afford to pay back all the deposits for next year. We actually are pretty broke, you know.’
Sam shrugged, but looked far more serious. ‘I don’t know, babe, but it’s quite a lot of work to find out who all these people are, isn’t it? I mean how would anybody do that, get their names and phone numbers and everything?’
‘Oh I don’t know. Am I just imagining it all? And then there’s the insurance people. They keep asking so many questions, it’s as though they don’t believe a word we’ve said.’ She opened the paper out fully. ‘They asked just how hard up we are, and even though I told the last one how well the business had all been going and asked why on earth I’d set fire to my own home, he still gave me a look over the top of his specs and then made a harrumph noise, muttered something like not for me to say and wrote something down.’
‘Isn’t it scandalous or libellous or something, what she’s saying here? About you not being honest about everything?’
The problem was, Lottie thought, she had every intention of being up and running again by next spring, but what if she wasn’t? What if the insurance company still hadn’t paid out and she really did have to start paying the remaining deposits back? Not that there were many, but it would leave their bank balance in rather a dire state. She’d be back to square one, just as she’d been when she agreed to take on the responsibility of the Tipping House Estate and try and save it from rack and ruin.
‘Aww don’t look so sad,’ Sam gave her a hug, ‘it will all work out. Tell you what, I’ll work my charms on Andy and find out who put that girl up to this. I’ll give him some goss.’ She grinned. ‘He’s a real pushover, if you know what I mean. Oh no, look at the time. I’m going to have to go soon. Me and little Roxy are going to the Botox clinic.’
Lottie looked at her horrified. ‘You can’t …’
‘Oh don’t be daft, babe, she’s coming with me not having it done.’ She giggled. ‘You’re a hoot, babe.’
‘Oh shit, I didn’t realise it was that time either. I said I’d go and talk to Gran, and you know she hates me being late. Oh God, I hope she hasn’t seen this.’
‘She probably has, babe. She doesn’t miss much. Amazing isn’t she?’
Amazing was one word, thought Lottie, but there were many others. She did love her gran, but sometimes wished she didn’t interfere quite so much. It just made her feel worse, as though she really was totally incompetent and not up to the job.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I, hun? I hope Roxy hasn’t tried to plait Scruffy’s tail again or got stuck under the seat. She’s the spitting image of me at her age, you know. My mum says I used to hide all the time and the other day she was stuck under the car seat. Like a cork in a bottle she was, with her bottom in the air.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t leave her on her own?’
‘Aww you’re so sensible, Lottie. I suppose it’s having all these horses and stuff. You know, my Roxy can’t wait to ride her little horse again. She might grow up just like you. You can give her lessons if you like.’
Lottie tried her best to look thrilled at the honour and headed for the front door, half expecting to discover Roxy had somehow managed to drive the car off. She hadn’t.
‘Bless, look how pleased little Scruffy is to see me.’ Sam waved in the direction of her convertible and Lottie was fairly sure that the poor dog was desperately trying to dig his way out of the car, rather than enthusiastically greet his owner.
‘Oh good, you’re here.’ Elizabeth checked the clock. ‘And on time. Sit down. Now, I think it is time you met an acquaintance of mine, Charlotte.’
Lottie looked at her grandmother and wondered what she was up to. Elizabeth Stanthorpe liked to meddle. Despite handing over the day-to-day running of the Tipping House Estate to Lottie, she had the distinct feeling that when decisions were made, her gran was often behind them. And now she was pretty sure that the old woman had something up her sleeve. She didn’t indulge in idle chit chat, there was always an agenda. Even Bertie managed to look guilty as he lay at her feet, raising his eyebrows alternately and giving an occasional lazy wag of his tail.
‘Now, don’t look like that. I think this person may be able to help you, dear.’
Lottie raised an eyebrow.
‘You are doing splendidly, but if anything, matters seem to be getting more difficult. This problem isn’t going to be resolved overnight, is it, Charlotte?’
‘No.’ Every last hint of hope had disappeared from the long, drawn-out syllable.
At first Lottie had thought it was a case of putting the flames out, getting the cleaners in and carrying on as normal. Instead, the room had been declared out of bounds (there had even been a strip of red and white tape at one point that made it look like the scene of a murder) and there was a lot of poking about by firemen, none of whom matched her mental image of a muscled-up firefighter stripped to the waist and smeared in soot.
It was a good job, thought Lottie, that she’d not seen the Hunky Heroes calendar in the village shop before the fire, or she’d have been sorely disappointed.
The heroes that had clambered out of the fire engine bore no resemblance to the hose-wielding hunks who were raising money for charity: no nudity (covered by helmets or otherwise), no cheeky grins, no offers of a fireman’s lift. In fact, totally covered up they looked more like her dad than Mr January, February, or March.
The first lot had very efficiently put the blaze out and the second lot had poked around, grimaced, and written notes.
She would never look at a firework or bonfire in the same way again.
‘Are you listening, Charlotte? I do sometimes wonder how you get anything done with your head in the clouds.’ Elizabeth tapped her stick impatiently against the table leg.
‘It’s not in the clouds.’ Lottie, brought back to the present abruptly, decided to change the subject. ‘Why did you really buy Alice a pony?’
‘The girl needs to get in the saddle – nothing wrong with a bit of responsibility.’
‘It’s cold, wouldn’t it have been better to wait until the weather warmed up?’
‘No point in putting things off, and ponies are too easily ignored when they’re turned out to grass.’
Lottie sighed and wondered if it was too early to crack open a bottle of wine. ‘She’s only three years old, Gran.’ Although she was three going on thirty, but that was irrelevant.
‘Nearly four, by my reckoning, so she’s got long enough legs. And you can stop raising your eyebrows, young lady, she’s tall enough to sit astride. No good these little podgy toddlers, roll straight off a pony.’
‘Did you ask Amanda first?’
‘I think it’s time for a G&T, don’t you? Then I can tell you all about this nice young man I’ve invited for
