Authors: Katie Fforde
‘His grandmother . . .’ Lucy took a deep breath. There was obviously much worse to come. ‘She thinks I’m common.’
Alice knew she mustn’t laugh, however much she wanted to. ‘Really? Do people say things like that these days?’
Lucy nodded. She seemed pleased with Alice’s reaction. ‘She is the snobbiest person on the planet, and thinks Phillip was a fool to marry someone like me just because I’m “quite pretty in a vulgar way”.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Alice. ‘She sounds like someone out of Oscar Wilde.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I still need to know why you’re cooking for this anachronism when you probably don’t have to. You are pregnant.’
‘I know I’m bloody pregnant!’ wailed Lucy. ‘But apparently it’s vulgar to suffer from morning sickness or “make a fuss”. God, she probably doesn’t even approve of pain relief in childbirth!’
‘Well, she’s not going to be there when you have it, so you don’t have to worry about that. But just tell me, I’m still not getting it, why do you have to cook?’
‘So she doesn’t cut Phillip out of the will.’
Alice shook her head in disbelief. ‘This isn’t Oscar Wilde, it’s Dickensian!’
Lucy frowned. ‘I have heard of Dickens. I’m not that uneducated.’
‘I still don’t think Phillip should put you through this.’
‘Nor do I!’ Lucy looked defiant. Then her expression changed. ‘But I don’t want to let him down. He’s always stuck up for me and I want to make him proud.’ She looked at Alice. ‘You’re good at cooking. You might be able to help me? Give me a few tips?’
Alice nodded. ‘I certainly know a few good cheats. When is this banquet?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Oh, short notice. So what are you planning on cooking?’
Lucy’s expression became despairing. ‘I have no idea. Fish and meat both make me sick at the moment.’
‘You want ready meals then, something someone else has already cooked. Has Phillip told you of any particular likes or dislikes?’
‘Not really except she’s very old-fashioned so no “foreign muck”, and there must be pudding.’
‘OK, we can do this. I’ll whizz round and get a few things for you, then I’ll tell you how to do it.’
Lucy’s bottom lip trembled.
‘Now what?’
‘You couldn’t actually come with me, could you? To the spooky old house that no one’s been in forever?’
Alice sighed. ‘I’ll get the food first and think about it. But . . .’ She paused to give her words extra weight. ‘If I do come, you have got to swear you will absolutely not tell your father!’
‘OK, but why not? Why don’t you want Dad to know?’
Alice took a breath to explain, and realised she didn’t really know. Or if she did, she didn’t want to describe her complex reasons to his daughter. She didn’t want Michael to think she was doing it so he would like her more, and so make herself look too keen. ‘It’s complicated.’
She needn’t have worried; Lucy wasn’t that interested. ‘OK. But I can tell Phillip?’
‘If you absolutely have to. Now I’ll get on. How many are you cooking for?’
‘Six. Me and Phillip, his grandmother, his two brothers and his sister.’
‘So you’re the only non-blood relative?’
Lucy nodded. ‘I’m the only one who’s pregnant too, but there it is.’
Alice went to find her trolley.
Back in the aisles, she abandoned the ready-meal idea. There weren’t enough packets of any one thing that wasn’t obviously ‘foreign muck’, and so she decided it was easy enough to make a simple chicken casserole. Then she added some ready-rolled puff pastry to her shopping to turn it into chicken pie. No one could object to chicken pie, she decided. Feeling happily convinced that the grandmother would die of disapproval, she loaded up with pre-made mashed potato and ready-prepared veg. Then she bought the makings of a trifle, which would take two minutes to prepare, be delicious and was as old-fashioned as you like.
‘OK,’ Alice said, back at Lucy’s table. ‘I’m done. Let’s go.’
‘I’ve just looked at my list,’ said Lucy. ‘We need whisky. A single malt.’
‘I’ll find it. Which one?’
‘Glen-something.’
Alice sighed. ‘Loads of them are called Glen-something. You’d better ring Phillip. It would be fatal to get the wrong one.’ Probably not fatal, she amended while Lucy was on the phone, but definitely not good for Lucy.
They loaded up Alice’s car and set off in convoy.
‘
ARE YOU SURE
this is the place?’ Alice had parked her car behind Lucy’s in front of a house that looked like the set for a modern version of
Sleeping Beauty
.
‘Yes. I did say no one’s been here for years.’
‘And Phillip’s grandmother wants to sleep here? I can’t believe it!’
Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s her house and it’s going to be sold and she feels sentimental about it, even though it’ll be damp and horrible. But actually the real reason is she’s too mean to go into a hotel.’
‘She might have to,’ said Alice grimly. ‘Have you got the key? Let’s go in. If we can get past the laurels, that is.’
Alice had been joking, but actually it was a bit of a struggle. What had once been bushes had turned into trees and they had to duck under to climb the steps to the front door.
Lucy’s key was stiff and it took them a while to get the front door open.
They both coughed as dust and stale air hit them.
‘I’m sure this isn’t healthy for pregnant women,’ said Lucy.
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ said Alice glibly, not at all sure. She wasn’t sure it was good for elderly ladies either but this one was probably built of stern stuff and wouldn’t be affected by a bit of dust. ‘We’ll open some windows and get some fresh air in.’
‘If you can open the windows,’ said Lucy gloomily.
Alice ignored this pessimism, but felt Lucy might well be right.
‘It’s what Bella would call “ripe for restoration”,’ Alice said as they entered the sitting room, which she felt should really be called a parlour. It looked like the set of a period drama, only with dust.
‘Definitely in need of a makeover,’ agreed Lucy. ‘But I like the period details.’
Alice glanced at her, surprised. She hadn’t expected this from Lucy.
The room was fairly small and Victorian in period and style. The mantelpiece had ornaments reflected in a carved mirror. Below, by the fireplace, was a neat little ‘companion set’ – poker, shovel and brush – all hanging on a stand and looking fairly unused. The fireplace itself was concealed behind a needlepoint fire screen.
‘Yes. If it was clean and less cluttered it could be a very pretty room. And I bet you could knock through to the next room if you wanted.’ She tapped on the wall. It sounded solid. ‘You might need to support the ceiling, though.’
‘We’d better find the kitchen,’ said Lucy. ‘Which will have an old range and a spit over an open fire. I don’t think the maids in mop caps and frilly aprons will still be there though.’
Alice followed her out of the room, feeling more inclined to like her as well as feeling desperately sorry for her. A sense of humour seemed to be emerging from the gloom and hysterics.
‘Well, it does have an electric cooker,’ said Alice. ‘Probably pre-war though.’
‘I expect you’re right.’
They looked at the cooker, which had one square solid plate at the back and two smaller ones at the front. Lucy turned a switch and held her hand expectantly over the solid metal plate. ‘It doesn’t work,’ she said after a few moments. ‘Which either means we have to get hold of a camping stove or call the whole thing off.’
‘I’m all for calling it off,’ said Alice, ‘although we have got quite a lot of food. But I expect the electricity has been turned off at the mains. I just hope they’re not in a dark cupboard which we won’t be able to find.’
They tracked the fuse box down to a cupboard full of old, cracking mackintoshes that smelt strongly of perishing rubber and threatened to break when they moved them. Alice pulled down a lever.
‘Let’s hope that’s the right one. Turn on a light, Lucy.’
‘Are you sure it won’t electrocute me?’
‘Reasonably.’
Lucy found a beautiful old brass light fitting and flicked the switch. High above them, almost entirely concealed by a dark-red lampshade, a bulb glowed.
‘That’s a start!’ said Alice. ‘Let’s go and investigate the kitchen again. What time are you expecting them?’
‘About six.’
‘It’s only twelve now so we needn’t panic. Shall we go upstairs first? If it’s totally uninhabitable for your grandmother-in-law we’d better give Phillip plenty of time to find her a suitable hotel.’
‘Cool,’ said Lucy. ‘I want a nosy anyway.’
‘So do I,’ said Alice, following the girl up the stairs.
The bedrooms were as Victorian as the sitting room had been, only in here dark patches of damp had lifted the rather charming floral paper.
‘I think the roof must leak,’ said Alice. ‘Phillip’s grandmother certainly can’t sleep here.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Do you think Phillip will say he’ll find a hotel and we can have dinner there as well?’
‘That would be good,’ said Alice.
But Phillip obviously didn’t have the authority to make the decision. ‘I’ll get back to you,’ was his reply when Lucy called him.
‘Well, let’s have a good look round while we’re here,’ said Lucy. ‘If it’s all going to be grim we might as well get some fun out of it.’
There were two more bedrooms, also damp, with old-fashioned paisley eiderdowns on the narrow single beds. They then found and admired the bathroom, with a genuine roll-top bath with ball and claw feet. Next door, in a room of its own, was a ‘Crapper’ lavatory, with a proper overhead flush with a chain and a ceramic handle that said ‘Pull’ on it.
‘You know, I miss those,’ said Alice. ‘These water-saving ones are all very planet-friendly, but they don’t give you that satisfying swoosh of water.’
‘This house is a museum. But I like it,’ said Lucy.
Phillip came back to Lucy quite quickly. She’d put it on speakerphone so she wouldn’t have to relate it all to Alice. ‘Sorry, hon, we’ve got to go through with it. She’s agreed to sleep in a hotel but she wants dinner in her own house. It’s why she’s come down, after all: to have a last meal in the house where she was so happy with Grandfather.’
‘OK,’ said Lucy, ‘but the cooker might not work. If it doesn’t, it’s a hotel, OK?’
Alice couldn’t actually hear Phillip sighing but she knew he was. ‘OK, darling, but please try!’ he said out loud. ‘This is so important to everyone!’
‘Yeah, sure. So important they want me to do it when they know I can’t cook.’ Then a few moments later she said, ‘OK, I’ll do my best. I really love this house, even if it does leak and smell of mice.’
Alice was not optimistic about being able to cook in the kitchen. It wouldn’t be easy even if everything worked, and that was by no means certain.
‘Phillip’s grandmother must think everything’s fine or she wouldn’t ask you to cook in it,’ Alice said, peering into the oven. At least it wasn’t full of long-forgotten roasting tins.
‘Well, I’m sure she’s quite nasty enough to ask something that’s blatantly impossible, but she does think her house is liveable in. She told Phillip there was nothing at all wrong with it.’
‘OK, let’s see if this works.’ Alice turned a knob. Instantly the overhead light went off. It didn’t make a huge difference, given that it hardly provided any light, but it didn’t look good from an electrical point of view. ‘If Phillip’s grandmother decides not to sell, and you and Phillip end up inheriting this house, Lucy, you must promise me you’ll have it rewired.’
‘God, yes!’
‘I’ll go and see if I can work out what’s wrong.’
Alice went to burrow in the coats again, and emerged a bit later having flicked more switches.
‘OK, I’m not an expert on electricity but that might work.’
Again the light went out the moment the cooker went on.
‘All right, it’s either cooker or lights. We can cope with that. But will the cooker actually get hot enough to cook on?’ she said.
Both she and Lucy held their hands over the plate, as if trying to cure themselves of frostbite. Eventually Alice bravely flicked the plate with her finger. ‘Actually, that’s quite hot.’
‘But how can you cook in the pitch dark?’ asked Lucy, half scowling, half curious.
‘Wait here,’ said Alice.
She returned a few minutes later and Lucy burst out laughing.
‘Why? What’s so funny?’ said Alice, straight-faced.
‘You’re wearing a head torch!’ shrieked Lucy. ‘It’s bloody hilarious!’
Alice kept her mouth prim. ‘I don’t know why you should think that. It’s a perfectly sensible solution to our problem.’
‘Sure but why do you even
have
a head torch?’ said Lucy, when she had stopped laughing enough to speak.
Alice allowed herself to be amused. ‘It is a bit mad, but Bella gave me an emergency kit to keep in the car one Christmas. It had things like chocolate and brandy and stuff which all went immediately. But the head torch and the first-aid kit are still there.’
‘I knew you were the right person to ask for help,’ said Lucy.
‘Let’s face it, I was the only person you could ask. I don’t suppose you were going to trawl through the Waitrose customers looking for helpful women of a certain age, were you?’
‘I suppose not. But I am really glad we met up there.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Alice and realised that she was too. ‘Now we’d better get this meal going.’
THE DAY AFTER
Nevil showed her the house she had so hated, and which demonstrated so clearly that he just didn’t have a clue about her taste, Bella went into the office full of resolution. She wasn’t going to wait any longer. She was going to get the Agnews to decide about Badger Cottage, one way or another. Having admired Tina’s particularly pretty jewel-spangled sandals, she told her the plan.
‘You mean it’s time they pissed or got off the pot?’ Tina asked, having waggled her feet in recognition of Bella’s praise.
Bella nodded. ‘Obviously, they are clients and I wouldn’t dream of saying that, but yes, that is exactly what I mean.’ The phone was answered. ‘Mr Agnew? It’s your favourite estate agent—’