Wives Like Us, page 21
“Don’t think I’m getting carried away,” Tata continued, her excitement palpable, “but I can imagine them married, can’t you?”
“Oh yes,” said Ian.
“And guess who will get all the credit for finding Selby the most incredible husband?” Tata smiled. “Moi—”
Before she could go on, there was a yelp from the back of the Bentley.
“Owwww,” Minty squealed as the car lurched from side to side as Ian tried to avoid a deep pothole in the drive. “It’s so bumpy.”
“Sorry,” said Ian. “Look, we’re just coming up to the house. I promise you’ll like it.”
As the silvered stone facade came into view, Minty clambered up between the front seats and gazed through the windscreen with an “oooooh.” Even she was not immune to the grandeur and beauty of Great Bottom Park: a ramble of lilac-hued roses were just starting to flower among the branches of white wisteria on the stonework, and in the broad, old beds below the windows, drifts of creamy peonies and foxgloves peeked from between woody thickets of rosemary and lavender, and clematis crawled, jungle-like, up and around clouds of overgrown box hedge. Ian soon pulled up on the gravel driveway and whizzed round to the passenger side of the car to open Mrs. Hawkins’s door.
“Why is their garden so messy, Mummy?” asked Minty as she clambered out of the back seat and looked around.
“Sssshhhh,” Tata scolded her daughter. “They probably haven’t had time to prune it yet.”
“Actually, Minty, this was Lady Maud’s design. She’s the lady who used to live here,” Ian said. “She was a really talented gardener. It’s very posh to let your garden run riot. Only bourgeois people like me prefer everything neat and tidy.”
Tata winced. Her garden at the Manor was arranged in neat squares and straight lines, not a leaf or blade of grass out of place, and the knot garden resembled a pie chart from one of Bryan’s PowerPoints. But Ian seemed to be implying that it was bourgeois. That she was bourgeois. Tata made her mind up there and then that when she finally moved back to the Manor, the whole horrible “neat” scheme would be ripped out. It was so out of date. She was so out of date. Tata wanted to be posh, and she could be—if she had the correct level of aesthetically pleasing mess in her garden. If only Selby Fairfax didn’t have a two-year waiting list, she rued, Tata could be posh now.
At least she was correctly dressed for today, she consoled herself. Guided by Selby’s casual appearance at supper last night, Tata had resisted the daytime bling in her wardrobe and chosen a simple white cotton smocked top, fringed denim shorts frayed at the cuffs and plain gold hoop earrings. The only logo she’d succumbed to was the gold F on the side of her Fendi sneakers, which were the most understated option in her daytime shoe collection.
Just then, Sophie pulled into the driveway in—what was that? The brand-new, electric Porsche Taycan? Tata couldn’t believe her eyes. Where was the grotty Hyundai she always drove? She spotted Fernanda in the front passenger seat. Luca and Eddie were in the back together.
“I think Fernanda knows that I know,” Tata said to Ian, eyebrows raised.
“Knows what, Mummy?” asked Minty.
“Nothing, darling,” Tata said brightly, then whispered to Ian, “I could tell when I was talking to her at Estelle Manor this morning. She had guilt written all over her face. But she’s acting as if she doesn’t know that I know.”
“In my professional opinion,” said Ian, speaking very quietly, “I suggest the simplest thing is to play along for now. Act as if you know that she’s acting as if she doesn’t know that you know, and she will know that you know and admire you for not saying that you know.”
Tata gave him a blank look.
“Trust me. All’s well that ends well if one resists the temptation for a teatime brawl. Meantime, I will find a private moment to discuss Luca’s letter with Fernanda and tell her that I must politely decline ‘his’ offer. I will, indirectly, leave her in no doubt that I know that the letter was designed by her, if written in Luca’s innocent hand. After all, what eight-year-old would take the initiative to poach an employee?”
“Hi, Tata,” called Sophie, stepping out of the huge, shiny Porsche.
Tata walked over to her, grinning. “What the hell happened? I never thought Hugh would buy you a nice car.”
“He didn’t,” Sophie replied wryly. Clearly inspired by Selby too, she was dressed as though she had come from a riding lesson in plaid jodhpurs, Schnieder boots, and a navy T-shirt. “But he’s in London today, so I decided to take his new car out for a spin. He’ll never know.”
“It’s so cool inside,” said Eddie, emerging from the back seat with Luca.
Meanwhile Fernanda got out of the car and strolled round to Tata. Like her friends, she had dressed informally, in pale grey cotton dungarees, a Liberty print blouse and Greek sandals. She kissed Tata on both cheeks, and following Ian’s instructions, Tata received her embrace with a level of warmth and graciousness she did not feel.
“Hi, Minty,” Eddie said.
“Why don’t we explore the house?” Minty asked, conveniently forgetting she had dissed Eddie as “weird” a few minutes before. “Luca, come too?”
“I don’t want to, I’ll get lost,” he whined anxiously, grabbing his mother’s hand and holding it so tight his knuckles went white. Then, spotting Ian and the Bentayga, he said, “Unless Ian will come.”
“He’s working, honey,” Fernanda told her son firmly. “Just stay with me.”
“I’m sure Ian wouldn’t mind—” started Tata.
Fernanda shook her head. “Luca’s fine with me,” she snapped, which left Tata feeling more confused than ever about her friend’s devious intentions.
Minty and Eddie ran off together towards the house, where they were seemingly swallowed up by the enormous stone porch. Moments later, Antoni Grigorivich arrived in the driveway at the wheel of a sporty blue Tesla.
“Good afternoon, Sophie, Fernanda,” said Antoni, approaching them after he’d parked. “Marvellous seeing you again.” Then to Tata’s surprise, he strolled up to her, took her hand in his, and brushed his lips across the tops of her fingers. “What a stunning dinner yesterday! What a spectacular woman you are!”
Tata laughed, taken aback. “My Kitchen Supper was a mess and I’m in my beach-bum clothes today, but if you’re offering a compliment, Antoni, who am I to turn it down? Come on, let’s go inside and see Selby.”
“Ah, Selby,” echoed Antoni. “What an impressive character. So fascinating, so beautiful—like you, Tata.”
“Hey, what about us?” said Fernanda, pulling a sad face and pointing at herself and Sophie.
“You are all remarkable if you are friends of Tata,” Antoni told them obligingly.
A figure soon appeared in the shadow of the porch. It was Goodsen, the elderly butler, who had, upon hearing that a tea party was being thrown at the Park for the first time in fifteen years, deigned to don his black coat and pinstripe trousers and help Doreen serve the tea. The little group drifted towards the doorway and when they reached him, Goodsen said in the solemn tones of one delivering a eulogy, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the seat of the Earls of Bottom. Please, come with me and I will escort you to the drawing room.”
* * *
Tata had never seen a drawing room quite as grand, or as threadbare, as the one at Great Bottom Park. As she and the other guests followed Goodsen in, her eyes drifted up to the intricate strapwork on the ceiling and the two chandeliers which hung from it, glinting in the afternoon light. She shuddered when she noticed that they were laced with cobwebs. The panelled walls, painted decades ago in a dusky rose colour that was sun-bleached in parts, were dense with oil paintings, most of them dark with age, and the room was so sprawling that it fit both large sofas and small sofas, occasional chairs and armchairs, side chairs and side tables, cabinets, writing desks, and even an old rocking horse. There was a grand piano at the far end, crowded with black-and-white family photographs and piles of sheet music, and an elaborate marble fireplace at the other, dancing with crackling flames, above which hung a portrait of the First Earl of Bottom on a splendid chestnut horse. Tall, arched windows, framed with heavy, fringed ivory curtains, looked out onto a balustraded stone terrace, and a pair of double doors had been thrown open to it. Maybe, Tata thought to herself, this was what that Manderley place was like. She’d ask Ian later.
Selby, somewhat dwarfed by her surroundings, was tending to a vase of flowers when her guests arrived and as she heard them coming in, turned to wave hello and walked over to greet everyone. Tata quickly registered, to her dismay, that Selby was not kitted out in some kind of ultra-casual sports gear, but in a long flowing djellaba of paisley silk. Her feet were clad in jewelled sliders, she had an amethyst cocktail ring on her left hand, and she looked somehow insouciant and outrageously glamorous at the same time. No wonder Antoni had already fallen for her. Tata felt like she wanted to shrivel up and die, sartorially speaking. Why-oh-why had she come in these revolting shorts? She had closets rammed with £3,000 floaty silk garments and here she was looking like she’d shopped at the Gap. Quel disaster. Still, she had to show a fighting spirit, so as Selby kissed her hello, she said, “You look incredible, Selby.”
“After my wardrobe error last night, I thought I’d better up my game,” she replied with a grin. “Come on, let’s grab something to eat.”
Selby led the party to the end of the room near the piano where Doreen had laid on a tea of such magnificence that it would have put the head chef at the Ritz to shame. A large, round table had been laid up with a heavily embroidered white linen tablecloth, white napkins, and a tall, cut-glass vase tumbling with orange blossom from the garden. The Bottom family’s Victorian tea service, which consisted of a forty-piece set of porcelain intricately painted with the Earl’s crest encircled with honeysuckle, was arranged to one side. There were little silver toast racks filled with wafer-thin slices of white toast with the crusts cut off, platters of shortbread, piles of hot-buttered crumpets, silver dishes of jam tarts, gingerbread, flapjacks, rock cakes, sausage rolls, and cucumber sandwiches. Positioned on various cake stands were a Swiss roll dusted with icing sugar, a Victoria sponge topped with strawberries and whipped cream, and Doreen’s speciality, the peculiarly named Dundee mincemeat cake. A trolley laden with pots of China tea, kept warm with old-fashioned quilted tea cosies, was Goodsen’s territory and from here he poured cup after cup for the guests from a great height, to aerate the drink correctly.
The children were soon enthusiastically digging into the feast—even Luca managed to let go of his mother’s hand to indulge—while the grown-ups took their tea and went to sit by the fire. Cup in hand, Tata moseyed around the room, gawping at every delicious detail, and eventually headed towards the fireplace to join the others. She decided to settle herself on one of the inviting-looking chintz armchairs close to it but as she sank onto its down cushion, she was quickly submerged in a cloud of dust. She felt a tickle in her throat. She coughed to try and clear it. More tickling. She coughed again. Then again. At this point Antoni put his teacup on the mantelpiece and came over.
“Let me get you some water,” he said, looking down at her, concerned.
“Ugg-ggg-uuuggg—I’m-fff-fine-uggh,” Tata croaked.
“I insist.” He went and fetched her a glass of water, which she gratefully sipped when he returned. Antoni was so considerate, mused Tata. Such nice manners. He was perfect husband material for Selby. Lucky her.
Next Selby came over. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Tata’s cough had abated. “I’ll survive,” she said, getting up from the lethal chair.
“I’m sorry about the dust,” Selby went on. “It’s out of control. I’m on major antihistamines until we get it taken care of.”
“But that’s what makes it so special here, Selby,” said Sophie, glancing at the particles twinkling in the shafts of afternoon light. “The untouched grandeur. It reminds me of my parents’ drawing room in Yorkshire. It was just like this.”
Typical Sophie, thought Tata, pulling an aristo flex on Selby.
“It’s a very romantic room,” agreed Selby, plopping down onto the sofa next to Sophie.
“Romance,” declared Antoni, “is all, is it not?”
“Absolutely.” Tata winked at Antoni, whose expression was blissful. He was clearly besotted.
“Speaking of ‘romance,’” Selby interjected drily, “my ex-husband showed up here this morning, completely unannounced.”
“What?” said Tata. An ex-husband was not part of the plan.
Fernanda, who had found herself a spot on a cushioned stool by the fireplace, and had Luca sitting cross-legged at her feet with a plate of cake in front of him, asked, “Absolutely no warning at all?”
“Total surprise. Doug’s actually on his way back here now with the girls—he’s picking them up from school today.”
Tata thought fast. The last thing she wanted was Selby’s ex-husband wrecking this blossoming love story before it got a chance.
“Why don’t you take Antoni on a tour of the house, Selby, and we’ll wait here for Doug and the girls?” she suggested.
“That sounds fun—” started Selby.
Before she could continue, Pickle and Peanut had scampered into the room, prompting oohs and aahhhhs from the assembled crowd. Violet and Tess pottered after the dogs, and behind them, Doug appeared.
“Mom! It’s so cool, Dad’s here,” Tess squealed, grinning from ear to ear. “And the doggies!”
Tata noticed that Violet seemed less impressed. Frowning, she gave her mother a look as if to say, “You could have warned us.” Selby raised both hands in the air to telegraph, “I didn’t know either.”
“Girls, Doreen’s made a massive tea. Grab some treats and then go outside and play with the other kids.”
“’Kay,” said Tess, then noticed Luca sitting with his mom. “Want to come too?” she asked him.
The little boy smiled and got up and followed Tess, to Fernanda’s happy surprise. Violet, meanwhile, gave her mother another look. “I’m a bit old to ‘play,’ Mom. I’m going to read on the terrace.”
Selby nodded and introduced Doug to her guests, after which a tricky pause ensued where no one quite knew what to say. It was broken only when Sophie said, “Adorable dogs you’ve got.” She held out her hand to Peanut, who came and licked her fingers enthusiastically.
“I love ‘the Sausages,’ as the girls call them,” said Doug. “They’ve really missed having the kids to play with.” Goodsen handed him a cup of tea and he sat down. “Such loyal animals, dogs. I am looking forward to meeting Josh.”
“Swoon!” said Fernanda, dramatically drawing her hand across her brow.
“He’s so handsome,” Sophie confirmed.
Doug looked enquiringly at Selby. “Where is he?”
“Oh, um . . . Josh . . .” Selby began. Her voice seemed strained. “He’s, you know, around, somewhere . . . Now, how about that tour of the house, Antoni?” she asked, quickly standing up.
“Yes, please,” he replied. “I’m so curious.”
Selby seemed extremely keen to be alone with Antoni, Tata noticed. It was adorable.
“May I join in?” asked Sophie. “I’ve heard so much about the interior architecture here but never visited—”
“No!” Tata nearly shouted, giving Sophie a look. “You and I and Fernanda need to watch the kids. And Doug.”
“Oh. Yes, sure. Don’t worry,” Sophie said, but seemed disappointed.
“Thanks,” said Doug. “I’m so jet-lagged I’m not sure I’m much good for childcare today.”
“Shall we go out and find them?” said Tata. She looked at Fernanda and added pointedly, “I do want to make sure little Luca’s okay, don’t you?”
Before anyone could leave the drawing room, a fearful scrabbling noise came from beneath an armchair by the fireplace and Pickle and Peanut started barking.
Doug looked startled. “What was that?”
“Ugh,” Tata gulped, pointing. “There’s something under there.”
The assembled party watched in horror as a furry tail poked out from under the frilled loose cover on the chair and then suddenly disappeared. The sausage dogs, yapping wildly, attempted to go after it but Doug grabbed their collars and stopped them.
“Is that a rat?” hollered Fernanda, climbing up onto the sofa.
“I am so sorry, everyone,” said Selby, mortified, but sensibly hopping up next to Fernanda.
Next, the group heard a snuffling sound and a small, black, wet nose appeared from beneath the frill. Then the body of a tiny dog followed: a fluffy, lemon-coated Teacup Pomeranian.
“What on earth—?” said Tata, recognising Pikachu. What was the hen-killing machine from last night doing in Selby’s drawing room?
“Selby,” Doug exclaimed, bursting out laughing. He released the sausage dogs, who started sniffing at the canine interloper, who snarled at them warily. “I cannot believe you got a Teacup. Josh! Josh-ie! Here, boy,” he said, making a kissing sound with his lips and holding out his hand. The little dog ran up to Doug, who began fussing over it.
“Erm, well . . . he’s so . . . cute,” began Selby. “Josh,” she said, picking up Pikachu. “You should be . . . um . . . in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll take you back.”
Selby started for the door, leaving Tata, Sophie, and Fernanda completely confused about what was going on. But, just as she did so, Josh dashed into the room. He looked concerned.
“Josh?” blurted Selby, without thinking.
“Josh?” repeated Doug, looking at the stable lad, and then back at the dog in Selby’s arms.
“Um . . .” stuttered Selby.
“Why is everyone around here named Josh?” Doug went on.
“They’re not,” said Tata.
“They’re not?” repeated Doug.
Looking baffled, Josh said, “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Fairfax, but one of the girls’ competition horses is looking very poorly. Maple’s covered in bumps all over her hindquarters. Looks like we may need to call the vet.”
“Let me look at her first,” said Selby, clearly keen to extricate herself.
“Oh yes,” said Ian.
“And guess who will get all the credit for finding Selby the most incredible husband?” Tata smiled. “Moi—”
Before she could go on, there was a yelp from the back of the Bentley.
“Owwww,” Minty squealed as the car lurched from side to side as Ian tried to avoid a deep pothole in the drive. “It’s so bumpy.”
“Sorry,” said Ian. “Look, we’re just coming up to the house. I promise you’ll like it.”
As the silvered stone facade came into view, Minty clambered up between the front seats and gazed through the windscreen with an “oooooh.” Even she was not immune to the grandeur and beauty of Great Bottom Park: a ramble of lilac-hued roses were just starting to flower among the branches of white wisteria on the stonework, and in the broad, old beds below the windows, drifts of creamy peonies and foxgloves peeked from between woody thickets of rosemary and lavender, and clematis crawled, jungle-like, up and around clouds of overgrown box hedge. Ian soon pulled up on the gravel driveway and whizzed round to the passenger side of the car to open Mrs. Hawkins’s door.
“Why is their garden so messy, Mummy?” asked Minty as she clambered out of the back seat and looked around.
“Sssshhhh,” Tata scolded her daughter. “They probably haven’t had time to prune it yet.”
“Actually, Minty, this was Lady Maud’s design. She’s the lady who used to live here,” Ian said. “She was a really talented gardener. It’s very posh to let your garden run riot. Only bourgeois people like me prefer everything neat and tidy.”
Tata winced. Her garden at the Manor was arranged in neat squares and straight lines, not a leaf or blade of grass out of place, and the knot garden resembled a pie chart from one of Bryan’s PowerPoints. But Ian seemed to be implying that it was bourgeois. That she was bourgeois. Tata made her mind up there and then that when she finally moved back to the Manor, the whole horrible “neat” scheme would be ripped out. It was so out of date. She was so out of date. Tata wanted to be posh, and she could be—if she had the correct level of aesthetically pleasing mess in her garden. If only Selby Fairfax didn’t have a two-year waiting list, she rued, Tata could be posh now.
At least she was correctly dressed for today, she consoled herself. Guided by Selby’s casual appearance at supper last night, Tata had resisted the daytime bling in her wardrobe and chosen a simple white cotton smocked top, fringed denim shorts frayed at the cuffs and plain gold hoop earrings. The only logo she’d succumbed to was the gold F on the side of her Fendi sneakers, which were the most understated option in her daytime shoe collection.
Just then, Sophie pulled into the driveway in—what was that? The brand-new, electric Porsche Taycan? Tata couldn’t believe her eyes. Where was the grotty Hyundai she always drove? She spotted Fernanda in the front passenger seat. Luca and Eddie were in the back together.
“I think Fernanda knows that I know,” Tata said to Ian, eyebrows raised.
“Knows what, Mummy?” asked Minty.
“Nothing, darling,” Tata said brightly, then whispered to Ian, “I could tell when I was talking to her at Estelle Manor this morning. She had guilt written all over her face. But she’s acting as if she doesn’t know that I know.”
“In my professional opinion,” said Ian, speaking very quietly, “I suggest the simplest thing is to play along for now. Act as if you know that she’s acting as if she doesn’t know that you know, and she will know that you know and admire you for not saying that you know.”
Tata gave him a blank look.
“Trust me. All’s well that ends well if one resists the temptation for a teatime brawl. Meantime, I will find a private moment to discuss Luca’s letter with Fernanda and tell her that I must politely decline ‘his’ offer. I will, indirectly, leave her in no doubt that I know that the letter was designed by her, if written in Luca’s innocent hand. After all, what eight-year-old would take the initiative to poach an employee?”
“Hi, Tata,” called Sophie, stepping out of the huge, shiny Porsche.
Tata walked over to her, grinning. “What the hell happened? I never thought Hugh would buy you a nice car.”
“He didn’t,” Sophie replied wryly. Clearly inspired by Selby too, she was dressed as though she had come from a riding lesson in plaid jodhpurs, Schnieder boots, and a navy T-shirt. “But he’s in London today, so I decided to take his new car out for a spin. He’ll never know.”
“It’s so cool inside,” said Eddie, emerging from the back seat with Luca.
Meanwhile Fernanda got out of the car and strolled round to Tata. Like her friends, she had dressed informally, in pale grey cotton dungarees, a Liberty print blouse and Greek sandals. She kissed Tata on both cheeks, and following Ian’s instructions, Tata received her embrace with a level of warmth and graciousness she did not feel.
“Hi, Minty,” Eddie said.
“Why don’t we explore the house?” Minty asked, conveniently forgetting she had dissed Eddie as “weird” a few minutes before. “Luca, come too?”
“I don’t want to, I’ll get lost,” he whined anxiously, grabbing his mother’s hand and holding it so tight his knuckles went white. Then, spotting Ian and the Bentayga, he said, “Unless Ian will come.”
“He’s working, honey,” Fernanda told her son firmly. “Just stay with me.”
“I’m sure Ian wouldn’t mind—” started Tata.
Fernanda shook her head. “Luca’s fine with me,” she snapped, which left Tata feeling more confused than ever about her friend’s devious intentions.
Minty and Eddie ran off together towards the house, where they were seemingly swallowed up by the enormous stone porch. Moments later, Antoni Grigorivich arrived in the driveway at the wheel of a sporty blue Tesla.
“Good afternoon, Sophie, Fernanda,” said Antoni, approaching them after he’d parked. “Marvellous seeing you again.” Then to Tata’s surprise, he strolled up to her, took her hand in his, and brushed his lips across the tops of her fingers. “What a stunning dinner yesterday! What a spectacular woman you are!”
Tata laughed, taken aback. “My Kitchen Supper was a mess and I’m in my beach-bum clothes today, but if you’re offering a compliment, Antoni, who am I to turn it down? Come on, let’s go inside and see Selby.”
“Ah, Selby,” echoed Antoni. “What an impressive character. So fascinating, so beautiful—like you, Tata.”
“Hey, what about us?” said Fernanda, pulling a sad face and pointing at herself and Sophie.
“You are all remarkable if you are friends of Tata,” Antoni told them obligingly.
A figure soon appeared in the shadow of the porch. It was Goodsen, the elderly butler, who had, upon hearing that a tea party was being thrown at the Park for the first time in fifteen years, deigned to don his black coat and pinstripe trousers and help Doreen serve the tea. The little group drifted towards the doorway and when they reached him, Goodsen said in the solemn tones of one delivering a eulogy, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the seat of the Earls of Bottom. Please, come with me and I will escort you to the drawing room.”
* * *
Tata had never seen a drawing room quite as grand, or as threadbare, as the one at Great Bottom Park. As she and the other guests followed Goodsen in, her eyes drifted up to the intricate strapwork on the ceiling and the two chandeliers which hung from it, glinting in the afternoon light. She shuddered when she noticed that they were laced with cobwebs. The panelled walls, painted decades ago in a dusky rose colour that was sun-bleached in parts, were dense with oil paintings, most of them dark with age, and the room was so sprawling that it fit both large sofas and small sofas, occasional chairs and armchairs, side chairs and side tables, cabinets, writing desks, and even an old rocking horse. There was a grand piano at the far end, crowded with black-and-white family photographs and piles of sheet music, and an elaborate marble fireplace at the other, dancing with crackling flames, above which hung a portrait of the First Earl of Bottom on a splendid chestnut horse. Tall, arched windows, framed with heavy, fringed ivory curtains, looked out onto a balustraded stone terrace, and a pair of double doors had been thrown open to it. Maybe, Tata thought to herself, this was what that Manderley place was like. She’d ask Ian later.
Selby, somewhat dwarfed by her surroundings, was tending to a vase of flowers when her guests arrived and as she heard them coming in, turned to wave hello and walked over to greet everyone. Tata quickly registered, to her dismay, that Selby was not kitted out in some kind of ultra-casual sports gear, but in a long flowing djellaba of paisley silk. Her feet were clad in jewelled sliders, she had an amethyst cocktail ring on her left hand, and she looked somehow insouciant and outrageously glamorous at the same time. No wonder Antoni had already fallen for her. Tata felt like she wanted to shrivel up and die, sartorially speaking. Why-oh-why had she come in these revolting shorts? She had closets rammed with £3,000 floaty silk garments and here she was looking like she’d shopped at the Gap. Quel disaster. Still, she had to show a fighting spirit, so as Selby kissed her hello, she said, “You look incredible, Selby.”
“After my wardrobe error last night, I thought I’d better up my game,” she replied with a grin. “Come on, let’s grab something to eat.”
Selby led the party to the end of the room near the piano where Doreen had laid on a tea of such magnificence that it would have put the head chef at the Ritz to shame. A large, round table had been laid up with a heavily embroidered white linen tablecloth, white napkins, and a tall, cut-glass vase tumbling with orange blossom from the garden. The Bottom family’s Victorian tea service, which consisted of a forty-piece set of porcelain intricately painted with the Earl’s crest encircled with honeysuckle, was arranged to one side. There were little silver toast racks filled with wafer-thin slices of white toast with the crusts cut off, platters of shortbread, piles of hot-buttered crumpets, silver dishes of jam tarts, gingerbread, flapjacks, rock cakes, sausage rolls, and cucumber sandwiches. Positioned on various cake stands were a Swiss roll dusted with icing sugar, a Victoria sponge topped with strawberries and whipped cream, and Doreen’s speciality, the peculiarly named Dundee mincemeat cake. A trolley laden with pots of China tea, kept warm with old-fashioned quilted tea cosies, was Goodsen’s territory and from here he poured cup after cup for the guests from a great height, to aerate the drink correctly.
The children were soon enthusiastically digging into the feast—even Luca managed to let go of his mother’s hand to indulge—while the grown-ups took their tea and went to sit by the fire. Cup in hand, Tata moseyed around the room, gawping at every delicious detail, and eventually headed towards the fireplace to join the others. She decided to settle herself on one of the inviting-looking chintz armchairs close to it but as she sank onto its down cushion, she was quickly submerged in a cloud of dust. She felt a tickle in her throat. She coughed to try and clear it. More tickling. She coughed again. Then again. At this point Antoni put his teacup on the mantelpiece and came over.
“Let me get you some water,” he said, looking down at her, concerned.
“Ugg-ggg-uuuggg—I’m-fff-fine-uggh,” Tata croaked.
“I insist.” He went and fetched her a glass of water, which she gratefully sipped when he returned. Antoni was so considerate, mused Tata. Such nice manners. He was perfect husband material for Selby. Lucky her.
Next Selby came over. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Tata’s cough had abated. “I’ll survive,” she said, getting up from the lethal chair.
“I’m sorry about the dust,” Selby went on. “It’s out of control. I’m on major antihistamines until we get it taken care of.”
“But that’s what makes it so special here, Selby,” said Sophie, glancing at the particles twinkling in the shafts of afternoon light. “The untouched grandeur. It reminds me of my parents’ drawing room in Yorkshire. It was just like this.”
Typical Sophie, thought Tata, pulling an aristo flex on Selby.
“It’s a very romantic room,” agreed Selby, plopping down onto the sofa next to Sophie.
“Romance,” declared Antoni, “is all, is it not?”
“Absolutely.” Tata winked at Antoni, whose expression was blissful. He was clearly besotted.
“Speaking of ‘romance,’” Selby interjected drily, “my ex-husband showed up here this morning, completely unannounced.”
“What?” said Tata. An ex-husband was not part of the plan.
Fernanda, who had found herself a spot on a cushioned stool by the fireplace, and had Luca sitting cross-legged at her feet with a plate of cake in front of him, asked, “Absolutely no warning at all?”
“Total surprise. Doug’s actually on his way back here now with the girls—he’s picking them up from school today.”
Tata thought fast. The last thing she wanted was Selby’s ex-husband wrecking this blossoming love story before it got a chance.
“Why don’t you take Antoni on a tour of the house, Selby, and we’ll wait here for Doug and the girls?” she suggested.
“That sounds fun—” started Selby.
Before she could continue, Pickle and Peanut had scampered into the room, prompting oohs and aahhhhs from the assembled crowd. Violet and Tess pottered after the dogs, and behind them, Doug appeared.
“Mom! It’s so cool, Dad’s here,” Tess squealed, grinning from ear to ear. “And the doggies!”
Tata noticed that Violet seemed less impressed. Frowning, she gave her mother a look as if to say, “You could have warned us.” Selby raised both hands in the air to telegraph, “I didn’t know either.”
“Girls, Doreen’s made a massive tea. Grab some treats and then go outside and play with the other kids.”
“’Kay,” said Tess, then noticed Luca sitting with his mom. “Want to come too?” she asked him.
The little boy smiled and got up and followed Tess, to Fernanda’s happy surprise. Violet, meanwhile, gave her mother another look. “I’m a bit old to ‘play,’ Mom. I’m going to read on the terrace.”
Selby nodded and introduced Doug to her guests, after which a tricky pause ensued where no one quite knew what to say. It was broken only when Sophie said, “Adorable dogs you’ve got.” She held out her hand to Peanut, who came and licked her fingers enthusiastically.
“I love ‘the Sausages,’ as the girls call them,” said Doug. “They’ve really missed having the kids to play with.” Goodsen handed him a cup of tea and he sat down. “Such loyal animals, dogs. I am looking forward to meeting Josh.”
“Swoon!” said Fernanda, dramatically drawing her hand across her brow.
“He’s so handsome,” Sophie confirmed.
Doug looked enquiringly at Selby. “Where is he?”
“Oh, um . . . Josh . . .” Selby began. Her voice seemed strained. “He’s, you know, around, somewhere . . . Now, how about that tour of the house, Antoni?” she asked, quickly standing up.
“Yes, please,” he replied. “I’m so curious.”
Selby seemed extremely keen to be alone with Antoni, Tata noticed. It was adorable.
“May I join in?” asked Sophie. “I’ve heard so much about the interior architecture here but never visited—”
“No!” Tata nearly shouted, giving Sophie a look. “You and I and Fernanda need to watch the kids. And Doug.”
“Oh. Yes, sure. Don’t worry,” Sophie said, but seemed disappointed.
“Thanks,” said Doug. “I’m so jet-lagged I’m not sure I’m much good for childcare today.”
“Shall we go out and find them?” said Tata. She looked at Fernanda and added pointedly, “I do want to make sure little Luca’s okay, don’t you?”
Before anyone could leave the drawing room, a fearful scrabbling noise came from beneath an armchair by the fireplace and Pickle and Peanut started barking.
Doug looked startled. “What was that?”
“Ugh,” Tata gulped, pointing. “There’s something under there.”
The assembled party watched in horror as a furry tail poked out from under the frilled loose cover on the chair and then suddenly disappeared. The sausage dogs, yapping wildly, attempted to go after it but Doug grabbed their collars and stopped them.
“Is that a rat?” hollered Fernanda, climbing up onto the sofa.
“I am so sorry, everyone,” said Selby, mortified, but sensibly hopping up next to Fernanda.
Next, the group heard a snuffling sound and a small, black, wet nose appeared from beneath the frill. Then the body of a tiny dog followed: a fluffy, lemon-coated Teacup Pomeranian.
“What on earth—?” said Tata, recognising Pikachu. What was the hen-killing machine from last night doing in Selby’s drawing room?
“Selby,” Doug exclaimed, bursting out laughing. He released the sausage dogs, who started sniffing at the canine interloper, who snarled at them warily. “I cannot believe you got a Teacup. Josh! Josh-ie! Here, boy,” he said, making a kissing sound with his lips and holding out his hand. The little dog ran up to Doug, who began fussing over it.
“Erm, well . . . he’s so . . . cute,” began Selby. “Josh,” she said, picking up Pikachu. “You should be . . . um . . . in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll take you back.”
Selby started for the door, leaving Tata, Sophie, and Fernanda completely confused about what was going on. But, just as she did so, Josh dashed into the room. He looked concerned.
“Josh?” blurted Selby, without thinking.
“Josh?” repeated Doug, looking at the stable lad, and then back at the dog in Selby’s arms.
“Um . . .” stuttered Selby.
“Why is everyone around here named Josh?” Doug went on.
“They’re not,” said Tata.
“They’re not?” repeated Doug.
Looking baffled, Josh said, “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Fairfax, but one of the girls’ competition horses is looking very poorly. Maple’s covered in bumps all over her hindquarters. Looks like we may need to call the vet.”
“Let me look at her first,” said Selby, clearly keen to extricate herself.
