to be honest with you. I’ve never done anything like this before. I couldn’t bear it if I were a total failure and let Laura down.’
‘No chance of that.’ Macy patted his hand across the table. It was quite astonishing how often he mentioned his wife, and how obviously in love with her he was. ‘You’re a natural.’
Just at the moment their hands touched, the vicar appeared at their table, looking both smug and disapproving, as if he’d caught Gabe out at something illicit.
‘Hello Gabriel. Miss Johanssen.’
‘Bugger off, “Bill”,’ said Gabe. ‘We’re trying to have a quiet lunch.’
‘I was only saying hello.’ The vicar blushed. ‘There’s really no need for profanity.’
‘That’s debatable,’ grumbled Gabe.
Macy gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I hear you have a big wedding this weekend, Vicar?’
‘Indeed I do.’ Bill Clempson smiled back. Macy tried not to look shocked by how crooked his teeth were. Then again the British did seem to have a peculiar aversion to visiting the dentist’s office.
‘Shouldn’t you be preparing for it then, instead of making a nuisance of yourself at my farm?’ said Gabe. ‘I’d stick to the day job if I were you, Bill.’
Bill Clempson bristled.
‘Standing up for my parishioners is my day job.’
‘Yeah, well. The Cranleys won’t be best pleased if you fluff the “I do’s”.’
‘I don’t work for the Cranleys,’ Call-me-Bill replied sanctimoniously. ‘I work for God. Nor do I care in the least what wealthy and powerful people might think of me.’
‘Unless their name happens to be David Carlyle,’ Gabe shot back. ‘I saw you blowing smoke up his arse earlier.’
‘Gabe!’ Macy looked horrified.
‘Not very dignified for a man of the cloth,’ said Gabe.
‘Now look here—’ the vicar began angrily.
‘No, you look here!’ Before Macy knew what was happening, Gabe was on his feet. Picking the vicar up by the lapels, like a ventriloquist manhandling his dummy, Gabe pinned him against the wall.
‘You know nothing about this village, Clempson. Nothing! You’re upsetting my wife and you’re upsetting my children. So I suggest you crawl back under whatever rock you came out from, before I crush you like the pathetic little insect that you are.’
‘If you care so much about your wife’s feelings,’ Bill Clempson stammered, ‘perhaps you should reconsider how you choose to spend your lunch hours, Mr Baxter.’ He looked meaningfully at Macy. ‘Instead of lashing out at others.’
The insinuation was too much for Gabe. ‘You little weasel! What are you implying?’
Bill Clempson let out a distinctly unmanly whimper as Gabe drew back his fist.
‘Gabriel!’ The landlord marched over.
‘What?’
‘Put him down.’
Gabe hesitated.
‘Put the vicar down, Gabe, or you’re barred. I mean it.’
Aware that all eyes were on him, Gabe released the reverend. Call-me-Bill slid to the floor like a sack of rubbish.
‘We’re leaving anyway.’ Reaching into his wallet, Gabe dropped two twenty-pound notes on the table. Grabbing Macy’s hand, he pulled her towards the door. As they stormed out of the pub, a camera clicked frenziedly.
A woman seated a few tables away watched them go, then turned to her husband.
‘If Valley Farm’s half as dramatic as this, I’m definitely watching it.’
‘Me too,’ said her husband. ‘That American bird’s a knockout. Laura Baxter had better watch her back.’
Annabel Wellesley tried to relax. Driving her new Range Rover Sport through Brockhurst High Street towards Fittlescombe, she was aware of her rigid back and hunched shoulders, and the clenched set of her jaw that made her whole face ache.
It had been an immensely stressful few weeks. Ever since Eddie got back from his American trip, he’d been like a racehorse with the bit between its teeth about this damned television programme. A reality show! Could there be anything more common? More shaming?
Eddie had assured her that he wouldn’t appear in front of the cameras. ‘I’m just the money man, darling.’ But Annabel understood that these sorts of programmes thrived on drama. It was only a matter of time before their private lives would be dragged into the maelstrom once again, a thought that brought Annabel out in a nervous rash.
And it wasn’t just the invasion of privacy. Annabel resented Eddie’s long absences from Riverside Hall, in particular the inordinate amount of time he seemed to spend in the company of the very pretty Mrs Baxter. They’d moved here for a fresh start, so that they could spend more time together as a couple, in private, and so that Eddie could focus on clawing back his political career. But instead, Eddie was never around, they were all over the newspapers again courtesy of the vile David Carlyle, and Eddie’s ‘return to Westminster’ campaign had been put on a permanent back burner.
Things might have been easier for Annabel if life had been running smoothly at Riverside Hall. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Having hired and fired three utterly useless local cleaning women (the last one, Rita, had such terrible body odour that Annabel had been forced to follow her around each room with a bowl of potpourri and a can of Febreze, and the ones before that were so lazy and inbred they thought dusting was something one did to crops and polishing silver meant putting priceless bone-handled cutlery in the dishwasher), Annabel was once again run ragged doing everything herself.
And then there was Milo.
Since Harrow had booted him out, Milo had been enrolled on an A-level course at the local comprehensive school in Hinton. To his mother’s certain knowledge, however, he’d attended this establishment a total of four times in the last three months, three of them to pick up a thoroughly unsuitable girl he’d started going out with, and once to cheer on the cricket team.
‘They’re so bad, Mum, honestly. They need all the support they can get.’
As admirable as her son’s team spirit was, Annabel realized it was small consolation in the face of his wanton laziness, rampant entitlement and utter lack of ambition. Milo spent half of his days in bed, and the other half either down at The Fox or sprawled out in front of the television watching Deal or No Deal or box sets of American dramas. Breaking Bad was his latest obsession.
‘It could be worse,’ Milo told Annabel, seriously, when she berated him for the umpteenth time for wasting his life. ‘At least I’m not a meth head.’
Annabel was at her wits’ end. Eddie had promised to ‘sort Milo out’, but he’d been so distracted with this damn
