde, in padded hairband, and matching wax jacket and wellington boots) followed, and six Labradors all poured out after them. Rocco was soon surrounded by them and whined nervously, so Adam scooped him up.
‘Chris-tah-fah, what are you doing in that car?’ asked Lady Edwina, horrified.
‘Coco and Adam were kind enough to give me a lift,’ he said.
‘You didn’t have to take them up on it darling,’ she said. ‘Even the man who empties the septic tank has a nicer car.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘No Coco, I don’t mean to be rude but this is Lord Cheshire! He must travel in style… There is probably more horsepower in one of Rebecca’s marital aides.’
‘Mummy!’ shrieked Rebecca.
‘Come on darling, we all love dear old Squiffy but he’s far more interested in Tom.’
‘My husband is not interested in the garden
er!’ said Rebecca.
‘Darling, there’s nothing wrong with turning a blind eye. Of course if he was my gardener, you know what I’d do…’
Rebecca blinked back some tears.
‘Now Coco, Adam. Would you like some tea?’ asked Lady Edwina. We climbed the steps and were shown through the huge oak front door into a hall with a giant red-carpeted staircase. We took a left into a fabulous drawing room with classical paintings on the walls and a huge stone fireplace. It was like being in a National Trust stately home, but there were no roped off bits, and Lady Cheshire’s iPod was strewn across a 17th-century table.
‘I thought Lord Cheshire might want to ring the bell,’ said Lady Edwina. Chris looked around.
‘She means you!’ snapped Rebecca. He squeaked meekly over in his high top trainers and pulled the bell by the fireplace. He didn’t know what to do next, so came back to his place beside me. I opened my mouth to say how sorry I was for their loss but Lady Edwina interrupted,
‘Were the roads dry?’
‘Um, yes…’ I said.
‘Now you’re the chap who went to prison? Business fraud wasn’t it?’ said Lady Edwina sizing up Adam.
‘He was wrongly imprisoned, someone in his company set him up,’ I said. Adam gave me a calming look.
‘Yes, and Lord Cheshire was very kind,’ said Adam. ‘He pulled some strings and speeded up my transfer to a category D prison. He was a really good man. I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lady Edwina. She looked as if she was going to cry. She leant across to Rocco who was still in Adam’s arms and scratched him behind the ears.
‘What a handsome little chap,’ she said. ‘Is he a Maltese?’
‘Yes, he’s called Rocco,’ I said. Rocco gave a contented sigh and licked her hand.
‘Where is Sofia?’ said Chris.