Wickham Hall, Part 2 Read Free

loosely across my shoulder. ‘Only joking, Miss High Horse. Let’s go and see if Jenny can sort us out with some tea and toast.’
    â€˜That’s more like it,’ I said primly, not even sure in my own mind whether I was referring to the offer of breakfast or to the tremor of excitement that had just run down the length of my spine.

Chapter 2
    By early afternoon Ben and I were back in the events office. Ben’s first Summer Festival meeting had been declared a success and I must admit, it had been a lot livelier with him in the room than his father.
    However, my jobs list had somehow doubled and I’d yet to cross anything off it, which was making me feel a bit jittery. Particularly as I couldn’t find a single document that I needed following our office tidy and now a courier had turned up for Ben. The man had made several trips backwards and forwards to his van and had deposited some large mysterious packages that made Ben even more exuberant than normal.
    The courier soon left and Ben began tearing into the parcels, humming tunelessly under his breath. I did my best to block him out and tried to get some work done.
    I opened a blank page on my laptop and typed:
Thirty Things to Do at Wickham Hall
. This was first on my list of extra things to do following this morning’s meeting.
    Ben had blithely ignored my advice to go easy on new ideas. He’d spent the first half an hour of the committee meeting quietly building a tower with drinks mats. But then, as I was outlining my idea for a children’s treasure hunt, he’d suddenly rocked back in his chair, linked his fingers behind his head and puffed out his cheeks.
    â€˜It all sounds great,’ he’d said, flashing a smile around the assembled committee members.
    It was the first thing he’d said and everyone had stared. Andy had gazed adoringly and Samantha from Radio Henley had melted quicker than a Solero on a sunbed.
    â€˜
But
I can’t help feeling that we’re missing an opportunity to celebrate all that my parents have achieved in the last thirty years at the hall.’
    â€˜With respect, Benedict,’ Sheila, who heads up the committee, had said, ‘Lord Fortescue has sat in on this committee every week until now and has never once mentioned your parents’ thirty-year anniversary.’
    â€˜Oh, he’s too modest,’ Benedict had said, flipping a drinks mat off the edge of the table and attempting to catch it. It dropped onto the floor. ‘Neither of them will make a fuss. It’s up to us to do it for them.’
    Jenny had agreed, citing how many people benefited from the Coach House Café that the Fortescues had built in the early nineties. ‘Not just customers, but staff, too. The café works closely with the catering college in Stratford; we’ve helped train hundreds of young people over the years, me included,’ she’d said, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without this place.’
    â€˜And the gardens owe a lot to your parents, too,’ Nikki had added, passing her phone round so we could see her latest pictures. ‘See how fantastic the maze looks this year? No offence, Benedict, but your grandfather was more interested in vehicles than visitors and the gardens were too basic to attract the public. The Italian sunken garden used to look like the forest out of
Sleeping Beauty
from what I understand. And the rhododendron was rampant.’
    At this point, I’d had a sudden – unwanted, I might add – image of my mum and A. N. Other furtling in the rampant rhododendron. I’d grabbed my glass of water and taken a long drink before anyone noticed my pink cheeks.
    â€˜Holly, your hidden treasures campaign is great, very imaginative,’ Ben had said, nodding.
    I’d coloured a bit more and mumbled my thanks.
    â€˜But I think we can go further.’
    Sheila had