“Sorry,” he said, cutting himself another sliver of Stilton. “You must be bored silly with all this talk about Henry. So, what do you make of London, then? Was it what you were expecting?”
“I suppose so, in a way,” she said. She didn’t seem very interested in reminiscing about their sightseeing trip. “But I don’t find it boring, actually. When you tell me about your brother. It makes me ’appy that you trust me with your problems, you know?”
Max looked across at her with renewed interest. He hadn’t really thought of it like that, in terms of trusting her. But he supposed, in a way, he did.
“I ’ope you don’t think I’m being rude,” she continued tentatively, “but I ’ave noticed that you often seem to be sad. Is it . . .” She twirled her fingers in her hair nervously. “Is it to do with your girlfriend? With Siena?”
Max bridled for a second at hearing Freddie using her name. One of the worst things about splitting up with someone famous was that everyone you met felt like they knew the person intimately. Max found people’s pseudo-familiarity with Siena hard to take. But he knew Freddie’s heart was in the right place, and he tried to answer her honestly.
“Sometimes,” he said. “I still think about her a lot. Well, all the time really. But all that stuff people tell you about time healing the wounds—I’m starting to think there might be something in it. I actually had a really nice day today.”
Freddie took this as a compliment and visibly blushed with pleasure. “Me too,” she said. “Really nice.”
Emboldened by the wine, she reached across the table, took his hand, put it to her lips, and kissed it.
Max felt his heart pounding with nerves. This wasn’t a good idea.
“Look, Freddie,” he began awkwardly.
“What?” she interrupted him, keeping hold of his hand. “I could ’elp you. I could make you ’appy, Max, I know I could.” She spoke with such urgency, looking him directly in the eyes as if willing him to believe her. It took him aback. “I also ’ave somebody to forget, remember?”
“I’m just not sure,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’m over her, not properly. And you’re very young. I don’t . . .” He found himself unsure of the right words. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” said Freddie. “I wouldn’t let you.”
And before either of them really knew what was happening, they found themselves leaning across the table and kissing each other full on the mouth.
It had been a long time since Max had kissed anyone, and he’d had a lot to drink. Feeling the soft skin of Freddie’s cheek against his, and the almost forgotten urgency of a woman’s desire in her probing tongue and quickened breathing, he found his physical response overwhelming. He wanted her to hold him, to come for him, to make him believe that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to take her to bed right now.
“I do hurt people,” he whispered, oblivious of the other diners’ stares as he grabbed her hair in his hands desperately, like a drowning man reaching for a buoy, and pressed his forehead against hers. “I do.”
“Shhh,” said Freddie, stroking his face softly. “You don’t have to worry anymore. It’s going to be okay.”
The three of them barely spoke on the long journey home. Henry drove with his eyes fixed on the road, consumed with his own worries. Whatever had happened at the accountant’s office, he clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
Max sat in the front, concerned for his brother but also agonizingly aware of Freddie’s presence behind him, counting the long minutes until he could get home and hopefully sneak her into his bed.
He was too drunk to analyze his feelings in any depth, although part of him knew that starting something with the kids’ au pair might not be the smartest move in the world. But a bigger part—the part that had felt so lonely and unloved for a year, the part that wanted to remember what it felt like to be alive and make love and be happy—could only with an effort be restrained from clambering into the backseat right now and ripping the girl’s clothes off.
When they finally did get home, Muffy was waiting up for them. “Hello, you three,” she said, taking the pictures back from Henry without a word and moving into the kitchen. He would explain it all to her when he was ready. “You must be exhausted. How was London? Did you have a good day, Frederique?”
“Yes, I did,” said Freddie, with a meaningful look at Max. “But I am very tired. I theenk I’ll go straight up, if you don’t mind?”
“Me too,” chimed in Max, rather too quickly.
“Of course.” Muffy smiled, slightly bemused by Max’s sudden craving for his beauty sleep. He usually didn’t hit the hay until the small hours. But she was relieved that they were both making themselves scarce. Something had obviously gone wrong if the pictures were back, and she wanted to talk to Henry on his own.
Once Max and Freddie had disappeared upstairs with somewhat indecent haste, Henry walked over to her and gave her a hug. He didn’t speak, but just stood there in the kitchen swaying slightly, his wife in his arms.
“So?” she prompted him gently when he finally let her go and sat down at the table.
Henry took a deep breath. “They’re fakes.”
“Worthless?” asked Muffy. She was determined not to look disappointed or shocked. He needed her to be strong, whatever happened.
“Not worthless. But certainly not worth enough. Not even close.” He ran his hands through his graying curls and forced himself to keep talking before he lost his nerve. “That money was our last hope, Muff. Without it, we can’t pay the back interest on the loans. It’s as simple as that. So I went to see Nick this evening.”
She didn’t say anything but nodded for him to go on.
“I said we’d think about putting the farm on the market next week.” He scanned her face anxiously for a reaction, but her mask of calm didn’t slip.
“I see,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand gently on his shoulder.
He pulled out another chair and gestured for her to sit beside him. “There is another option,” he said.
This time there was no concealing her emotion. A snapshot of desperate hope flashed across her features at this possibility of a reprieve. Perhaps they wouldn’t have to sell after all? “What? What other option?”
Henry took both her hands between his own and began fiddling with her worn wedding band.
“It was Nick’s suggestion, actually,” he said. “But I put in a call to Gary Ellis from his office.”
“Why?” Muffy looked shocked. “I thought we’d agreed, no golf course—”
“We have, we have,” he held up his hand to stop her. “Hear me out. The fact is, as Nick pointed out to me, if we put the place on the open market and sell to someone else, there’s nothing to stop Ellis from approaching them with a fat check and developing the land anyway. If he wants it badly enough, that’s exactly what he’ll do, and then the only difference will be that the money’s in someone else’s pockets rather than ours.”
“Yes, but does he still want it that badly?” said Muff. “He’s gone and ruined Swanbrook now. Does he really want two golf courses?”
Henry shrugged. “He might. Look, when I called him from Nick’s, he made me another offer. I think we should consider it.” Muffy opened her mouth to protest. “Not to buy the place,” Henry continued, heading her off at the pass. “This time he’s talking about a lease agreement.”
“What sort of lease agreement?” she asked warily.
He took a deep breath. “We would remain the nominal owners of the whole property, with ongoing rights to live in the house, and we could leave those rights to the children. We wouldn’t have to sell.”
“I see.” She frowned. “And what’s in it for the ghastly Gary then?”
“Well.” Henry hesitated. “He’d be able to build a golf course and run it without interference for the full term of the lease.”
“Which is?”
Henry winced. “He’s talking
about a hundred years.”
“A hundred years?” Muffy laughed, but it wasn’t funny. She got up and started pacing back and forth in front of the Aga. “For heaven’s sake, Henry. Even the kids will be dead by then!”
“I know, I know. But he’d give us enough to clear all our debts up front, plus a chunk left over. We could still live in the house, and so could the children in due course.”
“But they could never sell the house?” asked Muffy, horrified. “It wouldn’t be really theirs?”
“Not until the end of the lease agreement, no,” Henry admitted. “But after that, ownership would revert to the family. Whether that’s Charlie’s children or what have you I don’t know, we’d have to sort the details out. They may have to pay some sort of release payment to Ellis’s company at that point, it’s a bit complicated.”
“Surely you aren’t considering saying yes to this?” she asked, finally stopping pacing and coming to rest with her back against the warm metal of the oven.
Henry sighed. “Look, darling, I hate that bastard as much as you do, but he’s throwing us a lifeline here. The alternative is that we sell the whole lot to someone else for a shitty price, pay off the fucking debts, and buy ourselves a nice little semi in Swindon with what’s left over.”
“Oh, come on. Surely it wouldn’t be that bad?”
“After we’ve paid everyone off? I’m afraid it would be,” said Henry. “At least this way the manor stays in the family. We wouldn’t have to move.”
“Yes, but it would be a golf course!” she exclaimed in agony. “You’ve seen Ellis’s developments. The whole valley would be ruined, completely ruined. I mean, isn’t Batcombe supposed to be an area of outstanding natural beauty? How does he think he’s going to get planning permission?”
Henry rubbed his fingers together to indicate a bribe. “The man’s bent as a nine-bob note,” he told her. “He told me and Nick today that he already has preliminary approval for the golf course and, if you can believe it, to build a fucking great clubhouse and ‘leisure complex’ right next to the old barns.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” said Muffy.
“Look.” He got up to join her by the Aga, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “If you don’t want to go ahead, you don’t have to. This is your decision as much as mine, and if you’d rather sell to someone else, we can. But the reality is, he’s going to build his bloody golf course anyway, eventually, whatever we decide. At least this way, one day, we may have a chance to put things right.”
“You’re right,” she said sadly. “I know you’re right. A lease has to be better than an outright sale. I just can’t bear the thought of that man, that awful, lecherous, predatory man setting foot on the place.”
“Believe me, darling.” Henry hugged her tightly. “Neither can I. Neither can I.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The next few months were a time of both great happiness and great sadness for Max.
Professionally, things were going better than he could ever remember. Not only had Dark Hearts proved so successful that they had had to extend their Stratford run, and were even contemplating taking the play on tour to Bristol and London, but one of the short films he’d directed in L.A. had been nominated for three awards at the Chicago Film Festival and looked set for even bigger success at Sundance next year. Thanks to the involvement of the big Hollywood star, it had received a disproportionate amount of press. Ironically, his profile in the States was bigger now than it had been in all the years he’d lived there.
Not that things were remotely slow in England. The name Max De Seville was finally becoming well known in theater circles, and offers had started to come in from all over the country for Max to direct everything from musicals to “nihilist Shakespeare,” whatever that might be.
Personally, his life had also become more contented, thanks in no small part to his burgeoning relationship with Freddie. After a brief, halfhearted attempt to keep their affair secret, Max had finally decided to be honest about it with Henry and Muffy, as well as with himself.
“I can’t imagine why you thought we’d disapprove,” Muff told him, after he’d rather nervously admitted what she had long suspected anyway. “God knows you deserve a bit of fun, Max. I mean, why not?”
He’d realized that his sister-in-law was right. He’d been fighting his feelings for Freddie because he knew that deep down, he was still in love with Siena, and probably always would be. But Siena was gone, and there was no point in sitting around moping. Freddie was here, and she wanted to make him happy.
Why not?
But set against all these good things was the terrible, ongoing nightmare of life at Manor Farm. Having finally signed the hated lease agreement with Ellis, they were all waiting with a growing sense of despair for the construction work to begin. Awareness that these might be the last days of the estate as a working farm and a tranquil family home made it impossible to enjoy the time they had left together. Henry hung about the yard and the office like a bear with a sore head, snapping at anyone foolish enough to try to talk to him or commiserate about the golf course.
Meanwhile, Muffy tried to maintain some semblance of normality and cheerfulness for the sake of the children, who already had to cope with settling in at the local school and making new friends and were soon to have their home life turned upside down as well. Max could see that the effort of this pretense was a huge strain for her.
He did his best to keep everyone’s spirits up, forcing a reluctant and exhausted Muffy to spend a day at the health spa in Cheltenham, and taking the children on endless exciting outings with Freddie, to such heady destinations as the haunted Minster Lovell and Burford Zoo. Mercifully, Bertie and Maddie were too young to understand the implications of what was about to happen at home, and thought the prospect of construction and activity at the farm was marvelously exciting. But Charlie, who, as well as being older, was naturally more sensitive to others’ feelings, in particular his mother’s, knew that the way of life he had grown up with was going to be destroyed forever and that his parents blamed themselves.
Max spent a lot of time with his nephew, helping him talk through his feelings of sadness, powerlessness, and loss. After all he’d been through in the last year, he felt he was fully equipped to offer advice on all three.
On his way into Stratford one morning, Max stopped off at the village shop for a paper and a ten-pack of Marlboro Lights—he was halfheartedly smoking again, thanks to all the late nights at the theater—when he ran into Caroline Wellesley.
Unlike the rest of his family, Max was not a fan of Hunter’s mother and was relieved when, despite living within a few miles of her and Christopher, he found that he rarely crossed paths with her socially.
This morning, however, there could be no escape. The shop was far too small for him to pretend not to have seen her.
“Hello, Max,” she said brightly, marching toward him armed with a little green metal basket containing nothing but six packets of chocolate cookies, Christopher’s only real post-alcoholic weakness. She was dressed in an old pair of canvas gardening trousers and a man’s white shirt and was almost unrecognizable as the designer-clad nymphet he remembered from his childhood. But decades later, standing in Batcombe Stores dressed like a scarecrow, she still had something about her. Caroline had the sort of sex appeal and lust for life that barely seemed to dim at all with age. Grudgingly, Max acknowledged what so many men saw in her physically.
“I haven’t seen you for ages,” she smiled up at him. “How are things at Manor Farm?”
He looked at her coldly. “Bad,” he said flatly. “Things are very bad, I’m afraid. But then I expect your friend Gary Ellis will already have told you all about it.”
“Hey, now hang on a minute,” said Caroline, putting down her basket and squaring up to him, all five foot four of her coiled for battle against Max’s giant six-and-a-half-foot bulk. He took a step back and nearly toppled over a display case stacked full
with miniature jars of Marmite. “That’s not fair. He isn’t a friend of mine at all. I think it’s awful what he’s doing to that beautiful valley, everybody does.”
“Really?” said Max, steadying the swaying case behind him before turning to face her again. “And I thought it was you who introduced him to my brother in the first place and put the whole idea about buying the farm into his head? You invited him for dinner, when he was letching all over Muffy. Apparently, there’s nothing of Henry’s that the shit doesn’t want to get his swindling little hands on.”
“Well, that’s hardly my fault, is it?” said Caroline reasonably. “That dinner was years and years ago, when he first moved here. None of us really knew him then. Muff knows I felt awful about the way Gary behaved toward her that night, but it’s all water under the bridge now. We haven’t had him back to Thatchers since. Christopher can’t abide him.”
“Good for Christopher,” said Max.
He knew it was childish to lash out at Caroline. The nightmare at home had nothing to do with her, and anyway, as Henry had pointed out, if it hadn’t been for Ellis’s offer, they would have lost Manor Farm completely. Who knew, perhaps it was the developer’s admiration for Muffy that had kept him coming back for more, even after Henry had walked away from his first offer. Maybe that awful dinner at Caroline’s had actually done them all a favor?
“Look, sorry.” He tried to change the subject. “How is Christopher, anyway? Is he well?”
Caroline smiled. “Very, thank you. Fighting fit.” It was funny to watch Max trying to be so formal and awkwardly polite toward her. She still remembered him at age nine, chasing Hunter around the house with two stuck-together kitchen towel tubes, pretending to be Darth Vader. Looking at him now, all broken nose and wounded masculine pride, she thought she wouldn’t have minded being chased around the house by him one little bit, and managed to suppress a wistful sigh.
“I spoke to Hunter a few weeks ago,” she said, bringing up the one subject she hoped they still had in common. “He seemed very happy, very settled with Thingummy Bob.” She always had been appalling with names.