Dan knocked on Lizzie’s front door and waited, hearing the scuffle and swearing that accompanied Lizzie’s every attempt to stand up since her op. ‘I’ll be there in a— Oh, shit! Hang on, I just— Bloody hell!’ Lizzie yanked open the front door, one hand pressed firmly against her appendix scar and looking somewhat green in the face. ‘Sorry.’
‘Are you sure you should be going out and about?’ Dan asked, eyeing up his cousin apprehensively.
‘It’s a mental health issue at this point,’ said Lizzie fiercely.
‘No change there, then,’ teased Dan affectionately, reaching out a hand to steady Lizzie as she wobbled. ‘So, what am I? Your back-up, back-up plan?’ Dan asked. Not known for her patience at the best of times, Lizzie was finding her enforced recuperation somewhat of a challenge. ‘Let me guess: Will’s at work, Connor’s finally realised what a pain in the backside you are when you’re bored and Holly’s busy juggling all of your various offspring?’
Lizzie pouted, hating her predictability. ‘Do you want to go and nosey around The Big House or not? Did you even know it was on the market? I mean, I thought they’d carry Lady Peal out of that house in a box!’
Dan sighed; as was so often the case in Larkford, he knew more than he was able to share. If anything, he was impressed by the determination of Aggie Peal’s decision-making process. She certainly wasn’t letting the grass grow under her feet.
And Lizzie had known full well that he wouldn’t be able to resist the chance for a snoop – his recent interest in the local property market was in danger of becoming a full-blown obsession. ‘Come on then,’ he said, avoiding her question. ‘Connor said he’d meet us there and he’ll think we’ve forgotten at this rate.’ He held out his arm for Lizzie as she wobbled. ‘I can’t believe how quickly Connor moves when he puts his mind to something. Unlike you – you slow poke.’
The front door to The Big House was barely fifty yards away, though to look at the expression of intense concentration on Lizzie’s face, you’d think it was a mile, but as recuperative outings went, Dan had to admit this was far more enjoyable than he’d imagined. There was something rather restful about strolling along at the snail’s pace that Lizzie could just about manage, rather than dashing everywhere like a blue-arsed fly. There was a stubborn layer of frost underfoot and a recent heaviness to the blanket of cloud overhead that boded the arrival of winter, but the freshly baked bread from Pru Hartley’s bakery still scented the air, bringing a familiar comfort. It was good to be home, he decided, no matter how lovely his mini-break with Grace last weekend had been.
He gazed at Peal Hall – The Big House – as they approached. It really was one of Larkford’s finest gems: a Georgian rectory standing squarely at the head of the town, its rear lawns rolling down to meet the grassland of Blackleigh Farm and its front door facing the Market Place. The best of both worlds. It would, no doubt, have cost Connor a small fortune, Dan realised.
A cacophony of high-pitched barking greeted their arrival.
‘Jesus, how many dogs has she got in there?’ Dan asked in surprise.
Lizzie shook her head in despair. ‘Too many. There’s a Yorkie, a chihuahua and a chorkie – no guesses where that little mongrel came from, all a bit Heinz 57. Not to mention a fluffball, a setter, oh, and a beagle, I think. They just kick off whenever anyone walks by, which is basically every five minutes. You get used to it after a while.’
Connor pulled open the glossy front door, as though he had been poised for their arrival, its glossy myrtle paint adding yet another touch of class to the honey-coloured stone façade. ‘Come in, come in,’ he said, holding out an arm to Lizzie, ‘let’s find Witchy a sofa, shall we? She’s gone that attractive green colour again.’
Dan and Lizzie exchanged amused glances; the money had barely changed hands but Connor was already morphing into his new persona as Lord of the Manor. ‘Where’s Aggie?’ whispered Lizzie. ‘I feel a bit weird just letting ourselves in.’
He ushered them through from the flagstone hallway into the kind of kitchen Dan had only ever seen in movies, or on the pages of a glossy magazine. It was simply stunning. The kind of place that he and Grace could only ever dream of.
The huge Aga took pride of place, of course, throwing out heat and facing a vast Georgian dresser that reached up to the ceiling and had clearly been in situ from the very beginning. French windows stood ajar overlooking the sweeping garden, clearly planted for every season to enjoy its moment; a swathe of winter jasmine released its heavy, luxurious scent into the air.
The scrubbed oak kitchen table, which could easily have seated twenty people, was covered in unrolled plans, their corners weighted down with pewter jugs and silver fruit. ‘Oh, how divine to see you both,’ said Aggie Peal from her carver chair at the head of the table. ‘And such perfect timing! I was just mixing a little Friday cocktail or two.’ It was obviously assumed that they would be joining her. ‘What a lucky boy you are, Connor, to have such lovely, supportive friends.’
Lady Peal blew a kiss to Lizzie, as Connor settled her onto the kitchen sofa, shuffling a yawning Irish setter out of the way to make space. ‘Oh my darling, you do look sore. Do you want some of my pain pills?’ she offered without missing a beat. ‘I’ve got some really good ones, now.’ She caught Dan’s eye and blushed. ‘Ooops.’
Dan shook his head, his personal affection for her only just covering his professional irritation. ‘Are you determined to move from one “Big House” to another? I hardly think pushing drugs is the best career choice at this point, Aggie,’ he said sternly.
‘Sorry, Dr Carter,’ she said meekly, clearly not giving two shits about the concept of serving hard time. It was some measure of how she was responding to her recent diagnosis that she really was living like there was no tomorrow. Her tomorrows, very sadly, being in short supply.
‘And how are the kids taking the news of the sale, Aggie?’ Dan asked quietly, as he helped their hostess by tonging ice cubes from the crystal ice-bucket on the kitchen worktop. ‘I half thought they might change their minds and move down here, once they knew what was going on.’
Agatha sheepishly twisted a strip of lemon rind around a spoon handle. ‘Well, to be honest, Dr Carter, I haven’t exactly mentioned it. We both know they don’t want to be living out here in the sticks; the last thing I want is for them to do so under some misguided sense of obligation.’ She shuddered lightly. ‘Or worse still, play along to humour me and sell up before the grass has grown over my grave. I’d like to choose my successor, thank you very much.’
‘But you told them about your health?’ Dan said, wondering why he was even surprised by Aggie’s disingenuousness.
Lady Agatha Peal just shrugged and tossed him an apologetic smile as she raised two Martini glasses in the air. ‘Cocktails, my darlings.’ She took a sip, clearly savouring the first aperitif of the evening. ‘Besides, as I was just explaining to Connor, I’ve been pining for a little European adventure for a while and since this blasted leukaemia is a bit of a lottery anyway, I thought I’d just head for Switzerland.’ She shrugged eloquently.
Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. Dan simply gaped. ‘Aggie? Seriously? Dignitas is a bit extreme . . .’ he began, floundering.
Her laughter brought them both up short. ‘Not like that. I just decided that if I’m to suffer through the indignities of chemo, I’d rather head for the Alps and one of the amazing clinics over there. Thanks to lovely Connor here, I can afford to shell out for a little expediency and a view to die for. No pun intended.’ She sipped her Martini gently. ‘And I always rather liked the thought of skiing,’ she added impishly, enjoying Dan’s reaction. ‘SKI-ing, darling. Spending the Kids’ Inheritance.’ She smiled affectionately at Connor. ‘All thanks to this one,’ she concluded dreamily, obviously rather enamoured with the idea of Connor and his plentiful resources taking care of her beloved money pit.
‘And you can blame Holly, actually,’ said Connor. ‘She made me realise that if I couldn’t buy a lovely house with land, then I could put the package together myself. And since Lady Peal, sorry, Aggie, has kindly agreed to allow me the honour of making this beautiful house my new home, I’ve taken over the lease on the land at Blackleigh Farm. Charlotte and Henry Lansing are going to stay in the farmhouse and keep enough land for those teeny tiny ponies they seem to love so much and I get the one thing Larkford didn’t have – a country estate. Happy days indeed.’ An odd look flickered across Connor’s face as he raised his glass that Dan couldn’t quite discern.
‘Happy days!’ cried Agatha enthusiastically, downing her cocktail with such fervour that a trickle of Martini escaped and ran down her chin. ‘But you must remember, Connor darling, you are now the guardian for the next generation: with great property, comes great responsibility.’
‘Spiderman?’ queried Dan.
‘I rather think he stole it from me, actually,’ Agatha retorted. ‘Now, where was I? Oh yes. To Peal Hall and the future!’ she toasted, only to freeze in horror. ‘Oh dear God, did you know it’s bad luck to toast with an empty glass?’ She clearly believed the superstition far more than any of her doctors’ cautions about combining alcohol and pain meds.
What a generation!
He’d take the Elsie Townsend and Agatha Peal approach to his twilight years any day of the week, Dan thought. It certainly made you think, he realised, sitting here and marvelling at the shelves on the dresser, which positively bristled with a lifetime of family photos – was this ever going to be his? Was he going to be able to look back and see a life well lived and a family raised, or was his sole contribution to this life going to be as their family doctor? He couldn’t get past the notion that, for him, it simply wasn’t enough.
He smiled and laughed and joked along with his companions, but his head and heart were still in an Oxfordshire hotel room with Grace. Grace’s openness and honesty was persuasive, he knew, but part of him still wished she were prepared even to consider having a child together. A child that was truly theirs. They weren’t that old, for God’s sake. Forty-two was the new thirty-two when it came to fertility, after all.
He glanced over at the photos once more, Agatha’s features reflected over and over again in the faces of her children, and sighed. If his career was to be everything, then right now it wasn’t enough and changes needed to be made. Just as soon as he’d worked out what they were.
‘Oh, and you’ll be wanting to let me know about Mary?’ Agatha said suddenly, frowning as though trying to remember what else she had meant to discuss and jolting Dan from his reverie. ‘Will you be keeping her on, Connor darling? She’s a very good maid-cum-housekeeper and Benedict and I have always found her adequate.’
‘Damned by faint praise,’ muttered Lizzie under her breath, earning herself A Look.
‘But I thought your housekeeper introduced herself as Janet?’ Connor checked. ‘Do you have two?’
‘Ridiculous girl,’ said Agatha with feeling. ‘Undermining a perfectly satisfactory system. We’ve always called all our staff Mary, saves one having to remember new names, you know?’ She huffed. ‘I suppose you could go all modern and call her Janet, is it, if it suits you?’
Agatha yawned and closed her eyes, as though having lost interest in the conversation and Connor nodded to Dan and Lizzie. ‘Do you want to have a little look around?’ He got to his feet and a pack of dogs appeared from various corners of the kitchen at the faintest prospect of entertainment.
‘And you’re quite sure about the dogs, Aggie?’ Connor queried as they lined up like the von Trapp children at his heels.
‘Oh yes, especially if I’m making a break for it. They’ll be so much happier here with you,’ Aggie said sleepily, before nodding off in the grand carver armchair, her heavily coiffured hair tipping forward like a quiff.
Dan was perhaps the only one who could see the expression of forbearance on Connor’s face as he left the room, extolling the virtues of the sash windows and original mouldings.
‘So, exactly how many dogs come with the house?’ Dan whispered to him, knowing only too well how Noodle and Doodle had tweaked the pecking order in his own home.
‘Seven,’ said Connor quietly, his answer almost eclipsed by Lizzie’s snort of amusement, as they made their way into the main entrance hall.
‘One setter, one spaniel, a beagle and four little fluff balls,’ said Connor in resignation that his beautiful new home apparently came complete with a built-in menagerie.
‘Shih-poo,’ offered Lizzie, glancing down at the smallest one, jumping up at her legs.
‘Bless you,’ said Connor with a grin, as he bent down to pick up said fur ball and tuck it into his waistcoat. ‘The other three are related, but I’m not sure how.’
‘You know,’ said Dan with a smile, as Connor continued to play it cool, even as he affectionately stroked the little dog under the chin. ‘I think you’re nearly ready for your red trousers now.’
‘Ooh,’ said Lizzie. ‘I like it. Don’t worry, Conn, we’ll get you kitted out in no time.’
‘Anything else I need to know?’ Connor asked in concern, as the Irish setter leaned herself against his thigh and refused to budge. ‘There seem to be even more strings attached to this deal every day and I haven’t even moved in yet. Your Holly might have a lot to answer for, you know? Although I just might forgive her if she gets me some decent tickets to the rugby.’
‘The rugby? Holly?’ Dan queried. ‘What did I miss?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Lizzie reassured him, looking increasingly tired by this early evening decadence. ‘Just a funny job offer that Holly got the other day. Can you believe the Rugby Club in Bath want her on staff? A private GP, no less, and access to all those lovely firm thighs – can you imagine?’
‘Holly?’ double-checked Dan in disbelief.
‘I know, right?’ agreed Connor. ‘Your mate’s just great, Witchy, but she can’t tell one end of a rugby pitch from another.’
Lizzie snorted indelicately. ‘I bet she can tell one end of a rugby player from the other, though.’
Connor gave a filthy laugh but Dan couldn’t even muster a smile. Dear God, if Holly was ready to come back to work, then why the hell wasn’t she at The Practice and sharing the load? He knew, deep down, that his disproportionate anger had nothing to do with Holly and everything to do with her apparently casual dismissal of the kind of job he had often dreamed of, always assuming he could ignore his pesky moral compass long enough to actually seek out some job satisfaction for himself.
Well, that and his quiet suspicion that he would trade places with Holly in a heartbeat, not truly understanding why she felt the need to return to work so soon when she had those glorious babies at home.
Obviously, he would never dream of saying that aloud – far too controversial – but he couldn’t help but wonder whether paternity leave would be everything he hoped for. Or indeed, whether he would ever have the chance to find out.
‘And she’s considering it?’ Dan asked quietly. ‘Going into private practice, I mean?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘You know Holly, she’s all about the right thing to do. She won’t even think twice about what a cushy number this might turn out to be. She’ll carry on pining for her patients until you guys let her back.’
‘Let her—?’ Dan began, confused.
‘Do you know,’ interrupted Lizzie suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth. ‘I’m not sure I should have drunk that Martini . . .’
Dan’s thoughts were rudely shoved to the back burner, as he helped his queasy cousin to a chair and fetched her iced water, before ruinous thoughts of babies and rugby crowded his thoughts, his ambitions seemingly thwarted on every front by the women in his life.