‘I don’t want to,’ Barb started sulkily, blowing her nose on her fingers.
Tamra burst out laughing.
‘Why the fuck would I care what you want?’ she said, almost pleasantly. ‘Get on the plane or be prosecuted for blackmail. Your choice. Believe me, I’d
love
to
see you go to prison after what you’ve put my daughter through. Seriously, don’t tempt me!’
Barb’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
‘I need my bag,’ she muttered.
Tamra smiled in triumph, her eyes glittering now like dark stars.
‘Get in the helicopter. Someone will bring it to you,’ she ordered. ‘Oh, and you’ll probably want this too.’
She opened the hand she had been holding closed in a loose fist by her side: out of it fell the fake ponytail that Barb had been wearing, which had come off when Tamra had gripped her hair to
duck her in the fountain. Barb’s face puckered, a wail coming from her lips as she shot her hand around instinctively to check the back of her head: sure enough, all that remained was the
short stub of hair which she had pulled back and wound an elastic round so that she could attach the hairpiece to it. She hesitated for a moment, her pride battling with her wish to retrieve it,
and the latter won out: dropping to her knees on the grass in front of Tamra, she scooped up the miserable lank strands of acrylic hair and shoved them in the pocket of her jacket.
As she did so, she heard an unmistakable click. She looked up to see that Tamra had taken a photo of her down on the grass.
‘Here,’ Tamra said, handing the phone to her with a grim little smile. ‘A last souvenir of your trip. If I ever lay eyes on you again, Barb Norkus, I’m calling the
police.’
Sullenly, Barb snatched the phone out of Tamra’s hand.
‘You’re such a bitch, Tamra Krantz,’ she muttered.
Tamra’s smile was positively beatific now.
‘Tell me something I
don’t
know,’ she said, turning on her heel and sweeping off magnificently towards the main doors of Stanclere Hall.
As she approached, the staff fell back inside, bustled along by Mrs Hurley. Strictly speaking, none of them should have been watching in the first place, but the Earl himself, back from the home
farm, had joined them, and that gave tacit approval to the group of spectators; he even exchanged smiles of sheer enjoyment with them as they shot back to their assigned duties. The priceless scene
of the interloper getting dunked in the fountain and packed off would be related with glee for years to come at Stanclere Hall.
The Earl was the only person remaining as Tamra came up the steps. Leaning against the balustrade, he was clapping his hands slowly in tribute to her.
‘Marvellous,’ he said appreciatively. ‘Absolutely marvellous. Think if you’d gone into the armed forces, Tamra – you’d be a general by now.’
Tamra could barely make direct eye contact with him, but she had to laugh at this comment.
‘More like a mercenary,’ she said, flashing him the swiftest smile imaginable. ‘I’d get court-martialled by the Army for my brutal methods. Where’s BJ? The
helicopter’s coming back for me after it’s taken Barb to Heathrow, and I’ve got to see someone in London by close of business tonight. So I don’t have that much time, and I
want to talk to you both about all this.’
Edmund followed her back into the Hall, a footman waiting to close the door behind them. Tamra gave him quick instructions about taking Barb’s bag out to the helicopter, and Edmund
affectionately took her arm, meaning to wrap it through his; both he and the footman were horrified when she screamed and pulled it away as if he’d burnt her.
‘My God, Tamra, I’m so sorry—’ he started.
‘No! I’m fine! It’s nothing! Sorry.’ She caught her breath, managing another smile, but unable to look at him at all this time. ‘Just – nervous after that
scene with Barb, I suppose.’
She glanced at the footman.
‘Look, get someone else to take the bag to the helicopter and bring me a dry Martini,’ she said. ‘Gin, no olives, a twist. Make a whole pitcher.’
‘Tamra, you’re never nervous,’ Edmund said, puzzled. ‘What on earth—’
‘I just need a drink,’ she said wildly, taking off her coat and practically throwing it at the waiting footman, ‘that’s all. I just need a drink!’
‘
Mom!
’ Brianna Jade, entering the Great Hall from the side staircase, and looking very dishevelled, spotted her mother and came tearing towards her, throwing herself into
Tamra’s arms. ‘Oh Mom, I’m so glad to see you! I’ve missed you so much! Things are so terrible! Barb’s here, and she—’
‘Not any more,’ Tamra said, hugging her daughter. ‘I’ve seen to that.’
‘Tamra was fantastic,’ Edmund said enthusiastically. ‘I wish you’d seen her. She grabbed that woman by the hair and dunked her head in the fountain twice; it was like
something from a soap opera! We all piled out to watch – it was positively superb.’
Brianna Jade pulled back a little from her mother, looking at her with wide eyes.
‘Mom, really? But won’t she go to the papers, sell the photographs . . .’
‘I don’t give a damn if she does,’ Tamra said impatiently. ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you. Edmund said you were worried about protecting me, and that’s
completely ridiculous.’
‘I told you so, darling,’ Edmund said, putting an arm around Brianna Jade’s shoulders, only to have her, too, jump as if she’d been stung.
‘My God,’ he said, backing away. ‘I’m definitely like Kryptonite to the Maloney women this afternoon.’
The footman arrived with a silver tray bearing a pitcher of Martinis and three frosted glasses.
‘We’ll have it here, in front of the fire,’ Tamra instructed: she had such natural authority that it never occurred to her that it was for Edmund or Brianna Jade to give orders
in their own home. Edmund, who was not easily offended, grinned and obediently followed her and the footman to the coffee table in front of the fire, surrounded on three sides by velvet armchairs
and sofas.
‘The Fracking Queen commands, and we obey,’ he muttered cheerfully under his breath.
‘Here’s what I’m thinking,’ Tamra said, not looking at either of them as she drank half her Martini in one gulp. ‘This is going to come out eventually, the whole
Pork Queen thing. I say we might as well turn it to our advantage. I’ve been mulling things over for a while, trying to think of a way the estate can get more self-sufficient. I can keep
pumping money into it, but I hate the idea that I’m just pissing it away down the drain, you know?’
Edmund started to say something, but Tamra held up one perfectly manicured hand.
‘Please! I made the deal and I’ll stick to it – no need to defend yourself,’ she said. ‘But it’d be
great
if Stanclere could start generating some
income, and this whole mess with Barb gave me the germ of a really good concept.’
Now she did look from Edmund to Brianna Jade, her eyes flashing in triumph as they always did when she made a great business point.
‘Organic sausages!’ she said. ‘We’ll start with them, anyway. We can even use Brianna Jade’s Pork Queen past as publicity – neutralize any negativity at one
stroke. If the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire can run a thriving business out of Chatsworth – farm shops, holiday rentals – I don’t see why you can’t do the same here. I
know there are some empty cottages on the estate that would make great holiday lets, and I can do those up – but building the whole Stanclere brand will be what gets people making bookings.
Sausages and bacon are the first things I thought of, obviously, but I did some research on Chatsworth and Dayleford Organics on my iPad in the helicopter, and I have tons of ideas for products.
Jams, biscuits, cakes, liqueurs – Mrs Hurley would
love
to supervise the kitchens – not here, of course, we’d need a proper, purpose-built kitchen on the estate –
then we’d get the products into Fortnum’s and Selfridges and start a mail-order business. There’s a company called Dukeshill that has a great website – cuts of meat plus
bacon and pies; we should look at that in detail and analyse their business model.’
‘Abel would definitely enjoy expanding the piggeries,’ Edmund agreed appreciatively as Tamra finally ran out of breath. ‘We’re just producing pork for the needs of the
house at the moment, which really isn’t using his considerable skills to the best advantage.’
‘And Brianna Jade loves the pigs. She’s always visiting them, aren’t you, honey?’ her mother said. ‘See, this is a way no one can tease you about that any more
– you can hang out there as much as you want. Oh, look, you have some straw on you. Were you helping out in the barn?’
She reached over to pick the straw off her daughter’s sweater. Brianna Jade’s face went as red as the embers glowing at the heart of the fire.
‘I think this is wonderful,’ Edmund said, leaning forward to touch his fiancée’s hand. ‘Don’t you, Brianna? I know I’d feel much prouder of Stanclere
if it were starting to at least try to pay for itself, rather than living on your money, wouldn’t you?’
Brianna Jade managed a nod.
‘You know I’ve been reading all the nineteenth-century novels about American heiresses coming to Britain and marrying into the aristocracy,’ Tamra said with increasing
enthusiasm – she had finished her first Martini by now and was pouring herself another. ‘
The Buccaneers, The Duke’s Children, The Shuttle
– there are tons!
I’ve given Brianna Jade copies of all of them. I don’t know if you’ve had time to get to any of the books yet, honey?’
Brianna Jade shook her head.
Time
? she thought.
More like inclination! Come on, Mom, I’m not you, I’ve never been a reader.
‘Oh, I love Trollope,’ Edmund said appreciatively. ‘We have his entire works here in the library – do borrow any that you’d like.’
‘Cool!’ Tamra said, driving on however with the point she was making like a juggernaut. ‘But you know what’s missing from those novels? Apart from Bettina in
The
Shuttle
, what
isn’t
in them is the business brains those girls inherited from their tycoon dads who made the big bucks in the first place. You know? Those guys were
first-generation millionaires, robber barons, they made truckfuls of money. No way would their daughters not have inherited their brain power. Those girls would have come over the Atlantic, married
their Duke or Earl, rolled up their sleeves and got to work making their estates productive!’
Her eyes gleamed with excitement at her literary observation, her hair shone in the firelight; she looked positively resplendent. Edmund gazed at her in admiration.
‘I must say, Tamra, I never thought of that,’ he said. ‘And I’ve read the Trollope and the Wharton books. Very good point! This idea of yours is brilliant. I feel an
idiot for not thinking of it myself.’
He turned eagerly to Brianna Jade.
‘Darling, how do you feel about taking over the whole sausage and bacon side of things, as it were?’ he asked. ‘You could liaise between Mrs Hurley and Abel, work on increasing
production and flavours for different sausages. We’ll do research, look at the companies Tamra mentioned and see how they run things. You’ll be able to spend your whole time at the
piggeries if you’d like.’
With a choking sob, Brianna Jade jumped to her feet, clumsily manoeuvred between the sofa and the coffee table, then ran across the Great Hall and up the stairs, disappearing from sight.
‘What on
earth
?’ Edmund said, staring after her, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Do you think I should go after her? Did I say something wrong?’
He looked back at Tamra, who promptly ducked her head and took another long pull at her cocktail.
‘To be frank, Brianna Jade’s been on edge since you upped sticks and left us alone here,’ he said. ‘She’s missed you horribly, Tamra. I must say, I have too. You
bring a wonderful energy to the Hall – we’ve
all
missed you. Mrs Hurley in particular.’
‘I just felt I should leave you two kids alone for a while,’ Tamra said into her glass, staring down at the lemon twist and swirling it around as if it had suddenly become the most
interesting thing she had ever seen. ‘Or we’ll start playing out a rerun of some nineteen-seventies sitcom called
And Mom Makes Three
.’
She cleared her throat, setting down the glass.
‘But say hi to Mrs Hurley for me. I’d get her to oversee the whole production side of things here if I were you. She deals amazingly with new challenges, and when the renovations are
finished, just housekeeping the Hall isn’t going to be a big enough deal for her.’
She was on her feet now, visibly uncomfortable at having a tête-à-tête with Edmund.
‘The helicopter should be back soon,’ she said, not meeting his eyes. ‘I might just go wait for it. I have an appointment in London this evening – well, not an
appointment, but someone I have to see. I’m
determined
to get Brianna Jade the
Style Bride
cover.’
Edmund rose as well, too much of a gentleman to stay seated while a lady was standing.
‘But if the helicopter’s going to Heathrow and back, it’ll still be quite a while till it returns, won’t it?’ he asked, his forehead furrowed in confusion.
‘You haven’t even finished your drink!’
‘Uh – look, Edmund, I think you should go and check on your fiancée,’ Tamra said. ‘You know, bond with her? Like I keep saying you should do?’ She heard the
slightly hysterical note in her voice, and caught herself. ‘And I’ll go say hi to Mrs Hurley, how’s that?’
‘Well, of course that’s fine,’ Edmund said, still confused but too polite to question his mother-in-law-to-be about her sudden mood swings. ‘It was such a pleasure to see
you, Tamra. I do hope you’ll come back and spend more time with us in future.’
He leaned forward tentatively, to see if he would be allowed to give Tamra his customary kiss on the cheek, but by now he was aware that Tamra was evincing symptoms of sensitivity so extreme
that she was as likely to slap him across the face as let him kiss her, and he signalled his intentions so clearly that he gave her plenty of time to execute a defensive manoeuvre. Which was
exactly what she did, making a great play of grabbing her bag and holding it in front of her to ward him off.