Mansfield Lark

Crikey. She must be in the middle of a dead zone, or something. Perhaps if she got out of the car and walked for a bit, the phone might pick up a signal. She eyed her platform pumps doubtfully and wished to hell she’d put on the jeans and trainers she’d worn on the trip from London up to Mum’s. But she’d wanted to look nice for Rhys when she got back home tonight…

…which she wouldn’t do, now. Bloody hell.

She slid out of the driver’s seat and stood up, mobile phone clutched in hand. It would be dark soon. She had perhaps forty more minutes of daylight before the sun, like the bloody car engine, gave up the ghost.

Right, she told herself nervously, don’t even think about things like ghosts, or you’ll run screaming into the cow parsley, never to be seen or heard from again…

She began to walk rapidly – well, as rapidly as her shoes would allow – northward along the edge of the road. Not only did her mobile refuse to connect to a transmitting tower; after a moment it, too, blinked and died.

Shit! Bloody technology, you could never depend on it when you needed it the most—

Suddenly Natalie realized that she’d not charged her phone last night at mum’s. She’d been so busy catching up on family gossip, and so gobsmacked by the news of her mum’s newfound romance with the local vicar, that she’d completely forgotten.

She groaned. She could just imagine what Rhys would have to say about this latest oversight of hers. Shit, shit, shit…

Perking up as she saw a signpost up ahead, Natalie quickened her steps. ‘Shipston-on-Stour, 8 km,’ she read out loud. Well, that was no help. There was no possible way she could walk eight kilometres in these shoes. She felt tears of frustration well up, and in a fit of pique she hurled her mobile phone into a patch of cow parsley.

Immediately regretting the move, she dived into the cow parsley and retrieved the phone. As she stood there, dusting the screen off with her sleeve and picking off bits of grass, she noticed a low, crumbling wall running alongside the edge of the road. It was made of stone and was obviously very old.

And then she remembered that Dominic’s ancestral home was in Warwickshire, somewhere hereabouts, as a matter of fact… and it was surrounded by a low stone wall exactly like this one. Her heart quickened. Could it be…? If her ex-boyfriend’s family pile was indeed nearby, she could walk up to the house and ask to use the telephone. Surely they’d have a phone.

Curious, Natalie began to follow the wall. Where there’s a wall, there’s a way…

Unfortunately, this wall seemed to run on forever. After twenty minutes and a couple of turns to her ankles, she was ready to give up. Darkness was gathering. Natalie’s irritation gave way to an uneasy fear, and she resisted the impulse to sit down and sob uncontrollably only through sheer effort of will.

As her gaze swept despairingly over the length of the wall in the fading light, she realized her steps had taken her – very gradually – away from the road, and up to what looked like the entrance to a drive. The drive was made of packed dirt, and racked with ruts and ridges, but it obviously led somewhere.

Mansfield Hall, Natalie realized.

Tired now, and dusty as well, she trudged up the drive. Gradually the hedgerows and trees that crowded the lane thinned out, until she could see, at last, the roofline of the house.

Natalie paused. Mansfield Hall was just as she remembered it – large, imposing, but with a rackety Elizabethan charm. She could almost see herself and Dominic – Rupert, as he was known then – running with the dogs across the fields. He’d kissed her for the first time under that gnarled old tree over there.

She’d got bird crap in her hair, from the tree trunk. Rupert called her ‘Poo’, and the nickname stuck for the rest of that summer.

It was a perfect metaphor for her failed relationship with Dominic – romantic, crazy, and fun while it lasted; but destined to end in shit.

As she came closer, signs of neglect met her gaze. The grass, once neatly trimmed, needed mowing; the stone steps that led up to the front door were cracked and sunken, and partially separated from the foundation; even the brass door knocker was tarnished and peeling.

It was a shame, Natalie reflected as she lifted the knocker and let it fall. Despite the neglect, Mansfield Hall was still such a lovely old place, romantic and picturesque—

Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp of excitement as the idea, fully formed, occurred to her. It was perfect. It was inspired. It was brilliant!

She’d have her wedding reception here, at Mansfield Hall.

After all, there was plenty of room for the wedding guests, all four hundred of them, and endless parking, and as for loos – she frowned. Loos might be a problem. Oh well, she’d sort that detail out later—

The door opened and a squat housekeeper eyed her. ‘Yes?’

Natalie looked down at her dusty clothing and ruined shoes and back up at the housekeeper. ‘I know I look like cat sick at the moment, but my car’s broken down, and I wonder if I might use your telephone.’

‘I’m sure you might, miss,’ the housekeeper sniffed, ‘if we had a telephone, that is. But we don’t. I’m sorry.’ And so saying, she closed the door firmly in Natalie’s face.

Chapter 7

Natalie stared at the closed door with a mixture of surprise and indignation. Why, the rude, cheeky cow! She narrowed her eyes and raised her hand to knock again, when the door suddenly swung open.

‘I’m sorry,’ a slim, dark-haired woman in jeans and Wellies said crisply, ‘but if you’re looking for Dominic Heath, young woman, you won’t find him here.’ She moved to shut the door, and paused. ‘Natalie?’ she said, surprised. ‘Oh, my word – Natalie Dashwood, is that you?’

‘Lady Mary!’ Natalie exclaimed, equally surprised. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ She smiled as Dominic’s mum engulfed her in a hug. ‘I apologize for my appearance, but I’ve just had the most awful run of bad luck. My car’s died, my mobile’s dead as well, and I’ve been w-walking for what seems like hours…’

‘Oh, you poor girl! Come in, please, and we’ll soon get everything sorted.’

Natalie felt her lower lip begin to quiver and her eyes filled with tears as Lady Mary ushered her inside. ‘I thought I’d have to spend the night outside, huddled under a hedgerow,’ she said with a sniffle. ‘S-sorry.’

‘Do stop apologizing!’ Lady Mary scolded. ‘You’ve been through a ghastly ordeal. One can scarcely blame you for being upset. Well, if it had to break down, I’m very glad your car chose to do it here! Come along into the sitting room, darling, and I’ll get you a nice tumbler of whisky.’

Natalie followed her across the tiled entrance hall. Everything looked exactly as she remembered – the black-and-white tiles, the pedestal table in the centre of the hall – all of it a bit the worse for wear. Crumbling plasterwork, patches of mildew on the library wall, pots and bowls set out here and there to catch leaks… Crikey, the Locksleys must be in more dire circumstances than she’d thought.

‘You do realize, of course,’ Lady Mary said briskly as she led them into a sitting room furnished with two faded chintz sofas, a cheerfully burning fire, and random piles of books and newspapers scattered throughout, ‘that the garage in the village is closed. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay the night and get your car seen to in the morning.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any further,’ Natalie protested. ‘If I could just borrow your phone, I’ll call my fiancé to come and get me—’

‘Nonsense. I’m sure he won’t relish driving out from London to Warwickshire at this hour. Besides, we got rid of our landline.’ She cleared space on one of the sofas, moving a stack of magazines to the floor, and patted the cushions. ‘Sit, darling, and I’ll get you that drink.’

Natalie gratefully sank down onto the chintz-upholstered cushions. ‘So you haven’t a telephone?’ she asked as Lady Mary poured them each a generous measure of whisky.

‘No.’ She handed Natalie a glass and sat down beside her. ‘Charles and I have mobiles now. You’re more than welcome to use mine–’ she leaned forward and picked up a mobile phone from the coffee table ‘–if you’d like to call your young man and let him know you’re all right.’

‘Thank you.’ Natalie rang Rhys and got his voicemail. She left a quick message and rang off. ‘I don’t want him to worry.’

‘Of course you don’t. By the way, I’m sorry if I was rude when I answered the door. We get so many girls, traipsing up to the hall looking for Dominic. They use every pretext in the book – they need to use the loo, their car broke down, and so forth, and it gets very tiresome. Charles gets quite put out.’

‘I can imagine. How is his lordship?’ Natalie asked politely. She’d always been petrified of Dominic’s father, truth be told.

Perhaps, she thought uneasily, he’d mellowed with age.

‘He’s fighting the good fight – trying valiantly to keep Mansfield in the family, you know. It’s a heavy burden to bear…like tilting at windmills.’

Natalie set her drink aside and leaned forward. ‘Have you thought about renting Mansfield Hall out for wedding receptions and films and such? It can pay quite well.’

Lady Mary arched her brow. ‘I looked into it recently and the county council charge a £2,000 fee just to apply for a licence. Why do you ask, dear?’

‘Well, Rhys and I are getting married in a few months. I’ve left it too late to blag a decent venue for the reception, and now everything in London is booked. Even Mum’s house is under renovation. And I refuse to make do with a marquee in the back garden.’ She met Lady Mary’s eyes. ‘I’d really love to hold the ceremony and reception here, at Mansfield Hall.’

‘Oh! Well, it’s a lovely idea in theory, darling – but we’d need a licence to host a wedding reception here…which would require fire exits, parking, and public loos…’ She paused and added, ‘Then there’s my son to consider.’

‘Do you mean Dominic?’

‘Well, whatever Rupert’s calling himself these days,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘He won’t welcome the idea of your getting married here, you know.’

‘Why wouldn’t he? We broke up ages ago! Besides, he’s with Gemma now.’

‘That may be, but he won’t relish seeing you tie the knot with another man here at Mansfield. Rather like rubbing salt in a wound, I should think.’

‘Oh. Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Natalie looked at her in dismay.

Lady Mary leaned forward and patted her knee. ‘Not to worry, my dear. As it happens, I’m having lunch with Rupert tomorrow, to meet his new girlfriend. I’ll ask him about it then.’

‘Dominic and Gemma are here?’ Nat squeaked, wide-eyed.

‘Yes, they’re staying at a hotel in the village. I thought it best to get Charles used to the idea of having Rupert back in the family fold before I spring any more surprises on him.’

‘Oh…yes. Yes, of course,’ Natalie agreed.

‘Well,’ her ladyship pronounced as she set aside her drink and stood up, ‘I’m sure you’re tired, so let’s take you upstairs and get you settled. I had one of the guest bedrooms readied earlier for Gemma…that should do nicely.’

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Natalie said as she followed Lady Mary back down the hallway and across the foyer to the stairs. ‘You’ve been more than kind.’

Her ladyship paused on the landing and turned to face her. ‘Why, you’re like family, Natalie! I’m terribly fond of you.’ She frowned and murmured, ‘After all, it ought to be you, not someone else. I’ve always thought so.’

‘I’m sorry - me?’ Natalie echoed, puzzled.

‘You were good for Rupert. He was happy with you.’

‘But we were horrible together,’ Nat blurted.

She didn’t add that Dom had cheated on her – repeatedly – and broken her heart six ways to Sunday, because she didn’t wish to hurt Lady Mary’s feelings or tarnish her high opinion of her son. ‘He and Gemma are perfect for each other. Gemma’s wonderful, and she loves Dominic very much.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ Lady Mary said firmly, ‘but I still believe that you and Rupert ought to be the ones getting married here at Mansfield.’

‘How do I look?’ Gemma asked Dominic the next morning.

Dominic bit back a groan. If there was ever a more loaded female question, he didn’t know what it was. The only worse question was ‘does my bum look too big?’ No matter what answer he gave, Gemma wouldn’t believe him. And if he didn’t answer, she’d accuse him of hating her outfit…and of thinking her bum was too big.

Which it was, actually; but he liked her bum just as it was.

‘You look lovely. Perfect. Can we go now, babes?’

Gemma hesitated. ‘Do I have on too much slap?’ she asked Dominic anxiously as she leaned closer to the mirror. ‘Is my lippy too bright? Perhaps I should wear a different shade—’

He took her firmly by the arm and dragged her towards the hotel room door. ‘Your lippy’s fine. You’re only meeting my mum, after all. Come on, or we’ll be late.’

‘Your car needs an alternator,’ the garage mechanic told Natalie as he wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘Have to send over to Todenham for the part. It’ll be here by Wednesday morning.’

‘Wednesday morning!’ Natalie said, dismayed. ‘But it’s only Monday! What am I to do in the meantime?’

‘You can get a hire car in the village,’ he replied, already turning away. ‘We’ll call when your car’s ready, love. Oi!’ he shouted as one of the mechanics backed his van out of the work bay and nearly ploughed into a Citroën. ‘Watch it, you muppet!’

Lady Mary, who’d walked with Natalie to the garage, said reassuringly, ‘Don’t worry, darling – of course you must stay at Mansfield until the car’s ready.’ She tucked her purse under her arm. ‘You’re welcome to join us for lunch.’ She rather liked the idea of having Natalie along when she met Rupert’s new girlfriend.

‘Thank you,’ Natalie said, ‘but I think I’ll pop over to the high street and buy a few things. I’ll meet you back here in–’ she consulted her wristwatch ‘–an hour and a half?’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’ So saying, Lady Locksley strode off to the hotel to meet her son’s new girlfriend with the gleam of combat in her eye.

Chapter 8

The Locksley Arms Tap Room was all but deserted at 11:45 as Gemma and Dominic sat down at the bar to wait for Lady Mary.

‘Whisky for me, mate,’ Dominic told the bartender, ‘and a Bloody Mary for the lady, please.’

‘Make it two Bloody Marys,’ Lady Mary called out as she joined them at the bar. She laid her clutch down and added, ‘A rather appropriate drink, under the circumstances, isn’t it?’

‘Mum!’ Dominic stood to give her a quick embrace and turned to Gemma. ‘Gemma, this is my mother, Lady Mary Locksley. Mum, this is Gemma Astley.’

Gemma smiled and extended her hand – her nails were newly manicured and painted ‘Foxy Fuschia’ to match her suit – to the slim older woman in the elegant tweed suit. ‘It’s nice to meet you, your, erm… ladyship,’ she stammered.

‘Oh, Lady Mary, please! No need to stand completely on ceremony.’ She seated herself on the barstool Dominic held out for her and crossed one slim leg over the other. ‘Have you been waiting long? I thought I was a bit early.’

‘No, we only just got here,’ Dominic answered as the bartender placed their drinks on napkins in front of them. ‘Where’s my father? Getting off some target practice with my picture on the bullseye?’

‘He’s with your brother, overseeing the shearing.’ She stirred the celery stick round in her glass and added, ‘I do wish you’d make a tiny effort not to discuss family matters, Rupert – especially not in front of—’ she paused ‘–outsiders.’

‘Gemma’s not an outsider,’ he snapped.

‘I only meant that she’s not a member of the family,’ his mother responded, unperturbed.

‘It’s okay,’ Gemma said, and laid a quelling hand on Dominic’s arm. She turned to Lady Mary. ‘I know all about Dominic and his dad,’ she informed the older woman. ‘I told Dominic, ‘It’s not right not to get on with your dad. Your family’s everything.’ I convinced him to come here and try and patch things up.’

‘How commendable.’ Lady Mary gave her a chilly smile and turned back to her son. ‘Did you know that Natalie is here?’

‘Natalie Dashwood?’ He set his whisky down abruptly. ‘Here in the hotel – or here in the village?’

‘She’s staying at Mansfield. Her car broke down last night and she needed a telephone.’

‘That’s bad luck,’ Dominic said. ‘Is the car being fixed?’

‘Apparently the part’s been ordered but won’t arrive until Wednesday.’ Lady Mary took a sip of her Bloody Mary and added, ‘I invited her to stay as long as she likes. We adore Natalie, you know,’ she told Gemma airily. ‘She’s a lovely girl. She and Rupert have known each other for yonks, they practically grew up in each other’s pockets—’

‘That was ages ago, Mum.’ Dominic’s voice was low but firm. ‘Nat and I are through.’ He put his arm around Gemma’s shoulders and squeezed her reassuringly. ‘I’m with Gemma now.’

Lady Mary pressed her lips together. ‘Yes, I can see that. Tell me, Miss Astley–’ she turned an enquiring, guileless gaze on the girl ‘–where exactly is your family from?’

‘Essex,’ Gemma said.

‘I would never have guessed,’ her ladyship murmured.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dominic demanded.

‘Oh, nothing,’ his mother said with an arched brow, ‘it’s just common knowledge, isn’t it, that most Essex girls like flashy designer clothes, gaudy jewellery, and fake tans. Of course, Gemma’s nothing like that.’

Dominic locked eyes with his mother, but was spared a reply when the maître d’ appeared.

‘Your table is ready, Lady Locksley.’

‘Thank God,’ Dominic muttered to Gemma as they rose, drinks in hand, and followed the maître d’ and Lady Mary into the dining room.

‘Your mum hates me!’ Gemma hissed in his ear. ‘She thinks I’m a tart who’s after your money.’

Thankfully Dominic was spared a response as the maître d’ – who looked uncannily like Basil Fawlty – seated them in a small, private dining area. ‘Monsieur Heath will not be disturbed by the paparazzi,’ he said with a sniff.

‘Thanks,’ Dominic said. ‘Appreciate it.’ When the maître d’ left, he leaned forward and hissed, ‘Since when did the Locksley Arms become French? Poncey arsehole.’

‘Oh, Rupert, I’ve missed you,’ his mum said with a smile. ‘Now,’ she added briskly as they opened their menus, ‘what shall we have for lunch?’

‘We’re losing money,’ Liam Locksley admitted, his expression glum as Joss Devlin led one of the Cotswold sheep into the shearing shed. ‘It costs more to shear the sheep than we make back in profit on the fleece.’

‘Well, if it’s profit you want,’ Joss said over the hum of the shearers, ‘breed for the meat, not the wool. Cotswold mutton’s the best – even those who don’t like lamb, love it.’

Julia Allchurch wrinkled her pretty nose. ‘And kill all those darling sheep to make roasts and lamb sausages?’ She looked at Liam in dismay. ‘You mustn’t.’

‘They’re sheep, Julia, not pets.’ Liam smiled at her indulgently. ‘You grew up in Warwickshire, just like Joss. You know not to get attached to the animals.’

‘I do,’ she sighed, ‘but I can’t help it. And we only have cattle. Cows are so much less adorable than sheep.’

As she wielded the clippers and sheared the ewe, seventeen-year-old Joss resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Why were boys always so taken in by the prim, ooh-don’t-hurt-the-cute-little-lambs type of girl? She’d never understood it.

Joss sighed. Although the Locksleys had taken her in after her mother died, and although she’d lived at Mansfield since she was six, Joss wasn’t one of them, and she never would be.

She glanced over at Liam as she finished and handed off the shorn sheep’s halter to her brother Rory.

Liam was completely smitten with Julia Allchurch. Too bad his mum was pushing him to marry that awful Bibi Matchington-Alcester. It was plain enough that Liam didn’t love her.

But Bibi was gorgeous, Joss had to admit, in that long-legged, posh-girl way of hers.

Of course – Joss looked down with misgivings at her overalls and moccasins – she wasn’t very appealing at the moment. Julia, on the other hand, was effortlessly perfect. Her hair was dark and glossy, her skin flawless and blooming with health—

Rory called out impatiently, ‘Are you planning on throwing me that fleece anytime today, Joss?’

‘Sorry.’ She tossed the newly shorn fleece over to Rory so he could skirt it, making sure the wool was free of brambles or any other imperfections before he rolled it up, and went to fetch the next sheep from the pen.

‘Who owns the red Maserati?’ Julia asked Liam later that morning. ‘I couldn’t help but notice it when I came over.’

‘It’s my brother’s.’ Liam offered nothing further.

‘Your brother’s?’ Julia echoed, surprised. ‘Do you mean to say Rupert’s come back to Mansfield Hall after eleven years?’

Liam didn’t answer, but a scowl descended on his face and he stalked out of the shed.

Julia, her own face set in determination, followed him and caught at his arm. ‘Liam – tell me what’s going on.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, Julia. He was gone; now he’s back. End of story.’ He made his way over to the low stone wall that ran the length of the drive and sat down.

She sat next to him. ‘But why did he decide to come back? He’s a rock star now, isn’t he? Has he made peace with your father? When can I meet him?’

‘Shit, Julia!’ Liam snapped. ‘You ask more questions than a bloody reporter! I don’t know why he came back. And no, he hasn’t made peace with dad – in fact, quite the opposite. Just because he’s Dominic Heath, he thinks he can swan in here and do what he likes.’

‘Well perhaps,’ Julia ventured, ‘he and your father will finally mend their fences.’

Liam snorted. ‘Don’t count on it. After all, why should he show up after all these years, offer a few words of apology, and be given Mansfield Hall, just because he’s the eldest?’

‘Well,’ Julia said reasonably, ‘as you said, he’s the eldest. He’s next in the line of succession, after all.’

‘But I’m the one who’s spent hours learning about sheep and pasture rotation, not to mention trying to find a way to make this place sustain itself,’ Liam snapped. ‘I’ve poured everything into Mansfield. And now Rupert’s come to take it all away, and he doesn’t even know – or care – about any of it.’

‘Poor Liam.’ Julia put her arms round him and held him close. ‘It really isn’t fair, is it?’

Liam revelled in the feel of Julia’s slender arms around him, and the scent of her hair against his face, and he scarcely dared to breathe. He loved Julia Allchurch, desperately and completely; but she was oblivious.

And unless he could figure a way out of it, he’d end up married to Bibi Matchington-Alcester, the Heiress from Hell, very soon.

‘No,’ he agreed after a moment, relishing Julia’s proximity. ‘It’s not fair at all.’

Chapter 9

‘Your lunch, mesdames et monsieur.’

As the waiter set down their plates with a flourish, Lady Mary leaned forward. ‘Rupert, there’s something we need to discuss.’

He bit back a groan and grabbed his glass of Sancerre. After a long, fortifying sip, he said, ‘Are you sure it’s something we can talk about in front of Gemma?’

‘Natalie made a suggestion last night…a very good one, actually. The more thought I’ve given it, the more I think it’s a brilliant idea.’

Dominic popped a piece of roast beef in his mouth. ‘And what’s Nat’s brilliant idea? Do enlighten me.’

‘Don’t speak with your mouth open, Rupert,’ Lady Mary scolded him. ‘Manners still matter. Well, everything’s contingent on getting the proper licence from the council, of course, and persuading your father to agree to the idea—’