Chapter 5

Wednesday evening, now 3 shopping days to Christmas

Lady Barbara was fuming once she was able to close the door on Daniel. He had kissed her on both her cheeks, of course, he always did, and she had tried to squeeze him hard into her but she already knew that all was lost. His physical lack of response to her charms was evident.

He offered to help her relight her fire while he was there. It was natural for him to do so, the little cottage was so cold and the fire she lit this morning had gone out. She declined his help, she wasn’t helpless, she almost snapped at him, regretting her anger almost immediately.

“Why not check on Mavis, Daniel, while I get the fire relit? I have plenty of dry wood and kindling in here. If I do have any problems, I can give you a shout before you set out back up the hill to the Grange,”

Once again he smiled that gorgeous slow smile of his, said goodbye and closed the door behind him. Barbara was able to stumble to the fireplace, getting down on her knees and started crying while she stacked kindling, newspaper and a couple of the thinner logs and struck a match. She sat back on her haunches, watching the fingers of flames lick hungrily at the paper and wood. Floating wisps of paper ash were drawn up the chimney, flaring aglow in the rush of air. She watched, her mind numb for a few moments, trying to forget that she was now completely and utterly alone, so far from the city life where she was once able to glow brightly. There was no husband, or at least one that hadn’t cheated on her or cared a fig about her or was even prepared to fight to keep her. There was no lover and now, clearly, no potential lover. That was why she was crying.

Daniel didn’t desire her, that much was clear to her now. He probably never did. Like this potential fire in front of her, she had harboured hopes of a blaze of passion between them. She had wished for that eventuality, to her shame, even before poor Penny passed on. She had been prepared to wait, to be patient, until the embers she gently, carefully fanned into flames caught, rendering them both hot and horny. She leaned forward and placed three thick logs from the basket onto the fire, carefully, so as not to snuff out the delicate flames. There was no need to be so careful and attentive or ... available ... for anything that Daniel might want any more. There was no need at all.

He loved what’s-her-name. It was clear by the looks on his face, his glances, his attention was on her. And what’s-her-name, the silly bitch, wasn’t even bloody well aware of it. Lady Barbara saw it plain and simple. Between herself and Daniel, it was rarely ever Daniel who started any conversations, it was always Barbara who had to make all the running. She and Daniel, both so full of their own thoughts, had barely exchanged a word on the twenty minute walk downhill from the Grange, a house that she had once cherished as her own one day. That would never happen now. She would only ever be a guest in the future, if she had any kind of future.

‘What was it he said? That’s it, she, what’s-her-name ... Marina ... she was his old friend, while I,’ she was surprised that the thought allowed a sob to escape, ‘was Penny’s old friend. I wasn’t even counted as his friend, even though I had known him almost as long as Penny had, and, in a way, had loved him almost as long as Penny had.’

The new logs were catching now and the heat coming off was becoming too hot to sit so close. She adjusted the damper, closing it half way and tried to get up. She was stiff, she ached all over from falling off the horse.

‘Oh shit!’ she thought, ‘that was the final ignominious straw. Me, Lady Barbara Sands, who had been riding all my life, falling off a bloody horse!’

She had been riding since she was about five. All right, not so much recently, and certainly not regularly for probably twenty years or more. When she married Sir Philip, back when he was just plain Philip Sands, they had the whole two houses thing; the riverside apartment in London, close to his office, and the grand Georgian mansion in leafy Surrey, with the paddock at the back. She had intended getting a stable block built and teaching the children to ride. But Philip Junior wasn’t remotely interested in horses and, while Nattie went through the learning process at the local stables and took part in the junior gymkhanas, her heart was never really in it. To Natalie, horse riding was a chore to keep her occupied on Saturday morning, and as soon as she was old enough to rebel, she was able to give the occupation up. Not like Penny and her two girls, of course. Penny initially taught Daniel to ride and, when Penny inherited Underhill Grange, had one of the old barns converted to stables. The farm had dispensed with horses a long time before the war but it looked like they were kept in the barn at that time and was a simple matter to convert back as they were.

She blinked back the tears, wiped her eyes and pottered about in her little cottage kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea for a start. She thought about preparing something to eat, but found she was devoid of all appetite. She brought her pot of tea through to the sitting room again and sat in the chair nearest the fire. It was only then that she noticed the blinking red light on the phone, to indicate she had received a message. She was sitting comfortably now, adjusting her position from time to time because her bum and right hip were bruised; in a day or so she was sure to be decorated in colourful bruises to pile onto her mountain of woes. The message or messages could wait until she was good and warm, and ready for her bath and bed, before she played it back. It was probably cold callers. If it was a genuine message, it could only be Nattie, although she seemed to be unsympathetic to her mother, having made it clear she was taking her father’s side in all this, so she didn’t relish hearing the playback.

The only dignified way out of her separation from Sir Philip was a simple divorce settlement. Using her share of her husband’s fortune to buy or lease a reasonable apartment in London and start getting back into the society in which she had thrived, no, soared, not so long ago. She had let all of that slip away and, it turned out, it was all for nothing.

‘I’ll speak to the lawyers after Christmas,’ she thought, ‘get the ball rolling. Six months tops, and I could start rebuilding my life.’

She snorted, thinking about the fall from the horse again. And she smiled, weakly.

‘I suppose it was funny, and Daniel and Marina did have the good grace not to laugh openly. I’m sure if the reverse had happened, I’d’ve laughed myself hoarse. Daniel and Marina, oh dear, the way they worked together, him opening the gates, while she shut them behind us. It took three or four gates before I even bloody realised,’ she thought. ‘What a dumb stuck up bitch I was, huh! What a dumb stuck up bitch I am! Even then I couldn’t do anything at all about it. That bloody horse had a mind of its own, it only followed Daniel because it knew it was the best way of getting back to the warm stable, the bloody rider sitting on him was just an incidental inconvenience.

‘I’m ready for a sandwich now,’ she thought, ‘I am going to be all right, I am a strong, determined, independent woman. I still have my looks and, with a new wardrobe, I’ll be back in style. Decisions have been made. Yes, and there’s still a couple of slices of that nice ham left and the bread should still be all right, if not, I’ll freshen it up in the microwave. Then a long soak in a hot bath and bed.’

She put her empty cup down, struggled to her feet, her hip stiff, and limped to the kitchen to prepare her supper.

There was no WWAG meeting that evening. With the heavy grey clouds blanketing the sky, it was completely dark in Mark Clark’s dingy flat by 3.30 in the afternoon. Therefore Lauren Taylor decided it was time to lock and bolt the door and enjoy a quiet night in, wrapped up warm as the flat was freezing. Mark raised his eyebrows and smiled questioningly as she padded back to her armchair. It was a smile that Lauren recognised as a signal that she was unwilling to reply to in any way other than negatively.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mark. You know how angry I am at the way WWAG seems to be leaning. I am not at all happy with all this talk of taking Councillor Medcalf out of the equation by unlawful means. That Andy seems to have his own agenda in this regard and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one little bit.”

“Hey, what’s this all about, anyway?” Mark was suddenly angry himself, “I thought you were all for stopping the road building through those ancient woods?”

“I am, but you can’t use a wrong to right another wrong. Besides, that Daniel Medcalf came over clearly as being on our side in this issue. We should be supporting him because he has the same objective as we do, plus he already has the local support behind him. All we did was upset everyone.”

“You are only on his side because he’s rich and handsome, even if he is screwing the wife of that bloody road builder.”

“Don’t be childish, Mark. I think that Daniel Medcalf is an asset to our joint campaign of saving those woods because he is a smart and experienced local politician, who knows the arguments and has a long track record of protecting the local environment in Sussex. His private love life has absolutely nothing to do with it. He’s been single for two years and needs to stop grieving, while she’s been separated from Sands for several years, and that was only because her husband was screwing some young bit of fluff, who turned to be a call girl, according to the gutter press. It’s all in the dossier we built up, as ammo if we ever needed it, remember?”

Mark just mumbled in reply as he unlocked and walked out the front door, filling the room with cold air again. Lauren thought she heard him say something about “goin’ up the pub”.

‘Sod him!’ she thought. Then she picked up her phone and started calling a couple of friends.

It was still early evening. Sir Philip hadn’t heard anything back from his estranged wife. He had steeled himself for a full-on argumentative aperitif, followed by a three-course meal of humble pie and begging, earlier in the day when he first called her number. It was a new number, one that Patience had obtained somehow. Her old number, the personalised phone he bought her as a present was unobtainable, he knew, he had tried it.

He had all sorts of points and arguments, prepared and rehearsed, to say in mitigation for the actions that drove her away from his door. And then he felt the disappointment when all he heard from the other end of the line was her recorded voice, asking the caller to leave a message after the tone. He hung up straight after the briefest of messages. Sir Philip hated answering machines, he expected everyone he called to answer immediately, after all, he never personally called anyone unless it was of utmost importance. He had sat at his desk for a while after just looking at the photo of her that had been on his desk since it replaced an earlier one some five, maybe six years earlier. Barbara was still a beautiful woman. Where was she at the time of the call? With Daniel? If she was, what the blasted hell was she playing at?

Idly, he called Lady Barbara’s number again. While it rang he poured himself his second brandy of the evening and drew the glass to his lips, waiting for the bloody recorded answer phone to kick in again, when he suddenly heard Barbara’s voice. Live. She was there. She had answered his call. When he wasn’t expecting her to answer. ‘Bloody hell!’ He spluttered into his brandy.

“Hello?” came the familiar voice he hadn’t heard for nearly three years.

“Oh, Barbara, you caught me out there, I was expecting to get your damned machine again. Er, it’s Philip.”

“Oh, hello, Philip. Sorry, I haven’t played back my messages yet. I’ve been out all day, not been in long, and was making a sandwich for supper.”

Her voice was calm, collected, confident, relaxed and assured, Sir Philip thought, while he felt nervous, anxious and on edge. He felt like he was a kid again and phoning the number of a girl he met at a dance, her number written on the palm of his hand in a drunken scrawl. He was a little unnerved that she had her act together while he was all over the place.

“Can you speak at the moment, Barbara? If not convenient, I can call always you back later.”

“No, it’s all right,” she replied flatly.

Now, Sir Philip thought her voice sounded tired and depressed.

She continued, “I’ve lit the fire and had a pot of tea. The sitting room is just getting warm again.”

“Is the weather bad down there?”

‘Damn!’ he thought, ‘they are pretty rural down there in the Sussex Downs, I should have checked with her first thing this morning, to see if she needed anything, like airlifting out or supplies sending in, or something, anything.’

“The roads are not drivable around here and the village is completely cut off, nothing coming in and no chance of getting out. The shops have run out of bread but one of the farms is giving away all the milk you can carry. Thought I might make a rice pudding, so I bought a packet of pudding rice.”

Comfort food, Sir Philip thought with a hint of a smile, it took his mind back to simpler, happier times.

“Can’t remember the last time I had rice pudding.” Sir Philip pondered, his voice saddened by old memories long gone, “So, the snow’s pretty bad, huh?”

“We’ve had a good foot thick snow overnight, with deep blown drifts in places. Sophie walked down to see us early this morning and managed to get some shopping for Mrs Short, next door. And I walked up to Daniel’s place for lunch. That was tough going, exhausting.”

‘Just for lunch?’ wondered Sir Philip, with pursed lips.

“How’s he holding up?” Sir Philip asked, adding more quietly, “I suppose he’s feeling lonely now that Sophie is away at Uni.”

“Hardly lonely ... No, Phil, he’s not alone, he’s just moved his old girlfriend in.”

‘Wow!’ that was a surprise to Sir Philip. He wondered if Patience was aware of that. No, she can’t be, that girl loves to tease him with things like that. He would speak to her in the morning. For the first time in the conversation, in fact for the first time today, he smiled. ‘My rival has a girlfriend!’

“So, what do you think of her, the new old girlfriend?” Sir Philip wondered if that was safe ground to tread. He added, “I’d only known Penny in Dan’s life since we, er, married, so is it anyone we know?”

“No,” she replied, realising that she had already accepted the situation with Daniel, and finding it something of a relief. Perhaps she never really loved him like that after all, just had strong affection for a friend who was pretty special. No, Barbara really didn’t feel jealous of his lady friend, she just felt lonely and a little desperate because of the loneliness. “She seems to be an old friend. I’m not sure exactly who she is, to be honest. Sophie and she are as thick as bloody thieves.”

“She’s not ... you know, around Sophie’s age then, is she?”

“Oh no, she’s our sort of age. Well, about my age anyway, I would guess about 45 or so, must be a pre-Penny girlfriend.” She paused for a moment.

Sir Philip wasn’t sure if he should fill the pause with a comment or not. Fortunately, she resumed talking again, her voice quite calm.

“Actually, I quite liked her. Not at first, obviously, as we were sizing each other up like she-cats on a territory dispute, as you do, you know? But, after spending half the day with her ... and reflecting on my feelings since ... I think we could actually be friends in time. Maybe I could advise her on her wardrobe for a start!”

Lady Barbara actually started to laugh at the thought of taking her former rival to her favourite designers to turn her from a definitely plain ‘sort of all right’ to a staggering ‘fabulous’. Yes, she thought, I would enjoy doing that!

This cheerful interlude, with Lady Barbara clearly in a good mood, looked to be a prime opportunity for Sir Philip to tell her why he had been trying to call her.

“Look, Barbara, the reason why I called. Sorry this is so late in the day to ask you, but Natalie’s stuck in St Andrews, due to all the snow down here and might not be back in time for the company’s Christmas function the night after tomorrow night. Even if she gets down to London in time for the do, she reckons she’ll be too tired after the journey to attend, anyway.”

It was all quiet at Barbara’s end of the line, when he paused, so Sir Philip bit the bullet and carried on.

“I wondered if you would like to er ... accompany me, Barbara. It would be like old times. No strings attached, of course ... Just a favour for old times.”

She didn’t need to think about it much really, it was the best offer she had had in ... years. But Barbara wasn’t one to give in quietly.

“It depends on when the snow ploughs get around to this little backwater,” she declared, “also, I’ve nothing to wear, nothing at all with me. All I ever seem to wear round here is jeans, woollies and wellies.”

“I can send a snow plough up from the motorway depot, provided they’ve not all been hired out. Once your road’s clear I can send a car down to pick you up before lunchtime day after tomorrow. If you are able to come up, we’ll spend the afternoon shopping for a dress.”

“OK.” she said.

It was as simple as that. After exchanging goodbyes, Sir Philip put the phone down and sat in stunned silence. That went ... well, he thought, yeah, very well. What had he worried about? It was all a matter of timing.

Tracey Baker was at home in North London with her Mum, although trying her best to stay out of her Mum’s way for the most part. She kept on ringing Aunt Marina at her flat and not getting any answer. She was worried because she had left several messages and not had an answer back. Very frustrating that Aunt Marina had never felt the need to possess a mobile phone, what was she, a dinosaur? She even called one of her college friends who lived locally and she checked both the shop and the flat and reported back that there was no sign of her Aunt Marina. More worrying still was that her friend said that everyone in the shop was being made redundant and that her Aunt had already left with her final paycheque a couple of days earlier.

Tracey bit her lip.

‘O Lord, she’s used her redundancy and gone on a world cruise, or doing Christmas in Lapland,’ she thought, ‘what do I do now about telling Mum about the baby?’

Sir Philip called the mobile number of the manager of his depot on the South Coast Motorway, a reliable and honest man he had worked with for more than thirty years, since the early years of the business.

“Aye up?” came back the gruff voice at the other end of the line.