‘I intend turning it into a Harboretum as a showcase for my wife, Cindy. I’m looking for an estate manager,’ said Lester grandly.
‘Has to be at least a thousand acres to be counted as an estate,’ snorted Mrs Malmesbury. ‘Must have a word with Farmer Fred, think he’s shooting badgers.’ And she stumped off.
‘I’d cull the lot,’ snarled Harvey-Holden. ‘Horses always putting their feet down the setts.’
‘Old bag should be in a bin,’ said a nettled Lester. ‘Thousand acres indeed.’
21
Miss Painswick’s new navy-blue court shoes were killing her, so she persuaded Etta to join her on a faded chintz sofa, from which Etta retrieved two half-eaten pieces of lentil bake.
She noticed Shade still pretending to listen to Carrie’s views on the Japanese stock market, while his hand like a giant tarantula wandered over Olivia’s boy’s bottom.
Alan, who had a kind heart, was rescuing Niall the vicar, who’d been cornered by Direct Debbie demanding support for her church flowers. She was talking about her roses as if she personally knew the people they were named after: ‘Gordon Ramsay, Anna Ford, Alan Titchmarsh, Angela Rippon and Cliff Richard in the same bed make a lovely splash. The Times was saying only yesterday bright colours attract butterflies. Ione’s so high-handed about gardens. Pocock does her donkey work. Normie and I do all our own. My favourite dahlia is the Bishop of Llandaff,’ she went on, ‘such a brilliant scarlet. Would you believe it, I got a hundred Bishops from a single plant this year.’
‘Good God,’ said Alan, ‘that’s nearly a synod.’
Shagger was now trying to sell insurance to Lester Bolton: ‘There are some dangerously overhanging trees along the footpath.’
Phoebe Weatherall meanwhile had buttonholed Woody as he slid in to put more logs on the fire: ‘Our cherry tree’s fallen down, would you have a moment to chop it up? We’ll be needing some logs for Christmas.’
‘She’ll never pay him,’ Painswick muttered to Etta.
Cindy Bolton was doing a number on a handsome blond hunk with a badge on his dark green fleece saying ‘Thank you for looking after my dog’.
‘How sweet,’ cooed Cindy. ‘What kind of pooch have you got, Jase?’
‘I haven’t. Found the badge at a service station. Sure pulls the birds.’
Cindy shrieked with laughter. ‘What d’you do for a living?’
‘I’m an equine podiatrist.’
‘How fascinating.’ Hiccuping, Cindy accepted more cider.
‘Your hubby’s bought North Wood.’
‘Where he intends to create a Harboretum.’
‘Woody’s the man to help you,’ grinned Jase. ‘He’ll trim your bush any time.’
Cindy’s shrieks were so excessive that Lester, who disliked competition, beckoned her to join him and Shagger.
Abandoned, Jase sat down beside Etta.
‘Jase Perry,’ he said. ‘I’m the third of the Terrible Trio. Heard a lot about you, Etta, and your cakes.’
Etta blushed and introduced Painswick. ‘This is Jase, the famous farrier.’
‘I’m only an equine podiatrist at parties.’ Jase shook his head. ‘Sad day, I replated Snowball only yesterday. Knew her at Rupert’s too, sweet little mare, held the hammer in her mouth while I did her feet. Would have taken her plates off tomorrow. You never get used to empty boxes.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Etta, thinking how nice he was. ‘It must be nerve-racking shoeing racehorses, they’re so skittish.’
‘Terrifying, but you get the best gossip. People tell you anyfing when your head’s under a horse’s belly, no eye contact. Like being a minicab driver or an ’airdresser like my wife.’
‘She did my hair beautifully,’ said Etta.
‘Why’s Shade taken his horses to Marius?’ enquired Painswick, who wished she’d brought her knitting.
‘More to do with that,’ Jase nodded at Shade’s rotating hand, ‘than Marius’s form at the moment. Marius can be a grumpy bugger. Hope Shade doesn’t take his horses and his missus at the same time.’
As Joey appeared from the kitchen with another jug, he winked at them, but was accosted by Phoebe. ‘Joey darling, can I have a top-up? One of our drains is blocked. I wonder if you’d have a mo.’
‘See what I mean?’ muttered Painswick.
Pocock, leaving the party in the kitchen, filled up Etta’s glass, which enabled her to tell him how well his plants were settling in, and how lovely all his plants in this house were, and how sweet Gwenny had popped back last week and curled up on her bed. Envying Gwenny, amazed how different Etta looked tonight, Pocock said he’d got some Christmas roses for her.
Etta noticed poor Tilda the schoolmistress hovering dis-consolately as Shagger, having had his insurance pitch to Bolton constantly interrupted by Cindy’s giggles, ignored her pronouncement that she’d made