minutes later, however, they were all eating. The pasta was delicious. Forking it down, silently watching the fractured family dynamic around the table, Piers Renton-Chambers decided he would make a point of spending a lot more time at Woodside Hall.
‘I suppose you’ve heard the news?’ he said conversationally to Sebastian. ‘Santiago de la Cruz has taken a house in Brockhurst. He’ll be playing on Saturday.’
Seb dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No,’ said Piers, pleased to have engaged the boy’s interest for once. ‘It’s the talk of the village. He’s rented Wheelers Cottage, apparently. Moved in a couple of days ago. I believe there have been one or two sightings of him out and about already.’
‘But he’s a professional!’ said Seb. ‘Does Will know?’
‘Will?’ Piers looked questioningly at Penny, but it was Emma who answered him.
‘Will Nutley. He’s an old boyfriend of mine, and Fittlescombe’s “secret weapon” for this year’s match. He’s quite a good batsman, apparently.’
‘He’s an amazing batsman,’ said Seb hotly.
‘My brother hero-worships him,’ said Emma bitchily. ‘It’s rather sweet.’
‘I don’t hero-worship him. I like him,’ said Seb, looking daggers at his sister. ‘And I have no idea what he ever saw in you.’
‘Hmmm. I can’t imagine.’ Emma laughed arrogantly. The news that Santiago de la Cruz had moved into the next-door village appeared to have worked wonders on her mood. ‘Wheelers Cottage, eh?’ she said to no one in particular. ‘I might have to take a stroll past there tomorrow. Welcome Mr de la Cruz to the neighbourhood.’
‘Didn’t you hear what Piers said?’ Seb was starting to lose his temper. ‘He’s bowling for Brockhurst.’
‘So?’
‘So he’s the enemy.’
‘Don’t be silly, Sebby,’ said Emma dismissively. ‘It’s a game of cricket, not a war.’
Seb Harwich looked at his sister with a withering mixture of pity and contempt. Clearly she understood nothing.
‘Well, it’s turning into a bit of a war as far as the television networks are concerned,’ Piers chimed in. ‘Now that de la Cruz is playing, Sky Sports have crawled out of the woodwork with a whopping bid for exclusive coverage.’
‘They won’t get it, will they?’ asked Penny. ‘I can’t imagine the Swell Valley match not being on BBC Two. It would be like telling the BBC they couldn’t cover the Boat Race.’
‘They won’t push the Beeb out, but they might see off ITV,’ said Piers, cheerfully. ‘Either way, it’s good news for the valley, and the constituency as a whole. Money’ll start pouring in now.’
‘Yes, but it’s not about money,’ said Seb. ‘Only a Brockhurster would think like that.’ Piers Renton-Wank-Stain seemed to understand even less about the spirit of cricket than Seb’s sister. He was surrounded by Philistines.
‘Whatever,’ said Emma, sighing dreamily, and already imagining herself on Santiago de la Cruz’s well-muscled arm. ‘I think it’s wonderful that Santiago’s playing.’
‘“Santiago?” What are you, best friends now?’ snorted Seb. ‘He won’t be interested in you anyway,’ he added, slurping up the last of his fusilli. ‘You’ll only make a fool of yourself, throwing yourself at him.’
‘Throwing myself?’ Emma tossed back her golden mane and laughed loudly. ‘He should be so lucky.’
‘He’s in his thirties. It’s disgusting! He’s almost as old as Mum.’
‘All right, Seb, that’s enough,’ said Penny, who didn’t like the turn the conversation was taking. She agreed that a playboy like Santiago de la Cruz was the very last thing Emma needed in her life. But she knew her daughter well enough to know that, if she dared to say as much, she might as well be delivering Emma naked and wrapped in a bow into the unsuitable Argentine’s bed.
‘What about poor Will?’ said Seb, getting to his feet to clear away his empty bowl. ‘You know he’s still in love with you. It’s vile the way you keep him hanging.’
‘I love Will too,’ said Emma, a trace of nostalgia creeping into her voice. ‘But it’s complicated. Our lives are so different now. We’re so different.’
‘Yeah,’ snorted Seb. ‘He’s nice and you’re a total cow.’
He stormed off.
‘What’s got into him?’ Emma asked guilelessly, helping herself to her brother’s leftover salad. ‘He wasn’t this moody and obnoxious the last time I came home.’
‘I think,’ Piers said tentatively, ‘he might be a bit wound up about the match. De la Cruz polling up like this at the last minute might be good for the local economy, but it’s not exactly cricket, if you’ll pardon the pun. This game means a lot to your brother.’
‘How would you know?’ Emma shot back rudely. Pushing her plate away, she lit another cigarette. ‘You’re not family, you know.’ She too got down from the table and stalked out of the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry.’ Penny blushed. ‘I know it’s been a year. But it’s been hard for Emma. She was so close to her dad.’
Piers Renton-Chambers put a hand over Penny’s and squeezed, in a slightly more than friendly manner.
‘You’ve nothing to apologize for, my dear. She’ll grow out of it. They both will.’
I do so hope so, thought Penny. And I hope Emma was joking about setting her cap at Santiago de la Cruz.
With her brother and her besotted ex-boyfriend both playing for Fittlescombe, that really would set the cat among the pigeons.
*****
Later that afternoon, having parked his cheery red Mini Cooper on Brockhurst High Street, Piers Renton-Chambers crossed the street to the village shop with a spring in his step. Piers loved his life as MP for Arundel and South Downs. He’d grown up in West Yorkshire, but this part of the Sussex countryside was so stunning, Piers had had no qualms about moving here. Of course, it also provided the added benefit of being one of the safest Tory seats in England. Barring some spectacular scandal, Piers had landed the closest thing British politics offered to a job for life. All he had to do was fix a few potholes and keep the ladies of the local Conservative Party Association sweet. Piers flattered himself that keeping ladies sweet was one of his key political talents, and he wasn’t entirely wrong in that assumption. Unfortunately, it was a different matter when it came to finding a wife.
The Swell Valley was renowned as a home, or second home, for a plethora of England’s more attractive and eligible women. One could barely step outside one’s door without bumping into a famous actress, model, socialite or heiress and, as the local MP, Piers had a built-in excuse for approaching all of them and engaging them in conversation. Yet for some reason, when it came to asking a woman out for dinner, or
