Doubting Abbey (19 page)
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘What for?’ I said, feeling my body flush.
‘Tonight. It has been fun – I needed that.’ A strange look crossed Edward’s face, as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d just said.
‘Hard day?’
‘I got into an argument and…’ Edward sighed. ‘Probably said things I shouldn’t have.’ He got to his feet. ‘Race you back? It’s almost one.’
‘Sure… And, um, Edward, would you mind not mentioning seeing me to anyone —including Abbey? She’s mega proud and wouldn’t want people to think she was finding it difficult to cope.’ And I’d lose my head if Edward had conversations with me, pretending to be Abbey, about Gemma, who I really was and… Urgh! You get the picture.
‘Of course. Right. I’ll see you to your brother’s motorbike,’ he said. ‘Where, exactly, is he waiting? It’s quite a walk back to the gates.’
My chest felt all fuzzy again—of course, gentleman Edward would want to do that. However, I had to keep up the pretence of leaving the estate. Somehow I’d have to hide until he gave up on finding me and assumed I’d met Tom and got my lift home.
‘Um…’ I pretended to rummage in my handbag. ‘Oh, no! I’ve lost my purse. Would you mind having a look by the pond while I check around here? I’ll meet you there.’
He charged off and I waited a couple of minutes before sprinting away from him, around the back of the house.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Tuesday 4
th
September
‘Comments’
Gone midnight.
Strictly speaking, we’re now on Wednesday 5th, and I should start a new thread. However, I’ll comment on this post – for some reason, oddly, I don’t feel like doing things precisely by the book! Not whilst the night breeze still chills my lungs and I sense a glow in my cheeks… Erm, so yes, I am back, blog-readers, and many thanks for all your concern.
As it turned out, the intruder meant no harm and the day has enjoyed an unexpectedly good end. In fact she said… You see, we… Oh. I can’t think straight. It’s time to retire to my bed and mull over this evening’s… I mean, the day’s events. They have sent me on quite a roller coaster ride because tonight, by the pond… It was most welcome… And surprisingly… Apologies. I ramble.
No doubt I shall be more like my usual self tomorrow. Goodnight to you all. And, erm, no,
Lovehotnoble
, no one else has ever told me I have really kissable lips.
‘Och, get off me, girl or I’ll report you for assault.’
I grinned at Kathleen. The Scottish cookery lesson had just finished and as soon as Gaynor said ‘Cut!’ I’d raced (in a ladylike way, of course, which meant swishy power-walking) into the back kitchen, closed the door behind me and threw my arms around the squat Scot’s neck and waltzed her around to the background Elvis song.
‘No chance!’ I said and gave her another big kiss, before stepping away.
‘Control yourself, lassie,’ she hissed, but couldn’t hide the shine in her eyes. Cheeks ruddier than ever, she smoothed down her grey-red hair. ‘I take it everything went to plan?’
‘Oh, Kathleen, it was wicked. At first, I was a bit worried, changing the schedule, but no one suspected and the pupils didn’t mind.’ We’d moved the lesson to the afternoon. I’d just needed a bit more practice this morning. So instead of starting at nine o’clock, it was at three. I looked at my watch. Blimey! Already dinner-time!
Without delay, I needed to tell the Earl and Edward about my evacuee reunion plan. Although when I say ‘without delay’ I actually mean ‘after a much-needed cup of tea’.
‘Phew – I’m knackered. Mega parched,’ I said, never one for being subtle.
‘Shh! People might come in at any minute.’ Kathleen jerked her head to the window. ‘I’m sure someone just walked past. If you’re not going to speak like a lady, at least keep your voice down.’
I gazed outside. Dark clouds hung threateningly over the horizon.
‘I suppose you deserve a drink then, lassie.’ Kathleen filled the kettle. ‘So, nothing burned, nor tasted disgusting?’
‘Nope! Reverend White returned – he reckoned I deserved another chance. Two lovely ladies from the church joined him and came over all giggly after downing their Bloody Bulls. I can’t believe I actually put together that pheasant main course and pudding. My hands were shaking, but mega posh they looked and, more importantly, they tasted awesome.’
‘Did the prune sauce go shiny? How about the mash – lumpy or smooth?’
I undid my hair bobble and took a cup of tea from Kathleen. ‘As smooth as a Botoxed bottom. My demonstration dishes were ace. Reverend White patted my shoulder before he left and said I’d done well to conquer my nerves this time. He called me a talented chef!’ I snorted. ‘
Me
? And it’s all down to you.’
‘Aye, well… No need for any more grand shows of emotion.’
We smiled at each other and I restrained myself from giving her another hug.
‘I mean it, Kathleen – thanks for ever. I’ve always wanted to learn proper cookery stuff… Anyway, how did your interview with Chingo go? Any interesting questions about your gran working for the Queen Mum’s family?’
‘Och, the usual probing—Charlie trying to find out about her early boyfriends and parties. Of course, I revealed nothing. That Gaynor woman seemed happy enough with my stories about the young Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon’s family life, holidays and society dinners.’
‘Love your kilt,’ I said.
‘Thank you, lassie. You don’t look so bad, yourself.’
I gazed down at Abbey’s sleeveless polka-dot dress – too sweet and girly, but, I had to agree, so well tailored that it made even me look sophisticated. Despite the cloud outside, I’d dressed as coolly as possible in case the kitchens got hot. With a yawn, I ran my fingers through my hair. Kathleen reached out to touch it.
‘Those locks look a wee bit dry today. Would you like me to make up a batch of my famous goose-fat conditioner?’
Ick! ‘It’s, um, all right, ta,’ I said and drained my cup, not letting slip about the real me being out and about last night and the red hair dye. The packet said ‘wash-in, wash-out’ – I’d missed the bit saying ‘lasts for ten shampoos’. Consequently, I’d been up practically all night, scrubbing my scalp. The shower looked like it been in that knife scene from
Psycho
, with all the red stains.
‘Why don’t you go to the Parlour?’ said Kathleen. ‘Their Lordships are waiting there for sandwiches – tonight’s just a light tea. But, if you’re lucky, I’ll bring in some of my shortbread and Dundee Cake.’
‘Not getting carried away with the Scottish theme, are we?’ I grinned. ‘Don’t tell me—you’ve made haggis and thistle sandwiches?’
‘Och, be gone with you, now. Tell the men all about your victory.’ She folded her arms snugly under her bosom. ‘Tomorrow we’ll plan the menu for your next lesson on Friday.’
I nodded vigorously.
Twenty minutes later, I sat on the sofa in the Parlour with Edward, his laptop lying between us. I chewed a yummy ham sandwich, dying to grin at him, Gemma-style, and, in the fun spirit of last night, challenge him to a food fight. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t say sorry for accusing me (Abbey) for ‘abandoning ship’ last night. Clearly, we weren’t going to have it out – how typically English.
In fact, Edward’s head seemed elsewhere and he barely grunted when I announced my success. *Sigh*. The laidback man I’d got to know in the pond had well and truly disappeared. Perhaps it was an illusion and I’d imagined it. Edward was probably still sulking about the lawnmower argument. I bit my lip. Ah, well. No use moping. As Auntie Jan would say, ‘Time to turn the page’.
‘Congratulations, Abigail,’ said the Earl gruffly and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He sat in his usual high-backed chair. ‘You know I’m not a huge fan of this Food Academy nonsense, but I admire your tenacity. I hear that today you’ve done a jolly good job.’
‘It was, um, very enjoyable,’ I said and glanced at Edward. Since I’d entered the room, he’d been reading the same page of the newspaper. Clearly, his mind was on something – or someone—else. Henrietta, perhaps? Or just the competition?
‘Mother would have been impressed,’ he said eventually. ‘
MasterChef
was one of her favourite programmes. According to Gaynor, the food looked very professional.’
Perhaps that was his olive branch.
‘Rosemary was a splendid cook,’ muttered the Earl. ‘Anyway, old girl, you certainly redeemed yourself with Reverend White. Silly old bugger was over the moon.’ He puffed on his pipe and we sat in silence for a few minutes. Eventually the Earl nodded at Edward and raised his eyebrows. ‘Go on, son,’ he said. ‘Say what needs saying.’
Edward put down the paper and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Father and I would like to discuss something with you, Abbey. It’s rather delicate. If Mother were here, it would be her remit to take you to one side. But now it is just me and Father, so…’ He cleared his throat. ‘A problem has come to our attention. Not that the TV people would see it as such – nor thousands of fans on-line. I consider it my duty to keep up with commentary about
Million Dollar Mansion
, so I briefly browsed Facebook and Twitter late last night, after signing off from my blog.
A nervous twitch tickled my stomach. Had my Facebook comment provoked chat about a possible upstairs downstairs showmance? I still hadn’t found time to check yet.
‘How is the Baron of Marwick doing?’ I asked innocently.
The Earl snorted. ‘Last night he hosted another drunken banquet for some executive types. They ended up trying on armour. One chappie blacked out in the full regalia and it took two firemen to cut him free.’
Urgh – more great telly from the opponents, then.
Edward cleared his throat. ‘Abbey – have you seen the film
Titanic
?’
My cheeks felt hot. ‘Yes.’
He exchanged looks with his dad. ‘After the incident with the lawnmower, we suspected it might be a favourite of yours – so did precisely twenty thousand fans on a new page set up on Facebook who are all discussing whether the woman on the lawnmower was actually Abigail Croxley.’
Result!
‘Do you know what the page is called?’
I shook my head.
‘
Nick and Abbey – the new Jack and Rose
,’ continued Edward. ‘There is speculation by some fans on the Internet that you and Jean’s assistant are…excuse me for voicing this…
having an affair
.’
‘Goodness. That’s ludicrous as, no doubt, you guessed,’ I said casually and, hand shaking very slightly, poured myself another cup of tea. ‘Nick and I simply get on and, as for the lawnmower… He slid his arms around my waist to prevent me slipping off. Sunshine doesn’t always agree with me and goes to my head, as I told you last night, Edward, and the whole incident was, I can seen now… misjudged.’
‘You must be careful, Cousin; on camera much can be misunderstood. People also believe you two were, erm, intimate together in the kitchen on Sunday night.’ Edward shook his head. ‘We want Applebridge Hall to be popular, but not at the cost of dignity. Remember, innocent situations can easily be misconstrued on film.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Quite, dear cousin, and the Internet is full of conspiracy theories —last week some poor soul swore they saw Michael Jackson teaching Marilyn Monroe how to moon-walk. I do, um, hope you haven’t confronted poor Nick about these unfounded claims.’
He shrugged. ‘Father insisted I speak to you first.’
‘Apologies for any embarrassment that my behaviour might have caused, but I trust I don’t need to assure you that there is nothing untoward going on. In future, I shall take more care over how my actions might appear on screen.’
‘Make sure you do, Abigail,’ said the Earl. ‘What would your father say about the nation pondering such things? I doubt even
he
is that liberal.’
Understatement, or what? Abbey’s dad clearly had a problem with good-hearted professional volunteer Zak—he’d go even madder at the idea of his daughter dating a cocky gardener. And Lady C had carried on texting me this morning about last night’s programme. I’d only read one, reminding me indignantly of the three Ms (Modesty, Manners and no Men).
‘Always remember, Abigail,’ said the Earl, ‘affairs of the heart – or fun—must never lead our heads. We are Croxleys. Family, duty, standards… All of that comes first. Generations of our family have made huge sacrifices to ensure the continuity of our good reputation.’
‘And extra care is required,’ said Edward in measured tones, ‘when we are on screen and playing up to our aristocratic image to win votes. You know what Gaynor believes – stick with stereotype; present an image of believing we are above everyone else.’
Not hard for you then, was my automatic response, yet, after last night, well – he had swum in the bulrushes with a pizza waitress! Plus he was getting quite chummy with his blog-readers.
‘Although reality viewers love a good romance.’ I gave a nervous giggle. ‘Um, according to my lodger, Gemma.’
Edward’s mouth upturned before he went back to his newspaper – was that a smile or a smirk? Maybe, in the light of day, he’d decided that Abbey’s lodger was completely bonkers?
‘Perhaps I should ask Henrietta if she has any suitable male friends for you, then,’ he said.
‘No, thank you.’ I picked up a piece of shortbread, remembering to hold a plate underneath. ‘I’m, um, far too busy here for hearts and flowers. Now, if I may change the subject… Uncle, you talked of sacrifices. Remember when Applebridge Hall homed evacuees?’
Pipe in his mouth, he grunted.
‘I’ve come up with a plan to compete with the Baron of Marwick’s celebrity high jinks. It will involve an enormous amount of work, but I – we – have a few days and the Internet to get organised.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not a fan of reality shows myself, of course, but I have it on good authority…’
‘From Gemma, no doubt,’ said Edward, without looking up from his newspaper.
‘… that reunions go down well,’ I said, ignoring him. ‘Out and, um, about in the village, I’ve got to know a few facts about Applebridge Hall during the war. A lady who taught the children lives in Wisteria Cottage, by the post office, doesn’t she?’
