Naked Truths (35 page)

Caro had just received a stunning amber and gold necklace from Benedict, when he left the room. Moments later, he re-entered with a beautiful, antique rocking horse.

‘I thought it would look good in the nursery,' he smiled.

‘Uh-oh! She's off again!' joked Calypso, as Caro's eyes glistened.

Despite her happiness, there was something gnawing away at Caro. The pile of presents was quickly diminishing, but still there had been nothing from Sebastian for Milo. She'd been sent a few parcels through the post, and had assumed one of those would be for her son, but there had been nothing. Benedict handed the last few gifts out: some Chanel No. 5 for Tink from Clementine, and a rather old-looking bottle of Crabtree & Evelyn bubble bath for Amelia from an aged auntie. Now, the space was empty under the Christmas tree.

Caro looked at Milo, who was gleefully playing with another new racing car from his grandparents.

‘Nothing from Sebastian?' Tink asked hesitantly.

Caro bit her lip. Over on the other side of the room, Benedict's face was like stone.

‘Your mother told me about your run-in with him,' said Johnnie. Disapproving noises sounded round the room.

Calypso went over and looked under the Christmas tree.

‘Hold on, there
is
something.'

She picked up a long, narrow envelope and turned it over. The writing looked vaguely familiar. Caro thought she must have put it under the tree without really registering who it was from.

She opened it and an HMV voucher for £5 fell out. There was an accompanying card. Caro recognized the girlish scrawl now: it had been written by Sebastian's secretary, Bethany. She read the card out, the spelling mistake painfully obvious.

‘For Christ's sake!' said Johnnie. Milo glanced up, surprised at his grandfather's unusually harsh tone.

‘What's a three-year-old boy going to do with an HMV voucher?' asked Calypso scornfully.

‘It's OK, really,' Caro said hastily. ‘At least he sent something . . .' Her words fell away.

As they sat there in an uncomfortable silence, Milo, completely oblivious to the tension above his head, suddenly pointed at the window.

‘Look!' he shouted. ‘S'gone white!'

For the first Christmas Day in a decade, snow was falling on Churchminster.

Across the village, people were contentedly settling into the embers of the day. At Hollyhocks Cottage, Ted Briggs was fast asleep in front of the telly, a half-eaten mince pie on a plate on his lap. At the Maltings, Angie, Freddie and Archie had just returned from lunch with some old chums in Chipping Campden. And at Twisty Gables a lusty Nico Reinard tried to tempt his wife Lucinda into bed with the Barbarella outfit he'd put in her stocking. At Clanfield Hall, Saffron was still recovering from being served a wood pigeon inside a pheasant inside a partridge, all of which had been shot on the estate just hours earlier.

The clink of champagne glasses rang out across Churchminster, as everyone raised one toast after another.

‘To absent loved ones!'

‘Friends and family!'

‘Merry,
merry
Christmas!'

SAFFRON HAD THOUGHT
she would be itching to get back to London, but she was surprised how much she had been enjoying herself. Every day she and Harriet had gone on long walks around the estate, then spent cosy afternoons by the fire drinking tea and watching television or reading. She hadn't felt so rested or healthy for ages.

‘Got some colour in your cheeks at last,' Ambrose boomed one evening. They'd had Christmas dinner in the Great Hall, a huge chilly room where they'd needed to shout to hear each other, but, to Saffron's relief, had gone back to using the smaller, cosier dining room since. Even though it was an informal supper of shepherd's pie, Hawkins had still laid out the table beautifully, with bone china plates and polished silverware.

‘Have you decided what you're doing for New Year's Eve yet?' Frances asked Harriet.

‘Yup, I'm going to the Jolly Boot's party.' Harriet sighed. ‘I must admit, it won't be the same without Camilla.'

Saffron cleared her throat. ‘Actually, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay and come with you.'

Harriet looked delighted. ‘Of course! Haven't you got something to go to in London, though?'

‘I can always sell my ticket.' Saffron was meant to be going to a party in Kensington where several big name DJs were playing. Normally this would be a dream night out, but for some reason she didn't fancy returning to the mayhem of the capital yet. Saffron still couldn't believe she was giving up her coveted ticket for some do at the local pub; she'd have to make an excuse to her clubbing mates about getting the flu.

‘My dear, stay as long as you want,' Frances said.

‘What's that?' barked Ambrose.

‘Saffron is staying for New Year's Eve, dear,' Frances repeated. She looked at Harriet. ‘Darling, you haven't forgotten your father and I are leaving around lunchtime for Gravely Hall? Hawkins has a few days off, but Cook will be here.'

‘We'll be fine, Mummy.'

Ambrose looked across at Saffron, who was wearing a diamanté skull-and-crossbones T-shirt, and metallic purple eyeliner. Her hair was spiked up so she looked like a rather exotic parakeet.

‘I wasn't aware it was fancy dress code tonight. Would have dug out my Napoleon Bonaparte costume if I'd known,' he said, adding a ‘humph' for good measure.

By the time New Year's Eve arrived, tickets to the Jolly Boot had sold out. With the Hall to themselves, Harriet and Saffron had great fun getting ready, sharing a bottle of champagne in Harriet's bedroom, with Girls Aloud blaring out from her iPod speakers.

‘I wonder if there'll be any hotties there tonight,' said Saffron, as she gelled her hair up into tufts. ‘Shame that Archie won't be around, I could have had my first farmer!'

Harriet suspected she probably still could: a few of the locals were going to have heart attacks when she walked into the pub in her tight black vest, latex leggings and six-inch heels.

As they couldn't get a taxi, Cook had very kindly offered to give them a lift down to the Boot in her ancient Citroën. The snow had almost gone from the rolling acres of Clanfield Hall as they bumped down the road. The grey clouds that had hung over Churchminster like a blanket for the last week had disappeared, too, and the starry sky sparkled like a million fireflies.

They passed Mill House, which was dark and empty again. Calypso had flown back to New York a few days earlier, while Caro and the rest of the family had gone to stay with family friends in Henley-upon-Thames.

After issuing them with strict instructions to line their stomachs before they started drinking, Cook dropped them off as near to the pub as she could get. Harriet waved the old lady off fondly.

‘She does worry, I was too scared to tell her we'd had a bottle of Moët already.'

It looked like the party was already in full swing. The car park was packed, so later arrivals had had to park up on the verge. As the girls walked past, they could hear a strange moaning.

‘Oh, I hope it isn't an injured animal,' said Harriet anxiously. They followed the noise. It seemed to be coming from several cars away.

Saffron had visions of a cute little bunny with its guts spilling everywhere. Oh God, she was really squeamish . . .

‘Oh!' Harriet exclaimed. In front of them, a steamed-up Volvo estate was rocking from side to side. A huge pair of white buttocks were pressed firmly against the back window.

‘Give it to me, Fenella, you naughty little fox!'

‘Oh, Rory! Just there, darling. Harder! Faster!'

Saffron clamped her hand over her mouth as she and Harriet hurried on towards the pub. ‘Someone couldn't wait,' she giggled.

Jack Turner was standing at the front door, welcoming newcomers in. He was wearing a loud multi-coloured striped waistcoat, his red hair standing on end.

‘Evening, Harriet!' he cried cheerfully. ‘Come in before you catch your death, you could freeze the tits off an Eskimo out there.'

‘Hullo, Jack, this is my friend, Saffron.'

Jack ushered them inside. ‘How's that colleague of yours doing? Annabel, isn't it? I hear she's a right pain in the rear end.'

He laughed at Saffron's surprised expression. ‘I ran into Lady Fraser yesterday.'

‘Mummy does like a gossip,' said Harriet fondly.

A fresh-faced young man in a black waistcoat appeared with a tray of champagne. ‘Madam?' he asked Saffron solicitously.

‘Cheers.'

The pub was heaving. People stood wall-to-wall, dressed up in their finery. ‘You've had a jolly good turn-out,' said Harriet.

Jack looked pleased. ‘All right, isn't it? I was a bit worried about selling tickets. The Crown at Bedlington haven't even shifted half of theirs.' He sighed. ‘Business is quiet for most of the pubs round here, but for some reason we're doing OK. Touch wood.' He tapped his forehead.

‘That's because you're such a wonderful landlord!'

Jack's long face broke into a wide grin. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere! Have some more champagne.' The door opened again and more people piled in. ‘No rest for the wicked,' he declared. ‘You two girls have a good night.'

For thirty pounds, a ticket bought an unlimited amount of alcohol and a fantastic seafood spread put on by chef Pierre and his team. And this was no ordinary buffet. A long table at the back of the restaurant groaned with lobster, caviar, langoustines and steaming tureens of moules marinières. A queue of people were already loading their plates, and heavenly vapours floated through the pub.

Saffron felt her mouth watering. ‘Bloody hell, that smells good. Let's go and put Cook's advice to the test.'

By half past nine, they were having a whale of a time. Angie and Freddie had invited them to sit at their lively table, and for the past ten minutes a friend of theirs had been regaling them with a story about the time he'd accidentally trodden on Princess Anne's hem at a function and pulled her dress halfway down her waist.

As Freddie refilled everyone's glasses from the magnum of Dom Perignon in the middle of the table, Saffron took a slurp and looked across at Harriet.

‘Y'know, I would never have expected myself to be spending New Year's Eve here. Not that I mean that in a bad way, it's just so different. I've always thought that all the interesting people lived in London, and people in the country were . . .'

‘Bumpkins?' smiled Harriet.

‘Yeah! But I was totally wrong. You've got all types here.'

They looked round the room. On the next table sat Lucinda and Nico Reinard with a group of their friends. Lucinda was dressed in a velvet bodice and matching Alice band, her face flushed with laughter and alcohol.

‘Looks like something Annabel would wear,' said Saffron wickedly.

Harriet giggled. ‘Lucinda's a good sort, really.'

They watched as Lucinda started to play footsie under the table with a florid-faced man sitting next to her.

‘Is everyone in this village at it?' laughed Saffron.

Harriet suddenly noticed a rather cute blond man standing on the other side of the room, wearing a red-and-white-checked gingham shirt. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes rested on Harriet. He raised his champagne glass and smiled.

‘He totally fancies you,' said Saffron.

Harriet blushed. ‘Don't be silly.'

Jack Turner had started to serve his special New Year's Eve cocktails. Customers were taking one sip and spluttering, their eyes streaming with water. Jack was not known to be stingy when it came to measures.

‘Shall we try one?' said Saffron.

Harriet nodded. ‘I hope you're ready to have your head blown off!' They excused themselves from the table and made their way to the crowded bar.

‘Won't be a minute, girls!' Beryl Turner called out. A young woman appeared beside Beryl, her pretty round face caked in make-up. To say she gave Jordan a run for her money in the cleavage stakes was no exaggeration. She was extremely well-endowed and carefully exaggerating this with a plunging red top and black lacy push-up bra.

‘That's Stacey, Jack and Beryl's daughter,' whispered Harriet.

A chorus of wolf-whistles rang out down the bar.

‘I say! Check out the bouncers on that!' shouted one man in a quilted waistcoat.

Before they knew it, Jack Turner had stopped pulling pints and rushed over to his daughter, throwing a soggy bar towel over the offending cleavage.

Stacey looked furious. ‘Dad! What d'ya think you're doing? That's soaking wet!' She tried wriggling away, but Jack had the towel firmly pinned against her shoulders.

‘When I told you to change into something more suitable, I didn't bleeding mean that!'

‘Daaad! This is so embarrassing. Get off!'

Spinning her around, Jack marched his daughter off. ‘Get upstairs and put a polo neck on!'

‘A polo neck? Shut up! They're for grandmas!'

‘I don't care if you come down in a bloody tablecloth. Go and cover yourself up!'

With a face like thunder, Stacey narrowed her eyes and gave her father the ‘evils' before stomping off.

‘This place is brilliant!' said Saffron. She squinted at the blackboard behind the bar. ‘Can you get me one of Jack's Jumping Flashes if you get served? I'm just going to the loo.'

As Saffron disappeared into the throng, Harriet glanced around the room. The blond man was still there, deep in conversation. As if suddenly aware of her gaze, he glanced up and winked. The man said something to his friend and started to make his way through the crowds.

Oh God, he was coming over!
Harriet smoothed down her hair and tried to look nonchalant. But before he could reach her, she was assailed by a strong musky perfume.