Chapter 3
Tobias knocked back the malt whisky in one. Feeling the hot liquid shoot through his system, he ducked down under the bubbles and shut out the world and its worries. Under the warm water he relaxed momentarily before resurfacing, pushing his long black hair away from his face. He rubbed the dampness out of his greenish hazel eyes, laid back in the roll-top bath and contemplated.
He would have to talk to his mother after dinner: she had to know the position they were in. After the initial grief of her husband’s death, Beatrice had carried on as before, spending money like it was going out of fashion. Tobias shook his head – no wonder they were in this state. His father had totally indulged her, never giving her reason to stop and think just how much she was getting through. Luxuries were everyday things to Beatrice. The grand flower displays gracing the Hall, the running of her Mercedes and Daimler, her regular foreign holidays, designer clothes, the exquisite antiques she collected as well as the impressive art work – it all had to stop. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Tobias grimaced and poured himself another malt from the bottle propped up by the bath. Having given himself a few more minutes to soak, he stood up, letting the water run off his muscular torso and down his long, lean legs. He wrapped a towel loosely round his hips and made his way into the master bedroom. It was tastefully decorated with pale walls and heavy tapestry drapes, and a large four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Entering, the butler hesitated on seeing Tobias dressed only in a towel round his slim hips, revealing a dark hint of hair. He coughed and averted his gaze. ‘Excuse me, Lord Cav—’
‘Henry, how many times? Call me Tobias. You have known me since I was three years old.’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, it’s just that the late Lord Cavendish-Blake always insisted—’
‘Well, the current one doesn’t,’ cut in Tobias.
Henry handed over a freshly pressed dinner suit. Tonight was to be a formal affair with guests representing his mother’s charities. It struck Tobias as rather paradoxical, believing charity should begin at home. Instead, his mother headed up various charitable organisations, and Tobias feared Treweham Hall could well be the next charity case if he didn’t put plans in place immediately.
‘Sir, Mr Fox rang earlier.’
‘Did he indeed, and what does the old Fox want now?’ replied Tobias with a smile, dropping his towel and stepping into boxer shorts.
‘Er… asked if you would be available tomorrow, sir.’
‘And am I, Henry?’ Tobias slid his pressed black trousers over firm, shapely thighs.
‘I… believe you have an engagement with English Heritage, sir.’
‘Ah, yes, so I do.’ Now his biceps were inserted into a crisp white shirt, he began buttoning the front over his wide, dark chest. ‘Could you assist?’ Tobias looked directly at Henry, sticking his arms out. ‘Cuff links.’
‘Ah, certainly, sir.’
Once dressed and prepared, Tobias braced himself to face the evening. This was going to demand some effort, but, as he was learning fast, when duty called he must respond.
*
Dinner had been a long drawn-out affair. Finally the last of the visitors had left, leaving Tobias alone with his mother. He tried to be as sensitive and diplomatic as he could, but the message had to hit home: the family were in grave financial difficulties. Beatrice sat and listened, dumbfounded, and a tear trickled down her pale, powdered cheek.
‘I had no idea,’ she eventually whimpered.
Tobias took a deep breath; it killed him to see her like this. ‘I will do everything possible to keep us afloat, but we’ll all have to make drastic sacrifices, Mother,’ he warned gently.
‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll cancel my Caribbean cruise?’ she offered, arching a hopeful eyebrow.
‘That’s a start. We really need to draw in the purse strings and expand where we can to generate income.’
‘But how?’ replied a confused Beatrice.
‘We’ll have to sell some of the paintings, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, but not the Turner? That was a present from Daddy,’ she pleaded.
Tobias held back the retort they were all bloody presents from Daddy, which is why they were in this fucking mess. His patience was wearing thin.
‘I’m sorry, Mother, the Turner’s the most valuable.’
She looked down to her gold court shoes and chewed a quivering lip. ‘You mentioned expanding…’
‘We’ll need to invest more in the land. At the moment our vegetable gardens and orchards only provide produce for local businesses. We have to grow, develop new products, market them, brand them with the Treweham Hall name, give them a logo, our coat of arms, perhaps. I propose we renovate the old stable block into a farm and craft shop, maybe a country café, too.’ Beatrice looked horrified. ‘I believe the Prince of Wales has done something similar at Highgrove,’ Tobias added quickly, thinking on his feet. That seemed to appease her.
‘Has he really? Well, putting it like that…’ Her gaze was distant, considering, then her shoulders straightened and she forced her chin out. ‘Yes, it’s what Daddy would have wanted, to battle on through adversity.’
The corners of Tobias’ mouth twitched. ‘The family is renowned for its fighting spirit,’ he encouraged.
‘Absolutely, darling, absolutely.’ Then, pausing, she turned to face him. ‘But not the Turner.’
