Country Rivals

‘Or a druggie or drunkard.’

‘But you were on private land so I was perfectly entitled to shoot. You could have been an armed intruder.’

‘I’m a scout.’

‘Aren’t you rather old to enjoy short trousers and middle-aged men?’ She raised an elegant eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Jamie laughed and took a sip of the shockingly smooth malt whisky. During his train journey he’d had the chance to read a little bit about the Stanthorpes, and in particular about Lady Elizabeth. Eccentric, elegant, impoverished. Matriarchal. But none of the reports had as much as hinted about a sense of humour. ‘I’m a location scout.’

‘Is that what the less-savoury reporters call themselves these days?’

‘God, no. Is that what you thought? I’m nothing to do with the press.’

‘They aren’t all bad.’ Lady Elizabeth frowned. ‘Philippa was always very fair in what she reported, but so many seem to be lacking in scruples as well as a grasp of the finer points of the English language.’

‘Oh. So, do you get many of that type out here?’

‘Only recently.’

‘Since the fire?’

She ignored the question. ‘And you’re not from the insurance company?’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head.

‘That fire has been rather an inconvenience, which is why I wasn’t surprised to find another interloper in the grounds. You’re not some kind of investigator?’

‘No. Honest, nothing like that. So you’ve not started repairs yet, then?’ He’d actually thought it rather odd, when he was taking photographs, that there was absolutely no sign of fire damage. The newspaper reports had talked about a devastating fire, about flames that took the fire brigade several hours to get under control. So he’d assumed that at least some of it must have been fixed pretty quickly, that the Stanthorpes were the type of people who could afford to put things right, even though they might still be willing to take Seb’s money. But if they had, why did she think he was from the insurance company?

And yet he hadn’t even noticed anything out of the ordinary since they’d arrived at the house. Apart from the very faintest trace of acrid smoke that hung in the entrance hall.

‘You do seem to be asking rather a lot of questions if that’s the case. But no. Not yet.’ She tapped a nail on her glass and Jamie could only guess at how annoyed that meant she was. ‘There appears to be a lot of bureaucracy involved.’

He zoomed in the picture on his camera. ‘You can’t see any damage from outside. I thought it was supposed to be a massive fire.’

‘It was bad enough. So what do you know about the fire, James? Is that why you’re here?’

She had a pretty piercing gaze for an old lady.

‘Jamie, not James. Not even my mother calls me that. Well, yes and no. I mean I’m here because I saw the pictures in the newspaper after the fire. I’d never heard of Tipping House before that, in fact,’ he grinned sheepishly, ‘I’ve never even been to Cheshire. But I thought the place looked cool, so, er, I came for a closer look.’

‘So you’re not one of those developer chaps?’ He shook his head. ‘Swarming round like flies they were. They smell the rot. I would have quite liked to have taken a pot shot at one or two of them, but Charlotte said she’d hide the key to the gun cabinet if I did.’

‘Charlotte?’

‘My granddaughter.’

He racked his brain for facts, but he hadn’t really been interested in reading the reports – his attention had been grabbed by the pictures. And there hadn’t been a memorable picture of any attractive heiress. Maybe she looked like a horse. ‘Seems sensible, you know, to stop you shooting at people. So, what happened?’ It didn’t really matter as far as the job went, but he was interested. ‘Was it arson, like some of the reports said? Are you after a big fat insurance pay-off?’

‘Ridiculous idea.’ She held her glass out for a refill, so he complied and wondered why she still looked sober as a judge when his world was wobbling at the edges. ‘To answer your questions, yes, we had a substantial fire here. Yes, arson is suspected but,’ she peered over her glass at him, ‘some people seem to think we had a hand in it, which is quite preposterous. And to answer your final question, quite honestly the extent of any insurance pay-out is none of your business, young man.’ She stared at the amber liquid. ‘Such a shame when the wedding business was beginning to turn a proper profit. Awful mess, damned good job they used to build places properly. The curtains, of course, were ruined. We’d only had them cleaned a couple of years ago. Such a waste. I do hate waste.’ She frowned. ‘It has been suggested that a disgruntled guest started it, because he had been muttering about jumped-up toffs, but that is nothing new, is it? I do rather suspect there is more to it than that. Bloody developers, no respect.’ Her voice had drifted, so maybe the drink was getting to her. Then she put her glass down on the table and fixed him with the type of look that made him feel like a naughty schoolboy, even though he’d never actually been that badly behaved. ‘Mark my words, I intend to get to the bottom of it. So,’ she sat slightly more upright, if that were possible, ‘why were you snooping about in the middle of the night rather than arriving at a more civilised hour?’

‘Well I don’t usually, er, snoop, in the middle of the night. My train was cancelled.’ He’d called Pandora to suggest a re-run the following day and had been told, in no uncertain terms, to make sure he took ‘the fucking photos today’ – so much for him suspecting she had a nice side. ‘I’m working for this film producer and he’s on the look out for a location. When I saw this place I thought it looked perfect, so I offered to come over.’ He held his camera up. ‘Take some shots. I mean, I would normally just knock at the door and ask, but I got lost looking for the place. Then, when I found it, with the gates being shut and everything, I thought it was a bit late to be bothering you. I only needed a few photos of the outside and the grounds.’ He shrugged. ‘I just thought it would make sense to get on with it. So, I, er, got over the wall and then thought if I got a move on I’d be able to get the last train home, but …’

She was frowning. But it had seemed the sensible solution at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. But at least he’d met Lady Stanthorpe. His mum would be impressed, although he’d have to skate over some of the facts. ‘It’s amazing, the way the light …’

‘It’s dark.’

‘Even in the moonlight it’s fantastic.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘And what are you filming? Some inaccurate historical nonsense? Why you people are too lazy to check your facts confounds me.’

‘Dunno exactly, but it’s not old-fashioned stuff. All they told me was that they wanted somewhere to shoot the polo bits. You know, that game they play on horses, with sticks.’

‘I do know what polo is, young man.’

‘They wanted a backdrop like this for it, you know, something posh, impressive.’

‘One doesn’t play polo in Cheshire in the winter, dear boy.’

‘One would,’ he grinned, ‘want to do a few shots now, and most of the shoot in the spring. Apparently there’s more to polo than just the beautiful game.’

‘Is there now? One would hardly call it beautiful, although some of the Argentinian players have a certain something about them. My late husband, Charles, used to play when he was abroad. He was rather dashing, I must admit, although all that racing about did take it out of him as he got older. Arthritis is a bugger and I rather feel that the poor ponies suffered as the poor old fool put weight on. So much nicer for them with some slim young man on board. So much nicer for all of us.’ She waved her empty glass again, and Jamie wondered if she was pouring it down Bertie, who was now snoring and whimpering, his feet dancing as he chased imaginary rabbits.

‘So, you say you will be filming outside?’

‘Outside only.’

‘And there would be substantial reimbursement?’ She tapped her stick on the floor and Bertie leaned more heavily against her. He guessed this was what Elizabeth looked like when under stress. Just a twitch. ‘Poor Charlotte does rather needs funds. Bloody insurance people aren’t paying out yet. I’ve always said one was better investing one’s money oneself elsewhere.’

‘It is all repairable, then?’

‘It is, for a price. But until then the business is at something of a stand-still. Brides-to-be are not interested in looking at scorched walls. No imagination, you youngsters, these days.’

‘Well, we would pay to film here.’

‘I’m not sure Tipping House, or the village of Tippermere for that matter, is ready for a film crew. You would no doubt ruin the lawns and litter the place with pop bottles, chip wrappers and people with loud-hailers.’ She stared gimlet-eyed down her long nose.

‘No doubt.’

‘And you would scare the horses. And you do realise that we can’t stop the pheasant shoot or the Boxing Day meet just to humour you?’

‘I do. But all that is finished by spring, isn’t it?’ A Boxing Day meet was surely on Boxing Day? ‘It could up your profile.’ She stared. ‘You know, keep you going while you’re waiting for the insurance money?’ The lines he’d been fed spilled out of him. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Be fun?’ He’d strayed from the script, but now he was pretty sure he had her hooked on that one. ‘Must be pretty quiet round here. Give me a call. I’ve got a card …’ He was reaching into his pocket as he spoke.

She waved a regal hand, dismissing the idea. ‘I will do no such thing. You may call me after Christmas and I will decide whether I wish to pursue this matter further. The first Tuesday in the New Year will suit, at 3pm. But I’m not promising anything. I shall raise the matter with Charlotte when the time is right. Although, if I were you I’d keep this quiet, because if my son Dominic gets as much as a whiff of this kind of thing he’ll raise the drawbridge.’

‘You’ve got an actual drawbridge?’ Jamie was even more impressed.

‘A metaphorical one.’