Wickham Hall, Part 2

Summertime at Wickham Hall is hard to beat. The sun is out, the gardens are in full bloom, and the Summer Festival is just around the corner.

With a clipboard in one hand and her diary in the other, Holly Swift is in her element. She's even warming to Ben, her unorganised, spontaneous (if very attractive) boss who occasionally drives her mad.

But as the festival rolls near, a family secret from the past threatens to rain down on Holly's parade. Can she weather the storm, or is this a problem not even Holly can plan her way out of?

Wickham Hall is an utterly feel-good story told in four parts – following Holly Swift's attempt at organising her own happy-ever-after, one catastrophe at a time.
Summer Secrets
is part two
.

Contents

Cover

About the Book

Title Page

Previously in Wickham Hall

Summer Secrets

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Next at Wickham Hall . . .

About the Author

Also by Cathy Bramley

Irresistible recipes inspired by
Wickham Hall

Copyright

When Holly Swift got the opportunity to take on the job of her dreams as events organizer at Wickham Hall, she thought it would be simple enough. Then her manager had a family crisis and disappeared, leaving her to plan the wedding of the year . . . Luckily Holly is taking to it like a duck to water, and relishing being at the heart of all the action at Wickham Hall.

After some hiccups on the big day, the wedding was a triumph and now Holly is looking forward to the next big event: the Summer Festival. Will she manage to keep her cool working with new boss Benedict? And just how will she react when a connection between her mother and the hall itself is revealed?

Read
Wickham Hall: Summer Secrets
to find out!

It was the Monday morning after Zara's wedding. I'd got up mega-early and gone for a run before work. I'd been so busy over the last few weeks since starting my new job that I'd scarcely had the time to exercise, but this morning I decided to make the effort. My head was still whirring from the events of the weekend and although I didn't like to admit it, I was a bit apprehensive about being in the office with my new boss, Benedict.

As usual, my run had helped me make sense of my thoughts and I'd come up with a strategy to cope with my first-day nerves: I would be a swan. A graceful swan. All serene and floaty on the surface whilst flapping about like mad underneath.

I practised my calm and unflappable demeanour as I made my way through the grounds and into Wickham Hall. It was only seven o'clock and I revelled in the stillness of the gardens and breathed in the scent of summer: freshly mown grass, fragrant honeysuckle tangled in amongst the borders and old-fashioned roses trailing over archways. The car park had been empty and I didn't meet a single soul as I let myself in through the staff entrance in the east wing.

In theory, the next couple of weeks should be quiet at Wickham Hall: Zara and Philippe would be far away on their honeymoon by now and Lord and Lady Fortescue had jetted off too to the South of France for a few days. And that left only one Fortescue on the premises: Benedict.

There wasn't much chance of him being quiet, I thought with a wry smile.

At least I'd get a couple of hours' work done before he turned up. I had heaps to do and I would have to bring him up to speed on the Summer Festival before this morning's meeting, too. If I could bring myself to look him in the eye, that was, after my rather embarrassing revelations at Joop yesterday.

Swan, Holly, think swan . . .

I ran up the stairs to my office ready to immerse myself in my to-do list, but a noise stopped me in my tracks: someone was in there already. I could hear drawers being slammed, the thudding of what sounded like heavy objects being dropped and above it all the incongruous sound of a man singing a criminally bad version of Taylor Swift's ‘Shake It Off'.

I couldn't help but giggle. It had to be Benedict.

Goodness knows what he was up to. But if nothing else, no one could accuse him of being boring; at least Benedict appeared to have a sense of humour and I doubted he took himself too seriously. Imagine if I'd had to work with Andy? Now that would have been awkward . . .

I took a deep and calming breath, opened the door and—

‘Oh.' I swallowed.

Pippa's desk, which I had so painstakingly tidied, had been totally ransacked. The drawers were hanging open and empty, there were stacks of paper on top of it, cardboard boxes on the floor next to it and Benedict appeared to be filing all of Pippa's old paperwork under ‘B' for bin.

‘Morning, Miss Early Bird. Couldn't you sleep? What happened – boyfriend kick you out of bed for snoring?' He grinned and blew out of one side of his mouth to temporarily dislodge the curls hanging over his left eye.

‘I came in early to get a head start on the week. Looks like I've missed quite a party,' I said, trying to drag my eyes away from the mess. I blinked at him. ‘And for your information I do not snore.'

‘Good to know.' He winked.

‘Do you have any idea how long it took me to tidy this office when I arrived?' I asked calmly.

The swan thing was working; there was barely a ripple on the water. I was quite proud of myself. Inside, however, my stomach was churning as though I'd swallowed an outboard motor.

‘Er,' he screwed up his face, pretending to think, ‘I give up. Glad you're here, anyway – grab this box.'

He held a cardboard box out to me. I ignored it.

‘Whilst I have every respect for you, Ben – Benedict . . . actually,' I said, sitting at my desk, ‘will you please tell me what to call you. Should I call you Mr Fortescue?'

‘Officially, I'm the Right Honourable Mr Benedict Fortescue. But my friends call me Ben.
You
can call me Ben.' He set the box down and began piling books and papers into it randomly.

‘As I was saying,' I cleared my throat, ‘I'm keen to work with, I mean,
for
you, but we need some house rules.'

‘Do we? OK, let's hear them,' he said with a barely concealed chuckle.

I cast my eyes around my previous oasis of calm and sighed inwardly. There were only two places on this earth
where I felt I had any control over my environment: my bedroom and my office. He wasn't to know that, of course, but seeing my well-ordered piece of the world thrown into chaos really was quite upsetting. Even the shelf above the photocopier had been stripped of most of its contents, only a few books remained. All the phone directories, catalogues and magazines were strewn on the floor.

‘Remind me never to let you near my bedroom,' I muttered.

‘That's a house rule?' He blinked at me.

‘Sorry, no . . .' I felt my face heat up. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. I harnessed the swan again. ‘People operate best when their workspace is tidy. It's a well-known fact. The Summer Festival is only four weeks away; there is an almost unconquerable amount of work to do, so let's focus on that first, shall we? And not choose this moment to reorganize the office.'

Ben swiped some of Pippa's files into the box, chuckling to himself.

‘I wasn't very good at English,' he said, shooting me a smile over his shoulder. ‘But what's that Shakespeare thing, about a short girl being feisty?'

‘No idea,' I said airily, recognizing the passage from
A Midsummer's Night's Dream
. ‘But it's funny, isn't it, when a man stands up for himself, he's strong but when a woman does it, she's labelled fierce?'

He looked at me all twinkly-eyed. ‘Fierce, that's it,' he said and laughed.

Damn it. I couldn't help but laugh too.

‘Anyway, enough banter,' he said, face serious all of a sudden. ‘Here I was arriving early to get straight before you arrived and here
you
are cluttering up the place. At least make yourself useful.'

‘How exactly?' I retorted. ‘By putting all this stuff back where it belongs?'

‘Look,' he sighed, ‘it's a work in progress. Sometimes things have to look worse before they can look better.'

Now that was true; Mum and I had had a go at sorting out some of Granddad's old things yesterday. The dining room was now officially a no-go zone.

‘I didn't mean us to get off to a bad start; I just thought I'd have a spring clean, or a midsummer's morning clean. Blank canvas, new broom, and all that.'

I folded my arms, remembering how spotless the office had been when I left it on Saturday afternoon during the wedding.

‘Look, if it makes you feel any better, we'll stack the boxes in one corner for a while, to be on the safe side. Just in case there's something we need amongst this lot. OK?'

‘OK,' I agreed.

‘But anything we don't look at between now and Bonfire Night is going on the fire. Deal?'

‘That's in November!' I exclaimed.

‘Correct. Give the girl a fish.' He handed me an empty cardboard box and this time I took it from him.

‘You're staying for quite a while, then?'

He grinned at me. ‘Is that a problem?'

‘Not at all.' I smiled.

Swan, Holly, think swan . . .

By eight o'clock, I was thirsty, hot and more than a little dusty, but all the loose paperwork was stacked into a corner and I had to admit, the office did look less cluttered. And I realized, Ben hadn't made as much as one tiny reference to my comments in Joop yesterday and for that I was extremely grateful. I was about to suggest that I made us a pot of coffee when Ben marched to the door.

‘Come on,' he said, holding the door open and waving his arm for me to go through it. ‘Now the office is sorted, we can go.'

‘Go where?' I said, puzzled, automatically collecting my handbag.

‘The showground. The Summer Festival is on in four weeks and there's an unconquerable amount of work to do, you know,' he teased.

We left the hall, crossed the grounds diagonally towards the Coach House Café and both turned as a Harley-Davidson motorbike roared into view, ridden by a tall figure dressed head to toe in leathers. The bike disappeared behind the area fenced off for deliveries to the café and the engine stopped.

‘Should we be worried, do you think?' I asked, glancing up at Ben as we passed the café's outdoor tables and chairs.

Ben tutted playfully. ‘Do you ever
not
worry?'

I was still trying to come up with a suitable reply when the biker reappeared in front of the café entrance, raised a hand in greeting and removed the glossy black helmet to reveal a tumble of long purple hair.

‘Jenny! I didn't know you were a biker!' I wondered how many other stately homes had a purple-haired, Harley-Davidson-riding head chef! My head was already whirring with how we could use this to our advantage in some sort of marketing campaign.

‘Morning, Benedict; morning, Holly,' she grinned. ‘Yes. It was my dad's, actually. I don't always bike to work but I was running a bit late today.'

Ben looked wistfully towards the spot where Jenny had parked the bike. ‘Your dad used to ride it to Wickham Hall every day. He took me out on it once; I'll never forget it. I badgered my parents for a bike for ages after that. He was a good man, your dad.'

Jenny nodded and let out a deep sigh. ‘He was.'

‘Jenny's father was the mechanic and chauffeur here at Wickham Hall for decades until he retired,' Ben explained as Jenny inserted her key into the café's double doors. ‘In my grandfather's day, the garage was full of cars, from Rolls Royces to Aston Martins. Now all we've got are sensible cars and quad bikes for riding round the estate.'

‘Oh, I've always fancied a go on one of those quad bikes,' I said. ‘I've seen the groundsmen out on them. They go quite fast, don't they?'

Benedict nodded. ‘My friends and I used to take them out into the parkland. Great fun, especially in the dark. I'll have to take you out on one; I'd quite like to see you letting your hair down.'

I wasn't sure what to say to that so I picked up Jenny's helmet and handed it to her.

‘Thanks. Are you both coming to the festival committee meeting today?' Jenny asked, unzipping her leather jacket.

The committee meeting was held in the room where I'd had my interview. It was usually chaired by Sheila, and the committee consisted of Nikki, Jenny and Andy, as well as someone from Radio Henley and the Summer Festival sponsors. And me.