Sarah had picked up the phone without thinking. It was eleven o'clock on Monday morning and she'd been on the go since seven-thirty. One minute after nine she'd hit the phones. With luck, this was someone coming back with some positive news.
Hugo's drawl startled her so much she nearly dropped the phone. Coincidentally, she'd caught sight of his name as she went through her address book for possible kitchens for Bron to make Carrie's cake in and hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.
‘I want you to come out with me for a day,' he said, unaware that Sarah had broken into a light sweat of panic. 'To look at a venue,' he added.
Sarah cleared her throat. 'For Carrie?'
‘Uh huh. The one I mentioned before. It could be perfect.’
Back under control now, Sarah was brisk. 'Has it got the clipped yews, the manicured grass, the ancient gravestones – preferably with lichen – and the lych-gate?' Sarah knew the answer would be no, or even if it were yes, the venue wouldn't be available on the day.
He laughed. 'No. It's a private house, with a chapel. It doesn't tick all those boxes but it's really original and I think Carrie will love it. Even if she doesn't, I still think you should have a look.’
Sarah was about to refuse – her sense of self-preservation on full alert – but a private chapel might be the very thing.
It wouldn't be the same as a traditional country church, but it could be just as appealing.
‘You must see it, Sarah,' said Hugo, suddenly a great deal less drawly. 'Even if it's not right for Carrie you need to meet the people. They're not at all sure about the whole wedding thing but if they met you, you could reassure them and probably use them in the future. It would be a really exclusive location for your top clients.’
Sarah felt she couldn't miss this opportunity and accepted, albeit a little reluctantly. 'When were you thinking of going?'
‘In about half an hour. Come on, you need to get out of the office sometimes.’
Sarah was desperately torn. The thought of driving out into the country with Hugo was tempting if unsettling. She suddenly longed to get out. Her ear was scarlet from being pressed to the phone and she was tired of being polite to people. If she went with Hugo she could be rude if she felt like it – he wouldn't mind, he was used to it. She would just have to hope he wasn't too nice to her. That would be much more difficult.
On the other hand she had so much to do. She'd actually wondered earlier if she needed an assistant, if only to keep control of the paper that so covered her desk she had no space for her coffee mug.
‘No one's indispensable,' Hugo went on. 'It's vanity to suppose otherwise.' While Sarah was working this out he went on, 'Pick you up at half eleven, then. It'll just give us time to get there for lunch.’
Sarah gave in. 'OK.' She put the phone down and realised she probably should have sounded more enthusiastic. She was enthusiastic, sort of, but guilt was having its effect – she should really have continued to work. But supposing this was the perfect venue? She couldn't not check it out – that would be completely unprofessional.
She stood in front of her wardrobe, scanning it as if for something more than just a clean pair of trousers and a top that didn't need ironing. The trouble was, most of her clothes were smart little suits or tracksuit bottoms so worn they would hardly stay up. There was very little casual but-respectable in between. A suit didn't morph into casual wear once it was a bit tatty, it just remained a tatty suit.
Like every other woman she knew, she did have the ubiquitous black trousers – if only she could find something to put with them she'd be fine. The jacket from one of her more frivolous jacket-and-skirt combinations – in tan rather than black or navy – would go OK with the trousers. Now it just needed a little top for underneath. She rummaged in her underwear drawer and found a black vest. If she added some exciting jewellery it would look OK. She didn't want to look as if she'd made much effort, after all, even if it was a semi-official trip. She would prefer it if Hugo just thought she'd been wearing that when he rang.
There was a snakes' nest of beads in a drawer and she disentangled a few. Unable to decide she put on a selection, mixing coral with some fake jet and a couple of strings of seed pearls.
Now make-up. As this went on more or less automatically she had time to examine her soul on the subject of Hugo Marsters. Despite being absolutely sure she should avoid getting too close to him, and that he could only ever be a friend at most, why did she feel fluttery when she spoke to him? And why did counteracting this make her abrasive and churlish instead of just calm? Why couldn't she behave like everyone else?
In an effort to stop looking like a wedding planner on a recce she tousled her hair a bit and wore a redder lipstick than usual. Then she wiped it off and replaced it with lip-gloss. She was still changing her mind and her make-up in rapid succession when she heard a car hoot. Typical Hugo – expecting her to rush out the moment he summoned her.
But she absolved him of any rudeness when she met him on the doorstep. He had planned to ring the doorbell.
‘Hello, you,' he said, kissing her cheek in a practised manner. 'You look a bit flushed. Are you OK?’
The flush was the result of her scrubbing off the bronzer which had made her look like she'd spent a misspent youth in a tanning salon but she wasn't going to tell Hugo this. 'I'm fine!'
‘Just checking. Now hop in.’
He opened the car door for her in a way that counteracted his casual demand. He really was a bit of an enigma, she decided as she did up her seatbelt.
‘Right, we're off to the country,' he said, and started the car.
‘I hope it's not too far out for Carrie,' said Sarah.
‘I thought anywhere in the country was fine as long as it was typically English.'
‘In theory, yes, but as my darling sister is getting married the same day, I have to find somewhere reasonably near to where she's arranged to be.'
‘Which is?’
She told him. 'And she's getting married early, so if I can persuade Carrie to have a later time, to segue into cocktails, possibly, I'll be able to manage both events.'
‘Sounds as if it'll be a bit tight to me. And cocktails isn't exactly typically English, is it?'
‘Royalty has done it,' said Sarah, meaning to sound firm but with desperation edging into her voice.
‘Well, you should see this venue anyway. It could be fabulous but, to be honest, it's in need of a bit of titivation. If you booked it for Carrie, you can have input into that.'
‘How come?'
‘It belongs to some old friends of mine. As I said, it's where I had in mind but needed to check they'd actually moved in. It's a wonderful old building that's going to cost them millions to restore. They need it to earn them money ASAP. If you could tell them how it could be more user-friendly, they'd be grateful, and you could have a really fabulous venue you can use at any time, more or less.'
‘Hm. I suppose you're right. It's just..
‘It's not that far away.' He drove in silence for a bit. 'No chance your sister would change her day – or even her venue?'
‘She's not getting married in a venue – it's her parents-in-law's church.'
‘Oh.'
‘And she can't change the date because she's booked it already.’
There was a moment's silence. 'Double oh.’
Sarah found herself laughing.
‘Now, lunch,' Hugo went on smoothly. 'Would you like to have it in a pub first, or shall I ring Fen and ask her to give us bread and cheese?'
‘Definitely a pub. You can't just ring people up and demand lunch, even if it's bread and cheese. They might not have enough of either!'
‘Good point. We don't want to be squabbling over a stale crust and a heel of mousetrap.'
‘We don't want to be taking the food from their mouths!' Sarah could imagine the horror of being told that two -well, one really – completely strange people were turning up for lunch with no time to shop or prepare, but smiled at his rejoinder anyway.
‘I don't think it would cause a major panic, they're very laid-back. Besides, I warned them we might turn up for lunch, but I do know a nice little gastropub that's very near them.'
‘You would,' said Sarah, almost indignant. He would have a sort of internal map with nice little eateries, boutique hotels and places for tea dotted all over it. She'd heard the odd rumour and it was a symptom of his raffish lifestyle. Restaurants with rooms would be his speciality. But then she chided herself: why must she always challenge him? He was being perfectly nice to her.
‘Be grateful,' said Hugo. 'Everyone needs to be fed and watered, although in your case I think you need a large Pimm's or a champagne cocktail – something to make you relax.'
‘I'm perfectly relaxed!'
‘Liar,' he said smoothly.
Sarah exhaled. He was right: she was extremely tense. She did a few deep-breathing exercises, hoping he wouldn't notice. She glanced down at her chest to see if what she was doing was obvious and realised she was showing a lot more cleavage than usual and hitched up her top, hoping her beads had covered the worst of it.
She saw Hugo glance down and knew her action had been spotted. She looked out of the window, determined not to say anything until Hugo did. She was his guest, it was up to him to make her feel comfortable. Then the voice of her mother, long dead, came to her. As his guest, it was up to her to enjoy herself.
‘It's a lovely day,' she squeaked.
Hugo laughed and Sarah wished he hadn't. It was a very sexy laugh, and she didn't need any added complications. It was proving harder to resist his charms each time she saw him, and that seemed to be much more than usual these days. 'Shall I put the radio on?' he suggested. 'It would save us having to make conversation.'
‘What a good idea,' she said, trying not to sound too relieved.
The pub was in a charming place that couldn't decide if it was a large village or a small town. Either way it was idyllic, with lots of buildings with either black beams against whitewashed walls, or silver-brown beams against ancient brick. Sarah's optimism awakened. If Hugo's friends had 'the big house' near here, it was likely to be wonderful, however dilapidated.
Hugo parked his car round the back of the pub. 'Inside or out?' he asked Sarah as he locked the doors.
Sarah looked at the pub, low, beamed, surrounded by climbing roses, and made a snap decision. 'Inside, please.’
Inside it would be dark; if she blushed he might not notice. Outside it would be a dreamy summer day; she might not be able to concentrate on being a businesslike wedding planner. Besides, she'd forgotten her sunglasses and she'd have to spend a lot of time with her eyes screwed up or shut – neither conducive to efficiency.
She followed Hugo into a building that seemed pitch dark after the brightness of the day. The flagged floor was uneven and ancient, beams threatened Hugo's head, and there seemed to be dozens of little rooms. She stood behind him at the bar.
‘Hi, Hugo, mate!' said the barman, who was young and Australian. 'Got your table. It's through in the snug.' As Sarah followed him again she realised he must have booked the table before she'd decided what she wanted to do. Had he successfully second-guessed her? Or was he just thoughtfully making sure he could accommodate her decision? There was definitely a lot more to Hugo than she'd ever suspected.
‘So, Pimm's or champagne cocktail? They do both very well.'
‘Don't I get the chance of half a lager or cider? Or even a glass of wine?'
‘Nope. Make up your mind.’
Sarah, who had heard herself described as bossy, found being bossed strangely relaxing. No wonder people didn't mind when she told them what to do – it saved so much energy not having to make decisions. 'Champagne cocktail then.’
While he was getting drinks Sarah checked out the other customers. They were predominately middle-class, County, and wealthy. By the bar, however, there was a phalanx of locals, in shirtsleeves, worn corduroys or denim jeans and the occasional flat cap. Perhaps they were paid by the management to make the place look like a proper pub. Then she sighed in self-reproach. Why was she making snippy mental comments about the place? She knew it was because Hugo was well known here and she had made a lot of snippy comments to herself about him over the couple of years she'd known him. A moment of reflection made her wonder if it was because she had been secretly drawn to him even before the kiss and it was in self-defence, but she dismissed the idea rapidly. She really couldn't afford to go there.
He came back with a tray with two glasses on it and two menus tucked under his arm. One of the glasses was a traditional conical champagne glass, of the kind popular before flutes became the fashion. The other was a pint glass filled with a cloudy grey liquid.
‘What's that?' asked Sarah, pointing to it, hoping she sounded brightly curious, not suspicious.
‘Ginger beer. It's very fiery – perfect if you need a drink but don't want to drink alcohol.'
‘Why do you need a drink?' Sarah was genuinely curious now.
‘Because you're a very daunting woman to be with unless you're very tired, and possibly a little drunk.' Sarah put down the glass she had been about to sip from. 'What? Me?'
‘Oh yes,' Hugo confirmed. 'On occasion, frankly terrifying.’
Sarah giggled. 'I don't believe you.’
Hugo raised his glass in a toast to her. 'Well, not completely terrifying. Anyway, here's to Somerby being the perfect venue, and here's to you: the best wedding planner in the world…' He stared into her eyes and Sarah's stomach lurched.
Feeling totally addled by a mixture of lust and terror, she raised her glass. 'To me,' she murmured and took a sip. Sarah was confused. She wasn't sure if she could resist Hugo for much longer and was starting to wonder whether it really would be such a bad idea to get involved with him. Aside from the fact that she was obviously attracted to him, he was easygoing, fun to be around, he seemed to respect her and despite the odd rumour she didn't really believe he was anything like her ex. But she'd made it perfectly clear she didn't want to go out with him. Part of her still felt this was the right decision, but the other half hoped he might ask her again. This time she might even say yes. Not that she'd ever dream of actually hinting as much to him. No, if it happened, it happened.
‘It's delicious,' she said as she set her glass down.
‘They do make them well here, as I said. Now, what about food?' He handed Sarah a menu. 'I can recommend the scallops. And considering we're so far inland, the fish is surprisingly good.’
As Sarah looked down the list she wished she was in an era when she could just hand the menu to her escort and ask him to order for her. 'The scallops do look nice,' she said. 'I'll have them.'
‘So will I. And shall we share a salad?’
When they'd dealt with the food order and Hugo had sat back down again Sarah said, 'So, tell me about your friends' house.'
‘You'll see it for yourself soon. Another cocktail?’
Sarah shook her head and found that it went on swinging internally, even after she'd stopped moving. 'Well, actually, a very large glass of water would be good.' A strong cocktail on an empty stomach hadn't been a very good idea, but being with Hugo somehow made her feel more decadent.
They chatted easily over lunch and Hugo even managed to persuade her to have syrup sponge and custard, with cream.
As they drove up to the house, Sarah admired the long drive (albeit in need of repair) that passed through parkland currently being grazed by small black cows. It was a proper country estate. She sat up a little straighter.
‘They're Dexters,' said Hugo, 'but don't ask me any more questions because I don't know the answers. They're smaller than ordinary cattle but that sums up my knowledge of them.'
‘I wasn't going to grill you on animal husbandry,' said Sarah, wonderfully relaxed after their lunch. Lily and Hugo were right, she did need to relax more often.
The house was enormous and beautiful and, as Hugo had said, dilapidated. Sarah instantly understood a couple falling in love with it. 'It looks like a project for one of those television programmes when the really impossible looking gets completed in twice the time allowed but with far less money than you'd think.’
Hugo laughed. 'They did get in touch with the television channel but it wasn't enough of a project for them.' He parked the car and, before he'd pulled on the handbrake, the front door opened and a young woman came out.
‘Hugo! Hi!' She was wearing jodhpurs, ancient muddy trainers and a polo shirt with a rip in the sleeve, all of which just seemed to enhance her model figure. Sarah wondered if she'd be quite so insouciant if she hadn't been so blatantly aristocratic. She flung her arms round Hugo's neck and kissed him. Then she smiled at Sarah – she might be posh but she was also friendly.
‘This is Sarah. Sarah, Fenella, although she prefers Fen. Fen, Sarah had a champagne cocktail for lunch so she's not quite the brisk professional she is usually. Though even with the edge taken off, she's quite something!'
‘Thank you for sharing that with people I've never met before!' Sarah gave him a look. Although she knew he was teasing, these were potential clients of sorts.
‘Oh, don't worry about him,' said Fenella, taking Sarah by the shoulder and leading her into the house. 'He always says outrageous things. It's his way of getting attention. Now come in. Oops, mind the dogs.’
A raggle-taggle selection of dogs came towards them in a wave. There were a couple of bigger ones, which Sarah thought were pointers, and a collection of small ones, who looked unnervingly like copies of the big ones that had accidentally got into the washing machine and been shrunk. They sniffed around Sarah and Hugo but didn't say much.
‘Come on,' said Fenella, having herded the pack round the corner of the house to some unseen destination.
They entered an echoing, empty hall big enough for a small ballet troupe to practise in.
‘Come through to the kitchen where it's a bit more cosy and I'll make some coffee. Rupert's somewhere about. The trouble is, the house is so bloody enormous we keep losing each other.’
Fenella led Sarah and Hugo through various other rooms and corridors to the back of the house and into a huge, sunny kitchen.
‘This is the only room we've got enough furniture for,' said Fenella, 'and even then it's only because we put everything we've got into it.'
‘That's not necessarily a bad thing,' said Hugo. 'If you want to rent the house out for photographic shoots, the emptier the better. Although you'll need a few bits and pieces as props and things.'
‘I think we've got plenty of those. Ah, here's Rupes.’
A tall man appeared from a door in the corner that Sarah hadn't even noticed. His clothes were as scruffy as his wife's and his welcome just as warm. 'Hi there! I'm Rupert. Welcome to the House of Usher.'
‘It's not at all like the House of Usher,' complained Fenella, measuring coffee beans into a grinder.
‘It is about to fall down though,' said Rupert, gloomily. 'Or nearly. We've got someone coming to look at one of the valley gutters. I'm dreading him telling me the whole lot needs to be redone. That'll be a few hundred grand, I reckon.'
‘It's only over that little wing, right at the end, one of the outbuildings,' said Fenella. 'I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it. We don't have to renovate that bit yet.' They'd obviously had this conversation before.
‘Well, in my opinion you can definitely make money out of it,' said Hugo, 'even in the state it's in. You've got some lovely rooms and as I remember the floors are in quite good nick.'
‘Most are, yes, but the dining-room floor is rotten as a pear.'
‘Not necessarily a bad thing,' said Hugo. 'You could just put down some plywood sheets and paint them white. White floors are good for photographs.'
‘When we've had coffee I'll give you a tour,' said Fenella.
‘That would be wonderful.' Sarah began to relax. Rupert and Fenella were nice and their house was lovely. It would be good to bring business their way if she possibly could.
Fenella produced a tin of biscuits but Sarah refused one. 'Not on a diet or anything boring, are you?' asked Fenella.
‘Oh no, but Hugo made me eat syrup sponge and custard after an already huge lunch.'
‘With cream,' added Hugo.
Everyone laughed and the others began to chat about various friends and acquaintances while Sarah itched for the tour she'd been promised.
‘So what are your plans for the house?' asked Sarah, as soon as there was a break in the chat about what old So-and-so was up to now.
‘Mainly to keep it from falling down,' said Rupert. 'Any suggestions that will help us do that will be gratefully received.'
‘It would be a perfect venue for weddings,' said Sarah. 'Is it licensed?’
Fenella and Rupert looked at each other. 'We've applied. We haven't had an answer yet. We're quite hopeful.'
‘It would be a really beautiful setting. You could charge a huge amount of money per wedding.’
Now her hosts were looking at Sarah. 'How much, do you think?'
‘Obviously it would depend on what you could offer, how many rooms could be used. If the wedding party could all stay over and party on until the night, it could be several thousand.'
‘What, per wedding?' Fenella seemed doubtful.
Sarah nodded. 'You may not be quite ready to offer the total package just at the moment, but it would be something to aim for.'
‘And if you also offered it for magazine shoots, with accommodation, that's another nice little earner,' said Hugo.
‘Have you got the most enormous mortgage?' asked Sarah. 'Sorry! That was terribly rude. It's nothing to do with me.’
Rupert dismissed her apology. 'We were frightfully lucky. I inherited it, but there wasn't a bean to go with it, so keeping it standing-'
‘Getting it standing, more like,' put in Fenella.
‘Is a major headache. It's too far from London for me to be able to commute, and if I had to stay in London that would cost even more money.'
‘And I don't want to be here on my own,' went on Fenella, 'especially in the state it's in.'
‘I completely understand,' said Sarah. 'It's too big a house to be alone in.'
‘We're renting out the land,' said Rupert, 'but that doesn't earn all that much.'
‘I do some bits and pieces locally,' said Fenella. 'But I can't earn anything like enough.'
‘Don't worry,' said Hugo. 'Between us, Sarah and I will make the house earn its own living. Won't we?'
‘We'll certainly do our best,' agreed Sarah.
‘Well, that's really kind,' said Rupert.
There was a contented pause. Sarah felt warm and happy at the thought of helping this nice couple and theirwonderful house. Hugo smiled across at her as he cradled his coffee mug. They really did make a good team. 'Oh, Hugo,' said Rupert suddenly. 'I meant to ask earlier – what's this I hear about you and Electra getting engaged?’