“Yoooooohooooooo, Edwaaaaard!”
Everyone looked up to see Gran hanging out the window. My father waved up to her uncomfortably.
“I hope my mother hasn’t been too much trouble,” I heard him say.
“Not at all! We’ve loved having her here. Peggy fits right in. She and my mother are thick as thieves.”
Were my parents going to spot me atanypoint? Were they going to look for me? Clearly not. William waved me over, and I sidled up beside him.
“Here he is, the man of the moment—my hero,” William said. He put an arm round me and kissed my cheek.
“Hello, Mother. Father.” I tried, but I couldn’t put any warmth into it.
“Oh, Peter, why are you dressed in those tatty old overalls? Couldn’t you have made an effort? You knew we were coming.”
William squeezed me tighter. “Doesn’t he look fabulous in his uniform. You know whenever Petey is boiler-suited up like Churchill, he means business.” William leant in conspiratorially to my father. “I’ll show you the Churchill Bedroom later. And, Sir Edward, remind me to show you the stack of empties the great man left behind. The fourteenth baron was so astonished he kept them all, stacked up in the cellar like a shrine. It’s not on the usual tour.” My father was preening now. “I hear you like a nice Bordeaux. We can grab a 1995 Château Margaux while we’re down there.” William was playing my father like a fiddle. He squeezed my shoulder again. “Petey Boy’s on the clock today, aren’t you, baby? You know, of course, that he’s making a video to promote the house on social media and something called the internet.”
“Thank you for signing the release forms,” I said. My mother’s nose curled. It had definitely been my father’s ego that signed the form. I bet they had a blazing row about it.
“Buckford’s opening to the public!” William continued. “Petey’s an actual genius with this sort of thing. I’d never have thought of a promo video myself. The sheer depth of talent—I don’t know what I’d do without him. You must be very proud of him.”
My parents looked at each other meaningfully. My heart stopped.
“Of course,” my father said.
“Terribly,” my mother added.
The lying bastards.
The other Jags had emptied now, and a queue had formed to meet my fake fiancé. A group of at least twenty women inbarely there muslin dresses appeared and started dancing in witchy free form through the crowd and the cars, to satisfyingly astonished faces. I tried not to giggle, and I could feel William doing the same.
“I should get back to it,” I said. “I’m not meant to beinthe footage.”
“All right, babe,” William said. He’d never called me babe. Literally everyone was acting right now. He leant into my ear and squeezed my butt. “Isn’t this fun? Gah! I love you,so much.” And then he kissed me—passionately—in front of my parents, and the North London Jaguar Car Club, and the pagans, and my film crew, and Bramley. A wolf whistle cracked the air from above. I was so embarrassed my knees almost gave way. As I slunk away, I heard Bramley offer my parents “a restorative sherry” and point them towards the sunken garden, where sandwiches and light refreshments had been laid on especially.
“The Dowager Mrs Topham will be down to join you momentarily,” Bramley said.
Not if I could help it.
The plan for the next couple of hours was for the car club to split into two groups. One lot would have individual photos taken with their cars out the front of Buckford Hall, while William took the other lot on a private guided tour of the house. Then they would swap around. At the end, all the classic cars would be parked on the Great Lawn, sparkling in the sunshine, lined up on the slopes either side of the Long Water. It would make for a magnificent shot back up the lake towards the house. Then everyone would gather at the edge of Home Field to watch the re-enactment. All fine in theory, but at some point my parents were going to find Gran stoned out of her nut—and who knew what the resulting explosion of outrage would level in its wake.
I walked into the house to find bedlam. The kitchen was filled with chattering women from the village, all of whom had volunteered to make sandwiches to feed the five thousand. There was a Blitz-like spirit, if you didn’t count the pagan drifting between them, smoke wafting from burning sage held high above her head. No one seemed to be paying her the least bit of attention. The women turned to see me and bowed their heads.
“No, please don’t do that.”
I grabbed three bottles of water, then I headed upstairs to the servants’ quarters, where I found Gran, Bunny, and Karma sitting on a rug on the floor, in a gale of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, putting the water down on a table.
“Men,” Karma said, wiping her eyes.
I looked at the ashtray between them. There were at least three roaches in there.
“My God, how much have you had to smoke?”
“It’s all right, Petey darling. It’s natural.”
“It’s illegal,” I said.
