‘And does Fabian know about this?’
‘He suggested it. Said he and Robyn were free this evening, but could he help with the meal as there’s going to be so many of us? I mean, he and Kamranaregoing into business together – they need to know what the other is capable of. According to Robyn, they’re keeping it simple.’
‘What, shepherd’s pie or something? I’ll believe that when I see it,’ I scoffed, feeling horribly left out. The dream of a restaurant had always been mine and Fabian’s. Until Kamran Sattar had come along with his own ideas – not to mention the Sattar millions in the bank – and not only bewitched my mother, but seemingly Fabian as well.
‘Sounds good,’ Dean said, rubbing his hands and heading for the back door. ‘What time? I’ll make sure I don’t have too many at the nineteenth hole.’
‘Mum, who’s going? But, look,Ican’t go. I can’t leave Lola here by herself.’
‘Sorrel’s coming round. She’s going to babysit.’
‘Sorrel’s allergic to dogs too,’ I said mulishly, eyeing Scargill who’d fallen asleep on the rug in front of the log burner.
‘Since when?’ Mum shook her head in my direction. ‘Listen, there’s going to be quite a few of us,’ she went on in some excitement. ‘All three of Kamran’s brothers and their wives, his mother…’
‘Hismother?’ I stared. For some reason one didn’t expect an exceptionally successful entrepreneur as Kamran Sattar to have an actualmother.
‘…as well as Kamran and me…’ Mum broke off, going slightly pink at the audacity of thinking herself now in a couple after so many years of singledom.
‘So,you’rehosting this do, are you?’ I asked. ‘And Fabian and Kamran are cooking, are they?’
‘That’s the plan. Fabian’s already up there, apparently.’ Seeing my face, Mum went on. ‘Look, I’m sure the pair of them wouldn’t mind if you took yourself up there to cook as well. Mind?’ Mum gave a little laugh. ‘They’dwelcomeyou. D’you want me to ring Kamran?’
‘No, absolutely not. Don’t you dare…’ I trailed off as Lola shook my car keys at me.
‘Come on, Mum,’ she said in excitement. ‘That lovely pet shop down in the village? Arthur – I’m going to call him Arthur – is going to need a bed and bowls as well as a lead. And we need advice on the best way to look after him!’
* * *
I hadn’t been back to Kamran Sattar’s stunning house on the outskirts of Beddingfield village since January, when Kamran had first mooted his idea of converting the huge summer house standing in the grounds of the care home into a restaurant, rather than converting Hudson House itself. I’d actually forgotten how impressive Kamran’s own manor house was, lying low in the lea of the valley in its acres of lawn and woodland and, impressively to our right, the wildflower meadow over which Mum had enthused endlessly whenever she’d been able to corner any of us to listen.
‘Native daffodils, wood anemones taking advantage of the still-leafless trees to bask in the strengthening sun, clusters of primroses, snowdrops and coltsfoot,’ I parroted as I parked my battered old van, Vera, in front of the wooden fence, keeping this seemingly never-ending, and cockily overconfident, flora at bay. Once out of the van and taking in the sights, smells and sounds of the final few minutes of an early April dusk, there was a quite explosive sense of spring in the air with its accompanying promise of new life and potential. Almost overcome with the pungent smell of wild garlic, I bent, crushing the leaves between my fingers, releasing even more of the fragrant aroma, while thinking only of the dishes I could concoct with the stuff.
‘How d’youknow the names of all these flowers and plants?’ Dean, already breathing alcohol fumes in my direction, frowned. ‘You hate gardening.’
‘Ido, but Mum has done nothing but go on about this garden ever since she saw it. I know its contents off by heart. I could take an exam on what’s in Kamran Sattar’s garden.’
‘She really is keeping in with him then, isn’t she?’ Dean nodded his approval. ‘There must be something for us in all of this…?’
‘Excuse me?’ I shot Dean a look of distaste.
‘…I mean, how serious are they? Is Lisa thinking of moving in here?’ Dean’s eyes lit up at the endless possibilities in store for him as he got out of the car. ‘That would be good – we could knock through to her cottage and have ourselves a much bigger place. She wouldn’t charge you for it, would she, once she was up here playing at being Lady of the Manor? She’d just hand it over, glad to be rid of it. We could?—’
‘Dean,’ I managed to get out through gritted teeth. ‘They’ve only been seeing each other three months. Cut it out, will you?’ I stalked off ahead of him, crunching the tiny white stones underfoot on my trusty, but filthily decrepit, trainers, having thankfully recalled from my previous visit here that high heels would have resulted in ruined shoes, grazed knees or a sprained ankle.
‘Only got Lola’s and your – and Scargill’s – interests at heart. Have to look ahead – have to think of the future.’
I was prevented from making any scathing response in Dean’s direction by the highly polished black double door opening in front of us, Mum proudly welcoming us in.
‘Lady bountiful already,’ Dean murmured into my ear as he caught me up and, together, we were ushered along a deep, soft cream carpet towards a sitting room at the far end from which noise and laughter were already drifting.
‘Hang on a minute, I need to change out of these trainers.’ I headed back to the front door with my orange plastic Sainsbury’s carrier containing my one decent pair of black heels, two bottles of Malbec and the Welcome to Beddingfield village tin containing the home-made Florentines I’d feverishly baked to impress once Lola and I were back from the pet shop.
While Dean, eager to get on with the party, left me to it.
‘Oh Jesus, oh God, please don’t say I haven’t brought them.’
The son of man andhisold man obviously weren’t listening, but a taller, much younger version of Kamran Sattar was.
