[Churchminster #3] Wild Things (17 page)

From outside, things hardly looked any different, except for a new door knocker and different-coloured curtains in the windows. Lucinda Reinard’s mud-splattered Volvo estate was parked out the front, with the contents of what looked like an entire saddlery on the back seat.

Camilla rang the bell and a few moments later, a harassed-looking Lucinda opened the front door. Behind her Camilla could see a scene of domestic
mayhem
. Lucinda’s youngest son Julien was lying on his stomach in the middle of the hallway playing on a PlayStation, while the family’s golden retrievers chased around him. Trashy music blared from an upstairs room, and skateboards, school satchels and kicked-off trainers littered the floor.

Lucinda stuck her head up the stairs. ‘Horatio! Turn that bloody racket down,’ she shouted shrilly. She turned back to Camilla. ‘Sorry about that, but if it’s not bloody Horatio with his dreadful thrash metal it’s his sister with her ballads. Hero wants to be the next Leona Lewis, you know.’

Camilla privately thought that if the poor girl’s singing was as bad as her dancing, Hero didn’t have much hope.

Lucinda readjusted her neck scarf. She looked rather red and bothered. ‘I’m going through a load of Pony Club paperwork. Not great with a hangover, I can tell you. Nico and I got in last night and polished off another carafe of red wine. Bloody acid indigestion is playing havoc.’

Camilla smiled politely and held up a white envelope. ‘Granny Clem asked me to bring over the raffle prize you forgot to claim last night. An hour’s full body massage at the beauty clinic in Bedlington.’

Lucinda’s horsy face lit up. ‘I’d forgotten about that! God knows I bloody need it, I’m so stressed at the moment my shoulders are up around my ears. You are a dear for dropping it off. Won’t you come in?’

A blood-curdling shriek went off upstairs.

Lucinda twisted her head like the girl out of
The Exorcist
. ‘Hero! Horatio!’

‘I’d better get back—’ said Camilla.

‘Nonsense!’ Lucinda interrupted. ‘You must come in, see what else we’ve done to the place.’

Camilla couldn’t think of an excuse quickly enough. ‘Thanks, I’d love to.’

As she stepped inside, the door to the downstairs loo opened and Lucinda’s husband Nico came out. Camilla could see he had some sort of lurid pornographic magazine in his hand, which neither he nor Lucinda seemed embarrassed by. ‘
Bonjour
Camilla,’ he murmured and floated off enigmatically.

Camilla followed Lucinda through to the kitchen. It certainly hadn’t been this untidy when her family had lived there. A saddle was propped up next to the Aga, while a fat tabby cat sat on one of the work surfaces cleaning her paws.

‘Bugger off, Pickles,’ said Lucinda, shoving the disgruntled creature on to the ground. She turned to Camilla. ‘Is fresh coffee all right? I’ve just brewed a pot.’

‘Lovely.’

‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ said Lucinda. ‘I won’t be a tick.’

Camilla moved a pile of washing from one of the chairs round the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I see you’ve added on a conservatory,’ she remarked, looking out the window.

Lucinda carried the cafetière over, kicking a dog’s bowl out of the way. ‘Yes, we had it done last summer.
My
goodness, haven’t you been round since then? I really should host some sort of drinks party, blasted Pony Club does rather take over one’s social life, though.’

She sat down and poured Camilla’s coffee into a mug with ‘Give the bitch her caffeine’ written on it. Through the French windows into the garden, Camilla could see a chicken coop, still standing empty since the last occupants had perished in the floods.

Lucinda followed her gaze and sighed. ‘It’s like the site of some ghastly battleground, isn’t it? Nico and I have talked about it, but we’ve decided it’s not a good idea to get more. You know, in case it happens again. The children were dreadfully upset by it, I had to go to Holland & Barrett’s and get Julien some herbal antidepressants!’

Camilla watched as Lucinda moved towards the whisky decanter on the sideboard. ‘Do you fancy a splash? I’m meant to be cutting down on the grog, but it does help along one’s hangovers.’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

Lucinda added a healthy glug to her own coffee. ‘Haven’t got to drive the children anywhere later, for once. May as well make the most of it.’ She took a sip and sighed happily. ‘Top-notch bash last night, although Hero was rather upset she came second from last.’

In the end, Stacey Turner had won by a landslide. Even if people hadn’t liked her act, they’d felt sorry for what had happened and voted for her anyway. The cut on her cheek had turned out to be superficial, and
Stacey
had gone home very happy – even if her father had not. With the ticket sales, bar and raffle, they had raised £5,250. Stakes in the raffle had been significantly raised when Frances Fraser had donated a rare antique dinner set. It would go some way towards improving the church.

Lucinda took another sip of coffee. ‘Have you ever tried anal beads?’

Camilla spluttered into her mug. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said, have you ever tried anal beads?’ asked Lucinda. ‘Nico and I are looking to spice up things in the bedroom. One of my friends recommended them.’

‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Camilla said, her face bright pink.

‘I must admit, I was rather surprised, too. I thought they were for the gays, but apparently half of Gloucestershire is using them!’

‘Well, I don’t know anyone …’ Camilla replied weakly.

‘No?’ said Lucinda. ‘Oh well. I just thought I’d ask. I know how the younger generation are into experimentation. Anyway, have I told you about Hero winning Best Turned Out at the Pony Club show last week? We had a moment in the morning, though, when we discovered that little horror Aristotle had been rolling in his own muck all night …’

For the next thirty minutes Lucinda droned on about the best way to clean poo stains off one’s mount and the logistics of organizing the next year’s Pony Club camp. Camilla didn’t care, at least Lucinda wasn’t talking about sexual paraphernalia. She finally
managed
to escape after an hour, pleading errands to run.

As she drove towards the village crossroads, she slowed for a horse and rider coming the other way. It was Frances Fraser, mother of her best friend Harriet. Camilla wound down the window.

‘Morning, Frances.’

‘Camilla!’ Frances looked pleased to see her. ‘I was going to call your grandmother later, actually, to see how last night went.’

‘Your dinner set went down a storm!’

‘Oh, anything I can do to help.’ Ride and mount were both impeccably turned out, the family crest of the Fraser family embellishing the horse’s saddlecloth.

‘Hello, Dante,’ Camilla said to the thoroughbred. She and Frances chatted about their mutual interest, Harriet, for a few minutes, until the horse starting pawing its hoofs on the road.

‘Someone wants to get going!’ said Camilla. A thought came into her head. ‘Just before you go, I’ve got a bit of gossip. Lucinda was telling me there’s all sorts of activity going on at Byron Heights.’ Camilla didn’t notice Frances’s shoulders stiffening.

‘Oh?’ Frances said in a disinterested tone. ‘Yes, there’s been lots of traffic going back and forth. Do you think he’s coming back? That would be too exciting!’ Dante pawed the ground again. ‘I should be getting back,’ said Frances, and after inviting Camilla to afternoon tea at Clanfield, she set off.

Dante sensed his owner’s sudden change in mood and started to bounce along, tail swishing high in the air.

‘Dante!’ Frances ordered, pulling back on the reins. Still, she couldn’t restrain her rising hopes. According to his website, Devon was meant to be in Bangkok at the moment.

Urging the horse on, Frances trotted past Twisty Gables. As she rounded the curving bend, the Gothic spires of Byron Heights came into sight. Frances put a hand up to shield her eyes and looked: there
were
vehicles parked outside. She could see people carrying flowers, and what looked like bits of furniture, into the house. A white van was bumping along the long drive. As it passed Frances, the driver tipped his head and smiled at her. Frances didn’t recognize him, but the flurry of activity could mean only one thing.

Devon was coming home.

Chapter 23

‘HELLO THERE!’

Jed stopped his wheelbarrow and turned round. Sophia waved from the top step of her Winnebago. He was even better looking than she’d remembered.

She turned on the dazzling smile that made men’s hearts worldwide flutter. And stirred their loins. ‘Jed, isn’t it? We’ve met before, I’m Sophia Highforth.’

He walked over, giving her a wry smile. ‘I know who you are. It’s the talk of the estate.’

‘And here’s me trying to keep a low profile!’ she laughed. She looked down at the wheelbarrow. ‘What is it you
do
exactly? It seems very hands-on.’

‘Estate manager, which means I’m pretty much in charge of keeping this place going.’

Sophia laughed again. ‘I would have thought pushing wheelbarrows would be a bit beneath you.’

Jed grinned. ‘We all muck in round here.’

Sophia sat down on the steps, arranging her skirts round her. They were on a lunch break and
she
was looking exquisite in a silk green dress that complemented her cream complexion. She fanned herself prettily. ‘I’ve just been reading about my co-star’s exploits in the paper.’

Somehow the
Daily Mail
had found out about Rafe breaking up the fight at the talent evening. There was a full-page article entitled: ‘WONDER WOLFE – THE REAL-LIFE ACTION HERO!’

‘Sounds like it’s never dull round here,’ she said playfully.

‘Oh, we can be a bit lively.’

Sophia gave him a coquettish look. ‘I was wondering would you have time to take me on a tour of the estate sometime? You obviously do such good work here.’

A squawking chicken ran past, a member of the crew in hot pursuit trying to round it up.

Jed studied her. ‘Wouldn’t have thought it was your bag.’

Sophia had already done her homework and got the low-down on Jed from one of the gardeners. She knew exactly which buttons to press. ‘Oh, I love the countryside. I think all the nature conservation here is marvellous.’

Jed looked pleasantly surprised. ‘OK, best to come find me in my office. It’s over by …’

‘Oh, I know exactly where your office is.’

He cocked his head, a half-smile playing on his lips. ‘What’s this, been checking up on me?’

Sophia grinned cheekily. ‘Maybe.’

Jed laughed and picked up the wheelbarrow. ‘I’ll see you around, Sophia.’

‘You can bet on that!’ she called after him, smiling.

At Top Drawer Travels in Cheltenham, Camilla was having a very trying morning. Mr Fitzgerald had already sent her out on two cappuccino runs, and now he was about to swan off for yet another two-hour lunch at the swanky Japanese place round the corner.

Camilla thought she would try and catch him before he went. She got up from her desk and went over to his door, which was always shut unless he opened it to bellow an order. She knocked confidently.

‘Enter!’ Mr Fitzgerald brayed. Camilla opened the door and went in.

He looked up from his desk. ‘I haven’t asked for another coffee, have I?’ Mr Fitzgerald had the puffy, florid face of a heavy red-wine drinker, and a penchant for loud pinstriped suits.

Camilla took the liberty of sitting down in the chair opposite. ‘Er, no. Mr Fitzgerald, I was wondering if you’d had any thoughts about the South America package tour I suggested? I really think it would be a good—’

He interrupted. ‘We’re adding it to our winter brochure.’

Camilla was delighted. ‘Really? That’s fantastic!’
Maybe he is taking me seriously after all
, she thought.

Mr Fitzgerald threw the new brochure across the desk at her. ‘Yah, I’d been looking to expand into South American for a while, it was just a matter of timing. I must say, I think it’s one of my best ideas yet.’

‘Um, your idea?’ she asked delicately.

Mr Fitzgerald looked at her as if she’d just lifted her leg up and let an enormous wet fart rip. ‘Yes,
my
idea. What’s your point, missy?’

‘It was actually my idea,’ Camilla ventured. ‘I came to you with the itinerary, remember, and lists of prices and contacts.’

He waved a podgy hand dismissively. ‘A small detail. Listen, girlie, you’ll learn quickly enough in this business that with the calibre of our customers, they want to know that Mr Jonty William Fitzgerald
himself
is looking after them personally. You can’t just turn up and bat your eyelids, expecting a piece of the action! It takes years to get to my position. That’s if you’re even made of the right stuff in the first place.’ His dismissive look made it clear he thought Camilla wasn’t.

She looked down at her lap awkwardly. ‘I just thought—’

‘Thought what?’ enquired Mr Fitzgerald in a sugary sweet voice. ‘Before you say anything, might I remind you that Top Drawer Travels is an extremely prestigious firm, and there are plenty of people who would bite their hand off to be in your position.’