you’ve never met the Vaughans, have you, Jane?’
Kington Parish Church was alone on the edge of the town. From the road it looked like a country church, walled and raised up against the cold sky. Ben didn’t even glance at it, just drove straight past the entrance in his old blue MGB, with the top down. Antony Largo was beside him, Jane fleeced and huddled into the little seat behind them, her hair blown across her face.
‘That was a church, wasn’t it?’ Largo said. ‘The chunky grey thing with the wee spire we just passed?’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’ On the edge of the town centre, Ben had turned right, heading back into the country, raising his voice above the engine’s dirty growl. ‘I’m going to take the story in sequence.’
‘Can we no’ have the damn top up?’
‘It’s jammed, if you must know.’
‘Great.’
‘Do you good, a bit of air.’
‘ I know what’d do me good, pal, but we left her behind.’ Largo leaned his head back. ‘That’s no offence to you, Jane, but I don’t think your mother would approve of me.’
‘I wasn’t looking for a new dad, anyway,’ Jane said.
‘Hmm,’ Largo mused. ‘Feisty.’
They came out of a shady lane with detached houses in it, and now they were in hilly countryside. Jane had never been down here before; she had no idea where the road led. The sun was pulsing feebly, a blister behind clouds like strips of yellowing bandage.
‘And you can keep your filthy paws off my staff, Largo,’ Ben said mildly. ‘Natalie’s in a relationship, and she’s bloody good at what she does.’
Largo turned to Ben. ‘How would you even know?’
‘What?’
Something fractured then, Largo bawling at Ben, raising himself up in the bucket seat. ‘Come on, what do you know about the hotel trade? I mean really? What have you done , you maniac? You could’ve found something in the independent sector, no problem, like every other bastard gets dumped by the Beeb. You could’ve gone to Kenny and Zoë Fitzroy. You could’ve come to me, for Christ’s sake! How naive is this ? Find you can afford some Disneyesque mansion wi’ wee towers for the price of your Dockland penthouse, and you have to grab it like it’s now or never.’
Ben gripped the wheel. ‘I’ve remarried, in case you failed to notice. I have Amber to consider.’
‘Aye, and that—’
The wind made a grab at Antony Largo’s voice and the folded fabric of the car’s roof flapped violently behind Jane. She sank down in the little seat to hear the rest of the stuff he presumably hadn’t felt able to say inside the hotel.
‘—An artist and turned her into a skivvy. You had to prove you didn’t need any of us: “I’m gonnae show these bastards, I’m getting out of London and create a wee paradise and get m’self fit and youthful again and make them all as sick as pigs.” How naive is that? Truth of it is, you do need us, you arsehole.’
Ben hung grimly on to the wheel, slowing the car, breathing in deeply, swallowing something. ‘The building on your left,’ he said finally, through his teeth, ‘is Hergest Court.’
Disappointing.
Like, it should have been bigger. Must have been bigger once, seeing it was built on a motte, an obvious castle mound above unkempt grounds and what might have been an old pond, even a moat. It was about fifty yards back from the road, part stone, part timbered. The stone end had a sloping roof, the timbered end just stopped.
‘Like it’s been sawn off,’ Jane said.
‘This is only a fragment of what it used to be.’ Ben had reversed into a track of hard mud and turned the car to face the house.
It looked stark, the way buildings with timber framing rarely did. There ought to be wooded hills rising behind it, but there were only the cold fields and the waxy sky. On the sawn-off side were sporadic trees – a gloomy yew, a bent pine – and then some industrial-looking farm buildings.
‘Rather forlorn now, I admit,’ Ben said. ‘Been
Kington Parish Church was alone on the edge of the town. From the road it looked like a country church, walled and raised up against the cold sky. Ben didn’t even glance at it, just drove straight past the entrance in his old blue MGB, with the top down. Antony Largo was beside him, Jane fleeced and huddled into the little seat behind them, her hair blown across her face.
‘That was a church, wasn’t it?’ Largo said. ‘The chunky grey thing with the wee spire we just passed?’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’ On the edge of the town centre, Ben had turned right, heading back into the country, raising his voice above the engine’s dirty growl. ‘I’m going to take the story in sequence.’
‘Can we no’ have the damn top up?’
‘It’s jammed, if you must know.’
‘Great.’
‘Do you good, a bit of air.’
‘ I know what’d do me good, pal, but we left her behind.’ Largo leaned his head back. ‘That’s no offence to you, Jane, but I don’t think your mother would approve of me.’
‘I wasn’t looking for a new dad, anyway,’ Jane said.
‘Hmm,’ Largo mused. ‘Feisty.’
They came out of a shady lane with detached houses in it, and now they were in hilly countryside. Jane had never been down here before; she had no idea where the road led. The sun was pulsing feebly, a blister behind clouds like strips of yellowing bandage.
‘And you can keep your filthy paws off my staff, Largo,’ Ben said mildly. ‘Natalie’s in a relationship, and she’s bloody good at what she does.’
Largo turned to Ben. ‘How would you even know?’
‘What?’
Something fractured then, Largo bawling at Ben, raising himself up in the bucket seat. ‘Come on, what do you know about the hotel trade? I mean really? What have you done , you maniac? You could’ve found something in the independent sector, no problem, like every other bastard gets dumped by the Beeb. You could’ve gone to Kenny and Zoë Fitzroy. You could’ve come to me, for Christ’s sake! How naive is this ? Find you can afford some Disneyesque mansion wi’ wee towers for the price of your Dockland penthouse, and you have to grab it like it’s now or never.’
Ben gripped the wheel. ‘I’ve remarried, in case you failed to notice. I have Amber to consider.’
‘Aye, and that—’
The wind made a grab at Antony Largo’s voice and the folded fabric of the car’s roof flapped violently behind Jane. She sank down in the little seat to hear the rest of the stuff he presumably hadn’t felt able to say inside the hotel.
‘—An artist and turned her into a skivvy. You had to prove you didn’t need any of us: “I’m gonnae show these bastards, I’m getting out of London and create a wee paradise and get m’self fit and youthful again and make them all as sick as pigs.” How naive is that? Truth of it is, you do need us, you arsehole.’
Ben hung grimly on to the wheel, slowing the car, breathing in deeply, swallowing something. ‘The building on your left,’ he said finally, through his teeth, ‘is Hergest Court.’
Disappointing.
Like, it should have been bigger. Must have been bigger once, seeing it was built on a motte, an obvious castle mound above unkempt grounds and what might have been an old pond, even a moat. It was about fifty yards back from the road, part stone, part timbered. The stone end had a sloping roof, the timbered end just stopped.
‘Like it’s been sawn off,’ Jane said.
‘This is only a fragment of what it used to be.’ Ben had reversed into a track of hard mud and turned the car to face the house.
It looked stark, the way buildings with timber framing rarely did. There ought to be wooded hills rising behind it, but there were only the cold fields and the waxy sky. On the sawn-off side were sporadic trees – a gloomy yew, a bent pine – and then some industrial-looking farm buildings.
‘Rather forlorn now, I admit,’ Ben said. ‘Been
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