Wickham Hall, Part 2

  About the Book

  Summertime at Wickham Hall is hard to beat. The sun is out, the gardens are in full bloom, and the Summer Festival is just around the corner.

  With a clipboard in one hand and her diary in the other, Holly Swift is in her element. She’s even warming to Ben, her unorganised, spontaneous (if very attractive) boss who occasionally drives her mad.

  But as the festival rolls near, a family secret from the past threatens to rain down on Holly’s parade. Can she weather the storm, or is this a problem not even Holly can plan her way out of?

  Wickham Hall is an utterly feel-good story told in four parts – following Holly Swift’s attempt at organising her own happy-ever-after, one catastrophe at a time. Summer Secrets is part two.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Previously in Wickham Hall

  Summer Secrets

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Next at Wickham Hall . . .

  About the Author

  Also by Cathy Bramley

  Irresistible recipes inspired by Wickham Hall

  Copyright

  WICKHAM HALL

  Cathy Bramley

  Previously in Wickham Hall: Hidden Treasures . . .

  When Holly Swift got the opportunity to take on the job of her dreams as events organizer at Wickham Hall, she thought it would be simple enough. Then her manager had a family crisis and disappeared, leaving her to plan the wedding of the year . . . Luckily Holly is taking to it like a duck to water, and relishing being at the heart of all the action at Wickham Hall.

  After some hiccups on the big day, the wedding was a triumph and now Holly is looking forward to the next big event: the Summer Festival. Will she manage to keep her cool working with new boss Benedict? And just how will she react when a connection between her mother and the hall itself is revealed?

  Read Wickham Hall: Summer Secrets to find out!

  Summer Secrets

  Chapter 1

  It was the Monday morning after Zara’s wedding. I’d got up mega-early and gone for a run before work. I’d been so busy over the last few weeks since starting my new job that I’d scarcely had the time to exercise, but this morning I decided to make the effort. My head was still whirring from the events of the weekend and although I didn’t like to admit it, I was a bit apprehensive about being in the office with my new boss, Benedict.

  As usual, my run had helped me make sense of my thoughts and I’d come up with a strategy to cope with my first-day nerves: I would be a swan. A graceful swan. All serene and floaty on the surface whilst flapping about like mad underneath.

  I practised my calm and unflappable demeanour as I made my way through the grounds and into Wickham Hall. It was only seven o’clock and I revelled in the stillness of the gardens and breathed in the scent of summer: freshly mown grass, fragrant honeysuckle tangled in amongst the borders and old-fashioned roses trailing over archways. The car park had been empty and I didn’t meet a single soul as I let myself in through the staff entrance in the east wing.

  In theory, the next couple of weeks should be quiet at Wickham Hall: Zara and Philippe would be far away on their honeymoon by now and Lord and Lady Fortescue had jetted off too to the South of France for a few days. And that left only one Fortescue on the premises: Benedict.

  There wasn’t much chance of him being quiet, I thought with a wry smile.

  At least I’d get a couple of hours’ work done before he turned up. I had heaps to do and I would have to bring him up to speed on the Summer Festival before this morning’s meeting, too. If I could bring myself to look him in the eye, that was, after my rather embarrassing revelations at Joop yesterday.

  Swan, Holly, think swan . . .

  I ran up the stairs to my office ready to immerse myself in my to-do list, but a noise stopped me in my tracks: someone was in there already. I could hear drawers being slammed, the thudding of what sounded like heavy objects being dropped and above it all the incongruous sound of a man singing a criminally bad version of Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off’.

  I couldn’t help but giggle. It had to be Benedict.

  Goodness knows what he was up to. But if nothing else, no one could accuse him of being boring; at least Benedict appeared to have a sense of humour and I doubted he took himself too seriously. Imagine if I’d had to work with Andy? Now that would have been awkward . . .

  I took a deep and calming breath, opened the door and—

  ‘Oh.’ I swallowed.

  Pippa’s desk, which I had so painstakingly tidied, had been totally ransacked. The drawers were hanging open and empty, there were stacks of paper on top of it, cardboard boxes on the floor next to it and Benedict appeared to be filing all of Pippa’s old paperwork under ‘B’ for bin.

  ‘Morning, Miss Early Bird. Couldn’t you sleep? What happened – boyfriend kick you out of bed for snoring?’ He grinned and blew out of one side of his mouth to temporarily dislodge the curls hanging over his left eye.

  ‘I came in early to get a head start on the week. Looks like I’ve missed quite a party,’ I said, trying to drag my eyes away from the mess. I blinked at him. ‘And for your information I do not snore.’

  ‘Good to know.’ He winked.

  ‘Do you have any idea how long it took me to tidy this office when I arrived?’ I asked calmly.

  The swan thing was working; there was barely a ripple on the water. I was quite proud of myself. Inside, however, my stomach was churning as though I’d swallowed an outboard motor.

  ‘Er,’ he screwed up his face, pretending to think, ‘I give up. Glad you’re here, anyway – grab this box.’

  He held a cardboard box out to me. I ignored it.

  ‘Whilst I have every respect for you, Ben – Benedict . . . actually,’ I said, sitting at my desk, ‘will you please tell me what to call you. Should I call you Mr Fortescue?’

  ‘Officially, I’m the Right Honourable Mr Benedict Fortescue. But my friends call me Ben. You can call me Ben.’ He set the box down and began piling books and papers into it randomly.

  ‘As I was saying,’ I cleared my throat, ‘I’m keen to work with, I mean, for you, but we need some house rules.’

  ‘Do we? OK, let’s hear them,’ he said with a barely concealed chuckle.

  I cast my eyes around my previous oasis of calm and sighed inwardly. There were only two places on this earth where I felt I had any control over my environment: my bedroom and my office. He wasn’t to know that, of course, but seeing my well-ordered piece of the world thrown into chaos really was quite upsetting. Even the shelf above the photocopier had been stripped of most of its contents, only a few books remained. All the phone directories, catalogues and magazines were strewn on the floor.

  ‘Remind me never to let you near my bedroom,’ I muttered.

  ‘That’s a house rule?’ He blinked at me.

  ‘Sorry, no . . .’ I felt my face heat up. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I harnessed the swan again. ‘People operate best when their workspace is tidy. It’s a well-known fact. The Summer Festival is only four weeks away; there is an almost unconquerable amount of work to do, so let’s focus on that first, shall we? And not choose this moment to reorganize the office.’

  Ben swiped some of Pippa’s files into the box, chuckling to himself.

  ‘I wasn’t very good at English,’ he said, shooting me a smile over his shoulder. ‘But what’s that Shakespeare thing, about a short girl being feisty?�
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  ‘No idea,’ I said airily, recognizing the passage from A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. ‘But it’s funny, isn’t it, when a man stands up for himself, he’s strong but when a woman does it, she’s labelled fierce?’

  He looked at me all twinkly-eyed. ‘Fierce, that’s it,’ he said and laughed.

  Damn it. I couldn’t help but laugh too.

  ‘Anyway, enough banter,’ he said, face serious all of a sudden. ‘Here I was arriving early to get straight before you arrived and here you are cluttering up the place. At least make yourself useful.’

  ‘How exactly?’ I retorted. ‘By putting all this stuff back where it belongs?’

  ‘Look,’ he sighed, ‘it’s a work in progress. Sometimes things have to look worse before they can look better.’

  Now that was true; Mum and I had had a go at sorting out some of Granddad’s old things yesterday. The dining room was now officially a no-go zone.

  ‘I didn’t mean us to get off to a bad start; I just thought I’d have a spring clean, or a midsummer’s morning clean. Blank canvas, new broom, and all that.’

  I folded my arms, remembering how spotless the office had been when I left it on Saturday afternoon during the wedding.

  ‘Look, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll stack the boxes in one corner for a while, to be on the safe side. Just in case there’s something we need amongst this lot. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I agreed.

  ‘But anything we don’t look at between now and Bonfire Night is going on the fire. Deal?’

  ‘That’s in November!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Correct. Give the girl a fish.’ He handed me an empty cardboard box and this time I took it from him.

  ‘You’re staying for quite a while, then?’

  He grinned at me. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I smiled.

  Swan, Holly, think swan . . .

  By eight o’clock, I was thirsty, hot and more than a little dusty, but all the loose paperwork was stacked into a corner and I had to admit, the office did look less cluttered. And I realized, Ben hadn’t made as much as one tiny reference to my comments in Joop yesterday and for that I was extremely grateful. I was about to suggest that I made us a pot of coffee when Ben marched to the door.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, holding the door open and waving his arm for me to go through it. ‘Now the office is sorted, we can go.’

  ‘Go where?’ I said, puzzled, automatically collecting my handbag.

  ‘The showground. The Summer Festival is on in four weeks and there’s an unconquerable amount of work to do, you know,’ he teased.

  We left the hall, crossed the grounds diagonally towards the Coach House Café and both turned as a Harley-Davidson motorbike roared into view, ridden by a tall figure dressed head to toe in leathers. The bike disappeared behind the area fenced off for deliveries to the café and the engine stopped.

  ‘Should we be worried, do you think?’ I asked, glancing up at Ben as we passed the café’s outdoor tables and chairs.

  Ben tutted playfully. ‘Do you ever not worry?’

  I was still trying to come up with a suitable reply when the biker reappeared in front of the café entrance, raised a hand in greeting and removed the glossy black helmet to reveal a tumble of long purple hair.

  ‘Jenny! I didn’t know you were a biker!’ I wondered how many other stately homes had a purple-haired, Harley-Davidson-riding head chef! My head was already whirring with how we could use this to our advantage in some sort of marketing campaign.

  ‘Morning, Benedict; morning, Holly,’ she grinned. ‘Yes. It was my dad’s, actually. I don’t always bike to work but I was running a bit late today.’

  Ben looked wistfully towards the spot where Jenny had parked the bike. ‘Your dad used to ride it to Wickham Hall every day. He took me out on it once; I’ll never forget it. I badgered my parents for a bike for ages after that. He was a good man, your dad.’

  Jenny nodded and let out a deep sigh. ‘He was.’

  ‘Jenny’s father was the mechanic and chauffeur here at Wickham Hall for decades until he retired,’ Ben explained as Jenny inserted her key into the café’s double doors. ‘In my grandfather’s day, the garage was full of cars, from Rolls Royces to Aston Martins. Now all we’ve got are sensible cars and quad bikes for riding round the estate.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve always fancied a go on one of those quad bikes,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the groundsmen out on them. They go quite fast, don’t they?’

  Benedict nodded. ‘My friends and I used to take them out into the parkland. Great fun, especially in the dark. I’ll have to take you out on one; I’d quite like to see you letting your hair down.’

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I picked up Jenny’s helmet and handed it to her.

  ‘Thanks. Are you both coming to the festival committee meeting today?’ Jenny asked, unzipping her leather jacket.

  The committee meeting was held in the room where I’d had my interview. It was usually chaired by Sheila, and the committee consisted of Nikki, Jenny and Andy, as well as someone from Radio Henley and the Summer Festival sponsors. And me.

  ‘Just me,’ Benedict answered quickly. ‘Holly has got an insurmountable pile of work to do. In fact, we’re on our way to the showground now. I need to familiarize myself with the site again. She’s going to fill me in on what has been happening and I should have some new ideas by the time we get to the meeting.’

  ‘New ideas?’ I said, meeting his gaze. ‘I’m not sure we should be introducing new ideas at this late stage. And to answer your question, Jenny, yes I am coming to the meeting.’

  Jenny winked at me. ‘See you both later, then.’

  She disappeared into the café, laughing softly to herself.

  Ben and I carried on out of the courtyard and through the formal gardens. I could have quite easily dawdled and stopped to pick daisies in the grass, but Ben was a fast walker. I didn’t mind; simply being out in the grounds on a beautiful sunny morning worked its magic and my spirits soared.

  ‘It must have been incredible to have all this as your back garden when you were a child,’ I mused as we walked through the trees alongside the cascade that led to the parkland.

  ‘It was brilliant,’ Ben said simply. ‘I had dens and hollow trees big enough to hide in, rope swings . . . We even made our own BMX track once.’

  We emerged from the woods into the parkland and paused to look across at the fallow deer dotted across the grass in the distance.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view,’ I said.

  ‘It is nice to come back to,’ Ben agreed. ‘For a while, at least.’

  I frowned, wondering what he meant by that, but before I could ask he began marching again. By the time we came to a halt on the wide path that led down towards the river I had enthusiastically filled Ben in on the highlights of this year’s Wickham Hall Summer Festival.

  ‘Hard to imagine, isn’t it?’ said Benedict as we stood for a moment, surveying the site.

  The showground was simply a five-acre area of grassland, which would be fenced off on three sides, the fourth side being bordered by the river. A second adjacent area would be fenced off as a temporary campsite for exhibitors to park caravans and pitch their tents. It was still unadulterated at the moment, but in two weeks’ time, the contractors would arrive to set up all the marquees, exhibition stands and toilet blocks, turning the field into a little village complete with temporary roads and an electricity supply.

  ‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve been here loads of times as a visitor but I had no idea how much work it takes to put the event on.’

  The festival was a highly complex affair and from what I had seen so far, it seemed to be very well run. And it needed to be; there would be upwards of 23,000 visitors over the three-day show.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Ben, snapping his fingers as though he’d just remembered something. ‘I’d forgotten that the Summer Festival has a special pla
ce in your heart.’

  ‘Oh definitely.’ I nodded. ‘I remember one year it was so hot that . . .’

  My voice trickled away as I caught him grinning at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘Oh you mean that. Look, I’m really sorry you overheard me pouring my heart out to Esme yesterday.’

  He held up his hands. ‘No, I apologize. I shouldn’t tease you.’ He took a deep breath and gazed into my eyes. ‘You mentioned about your mum going for treatment and whatever it is, I hope she’s OK.’

  I nodded. I was attempting to be swan-like but had a sneaking suspicion that I was erring more towards flamingo, i.e. a delicate shade of pink.

  ‘Thank you.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Now, about this morning’s meeting.’

  I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the bright sun so that he couldn’t see my face. ‘Radio Henley has already started their on-air campaign, the literature is printed and all the people entering show gardens have submitted their themes, including Nikki. Please,’ I said, dropping my hand and meeting his eyes, ‘please tread carefully with new ideas.’

  ‘I hear you.’ Ben nodded, smiling softly.

  ‘Phew. Thank you.’ I sighed with relief, recognizing an olive branch when I saw one.

  ‘Come on; let’s go back to the office, Holly. Do you realize it’s nearly nine o’clock and you haven’t made me one cup of tea yet?’

  ‘What!’ My jaw dropped but he burst out laughing and draped an arm loosely across my shoulder. ‘Only joking, Miss High Horse. Let’s go and see if Jenny can sort us out with some tea and toast.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ I said primly, not even sure in my own mind whether I was referring to the offer of breakfast or to the tremor of excitement that had just run down the length of my spine.

  Chapter 2

  By early afternoon Ben and I were back in the events office. Ben’s first Summer Festival meeting had been declared a success and I must admit, it had been a lot livelier with him in the room than his father.

  However, my jobs list had somehow doubled and I’d yet to cross anything off it, which was making me feel a bit jittery. Particularly as I couldn’t find a single document that I needed following our office tidy and now a courier had turned up for Ben. The man had made several trips backwards and forwards to his van and had deposited some large mysterious packages that made Ben even more exuberant than normal.