Читать книгу Birds of a Feather - Cressida McLaughlin, Cressida McLaughlin - Страница 7

The magpie is a large black and white bird with a long tail about the same length as its body. They eat almost anything, and often steal eggs and baby birds from nests. They’re the subject of a lot of superstition – seeing a single magpie can be a sign of bad fortune, impending death or the devil. A magpie’s call is like a harsh cackle.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

Abby took her time showering in Peacock Cottage’s clean but dated bathroom, hearing the low mumblings of Jack and Leo downstairs. She was pleased that, knowing everything, Jack was ready to give his side of the story, even if she didn’t believe her involvement should have been the final straw, that he should have stopped it long before now. His loyalty to Eddie was, in some ways, commendable, but she could also see that he had been trapped by him, stuck between friendship and the guilt of having been brought up in a family with more opportunities.

But in the relatively short time Abby had known Jack, she hadn’t seen him push his wealth in other people’s faces, even if that wealth was now due to book sales rather than his upbringing. He wore expensive clothes and aftershave, drove a good car, but he’d always done those things in an unobtrusive way, never showing off. She remembered that at the beginning she’d felt he’d had a sense of entitlement, but she had come to see that as the remains of the confidence he’d had before Eddie’s interview thrust him unkindly into the spotlight, and his frustration at the turn his life had taken.

She couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Jack was responsible for Eddie’s behaviour, but even after a brief encounter with him, she could see how he could get Jack to believe that, could weave his web around his friend in order to bring him down too. Eddie Markham was definitely a storyteller, even if his best ones hadn’t made their way between the pages of a book.

When Abby tiptoed into the living room, Jack was standing at the window with his back to the room, and Leo was sitting on the sofa, Raffle lying across his lap. His narrow face was punctuated by worry lines, and his smile, when he acknowledged her, was weary.

‘Hi Abby,’ he said. ‘Your dog’s taken a bit of a liking to me.’

‘Leo, it’s good to see you again. Even when—’ She gestured, unsure how to encompass everything. ‘Let me get him off, he gets heavy after a while. Raffle, come on dude.’ She stroked the fur between her dog’s ears and coaxed him off Leo’s lap. Raffle gave a single, loud bark and scrambled onto the floor.

Abby sat on the sofa next to Leo and saw the clutch of Sunday papers that he must have brought with him. The first one had a story about a hurricane in America on the front page, the devastation it had caused, but in the bottom right was a small, blurry picture, and Abby felt the shock at seeing herself, her bright blue T-shirt and denim shorts, her hair looking lighter in the sun.

The photo had been taken at the moment when Eddie had made his move, in the seconds when she’d been too stunned to react, and the headline accompanying it read: Markham and Westcoat’s war turns personal. Abby closed her eyes, torn between wanting to read what was written, and wanting to bury her head in the sand.

‘I’m sorry Abby,’ Leo said gently. ‘This is the worst one. I would say don’t read it, but I think you need to know what they’ve said.’

He riffled through the pile, pulled out a paper that had nothing about them on the cover, but then he turned to one of the pages inside and Abby saw the headline running across the top in bold font.

Thick as thieves: Eddie and Jack share same woman, hours apart!

Abby forced herself to read the short article.

The rivalry between authors Eddie Markham and Jack Westcoat took a new turn today when, we can exclusively reveal, they were seen snuggling up to the same woman, only hours apart. Eddie Markham, 34, whose second novel, Stifle, was published last year, was pictured in an embrace with 31-year-old mystery girl, Abby Field, the morning after the Page Turner literary gala, where she had accompanied Jack Westcoat, bestselling author of In the Grip of Death and The Fractured Path, among others. Jack and Eddie’s once-close friendship blew up last July when Eddie revealed that Jack had helped him cover up an alleged plagiarism scandal centred around his first book, The Scoop. Westcoat, 34, retaliated at the Page Turner awards with a well-aimed punch, and had been in hiding until making a triumphant appearance at the gala on Friday night. With his new book due to be published in less than three months’ time, it is yet to be seen what effect this new development will have on his troubled career. It is understood that Ms Field is a resident of the Suffolk village where Jack has been staying, while her involvement with Markham is still a matter for speculation. At the time of going to print, neither of the authors’ spokesmen were available for comment.

The rest of the page was taken up with two photographs. A bigger, grainier version of the one she had seen on the cover of the other paper, Eddie’s hand around her arm, his face inches from hers, Raffle positioned behind them so that his bared teeth were hidden from view.

The other was a snap from the gala that she hadn’t realized was being taken. It showed her and Jack, dressed in their finery, her arm in his as they stepped towards the hotel’s grand entrance. Jack’s head was angled towards hers, his hair flopping over his forehead, and he was smiling. She was looking down, probably concentrating on the steps, but her pink lips were curved upwards, the sheer fabric of her dress glistening like water under the camera’s flash.

If it hadn’t been in a national newspaper, used to tell a story that was so far from the truth that it was laughable, she would have wanted to cut it out and keep it as a memento of that night. She realized that she had no photos of Jack, that they had never stopped for a selfie, that she hadn’t taken one spontaneously, surprising him when they’d been walking through the woods.

‘Eddie hasn’t made a statement,’ Leo said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Which is a good thing. Maybe he’s hoping the pictures will speak for themselves, because he knows that if he tries to claim anything more then it will be quickly denied.’

‘By you?’ she asked.

Leo nodded, his fingers pressed against his lips.

‘We’re going to respond to this,’ Jack said, turning from the window. ‘We’re going to say that Eddie staged it, that it was the first time you had spoken to him.’

‘We’ll keep your name out of it, Abby,’ Leo added.

‘How? It’s already in here.’ She pressed her hand over the page, the newsprint dusty beneath her palm.

‘But we don’t have to confirm it,’ Leo explained. ‘We’ll refer to you as a close friend of Jack’s, if that’s OK with you.’

‘Sure’ she said. ‘Look, I – I should leave you two to it, shouldn’t I? Packing, and everything.’

Leo stood and gave her a quick, tight hug. ‘It’s been lovely to get to know you, Abby.’ He patted her twice on the shoulder, then stepped back. ‘Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon. And don’t forget to smile, OK? However miserable you feel on the inside, smile, and you’re halfway there.’

‘I’ll try,’ she said, forcing a smile, wondering why that phrase sounded so familiar.

Jack walked with her to the front door. She stepped onto the path, into a beautiful day bursting with the heady scents of early summer. She let Raffle’s lead out, allowed him to snuffle at the grass, at the tires of Jack’s squashed-frog Range Rover that, in a few hours, would be speeding down to London.

‘This is too hard,’ Jack said, wrapping his arms around her waist. ‘I’m supposed to go back to my flat, stand up to Eddie, talk passionately about my new novel, while you’re here.’

‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said. ‘Better than fine. You’ll tell your side of the story, prove that you don’t deserve the accusations, that you’ve done nothing but try and help him, and your new book will be brilliant. You’ll be a huge success.’

‘What about you?’ he asked, tipping her face up to his. ‘Tell me what you’ll do.’

‘I’ll save Meadowsweet,’ she said. ‘And the house of birds and butterflies.’

His smile was strained. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ve seen you at work, seen the way people respond to your enthusiasm, how you’re inspiring a new generation of nature lovers, children – fledglings – who will grow up to make a difference. You give people hope, Abby, and I haven’t been immune from that. Even in the face of what’s happened, I’ll go back to London with hope, because of you.’

She exhaled, holding in her tears. ‘We’ll stay in touch, though, won’t we?’

‘Of course.’ He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her. This was the last time, she realized. A parting gift before he left to start a new chapter of his life.

‘I need to let you get on,’ she said, when they’d pulled apart.

‘I’ll write to you.’

‘You’d better. Goodbye, Jack.’

‘Goodbye, Abby Field.’

She walked down the path, Raffle trotting close to her, his fur rubbing against her leg. As she turned away from Peacock Cottage, stepping onto the track that would lead her to the village and home, she glanced behind her. Jack was slumped against the doorframe, a hand covering his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

When Abby got home, she went straight up to her bedroom, pulled UK Flora and Fauna down from the shelf and took out Jack’s letters. She removed each one from its envelope in turn, reliving their relationship through his words from that first, haughty complaint to the warmer, tender notes they’d become. Raffle lay alongside her, his nose nudging her elbow, and she wrapped her arms around him and let her tears soak his fur.

The rest of the day passed in a daze. She replied to Rosa’s messages as vaguely as she could, apologized to Tessa for not getting back in touch, and texted Octavia to thank her for looking after Raffle, saying the event was fun, but not elaborating. Nobody, she thought with relief, seemed to have seen the papers with her photo in. It hadn’t been splashed as widely as she’d feared, but still, appearing on the front of a national newspaper wasn’t something she’d ever expected to happen in her life. Her name had been mentioned, the implication that she was having – or had had – relationships with both Eddie and Jack, but somehow the reality of that wasn’t able to penetrate the fug in her brain.

Jack was gone, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t get Tessa’s words out of her head. Her suggestion that Jack was no good for her, that he would use her and then return to London. It had played out as her sister had warned, but Abby couldn’t believe that Jack’s sadness at leaving her behind was false, that he was going back to his old life willingly and putting on a good show of pretending otherwise.

As the evening slipped towards a cool, perfect night, a nightingale singing while the sunshine whispered at the edge of the horizon, and Abby was sitting listlessly in her cosy armchair, she got a text from Gavin.

You dark horse! Working your way through literary celebs like a kid in a sweet shop. Whatever will Penelope think? ;)

Penelope. Meadowsweet. She had to go back there tomorrow, to carry on with her job and act like everything was normal. With dread settling in her stomach, she cleaned her teeth and crawled into bed, Raffle refusing to leave her side.

Abby woke on Monday morning and for a few blissful seconds had no recollection of the day before. Then it hit her. She stared at the ceiling as sunlight danced patterns across it through the gap in her curtains, then forced herself out of bed to take Raffle for his walk. She got ready for work with a dogged determination, everything on autopilot.

She took the long way in, not wanting to be faced with Peacock Cottage and its emptiness, but walking past the gate of Swallowtail House was as strong a reminder of her time with Jack. The house looked beautiful in the sunshine, its crumbling stonework and cracked sills not visible at this distance, and it seemed to beckon her towards it. She lifted the hefty padlock Jack had bought, and a lump lodged in her throat.

She felt winded, like she’d been hit by a car and her breathing was refusing to settle, everything bruised and tender. She was also angry with herself. Was this normal? Had some of Octavia’s air for the dramatic rubbed off on her? She hadn’t felt like this when she had broken it off with Darren. She had been sad, of course, but it had been a relief more than anything. Now she felt hollow, as if she would crack open at the lightest touch.

‘Get a grip, Abby,’ she said out loud, and a robin landed on a branch ahead of her, its delicate beak opening, its song firing something inside her, spurring her on.

The visitor centre was quiet when she arrived, and as she hung up her coat, she heard Stephan whistling ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ loudly and tunelessly. He placed a steaming mug of tea on the reception desk.

‘Thanks so much, Stephan.’

‘Good couple of days off?’ he asked, his eyes finding hers and then flitting away.

Lead settled in her stomach. ‘You’ve seen?’

‘Joyce and Karen came to mine for a roast yesterday and, well, Karen’s a fan of those online news sites – Daily Mail bar of shame and all that. She reads some of the articles out to Joyce. They were quite excited – they had no idea you were involved with Jack.’

‘Shit,’ Abby whispered, resting her elbows on the desk. ‘It wasn’t – I’d never met Eddie before. He tricked me.’

Stephan nodded sympathetically. ‘I thought it would be someone playing silly buggers. Your event with Jack, though, how did that go? Always best to focus on the positives.’

‘It was lovely,’ she said. ‘Really lovely. Anyway,’ she added, desperate to change the subject, ‘did you have a nice weekend? I didn’t know you were close to Karen and Joyce.’

Stephan grinned. ‘We’re getting on, the three of us’ he said. ‘Though I’ve got my sights set on Joyce, as it happens. She’s a wonderful, strong woman, Abby. And so funny. I’m quietly confident that that she feels something for me, too.’

‘Stephan, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.’

‘I haven’t asked her yet, planning on officially inviting her on a date tomorrow night, scintillating conversation over a large bowl of paella, and I – uh-oh.’ Stephan’s eyes widened, and Abby turned in time to see Penelope striding in, followed closely by Rosa, who levelled her with a meaningful stare.

‘The three of you,’ Penelope said without slowing down, ‘in my office in two minutes. No dawdling.’

‘Shit,’ Abby muttered again, once Penelope’s door was closed.

‘Abby!’ Rosa rushed over to her as she pulled off her coat. ‘What on earth is going on? I saw the paper. Are you OK? What happened?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Abby said. ‘But the thing with Eddie, it was false. He made it up as another way to get at Jack.’

‘Crap,’ Rosa whispered. ‘And you and Jack?’

‘We—’

‘Now, ladies,’ Penelope said.

‘I’ll tell you later.’ Abby followed Rosa towards the inner sanctum.

The sun was streaming through the window, hitting the back of Penelope’s head so she looked like she had a halo. Stephan followed Abby and Rosa, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Abby wasn’t sure that would be enough to mollify their boss who, in a high-necked, navy blouse, her hair scraped into its usual, tight bun, didn’t look like she was in the mood for a natter over tea and cake.

‘I was going to keep this discussion between myself and Abby,’ Penelope started once they’d all sat down.But I have decided it’s no use beating around the bush, and that this involves all of you.’

‘Penelope, I—’

‘I had several important meetings on Friday, one of which was with the bank,’ she said, talking over Abby. ‘And the situation at Meadowsweet isn’t improving. I value all your efforts, and I know you’ve been working hard to keep this place going, however, it hasn’t been enough, and while some publicity is good, some is decidedly not.’

She didn’t look at Abby, but her meaning was clear. Abby dropped her head, her neck burning.

‘Anyway, that is an aside. My meeting with Mr Philpott was before the Sunday papers, and they had no bearing on his decision. We haven’t been making a profit, it’s as simple as that, and I cannot hold off the wolves any longer. I was given a number of options; seek an investor in the reserve or sell off some of its assets. While one of those is much more attractive than the other, I fear I no longer have a choice. Running Meadowsweet has never been about making money, it’s been about protecting the land, the wildlife, giving people the chance to see it, but without any sort of profit, it can’t survive. And now our time has run out.’

‘But couldn’t we keep looking for an investor?’ Rosa asked, her palms pressed together.

‘Rosa,’ Penelope said, a sigh in her voice, ‘I’ve been trying. A friend of mine has been exploring the options on my behalf, and it’s all been in vain. No, the decision is made. I’m going to have to sell Swallowtail House.’

There was a stunned silence, and Abby sank lower in her seat, wondering if things could get any worse.

‘Will that impact on the reserve?’ Stephan asked eventually.

Penelope pursed her lips, and Abby could imagine how hard it had been to say those words, to admit that the home she had been happy in with Al, that she had fought so hard to hold on to, was now going to be lost. What happened to the reserve was, perhaps, not the point for her.

‘It could do,’ Penelope said. ‘Of course, I own the estate, and am entitled to sell which parts I want, and the house itself is listed. But the grounds directly abut the reserve, and depending on who buys it and what their plans are, it could significantly impact on the harmony, the sanctity of Meadowsweet. Our only option is to move onwards and upwards, and hope that the new owner will be sympathetic to its position.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Abby said. ‘I know what the house means to you.’

‘Do you?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Do you have any understanding at all, of Swallowtail, of the reserve and their significance – of Al’s legacy? Because if you did, I believe you wouldn’t have been so casual in your handling of it.’

‘Penelope!’ Abby gasped.

‘I know Jack Westcoat, of course,’ she continued. ‘I can understand the attraction. But while you’ve been allowing him to take up all your time, you have let us down. Planning events halfheartedly, or leaving it so late that you’re in such a state by the time they come round you’re unable to deal with problems effectively. That is no way to run a public-facing business at the best of times, let alone when it’s in crisis.’

‘Now hang on,’ Stephan said.

‘Not to mention this latest failing.’ Penelope kept going, ignoring him. ‘While Reston Marsh is bathing in the wholesome publicity of Wild Wonders, you have got yourself embroiled in some sort of scandalous love triangle. I don’t claim to know the truth and I don’t want to know, but this, Abby, is not the kind of press we need. I don’t want you to be the only attraction anyone is interested in. First it was Jack, and now he’s gone back to London, he’s left you in his place. I had hoped, with his departure, the whole debacle would be over.’

‘Jack’s gone?’ Rosa asked, flashing Abby a concerned look.

Abby couldn’t move, couldn’t blink or breathe or open her mouth to respond to Penelope’s accusations.

‘I have been considering your position, Abigail, and I’m struggling to see any reason to keep you on here.’

There was a beat of silence, and then Rosa and Stephan started talking at once, leaning forward towards their boss.

‘Abby’s been brilliant, you can’t get rid of her.’

‘The whole thing will fall apart without her!’

Penelope held a hand up, stopping them. ‘I am still considering it. I’ll make my decision by the end of the week. Now, back to work, all of you. And I mean work, not gossip.’

They left her office, Stephan retrieving the tray of untouched drinks. Abby was last, and she half-expected Penelope to call her back, to give her a private dressing-down, or maybe ask what had happened with Jack. Leo had obviously been in touch with her, to let her know he was giving up his lease on Peacock Cottage, which was probably another blow to the finances of the estate.

‘She’s upset about the house,’ Rosa whispered as they walked slowly to the reception desk, where Maureen was talking to a group of visitors. ‘She’s not going to fire you. It would be a ridiculous, counterproductive move. Either she has no idea how much you really do here, or she’s just angry and can’t think straight. But what happened with Jack?’

They heard the click of Penelope’s door opening, and Rosa hurried back to the shop.

Abby took over from Maureen, and then, when reception was quiet, pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped a text to Rosa.

It’s a mess. Come to the pub with me later? x

Her friend’s reply was instant.

Sure. Xx

Abby hadn’t had a message from Jack since their parting the day before, but maybe he was feeling as shell-shocked as she was. She hadn’t sent him one either, and how could she now, when she was on the verge of losing her job, when he’d told her that the thought of her striding through the reserve was keeping him going, and very soon she might not even have that?