Bonfire Night at Wickham Hall

Chapter 28 I sneezed for the umpteenth time and then stooped to pick up a stray leaflet from the living-room carpet. Mum and I were having a mammoth clear-out and it was the happiest time we had spent together for years. I was so pleased for her that she’d finally decided to declutter the living room, even if we had created clouds of dust as we scooped up years’ worth of old magazines and brochures. It was a bright autumn day in October, three weeks since my date with Ben and a low sun shone through the living-room window making the dancing dust motes sparkle in its rays.

Both of us were doing a lot of sneezing.

‘Now are you sure you can bear to part with the Wickham Hall Christmas brochure 1999?’

I held it up to show Mum, tongue firmly in my cheek.

‘Oh, let’s see,’ she said, grabbing it out of my hand and ignoring my despairing sighs. ‘They had a big firework display that year, to celebrate the new Millennium. There was a marquee, a three-course dinner, a band and then fireworks to finish.’

I frowned. ‘Did you go?’

She shook her head. ‘You were fourteen: too old for a babysitter and too young to be left on your own. We

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watched the fireworks out of the window.’

I put my arm round her waist and gave her a hug. It had always been just the two of us on special occasions; sometimes it felt like we were the only people in the entire world without any family.

‘Look at that tree.’ She sighed, pointing to a festive picture of the main staircase at Wickham Hall decorated to the hilt. There was a towering Christmas tree at the bottom of the stairs and garlands of fir and ivy were looped around the banisters and tied with red ribbon.

I obliged, scanning the leaflet and joining in with her oohs and ahhs, secretly disappointed that there weren’t any pictures of Ben as a little boy in it.

‘And it will be just as magical this year,’ I said, retrieving the leaflet from her fingers and dropping it into a large refuse sack. ‘Although right at the moment all my efforts are being poured into the Bonfire Night display.’

And trying to play it cool with Ben. I sat on the sofa for a moment, rubbing my nose and waiting for the next sneeze.

My heart twisted as I remembered his confused face when I’d turned him down for a drink last night.

Life in the events department at Wickham Hall had returned to normal – on the surface, at least. Ben spent his days in the office creating havoc: making last-minute changes to the Bonfire Night posters, ringing up the fireworks company to quiz them about some detail or other every five minutes and generally setting me on edge until I sent him off on a spurious errand in an attempt to get some work done in his absence. But something between us had changed. There was an electrical charge to the atmosphere whenever we were together and I could feel it building with every passing day.

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The problem was, I hadn’t quite worked out how to behave around him.

Our date at the art gallery had been one of the most memorable nights of my life. We had left Oxford and stopped for dinner at a French bistro, sharing a platter of seafood so delicious that it even made Esme’s mouth water when I described it to her afterwards. But the date had been eye-opening in all sorts of ways. It had deepened my feelings and confirmed my attraction to Ben. But it had also sent me into a spiral of doubt about the wisdom of Lord and Lady Fortescue’s wishes that Ben take over at Wickham Hall. How could he live out his dreams of being an artist without crushing those of his parents?

And on a personal level, how would I feel if, or when, Ben chose his art over Wickham Hall? I already knew the answer to that and the only way to avoid heartache, I’d decided, was to keep our relationship on nothing more than a friendly basis until I knew exactly where things stood.

So I’d said no to a drink last night, even though my heart was urging me to say yes. Mum took a seat beside me and I leaned my head briefly on her shoulder.

‘Ben asked me about Antonio again, Mum. He’s obsessed with the story.’

‘Is he? Ahh.’ Mum’s face softened. She’d had a soft spot for Ben ever since he’d ‘mistaken’ us for sisters.

I nodded, trying to hide a smile. In fact, Ben, in true man-style, was more taken with what Mum and Antonio had managed to get up to in the bushes undisturbed, but she’d be mortified if I told her that.

‘It was over almost before it began, Holly.’

I blinked at her, wondering for a moment whether she’d been reading my mind. I so hoped not.

‘We were from different worlds, different backgrounds.

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I was naïve to think it would have worked out between us.’

Different worlds. I flinched as her words touched a nerve.

That was exactly how I felt about the obstacles between Ben and me.

‘I thought love was supposed to conquer all,’ I said wistfully. ‘People overcome all sorts of barriers when they feel strongly enough about someone, don’t they?’

Mum sighed and closed her hand over mine. ‘It was thirty years ago, Holly. I’m a different person and I’m sure Antonio will be too. I have no wish to go down this road for myself. Especially when things are still new for Steve and me.’

Steve had taken to spending the night here quite regularly, which had meant Mum having to have a drastic sortout of her bedroom, which he’d helped her with. And now that she was cooking dinner for them both, she’d made an effort to clear the kitchen worktops too. So not only was the house looking better for his presence, he’d put a smile on her face and a new spring in her step and it was heartwarming to witness.

‘When you first told me about losing Granddad and losing touch with Antonio, I thought if I could track down my father, it would give you closure, and maybe help you overcome your . . . attachment to stuff,’ I said, avoiding the word ‘hoarding’ as Mum didn’t like to refer to it as that.

‘But it’s actually a new love which has done that. I’m proud of you, Mum. And pleased.’

I gazed at the three boxes of newspapers ready to go to Henley library. Mum and Steve had selected these after he’d persuaded her to donate all her copies of the Wickham and Hoxley News to the local archives. The library staff were really excited and planned to put on a big display sometime in December.

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‘It wasn’t just Steve, love.’ She smiled, squeezing my hand. ‘You’ve helped too.’

‘Good.’

I felt my foot slide on a piece of paper and bent to retrieve it. It was one of the leaflets I’d picked up on my very first day at Wickham Hall, one about the restoration of the art gallery. I frowned, wondering why that project had never been mentioned in all the months I’d been working at the hall.

I folded it up and stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans to read later. I’d find out more about that, I decided. Perhaps Sheila would know something?

Mum’s chest lifted as she inhaled a deep breath before speaking. ‘Holly, Antonio is your father and I want you to know that if you do decide to trace him, I support you one hundred per cent. It’s completely your choice.’

I kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’m not going to do anything in the foreseeable future, I’m still thinking it through. And if I do anything, I promise I’ll tell you first.’

I’d sat down and drawn up a plan of how I should get in touch with Antonio countless times. But I wasn’t sure what I’d achieve other than to throw the poor man’s life into disarray, not to mention possibly throwing the cat amongst the pigeons for Mum and Steve, despite her assurances.

Maybe one day when I wanted children I might feel differently; maybe I’d want to check his family history for medical problems or something. For now, I concluded, it would be kinder all round if things remained as they were.

Bonfire Night had finally arrived and in an hour the sky above Wickham Hall would be heavy with smoke from the bonfire that Jim was currently prodding to check for sleepy hedgehogs. But for now the air was clear, the moon was

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full and the sky was purpley-black and glittered with pinpricks of tiny stars.

We had opened the gate to the car park for the firework display at five thirty ready for a six o’clock start and already the lamp-lit courtyard had taken on the appearance of a street scene straight out of a Dickins novel – there were crowds around all the stalls selling snacks and drinks, Andy was doing a roaring trade with his faux-fur winter warmers and the queue for Jenny’s pulled pork rolls was beginning to build. The scene made me glow with happiness; the event was turning out even better than I’d hoped.

Jenny held out a piece of pork for me and I opened my mouth like a baby bird as she popped it in.

‘That Guy Fawkes idea of yours was spot on, chick.’ She grinned. ‘I can’t remember seeing crowds like this for a bonfire before.’

I closed my eyes as the delicious smoky flavour of the pork filled my mouth. ‘I’m not so sure I can take all the credit, Jenny. The smell of that pork has probably had all the mouths in a ten-mile radius watering!’

‘By the way, I’m liking the neon yellow look.’ She winked.

‘Thanks,’ I said, giving her a twirl.

Along with a group of other officials I wore a highvisibility tabard over my clothes. Essential at an event like this, of course, but it didn’t do much for my sartorial elegance.

She served the next customer, handing the man a juicy pork-filled baguette and pointing him in the direction of the napkins. ‘If you see Nikki on your travels, tell her I’ll save her a roll. At this rate they’ll have all disappeared before the firework display starts at seven.’

‘Will do. Last time I saw her she was down at the bonfire site fretting about the state of her grass.’

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I pilfered another piece of pork, narrowly dodging a smack from Jenny’s spatula and then set off to find Ben. He was due to judge the entries to the children’s Guy Fawkes competition at six fifteen and I wanted to make sure he knew where he needed to be and what the prize for the winning guy was.

I found him at the toffee-apple stand struggling to peel the cellophane off his toffee apple.

‘These flippin’ things should come with an instruction manual,’ he groaned, holding up his fingers. They were covered with shreds of cellophane.

I laughed and took the apple from him.

‘Here.’ I handed him a tissue and he wiped his fingers while I carefully removed the rest of the cellophane and gave it back to him.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ He grinned. ‘Want a bite?’

‘No thanks,’ I giggled, ‘now don’t get it all over your face, will you? You’ve got an audience of impressionable children to address.’

Down on the field, Jim had lit the bonfire and despite the several hundred people surrounding it, I could already feel the heat from it as we approached the area set aside for the Guy Fawkes competition.

‘That’s some fire,’ Ben marvelled as we both watched the flames dancing several metres high. ‘I hope Jim can cope.’

I tapped my nose with a grin. ‘All carefully planned, Mr Fortescue, never fear.’

We had tanks of water nearby and the fire service were primed and ready should something untoward happen.

Not that it would. The fire had been built from garden rubbish and branches pruned back for the winter by Nikki’s volunteers. Jim was more than capable of keeping it under control.

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Ben put an arm round my shoulders and squeezed me to him so swiftly that it was all over before I could return the hug.

‘I’d expect nothing less where you’re concerned, Hols.

I’m perfectly aware that you run the events department single-handedly. In fact, if anything, I’m probably more hindrance than help.’ He laughed. ‘You wouldn’t miss me at all if I left, would you?’

Was he leaving? Was that his decision? I tried to smile at him but I felt a lump rise to my throat.

‘I wouldn’t miss your singing, that’s for sure.’ I laughed shakily. ‘Come on, your public awaits.’

Far enough away from the bonfire to appease safetyconscious parents, Ben and I had erected five plinths – one for each of the schools to display their entries to the Guy Fawkes competition – and quite a crowd of children and their families had gathered.

Ben handed me his apple core on a stick with a cheeky smile and plunged to the front of the throng.

‘Hello, everyone!’ he yelled, waving his hand in the air.

I watched, entranced, for a couple of minutes as Ben chatted to some of the children and shook hands with the teachers. He was in his element, I thought, hugging my arms round myself. All of a sudden the crackle of my twoway radio from my pocket made me jump and I answered the call from Jim. ‘Holly, they’ve run out of room in the car park. There’s a queue of stationary cars all the way up to the road leading into the village and it’s causing an obstruction. Can you deal with it? You need to go to the gatehouse and get the key for the overspill car park. This fire’s getting very smoky and I daren’t leave it. Over.’

‘No problem, Jim; leave it with me.’

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I strode away from the school group, leaving Ben entertaining the children by making up ventriloquist’s routines with all the guys. One of the car park attendants came back on the radio: customers were beginning to get angry about the parking situation and demanding ticket refunds if they missed the fireworks.

My stomach twisted and I broke into a run. Having record visitor numbers was all well and good, but if we had to start giving refunds, my name would be mud. It crossed my mind to ask the fireworks people to delay the start of the display, but then I remembered that everything had been timed to the split second; there was nothing they could do about it now. I’d just have to get the car park opened as quickly as I could.

I let myself into the gatehouse, conscious of the prickle of sweat under my arms, and grabbed the key from the key cabinet. I pulled my woolly hat off and tucked it into my pocket. Wrapping up warmly in four layers topped off with Ben’s leather jacket had seemed a good idea earlier in the day but now I was practically steaming. I darted back out of the gatehouse and ran as fast as I could to the overspill car park.

Five minutes later the parking issue was abating and frayed tempers were cooling. I breathed a sigh of relief and began a fast walk back to Ben. I made it as far as the courtyard when I heard my name being called.

I turned round with a smile, expecting to see either Esme or Mum and Steve. They were supposed to be here somewhere and I hadn’t bumped into them yet. But it was Lady Fortescue, looking impossibly elegant in a full-length fur coat and matching hat. She had her hands on her hips and was tapping the toe of her boots and scanning the crowds.

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‘Hello, Lady Fortescue. I like your hat, is it from the Wickham Hall range?’ I asked, walking towards her.

‘Absolutely not,’ she said, adjusting the brim over her fringe. ‘I bought it in Harrods last week. Naughty really, I’ve got a dressing-room full of coats and hats, I really should have a clear-out before Hugo tells me off.’

I made a mental note to ask Pam the housekeeper about Lady Fortescue’s cast-offs. I could give them to Mum for her charity shop. They’d have a bumper year selling her second-hand furs, that’s for sure.

‘You called me, Lady Fortescue?’

‘Have you seen Benedict?’ She frowned, still looking around her.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘He’s down near the bonfire, judging the Guy Fawkes competition.’

She pressed her lips together and gave a disapproving sniff. ‘That Guy Fawkes thing was supposed to have been your idea, Holly.’

‘I did offer,’ I said, which wasn’t strictly true. ‘But Benedict thought it would be a good way of introducing himself to the wider community.’ Also not strictly true.

Lady Fortescue brightened instantly.

‘Good idea. Such a clever boy,’ she said, looking at her watch. ‘Would you mind fetching him as soon as he’s finished, please? Hugo and I have guests and we’re supposed to be watching the fireworks from the private gardens.’

‘Of course.’ My heart sank; I’d been hoping Ben and I could watch the fireworks together.

‘And do tell him to hurry up.’

‘OK.’ I smiled and prepared to move away when she grabbed hold of my sleeve.

‘Is that Benedict’s jacket?’

My cheeks burned as I juggled my words to come up with

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a suitably valid excuse for being dressed in her son’s leather jacket other than that it smells of him and when I wear it, I imagine being wrapped in his arms.

‘Yes, he kindly lent it to me a few weeks ago,’ I mumbled.

‘I was planning on returning it. Tonight, in fact.’

She shot such daggers at me that I wouldn’t have been surprised to find myself pinned to the floor.

‘Now I know Benedict is a grown man and entitled to do as he chooses, but as a member of staff, you are expected to keep a professional distance. It is inappropriate for you to be wearing my son’s clothes.’

My heart was hammering against my ribcage but I looked her squarely in the eye. ‘I understand, Lady Fortescue.’

I almost added that we were only friends, but that wouldn’t have been completely true. Ben was becoming much more than that. Far more.

She stared at me coldly. ‘I hope so, Holly.’

‘I . . . I’d better go and find Benedict, Your Ladyship,’ I said, turning to go, keen for this conversation to come to an end.

‘Yes, do. There’s someone I think he’d like to meet. A lovely girl; very biddable. She’s the daughter of one of my friends, Baroness Allthorp,’ she said. ‘Benedict is going to be so pleased she could come.’

‘Of course, Lady Fortescue,’ I muttered.

I left then and pushed through the packed courtyard in search of Ben, feeling cross with myself for letting her get the upper hand.

There was only one woman I wanted Ben to be spending the evening with and that was me.

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