Wickham Hall, Part 3 Page 10

  ‘It might have been misguided, but he was probably trying to do you a favour and protect you at the same time. Assuming Antonio even gets the letter, getting the news of a daughter you never knew you had from a third party might be easier than hearing it directly from you.’

  I thought about this for a moment. ‘True.’ I sighed. ‘But I wanted to do it in my own time.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that and Ben should have understood that too. But what if Antonio is delighted to hear about you? Wouldn’t that be amazing?’

  I nodded. The thought made my head spin.

  She pulled me into a hug. ‘All I’m saying is that it was very thoughtful and selfless of Ben and I genuinely think that he has taken it upon himself to find Antonio with your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Well, now you put it like that . . .’ I chewed my lip between my teeth. And perhaps if I’d let him explain properly before charging off like a demented fire-breathing dragon, this evening might have ended up with Ben’s arm round my shoulders instead of Esme’s. ‘I’m just not sure how it will work out and you know me, Es, I like to deal in certainties.’

  ‘Oh, Holster.’ Esme rolled her eyes. ‘Life would be boring if we knew how every story ended. This is a new story, it may be the start of a family saga, it may be over in a few chapters, but it’s yours so don’t be scared to turn the pages.’

  I nodded, feeling soothed by her words and tired all of a sudden, which was hardly surprising after the long day I’d had.

  ‘So what do I do now, wise woman?’ I asked with a smile.

  Esme leaned her forehead against mine. ‘Tell your mum so she knows the score. Then first thing Monday, breeze into work and make up with Ben.’

  I planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘That sounds like a plan.’

  I arrived at work on Monday, a bright smile at the ready and full of good intentions and humble apologies, but the lights were off and the events office was empty.

  No problem, I told myself, shrugging off the disappointment. It was still early; there was plenty of time to make amends with Ben. While I waited for him to turn up, I decided to visit Sheila to see if she had any news about Jim.

  I trotted back downstairs, along the corridor towards Lord Fortescue’s private office and knocked on the door.

  Sheila beckoned me in. ‘Good news from Jim’s wife.’ She beamed. ‘He’s back home and other than a bit of wounded pride for letting himself get in such a state, he’ll be as right as ninepence.’

  ‘Phew!’ I said, raising my eyes heavenwards. ‘I’m so glad. Should we send him some flowers, do you think?’

  ‘Lovely idea, Holly,’ she replied, nodding thoughtfully. ‘And maybe a gift hamper from the shop. I’ll get Andy to sort it out.’

  She reached for her phone but before she picked it up, it began to ring. Sheila smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

  ‘And so another busy week begins,’ she trilled.

  She answered the call and my eyes roamed her perfectly ordered office with its beautiful golden furniture and handsome display of books. As usual there was a lavish arrangement of flowers from the garden on top of the china pedestal and I walked across and bent down to inhale the scent of the lilies.

  ‘Good gracious!’ Sheila’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Really? How awful! . . . Of course, of course. I will. Goodbye.’

  She replaced the phone and tutted. ‘That was the fire service with their initial report from Friday’s fire. Apparently the bonfire gave off such thick poisonous smoke because right at the centre of it was a large amount of polystyrene, like packaging materials. It gives off carbon monoxide when it burns, according to the fire officer.’

  I frowned. ‘But how . . .? The fire was made from garden rubbish, branches from the fruit trees, just green stuff. Nikki wouldn’t have put polystyrene in the fire.’

  Sheila pressed her lips together. ‘Hmm, it is odd. I’m sure you’re right but I will ask her, just in case.’

  ‘Carbon monoxide poisoning. Poor Jim,’ I said with a shudder. ‘He could have been far more seriously hurt. I think I’ll go and see him this evening.’

  ‘He’d like that, I’m sure,’ said Sheila, handing me a cup of tea. ‘Drink this, you look pale.’

  I murmured my thanks and sank into a chair to sip my tea as the grandfather clock in the corner struck half past nine. And still no sign of Ben . . .

  ‘Where’s Ben today, Sheila?’

  At that moment, the door flew open and Lady Fortescue swept in.

  ‘I assume you’re referring to Benedict?’ She scowled at me and I nodded.

  My heart sank; I seemed to be slipping further and further down in Lady Fortescue’s good books.

  ‘He’s in Cambodia,’ she said with a sniff, answering on Sheila’s behalf. ‘He upped and left yesterday morning. Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers in the air.

  ‘But he can’t have . . .’ I yelped, earning myself another frown from Her Ladyship.

  ‘Good grief, Your Ladyship!’ Sheila cried, scurrying to the teapot. ‘Was this planned?’

  I stood up and offered my chair to Lady Fortescue, who sank down into it delicately. Sheila dispensed more tea and I hovered anxiously, not quite knowing whether I should stay or go. My throat was throbbing with sadness.

  Ben had gone. Without telling me. If I hadn’t lost my temper with him on Friday, he would at least have phoned me to let me know, I was sure of it. Did that mean our friendship was irreparable?

  ‘No.’ Lady Fortescue sighed dramatically. ‘He had a call on Saturday morning to say that Mae Chang village had been flooded and some of the houses had been washed away. All the villagers have been evacuated and the school is in danger too, apparently. So off he shot: he caught the first plane from Gatwick yesterday.’

  My heart tugged with affection for him; what a brave and selfless thing to do. Like writing to Antonio Biancardi. He had done that for me and now he was in South East Asia helping those poor people and the last thing I’d said to him was that he was selfish . . .

  I felt a sob rise up in my throat and I turned to the window to hide my face from Lady Fortescue.

  ‘I don’t know, Sheila, I despair, I really do. All we asked was for him to stay here until Christmas, for him to get a feel for the role of running the estate. But every chance he gets, he escapes.’

  For the right reasons, Lady Fortescue, I argued silently. His beautiful heart was in the right place.

  I blinked away my tears and turned back into the room. ‘When will he be back, Lady Fortescue?’ I gulped.

  ‘Huh!’ she scoffed. ‘As if he’d tell his mother a minor detail like that. This is Benedict we’re talking about.’ She waved a hand in the air. ‘He’ll be gone for at least a month, knowing him.’

  My breath caught in my throat and I had to stop myself from gasping aloud. A month? I couldn’t wait that long to put right the mess I’d made of Friday night.

  ‘I’ll say something for him, though.’ Lady Fortescue sighed. ‘He’s a good boy. He does far more for charity than I do. I think I might start some good works in the New Year.’

  ‘In that case, Lady Fortescue, can I give you Benedict’s private mail?’ said Sheila, flicking through a stack of post on her desk. ‘An envelope came for him this morning. From overseas! Ah here it is.’

  My ears pricked up instantly and I strained my neck to see what was on the envelope in Sheila’s outstretched hand.

  ‘Overseas?’ I leapt forward. ‘Where exactly? May I see? Benedict was expecting a letter—’

  ‘Excuse me!’ exclaimed Lady Fortescue, jutting out her chin. ‘Do I have to remind you again, Holly, that you are a member of staff? Under no circumstances do you inspect my son’s private mail!’

  She whipped the letter out of poor Sheila’s hand. But not before I’d had a good look at it. I could hardly believe what I saw. It had the distinctive striped edge of an airmail letter and the postage stamp bore the word ITALIA in bold capital letters.

  My stomach q
uivered.

  It had to be from my father, it had to be.

  What was in it? What did he say? Would he want to acknowledge his daughter after all these years, I wondered, or would he deny ever having met a seventeen-year-old Lucy Swift at Wickham Hall? I was desperate to read that letter. Almost as desperate as I was to have Benedict back.

  ‘Holly, dear, are you sure you’re all right?’ Sheila asked, resting a kindly hand on my back.

  A wave of nausea passed over me but I attempted a business-like nod.

  ‘Thank you, Sheila. Forgive my rudeness, Lady Fortescue, I do apologize. I’ll do my best to carry on without Benedict in the run-up to Christmas. I’ll miss him, of course,’ I added, sliding my eyes to meet hers.

  ‘Of course, Holly.’ Lady Fortescue smiled and got to her feet. ‘We’d expect nothing less. Your work has always been exemplary.’

  She glided into Lord Fortescue’s adjoining office with the pile of post and emerged a few seconds later. ‘Sheila, the time has come to have a sort out in Zara’s room. She has prom dresses that I know she’ll never wear again. And do let me know if you hear anything more from Jim.’

  ‘Right you are, Lady Fortescue.’

  We both watched her leave and Sheila pulled her jacket on. ‘I think I’ll go over and see Andy myself about that gift hamper.’

  ‘And I need to be getting on too,’ I said, walking out of the office in front of her.

  I strode to the staircase and ran up the first few steps. As soon as Sheila was out of sight I ran back down the stairs and crept along the corridor to her office, checking over my shoulder every other second.

  My heart was thudding against my ribcage as I scurried across the floor and peered into Lord Fortescue’s office. It was empty.

  I entered and pulled the door to behind me, leaving it slightly ajar.

  Adrenalin coursed through me. This was possibly one of the most stupid things I had ever done but I had to get a proper look at that letter. My eyes scanned Lord Fortescue’s desk until I spotted a pile of envelopes jutting out of his in-tray.

  Oh God. I swallowed nervously. This was crazy.

  I flicked a glance at the door and strained my ears for any signs of footsteps. But there was nothing. I tweaked the envelopes out and flicked through the pile until I found the one with the red and blue striped airmail edge.

  My hands were shaking so much I could hardly read the writing. But it was definitely to Benedict, definitely handwritten and . . . I squinted at the smudged postmark . . . I was pretty sure it said ‘Bergamo, Italia’.

  I blew out a breath and picked up Lord Fortescue’s letter opener. This was so dodgy. Wasn’t opening someone else’s post actually a criminal offence?

  A line of perspiration broke out on my forehead.

  I lowered the envelope to the desk.

  But no one would ever know, I reasoned and besides, if Ben were here he’d want me to open the letter.

  Sod it.

  I slid the letter opener under the flap of the envelope and—

  ‘Morning, Holly. Any tea going?’ Lord Fortescue greeted me perkily, appearing at the door.

  I flung the letter opener and the envelope down on the desk as though they were burning hot. Like my face.

  He looked at the desk and then back to me.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he said, looking a bit startled as he approached his desk.

  ‘No. Yes. Everything’s fine,’ I said, picking up the envelope and stuffing it back into the in-tray. ‘Silly me, I’ve misplaced an envelope from an Italian . . . um . . . ice-cream man and I thought it had got mixed up with your mail, but it hasn’t so—’

  ‘Ice cream in November?’ He frowned.

  ‘Planning ahead for summer, they get very booked up . . .’ I shrugged.

  Oh God, what was I babbling on about?

  ‘I’ll see about that tea,’ I stuttered. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

  I fled from the office and ran back out into the corridor. I pressed myself against the wall and gulped in air as my lungs struggled to breathe.

  A month. That was how long I might have to wait until Benedict came back and showed me that letter. Was it from Antonio? Was my father even alive? And if so would he want to meet me? And what about Ben? We’d parted on such bad terms on Friday night that I didn’t even know whether we were still friends.

  I had so many questions. And Ben held all the answers.

  How was I going to get through the next day, let alone the next month, without him?

  In the final part of Wickham Hall

  White Christmas

  Sleigh bells are ringing and the snow is glistening at Wickham Hall! While overseeing the hall’s very own winter wonderland, Holly is kept busy making lists and checking them all twice. It’s almost enough to keep her mind off her one and only Christmas wish . . .

  But life isn’t as easily organised as an event at Wickham Hall (and even those usually have their complications). Can Holly learn to let go and live in the moment? After all, that’s when the magic really happens . . .

  Coming 26th November 2015

  Available for pre-order now

  About the Author

  Cathy Bramley is the author of the best-selling romantic comedies Ivy Lane and Appleby Farm, both four-part serialised novels, and Conditional Love. Wickham Hall is also a four-part serialised novel. She lives in a Nottinghamshire village with her husband, two daughters and a dog.

  Her recent career as a full-time writer of light-hearted, romantic fiction has come as somewhat of a lovely surprise, after spending the last eighteen years running her own marketing agency. However, she has always been an avid reader, hiding her book under the duvet and reading by torchlight. Luckily her husband has now bought her a Kindle with a light, so that’s the end of that palaver.

  Cathy loves to hear from her readers. You can get in touch via her website www.CathyBramley.co.uk, Facebook page Facebook.com/CathyBramleyAuthor or on Twitter twitter.com/CathyBramley

  Also by Cathy Bramley

  Ivy Lane

  Conditional Love

  Appleby Farm

  Irresistible recipes inspired by Wickham Hall

  Spicy Couscous and Halloumi

  Bonfire Night Banana Bread

  Gingerbread Loaf

  Spicy Couscous and Halloumi

  There are lots of people who work behind the scenes helping to make my books the best they can be, and I’m delighted that one of those lovely people, Helen Gregory, has contributed a recipe to Wickham Hall. Helen is Digital Publishing Manager, so she’s the person responsible for ensuring that every single part of the machine behind the publication of my ebooks is running smoothly (she’s also very healthy!).

  You will need . . .

  Couscous (60g per person)

  Knob of butter

  1 teaspoon harissa paste

  Olive oil

  Halloumi, sliced

  Half a red chilli, chopped

  A handful of sultanas

  A handful of flaked almonds

  3 tbsp natural yoghurt

  A handful of chopped fresh mint

  Pour the couscous in a bowl and rub the butter into it. Stir in the harissa.

  Pour in boiling water until the water just covers the couscous. Cover with cling film and leave for 10 minutes.

  Put your griddle pan on a high heat and add a little olive oil.

  Add the halloumi and sprinkle with the chopped chilli. Grill for a few minutes on each side.

  Once the couscous is ready, fluff with a fork and mix in the sultanas and almonds.

  Serve with the halloumi on top and natural yoghurt on the side. Sprinkle with mint.

  Bonfire Night Banana Bread

  Huge thank you to Transworld Editor, Bella Bosworth for this delicious recipe. Over to you, Bella!

  Bonfire Night always makes me think of mittens and baked potatoes, of stamping your feet to keep them warm and tightly-clasped mugs of soup. But it also makes me think of that ‘ahh�
� feeling of coming back inside to a cup of tea and a bite of something, while you watch the last of the fireworks from the window. And there’s nothing better than a slice of banana bread, still warm from the oven and shot through with dark chocolate. For extra decadence, spread generously with butter.

  (For a gluten-free version, substitute the self-raising flour with a mix of gluten-free self-raising flour and ground almonds.)

  You will need . . .

  175g salted butter, softened

  175g sugar (half light muscovado, half golden caster sugar)

  2 free-range eggs

  175g self-raising flour

  100g walnuts, chopped

  3–4 very ripe bananas (the browner, the better)

  175g dark chocolate in chunks

  Preheat the oven to 170°C (325°F/gas mark 3). Line the base and sides of a loaf tin (20cm x 12cm) with baking paper.

  Beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Gradually add the eggs, one by one, to the butter and sugar mixture, and then mix in the self-raising flour and walnuts. Peel the bananas and mash them with a fork. Gently fold the bananas and the dark chocolate chunks into the mixture, taking care not to overmix.

  Scoop the batter into the prepared loaf tin. Bake for between 1 hour and 1 hour and ten minutes, until golden on top and a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. This may take a little longer – if so, you can cover the top with foil to prevent it from burning.

  Enjoy with a cup of tea!

  Gingerbread Loaf

  What could be more autumnal than a slice of spicy, sticky gingerbread? This one is very low in fat – except if you serve it warm and smothered with cream or custard or cold, spread with butter, of course . . .

  You will need . . .

  225g self-raising flour

  1 pinch of salt

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  3 teaspoons ground ginger

  55g butter or margarine

  55g soft brown sugar (or muscavado if you have it)

  8 tablespoons black treacle