Lady: Impossible (37 page)

Intriguing or not, however, I don’t like the sound of these steps. I understand that the valuations are necessary. I do. It just seems like I’m being held at arm’s length, when really it might be healthier if I confronted the magnitude of the impending loss. Why shouldn’t I walk through each room, appreciate what I took for granted and try to come to terms with the fact that a goodbye to it all is possibly months away? He’s had more time to take it all in, being the secret keeper.
 

Then again, every time I imagine such a walk, the images make me sick. I think of my bedroom and its furniture (inherited from a long line of Pembroke women), the beautiful lawns and gardens and the grandeur of each individual room, vaulted space and decorated surface. Trying to visualise Silsbury Hall as a bare old manor is terrifying. I’ve seen pictures of renovated country homes in magazines, and I always balk at the erasure of all that history. Heritage means something.

Maybe I should wait until I’m mentally prepared before embarking on a journey back ‘home’. I have to be fully sure there’s no hope left. Only then will I be free to cry and mourn its loss properly.
 

I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’

The pensive look on my father’s face makes me think he’s in my head. Can all men read me this easily? ‘So you understand?’

Mother cuts in before I can respond. ‘You’ll end up throwing yourself at that man if you’re upset. You have pound signs in your eyes.’

I definitely don’t want to try too hard with Oliver. That would scare him off. ‘I see what you mean. It’s my home too, but I understand completely.’

‘I really am sorry, Millie,’ Father says. ‘I’ll keep saying so until I make it up to you and, even then, I’ll still be repenting.’

I don’t disagree with his words. ‘At least we’re doing something now.’
 

Thirty seconds of silence follows, almost like an impromptu tribute to the family legacy. Mother stops pretending that she’s interested in the books on the shelf, and instead comes over to stand next to my father, though I can tell from her stance that it’s not necessarily an affectionate move.
 

‘So you two will be travelling back together?’ I try to make the question sound casual, drumming my hands on the desk like I’m playing the bongo drums. ‘On the train, I mean?’

Father answers first. ‘If it’s okay with your mother.’

She’s haughty but no more than usual. ‘Seems awfully orchestrated if we travel separately.’

‘People might talk,’ I point out with a shrug.
 

‘People always talk.’ She takes another sip of lemonade. ‘Then again, a day’s difference might be more prudent. Right, Marcus? You can return first.’

Somehow I don’t think this is the arrangement he had anticipated or hoped for. I know him well enough to recognise when he’s trying not to frown because of his pride. ‘I suppose we don’t need any more talk.’

Mother doesn’t say anything about how some of the talk is her fault. She never does.

I go for the distraction tactic, knowing we aren’t capable of engaging in divorce discussions now. ‘I wonder what Al will get up to next week. Maybe he’ll send me a postcard from Blackpool. You never know – he’s always liked rollercoasters. What’s the name of the amusement park there? Pleasure Beach? Come to think of it, it sounds rather unsavoury. Riding “The Big One” at Pleasure Beach certainly sounds like it should be an adults-only theme park.’

My intention to distract was highly successful, though not possibly in the way I’d thought: both parents look at me as if I’m mad.
 

‘You’d think after twenty-eight years you would’ve learnt not to speak of such things in front of your parents,’ Mother says.

‘What? Rollercoasters? You don’t like them? Is this related to the rollercoaster-versus-Ferris-wheel argument we had when they put up the London Eye?’

Father rolls his eyes. ‘Leave it, Caroline. She’s playing dumb.’

I continue to feign ignorance. It’s the closest I get to being cute. ‘Am I?’

Surprisingly, she does leave it, addressing him as if I’m not in the room. ‘You can leave on Wednesday. I’ll leave on Thursday.’

‘Is that enough time to prepare for the valuation?’

She’s annoyed, nostrils flaring. ‘We’ve been through this. What do we need to prepare? The property is tidy. We have staff for that. At least, for the time being.’

He holds up his hand. ‘All right. I meant mentally.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m fine.’

I scramble to think of something random to say but, alas, all I can think about are more amusement park rides.

‘Not in front of Millie,’ he replies, dropping his hand.

I now take the time to do the mental sums. ‘So on Friday and Saturday I’ll be alone here?’
 

Mother snorts. ‘You’re hardly being abandoned. Blair will still be here.’

‘Of course.’ It’s this very fact I’ve been trying to shut out. Thinking about it means I’m concerned. ‘I can fend for myself, you know. Can’t we give him some time off?’

‘Nonsense. Who will drive you to your date? I will not have you drive yourself. You’ll make us look –’

‘Common?’

‘If you know already, then why bring it up?’

I remain silent. What could possibly happen now that he’s put an end to things? It’s Oliver I have to focus on.
 

As far as I can tell, my silence isn’t taken as suspicious. Mother sits down on the leather armchair near the bookshelf, and I settle in the seat opposite my father at the desk. By the time Blair returns with my lemonade, my parents have moved on to a different subject: gifts for Viscount Weller’s sixtieth. It’s an interval topic, I’m sure, but brainstorming ideas and trying to agree on which of the three of us should attend is better than arguing.
 

Blair and I lock eyes as he walks over and hands me my drink. This time I take note of the pleading in his eyes, the quiet desperation I’ve been ignoring all day. If he was ready to say something before I came in here, then he must be even more ready now.
 

It takes me another fifteen minutes to text him. Better than nothing, I tell myself.

Later.

***

I’m actually excused after another half an hour, a fact I’m not too bitter about. The two of them were beginning to outright ignore me, quibbling over trifling matters. For them, it’s probably refreshing to talk about things of no consequence. For me, it’s incredibly dull. If I wanted to watch an argument about the best way to remove mildew from old books… well, I would institutionalise myself for caring about the best way to remove mildew from old books.

Things become more interesting when Oliver rings just before three. Having left the downstairs study for the piano room, I run up to close the door before walking back to the piano bench and calmly answering.
 

Be witty, Millie. Be witty.
 

‘German toilet break?’

Yes, I am a classy girl, especially when subject to financial stress. I wince and hope his sense of humour will cut me some slack.

Thankfully, Oliver responds with a chuckle. ‘Ah, the best kind of toilet break. No, not really. I have no idea what I’m saying. Anyway, yes, there’s been a bit of a breakdown here, and two conference delegates are stuck in the lift.’

‘Really? How are they?’

‘One of them is walking around in circles and the other one is on the phone. I would ask him how he’s doing, but I’m not in the habit of talking to myself.’

My heart lurches. It was already beating rapidly from hearing the sound of his voice, but now I feel sick. ‘Oh my God. You’re stuck in the lift?’

Of course the man I want to go out with is stuck in a lift in a foreign country. Bloody typical. Millie likes him, so stick him in a metal box where he’s at risk of plummeting to unknown depths any second now.

‘It’s really quite concerning when you try to pry the doors open and see nothing but cement. I suspect that isn’t normal, especially in a state-of-the-art convention centre. Not to worry – the emergency crew is working on it.’

‘Are you okay? Can you breathe?’

‘Can I breathe? If I can, you’d better be worth the oxygen. Hold on, I think my colleague is talking to me.’
 

How he’s managing to crack jokes, I don’t know. I’m terrified for him. But if he needs to tell jokes, then I’ll play my part.
 

‘Are you still there, Oliver?’
 

He responds after a few seconds. ‘Turns out he’s not talking to me at all. He’s just rapping to… what is it, Ellis? “Elevator” by Flo Rida. Any requests, Millie? I might take over from Ellis here when he’s finished.’

I say the first song that comes to my head. ‘“Push the Button”. Sugababes.’

‘I’ve pushed all the buttons, I assure you. Including the one that says, “Press in Case of Boredom”. Nothing happened. I can only assume that someone somewhere has been notified of my boredom.’

‘Maybe it got lost in translation.’

‘Right. I should stick to the buttons I can read.’ He laughs warmly again. I’m beginning to believe that he really is calm and not, in fact, hysterical. ‘Buttons like the ones labelled “
Strudel
”, “
Bratwurst
” and “
Sauerkraut
”.’

Even though he can’t see me, I smile. ‘You haven’t had lunch, have you?’

‘If we get cut off, presume I’ve eaten the phone.’

Poor thing. They should at least lower down some chocolate bars through the roof. ‘They’re going to get you out of there, right? I mean, you’re not going to end up on one of those YouTube videos where they fast forward forty hours of security footage, showing how being stuck in a lift drives you absolutely bonkers.’

‘You have an interesting approach to reassuring people.’

‘I’m sorry. I just had to check. I hope they rescue you soon.’

‘They’re working on it.’ He sounds chuffed that I care, his voice taking on that comforting tone people use when they don’t want any fuss. ‘Ellis has threatened to continue rapping if they don’t hurry up.’

‘Are you injured? Whiplash? Bruising?’

‘I’m fine. Really. It was like a preview ride at Disneyland. A short-lived drop, bit of a jolt and then a lot of bloody waiting. I knew I should’ve packed a cheeseburger in my briefcase. Here I was all worried about mustard getting on my documents… now I’m on an involuntary hunger strike in support of elevator safety.’

‘I think you should come home.’

Oh God. I’m twirling my hair. Sitting all alone on the phone and acting like a girl.

‘Ah, about that. Are you free next Saturday or will you be at the races?’

Ugh. Royal Ascot. ‘No, I will not be at the races. Let’s do something.’

‘Do you fancy coming to my place for a spot of lunch?’

‘All right. What time?’

‘Whenever, really. I’ll be home by ten.’

I take his casualness as a sign of flexibility rather than indifference. ‘You mean I get to define when lunchtime is?’

‘I’m very generous aren’t I?’ He puts on a commentator’s voice, making the choice seem more epic than it really is. ‘Will she come at quarter to one, or keep me waiting until half past two? Ohh, ten to twelve? That’s more like brunch.’
 

‘I’ll come over at twelve.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

It is a plan. We have plans now. I would pump my fist in the air if it was in any way classy. ‘I look forward it.’

‘Good to hear. Okay, I should probably go now. I think we’re being rescued.’

‘Take care of yourself. I don’t fancy eating lunch on my own next Saturday.’

‘I’ll do my best to take the stairs from now on. Have a good weekend, Millie.’

‘Bye, Oliver.’

A date at his place next week. Finally, some concrete plans. Surely he wouldn’t dare to cancel on me again, not when he’s the one who had to seek me out after The Ritz.
 

Of course, I can’t ignore the fact that this is only subject to there not being any further bad Pembroke publicity. He was rattled to begin with and, until I know more, it’s possible I’ll have to downplay my own wealth so I don’t come across as manipulative when the estate is put on the market.
 

Nevertheless, I tell myself to keep positive. Happy, though cautiously so, I jump off the bench and start walking to the kitchen, texting Abby along the way.
 

It’s when I pass the dining room that I come to a halt. Backtracking, I see Blair replacing the silver candelabras that were valued this morning.
 

‘Seven thousand pounds for the pair,’ I say, hovering at the doorway.
 

He isn’t startled by my presence, nor is he ruffled by my announcement. He merely steps back from the table, polishing cloth still in hand. It’s only when I offer him a muted smile that he seems willing to converse.
 

‘I think I’d rather save for a holiday,’ he says with a small laugh. ‘Or a car, for that matter.’
 

‘Yes, I suppose for that price it should do more than sit on a table.’ I approach the table with light steps, wanting to keep the atmosphere as relaxed as I can. ‘Maybe we could hire them out for a small fee?’

‘I’m not sure there’s a market for it. Did you know we have electricity these days, m’lady?’

I happily play along. ‘Really? I thought all those switches on the wall were for activating scandal and intrigue.’

‘A common mistake in noble households, I’d imagine.’
 

‘Yes.’
 

If there was a way of repairing things between us, I would definitely employ it now. I consider my next question carefully, wondering if he’ll be able to see that I’m being curious rather than cruel.

‘You’re exceptional, you know. I’m guessing this is one of the reasons The Savoy gave you such a good reference. An ability to humour and help even the most difficult of guests.’

‘It’s not without difficulty. I haven’t exactly kept my cool of late.’ He clasps his hands in front of him, moving on before either of us can make reference to our issues. ‘Was there something you needed, m’lady?’

‘Uh, yes. I was actually on my way to the kitchen to make an ice cream sundae. But now that I’ve bumped into you, I should probably tell you now that you’ll need to drive me to Oliver’s place next Saturday for lunch. That, and it’ll probably just be me and you here for a couple days when my parents go back to Yorkshire for more valuations.’