Wickham Hall, Part 2 (11 page)

Right now I needed a drink. If I didn't have water soon, my tongue would be hanging out like Lucky's, not to mention the fact that I was feeling a bit light-headed. I set off in search of some water and was almost at the refreshment stall when there was a tap on my shoulder.

‘Holly!'

I whirled round to see Jenny dressed in a purple polka-dot dress, her hair flowing loosely.

‘I've never seen those before!' I grinned, pointing at her bare legs.

‘I'm front of house at the outdoor restaurant,' she explained. ‘No need for chef whites today.'

‘But no pockets for hidden treats,' I said, pulling a sad face.

‘No.' She folded her arms. ‘I'm not in the mood for treats, anyway. Do you know we've only got eight bookings for lunch?'

Eek, that was low.

‘I didn't know that, no.' I sighed.

‘Can you do something about it, do you think?'

‘Um . . .' I thought briefly about Ben making me promise not to tackle every problem by myself, but then I remembered what Pippa had said at my interview: the Fortescues were the public faces of Wickham Hall and today Ben was doing his job. It was up to me to do mine.

‘I'll go back to the festival office and print out some flyers to hand out at the ticket booths,' I offered. ‘That should spread the word.'

‘Thanks,' she said flatly.

‘Jenny,' I smiled, making an effort to be upbeat, ‘it's only eleven thirty; there's plenty of time yet and don't forget that Lord Fortescue is coming with two guests.'

Jenny shrugged, unimpressed. ‘All right, eleven. Still not enough.'

‘And as soon as passing trade sees those lucky eleven diners, they'll be snapping your hand off for a table.'

She cocked her head. ‘But there isn't any passing trade,' she said sarcastically, ‘because you made the restaurant secluded and exclusive. Remember?'

I swallowed. To be fair that was Ben's idea but I didn't want to drop him in it. I opened my mouth, hoping that something soothing would emerge but instead my radio crackled into life.

‘Sheila to Holly. Over.'

Excuse me
, I mouthed to Jenny. ‘Go ahead, Sheila.'

I grinned. I couldn't help it. I loved having a radio. So much.

‘Please can you locate Jenny and tell her that Lord Fortescue has to cancel lunch. Repeat
cancel
his lunch. She's not answering her radio.'

Jenny threw her hands up. ‘Oh, well, that's just fantastic, that's just the icing on the cake. I might as well go home now and turn my quail egg
amuse-bouches
into egg and ham sandwiches.'

I grimaced. ‘Will do, Sheila.'

‘Tell him I've done his favourite,' Jenny hissed, ‘as a surprise. Sea bass and fennel.'

She grabbed the radio from me and brought it to her lips. ‘Sheila, tell him sea bass and fennel. Over?'

‘He's not here,' came Sheila's crackly reply.

Jenny thrust the radio back at me and scowled. I was fumbling around for words to placate her when Mum appeared in my peripheral vision walking alongside Steve.
Steve!

‘Mum! Mum!' I waved.

The two of them sauntered over.

‘You like sea bass and fennel, don't you?' I said, winking desperately.

‘Er, yes?' She looked sideways at Steve.

I flicked a glance at Steve. ‘Are you two planning on having lunch together?'

Steve raised his eyebrows questioningly at Mum, who smiled coyly and nodded.

‘Excellent, book them in, Jenny. My treat. Thanks, Mum.'

I waved them away, possibly a little abruptly, but my nerves were getting frayed. ‘There, that's two more. Will that do?'

I swayed and clutched my head, almost falling into the path of one of the quad bikes that were driving round the festival emptying dustbins and collecting litter.

‘Steady on, matey.' Jenny grabbed my shoulders. ‘Time for you to take a break, Miss Swift, and escape from this heat for a bit. And I'm sorry I'm a bit snarly, it's the anniversary of my dad's death today. Not that that's an excuse; I'm just having a bad day.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry, Jenny. No need to apologize.' I gave her a hug and to my horror her eyes started to fill with tears. ‘Come on.'

I pulled her by the arm to the nearest bench and we sat down.

‘I miss him, Holly. So much.' She shook her head and wiped at the tears. ‘We did everything together. Mum used to say that she sometimes felt left out, we were so close. Dad and I never worked here together – he retired before I started in the kitchens – but I like to think it's something we shared. And he loved the festival, never missed a single day of it. He always brought me here when I was little. He'd have loved seeing me in my own outdoor restaurant. He'd have been so proud.'

I took her hand and patted it.

‘Of course he would. You're lucky to have such happy memories of him. I didn't know my dad at all. Never met him once.'

Jenny blinked at me. ‘That's sad, Holly; I'm sorry.'

‘Funnily enough, the one thing I do know about him is that he was here thirty years ago. At the festival. I guess we have this place in common, so my dad and I share it, too.'

We smiled at each other and Jenny squeezed my hand. ‘I'm sure he'd have been proud of you too.'

She stood then and walked back to the restaurant; I slipped the photograph out of its envelope and stared at it for a few seconds. I truly hoped so.

For the next hour I was kept on my toes: running off some simple leaflets advertising Jenny's outdoor restaurant and delivering them to the ticket booths, taking the lovely Suzanna to meet our very own Nikki Logan for a garden tour, dealing with disappointed
Green Fingers
fans who hadn't got tickets to the indoor arena to hear Suzanna's first talk, reuniting three misplaced handbags, two missing children and a teddy bear with their owners and managing to sit down for a grand total of three minutes and two swigs of water.

At fifteen minutes to one I presented myself, a bit nervously, at the VIP tent, where I had been told that Ben was unveiling his photographic exhibition to Lord and Lady Fortescue.

Large screens had been erected along the back of the tent. They were covered collage-style in a timeline of large photographs from 1984 onwards. It had taken Ben hours to do and I knew how happy he was with the result and by the expressions on his parents' faces so were they.

I kept in the background and waited for an opportune moment to interrupt while Ben talked them through how he'd found all the old pictures.

‘Bravo, Benedict!' Lord Fortescue beamed.

‘Darling, it's wonderful!' Lady Fortescue exclaimed,
resting her fingertips on her lips. ‘You couldn't have expressed your commitment to the family in a stronger way.'

‘It was
your
commitment that I wanted to celebrate, Mum,' Ben insisted. ‘You two had a vision for Wickham Hall and made it the success it is.'

‘But it took us years, Benedict, thirty years,' Lord Fortescue pointed out. ‘It didn't happen overnight and you'll bring your own personality to the hall, just as every other Fortescue has.'

‘No, Dad,' Ben shook his head vehemently, ‘I couldn't compete with what you've achieved.'

‘Nonsense,' Lord Fortescue retorted. ‘The estate is ready for new blood.'

‘I think that might be going a bit far, Hugo,' Lady Fortescue chided gently. ‘I adore being lady of the manor at these things.'

‘No, no,' Lord Fortescue shook his head, ‘we're ready for a quiet life away from the public eye. All Benedict needs to do is—'

‘Dad, let's not get into this today,' Ben interrupted, ruffling a hand through his hair.

I decided that this was probably a good time to intervene and cleared my throat.

‘Hello, Holly.' Lady Fortescue smiled. ‘You look as though you're enjoying the festival, you're rather flushed.'

‘Oh, yes, Lady Fortescue, very much.' I pressed a hand to my hot face – actually, my clammy face. ‘I wondered if I might borrow Lord Fortescue? It's time for the charity auction.'

Sheila had advised me to collect him personally rather than just let him know what time he needed to be there. ‘It's not that he deliberately misses things. I don't think,
anyway,' she'd added. ‘He's just easily distracted and of course he's hard of hearing.'

She had also said that I shouldn't accept any excuses from him not to come with me, that it was a time-honoured tradition that he introduced the first few lots at the auction and the charity depended on the exuberant bidding that his presence produced.

‘Yes, Hugo, you must go,' Lady Fortescue said, brushing the lapels of her husband's blazer.

‘Good lord!' stuttered Lord Fortescue, running a hand over his hair. He was staring at the mobile phone in his hand.

I suppressed a smile; whenever he said that it always seemed to me as if he was patting himself on the back for a good deed.

‘What is it, Hugo?' Lady Fortescue enquired affectionately.

‘A hoopoe!' He gazed around, a look of joy on his face. ‘I don't believe it! A hoopoe, Beatrice! This is indeed a special day.'

He grabbed her face and kissed her cheeks.

He was such a sweetie, I thought.

‘A who what?' Ben laughed and rolled his eyes at me. I grinned back.

‘Just had a text from a birding chum. There's a Madagascan hoopoe heading this way, apparently.' He whipped his head up from his phone and dropped it in his pocket. ‘Must have been aiming for southern Europe and overshot. Right. I'm off.'

He began to stride to the exit of the marquee, muttering under his breath about this being such a rare treat. ‘Oh,' he whirled round and tapped his nose, ‘mum's the word,
though. Don't mention it to a soul. We don't want all and sundry turning up with their binoculars.'

My shoulders sagged and a sudden wave of tiredness flooded me. ‘But the auction . . .'

‘Come on.' Ben grabbed me and steered me towards the edge of the marquee away from the Fortescues' gathered guests. ‘This isn't like you. What's up?'

‘Your father is supposed to start the bidding in the auction. It's a time-honoured tradition, apparently. What am I going to tell the charity?' I pressed a hand to my hot face. Lady Fortescue was right: I was flushed.

Ben grinned at me and shrugged. ‘I'll do it instead. How hard can it be?'

I could have kissed him. ‘Thank you,' I breathed. ‘Gosh, I'm so hot, can we get out of this tent?'

‘Sure,' he frowned, leading me outside.

‘You're a lifesaver,' I said weakly, as we made our way to the indoor arena.

He nudged me with his elbow. ‘I knew it. I knew I would crack that steely exterior one day.'

‘Me?' I said, feeling peculiar all of a sudden. The people around me were zooming in and out of focus and they sounded like they were underwater. ‘I'm as soft as . . . as . . .'

And then everything went black.

I don't know. One minute she was talking and the next . . . blurrgh. Sunstroke . . . On her feet all day . . . St John Ambulance . . . Can someone fetch some water . . .?

Muffled voices floated above me from miles away, across the sea maybe or down the telephone. Someone shook me gently and I groaned, not wanting to wake up, and then one voice pierced through the general noise.

‘Holly? Holly, can you hear me?'

When I opened my eyes I was lying on the ground. A crowd had formed around me but there was Ben, hovering over me, his nose almost touching mine. The sun was directly behind him, glinting through his curls. The brightness hurt my eyes and I had to squint to look up at him.

‘Hello again.' He was grinning and I made an attempt to smile back. ‘You had me going for a second there.'

He was kneeling beside me, holding one of my hands.

‘What happened?' I croaked.

‘You took one look at my chiselled jaw and fainted.'

I made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and tried to remember what knickers I was wearing in case my dress had ridden up.

Ben addressed the sea of faces that was still looming above me. ‘I think she's OK, folks. Let's just give her some air.'

The crowd melted away and he searched around on the ground for my dropped radio and turned away while he spoke to someone. I took the opportunity to check out the dress situation; it was fine. I may have lost my dignity by collapsing in public, but at least my choice of lingerie was still a private concern. I patted my dress pocket; my phone was still there.

‘Holly, do you think you need medical attention?' Ben asked.

I shook my head, which really hurt. ‘Ouch. I don't think so. Just take me somewhere cool. And quiet,' I whispered, clutching my forehead. More than anything I wanted to be out of the heat and out of public view. I'd chosen a particularly busy place to faint – in the aisle between the indoor arena and the children's face-painting stand – and people were rubbernecking as they passed by.

He grinned. ‘There's a pub I know off the Portobello Road . . .'

I pushed myself up to sitting and chuckled, making myself feel woozy again. ‘Oh, head rush.'

Ben winced. ‘Sorry. Just hold on, I'll get you out of here.'

He radioed for one of the refuse collectors to come to our location, which was slightly worrying, and then helped me to my feet, keeping one of his arms around my waist. He led me to the edge of the aisle, out of the path of onlookers.

I remembered the charity auction with a jolt.

‘You need to go. Auction starting,' I mumbled, my dry mouth fumbling to form a sentence.

A lady arrived with a bottle of water and I took it gratefully. The cold liquid ran straight down my throat and into my empty stomach and made me shiver.

‘Do you think I'd leave you on your own when you've got a green face?' he chided softly and nodded towards the face-painting stand. ‘You look like you've asked for a “Kermit”.'