Wild Oats (25 page)

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

Jamie narrowed her eyes. ‘Why not?’

‘I can’t do it to Olivier. He can’t afford to buy me out.’

‘But the other half’s his, isn’t it? Well, his father’s, anyway. And surely Eric would buy you out? Then he could flog the lot if he wanted to.’

‘I don’t want to bring Eric into it.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s shown no interest in the car over the past fifteen years. I’d rather keep it that way.’

‘But surely he knows Olivier’s been racing it?’

Jack looked shifty. ‘No.’

‘What?’ Jamie’s jaw dropped in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious. That’s… criminally irresponsible.’

‘No, it isn’t. The car’s half mine. He’s obviously not interested –’

‘Have you asked him?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I… don’t really want to get in contact. You know the expression. Let sleeping dogs lie.’

Fury made Jamie vicious.

‘Well, maybe you should have thought twice about fucking his wife all those years ago.’

Jack recoiled as if he had been slapped. ‘What?’

‘Don’t be naive. I might only have been fifteen at the time, but I could put two and two together.’

It was a wild accusation, one she would never normally have made even if she had suspected it. But Jack’s pained expression told her that her suppositions were only too correct. Jamie ploughed on.

‘You are so unbelievably irresponsible. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised! All my life you’ve let us down. You can’t ever take life seriously, can you? Or do things straight? We’ve got a golden opportunity to save Bucklebury, but because of your disgusting behaviour, your sordid past…’

‘That’s enough!’

Jack’s voice was low, but something about his tone stopped Jamie in mid-diatribe. For a moment she was frightened. He was very pale. And trembling slightly. Whether from fear or anger she couldn’t be sure. Eventually he spoke, in a very quiet voice that had no fight in it at all.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment to you, Jamie. I really am.’

To her horror, she saw his mouth working up and down as if he was trying hard not to cry. But before she could say or do anything, backtrack or apologize or defend her position, he put down his glass and hurried out of the room.

Jamie slumped back in her chair with a despairing sigh. What a mess! She hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but her father was infuriating. She thought it was
probably the first time anyone had given it to him straight between the eyes.

The door opened, and a tentative Olivier put his head round, sleek from his bath.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. No. Who cares?’

He came into the room.

‘I thought I heard shouting.’

Jamie fixed him with a hostile glare.

‘Yes, you did. But you needn’t worry. No one’s going to spoil your fun.’

Olivier looked wounded, not sure what he’d done to deserve such a response.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’

‘I’ve just found out that fucking car you’ve been messing about in all afternoon is worth enough to save this farm. But everyone else in this house seems to be operating on a different set of priorities to me. Evidently whizzing up a hill in pursuit of a battered old trophy is more important than saving our family home –’

‘Hold on a minute!’ Olivier felt he had the right to be indignant. ‘I don’t think you’ve got the full picture.’

‘Which bit am I missing, exactly?’ Jamie’s tone was scornful.

Olivier sighed.

‘The registration documents are in Dad’s name. He and your father may have had a gentleman’s agreement to share it, but there’s no evidence on
paper to prove it. And I know Dad. He’d flog it and keep the lot for himself.’

‘No doubt he’d think it was a suitable revenge.’

Olivier frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know. My dad and your mother. That summer in Cap Ferrat.’

Olivier went very quiet and thoughtful. He walked over to the drinks cupboard and poured himself a brandy. Then he looked over at Jamie and poured her one as well.

‘You can’t hold people’s pasts against them for ever.’ He handed her the glass. Jamie hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t a spirit drinker, but perhaps this conversation required a bit of Dutch courage.

‘Can’t I?’ She took a hefty slug, and swallowed hard. ‘My father has never given a moment’s thought to anyone else in his entire life. Except when it suited him. He’s always done exactly as he pleases. He’s never made a contingency plan. He lives for the moment, and if that doesn’t fit in with everyone else – tough luck. Which is why we’re in the situation we are now. And it just… frustrates me to think that the answer is sitting there in that garage. It’s just typical that because of his total self-indulgence, we can’t do anything about it.’

‘I think you’re being rather harsh.’

‘That’s because you haven’t had to live with it. My mother put up with it all her life. Never knowing when or if the next penny was coming in. Never being sure where he was. Never knowing if he was going to
spring dinner for twelve on you, or whisk you off somewhere.’

‘Sounds rather exciting. At least life was never dull,’ said Olivier lightly.

‘I used to pray for it to be dull, I can tell you. There is such a thing as a happy medium. The Christmas we ran out of oil and nearly froze to death wasn’t much fun. Nearly having to be sent home from school because Dad hadn’t paid the fees for two terms wasn’t fun. Having to sell my pony to some fat-bottomed, rich little brat from Shrewsbury wasn’t fun. It was a bloody rollercoaster ride, I can tell you.’

Jamie felt hot tears rising, of anger and frustration. She clenched her teeth in an effort to stop the flow, feeling foolish that she’d broken down in front of Olivier. She seemed to be making a speciality of losing control lately. She tried to smile an apology.

‘Sorry. It’s just so frustrating. I can’t bear the thought of losing Bucklebury.’

‘Maybe what you need to do is find yourself a rich husband. And fast.’

She looked at him, appalled.

‘I suppose you wouldn’t take it seriously. It’s not your home, is it?’

Olivier knew he sounded flippant, but Jamie was looking for answers he couldn’t give her. His tone softened. ‘You know, Jamie, change isn’t always a bad thing. The fear of it is sometimes worse than the reality.’

‘I can’t bear the thought of someone else’s stuff in
here!’ she protested. ‘I can just imagine what Bella Deacon would do to it. It’ll be wall-to-wall cream carpet and bowls of pot-pourri and nasty twee prints in gold frames and a huge blow-up photograph of her and Rod made to look like a painting hanging over the fireplace –’

Olivier looked around the room and had to admit the prospect was grim. Tattered, shabby, comfy and cosy, it was years of accumulated possessions. Candle wax had dripped on to the hearth. Gumdrop and Parsnip were snoozing by the fire. The prospect of anyone wanting to change a thing was almost unimaginable.

Olivier had never felt sentimental about where he lived. Whenever his parents upgraded to a new house, he had no regrets about leaving the old one. As long as he had his sound system, a comfy bed and a wardrobe to stuff everything into, he was happy. There was a nomadic streak in him. Wherever he laid his hat…

He wasn’t going to admit it to Jamie, but Bucklebury Farm was the first place he’d ever felt at home. The only place he had never wanted to leave. Telling her that would only add fuel to her argument.

‘Life’s not about places, Jamie. It’s about people. They’re the only things that really matter. The worst thing would be if you fell out with your father over this. Believe me, I envy your relationship with him more than anything. What wouldn’t I give for a father who thinks the world of me?’

There was a certain bitterness in his tone as he
spoke, and Jamie felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Perhaps she was being a brat? Infuriating though Jack was, he would never in a million years undermine her or deride her, like Eric had Olivier.

‘I know you love Bucklebury, but at the end of the day, it’s just bricks and mortar. Nothing more. It’s the people in it that make it really special.’

Olivier wasn’t used to waxing so lyrical. Even more surprising was the fact that he meant it. Jack and Jamie
were
special.

Quite how special, he was only just starting to realize…

When Bella got back to Owl’s Nest after a gruelling day teaching aspiring Darcys and Britneys, she found the table laid, the lights dimmed, soft candlelight flickering and David Gray gently tickling the ivories in the background. At each place was a plate of oak-smoked salmon, on a bed of watercress and rocket, with triangles of granary bread. Zinc in the fish. And plenty of iron in the garnish. Rod was an expert on what the conceiving couple should be eating and often presented her with carefully prepared meals.

Bella sat down as he handed her a glass of wine. She smiled brightly.

‘So, what’s all this in aid of?’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ answered Rod carefully. ‘I think it’s about time we saw someone. I’ve made an appointment for us with the doctor, so we can be referred.’

Bella started to protest.

‘But it often takes –’

‘It’s been nearly a year, Bella. And neither of us are spring chickens any more. We need to sort it sooner rather than later.’

Bella took a careful sip from her glass without answering. Rod looked at her.

‘I know neither of us wants to be told there’s something wrong. But it could be something very simple; something that could be put right straight away.’

Bella nodded and smiled.

‘Maybe you’re right. I suppose we can just… have a chat. It can’t do any harm.’

Rod walked over to the dresser, opened a drawer and pulled out a package.

‘This is for you. I thought it might help.’

Bella reached out eagerly. She adored presents, and Rod was so good at them; so thoughtful. She wondered what on earth it could be. The package was beautifully wrapped in white tissue paper with silver ribbons, but with no label, no indication as to which shop it had come from. She looked to Rod for permission to open it, and he smiled indulgently. Bella was like a little girl when it came to presents. She picked it up and shook it tentatively, looking for a clue. It was very light, but rattled slightly. It was too large for a ring, but then she wouldn’t put it past Rod to be deceptive in his wrapping; to enjoy keeping her guessing. She tried to brace herself for the worst-case
scenario – a bottle of perfume or body lotion – but then reassured herself: Rod wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for something insignificant. She pulled at the strings of the ribbon, picked impatiently at the knots with her nails, then ripped apart the paper.

Inside were six boxes. Six very familiar pink oblong boxes. Her face fell. Her heart pounded. She looked up again at Rod. His gaze was no longer indulgent. His eyes were hard.

Bella was a quick thinker. She did her best to extricate herself from the situation.

‘I… I don’t understand,’ she floundered. ‘Why do you want me to go back on the pill?’

‘Nice try, Bella, but it won’t work.’ He held up a piece of paper. ‘You ordered this by phone yesterday. Repeat prescription.’

She frowned, shaking her head.

‘No. I didn’t. There must have been some mistake. You know what they’re like at that surgery. Totally inefficient. Always getting things wrong…’

She trailed off. Rod’s face was impassive, disbelieving. Her face crumpled and she dissolved into noisy sobs. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘No. I don’t.’ His voice was careful, and she wasn’t to know it was because he was trying very hard not to cry himself. ‘I don’t understand at all. For nearly a year, you’ve strung me along. Every month I’ve been through torture, wondering if this would be the month. My heart’s bled for you. Watching you, whenever you realized you weren’t pregnant – it tore me
apart. I did everything in my power to make it up to you.’

He thought about how desperately he’d tried to compensate. The trips away, the five-star hotels, the jewellery. The bloody Audi! How she must have crowed inwardly when he presented her with the keys only a month ago, after the last time he’d found her sobbing in their en suite. Time and again he’d showered her with material goods because he’d been so afraid that it was his fault, when all along he’d been duped.

‘How could you do it to me, Bella? What did I do?’ He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘You must really hate me.’

‘No! Of course I don’t. I love you –’

‘Really?’ He looked at her, his face twisted into a cynical smile. ‘So what do you do for an encore?’

Bella swallowed. Rod walked over to the window.

‘I thought we were in this together. I thought you wanted the same as I did. I thought you wanted kids –’

‘I do!’

He looked over at the incriminating pile of pill boxes.

‘Yeah, right,’ he scoffed. ‘Didn’t your mother tell you about the birds and the bees? Or did she just teach you how to find a sucker; take him for a ride…’

‘It’s not like that.’ Bella’s voice was a desperate whimper.

‘Then what is it? What am I supposed to think?’ He gestured at the boxes. ‘That’s just annihilated
everything I thought we were about. For God’s sake, did I force you into it? You could have said, if you’d wanted to wait. Or if you didn’t want children at all. Instead of putting us through all that agony…’

He trailed off, his voice cracking with the emotion. Bella was sobbing bitterly.

‘Please, Rod… You don’t understand.’

‘No. No, I don’t,’ he said, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Bella took a deep, shuddering breath inwards, her eyes as wide as saucers as she twisted her hands with distress. ‘It’s just… I was so afraid. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know if I could cope with…’ She trailed off in despair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘So am I,’ Rod said bleakly. ‘I had no idea we’d got it so wrong.’

‘We can… try again,’ she ventured.

Rod shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘How could I trust you? When I think of all those times I felt guilty, wishing I could take your pain away…’

He turned away sharply, not wanting her to see him struggling to fight back tears. Bella looked at the floor, shamefaced.