Wild Oats (8 page)

He did a quick straw poll of the members of his family. He himself was relatively happy, which of course only added to his guilt. It wasn’t until they were back at Lydbrook that he realized how much he had missed the country and how much he loathed
London. Here, at lunchtime, he could wander out of his office, buy a crusty cob and stroll down to the river, rather than sit in some smoky hostelry chewing on a soggy, over-refrigerated baguette. And in retrospect Elmdon Road had been suffocating, so claustrophobic; you were under scrutiny twenty-four hours a day. Everyone knew your business – when you had a row, where you bought your groceries, if you were late for work, if you were home early. Everything was shared: babysitters, school runs, pints of milk, secrets, gossip – and, if the latter was to be believed, sometimes partners. Christopher, who was an intensely private person, found it liberating to be able to walk out into his own garden without people checking to see if you’d changed your boxer shorts.

The boys were in their element. They’d lost their city pallor, spending most of their time outdoors, whereas in London they’d spent most of it glued to the telly or the Play Station. At Lydbrook, they’d already built their own cycle track, with jumps, coming back triumphantly with muddy knees, bruises and tales of their achievements.

So he and the boys were content, while Hamilton, Rosemary and Zoe were not. Was it in his power to redress the balance? Did any one of them deserve happiness more than the other? Sebastian and Hugo were the most important, of course, but being five and seven respectively they would probably be happy anywhere.

Moving back to London would certainly make
Zoe happy. Christopher had no doubt he would learn to live with it just as he had before. Rosemary would carry on wandering round Lydbrook wringing her hands like a wraith. Hamilton, unaware as he was of his surroundings, would presumably be unaffected.

But how could they go back? They’d sold their house; he’d given up his job. And the agency needed him – he couldn’t just abandon it now it was up and running again. They would jolly well have to stick it out. He would just have to find a way of bringing Zoe round.

He looked up with a sigh as Tiona came out of her office. The sight of her brought a smile to his lips. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her. She was an angel in disguise; his saving grace. She’d held the office together when Hamilton had got ill but, as she explained to Christopher, there was only so much she could do without access to money. She was an absolute trouper, tirelessly pounding the streets of Ludlow and its environs doing viewings and valuations, leaving him free to shore up the agency’s infrastructure and work on strategic alliances. She seemed to have boundless reserves of energy and enthusiasm for her job, typing up particulars late into the night as she didn’t trust anyone else who worked there not to contravene the Property Misdescriptions Act. Anyway, Tiona was proud of her particulars. She had a well-thumbed
Roget’s Thesaurus
on her desk. Delightful, breathtaking, charming,
enchanting: she never used the same adjective twice.

He didn’t know how to thank her. Of course, what she really needed was a whopping great pay rise, but he couldn’t promise her that yet, not until things were more stable. They were just starting to get some fees in again, but there were a lot of below-the-line costs to cover before he could start dishing out bonuses.

He watched her cross the room towards him, in a pale-pink V-necked cardigan that gave just a hint of cleavage, a flowery skirt and ballet pumps. Her face was like a china doll, with long eyelashes and rosebud lips that were curved up into a sweet smile.

‘Guess what? I’ve got a sale on Silver Street already. Mrs Turner’s very keen to push it through as quickly as possible.’

‘Fantastic. Well done.’

Tiona dimpled at him modestly.

‘I didn’t really have to do anything. It sold itself.’

Christopher put the lid on his fountain pen defiantly.

‘Let’s go for a drink.’

Her eyes widened like saucers.

‘Why?’

Christopher searched round for a reason, then snapped his fingers as inspiration struck.

‘Because we can?’

Tiona wrinkled her nose and laughed.

‘Why not?’

She walked past him to get her coat, and Christopher breathed in the scent of old roses. It made him feel quite giddy as he slipped on his jacket, then placed
a chivalrous hand in the small of Tiona’s back to escort her out of the door. As the big brass latch clicked shut behind them, he felt a tiny thrill, as if he was about to do something illicit. But that was ridiculous – if he couldn’t take one of his workforce out for a congratulatory drink, then what was the point? And the Royal Oak in Upper Faviell was on the way home, so he wouldn’t be too late.

6

When Jack and Jamie finally found themselves alone, they took the dregs of the champagne into the kitchen while Jamie cooked supper. Jack had protested that she shouldn’t be doing it, but she insisted that it wasn’t a chore but a pleasure. It seemed natural for her to step into her mother’s shoes. Besides, Jack couldn’t cook for toffee. So she sent him out to the greenhouse for courgettes and tomatoes, and while she chopped them she told him of her journey, her adventures, her narrow escapes – edited highlights that didn’t include the occasional irresponsible one-night stand or three-day romance that she’d felt inclined to indulge in with other travellers she’d met on the way. The need for someone to hold her had been overwhelming at times; the comfort of another body. Then Jack filled her in on local gossip.

Neither of them touched on the painful subject of Louisa, or their subsequent rift. But every now and then Jamie felt that Jack was holding something back, that she too was only getting edited highlights and there was some important piece of information that she wasn’t party to. She was about to probe, see if she could winkle something out of him, when he turned to her gravely.

‘There is one sad piece of news. Hamilton’s had some sort of stroke. He’s had to go into a home.’

‘My God, that’s terrible.’

Jamie looked stricken. The Draces were their nearest neighbours. Their house, Lydbrook, lay three fields away sandwiched between Upper and Lower Faviell, and she’d grown up with the Drace children – Kate and Emma, a year either side of her own age, and Christopher, three years her senior (who was always called Kif, because that’s what Emma had called him when she’d found Christopher too much of a mouthful). Kif had been like a big brother to Jamie. They’d been the family that, being an only child, she’d never had.

‘Have you been to see him?’

‘No.’ Jack looked uncomfortable. ‘Apparently there isn’t much point. He barely recognizes anyone.’

‘You don’t know, though, do you?’ Jamie persisted. ‘It might help. It must be better than sitting there all on your own day after day.’

‘Anyway,’ Jack seemed keen to change the subject, ‘one good thing’s come out of it. Christopher’s come back to take over the agency. They’re all living at Lydbrook.’

Jamie suddenly felt unbearably sad. It wasn’t all that long ago that she and the Draces had torn round the countryside together, first on their ponies, with their parents ferrying them to gymkhanas and Pony Club camp. Then later in their teens Kif had got his first old banger, and had taken over the transportation,
driving them to discos and parties. He’d been a wonderful escort, keeping an eye out for Emma and Kate and Jamie, making sure they didn’t drink too much or snog anyone unsuitable, but without ever being stuffy or boring. They’d all been so close. Tennis matches at Lydbrook, croquet tournaments at Bucklebury, bicycle polo. Jamie remembered her mother setting up show-jumping circuits for her and Kate and Emma to pop over on their ponies, patiently replacing the poles time and time again…

Now Louisa was dead and Hamilton, to all intents and purposes, might as well be. It was the end of an era, with Christopher taking over at Lydbrook. Jamie shivered, realizing the truth behind two of the most well-worn clichés. Life was too short. And you never knew what was round the corner.

At seven o’clock, Olivier put his head politely round the door. He was washed and gleaming. His hair was still wet and swept back, showing off his bone structure to even greater effect. He had on a clean pair of jeans, Docksiders and a teal blue sweatshirt that a colour consultant could have told him brought out the brilliance of his eyes. He smelled of Imperial Leather.

‘I’m just going down the Oak for a swift pint,’ he said casually to Jack.

‘I was going to do supper at about eight,’ Jamie said, and Olivier hesitated for a moment before nodding.

‘See you later,’ said Jack, a tinge of regret in his
farewell as his eyes followed Olivier enviously out of the door. Jamie was once again left feeling that she was intruding on some sort of male ritual. A smidgeon of resentment bubbled inside her. Her father hadn’t seen her for ten months – was it that much of a hardship to miss out on his evening pint?

At quarter past seven, Christopher and Tiona were still happily ensconced in the snug of the Royal Oak. Christopher was nursing his second full-bodied pint of Honeycote Ale; Tiona clasped an ice-cold glass of Chablis. It was great to be away from the office, away from the chirrup of the telephone and the baleful glare of the bespectacled Norma, his father’s loyal and long-serving secretary, whose eyes he had felt boring into his back disapprovingly as he left.

Christopher tried to ignore the fact that the boys would be heading for bed any minute; he really didn’t fancy going home yet. Zoe would definitely be on the second bottle by the time he got there, and he’d have to pretend to himself that she wasn’t slurring her words. By bedtime she would be tearful, apologetically tearful, and he couldn’t bear that. He’d prefer aggressive, because at least then he wouldn’t feel so awful. What could he say to her? Get a job? A hobby? A life? He wouldn’t feel so guilty if he didn’t feel so right himself.

‘Penny for them.’ Tiona nudged him gently with her elbow.

‘I was just thinking how pleased I am to be back.
If I was still in London I’d be battling my way home on the tube, stuck in a tunnel, probably, with a drunk on one side of me and a beggar on the other. This is definitely the life.’

Tiona smiled sweetly, taking that as a compliment. As she sipped at her drink, her eyes wandered over to the bar, where an absolute vision had just entered and was chatting up the barmaid. Tall, tanned, a little bit scruffy but probably deliberately so. Perfect peach of a bum in faded jeans. Amazing eyes, blue as a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. She looked for his watch. You could tell a lot about a man by his watch. Interestingly, he wasn’t wearing one, and there was no telltale white stripe, which could only mean time didn’t matter to him. So he was either absolutely loaded or unemployed. Tiona’s eyes wandered over him lazily. Wouldn’t mind a bit of that, she thought to herself. Then she dragged herself back to what Christopher was saying, chiding herself for taking her mind off the job in hand. Christopher’s watch was plain gold, with no-nonsense Roman numerals and a crocodile strap. Discreet, probably a couple of grand’s worth if you bought it today, but he definitely didn’t have that kind of money to spend on a watch, so it was probably handed down.

Christopher was looking at her strangely and she realized she was staring at it. She apologized hastily.

‘I was just thinking… what a nice watch.’

‘My grandfather’s. I couldn’t afford to buy myself one like this.’ He looked at it, and in doing so noticed
that another half an hour had slipped by rather pleasantly since he’d last looked. ‘I really ought to be going. Supper will be…’

Beyond hope. Beyond repair. Beyond even the dogs. Tiona smiled her thanks at him. The Chablis had brought a dainty little flush to her cheeks and put a sparkle in her eye.

‘Thank you for the drink. It made a lovely change. I’d usually be watching
Coronation Street
with the cat on my lap.’

Christopher drained his pint, and they walked out to the car park, where Tiona reached up on her tippy toes to give him a peck on the cheek, just so he could be sure how very tiny and vulnerable she was, then slid into her Golf and drove off. Christopher watched her go, then sat in his car for a moment before switching on the ignition, steeling himself for what he might find when he got home. Not that Zoe was a nag who would have a whinge at him for being late, not at all. No – she’d probably welcomed the chance to get another half-bottle of Jacob’s Creek down her neck without his watchful eye upon her.

Perched on a highly polished wooden stool with his elbows on the bar, Olivier decided that this was definitely his favourite time of the day. The pub always had a pleasant flow of traffic between six and half-seven as people dropped in for a quick drink after work on their way home, so there was usually someone to pass the time of day with and get the
local chitchat. A lot of business was done at the bar on a handshake and the purchase of a pint. If you wanted something doing, there would always be someone who knew someone, and Toby the landlord acted as a facilitator-cum-messenger service. The pub had been bought recently by a small Cotswold-based brewery, Honeycote Ales, who were looking to expand their portfolio of country hostelries. Toby was young to be in charge of a pub, but he’d served his apprenticeship in the Cotswolds and the Royal Oak was flourishing under his watchful eye – superficially, nothing had been changed, but the food had been improved beyond measure. It didn’t try to compete with the gourmet establishments that had made the area so renowned, but concentrated on a simple menu perfectly executed: the Aberdeen Angus steak and chips were legendary, making it incredibly popular for a midweek meal out amongst the locals. Added to which, the staff were exemplary and Honeycote Ale itself was acknowledged to taste like nectar.

Jack and Olivier habitually wandered down the road just after six to prop up the bar for an hour or so, but today Olivier was quite happy to nurse a pint on his own and contemplate the latest turn of events.