“Your old mate Gary Ashworth says he’s got people on the record telling stories about me,” I said, quietly. “Visiting Vauxhall.”
Sunny’s and Ludo’s eyes went wide.
“He threatened to print it unless we gave him a better story,” William added, his hand grasping mine. “Luckily, we did.”
“Accidentally, mind you,” I said.
Sunny’s face was grim. “It might have killed it for now. But if Gary Ashworth has that story in his back pocket, he’ll keep threatening to pull it out every time he wants something.”
“That’s blackmail!” William said.
“That’s how it works,” Sunny said. “Do you know he definitely has the story?”
I shook my head. “No idea. It could be a bluff.”
“Seems like a weird thing for him to know,” Ludo said.
“I agree,” Sunny replied. “But either way, there’s only one thing you can do. Get a superinjunction.”
“Does that work?”
Sunny nodded. “I can’t see why not. You would not believe the tales of affairs, children born on the wrong side of the bed, and eye-watering personal proclivities journalists know about but can’t print. You’d be horrified by the names of the beloved national figures involved.”
“Like who?” William said, leaning in for the gossip.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
Sunny frowned. “Superinjunctions.”
“Ah. Yes, I see your point.”
Ludo cleared his throat. “If there’s no public interest defence, you can jolly well suppress most things.”
“You’re not public figures,” Sunny added. “So I imagine you might have grounds for an injunction for privacy reasons.” Hetook a sip of his brandy and turned to look at me directly. “Know any good lawyers, Petey?”
I groaned. “How are we defining ‘good’?”
I looked at William. It was there in his eyes—the question, the hope, the understanding. He knew how I felt about asking my family for anything. I couldn’t call my father. I couldn’t admit I needed his help. I couldn’t face his disappointment, his disdain. I’d rather let Gary Ashworth print and be damned.
There was a loud clapping of hands, and everyone turned to look at Bunny Winters.
“Right, who’s for Scrabble?”
Bramley drove Sunny and Ludo to Leicester, where they were staying with Sunny’s mum, and I took Gran upstairs to the yellow bedroom. She looked frail, but she was up those stairs like a rat up a drainpipe. Couldn’t wait to get into her nightie and roll around in that four-poster bed, complaining someone had put a pea under her mattress. I tucked her in and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I wish the girls from the market could see me now,” she said. “Imagine the look on Dolly Nollis’s face, seeing Margaret Topham lying here in fine sheets in a grand country house, like Lady Muck. That’d shut her up. The smug cow.”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“Not dead enough. I hope she’s up there watching.” Gran stuck a middle finger up at the ceiling. It was fun seeing her like this. She almost seemed youthful.
“What do Edward and Angelica think about… this whole situation?” I asked. “You being here.Mebeing here?”
“Petey Boy, your parents are the biggest snobs I’ve ever met. They think you’re marrying a baron. They’re delighted.”
“But their names keep appearing in the papers alongside mine.”
