Country Rivals

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‘Have you seen that naked fireman’s calendar that they’ve got in the corner shop, babe? That Mrs Jones was showing me this afternoon; said they were selling like hot cakes before Christmas. If I hadn’t got my Davey I’d be after Mr October, I can tell you.’ Sam pulled her leather jacket more firmly round her. ‘He’d warm me up. Cold enough to freeze the brass bits off a monkey out here, isn’t it, babe?’ She chuckled. ‘Nothing like a fireman’s lift and an ogle at his hose to get you glowing.’

‘Sam!’ Lottie glanced over in Roxy’s direction, but the little girl was too busy to hear. She was whispering into Alice’s ear, no doubt trying to get her to collaborate in mischief.

‘Aww bless, don’t they look cute together? Roxy with them blond curls and Alice all dark and neat like Mandy. Where is Mand?’ She looked round. ‘She dashed off just after we got here.’

‘Loo.’

‘Throwing up again? She’s spent more time with her head down the bog this time than she did when she was carrying little Roxy. Poor thing. Would put me off being preggers if it made me like that. I told Davey we should have at least two more, though, and I know he wants a little boy, though he says he’s happy with his girls. Ooh look at Rory and Mick with them big flames, they look like Romans or something, don’t they? But with clothes on.’

Lottie giggled. ‘They’re torches, for lighting the fireworks, I think.’

‘Nothing like a big bang to see in the New Year, is there, babe?’

Lottie loved fireworks. In fact Bonfire Night had always been the highlight of the year for her – until the last one. She glanced nervously behind her at the large French windows that led from the terrace into the Great Hall.

Not that a stray firework had started the blaze responsible for destroying a fair chunk of Tipping House and wiping out her business, but if they hadn’t been so busy staring into the dying embers and setting more midnight fireworks off at the end of a very drunken and noisy party, they might have realised that the flames in the window weren’t a reflection of what was going on outside.

And they might have called the fire brigade before there was the sharp crack of hot glass followed by a rush of black, billowing smoke.

Sam caught the look and gave her a hug. ‘Sod him, babe. Next November we can pretend the guy on the top of the fire is that toe-rag, burn him at the stake.’

‘We’re not sure it definitely is him yet.’ Lottie wanted to be fair and although all indications were that the bridegroom who had been celebrating his wedding at Tipping House on November 5

had, in fact, snuck out of the four-poster bed armed with a match and bottle of spirits, enquiries were still ongoing.

‘Well he did say so on Facebook, so it’s got to be, hasn’t it?’

‘You can’t believe everything on there.’

‘Course you can, love, all the important stuff. I don’t bother listening to the news any more, I just go on Facebook.’

Lottie did love Sam, even if she could be decidedly un-PC at times. Well that was part of her charm.

‘Have you got a date to get it all done up again then, babe? I do miss seeing all those lovely brides here. That one that looked like she was a big fat gypsy was amazing. You know, the one with that glass carriage. Life a fairy tale it was.’

‘I miss them too.’ Lottie fought the feeling of gloom. ‘The insurance people are still poking around, and to be honest I’m not quite sure where I’m going to get the money from to get started again.’

‘We’ll sort it, babe. We can have another fundraiser, can’t we, Mandy?’

Amanda Stanthorpe, who had emerged from the bathroom, was looking pale green at the edges and didn’t even have the energy to flinch at the abbreviation of her name. She smiled wanly.

When she’d first moved to Folly Lake Manor in Tippermere she’d spent most of her time wishing she wasn’t there; she was scared of horses, hated disorder and loathed mud, but after her millionaire husband had died she’d been touched by the support and warmth of her neighbours and now couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Especially after finding a kindred spirit in Dominic Stanthorpe. Marrying him and having his daughter had been the best thing she had ever done. Apart from the actual pregnancy part, of course, which had left her feeling like she’d been fed through a mangle. Repeatedly.

Amanda was the most organised, demure, and elegant person in Tippermere and Lottie had been in awe of her for a long time. Before discovering that the immaculate exterior was a cover for a shy but extremely kind person. She still found it impossible to believe, though, that the young Amanda had been a geeky, unfashionable kid from the suburbs who created a fantasy world to escape from her loneliness. All she could see when she looked at her Uncle Dominic and Amanda was a perfect couple who could have run the Tipping House Estate with effortless ease, had the Stanthorpes not decided long ago that it should only be passed down to female ancestors.

Since discovering that she was to inherit the estate Lottie had worried on an almost daily basis that Dominic would be distraught at being passed over, but he was adamant that he had no desire to shoulder the huge burden that Tipping House represented, but was happy to help his niece out where he could. And she had to admit that he seemed extremely content with Amanda in their rather elegant, and decidedly easier to maintain, home.

‘Not missed anything, have I? I hope Alice hasn’t been any trouble.’

Lottie smiled and hugged the friend who had married her uncle and become her aunt, which was a bit weird. ‘Only Sam talking about firemen and another fundraiser to put the weddings back on track, and Alice is never any trouble.’

‘We could have another wedding fayre.’

‘Amanda.’ Dominic, who had been quietly watching proceedings, stepped out from the shadow of the building and put a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘What did we agree about not overdoing things?’ He looked down his long, elegant nose, slightly disapprovingly, in Lottie’s direction and she shrugged her shoulders, doing her best to ignore the piercing blue gaze that was so like her gran’s and always left her feeling like a naughty child.

‘Just a small event, darling, as an announcement that we’re back in business.’

Lottie gave a sigh of relief as Dom switched his gaze from her back to Amanda, and it softened. He’d always seemed stuffy, serious, and slightly too aristocratic and forbidding as she was growing up (and still did sometimes, like when she was sure she’d done something he wouldn’t approve of), but when he looked at Amanda he was a different man.

Well, he still made her feel a klutz – overweight, clumsy and never quite as confident as she should be – but she’d seen a softer side to him since he’d met Amanda and had been amazed by how delighted he’d been at the prospect of fatherhood.

‘Big is better though, isn’t it, girls?’ Sam laughed heartily. ‘Like them firemen on the calendar. Have you seen it, Mand?’

Amanda shook her head and Dom sighed. ‘I will go and attend to the champagne, ladies.’

‘Old Molly at the shop told me your dad had been in stocking up for Tiggy, saucy mare isn’t she? And at her age as well. Bless, she’s such a card. I reckon her and your dad are a perfect match. Well, of course, not as perfect as your mum and dad.’ She gave Lottie an apologetic hug.

‘They are perfect together, though she’s much too nice to him sometimes. I’m not sure Mum would run after him like Tiggy does. From what Gran’s said I think she was more like Roxy.’

‘Aww, nobody is like my Roxy, she’s a right little tinker at times. I bet your mum was lovely, just like you.’

Lottie smiled. It was hard to know what her mother, Alexa, would have been like if she’d lived beyond her twenty-fourth birthday. Everybody said she’d been mischievous, a whirlwind of energy with long curly hair and dark flashing eyes, but Lottie didn’t know. She couldn’t even remember her mother’s touch, her presence. ‘I was younger than Roxy and Alice when she died, and all I know is that her and Dad loved each other.’ But would Alexa have loved her, Lottie? Had she ever even wanted children, or had she had that gnawing empty well of fear at the pit of her stomach when she’d found out she was pregnant, the same feeling that Lottie had whenever the baby question was asked? Maybe Alexa had just been doing her duty and trying to fill Tipping House with the heirs it demanded.

“Aww I’ve made you sad, babe.’

‘You haven’t, I’m fine.’ Lottie grinned and tried to shake off gloomy thoughts about babies. ‘I love Tigs. She’s good for Dad. He was such a grumpy bugger before.’

Sam giggled. ‘I’ve been trying to get Tiggy to come with me and get her roots done. I mean, nobody actually wants to have all them grey bits on their head, do they? My hairstylist, Bobby, would make her look ten years younger, and I reckon a bit of Moroccan oil would work wonders on her hair. Look what it’s done for me.’ She held a blond strand out for inspection. ‘I don’t think them people in Morocco should have kept it a secret from us for so long, it’s amazing. Anyhow, she keeps saying she’s busy. Run off her feet she is.’

Lottie knew Tiggy was no such thing, but wasn’t surprised at the tactics. Her step-mother, AKA ‘Tatty Tiggy’, was more than happy in her own skin and Billy loved her just as she was, with her bohemian clothes, wild hair, and ample bosom. Whilst Lottie was pretty sure that nothing in life ever horrified Tiggy, at a guess she did, no doubt, think the idea of a Samantha-style makeover a huge joke. She was still trying to work out whether there was a tactful response or whether she’d be better just smiling, when a shriek of laughter made them all turn round.

‘Lottie, Manda, Mummy look, look at me.’ Roxy had found an old cushion and was sitting on it sliding down the stone steps that led up to the balustrade, where they were supposed to be watching the fireworks from. She was nothing if not resourceful.

‘What is she like? Bless her. Davey, Dave hun, be a babe and bring her back. My heels are hell walking up and down these steps. Get one caught in a crack and I’ll be A over T again, won’t I?’

‘I thought your au-pair was supposed to be here, Sam?’

‘I’ve given her Christmas off, babe. So she can see her family, back in Croatia or wherever it is. Where’s she from, Dave?’ She carried on without waiting for an answer. Dave was busy turning his daughter upside down so that she squealed and her dress covered her head. Lottie watched worriedly as he put her on his shoulders. She was only three and he was the size you’d expect to be an England goalkeeper to be – six foot and quite a lot. Roxy, though, was fearless.

‘But it’s New Year now, Sam, shouldn’t she be back?’

‘Aww I know, babe, but it’s a long way, isn’t it? We can manage, can’t we Davey? And I thought a proper Christmas holiday, just us,’ she linked her arm through Lottie’s, ‘would be amazing. We’ve helped each other out, haven’t we, babe? And the kids love being with you and Rory.’

Hmm, I know they do, thought Lottie, waiting for the inevitable subject to crop up again. Just when she’d been trying to forget about it.

‘Your turn next eh, hun? Don’t want your eggs getting past their sell-by date, do you? You’ll only be fit for making omelettes, as my mam used to say.’