him. He’s bound to fall for Taggie — or even Mummy,’ she said dismissively.
There was a knock on the door and a removal man came in with a yellowing dress in a polythene bag: where did Mrs O’Hara want this put?
‘My wedding dress,’ said Maud theatrically, rising to her feet and holding it against her. ‘Just to think, twenty-one years ago.’
‘Ugh,’ said Caitlin. ‘It’s gross. How did you get Daddy in that? But I suppose he didn’t see you till he came up the aisle, and then it was too late.’
‘Caitlin, hush,’ chided Taggie, as Maud’s face tightened with anger. ‘Mummy looked beautiful; you’ve seen the photos.’
‘Oh, put it in my bedroom,’ snapped Maud, going back to the
‘I’m not sure I’m going to like living in the country,’ said Caitlin, fiddling with the wireless. ‘No Capital Radio, no
‘No second post!’ Taggie’s gasp of dismay was interrupted by a knock on the door. Another removal man wanted to know where the piano was to go.
‘On the right of the front door,’ said Maud.
‘Not there,’ shrieked Caitlin. ‘Wandering Aengus is shut in there, and that stupid bugger Daddy’s let him out twice already. ‘
And there’s Daddy, the nation’s biggest megastar, thought Lizzie.
‘Aengus is our cat. He’s a bit unsettled,’ said Taggie, smiling apologetically at Lizzie.
‘Oh look,’ sighed Maud, unwrapping a baby’s bottle. ‘That was Patrick’s when he was a baby.’
Caitlin tapped the fast-emptying whisky bottle with a finger. ‘And this was Daddy’s when he was forty-two,’ she said accusingly.
‘Oh, go away,’ said Maud, shooting her another dirty look.
Peering at a pile of books in the corner, Lizzie was highly gratified to see a copy of her first novel.
‘I wrote that,’ she blurted out.
‘Did you?’ said Maud in amazement, picking up the book and examining the photograph on the inside flap.
‘When I was thinner,’ said Lizzie humbly.
‘It was really good,’ said Maud. ‘I thoroughly enjoyed it.’
At that moment a punk Lord Byron wandered into the room. He had flawless cheek bones, short dark glossy vertical hair, and an inch of violet shadow under his eyes, which were like Maud’s only darker and much more direct; obviously the son Patrick who had so dazzled the village shop.
‘Darling,’ said Maud in excitement, ‘this is Lizzie Vereker. She wrote this marvellous novel, and she lives down the valley, so perhaps Penscombe won’t be such a cultural desert after all.’
Patrick said, ‘Hullo, Lizzie,’ and announced that he’d liked the book too, and where did his mother want the piano?
‘In the big drawing-room.’
‘Too cold; you’ll never play it in there,’ said Caitlin.
‘Put it in the small sitting-room, then,’ said Maud.
‘There won’t be room for anything else in there, not even a piano stool,’ protested Patrick.
‘Oh well, you sort it out, darling, you’re so good at that sort of thing,’ said Maud.
‘And don’t let Aengus out,’ screamed Caitlin.
Patrick’s reply was drowned by a bellow of rage from outside and Declan stormed in holding a piece of paper in one hand and the cordless telephone in the other. Lizzie caught her breath. She’d never expected him to be so tall and broad in the shoulders, or quite so heroic looking. He had very thick dark hair streaked with grey, and worry and hard work had dug deep lines on either sides of his mouth and round his eyes, which were as sombre and dark as the rain-soaked yew trees outside. But even with half-moon spectacles fallen down over his broken nose, a quarter of an inch of stubble and odd socks, one had to admit his force.
‘This is Lizzie Vereker,’ announced Maud. ‘She’s brought us some eggs and a bottle of champagne, and she writes lovely books.’
Declan glared at Lizzie as though she didn’t exist.
‘I can’t find the focking A-D directory.’ His Irish accent was much more pronounced than the rest of the family. ‘I can’t find my focking telephone book. I can’t get through to Claridge’s. I can’t get any answer from directory enquiries in London. I’ve been trying for the last half-hour.’
He dialled the number again, then held out the receiver, so they could all hear the parrot screech of the unobtainable.
‘Shall I try?’ said Lizzie. ‘You have to dial 192 for London directories in the country, and then 01 before the number.’
Two minutes later she got through to Claridge’s and handed the telephone to an amazed and grateful Declan, who asked to be put through to Johnny Friedlander.
Lizzie almost fainted. Johnny Friedlander was a brilliant, madly desirable American actor, with a well-known cocaine habit, and a penchant for under-age school girls.
‘
Taggie nodded and smiled.
Declan was put straight through, and invited Johnny on to his first programme for Corinium next month.
‘I’d ask you to stay with us,’ Declan went on in his world-famous husky infinitely sexy smoker’s voice, ‘but we’re in shit order this end, and you’d do better in a hotel. We can have dinner after the programme. I’ll get our contract people to talk to your people. Thanks, Johnny, I can’t think of a better person to kick off the series.’
‘But he’s never given an interview ever,’ said Lizzie in wonder, as Declan came off the telephone.
‘I know. Isn’t it great?’ Declan suddenly smiled, a wide, slightly gap-toothed grin, which made him look much more like Taggie, and made Lizzie feel utterly weak at the knees. ‘And all because you know how to use a telephone,’ he went on. ‘If I’d left it any later, he’d have been looped or refused point blank. I’ll certainly read your book.’
He turned to Maud. ‘D’you hear that, darling? Johnny’s coming on the programme.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Maud, without interest. ‘Hell,’ she went on, reaching the end of another torn bit of paper, ‘this piece on Princess Michael is continued on page eight. Do see if you can find it, Taggie.’
She started frantically burrowing in the tea chest, throwing discarded bits of newspaper all over the floor. Taggie raised her eyes to heaven.
Lizzie turned to Declan: ‘What are you writing at the moment?’
‘Cheques mostly,’ said Declan.
Gazing out of the window, towards the pond, he suddenly started, and grabbed the binoculars from Caitlin, nearly garrotting her with the straps.
‘Grasshopper warbler,’ he said a second later. ‘Pretty rare for this part of the world. There are some marvellous birds round here.’
‘There could be some marvellous blokes too,’ said Caitlin, rubbing her neck and snatching back the binoculars to train them once more on Rupert’s house, ‘if they were ever at home.’
‘I’m off to the public library, darling,’ said Declan, attempting to kiss a still scrabbling Maud on the cheek.
‘But you haven’t had any breakfast or lunch,’ said Taggie in distress.
‘Trust you to push off leaving us to do all the work,’ grumbled Maud.
‘Leaving Taggie to do all the work,’ said Declan with a slight edge to his voice.
After he’d gone, and Maud and Lizzie had had some more whisky, the doorbell rang.
‘Probably the local paper, and your father’s not here,’ said Maud, who was now reading about Boy George.
But it was another bouquet of flowers, brought in by Caitlin.
‘Who are they for?’ asked Taggie, hope flaring then dying in her eyes, when Caitlin opened the envelope and read: To
Seeing the flash of irritation on Maud’s face, Lizzie wondered quite how much fun it must be to be married to such a famous man. Lizzie had experienced the same thing in a smaller way being married to James, but she wasn’t
