Well Groomed (62 page)

‘Can you shift that?’ he yelled at one of the heavies.

‘Half an hour.’ The man shrugged, not looking up from his copy of the
Sun
.

‘Now!’ Hugo barked.

But the heavy ignored him.

Pacing around by the box as he waited for the men to finish, Hugo noticed Sally French wandering past towards one of his paddocks which was being used as a caravan park for all the cast, costume and make-up trailers. He hardly recognised her at first, she had glammed up so much. Dressed in an overtly fashionable pair of velvet hipster trousers and nipple-hugging t-shirt, her hair scraped back with wraparound sunglasses, she looked like any number of the trendy young babes who had been floating around his house all week clutching a clip-board and trying to look important. But her face was tired and drawn beneath its thick layer of make-up, and she looked as though she was more used to clutching at straws lately than clip-boards. Wondering if she was all right, Hugo was about to call hello when he saw her stop to talk to his copycat, Niall.

Not wanting to get embroiled with the naked ape-artiste, Hugo leaned back against the box and lit a cigarette, glancing irritably at his watch. If the heavies didn’t get a push on, he was going to miss his trainer mate entirely, and he badly needed to ask his advice.

Suddenly, he heard Niall’s melting Irish voice mention a familiar name. And it was the last one Hugo would have expected. As far as he recalled, it was a name Niall seldom even remembered.

‘But I thought she was keen to lease him for a year?’ Niall was saying. ‘You said she wanted the publicity?’

‘I’m sorry, Niall.’ Sally sounded incredibly tired. ‘It was some silly idea of mine. I don’t think Lisette ever took it seriously, to be honest. She certainly wouldn’t be interested in substituting it for the
Cheers!
coverage.’

‘It’s just that Tash’s family aren’t too keen on being photographed for the magazine,’ said Niall. ‘You know how snobbish her old pa can be now.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘And he
is
footing half the bill for the wedding,’ Niall went on, sounding strangely desperate.

‘But you agreed to this months ago, Niall. It’s all arranged.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just that you’d mentioned this idea about running Snob at Badminton under the film’s title and we thought Lisette—’

‘I doubt she’d even consider it.’ Sally’s voice was flat and listless. ‘She’s terribly keen on this wedding feature. She even told me to pass on some message about a photographer coming to see you today, actually. God, what was it again? I don’t think it was very important. Do you want me to ask her to meet up with you later to discuss it, then you can tell her about this idea yourself? I’ve left her diary in the house somewhere.’

‘No, no, I’m sure I can persuade Tash’s family to agree,’ Niall said hastily. ‘I just thought this sponsorship idea might be an alternative, that’s all.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally sighed. ‘Like I say, I think Lisette only let me moot the idea to keep me occupied. But there was one good thing to come out of it, you’ll be pleased to know.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Niall sounded extremely distracted.

‘She told me she was going to sign her share of Snob over to Tash when you two get married,’ Sally said more cheerfully. ‘As her wedding present.’

‘You what?’ Niall seemed appalled at the prospect.

‘She’s arranged it with her solicitor,’ Sally told him. ‘Her share in Snob becomes Tash’s property when you two get married. It’s all legal and above board. The moment you two are hitched, she’ll have no claim on him. I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Niall was croaking now. ‘I’m delighted, angel, honest to God I am. In that case, I’ll definitely persuade Tash’s pa to go through with the
Cheers!
thing. Do me a favour, Sals, and forget I ever told you he wasn’t keen, huh? I don’t want to upset Lisette. Especially not as she’s doing this for Tash.’

‘Sure,’ Sally said vaguely. ‘Listen, I must go, only I said I’d take these sandwiches to the costume lorry hours ago and you know how bitchy they are. I’ll be fired if I don’t get a move on.’

Hugo ground his cigarette out on the gravel and watched as Niall wandered past in the direction of the house, far too absorbed in thought to spot him standing just yards away. He looked absolutely haggard, as though he’d just been told of a fatality, not received the news of a wedding present to die for.

Hugo walked around the lorry to bawl out the heavies once and for all. He was amazed by what he’d just heard: he didn’t know what to make of it at all.

The
Next Directory
lay open on the Lime Tree Farm kitchen table, surrounded by the debris of lunch, so that it crunched breadcrumbs every time a hand reached out to smooth a page. Several of the lingerie pages had already been ripped out to adorn Rufus’s bedroom walls, and a corrugated coffee ring indented a pale green silk suit which would be perfect for a bright June wedding spent swigging champagne and nibbling on salmon parcels in a cool marquee.

‘Do you think green’s very ageing?’

With less than three weeks to go, even Penny Moncrieff had started debating whether to buy a new outfit for the day.

In response, Zoe said nothing. In fact, Penny noted, she had gone particularly quiet lately, especially when the conversation turned to Tash’s and Niall’s wedding. There was something strange in her behaviour that Penny couldn’t quite figure out. If she wasn’t absolutely certain that all was quiet on the man front, she would have sworn that Zoe was infatuated with a new lover. She was wildly distracted at the moment, always sloping off to be alone, getting unexpectedly agitated when there was a crisis and forgetting to cook meals or post letters. All this was totally out of character.

‘Are you engrossed in a new book?’ she asked casually, flipping past pages of spill-thin models wading over sandy beaches.

‘What?’ Zoe had been gazing through the window. ‘Oh – no, nothing like that. I’m going to take Enid out – I might march her up to Hugo’s place to see a bit of the first day’s filming. I thought I’d ask him and Lisette Norton down to dinner this Friday if they’re free. Get Tash and Niall along too.’

‘Is that such a good idea?’ Penny was slightly aghast. ‘They’re hardly a chummy bridge four, are they?’

‘I think it could be rather fun.’ Zoe watched for a moment longer as, through the window, Tash clattered into the yard on Hunk, along with Gus on his old campaigner, Fashion Victim. They appeared to be arguing heatedly. ‘I might ask Sally French too – Tash’s sister-in-law. She’s working on the film apparently. I’ve always liked her.’

‘That doesn’t mean you’re going to invite Tash’s awful brother along, does it?’ Penny looked aghast. ‘He’s dreadfully anti-social – just lurked around in here shooting disapproving looks at the hunting prints last time he came. He didn’t even leave the kitchen.’ She thought the idea of a dinner party the weekend before Badminton generally ridiculous – the whole house would be in chaos.

Zoe cleared her throat uncomfortably. ‘I might. I’ll let Sally decide – she might not even be free. I gather Lisette’s got her running around like a messenger all day, poor thing.’

Penny eyed her thoughtfully, wondering how she knew all this. She supposed Tash must have been gossiping. ‘Don’t you think it could be a bit of a strain on poor Tash? I get the impression she’s terrified of Lisette.’

‘So is Niall – they’re both terrible cowards, and they have absolutely no reason to be.’ Zoe coughed and smiled rather guardedly. ‘Lisette is terribly pleased that Tash and Niall are getting married. In fact, I gather she’s almost as enthusiastic about it as Tash’s mother.’

‘Gosh – how very liberal. So are she and Hugo really an item now?’

‘The local gossip-mongers seem to think so.’ Zoe started searching for Enid’s lead, her pale-blonde bob tipping back as she stretched up to the coat hooks. ‘But, if you remember, they linked me to Godfrey Pelham for months just because we were doing the same evening course in advanced oriental cookery at Marlbury College.’

‘Kirsty will be devastated.’

‘Well, I’ll leave it up to her whether she wants to join in or make herself scarce.’ Zoe clipped an old lead-rope on Enid, having failed to unearth her lead. ‘But I’ll ask Stefan too, so that might ease things.’

‘Stefan?’ Penny was mentally counting numbers and starting to panic. They couldn’t afford to cater for that many – especially not big drinkers like Stefan and Niall. The trip to Badminton – with four horses running – was already costing them a fortune. She shut the
Next Directory
rather pointedly.

Zoe was at the door now, stepping into her wellingtons. ‘I think Stefan’s rather sweet on Kirsty.’ She made it sound gloriously old fashioned. ‘He’s been down here every two minutes since her affair with Hugo ended. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘But he’s years younger than she is!’

Zoe looked slightly uneasy. ‘Does that make such a difference? You’re a few years older than Gus.’

‘And she’s supposedly engaged to be married.’ Penny looked thoroughly disapproving.

‘So she is.’ Zoe smiled stiffly, leaning back as Gus stomped through the lobby door looking ratty and almost falling over Enid who cowered into her mistress’s legs.

‘If Tash behaved to Niall the way Kirsty does to poor Richie,’ Penny tutted, ‘there wouldn’t be a wedding in a fortnight.’

‘Don’t talk to me about that bloody wedding.’ Gus fumed, heading straight for the biscuit tin. ‘Tash is totally riddled with nerves and it’s still over a fortnight away. Christ knows what she’ll be like next week. At this rate, she’ll never get through Badminton alive – her riding’s atrocious at the moment. I’ve just had to bawl her out. She’s got her head so far in the clouds, she should be forecasting the weather.’

‘What d’you mean?’ Zoe watched him intently.

‘I just asked who was giving her away at the ceremony, and you know what she said?’ He turned back, Bourbon cream in mouth. ‘She said, “I keep thinking I’ll give myself away first.” She’s coming unhinged. I’ve sent her home early.’

To Tash’s absolute horror, a simpering
Cheers!
photographer and a puff-wielding stylist were waiting on the forge doorstep when she returned from the farm, tut-tutting about how late she was. Barging inside with a barrage of vacuous hello kisses and hardly a word of explanation, they spent an hour going through her wardrobe and pronouncing everything highly unphotogenic with shrieks of laughter.

‘I remember when these were in fashion!’ The stylist fell about when she spotted Tash’s favourite pair of baggy palazzo pants.

‘Do you have anything that isn’t black?’ The photographer peered into her wardrobe forlornly.

‘Only my reputation,’ she muttered.

Exhausted from her day in the saddle, Tash hadn’t the energy to complain as coathangers clattered and the duo chattered. She simply sat with Beetroot on the bed while they threw her clothes around and wondered whether they’d mind if she crept beneath the duvet and clamped her eyes tightly shut. Perhaps, she hoped vaguely, they would have disappeared by the time she opened them again?

‘Can we do anything with this, Marcelle?’ the photographer sighed, holding up Tash’s hair, which was flat and dull from being confined under a crash helmet for ten hours.

‘I’ll back-comb it.’ Marcelle whipped a menacing-looking steel comb from her vast make-up case. ‘Get some body into it.’

‘Get anybody into it, love. Just change it.’

Niall arrived just as Tash – made up with so much red lip gloss that she looked as though she had just sucked a virgin’s neck – was leaning against the range posing for a ridiculous shot which involved her holding a glass of champagne in one hand, her Burghley trophy in the other, a riding crop under her armpit and blowing a kiss at Beetroot at the same time. Eventing rosettes and publicity shots of Niall littered the Rayburn lids, and the row of Niall’s drying jockey shorts on the rail had been replaced by a crisp, unused ‘Rules of Hurling’ tea towel which had been a Christmas gift from his sister Nuala, alongside a pair of oven mitts that had never been out of their plastic shrink wrapping.

Tash’s hair was so big, it was threatening to glue itself to the overhead beam, and she was dressed in her full dressage regalia – tail coat, waistcoat, boots, breeches and stock. She looked both ravishing and utterly miserable, her huge, painted eyes pleading for help the moment Niall wandered into the room. Beetroot, who had also been back-combed, snarled menacingly.

‘Niall, love. At last!’ the photographer greeted him as though they were old mates, although it was the first time they’d met. ‘Marcelle will just dust you down and we’ll have a couple of shots outside before the light goes.’

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Niall stormed.

‘They’re from
Cheers!
’ Tash said weakly. ‘They say they arranged this session with the film company. We were supposed to be here at three.’

‘We won’t occupy too much of you two lovebirds’ time.’ The photographer schmoozed towards Niall with a light meter.

‘We’ve laid a few casual clothes out for you on the bed, Niall – take your pick.’ Marcelle was powdering Tash’s forehead again. ‘Gosh, you’re shiny, darling. You must have overactive sebaceous glands.’

‘Can we see Natalie in the red satin party dress now, Marcelle?’ the photographer called over his shoulder as he wandered outside to peer at the light.

‘Jesus!’ Niall stayed glued in the doorway.

For a moment Tash thought he was going to throw them out, but instead he meekly complied, his face suddenly adopting the easy, charming smile of his daytime film role. Within minutes, he was totally in character, laughing and joking with the photographer as he took shots of them perched on the sofa, the bed and the tatty garden furniture. Tash was so pole-axed, she did everything asked of her, even leafing through the back copies of
Cheers!
that the duo had brought along and grinning inanely over them.