Sherlock Holmes cap. Eva was there, boho chic in a bright orange cotton kaftan that would have looked like a curtain on anyone else, while Flora was looking pale and tired in boyfriend jeans and an old shirt of Mason’s tied at the waist that she basically lived in these days. George Savile, minus her dreary husband this time, had just ‘dropped in’, again, for lunch, looking typically chic in a Stella McCartney jumpsuit and sky-high heels. She greeted Graydon with a screech of delight and the sort of ecstatic hug usually reserved for a husband returning from war.
‘Graydon! Thank goodness you’re here to liven things up a bit,’ George trilled, linking arms possessively with the great designer in a clear message to Flora that the two of them were great friends, and that she’d better watch her back.
Flora had arrived for lunch tired, and now felt utterly exhausted. Graydon’s guest appearance was absolutely the last thing she needed. Clearly Eva thought she was doing Flora a favour by inviting Graydon to stay at the castle, and telling him how much they loved Flora’s work. She wasn’t to know how pathologically jealous Graydon was of other designers, even his own staff, and how paranoid of having his thunder stolen. Especially by Flora.
‘Well,’ Graydon beamed, first at George and then at Eva. ‘I must say it’s nice to be made so welcome. If you’re really sure it’s no imposition, I’d love to stay a couple of nights. I loathe the drive back to London, and The Dorchester’s become so corporate these days, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, dreadful,’ George agreed with a shudder. ‘I wouldn’t put my gardener up there. The place is alive with Russians.’
‘There’s a perfectly good pub in Fittlescombe. They’ve got rooms,’ Henry muttered, too quietly for Graydon to hear but loudly enough to earn himself a reproachful look from Eva.
‘It’s no imposition at all. We’d be delighted to have you.’
‘In that case, I think I might stay too,’ said George. ‘Make a house party of it. If that’s all right?’ She fluttered her eyelashes innocently at Eva.
‘Not really,’ thundered Henry.
‘Of course it’s all right,’ said Eva, simultaneously. She’d never warmed to George. She’d tried, many times, but Henry’s business partner always had a knowing, sour look on her face when talking to Eva, as if she were laughing at some private joke that Eva strongly suspected was at her expense. Despite this, Eva continued to be hospitable and to hold out repeated olive branches to Georgina. One day, she felt sure, her kindness would pay off, and George would realize that Eva was a decent person and that she made Henry happy.
‘We’d love to have you. There are plenty of rooms, after all.’
‘Even if it is still a building site!’ George laughed, adding teasingly, ‘But I suppose genius can’t be rushed, eh, Flora?’
Die. Thought Flora. Die, die, die, you poisonous, manipulative cow.
Flora couldn’t understand why George kept showing up like a bad smell when it was clear that Henry didn’t want her here. Or why either Henry or Eva put up with it.
The only thing she knew for sure was that it was going to be a very, very long few days.
Flora’s first official walk-through of the site with Graydon began at eight o’clock the next morning. It did not go well.
No doubt irked by Eva’s lavish praise of Flora’s designs the day before, Graydon systematically ripped into every last inch of her work. Nothing was good enough. The fixtures in the guest bathroom suites were too modern. The window dressings in the state rooms too traditional. The reclaimed stone Flora had used for the floor in the great hall was too expensive. The oak boards in the master bedroom too cheap.
‘And as for this folly,’ Graydon jabbed a gold-ringed finger at the new library plans in derision. ‘This will have to go.’
‘It can’t,’ said Flora, aghast. They were standing just inside the castle doors, in a room known as the hall. A long refectory bench lined one wall. Flora sat down on it wearily. ‘Henry loves it. It’s his favourite room in the entire castle. Plus it represents a huge saving over the original plan.’
‘I don’t care what it represents,’ Graydon snapped, sitting beside her. ‘I’m not having my name associated with that piece of kitsch.’
Flora’s eyes widened. Coming from a man wearing an aqua-blue sweater with two felt puppies appliquéd on the front, this was a bit rich.
‘Besides,’ Graydon added, his tone softening slightly, ‘Henry Saxton Brae is not the only person we’re trying to please here.’
Flora looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The International Designer of the Year award is being held in London next year,’ said Graydon. ‘It’s been moved forward to June, which means all submissions must be put before the judges by April.’
Flora looked at him blankly. The Hanborough restoration would not be close to finished by April. The plan had been to get everything but the South Wing completed by next August, in time for Henry and Eva’s wedding. At the current rate of progress, even that was going to be a stretch.
‘You’re not thinking of entering Hanborough?’
‘I’m not thinking about it, no,’ Graydon said caustically. ‘I’m doing it. Or, rather, we’re doing it. Together.’
Flora opened her mouth to protest but Graydon wasn’t finished.
‘I happen to have two close friends on the panel. It’s going to be a much more avant-garde group of judges than in previous years. We’re going to have to rethink a lot of the plans here if we want to have a shot at winning. Introduce some much more innovative, modern elements. Think sustainability. Eco-friendly. Old meets new.’
Flora imagined Henry wincing at every one of these expressions.
‘Take a look at these.’ Flipping open his MacBook Air, Graydon showed Flora a slide show of images. One was of a steel-framed barn with a retractable glass roof. Another of a Plexiglas tunnel connecting the East and West wings of the castle at the rear.
Flora shook her head. ‘There’s just no way. For one thing, Henry’s a traditionalist. He’ll never agree to anything like that.’
‘Then you must make him agree,’ said Graydon, unyielding.
‘Even if I could, this stuff is all way over budget,’ protested Flora. ‘And you want it done by next April? At the rate we’ve been going we’ll struggle to get the current plans finished by next August.’
Graydon fell silent for a moment, his lips pursed.
‘Perhaps I made a mistake in entrusting you with a project of this significance,’ he said at last. ‘Our mutual friend Mrs Savile confided in me that you’ve been struggling.’
‘I have not been struggling!’ Flora said hotly. ‘And Georgina Savile is no friend of mine.’
‘Hmmm,’ Graydon mused. ‘Well, you do look terribly tired, Flora. I have a new fellow working for me in New York, Riccardo. Perhaps it makes sense for him to take over from here? I know he’s chomping at the bit
