Country Rivals

‘He’s my boss, Seb Drakelow. I check out places to film for him, well, really I’m just an intern, which is another word for dogsbody.’ He stayed where he was, sat on the floor. It felt the safest place to be. ‘He needs a location for this drama he’s making with his wife.’

‘His wife?’

‘She’s an actress.’ One who can’t get any parts because she’s such a bitch, he thought, but didn’t say so aloud. Talk about ‘fake it until you make it’, she’d got it down to a fine art. He was pretty sure that the only part she had nailed was that of ‘prima donna’. But she’d always treated him okay, and if it hadn’t been for her help he might never have spotted the potential of Tipping House, so he really shouldn’t have any gripe with her. She just made it so difficult to like her though. ‘Pandora Drakelow.’

Lottie was looking at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t really watch much television.’

‘She’s quite, er, well known.’ Or she had been very briefly, but that was some years in the past. In fact, he reckoned he’d probably been at school when Pandora was in the one production that had achieved popular acclaim, and now she was struggling to reach those lofty heights again.

But she had tried to help him this time – he had to give her credit for that. And if he delivered on this one he had a proper job in the bag, plus Pandora’s appreciation, which was always useful. ‘The setting is a country estate.’

‘Oh, so it’s like Downton Abbey?’

He didn’t like to say no, because she was actually looking like she might be mildly interested. But he had no choice. ‘Well, no, not really. I mean I don’t know all the details, but it’s like modern-day stuff. It’s about a rock star and his wife, who buy a country pile,’ he glanced from Elizabeth to Lottie, who didn’t seem offended, ‘you know, escape to the country and all that, and she’s kind of bored with nothing to do, then decides to learn to play polo.’ Lottie was staring at him with a blank expression. ‘Well, she falls for this polo player and persuades him to teach her because she thinks it’s all glamour and thrills. That’s where you come in.’

* * *

Lottie suddenly realised that they were both staring at her expectantly. ‘But we don’t play polo here. We haven’t got a ground.’ She looked from Jamie to Elizabeth in confusion. ‘I’m not quite sure what this had to do with us, and it really isn’t the right time of year in this country, I mean the season doesn’t start for ages.’

‘He wants somewhere majestic,’ Jamie was clearly warming to the subject, ‘but warm, you know, that centuries-old lived-in thing.’

Lottie nodded, but wasn’t sure she did know.

‘It kind of glows, this place, if you know what I mean?’

She did get that bit. In fact, as they all knew, it had glowed literally not so very long ago, which wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on. It left a hollow feeling of dread in her stomach.

‘I saw this place in the papers, you know, after the fire and knew it would be totally amazing. Polo on your front, er, lawn. So cool, you know?’ She half-expected him to add ‘wicked’ or ‘awesome’ on the end, like Tab would have done. And he was, she thought, around the same age as their part-time groom. ‘So I, er, decided to come and have a look, and met …’ he glanced at Elizabeth.

‘Very fortuitous. They will pay, Charlotte, which is sadly more than your business is doing at the moment. Look on it as a temporary measure. It will fill a gap until you can start to take bookings again.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want people here, Gran? And they will,’ she didn’t want to offend Jamie, but she had to say it, ‘be traipsing everywhere. You said that no way would you let me open the place to the public.’ Not that she wanted to.

‘James?’

‘We’ll only work outside. We just want the grounds for shooting. The rest is all sorted.’ Jamie didn’t look offended.

‘But there will be people and catering vans … burgers!’ Lottie finished triumphantly, knowing her gran abhorred everything fast-food related.

‘I’m sure there wouldn’t be food in wrappers, would there?’

‘No, definitely no, I mean not. We have a very good catering van, with, er, plates and forks and everything.’ His voice tailed off as he looked from Elizabeth back to Lottie, then back again. ‘Proper forks. No plastic and lots of bins. And people to tidy up.’

‘There.’ Elizabeth tapped her stick on the floor, which was usually followed by a ‘that’s settled’.

‘But we need money now, not when the polo season starts, Gran.’

‘We’d want to shoot now – well soon. You know, all the setting-up shots. It’s not just polo. And,’ he paused, ‘you’d get some kind of payment as soon as the contract’s signed.’

‘You can’t gallop horses flat out this time of year, you’ll ruin the grounds and their legs.’

‘It’s not all about the game. Well, I don’t think it is much at all, to be honest. It’s about one player, mainly. There’s only a tiny bit of actual polo. The horses are just a kind of backdrop really. But, I mean, you still do stuff when you’re not in the show-jumping season, don’t you?’

‘Three-day eventing.’ Lottie tried not to scowl. ‘We event. It’s Dad that does the show-jumping.’ She liked the weddings because they were, well, contained. Usually. Apart from when they had the fire.

The bloody fire. She sighed and tried to keep her attention on Jamie and the closest thing to a survival plan that they’d got. ‘So there isn’t actually any polo?’

‘Well, yes, there is some.’ Jamie frowned. ‘But not much. It’s not a film about polo, more a love story.’

‘Do you really know?’

‘Well, not in detail.’ He shrugged and pulled the type of comical face one of the horses did when he could smell perfume, but minus the curled lip, which would have been very strange. ‘I am just the advance party. You’d get told loads more before you had to sign the contract, you know. All your questions answered. But Seb and Pandora have both seen pictures and they’re really mad about this place. Honest.’ He looked so sincere that Lottie felt guilty about not jumping in and shouting yes. ‘They’ll be gutted if you say no.’ She tried not to feel even worse. ‘And initially we’ll shoot the other stuff, without the horses, well, without the riding. The story is a kind of love-triangle thing. You know, the rock star wants a hideaway and his wife isn’t keen at first because she doesn’t want to be stuck in the sticks, but then she falls in love with the glamorous house. She gets a bit carried away, wants to do the whole ladyship thing, and then meets the real deal – a guy who’s old money, posh, not like her husband. He’s the polo-player. I think at first he comes to see if they can carry on playing polo here and they have an affair, but it all goes wrong. She realises she doesn’t belong here and goes back to the city. Or something like that.’

Lottie frowned. ‘With her rock star?’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

‘So they aren’t actual polo-players, just actors?’ Lottie couldn’t put her finger on exactly why she didn’t like the idea, but it made her uneasy. In fact, it sounded worse now he’d told her more. It spoke of upheaval. And the fact that Elizabeth was all for it just made her even more suspicious.

Elizabeth would rather be penniless and have battles with the bank than let riff-raff into her beloved home. They’d been dodging the march of progress for years; it had been a major triumph when she’d finally got decent broadband installed and it didn’t take three days to download an eventing entry form. But the pipes were still gurgling, the moth-eaten rugs still lay on the woodworm-riddled floor, and she’d threatened the last property developer who’d suggested a theme park and open days with a shotgun. Which made the idea of her welcoming a film crew all very strange.

‘Well, there is one player. He advises and sorts everything.’

‘One?’

‘Actual polo-player. He’ll be advising on all the horse stuff, the rest are actors. It’s all going to be done properly.’

‘And you won’t be straying around the estate, or coming inside the house, or—’

‘Setting it on fire? Was that really a disgruntled groom, like the paper said?’

‘Well he said it actually, on his Facebook page. Said we were a load of stuck-up toffs who deserved what we got.’ Lottie frowned. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m getting rather fed up of discussing it.’

‘Sure. I guess the bit in today’s papers hasn’t helped?’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’ She really had to stop thinking about the past and move on to the solution. She glanced at Elizabeth, who hadn’t actually directly mentioned the latest reports, and wondered if she’d read them. She probably had. As Sam had said, very little got past her eagle eyes. ‘Well, I suppose this could be a good idea, as a one-off, of course.’

‘Splendid,’ Elizabeth pursed her lips as though she’d decided it was time to have the final say. ‘I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking, dear.’

‘So, it won’t be until Spring, I suppose, when the weather picks up?’

‘Oh no, dear. James came to me before Christmas, not long after we’d been in the papers with the fire. This Sebastian chap would like a meeting as soon as possible. I suggest that you invite him here next week and sort all the paperwork. Haven’t spoken to him myself. Thought I’d leave all that to you, seeing as you’re in charge, but I’m sure he’s a splendid chap. Seems keen to get a move on from what young James said.’

‘Next week?’ Lottie, who’d been feeling comforted by the ‘you’re in charge’ comment, sat down abruptly and took a large gulp of gin and tonic.

‘No use in dilly-dallying. We’ve had long enough with no income, and we are still no further forward, are we?’

Lottie wondered if that was the royal ‘we’, as in ‘her’, or if they were in this together. She opened her mouth, thought better about asking, and shut it again.