Lord Seeks Wife: A hilariously funny romantic comedy Page 4

  ‘Well, look at the time. I must be making my way to my humble home.’ Her humble home being the eighteenth-century Dower House, a seven-bedroom pile with six acres of grounds and separate chauffeur’s quarters complete with chauffeur.

  ‘These letters have been rather a disappointment, but there’s still hope. Perhaps Henry will find you someone wonderful at this cattle market he’s organising in the village. And if not,’ she smiled archly at him, ‘there’s always Glyndebourne.’

  ***

  In the secret recesses of Alice’s brain lurked a secret fear. Her secret fear was that she was boring.

  On a day-to-day basis, this wasn’t something that tormented her. She didn’t lie awake for hours debating whether or not to make a grand statement in order to stand out from the crowd. Such as painting each fingernail a different colour. On the whole, she was content with her life and too busy enjoying it to fret over its probable dullness. However, once in a while something would happen to make her feel that she had fallen into a rut, and that something would niggle at the edges of her consciousness. This time it was Mia. When she’d said goodbye to Alice after the fête, she’d flown to Argentina to ‘tie up some loose ends’. Alice, on the other hand, had gone home to eat leftover pizza before watching an old episode of Poirot with the cat on her lap. Life carried on as usual but since saying goodbye to Mia, it was as if someone had taken a paintbrush and painted a grey wash over everything.

  On the Sunday morning after the fête, Alice cycled over to her parents for lunch, as she did every Sunday. When Alice’s father had retired from the church some years previously, he and Alice’s mother had moved from Gently Rising’s vicarage to a neat Georgian house in the hamlet of Pipper, some half a mile away.

  As she cycled down the sun-dappled lane which led from Gently Rising to Pipper, something was lurking near the gates to de Beeble Hall. It gleamed, shiny and pink, in the morning sun, and to Alice’s short-sighted eyes it looked like a skeleton which had been dipped in molten pink plastic and left to set. A small grey bundle of something like tumble-dryer lint broke away from the feet of the figure and hurled itself, yapping, at the front wheel of her bicycle.

  ‘Coco! Get back here! Coco!’

  The staccato voice revealed the owner of the lint creature to be Sinead Dumper, wearing a shocking pink PVC catsuit and matching platform heels.

  ‘Can you stop cycling,’ she snapped. ‘It’s irritating him. I’ve only just got him under control.’

  Alice pulled up and reached down to stroke the dog, then changed her mind after catching sight of the manic eyes and bared teeth.

  ‘New dog, Sinead?’ she enquired.

  Sinead nodded. ‘Picked him up from the breeder this morning. He’s a Bichipoo. Cost two grand.’

  ‘He’s a what?’

  ‘Bichipoo. It’s designer. Cross between a bichon frise and a poodle.’

  ‘And you’ve called him Cocoa? That’s… unusual.’

  ‘Classy,’ she corrected her. ‘Named after Coco Chanel.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think Tom’s going to like the new addition to the village,’ said Alice, with a smile.

  ‘I didn’t buy him to please your flea-ridden old cat. He’s for walking. Good way to get out and meet people.’

  ‘And is this what you’d consider a suitable dog-walking outfit?’ she shot back, smarting at the slight on Tom’s personal hygiene.

  ‘This is what I’d consider fashion. Upping my game. Striking while the iron’s hot.’ She jerked her head in the direction of de Beeble Hall, which lay hidden behind trees at the end of the mile-long drive. As she spoke, they heard the low hum of an engine and a large black car came into view around a bend in the drive.

  ‘Quick! Get out of the way! You’re blocking me.’

  Alice wheeled her bike over to the other side of the gates while Sinead gathered up Coco and draped herself stiffly against the wall. The car continued its slow progress down the drive. Sinead remained frozen in position, Coco struggling a little in her arms, while Alice looked on, unable to tear herself away. As the car paused at the gates, anyone in the back seat would have had a clear view of Sinead, clad in pink PVC and grappling with a struggling ball of grey fluff. The car remained at the gate, the engine ticking over. One of the back windows rolled down with an expensive-sounding whirr. Alice, on the other side of the car, couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows. There was silence for a long moment, then a carolling peal of female, upper-class laughter which continued, albeit muffled, as the window rolled back up and the car pulled away.

  Sinead dumped Coco on the floor. ‘Wasn’t him. It was Lady Caroline.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Alice, kindly. ‘She’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t she, Lady Caroline. I doubt she knows what’s fashionable and what’s not.’

  ‘Couldn’t care less what she thinks,’ said Sinead, clipping a pink lead on to Coco’s diamanté collar. ‘Not her I want to impress.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that. From what I heard at the fête, Lord de Beeble won’t marry anyone his mother doesn’t approve of.’

  Sinead stopped what she was doing and stared at her.

  ‘Anyway, enjoy the rest of your walk.’

  Alice hopped back on her bike and cycled off, Coco half-strangling himself against the lead in his attempts to chase after her, yapping his little designer heart out.

  ***

  Arriving at her parents’ house she found her older sister Cecily laying the table in the garden and talking to a tall man who stood nearby, legs akimbo and arms folded across his broad chest. Cecily had had few boyfriends and Piers was the first to be brought home to meet the family. Introductions were made and everyone sat down in deckchairs under the trees to enjoy their aperitifs.

  Alice’s mother smiled at Piers.

  ‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Piers. We’ve heard a lot about you from Cecily of course…’

  ‘Oh dear! All bad I expect!’ He guffawed and beamed round the circle.

  ‘Not at all. But tell us about yourself. How did you and Cecily meet?’

  ‘Well, Felicity, that’s a funny story as it happens. Isn’t it Cess?’

  Cecily looked as if she wasn’t one hundred per cent convinced of it being amusing, or indeed something she wanted to share with the group. She started to intervene but he playfully slapped a meaty hand over her mouth and continued.

  ‘She doesn’t like me telling this story because she thinks it’s embarrassing. But I say that’s life, Cess! If people don’t like the truth, they can lump it.’ He beamed round at everyone again. Alice’s mother started to look uncomfortable.

  ‘I rolled into the surgery one day in absolute agony and she was my ministering angel. When I knocked on the door marked “Dr Brand” I was expecting some old duffer with a beard but instead, this rather attractive young saucepot welcomed me in.’

  Alice shifted position in her chair.

  ‘Still, couldn’t be helped – I was in pain and there it was. I dropped my trousers, bent over and said “Do what you’ve got to do, doc!” And God bless her, she did. I’d got a boil the size of your fist and I’d not sat down for a week. She set straight to work, rammed the needle in up to the hilt, patched me up and packed me on my way. But not before I’d made her promise to come to dinner with me that night. So, there you have it ladies and gentleman – how a boil on the backside was the beginning of true love!’

  More guffawing, feebly echoed by Alice and the Reverend Brand. Alice’s mother looked stony-faced as she said:

  ‘Well, what an unusual way to meet. To table everyone!’

  ***

  Lunch was a stilted affair. Piers appeared not to notice that his jokes weren’t to everyone’s taste but on the whole, Cecily seemed rather proud of him. He was certainly very gregarious and entertaining, reflected Alice, as she tucked into pink slices of roast beef and crisp Yorkshire pudding, but not at all what she would have expected Cecily’s boyfriend to be like. In her professional life, Ce
cily had the reputation of being a little cold, but this was because she was misunderstood, Alice felt. She was, in fact, scrupulously fair, giving the same amount of thought and attention to everyone, from the overwrought parents with a feverish baby to a doolally old lady convinced she had prostate cancer. Piers was the kind of man Alice had thought Cecily would shy away from, but perhaps they just proved the cliché that opposites attract. She had a sudden vision of herself in Cecily’s shoes, bringing a new boyfriend home to meet the family for the first time. Despite the fact she was knocking on the door of thirty, it had never happened. There had been the odd short-lived relationship – one at Homerton, a few online dates in the years since – but nothing serious enough to get the family involved. In fact, Alice realised, the last time she’d been with someone for more than a couple of weeks was at least four years ago. She was more likely to be found at home of an evening baking cupcakes for a colleague’s birthday than downing cocktails on a hot date.

  ‘Not hungry, darling?’ She realised that her mother was talking to her. ‘You’ve not touched your roast potatoes.’

  ‘I think it’s the heat. It’s delicious, as usual, Mum, thanks.’

  Piers had launched into a story about a recent scuba diving trip and Felicity turned politely towards him to listen, leaving Alice to her own devices again. Almost thirty and still single – was there something wrong with her? All her friends were settling down, why couldn’t she? And – perhaps more importantly – why wasn’t she more bothered about it? Boyfriends, in her experience, were overrated. Dating made her feel anxious and inadequate; more often than not she spent the evening feigning interest in a tedious conversation while wishing she was at home on the sofa with the cat. She couldn’t relate to those internal fireworks that always seemed to be triggered in romcoms when the heroine was kissed by the hero. Whenever she’d kissed a man she’d experienced a couple of damp squibs at most. In fact, the last time she’d felt anything approaching fireworks was when Mia had smiled at her. Did she have a crush on Mia? She jabbed at some peas. That would make things complicated. No, no, she told herself. She was blown away by Mia, in the same way you would be by any exotic creature. She was sure she was attracted to men. Perhaps not in the same way as other women seemed to be, though – or not to the same extent. It was all very confusing and she was glad to turn her attention to the much simpler question of whether she’d like second helpings of roast beef.

  Her distraction over lunch hadn’t gone unnoticed. While they were carrying dirty pots into the kitchen, Cecily said, ‘You alright, Al? Not overdoing it are you? You didn’t laugh at Piers’ rabbit joke and that one is hilarious.’

  ‘Oh! No, I’m fine, thanks. Sorry, I must have missed it. He seems nice, though, Sissy. How’s it all going?’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ said Cecily. ‘But are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine. Sunday blues, that’s all.’

  ‘You with the blues? Something must be wrong.’

  Alice gave her sister a quick hug. ‘It isn’t. I’d tell you if there was something serious.’

  Felicity came into the kitchen, carrying some empty glasses. ‘What’s serious?’

  ‘Cecily and Piers,’ Alice replied quickly.

  ‘Ooh!’ Cecily mock slapped her sister on the arm. ‘You little minx, I never said that.’

  Felicity tensed up a little as she said, ‘He’s very confident, Cecily.’

  ‘I know he might seem a bit full-on when you first meet him, but he’s just trying to make a good impression.’

  ‘Yes, well, you can leave these dishes – Alice will help me, won’t you, poppet? Your father’s taken Piers to look at the greenhouse. Why don’t you go and rescue him? You know he’ll keep him there for hours otherwise, inspecting the tomato plants.’

  ***

  That night, Alice had a nightmare. She dreamt she was being chased up a mountain of cold roast beef by an enormous grey woolly monster. The monster was snapping at her heels but as she clawed at the slices of beef, they kept slipping away beneath her. A strange man was at the top of the mountain, reaching out a hand to pull her up. When she got nearer, she realised it wasn’t a man at all, but Mia who was waiting for her. The surprise made her stagger and then she was falling down a sheer cliff face, evil-looking roast potato rocks rushing up to meet her. When she woke, she was sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding.

  Chapter 4

  When the alarm went off on Monday morning Alice was still tired and irritable. The usually uplifting sight of the village green sparkling with dew did little to improve her mood as she made her way to work. At nine o’clock, the Senior Teacher was forced to take assembly as Mrs Fratterbury hadn’t turned up, and Alice found herself thinking disrespectful thoughts about her headmistress. Mrs Fratterbury often rolled into work late with no explanation of why she’d been held up. All the teachers knew what had held her up anyway: sheer laziness and, more often than not, a hangover. This morning she shambled in at 9.20, in time to catch the end of assembly and to congratulate Mrs Denton on a job well done.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it better myself, Margaret. I like you to have these opportunities. I’m not one of those headteachers who keep all the glory for themselves. I believe that you reap what you sow.’

  Making her way into her office, she turned on the kettle and settled down to give serious attention to a jam doughnut. There was a knock at the door and she hastily pulled out some papers and pretended to be studying them.

  ‘Come!’

  Alice opened the door. Mrs Fratterbury smiled toothily at her, unaware that most of her lower face was dusted in sugar.

  ‘Good morning, Alice. Shouldn’t you be in class?’ She tapped her watch.

  ‘Yes, I’m about to go in. I wanted to find out if you’d had a chance to write a letter about the outing. It needs to go to the parents today.’

  ‘The letter about the outing… Yes, I was working on that yesterday, I believe. Now what did I do with it. I take on too much, you know, Alice. That’s my problem. And then I don’t know where I am with things.’

  She shuffled papers on her desk, going through the motions of searching for the letter, which they both knew didn’t exist.

  ‘Do you know what’s probably the easiest thing, lovie? Go and ask Mrs Fairlie to knock one up for you. She’ll know what to put. I can’t lay my hands on my draft at the moment.’

  Mrs Fairlie’s job description was school secretary, but when it came to the organisation and administration of the school, she was headmistress in all but name. Mrs Fratterbury delegated so well that she had delegated ninety per cent of her job to her secretary.

  ‘OK,’ Alice said, not attempting to smile. She turned to leave the room but Mrs Fratterbury called her back.

  ‘Are you poorly, Alice? You don’t seem your usual sunny self.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’d better get back to my class.’

  ‘Yes, off you go. Mustn’t keep the little people waiting. My door’s always open though, dear, if you need a chat. A problem shared is a problem solved, you know.’

  The door closed and Mrs Fratterbury dismissed Alice’s odd demeanour from her mind by concentrating instead on making a nice cup of coffee to go with the remainder of her doughnut.

  ***

  A day with the reception class had lightened Alice’s mood somewhat, and she felt close to her old self again by home time. They could be so endearing sometimes, when they weren’t squabbling or having tantrums, which happened quite a lot. One of them had told her she was nearly as beautiful as Barbie (only her hair wasn’t as nice) and a little boy called Jacob had given her his second favourite digger. She’d had to give it back, of course, but it was the thought that counted. On the way home from school she popped into the community shop to pick up something for dinner. The term ‘community shop’ always made her think of ‘care in the community’ – and never more so than when Lorraine Watford was on duty, as she was today. A committee ran
the shop and approved people’s requests to volunteer. Nobody had thought Lorraine would be a suitable shop assistant but nobody was brave enough to tell her so, and her request had been granted. Today she’d been making a new display on the counter.

  ‘Ooh.’ She giggled as Alice entered. ‘You’ll like this. Like what you do with your kiddies.’

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Alice. She had no idea what the display was supposed to represent, but she knew better than to ask. Most volunteers would make pyramids of attractive jars or fill a wicker basket with a selection of seasonal fruit and vegetables to brighten up the counter. Lorraine had cleared all nonsense of this sort off the surface and instead scattered random objects across it, including a couple of packs of Marigolds, some sugar cubes, lemons and a pack of Bird’s custard.

  ‘It’s all summery and lovely, isn’t it?’ she chirped.

  ‘Lovely,’ agreed Alice.

  The little bell jangled on the door and Alice turned with relief to see Colonel Markham. She divined his hesitation when he realised who was serving; and also his realisation that it was too late to retreat. He lifted his chin and marched up to the counter.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Watford. Good afternoon, Alice.’

  Lorraine simpered a little and pushed a pair of Marigolds at the Colonel.

  ‘For your washing-up. No wifey, to do it, have you, Colonel? You need a good little wifey to look after you.’

  Colonel Markham glared at her.

  ‘May I remind you I served three years in the catering corps, Mrs Watford. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Lovely and bright,’ she urged, continuing to push the gloves at him.

  Ignoring her, he turned to Alice.

  ‘Enjoy the festivities on Saturday, Alice? Rushed off your feet, I expect? I noticed Ms Dumper deserted her post as usual.’

  ‘I had a great time, thanks.’

  ‘And,’ his voice seemed to have a slight catch in it; his eyes taking on a dreamy look, ‘I noticed you made a new friend. Charming-looking woman. Is she… ahem!’ He cleared his throat. ‘Is she going to be visiting the village again, do you know?’