The Last Baronet Read online

  ‘But do you think I’d... I’ve never actually...’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you work, Norman, I was just thinking that it’s a lovely old place, a bit like a stately home, really, not that I’ve ever been inside, but if we booked you in, if you were to stay there over Christmas, give yourself a treat, for a change, I could keep my eye on you and we could go for walks and things.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know… I’m not sure I…’

  ‘Well it’s high time you were sure, Norman,’ Yvonne said decisively. ‘It’s not being sure that’s got you in this mess, and at least you’d get to wear this little lot,’ she gestured at the green carrier bags, ‘at least you’d get your money’s worth.’

  She was right. Norman knew she was right. He had drifted for long enough. ‘All right,’ he said with resolve. ‘Let’s do it!’ Just saying it made him feel better. Just making the decision made him feel that he had turned a corner, that somehow his life had suddenly taken a turn for the better. ‘Suffolk, here I come! Who knows, I might even get to wear my green wellies.’

  ‘And your big woolly and your Barbour jacket. Not the flower pot hat though,’ Yvonne said sniffily. ‘I shan’t go walking with you if you wear that hat.’

  ‘And whilst we were on our walks, we could make up some tales to entertain Elsie and Genevra when we come back.’

  Yvonne thought it the wrong moment to mention that she had no intention of coming back. ‘You could bring your violin and play for my mum one evening, she’d love that, she really would. Genevra says you play it lovely.’

  ‘Well, I was a professional once.’ Norman imagined coming into the warmth of a beautiful country house after a walk with Yvonne. There would be a roaring log fire and a squashy armchair and a whisky and dry ginger with ice in a chunky glass. There would be a Christmas tree and swags of ivy and holly and mistletoe and his bed would be plump with pillows and a goose down duvet.

  ‘That’s you sorted then. I’ll ring my mum tonight and get her to book you in.’ Yvonne stood up and pulled down her microscopic skirt. ‘Best get back to work then, Norman, don’t you think? We don’t want Elsie getting any funny ideas about what we might be up to in the stock room, do we?’

  TWENTY THREE

  Anna had resolved to talk to Nicola, to offer her money to help keep the horses, anything to prevent her from doing what she was doing. Anna had not wanted to believe it but now she knew it to be true. She didn’t understand how Nicola could bear to do it. The mere idea of it made her feel physically sick. The memory of the encounters she had witnessed filled her with revulsion, shame too. The whole thing was shameful. Anna herself was shamed that she had witnessed them, as if by seeing them, by watching, somehow it had made her complicit. There was nobody she could talk to about it. Nor did she feel like telling anyone. She wondered if the tradesmen talked to one another after a few beers in the Crick; if there was ribald laughter; if there were lewd comparisons. She wondered if there was talk in the village. Villages being what they were; hotbeds of gossip; she surmised that there probably was. It had to be stopped. Well, she must somehow put a stop to it. But how to do it? What to say? Whatever was said she must not allow herself to condemn or moralise; there must be no hint of reproach, no recriminations. However Anna felt about it, Nicola had done what she did in order to survive and, just as Anna had taken charge of her own life, this was Nicola’s way of taking charge of her own.

  After dinner, in the cool of the evening, she walked down to the stables. The stables were empty. Anna remembered the scorched paddock. Nicola now turned her horses out to graze with David Williamson’s cattle at night, bringing them back to the yard in the early morning before anyone was about.

  She walked through the barn glancing, almost out of habit, through the window into the rickyard. This one was young. His body was like marble; pale and perfect. At first Anna supposed it to be one of the young Polish workmen. But there was an urgency, almost a ferocity in his movements, a hopeless, familiar anger in his climax, and afterwards, as he collapsed against her in despair, Nicola ran her fingers consolingly through hair that Anna knew only too well. Cold, silky, black hair.

  Rupert.

  *

  Len had called a meeting. Whatever it was about it was urgent and required everyone to be present apart from Vivian and Lavinia.

  They met in the back kitchen. Away from the stainless steel extravaganza that was the commercial kitchen, this one was homely. The range had been taken to bits and reassembled and now, converted to oil and servicing two radiators it made the room a comfortable place. The plank table had been removed from the main kitchen (hygiene regulations did not permit the use of wooden tables) and its chairs and two armchairs plus the old iron chandelier had also found a home here. Vivian had unearthed some old hunting prints to hang on the walls and it was all very cosy. The workmen ate here and now had adjourned to the Crick. Rupert was the first to arrive. His overalls were splattered with plaster from handing up the moulded Tudor roses for the hall ceiling to the artisan specialist who was perched on a plank suspended between two stepladders. Anna could not look at him.

  She took herself away to make frothy coffee for everyone in the shiny new coffee machine in the main kitchen, putting beans into the coffee grinder, measuring the coffee, tamping it down, filling stainless steel jugs with milk, fiddling with warmed cups, thermometers and steam nozzles; glad there was nobody to see how her hands trembled. This was going to be a difficult meeting. Even worse than the financial matters that were sure to be the subject of it, there was Rupert, and there was Nicola. Anna was not sure how she felt about Nicola, but was beginning to know how she felt about Rupert. When they had first met she had imagined that she could put the past behind her, that she could make a fresh start in a new relationship; that she might love him. She remembered (although she would have preferred to forget) how his mouth had opened against hers, how his body had moved against hers, of how it had been when she had rejected him, how angry he had been, how desperate. She asked herself why, if she hadn’t wanted him then, she should feel the loss of him now. And she did feel the loss; a great hollow emptiness inside, a permanent ache in her stomach, an actual pain in the vicinity of her heart. Yet was this truly love and loss or could it be jealousy that she felt? Would the feelings have been different if Rupert’s relationship had been with someone other than Nicola? Was Nicola actually the problem? All Anna knew was that to see them together had caused her pain. Knowing about it hurt; God, how it hurt. Now she understood why Rupert had no longer been able to look her in the eye recently; why, whenever they spoke, he stood, not close, as would have been usual, but away from her, out of reach; no longer needing to be near, no longer wanting to touch her.

  She took the tray of coffee into the back kitchen. Rupert looked up. He had a two-day stubble, dark smudges under his eyes, and splashes of plaster on his face. He looked wretched. He looked ill. And yet, ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘You look pale.’

  The nerve of him, when he, Rupert, looked to be at death’s door. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a childish retort; What’s it to you? Why would you care? But mercifully, Len and Sadie arrived, followed by Nicola, and then they were sitting at the plank table, spooning froth, talking about the progress of the work, the decorating, the imminent arrival of carpets, the furnishings, the problems of storage until Len called them to attention.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ Len looked around the table. ‘There’s something I want to talk about and it’s something that concerns everybody, all of us, but Anna and Nicola in particular.’

  ‘Money. I realise this will be about money,’ said Anna. ‘I know it’s running low. I know I’ll have to go back to the bank. I just wonder if we have enough equity. They’re going to want their surveyor to come round to re-evaluate. I’m just so desperately worried that…’

  ‘Hold on, girl, you haven’t heard me out yet.’ Len unzipped a bag at his feet and produced a large pad, which he slapped on the table. Sadie, flat ou
t on the flagstones opened one eye and closed it again. Already, this was a slimmer, fitter Sadie. The new job was suiting her. ‘There’s something I want to run past you. I’m not exactly unaccustomed to clients running out of money; it happens more often than you might think. I’ve looked at the finances, and I’ve looked at what the bank might or might not do. As things stand it’s not a lot. So I’ve been looking round and I’ve been doing some thinking. I’ve got a proposal.’

  Rupert sat back. They weren’t going to like this. He was glad it was Len who was dealing with it. Rupert rather felt he had sold his soul to the devil already. Now they would both think he had betrayed them. Bloody hell, Len, he thought. Bloody fucking hell. Suddenly his nerve failed him. ‘Are you sure we’re not being a bit premature,’ he said, ‘shouldn’t we talk it through a bit more first?’

  ‘I’m not much of a talker.’ This was true; Len was more of a doer, ‘and neither are you, these days.’ The truth was that Rupert was always too busy to talk, either that or he was absent. Rupert now had unexplained absences of his own and Len had a jolly good idea what he was doing during these absences and he didn’t approve of it one little bit. But that was a subject for another day. Today they had to think about finances. Today he had a proposition.

  ‘OK. Go on then,’ Rupert said reluctantly. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Just one thing before I start.’ Len held up a warning finger to Anna and Nicola. ‘You have to promise you won’t shout me down before I’m finished. You have to give me time to explain what I think we should do and then we can have the conversation. Afterwards. When you know the facts.’ Len flipped open the pad, revealing drawings, plans. ‘We need money to finish this job. A lot of it. And we don’t want borrowed money; at least, we do initially, but we need to be able to pay it back quickly. You can’t start a business like this under-capitalised. Bank loan interest is a killer. We need a way to generate money and I have a suggestion.’ Having gained their attention, Len sat back in his chair before delivering what he knew would be a bombshell. ‘My thinking is that we should convert the stable block into apartments. Potentially, it’s a great site. It’s a natural for a courtyard development, something really upmarket; we could get six or seven apartments out of it. Then there are the barns. The potential is enormous.’

  There was a silence, then ‘Not the stables,’ Anna said in a stricken voice. ‘No. We can’t.’

  ‘The development could make a lot of money,’ Len held up a warning hand. ‘Well over two million, by my reckoning.’

  Nicola stared. ‘Two million? Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly serious. I’ve done the sums.’

  ‘I said, not the stables,’ Anna said again. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘And I said, just hear me out.’ Len placed a hand on Anna’s arm. One felt he had travelled this road before.

  ‘Would the council allow it?’ Nicola wanted to know. ‘Surely we would never get planning permission?’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to the council. The last thing they want is for places like this to become crumbling ruins. They want to see Rushbroke restored and paying its way; paying rates in particular. But we need to get the detailed plans in as soon as possible. I’m talking now, within the next week or so. We need to catch the planning meeting after this one. We need to move quickly if we want to get the bank on board; we need something to show them, and the sooner the better. We can’t wait until we run out of money; until we can’t pay the wages.’

  Rupert knew the plans were drawn. In truth, the plans were already in, signed off by Len. Apparently you needn’t be the owner of a property in order to apply for outline planning permission. God only knew what Anna would think of that. Rupert was not about to mention it.

  ‘And we’ll need to get a scale model made, showing exactly how the development will look, so we can sell off-plan; we need to get a few apartments sold before we start to build.’ Len looked around the table. ‘Well, now you have it. My proposal. Two million. Enough to fund the rest of the restoration. Enough equity and potential to satisfy the bank. What do you think?’

  Anna put her head in her hands. She had promised Vivian that Nicola would keep the stables. ‘We can’t do it,’ Anna said. ‘I know you mean well, Len, but we can’t... I can’t, do it.’

  Nicola looked at Rupert. ‘You knew about this and you didn’t say a word?’

  Rupert lifted his hands in supplication. ‘What could I say? There was never a suitable moment.’

  ‘There was always a suitable moment. Nicola was promised the stables.’ Anna lifted her head. ‘I promised Vivian. It was part of the deal. I can’t let it happen, after the promises I have made. After the sacrifices Nicola has made.’ After the corn merchant, Anna thought, after the vet, the blacksmith. She preferred not to think about Rupert. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t. The horses are Nicola’s life.’

  ‘And this place is your bloody life,’ Rupert said heatedly. ‘Your money is vanishing into it like a brick in a swamp. Soon there will be nothing left, and then what? Anna, you can’t afford to keep your promise about the stables. We’re talking about keeping the job afloat here. We’re talking about survival, for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘There has to be another way.’

  ‘There isn’t another way. If you don’t agree to this we’re going to run out of money. And you’re going to have to go back to the bank on your bloody hands and knees. You’re not going to want to do that either.’

  Len pushed a colour brochure across the table to Nicola. ‘We could build you a nice little timber stable yard on the paddock. You could have a perfectly decent range of timber buildings to accommodate the horses. We’re not asking you to give them up. We wouldn’t do that. We know how important they are to you.’

  ‘A purpose built block would be a lot more convenient. You would have electricity, for a start,’ Rupert added. ‘A washroom. All mod cons.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’ Nicola got up from the table. She didn’t even glance at the brochure.

  ‘Please don’t go.’ Anna grabbed her by the arm. ‘We won’t do it. I won’t allow it to happen.’

  ‘Anna, you have no choice.’ Nicola detached herself, gently, firmly. ‘Two million is too much to pay for a promise. I knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later, I am not a fool. I could see it coming.’

  Anna knew that if she had been in Nicola’s position she would have ranted and raved; she would have screamed. She would have felt betrayed – well, she knew what that felt like. But Len and Rupert were right. Nicola was right. She couldn’t refuse. If they were to survive, the development had to go ahead. She closed her eyes in despair. Len had just presented her with the solution to her biggest problem, a way to banish her worst nightmares, and she had never felt so miserable in her life.

  Rupert got up from the table. ‘Nicola... wait.’

  Nicola smiled at him; her habitual, calm, self-contained smile. She put a finger to her lips. To look at her you would not imagine that her life had just been swept away, that something she had struggled and sacrificed to preserve against all the odds just had been brushed aside, taken from her as if it was of no importance; as if it counted for nothing. ‘Rupert. I’m fine with it. You don’t need to apologise. Time for Plan B,’ was all she said.

  *

  Anna stood on the stone which marked the resting place of Rufus Algernon Lawrence Percival Rushbroke, HE DIED AS HE LIVED. She felt that things were slipping out of her grasp, that she was losing control. She hadn’t managed to talk to Nicola. And now, because of Rupert, because of Nicola and Rupert, how could she? And now her longing, her need for Rupert had surfaced (from where? Had it been there all the time? Dormant? Unacknowledged?) She was hurt, she was wounded, and it was her own fault. She couldn’t even ask herself why Rupert had done this. She knew why; Rupert had been stressed and overworked and he had needed her and she had not been there for him, not even with the promised friendship she had been at pains to describe when she
had needed him to be on her team. Somehow there had been no time. Somehow everything else had got in the way. No, Anna did not have to ask herself why. And Nicola, well, Nicola had just done what Nicola did, and now she was to lose the stables and Anna would have broken her promise to Vivian, and Vivian was fading. There was to be money, but everywhere else her life had descended into chaos and misery. Anna’s eyes smarted. Grew hot. Tears forced their way through her tightly closed eyelids. She opened them and saw the King James Bible with a passage circled in black.

  …but if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel.

  Vivian. Vivian’s guilt. Yet none of the current situation was his doing. None of it was his fault. Anna felt she was to blame for all of it. And perhaps the answer to it all was in her own hands. There is something I should have done before now, she told herself, a decision I should have made earlier, for all of their sakes. I have been prevaricating, postponing, but now that the future of the business is assured, now that I know how I feel about Rupert, the time has come to put my cards on the table. Win or lose.

  Crossing the re-laid flagstones, flat and sealed and shiny, to the door, which now swung sweetly on its reworked hinges, Anna went to make a telephone call.

  TWENTY FOUR

  ‘Darling, I am growing old,

  Silver threads amongst the gold

  Shine upon my brow today,

  Life is slipping fast away…’

  ‘Lavinia, I was wondering if you would like to play for our guests?’

  ‘I should adore to play for our guests. At what time are they due to arrive?’ Lavinia was dressed in a long, slender gown of discoloured grey crepe de Chine, which had an old dry-cleaning ticket pinned to one sleeve. Her beautiful hair was secured with its usual melee of pins and combs and a haphazard application of rouge to her cheeks gave her a hectic air.