Just a Family Affair Page 5

  Lucy voice was low as she answered. ‘If my marriage wasn’t perfect, it’s because you Liddiards have no idea about anyone but yourselves.’

  She glared at him as he raised a supercilious eyebrow. How could she ever have thought herself in love with him, even for a moment? She shivered in self-disgust as she remembered their frenzied coupling on the Aubusson rug in his oh-so-tasteful living room, that desperate revenge fuck, the payback for Mickey’s infidelity and feckless behaviour. She’d shut the memory out, as she and Mickey had gone on to mend their marriage, which to her mind had only been slightly damaged, not totally destroyed. She had forgiven him, and he had never known the full truth about her and James.

  But now James was taunting her, reminding her that she had been weak. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps she wasn’t fit to preach. But Caroline definitely didn’t deserve the treatment she was getting. When had James become such an out and out sadistic bastard? He’d always been measured and self-contained, but he’d had a more gentle and sensitive side than Mickey, which was why Lucy had once been drawn to him. But that softer side seemed to have vanished into thin air. James was unrecognizably harsh. She tried desperately to see life from his perspective, for Lucy was always fair. OK, so they’d had three children in quick succession, and as James had spent the best part of his life as a rather sybaritic bachelor, pleasing himself in his immaculate house, no doubt the ensuing chaos was rather a shock to his system. But that didn’t mean he had to be cruel . . .

  ‘Just grow up,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t be like your brother, shirking his responsibilities at every opportunity. Why don’t you break with the Liddiard family tradition and be a man?’

  James surveyed her coolly.

  ‘Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard,’ he drawled, ‘if the women we attracted didn’t see us as a meal ticket.’

  Lucy had never slapped anyone in her life. But she was so incensed by James’s arrogance, his cruelty and, of course, the guilt he’d stirred up inside her, that before she knew it she’d dealt him a stinging blow. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away.

  ‘Get off me!’ she snarled. His fingers circled her slender wrist and he held her arm tightly as she struggled to get away. ‘I’m warning you, James—’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  The two of them turned to see Caroline staring at them accusingly, swaying at the end of the corridor, her eyes wild and her hair even wilder. James let Lucy’s arm drop.

  ‘Lucy was just giving me some advice.’

  Caroline’s eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, too much drink and the occasional bout of sobbing. They darted beadily from James to Lucy and back again.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I was asking her if she knew anyone in the village who could give us some help in the house. I can’t afford Ginny’s rates, unfortunately. But I think it’s about time you had some help.’

  ‘Oh.’ Caroline seemed instantly mollified.

  ‘I know it’s been hard for you since poor Mrs Titcombe’s knees finally gave out,’ James went on robustly, referring to his old housekeeper. Mrs Titcombe had actually given notice because she couldn’t cope with the chaos Caroline left in her wake, but had been tactful enough to blame her dodgy knees.

  ‘I’ll ask around,’ Lucy added, playing along with this blatant lie, but thankful that a scene had been averted. ‘I’m sure there’ll be someone glad of some extra cash.’

  She smiled at Caroline, and was rewarded with a look of pure malevolence. She turned and hurried back to the kitchen, feeling rather sick. Too much food, one too many glasses of champagne, and the guilt of her secret swirled round in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed down the bile, blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill, and steeled herself to go back into the chaos of the kitchen as if nothing had happened. But she couldn’t help wondering how much of their exchange Caroline had witnessed. She didn’t want her as an enemy. Lucy didn’t scare easily but Caroline was a frightening adversary.

  Back in the kitchen, Patrick was doing magic for Henry. Utterly appalling magic that anyone over five would have seen through, but as Henry was only four and a half he got away with it. Georgie was walking round the kitchen with Connie balanced on her feet, and Ginny was bouncing Percy up and down on her knee. Kitty and Sasha had arrived, and were bubbling over with excitement at Patrick and Mandy’s announcement.

  ‘Can we be bridesmaids?’ demanded Sasha. ‘Because we’re almost related. I mean, Mum is practically married to Mandy’s dad. Which makes us almost sisters. And twin bridesmaids - hey, how cool would that be?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Sasha,’ protested Ginny. ‘I don’t suppose Patrick and Mandy have given any thought to bridesmaids yet. And even if they have, I don’t suppose you and Kitty are top of their list. There’s Sophie and Georgina for a start.’

  ‘No way!’ protested Georgina, who had been a bridesmaid when James and Caroline got married. ‘Sorry, Caroline, no offence. But first and last time. I can’t cope with the responsibility. ’

  Caroline had come back into the room and claimed one of the comfy chairs by the Aga.

  ‘Quite,’ drawled Caroline. ‘Anyway, it would probably be terribly bad luck. Having a bridesmaid who’d already attended at a wedding that was doomed to failure.’

  ‘I think I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Lucy quickly. ‘I’m sure everyone’s gasping for a cup of tea.’

  Mandy turned to Kitty.

  ‘Actually, Kitty,’ said Mandy, ‘I did want to ask you a favour. Will you do the dress?’

  Kitty’s mouth dropped open. Mandy was always in the latest gear. She was always going off to Selfridges in Birmingham and coming back with Juicy Couture and Maharishi. Kitty was at the local college doing fashion design, and although she specialized in catwalk knock-offs for all her friends, she didn’t think Mandy would take her attempts at not-so-haute-couture seriously.

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Yes. I want a one-off. A total original. And you’ve got such great ideas.’

  Kitty was overwhelmed. ‘Mandy - I’d love to. But if you change your mind, I understand. I thought you’d go for a real designer.’

  Mandy shook her head.

  ‘Why line their pockets? I want all my friends and family to be as closely involved as possible. And everything else will be local.’

  ‘Just tell me you’re not going to get that awful Fleur Gibson to do the flowers.’ Sasha, who always said what everyone else was thinking, had got herself a Saturday job at Twig, the florist in Eldenbury, and had lasted precisely half a day before locking horns with the notoriously difficult owner and flouncing out.

  Mandy made a face. ‘She is good.’

  This was true. Fleur, or to be more precise the nineteen-year-old genius she kept locked in the back room, had a wonderful knack with arrangements.

  ‘She’s a bloody menace.’ Everyone looked surprised. Lucy never said anything nasty about anyone. ‘She’s not happy unless she thinks every man in the room fancies her. Which, of course, they do.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t,’ Mickey interjected. ‘She’s my worst nightmare. Clingy, manipulative, dangerous.’

  ‘She’s always reminded me of Kay Oakley.’ James swirled his wine round in his glass casually as he spoke.

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Kay wasn’t that bad,’ said Lucy stoutly. ‘I always quite liked her.’

  Which, given it was Kay that Mickey had had an affair with, was pretty loyal. But Lucy knew that James was just stirring, because he hadn’t liked being reprimanded, and she wasn’t having any of it. Bringing up the past when they were all intent on looking to the future was totally out of order.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, trying to steer away from the subjects, ‘I think it’s up to Mandy to choose. Where are you having the reception?’

  Patrick and Mandy looked at each other.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Patrick admitted. ‘We only thought of it this morning.’

  ‘
I know it’s traditional to have it at the bride’s home, but our garden at Kiplington isn’t really big enough. Is it, Dad?’ Mandy turned to her father anxiously.

  ‘Not really,’ said Keith. ‘You’d be very limited on numbers. And parking would be tricky.’

  ‘I definitely don’t fancy having it in a hotel. It’s not very personal, is it?’ Mandy wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I can’t think of anything worse,’ said Patrick. ‘Lukewarm Bucks Fizz and ghastly waitresses with big arses.’ He shuddered.

  ‘Why not have it here, then?’ said Lucy. ‘There’s bags of room.’

  ‘You honestly wouldn’t mind?’ Mandy’s eyes were shining. ‘All those people traipsing through the house and ruining the grass? Although,’ she added hastily, ‘we are hoping to keep it small. Ish.’

  ‘Mind?’ said Lucy. ‘I’d be thrilled. I’ll help you organize it. I haven’t got anything else to do.’

  Patrick was secretly delighted. Being a bloke, he hadn’t often fantasized about his own wedding, but now he’d given it some thought he couldn’t imagine holding it in some impersonal venue still warm from the previous incumbents, the confetti and cake crumbs hastily swept away in order to make way for the next arrivals. It seemed right to have it here at home. And now he knew the entire proceedings were being left to Lucy and Mandy, he could concentrate on the matter in hand. Getting the brewery back on its feet. He needed to speak to Keith as soon as possible. He was still very subdued, though Patrick was sure he was delighted by their announcement. And now they were officially engaged, Patrick could have a man-to-man chat about how each of them saw the future.

  Realizing he’d drifted off, he drew his attention back to the rest of the room. James, Mickey and Keith were half-heartedly passing a bottle of port amongst themselves. Caroline was dozing in the big chair, Percy snuggled up against her having just guzzled his afternoon bottle. Ginny, bless her, was tackling the nasty pans that wouldn’t go in the dishwasher, despite Lucy’s protestations. Lucy was busy making the tea she had promised earlier.

  The conversation had moved back to dresses, as it so often did. Patrick was relieved that he had little choice on the sartorial front. He had a morning suit. All he’d need to worry about was a new pair of shoes.

  ‘Gypsy punk,’ Kitty was saying, leaning back against the Aga, her hands gesticulating as she waxed lyrical on her favourite subject. She had wild curly hair, and was wearing a baby-doll dress over a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, dizzyingly high wedges and striped over-the-knee socks. For a moment, Patrick debated the wisdom of Mandy’s wedding dress being in Kitty’s hands. ‘Or Fifties starlet-harlot. Or flamenco? No. Those are all too . . . urban. We need something pastoral. Hardy meets Larkin. As in H. E. Bates, not Philip. With a bit of Midsummer Night’s Dream thrown in.’

  ‘Stop!’ Mandy was laughing at the enthusiasm her invitation had unleashed. ‘I’ve got no idea what I want yet. Patrick only proposed to me this morning. The only thing I’ve set my mind on is the colour.’

  ‘Oyster pink?’ Kitty sounded hopeful. ‘No - pale grey.’

  ‘Scarlet!’ said Sasha lasciviously. ‘You could easily do scarlet with your colouring.’

  ‘Too tarty.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

  The twins were soon arguing the toss. They were so different. Sasha was the antithesis of bohemian Kitty, all gloss and glimmer in designer jeans and a sparkly halter-neck top that showed off her fake tan, her hair poker straight and gleaming.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mandy firmly. ‘I’m going to be dead boring, I’m afraid. I want to get married in white.’

  She smiled round as everyone stared at her. Caroline snorted. James raised an eyebrow. But Mandy stood her ground.

  ‘I’ve always wanted a white wedding.’

  ‘Then you shall have it,’ said Lucy soothingly. ‘There’s nothing boring about being traditional. I think it’s a lovely idea.’

  ‘To a white wedding,’ said Mickey, raising his glass. He loved any excuse for a toast.

  ‘A white wedding,’ everyone chorused, raising their glasses in response.

  When everyone had gone, Lucy paced out the lawn from the bottom of the stone steps that led down from the terrace at the back of Honeycote House. She’d already ignored the fact that the steps were crumbling. They couldn’t afford to repair everything that needed doing. Not that anyone would notice, for Lucy was an expert at making everything look just so.

  She felt light of heart as she walked down the garden. She absolutely wasn’t going to be the interfering mother-in-law, but having the wedding here was going to give her something to get her teeth into. It would take her mind off her ennui and stop her going completely barking mad. Even though Mandy and Patrick were insisting that they wanted things kept simple, Lucy knew that this meant as much hard work as something more elaborate. If people weren’t going to be distracted by gimmicks, then everything had to be perfect. In an understated, rough-round-the-edges way. She wasn’t daunted, for so many things that seemed to be wedding prerequisites these days were superfluous and, usually, rather tasteless. As long as the food was delicious and there was plenty of booze, everything else would fall into place.

  Lucy looked back up at the house from the bottom of the lawn and smiled in satisfaction. Mother Nature would provide most of the decoration. The bank that was studded with snowdrops and crocuses would be a brilliant green by May. The soggy ground would be dry, the lawn soft and lush, not yet parched. The countryside would be glowing in shades of emerald and lime interspersed with pinky-white blossom, the air thick with its heavenly scent. Why look any further for a source of inspiration? Mandy was right, decided Lucy. A white wedding. There was no point in trying to be clever about it. It was absolutely perfect.

  Not far away, at Keeper’s Cottage in Kiplington, Keith slipped into the bathroom to freshen himself up. He looked at his reflection critically. He didn’t look as bad as he felt. He kept his hair clipped short these days now it had all turned steel grey, and there was no doubt it took a few years off. His face was slightly pink from rather too much to drink at lunch, but other than that he looked the picture of health.

  Tomorrow might contradict his reflection. Tomorrow would bring the truth . . .

  He brushed his teethed vigorously, spitting the foaming paste back into the sink, wondering if all the rich food would stop him falling asleep later. He hoped not. When he didn’t sleep, the nights were long and full of terror. Worst of all were the nights when he did drop off, then woke with a start at about three, drenched in sweat. There was no rhyme or reason to it.

  He put his toothbrush back carefully, splashed water on his face and towelled it dry. He’d go back downstairs and watch the Sunday-night drama with Ginny. He often tried to slip into bed early these days, so he could feign unconsciousness when she got in beside him and thus avoid any embarrassment. But it wasn’t fair. He was pushing her away, just when he needed her most.

  Given the choice, Kay would never have plumped for a metallic purple Nissan Micra. But her father had insisted on buying her a car. She knew he couldn’t really afford to part with five grand, but he’d wanted to do it. And now she had Flora, she understood how, as a parent, you would make any sacrifice for your children. Besides, her father knew a bloke who was selling his wife’s runaround, and he knew it had been looked after from brand new. So here she was, bowling along the road out of Eldenbury with Flora in a child seat that her mother had bought from the local paper and steam-cleaned until it looked like new, in a car that had ‘one careful lady owner’ written all over it, when what she was used to was a motor that screamed ‘reckless speed freak’.

  But, as she reminded herself, that was what had got her where she was today.

  Lawrence had only had his car for two weeks when it had left the coast road on a notorious bend. Forensics said he had been doing over a hundred and had lost control. She found it hard to believe. Lawrence was a good driver, and he knew that road like the back of his hand. Her unease
grew when her lawyer outlined the bare facts to her rather gravely after the funeral. Lawrence had left her without a bean. Every last penny, including the money he’d raised by remortgaging their villa, unbeknownst to her, had been invested in his latest development project. This had gone mysteriously bankrupt at the time of his death. Even more mysteriously, his partners had emerged unscathed, somehow managing to get their money out before the project crashed.

  Kay knew Lawrence had been unhappy with the way business had been going just before he died. The latest project was not to his taste: cheap apartments that were being thrown up using low-grade materials and badly finished. And the sales tactics being used went against the grain. Extremely high pressure techniques being used mercilessly on people who didn’t know better; people who had been lured out on free flights and promptly cornered by ruthless salespeople who filled their heads with the promise of a better life. Lawrence knew that nobody was actually held at gunpoint, but he didn’t agree with the mind games being used. His partners scoffed at his protestation that their customers were being exploited. Strangely enough it was the female salespeople who were the most aggressive, using a combination of their tanned sexuality and innate cunning to secure the most names on the dotted line. Lawrence loathed them, and refused to have anything to do with rewarding their success.

  Kay wondered if he’d threatened to pull his money out. He’d had a meeting the week before he died, and come home in a very dark mood. Unusually, he hadn’t wanted to share his misgivings with Kay, whom he often used as a sounding board. Instead, he’d taken her and Flora for a meal at their favourite harbour-side restaurant, and his mood had soon lightened when Flora ordered for them in perfect Portuguese. The little girl always managed to make him smile. So Kay hadn’t grilled him any further, which she now bitterly regretted. Had she known what was troubling him, she might now be able to prove her suspicions - that his partners had sacrificed Lawrence to their own ends. Money was king in their world; loyalty meant nothing. Had they forced him off the road or done something to his brakes? Or was she being completely paranoid?