The Sweetness of Liberty James (29 page)

‘Yes, yes, I know how lovely you are, darling,' J-T told her as he cuddled the wagging ball of fluffy pug, ‘but I do so miss my family.'

‘Oh, sweetie,' responded Liberty, going to him and giving him as tight a hug as she could with Custard competing for the space. ‘We are all sorted here for the time being. Go back to London tomorrow and catch up with Bob. Get him to take you out on the town. I'm sure he misses you hugely.'

‘No,' wailed J-T, ‘that's exactly the problem. I just suggested that to him, and he told me he didn't need the distraction and I would just get in the way. We used to do everything together, and now all he does is work, and he doesn't need me. I'm going to bed. I'll feel better after some beauty sleep!'

And off he swept, carrying Custard upstairs with him for warmth and much needed attention.

‘Humph,' said Deirdre quietly. ‘I just feel that Bob's success is overshadowing J-T for the first time; tricky situation. He has always been the star and the centre of attention, so it's going to be difficult for him, but he should be pleased that Bob is making such a name for himself.'

Liberty had thought the same thing, and felt terrible for her old friend.

‘It's as though Bob's had a baby and has no time for J-T,' she said quietly. ‘Thank goodness Bob is a little more grounded than – as much as I love him – the spoiled brat upstairs. Maybe I should call him, get a feel of things at his end.'

‘No, no, leave well alone. If life has taught me anything, it's to stay out of other people's relationships!' Ignoring Liberty's ‘I can't believe you just said that' look, she said, ‘Let me make us some supper, and you can tell me about your close shave with the village
enfant terrible
.'

26

The evening of Jonathan's hunt ball finally arrived. The village people were in great spirits. Most of them were either involved in the hunt or were tenants of Denhelm Estate, and the gossip was of nothing else. Those who couldn't afford new ballgowns often borrowed one another's from the previous year so they could wear something different.

Everyone was feeling Christmassy too. The lights had already been lit on the trees surrounding the green, and a vast Norwegian fir, donated by Jonathan, of course, from his plantation, had been hoisted in the centre. Traditionally it was decorated by children from the local school, and this year Deirdre had helped them make large gingerbread men and had iced them in red and green. Wide red ribbons were laced around the tree, and electric candles lit up the branches. Pretty white lights twinkled from the old cottages, Father Christmases climbed on the roofs, reindeer stood on the front lawns and nativity scenes blazed from the windows of the sky-blue painted estate houses.

‘I don't see how they can afford the electricity!' exclaimed Deirdre. ‘It must cost a fortune to light them up. Jonathan will erect a wind turbine for them if they are not careful.'

The Nuttery had been stunningly decorated by Deirdre and J-T. Gold satin bows graced every picture frame. Branches of holly and yew engulfed the mantelpieces. An all red, green and gold tree stood in the hall, although it was rather bare on the bottom branches as the dogs had eaten the baubles and baked goodies.

‘I always forget to leave the lower bits empty,' said Deirdre, laughing as Dijon coughed up a red bow and a partly digested ginger biscuit.

The Nuttery party had been invited to Denhelm Park for cocktails before the ball so they could meet the family from the Middle East and catch up with their friends. Custard seemed to approve of Liberty's ballgown hanging in her bedroom, and managed, by means of frantic scrabbling, to dislodge some of the beads from the shimmering gold satin hem, which was now shredded. ‘Aaaagh' went up the scream when Liberty emerged from her bathroom, and then in keeping with her lovely nature, she giggled and picked up the adoring dog.

‘Are you feeling left out?' she asked, as Custard licked at the carefully applied make-up on her face. ‘Why don't you come too? Jonathan's hounds are kept outside, and you could be their hot water bottle.'

Liberty had planned to wear thick stockings under her floor-length dress, with boots. She realised she would have to do something to prevent beads shimmying over the floor, because doubtless someone would skid on them and sue the estate for negligence. ‘What a world we live in,' she muttered. She went downstairs in her underwear, relaxed in her mother's over-heated house. She found the sewing box, complete with the button tin she had played with as a baby. Having collected the needle, thread and scissors, she was bending over to close the sewing basket when she heard ‘bloody hell' behind her, and a thump. She ran to the French doors, and there, on the frosty terrace, lay a handsome man wearing hunting pink. She immediately recognised the crumpled face as that of Edmund, Jonathan's elder son. She opened the doors to a blast of freezing air, which reminded her she was wearing nothing more than a gold La Perla slip that barely covered her bottom.

‘Edmund, what a lovely surprise. What exactly are you doing?' she queried.

‘Pa sent me to get you all. He reminded me how late your
mother can be, and he was insistent you all come up to the park before the ball people turned up.'

Only Edmund could give a lengthy explanation to a freezing woman without standing up!

‘Most kind of you,' she chattered, ‘but what are you doing lying on the terrace?'

‘Oh, tripped,' he spluttered, making it sound like a silly question, but he got to his feet in a surprisingly athletic way and said, ‘I'd better come in before you catch your death.'

Treating me like a baby, as always
, thought Liberty, and offered him a whisky before scooting upstairs to repair her gown and get dressed. She yelled to the others that Edmund was in the sitting room waiting for them, and slid into her gold ballgown, hoping nobody would notice the shredded fabric on the hem, or the beads and sequins scattering around the carpet.
Perhaps they will all come off before we get there
. The colour of the fabric set off her loose brown hair, and showed off her narrow shoulders with fine, barely-there straps. Quickly pulling on her Jimmy Choo knee-length boots, which made her well over six feet tall, and grabbing her fur wrap, she carefully made her way downstairs, not wanting to fall and let Edmund know how clumsy she could be. As she entered the sitting room she realised why he had tripped. The sewing basket was kept on the lower shelf of the bookcase facing the French doors.
Oh my God, he must have come up to the doors, looked through before knocking and got a full view of my bottom and goodness knows what else!

The blush spread up from her toes, over her body, and to her face; whereupon she did the only thing possible and burst out laughing.

Edmund, who thought he had fully recovered from viewing the most beautiful pair of legs, topped by a well-trimmed muff and peach-like bottom, was just getting used to the breathtaking vision before him when it laughed.
Why do women turn out to
be so confusing?
he thought.
Bloody Pa, why send me? Gray and Savvie are the ones who adore her so, silly girl
.

Liberty only saw the now older but still scary Edmund.

‘It's so lovely to see you again after all this time,' she said politely, straightening her expression. ‘I'm so sorry you had to see me in my undressed state. I am rather embarrassed about it, which is why I can't stop laughing. But it's all Custard's fault, really.'

‘Oh, what has the dog got to do with anything?' he barked, and, still unsure whether he could stand safely, he gazed intently into his whisky glass.

Edmund de Weatherby was what most people would describe as a stuffed shirt. Beneath the shirt lay a beautiful body and face, but it was hidden by the weight of the world that seemed to sit heavily on his shoulders. He was twelve when his mother died giving birth to Savannah, his loveable and wonderfully unruly sister. He had spent the previous eleven years being the eldest child, adored for five years as the son and heir, born less than a year after his parents' marriage. For six of those he was also the older brother to the delicate but handsome Grahame, who was born on an Easter Sunday (not the Easter Bunny and chocolate that Edmund had hoped would pop from his mummy's tummy). The arrival of his brother meant he was suddenly dropped from the pedestal of one and only; now it was always ‘Oh, do be careful with the baby', and having to help the grown-ups instead of getting his own way. But he adored his brother, and when his mother died he took to making cups of tea laced with brandy for his father, and he looked after the family as best he could, together with Mrs Goodman. His father fell into a black hole when his wife died, so Edmund tried to fill it, while not understanding it at all. When Jonathan awoke one day a year after his wife had died and realised he had three healthy children, an estate that needed to be run and a duty to his dead wife to take care of it all, he did his best to live a full life again. But that year took its toll on Edmund, and turned him into the
serious teenager whom Liberty had poked fun at on her visits to the park.

Dark, like his mother, he had chestnut eyes with flecks of yellow and a slightly too large nose which prevented him from looking too impossibly handsome. When he did smile it lit up the room, partly because it was so unexpected and partly because he looked so vulnerable then. He also more resembled, at those times, his siblings, who had become professional smilers.

When Edmund was appointed head boy at Eton, his father had been overwhelmed with pride, and had since then admired his son and agreed to anything he wanted. Not that Edmund had ever done anything to make his father worry. He emerged from Cambridge with a first in English literature and the adoration of most of the girls, one of whom he had dated for much of his three years there. But he moved on to his career in the City, which absorbed his interest and time, and this, combined with his interest in the environment, had recently caused a rupture with his latest squeeze as she couldn't stand waiting for him evening after boring evening. He had recently founded a new company, an investment bank that supported environmentally minded commercial ventures. He was aware that one day he would take over Denhelm Park and the estate, but he wanted to make his own mark first. Green Venture Capital Holdings had recently been written up in the
Financial Times
as ‘the most independent-minded, forward-looking entrepreneurial success in the new century. Edmund de Weatherby is far sighted, and advises companies to forget about Now, and to think of Tomorrow. His mantra is: “Don't line your own pockets until those of others are full, and your company is making a profit.”'

Edmund loved coming home. Apart from proving to himself that he could make a go of things in the real world, he loved nothing more than riding out with his father over their land, surveying the East Sussex countryside. He would sit by the Aga while Mrs Goodman fussed over him and made him feel like a boy again by cooking her nursery food for him – the only meals
he had ever truly enjoyed. He might dine in top restaurants in the City, but nothing tickled his taste buds any more; it was all fancy fashion to him.

He lived in his father's old tweeds and sweaters whenever he returned, while at work his suits were of the finest Savile Row tailoring. Beauty and fashion were Gray and Savvie's thing; Edmund appreciated beauty when he was confronted by it, but he didn't crave it for himself.

However, looking at Liberty like a golden vision before him, hair gleaming around her shoulders, with only a narrow diamond necklace setting off her throat, he was completely mesmerised. What had happened to the silly, lanky kid who used to hang around and do daft things with Savannah, he wanted to know. He didn't like being so out of control of his emotions; it was a new sensation for him. Lust and love swamped him like a tidal wave. He couldn't even listen to what she was saying, which was just as well, as she was apologising for displaying herself earlier, and explaining that her mother would be down soon.

Liberty felt like a scolded schoolgirl again, and remembered the days when Edmund would shout at her and Savannah for taking out Jonathan's prize hunter for a mad gallop, or dressing up some of the hounds in Christmas antlers as a joke just before they were collected for the hunt.

Edmund had thought he was grown-up and sophisticated, but suddenly he wasn't sure.

Thankfully, at that moment Deirdre emerged, an advertisement for the 1948 New Look. Her classic black Dior gown had mid-length sleeves, a cinched waist and multiple petticoats to give a full skirt above Cuban heels. She wore long gloves and bright red lipstick.

‘You look stunning, Mrs James,' murmured Edmund, rising swiftly to kiss her on both cheeks.

Why didn't he say that to me?
thought Liberty petulantly.

‘Stop sulking, and pour the poor boy another drink,' said
Deirdre, thinking Liberty's mood was caused by her obviously torn gown.

Liberty told herself to stop being selfish. ‘We only need to wait for J-T now,' she explained to Edmund, as she handed him a whisky and her mother a Martini. ‘I told him to wear really warm clothes, but as style matters so much to him he is probably knitting himself a vest from a rare Himalayan mountain goat, or something.'

‘Oh, don't worry about that,' replied Edmund. ‘Pa has really turned up the heating. Khalid and Savvie arrived this morning and even she hasn't complained.'

‘I suppose I can always remove layers,' said Deirdre, shattering the illusion of effortless glamour.

As Edmund had not asked who or what J-T was, Liberty assumed that Jonathan must have told him the story of what she was now doing, and J-T's part in it. But although Edmund knew her marriage had broken up, he hadn't been informed of the house guest's background. J-T entered the room, looking the ideal model of how a gentleman should dress in a dinner jacket. Edmund scowled.