‘Seth Bainton is well fit for an older man,’ acknowledged Dora. ‘He’s a great friend of your son-in-law Alan, Mrs Bancroft. I think he and Corinna are a bit into wife-swapping, or partner-swapping as they’re not married. Seth is known as Mr Bulging Crotchester,’ giggled Dora as they set off up the road, ‘and he’s mad about
your granddaughter Trixie, but then all the men are. She’s the hottest girl at Bagley Hall except for my friend Bianca Campbell-Black.’
‘Rupert’s daughter?’ sighed Etta. ‘Rupert really is gorgeous.’
‘My mother adores Rupert too, even though he’s extremely rude to her, sensible man. She doesn’t approve of Seth Bainton but she fancies him rotten. Seth has an excellent greyhound called Priceless, who he refuses to castrate so he’s always jumping on other people’s dogs and crapping in the high street. Debbie Cunliffe, she’s the bossyboots with the brilliantly coloured garden, married to the major, would like both Seth and Priceless castrated. She organized a meeting recently to discuss ways Willowwood could be improved. Seth suggested a casino, a betting shop, a massage parlour, and Debbie and the Major going back to Surrey. Debbie was furious.’
‘Seth’s awfully attractive,’ said Etta, accepting a toffee from Dora, hoping it wouldn’t pull her bridge out.
Reaching the top of the village, they passed a lovely eighteenth-century house covered in scaffolding, iron bars and platforms on all levels.
‘Awful,’ spluttered Dora. ‘Like some woman with curlers, braces on her teeth and having every inch of her body lifted. This house, believe it or not, was called Primrose Cottage. It’s been bought by a dreadful porn billionaire called Lester Bolton, known as Bolton Wandering because he’s such a groper. He paid two mil for Primrose Cottage, has renamed it Primrose Mansions, and is chucking another four mil at it, and not moving in for a year or two either. He can’t cock it up too much because English Heritage is breathing down his neck.’
Etta couldn’t stop laughing and patting Cadbury.
‘Bolton,’ went on Dora, ‘has a child-bride second wife called Cindy, the most frightful giggling chav who calls herself an actress and stars in all his porn films.’
After providing and receiving so much information, Dora and Etta had a rest on a bench on the edge of the village green, admiring the houses clustering around it. ‘Such a sweet village,’ cried Etta, then, catching sight of the church clock rising above the ring of golding willows: ‘I mustn’t be late.’
‘You’ve got at least forty minutes.’
But Etta had been distracted by the most beautiful Elizabethan house. Set back from the village green, it peered out of narrowed windows, was partly hidden by venerable trees and had a magic garden, all soft colours merging like a rainbow. How could anyone get delphiniums flowering in October and such a pastel profusion of roses?
‘Willowwood Hall,’ explained Dora. ‘Alban and Ione Travis-Lock live there. They’ve just come back from some Arab country where Alban was ambassador, with masses of servants and body-guards following his every movement. He’s seriously clever and speaks loads of languages. But the moment he retired, there wasn’t even a car to meet him at Heathrow. So unkind.
‘Everyone kowtows to his wife Ione, because she was a Framlingham before she married. Framlinghams have lived in Willowwood Hall for ever. Ione looks like one of Auden’s Dowagers with Roman noses. Oh look, there she blows.’ Dora leapt behind a telephone box that said ‘no coins allowed’ as a terrifying woman, not unlike the witch in
The Wizard of Oz
, hurtled past on a bicycle. ‘That’s Ione off to set up her stall outside Tesco’s and bellow at customers for not recycling their packaging. She’s terribly Green. Alban, her husband, will be straight into the pub to have a large whisky and a bet.
‘Oh, look again!’ Dora grabbed Cadbury as horses came
clattering by, doing road work for the coming season. ‘That’s Sir Cuthbert, the oldest horse in the yard, and History Painting, the yard star, and Stop Preston, who’s seriously naughty, and Oh My Goodness, isn’t that a cool name? She’s the one showing a lot of white eye, making her look permanently surprised.’ Dora beamed and waved at all the riders.
‘They’re Marius Oakridge’s horses,’ she went on. ‘His yard’s that way.’ She pointed south. ‘Ralph Harvey-Holden’s to the north and twenty miles up the road is Rupert Campbell-Black’s yard at Penscombe.’
‘How thrilling,’ said Etta, then, terrified of being late: ‘I must go.’
‘We’ve got half an hour,’ said Dora airily. ‘Since Alban Travis-Lock retired Ione has returned to reclaim her rightful place as lady of the manor, but she’s got competition from pretenders like Debbie Cunliffe and Romy Bancroft, who is another cow and so smug. Romy insisted on doing the flowers last Easter and brought branches of may blossom into the church. Ione nearly had a heart attack – may’s so unlucky. Romy doesn’t know anything about the country,’ went on Dora furiously. ‘Oh whoops. So sorry, Mrs Bancroft, I quite forgot Romy was your daughter-in-law. She’s seriously beautiful and a much better mother than mine will ever be.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Etta was ashamed at how enormously comforted she felt.
‘Trixie’s great, as I’ve said,’ Dora went on hastily. ‘And Alan, your son-in-law, is really nice, he bought me a gin and tonic in the pub last week and a packet of pork scratchings for Cadbury. He’s always buying rounds. He’s really popular and a very good journalist when he writes. I’m going to be a journalist when I leave school.’
‘And be a wonderful one,’ said Etta warmly. Moving down the village green they reached a sweet little house covered in red vine with a lovely but untended garden.
‘That’s Wild Rose Cottage,’ said Dora. ‘Toby and Phoebe Weatherall live there at weekends. Toby’s Ione Travis-Lock’s nephew. He earns quite a lot in the City working for your daughter Carrie.’
‘Really?’ squeaked Etta. ‘Does he like her?’
‘I think he’s a bit scared of her. He’s rather a wimp.’
As they passed a duck pond on the right, with Cadbury straining on his lead to put up the ducks, Dora hissed: ‘Quick, put on a pair of dark glasses,’ as they reached a square house with a front garden crammed with frantically clashing dahlias and
chrysanthemums. ‘This is Debbie Cunliffe’s splash of colour. She’s always having rows with Ione Travis-Lock, who thinks Debbie’s flower arrangements in the church are too gaudy.
‘Her husband, the Nosy Parking Major, is always bellyaching about people driving or riding too fast through Willowwood – all jockeys drive too fast and overtake on the inside. Debbie is frightfully tactless, she’s known as Direct Debbie. Their house is called Cobblers, says it all really.’ Dora grinned.
‘Now this pretty hideous modern house next door belongs to Joey East, Valent’s site manager, I told you about him. Joey built it himself,’ confided Dora, ‘and got away with murder because he knows all the planners, so he didn’t have to bribe anyone. The Major and Debbie loathe having Joey next door because of the loud music and his four children bouncing around on the trampoline.
‘The only other ugly house in the heart of the village is built straight on to the high street opposite the pub.’ Dora lowered her voice. ‘Niall Forbes, the vicar, lives in it. Seth and Corinna riot around in the Old Rectory and Niall – who’s as gay as a daffodil, incidentally – is fobbed off with the New Rectory, a horror with no front garden so everyone can peer in to see what he’s up to.
‘Next time I’ll include a tour of the high street, the church and the school, and tell you the legend of Willowwood. It’s so romantic,’ promised Dora.
In the distance Etta could hear children shouting in the school playground and disloyally wondered who Drummond was murdering. They had walked almost in a circle to reach fields stretching away on the eastern side of the village. Above woods of willows flowing down to the river stood two imposing but adjacent barns, Harvest Home and Russet House.
‘You don’t need to be told anything about the people who live there,’ said Dora, ‘although I’ve probably said far too much about Romy.’
‘It really doesn’t matter, I’ve had such a heavenly time,’ cried Etta. As they took the steep footpath on the right of the barns that ran down through the woods to Etta’s bungalow, Cadbury leapt into the stream, bouncing around, snatching at great mouthfuls of water.
To the left through thinning trees, they could see the extent of the work going on at Badger’s Court.
‘Poor Niall, the vicar, is desperately low.’ Taking Etta’s arm so she didn’t slip, Dora had to shout over the din of the builders. ‘No one really goes to church except Martin and Romy sometimes, Direct Debbie and the Major, Painswick who I’m staying
with and Old Mrs Malmesbury who keeps geese. She’s very deaf and yells to poor Niall to speak up.
‘And of course the Travis-Locks, who’ve got their own pew and a door from their garden into the church. Niall’s so petrified of Ione he can hardly get a syllable of sermon out, and she’s always bullying him to urge the congregation not to flush the loo and to bicycle to work. And he’s useless at refereeing rows between flower arrangers and bell-ringers. But he’s rather a boozer, so lock up your brandy if he descends on a pastoral visit. Now here we are at your bungalow.’
‘Which makes even the New Rectory look like a period gem,’ said Etta bitterly.
‘Well, the yellow blends in nicely with the autumn colours,’ said Dora kindly.
‘It’s been such a treat. You have both cheered me up so much,’ said Etta, hugging Cadbury. ‘Oh, look at that glorious horse,’ she added in wonder as a huge black gelding with a zigzag of white blaze came pounding past, hooves sending up sparks from the road.
‘That’s Ilkley Hall,’ said Dora. ‘He belongs to Shade Murchieson, a rich and incredibly difficult owner. Half of his horses are with Rupert and half with Marius Oakridge. Marius is terrified Shade’s going to take his horses away and send them all to Rupert because Rupert’s more successful. Shade likes to keep trainers on the hop.’
Etta remembered Shade Murchieson at Sampson’s funeral, saying ‘Fuck’ when he got an email that his horse hadn’t won. Shade of the brutal good looks and the hard, indifferent eyes.
‘Hang on a sec.’ Etta rushed into the bungalow and rushed out again waving a beautiful royal-blue collar studded with brass dog’s heads. ‘I noticed Cadbury’s collar’s a bit worn. I’d like you to have this one, given to Bartlett for her last birthday.’ Etta’s voice trembled. ‘She never wore it.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Dora. ‘I love it to bits and it will really suit Cadbury, thank you so much, see you very soon.’
Etta’s day got better and better. She managed to pick up, feed and get pyjamas on Poppy and Drummond and supper of baked potatoes and beef stew into the oven at Harvest Home before Martin and Romy returned from a day spent wrestling over the legal aspects of fundraising.
‘You’ve no idea how hard it is even to print raffle tickets these days,’ grumbled Romy.
Clinging on to willow branches, Etta walked for a second time down the steep path, wishing Bartlett was waiting with waving tail and big loving brown eyes, only to find her son-in-law waving a bottle on the doorstep.
‘Carrie has gone to Tokyo, so I thought I’d drop in and see how you were.’
‘Wonderful,’ cried Etta. ‘Sorry about the mess.’ She removed a pile of Dornford Yates so Alan could sit on the sofa.
‘As long as we can find the corkscrew.’ Alan rootled around in the kitchen drawer. ‘You must get a special hook for that utterly crucial instrument.’
‘I’ve had such a good day,’ sighed Etta. ‘An absolutely darling child called Dora banged on my door with those lovely roses and such a sweet dog, which she says I can walk. She took me on a tour of the village and told me all about Valent and Bonny, and the Travis-Locks – we saw her biking off like a Valkyrie – and the Major and his wife Direct Debbie and lots of gossip about Seth and Corinna, and Ilkley Hall pounded by. Nor did I know that someone called Toby Weatherall, who lives here, works for Carrie.’
‘I don’t know for how long.’ Alan filled two large glasses to the top with red. ‘Toby’s pretty thick and chinless and addicted to
long weekends slaughtering wildlife, which doesn’t fit my wife’s 24/7 work ethic.’
‘But Dora’s such a darling, so clever, and so kind to geriatrics like me.’
‘Dora has a lot of artistic older brothers and sisters, and a much older father, who died a few years ago, who she misses dreadfully.’
‘She doesn’t like her mother very much.’
‘Anthea’s an absolute bitch who doesn’t give Dora any money, so combined with a truly kind heart, she has a dubious ability to flog stories to the nationals, so watch it. Dora’s now staying with Miss Painswick, an old biddy who used to be the school secretary.’
‘Who lives in Ivy Cottage,’ said Etta triumphantly. ‘Dora suggested we went to the cinema together.’
‘You need someone more exciting than that.’
Etta noticed Alan was looking unusually smart in a blue and yellow striped shirt and light blue corduroy jacket. His blond curls, usually rumpled after a day of writing, were brushed smooth. As he bent over to top up her drink, she smelled lemon aftershave and toothpaste.
‘I shouldn’t,’ she said, putting her hand over her glass. ‘I’m terrified of turning into an old soak.’
‘Marius Oakridge’s horse Stop Preston is running at Stratford on Thursday.’
‘I saw him today, he’s gorgeous.’
‘He’s a very good horse, but rather given to mulish antics. Why don’t you come?’