she’s thinking of doing a bit of painting again and I haven’t got the time to pose for her, have I now, Molly?’ Billy winked at Mrs Jones, then looked back to his daughter, who was studying the bars of chocolate avidly. ‘Want me to buy you some sparklers while I’m here, love?’
Lottie looked at him, startled. Was that some kind of euphemism? Did he think her and Rory’s love life needed a boost? Was Sam now responsible for the corner shop stocking vajazzle kits as well as superior fake tan?
‘We always had them when you were a kid. Thought the sprogs would want some.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘Sparklers for little Alice and Roxy? Fireworks? To see the New Year in with, Lottie. I know Rory’s stocked up with more fireworks than they’ve got on the Thames, but a few of these never go amiss, do they?’ He tapped the packet she hadn’t spotted on the counter. ‘I’m sure young Roxy could put a few to good use.’
‘Oh God, yes, of course, thanks, got to go. Happy New Year.’ She grabbed both packets of sparklers that Mrs Jones was now holding out, made a lunge for the pint of milk and was out of the shop faster than a starter at Aintree.
Her father’s guffaws echoed round the shop as the door slammed shut behind her, and if it hadn’t been for Harry’s whine of surprise she would have forgotten all about the spaniel and left him still tied to the hook under the window.
‘Cripes, Harry, they go sex mad after a certain age.’ She would have actually quite liked to have had a closer look at the fireman’s calendar, but no way was she ever going to mention it again. To anybody. ‘Come on, Harry, we’re off to Sam’s to talk about something sensible like acrylic nails and boob jobs, and pick up the nibbles for tonight.’
* * *
‘Have you seen that naked fireman’s calendar that they’ve got in the corner shop, babe? That Mrs Jones was showing me this afternoon; said they were selling like hot cakes before Christmas. If I hadn’t got my Davey I’d be after Mr October, I can tell you.’ Sam pulled her leather jacket more firmly round her. ‘He’d warm me up. Cold enough to freeze the brass bits off a monkey out here, isn’t it, babe?’ She chuckled. ‘Nothing like a fireman’s lift and an ogle at his hose to get you glowing.’
‘Sam!’ Lottie glanced over in Roxy’s direction, but the little girl was too busy to hear. She was whispering into Alice’s ear, no doubt trying to get her to collaborate in mischief.
‘Aww bless, don’t they look cute together? Roxy with them blond curls and Alice all dark and neat like Mandy. Where is Mand?’ She looked round. ‘She dashed off just after we got here.’
‘Loo.’
‘Throwing up again? She’s spent more time with her head down the bog this time than she did when she was carrying little Roxy. Poor thing. Would put me off being preggers if it made me like that. I told Davey we should have at least two more, though, and I know he wants a little boy, though he says he’s happy with his girls. Ooh look at Rory and Mick with them big flames, they look like Romans or something, don’t they? But with clothes on.’
Lottie giggled. ‘They’re torches, for lighting the fireworks, I think.’
‘Nothing like a big bang to see in the New Year, is there, babe?’
Lottie loved fireworks. In fact Bonfire Night had always been the highlight of the year for her – until the last one. She glanced nervously behind her at the large French windows that led from the terrace into the Great Hall.
Not that a stray firework had started the blaze responsible for destroying a fair chunk of Tipping House and wiping out her business, but if they hadn’t been so busy staring into the dying embers and setting more midnight fireworks off at the end of a very drunken and noisy party, they might have realised that the flames in the window weren’t a reflection of what was going on outside.
And they might have called the fire brigade before there was the sharp crack of hot glass followed by a rush of black, billowing smoke.
Sam caught the look and gave her a hug. ‘Sod him, babe. Next November we can pretend the guy on the top of the fire is that toe-rag, burn him at the stake.’
‘We’re not sure it definitely is him yet.’ Lottie wanted to be fair and although all indications were that the bridegroom who had been celebrating his wedding at Tipping House on November 5th had, in fact, snuck out of the four-poster bed armed with a match and bottle of spirits, enquiries were still ongoing.
‘Well he did say so on Facebook, so it’s got to be, hasn’t it?’
‘You can’t believe everything on there.’
‘Course you can, love, all the important stuff. I don’t bother listening to the news any more, I just go on Facebook.’
Lottie did love Sam, even if she could be decidedly un-PC at times. Well that was part of her charm.
‘Have you got a date to get it all done up again then, babe? I do miss seeing all those lovely brides here. That one that looked like she was a big fat gypsy was amazing. You know, the one with that glass carriage. Life a fairy tale it was.’
‘I miss them too.’ Lottie fought the feeling of gloom. ‘The insurance people are still poking around, and to be honest I’m not quite sure where I’m going to get the money from to get started again.’
‘We’ll sort it, babe. We can have another fundraiser, can’t we, Mandy?’
Amanda Stanthorpe, who had emerged from the bathroom, was looking pale green at the edges and didn’t even have the energy to flinch at the abbreviation of her name. She smiled wanly.
When she’d first moved to Folly Lake Manor in Tippermere she’d spent most of her time wishing she wasn’t there; she was scared of horses, hated disorder and loathed mud, but after her millionaire husband had died she’d been touched by the support and warmth of her neighbours and now couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Especially after finding a kindred spirit in Dominic Stanthorpe. Marrying him and having his daughter had been the best thing she had ever done. Apart from the actual pregnancy part, of course, which had left her feeling like she’d been fed through a mangle. Repeatedly.
Amanda was the most organised, demure, and elegant person in Tippermere and Lottie had been in awe of her for a long time. Before discovering that the immaculate exterior was a cover for a shy but extremely kind person. She still found it impossible to believe, though, that the young Amanda had been a geeky, unfashionable kid from the suburbs who created a fantasy world to escape from her loneliness. All she could see when she looked at her Uncle Dominic and Amanda was a perfect couple who could have run the Tipping House Estate with effortless ease, had the Stanthorpes not decided long ago that it should only be passed down to female ancestors.
Since discovering that she was to inherit the estate Lottie had worried on an almost daily basis that Dominic would be distraught at being passed over, but he was adamant that he had no desire to shoulder the huge burden that Tipping House represented, but was happy to help his niece out where he could. And she had to admit that he seemed extremely content with Amanda in their rather elegant, and decidedly easier to maintain, home.
‘Not missed anything, have I? I hope Alice hasn’t been any trouble.’
Lottie smiled and hugged the friend who had married her uncle and become her aunt, which was a bit weird. ‘Only Sam talking about firemen and another fundraiser to put the weddings back on track,
