The Christmas Surprise
Page 35
There was a long pause.
‘Seriously?’ said Pamela.
Stephen’s jaw was set. He looked at his mother. He knew what was running through her head, and it made him so furious he could hardly think straight. He didn’t touch his tea. He knew that Henrietta, who had always been so adamant that he had to inherit, would see things differently now that he had a son – a son who was not his natural son, who was not even the same colour, but a legal son who would always be the eldest no matter what.
He paused again, waiting, just in case he had been wrong, just in case he had misjudged her. There was silence in the kitchen as the grandfather clock ticked outside in the hallway, from which the double looping staircase ascended to the long gallery lined with portraits of strong-jawed men with fixed expressions, their hairstyles and wigs resounding way back into the past. He thought about the family, their motto and coat of arms, their family pew at church, their long line of breeding, the colonels, the hunt balls and the posh schools, all of it. And as the clock ticked on, he wondered if there was room for Apostil.
Rosie quietly cleared her throat just next to him.
‘Oh,’ he said, unhappy to even have to ask. ‘So I mean … I mean, I’ll give up my claim. To Lipton Hall. It’s okay. Pam can have it. Although … we thought … we thought we’d move into Peak House for a bit. Now we’ve got the nipper and everything. I mean, we’ll look after it for you whilst you’re in the States.’
The silence continued.
‘Actually,’ drawled Pamela, ‘I was thinking of taking a little leave of absence. Having some down time. Discovering my roots.’
‘Staying here for a bit?’ said Stephen, suddenly worried.
‘Well I can’t stay with Mother,’ said Pamela, as if putting up in a fifty-room mansion was the absolute height of torture. ‘So, you know. If primogeniture really isn’t a problem … I’m going to hang out in the house that’s going to be mine, know what I mean?’
There was a long pause. Rosie felt uncomfortably warm and tight around the throat. Stephen’s voice, when he spoke, was dangerously calm.
‘Have you been fired again, sis?’ he said.
Pamela ignored him.
‘Mother,’ said Stephen. ‘Rosie and I were thinking, we could really do with the space …’
Lady Lipton raised her hands.
‘Oh, suddenly the estate means something to you, Stephen. Suddenly, finally, after all this time. After years of trying to shake it off and have nothing to do with it, and go your own way and escape our fuddy-duddy ways. But then when you need a free house …’
Stephen had gone very white. Pamela was leaning calmly against the units. Suddenly brother and sister looked very alike.
‘I think we’ll take the baby home,’ he said slowly.
Rosie jumped up, as happy to get away as he was. She knew she was lucky in a way – the sting was so much less for her, because she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the Lipton seat; she certainly had no desire to take on the responsibility of a big dusty mansion and do things the Lipton way. Henrietta reacting like this had been no more nor less than she’d expected, and as soon as she’d seen Pamela – who despite meeting her sister-in-law-to-be for the very first time had barely exchanged two words with her – she’d known she was trouble.
But oh, she felt so very awful for Stephen. And they were still going to have to move.
Chapter Eleven
‘They’re just HORRIBLE,’ said Stephen, driving the Land Rover down the hill with such careless force that Rosie worried Apostil would be jolted up in the air. ‘They’re just … like two nasty crows.’
‘Everyone’s family is complicated,’ murmured Rosie gently, wanting to keep to platitudes and neither stoke his temper nor encourage a sulk.
‘Yes, complicated. Not EVIL.’
‘But this is what we wanted,’ said Rosie. ‘Isn’t it? You didn’t want all the fuss of inheritance or going to the House of Lords or any of that bollocks.’
Stephen smiled.
‘I know that. I know. I didn’t, I never did. I was always going to offer it to Pamela if she still gave a shit. I’ve done it before. They know I don’t care. But you saw what was different this time.’
There was no denying that.
There was silence in the car, as Rosie rubbed the frosted-up window.
‘He’s our son,’ said Stephen. ‘Everyone else seemed to accept it in about five seconds flat. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’
Rosie didn’t want to say anything, just glanced back at Apostil, who had fallen asleep as soon as the car had started moving. His grandmother could come round or not, that didn’t bother her much. But the house issue was a little more pressing …
As they came back into town, Rosie noticed something different. There were no cars on the road. Before she had a moment to wonder why that was, a fire engine came roaring past them down the usually quiet cobbled high street, sirens and lights going.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Rosie. ‘I wonder what that is.’
‘My mother probably breathed on something,’ said Stephen grumpily.
Rosie’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Moray. He asked her favours from time to time, when the surgery were short-handed with medical staff, and that seemed to be the case now; Can you come to the Hyacinth asap 999, it said.
Rosie blinked and Stephen turned the car around immediately, wheels skidding in the dirty slush by the side of the road.
The Hyacinth was a rather ugly, chintzy hotel about ten miles south of Lipton, which served as a venue for special nights out, and was also the HQ of the apparently very good golf club. Rosie and Stephen didn’t go there very often as the food was absolutely dreadful, plus you couldn’t walk home. Out-of-towners stayed there, and it hosted lots of corporate away days, plus there was always a cabal of golfers (usually including Hye) holding court in the bar, which had a fake gas fire and was covered in bad watercolours of stags. It was where the local people held their big dos – Tina and Jake’s wedding was scheduled there for 21 December. It was staffed during the summer by charming but slightly disorientated teenage staff from eastern Europe who came into Lipton to spend their meagre wages and were the reason Rosie had started stocking piernik.
As they drew closer, they craned their necks. The sirens were still sounding, and they could see a large column of dark grey smoke rising above the forest.
‘Seriously?’ said Pamela.
Stephen’s jaw was set. He looked at his mother. He knew what was running through her head, and it made him so furious he could hardly think straight. He didn’t touch his tea. He knew that Henrietta, who had always been so adamant that he had to inherit, would see things differently now that he had a son – a son who was not his natural son, who was not even the same colour, but a legal son who would always be the eldest no matter what.
He paused again, waiting, just in case he had been wrong, just in case he had misjudged her. There was silence in the kitchen as the grandfather clock ticked outside in the hallway, from which the double looping staircase ascended to the long gallery lined with portraits of strong-jawed men with fixed expressions, their hairstyles and wigs resounding way back into the past. He thought about the family, their motto and coat of arms, their family pew at church, their long line of breeding, the colonels, the hunt balls and the posh schools, all of it. And as the clock ticked on, he wondered if there was room for Apostil.
Rosie quietly cleared her throat just next to him.
‘Oh,’ he said, unhappy to even have to ask. ‘So I mean … I mean, I’ll give up my claim. To Lipton Hall. It’s okay. Pam can have it. Although … we thought … we thought we’d move into Peak House for a bit. Now we’ve got the nipper and everything. I mean, we’ll look after it for you whilst you’re in the States.’
The silence continued.
‘Actually,’ drawled Pamela, ‘I was thinking of taking a little leave of absence. Having some down time. Discovering my roots.’
‘Staying here for a bit?’ said Stephen, suddenly worried.
‘Well I can’t stay with Mother,’ said Pamela, as if putting up in a fifty-room mansion was the absolute height of torture. ‘So, you know. If primogeniture really isn’t a problem … I’m going to hang out in the house that’s going to be mine, know what I mean?’
There was a long pause. Rosie felt uncomfortably warm and tight around the throat. Stephen’s voice, when he spoke, was dangerously calm.
‘Have you been fired again, sis?’ he said.
Pamela ignored him.
‘Mother,’ said Stephen. ‘Rosie and I were thinking, we could really do with the space …’
Lady Lipton raised her hands.
‘Oh, suddenly the estate means something to you, Stephen. Suddenly, finally, after all this time. After years of trying to shake it off and have nothing to do with it, and go your own way and escape our fuddy-duddy ways. But then when you need a free house …’
Stephen had gone very white. Pamela was leaning calmly against the units. Suddenly brother and sister looked very alike.
‘I think we’ll take the baby home,’ he said slowly.
Rosie jumped up, as happy to get away as he was. She knew she was lucky in a way – the sting was so much less for her, because she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the Lipton seat; she certainly had no desire to take on the responsibility of a big dusty mansion and do things the Lipton way. Henrietta reacting like this had been no more nor less than she’d expected, and as soon as she’d seen Pamela – who despite meeting her sister-in-law-to-be for the very first time had barely exchanged two words with her – she’d known she was trouble.
But oh, she felt so very awful for Stephen. And they were still going to have to move.
Chapter Eleven
‘They’re just HORRIBLE,’ said Stephen, driving the Land Rover down the hill with such careless force that Rosie worried Apostil would be jolted up in the air. ‘They’re just … like two nasty crows.’
‘Everyone’s family is complicated,’ murmured Rosie gently, wanting to keep to platitudes and neither stoke his temper nor encourage a sulk.
‘Yes, complicated. Not EVIL.’
‘But this is what we wanted,’ said Rosie. ‘Isn’t it? You didn’t want all the fuss of inheritance or going to the House of Lords or any of that bollocks.’
Stephen smiled.
‘I know that. I know. I didn’t, I never did. I was always going to offer it to Pamela if she still gave a shit. I’ve done it before. They know I don’t care. But you saw what was different this time.’
There was no denying that.
There was silence in the car, as Rosie rubbed the frosted-up window.
‘He’s our son,’ said Stephen. ‘Everyone else seemed to accept it in about five seconds flat. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’
Rosie didn’t want to say anything, just glanced back at Apostil, who had fallen asleep as soon as the car had started moving. His grandmother could come round or not, that didn’t bother her much. But the house issue was a little more pressing …
As they came back into town, Rosie noticed something different. There were no cars on the road. Before she had a moment to wonder why that was, a fire engine came roaring past them down the usually quiet cobbled high street, sirens and lights going.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Rosie. ‘I wonder what that is.’
‘My mother probably breathed on something,’ said Stephen grumpily.
Rosie’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Moray. He asked her favours from time to time, when the surgery were short-handed with medical staff, and that seemed to be the case now; Can you come to the Hyacinth asap 999, it said.
Rosie blinked and Stephen turned the car around immediately, wheels skidding in the dirty slush by the side of the road.
The Hyacinth was a rather ugly, chintzy hotel about ten miles south of Lipton, which served as a venue for special nights out, and was also the HQ of the apparently very good golf club. Rosie and Stephen didn’t go there very often as the food was absolutely dreadful, plus you couldn’t walk home. Out-of-towners stayed there, and it hosted lots of corporate away days, plus there was always a cabal of golfers (usually including Hye) holding court in the bar, which had a fake gas fire and was covered in bad watercolours of stags. It was where the local people held their big dos – Tina and Jake’s wedding was scheduled there for 21 December. It was staffed during the summer by charming but slightly disorientated teenage staff from eastern Europe who came into Lipton to spend their meagre wages and were the reason Rosie had started stocking piernik.
As they drew closer, they craned their necks. The sirens were still sounding, and they could see a large column of dark grey smoke rising above the forest.
