The Party Season

  'Love to! As long as we're not having pork. Can't abide the stuff.'

  'No pig it is then! I'll tell Mrs Delaney. Shall we say Thursday?'

  'Marvellous!'

  'Izzy, why don't you come over on Wednesday night so you're fresh for the charity folk on Thursday?' 'Thanks, Monty. That would be great.'

  The following day I get into work early. I have a ton of stuff to do before I return to the estate at the end of the week. Since the job at Pantiles will involve so much work, I'll hand over all my other events to Aidan, except Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast which no one will take on the pain of death. I daresay Aidan is not going to be very happy; there are some monster clients involved.

  Stephanie is puffing on a cigarette and rather dispiritedly typing with one finger while trying to read the Daily Mail.

  'Morning!' I say brightly. 'Any messages?'

  'Where have you been?'

  'Er, in Suffolk.'

  'Oh.'

  'Any messages?' I repeat.

  'On your desk.'

  'On my desk?' I query. Last time they were found next to the kettle.

  She raises her eyes heavenward and mutters something about Hitler which I choose to ignore.

  I walk through to the main office. Aidan is having an animated discussion with someone in the corner and waving around what looks like a pair of lederhosen. I turn on my computer and sit down. Aidan has spotted my arrival and comes rushing over, still brandishing the clothes.

  'Izzy! What do the Swiss eat?'

  I blink for a minute while trying to engage my brain. 'Em, Toblerone.'

  'What else? What else?' he demands.

  'Er, er' – I blink distractedly – 'I don't know, fondue? Wiener Schnitzel? Or is that German? Why?'

  'We're launching a new Swiss cheese and I'm trying to get some ideas together for the launch party. We're having the VIP invites hand-delivered by a yodeller. We've got a couple coming in later to audition,' he giggles and sits down opposite me. 'How was the estate? Has it changed at all?'

  'I think it's gone to pot actually. It feels … neglected.' Privately I think Simon could do with spending more time looking after his home and less time trying to take over other people's companies. Just a personal opinion of course. Completely unbiased.

  'I think you're so lucky to get that project. I would die for it.'

  'Aidan, it's a ball for five hundred and they've decided they want a circus theme.'

  'Oh,' he says, not looking quite so enthusiastic anymore. 'A circus theme? At such short notice? Which sick individual thought of that?'

  'I don't know but Dominic and I certainly have our work cut out.'

  'Dominic's helping you?'

  'Yes, I'm going to ask him to be my runner if I can get Gerald to agree.' I look at Aidan suspiciously. 'Why?'

  'Oh, no reason. How is he, by the way?'

  'Just fine. I'll tell him you asked after him, shall I?'

  Aidan smiles a secret smile to himself. 'Send him my regards.'

  I open my mouth to find out more but my phone rings and I pick it up.

  'Darling! So glad to have caught you!' It's my mother calling from Hong Kong. She still hasn't gathered that through the marvels of modern technology you don't have to speak as though you are talking to a very old, very deaf aunt. She enunciates key words and speaks very loudly and slowly. 'Your receptionist, what's her name, Clementine?' How on earth has she managed to get Clementine from Stephanie? She doesn't pause to hear my reply but sweeps on. 'She said you've been out all morning. Now the important thing is, and your father is making frantic hand signals at me, do you know who won the 2.30 at Kempton?'

  'Er, no.'

  She puts her hand over the top of the mouthpiece and shouts, presumably at my father, 'Darling, she doesn't know, please don't go on … all right, I'll ask her.' She comes back to me. 'He wants to know who won the premiership.'

  'Mum, I don't know who's in the premiership, let alone who won it. Don't they have English newspapers out there?'

  'Yes. But they are always late, then we forget to look and by the time we've remembered I've wrapped the potato peelings in them.' She puts her hand back over the mouthpiece and talks once more to my father. This three-way conversation is starting to play on my nerves. We always talk like this on the phone; the only way to have an actual conversation with my mother is when my father is out. 'No, she doesn't know, darling … look, do you want to speak to her? … well then, shut up.' She comes back to me. 'Anyway, darling, how are you?'

  I hesitate for a moment. I could tell them about going back to Pantiles but the dialogue-á-trois would take roughly an hour to complete and I'm not sure I could survive it. I could also inform them of my break-up with Rob but since I didn't tell them I was going out with him in the first place it seems pointless. A few thousand miles isn't the only distance between us all.

  'Absolutely fine,' I lie in answer to her question. 'How are things with you?'

  On-stage: 'Chaos. We've got Darth Vole coming for dinner.'

  Off-stage: 'I know he's not bloody well called that.'

  'Who?' I ask.

  On-stage: 'Local Chinese dignitary.'

  Off-stage: 'Of course I will learn his real name by tonight.'

  'English food or Chinese?' I ask, trying to keep my side of the conversation going.

  On-stage: 'Chinese, unfortunately. I still haven't mastered chopsticks. I only managed to get three grains of rice to eat last night and those were by flicking them.'

  Off-stage: 'No, it's Isabel, not Sophie.'

  'Mum, call me next week.'

  'I know, when your father's out.'

  'Give him my love.'

  'Bye, darling.'

  Just as I put the phone down, Gerald pops his head around his office door and yells through his tannoy: 'ISABEL! In here!'

  I collect a notepad and pencil and walk over to Gerald's office. He's shut the door again so I give it a light tap and walk in. He's frantically scribbling on a wipe-board.

  'Are you okay?' I ask tentatively. 'You look a little, er, tense.' He looks like a rabbit caught in headlights.

  'No! Just very alert! Couple of late parties and a few too many espressos. How was yesterday?' he asks.

  'Good.' I briefly outline the core points of the meeting for him.

  'Are you really going to be able to manage all that work?'

  'I'm handing most of my parties over to Aidan.'

  'Oh God, Izzy, did you have to? That's going to make him more histrionic than ever. What about Lady Boswell's Nordic Ice Feast?'

  'No one would take it. You wouldn't—'

  'No. I wouldn't,' he snaps. You'll just have to fit that one in somehow. It sounds as though you'll have to spend quite a few days up at Pantiles. I'm not sure the fee is going to be enough.'

  'Well, they've already got some things arranged.' I want to go back to Pantiles no matter how much work is involved. 'I'll go and do the cost projection now if you like. Make sure it's viable.'

  'You may be anal but at least your figures add up.'

  'Thank you, I think. But I think I'm going to need a runner, Gerald.'

  'Couldn't you do without?'

  It is a large ball and they do want a circus theme. We do now have the catering for five hundred which we weren't expecting so I think we could stretch to a runner, don't you?'

  'You'll nag me until I agree, won't you? You'll drip away like a faulty tap.'

  'Yep.'

  'Very well. You can have a runner,' he says sulkily. 'But remember your head will be on the block if anything goes wrong.'

  I smile and make a mental note to call Dom to tell him to book himself some holiday.

  After the yodelling auditions, everyone insists on yodelling all their conversations and the office takes on the giggly atmosphere of a three-year-old's party with too much orange squash. I reluctantly leave them all at the end of day and return home.

  With rare foresight I manage to locate my keys while on the Tube. Dom is o
n his mobile phone in the sitting room as I let myself in. As soon as he sees me he hurriedly murmurs something into the mouthpiece and turns it off.

  'Hi!' he says brightly. 'How was work?'

  'Fine! Who was on the phone?' I ask lightly, my eyes fixed on him. And why was he using his mobile instead of the landline?

  'Oooh, no one. Just, er, my mother.' He looks shifty. Dom's mother is an industrious woman who 'does a lot for charities and other good causes'. I take a sneaky look at my watch. There is no way she would be back from one of her afternoon committee meetings yet, but I nod a little. 'Did you have enough holiday left to be my runner?'

  'Absolutely! I'm really excited about it!' he says. 'Just think, Izz! I get to see where you and Sophie grew up!' I can't see why this would be so thrilling but I let it pass. 'I might actually give in my notice at the same time, I don't know yet,' Dom continues. 'Working for that company has kind of lost its appeal now.' When Rob and I finished, Dom wanted to hand in his notice as some sort of protest. It was a sweet offer but I knew that, as his landlady, I would be the first to suffer. I nearly point out that there hasn't really been a time when working for Rob's company has ever held an appeal for Dom but I think this might be a little cold-hearted.

  My spirits sink only slightly at this veiled mention of Rob. Returning to Pantiles, whatever that means to me, must have had a beneficial effect.

  'I just hope Simon doesn't come back too soon.' I bite my lip anxiously.

  'You know, Izz, he has probably forgotten all about that ghastly childhood business.'

  'He blanked me at that party!'

  'Maybe he didn't recognise you?'

  'He recognised me all right,' I say grimly.

  'Don't worry. Apparently it's a huge takeover he's involved in. I've been reading all about it in the paper. He won't be back for ages.' Dom stretches and yawns, his arms high in the air. 'Can you suggest something to eat with our salad, Izz?'

  I think hard. I'm running out of ideas.

  'What about some pasta? You could have yours without any cheese?' suggests Dom.

  I make suitably appreciative noises. Only a few more pounds to go. Dom gets up to go into the kitchen.

  'New trousers?' I ask.

  He glances down. 'These? Bought them a few weeks ago. Come and tell me all about Pantiles.' He wanders off into the kitchen.

  Peculiar phone calls? New clothes? He's going to have to tell me soon.

  C h a p t e r 7

  On Wednesday evening I take my straggly set of belongings to Liverpool Street station and catch the next train to Bury St Edmunds. I have realised I am hopelessly ill-equipped for any sort of country estate thing. Whenever we go for walks at Aunt Winnie's we just put on whatever is in her cloakroom. It's not pretty but it does the job and certainly has a scarecrow effect on the cows, pigs and other local wildlife we encounter on the way. Hopefully there will be a similar system in effect at Pantiles as I lack both wellies and any outdoor clothes.

  I then discover I don't own very much luggage. I should have thought ahead and borrowed something off Sophie. Dom and I have had to pool together as many hold-alls as we can possibly find, which are misleadingly named as they don't seem to hold very much at all. I don't plan to get caught standing next to them.

  I emerge in Bury St Edmunds and find Monty waiting outside in a very much working Land Rover as opposed to the rather clean, bred in captivity ones we have in London.

  I dump my bags in the back and rather inelegantly haul myself in. It's not easy in the tight pencil skirt I was determined to wear this morning as it's the first time in over three weeks I've been able to fit into it. 'Hi Monty! Thanks for coming to pick me up!'

  'My pleasure, me dear! Good journey?'

  'Fine, thanks.'

  'Sorry I couldn't get something a bit cleaner to pick you up in; we operate a first-come first-served operation with transport at Pantiles!' This bodes well for the wellie situation. 'Flo's taken me Jag.'

  'Flo?' I ask politely.

  He glances over at me. 'Actually, come to think of it, I don't think you would ever have met her.'

  'No, I don't think so either. I don't remember her anyway.'

  'You would remember Flo if you'd met her! She's my sister! Came to live with us when Elizabeth died. She's lived abroad for most of her life. I don't think she visited when you were at Pantiles.'

  'No, I don't think she did.' After a small pause I ask tentatively, 'Is Simon home yet?'

  'Hmm? Oh, no. Not yet.'

  I breathe a small sigh of cowardly relief and get out the long list of questions I had prepared for Monty regarding electricity supplies, staffing arrangements and other such trivialities for the ball. Monty gives me his very distinct views on Porta-loos for the rest of the journey to Pantiles.

  'I promised we would go down and collect Will. He's with the deer,' he announces as we turn into the driveway.

  'Great!' I say, when I would have been much better off saying, 'Oh shit!' as we plunge off the driveway and rocket down the hillside. I cling grimly to that handy little strap just above the top of a car door that I have never had much use for before and hang on for dear life as we bounce and zoom along, the four wheels rarely in contact with the ground at the same time. Aunt Winnie is a Sunday driver in comparison. Monty seems to know exactly where all the large ruts are and exactly where to hit them for maximum air time. Quite a skill, I'm sure, in some parts of the world. If only I had known to wear my sports bra for such an activity. I seem to be panting unattractively but I don't know whether it's due to an aerobic exertion or an I'm-going-to-die panic.

  We eventually draw to a standstill and not a second too soon. I lurch out of the passenger door, sway around for a bit and then rest my hands on my thighs. I wonder briefly, as I manage to persuade my stomach to come out of my boots, whether I'm going to be sick. All in all not a state a girl feels at her best in nor, I think as I watch a rather attractive man stride towards me, one she wishes to be observed in.

  'Good God!' exclaims the figure. 'Is that really you, Isabel?'

  'Will?' By the time I ask this he has already reached me, seized both my shoulders with, I can't help noticing, two very large tanned hands, and warmly kissed me on both cheeks.

  He looks an awful lot like the pictures of Simon I've seen. Handsome and rugged with wide, long-lashed eyes and long, floppy brown hair. The only difference is that Will's personality directly enhances his looks, making him an altogether more attractive prospect than his brother.

  'How wonderful to see you again! How's Sophie? And your parents?'

  'They're fine, they're all fine.' I smile broadly, instantly feeling that the world is a more friendly place.

  'I couldn't quite believe it when Dad told me you were coming back! And as a party planner too! Must have picked up a thing or two about sandwiches on our picnics, eh?' He gives me a little nudge with his elbow and I laugh.

  Monty has wandered off to talk to one of his workers so Will links his arm through mine and leads me down to the fence he was inspecting when we pulled up.

  'You certainly have grown up well!'

  'Thank you. So have you,' I say while fervently thanking Dom for forcing me to lose that weight. My high heels keep sinking into the ground as it is. If I'd been any heavier they would have had to tie a rope around my waist and drag me out with the Land Rover.

  'I'm so glad you're here! What do you think? Is it as you remember?' He sweeps his arm out to indicate the scene before us. It nearly takes my breath away. Lush, undulating pastures of an unbelievable green, dotted with ancient oaks, rise and fall before me. I breathe in the unmistakable scent of fresh grass and summer air. It's exactly as I remember.

  'Wonderful.'

  Monty has joined us at the fence now. 'Can you see the deer?' he asks. He points towards a distant copse of trees. I can vaguely see some shapes.

  'Just about. How long have you had them?'

  'Only just got them. New venture of Simon's.'

  'And what
are they, er, you know, used for?' I ask innocently, thinking somewhere along the lines of the countryside equivalent to seaside donkey rides.

  'Venison, of course.'

  'Venison?' I ask in horror. 'They get slaughtered?' Pictures of little Bambis with their heads on the block come to mind. Like most of the population, I am perfectly happy to eat meat when it comes in little clingfilm-wrapped trays and bears no resemblance whatsoever to the actual animal.

  'How else will they make us any money?'

  'What sort are they?'

  'Disabled.' Oh my God! Not content with slaughtering innocent able-limbed creatures, which is bad enough, Simon has to slaughter disabled animals who can't even run away. Probably cost less to buy them or something, I think to myself grimly.

  'Disabled?' I whisper. 'Have they no tail or just one eye? Or have they only got three legs?'

  The men are looking at me as if I'm a little disabled in the head myself. 'I said sabled deer, Isabel. Not disabled,' Will says gently.

  I feel a bright red flush coming up from my toes. Both of them let out great guffaws of laughter. Really, it isn't that funny, I think to myself as I watch them clutching each other, tears of laughter in their eyes. I give a half-hearted chuckle just to join in. My goodness, do they have to go on so?

  'Oh dear, Izzy, you are priceless! Did you think there were little ramps everywhere for their wheelchairs?' asks Will finally, gasping for air.

  'Nooo,' I say lamely as though the thought had never crossed my mind.

  'And their pens are over there. That's P-E-N-S, Isabel. Where they sleep. Don't want you thinking we're running opium dens or something.'

  'Ha, ha.'

  'Come on, let's get back to the house. I'm ravenous!' Will rubs his hands together. 'Hopefully Mrs Delaney will have cooked something absolutely marvellous in anticipation of your first night, Izzy.' I wouldn't count on it.

  Back at the house, Will takes all my bags upstairs while Monty pours me an enormous glass of wine and I pet all the dogs. Mrs Delaney is busy peeling carrots at the sink so like a creep I ask if I can help and am rewarded with an enormous bowl of French beans to top and tail. Monty leans against the Aga, still chatting non-stop, and Will returns after having changed out of his dirty clothes into a pressed shirt and faded jeans. He is accompanied by a lady I can only assume is Flo. As soon as she enters the room she flings her arms open wide which, to be honest, is a little alarming. She walks towards me, arms still outstretched, places her hands on my shoulders and kisses me lightly on both cheeks. 'Isabel, my dear! I have heard so much about you and your family! How lovely to meet you!' She has a wonderful husky voice and smells incredibly romantic; I think I recognise jasmine and ylang-ylang. She has an awful lot of soft grey hair, scraped back into an enormous bun but with wisps escaping around her face, and her clothes would not be out of place on a Parisian catwalk, divine little bits of floaty material. A huge turquoise stone lies at her neck and her wrists and fingers are positively littered with bangles and rings. She is simply the most exotic creature I have ever met and in my line of work I tend to meet some rather glamorous people. 'I'm so sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived but I was walking in the grounds and completely lost track of the time. I stopped to watch two beetles mating. Absolutely fascinating. Have you ever seen beetles mating?'