the delectable Woody and Etta laughing together, both the vicar and Shagger bore down, asking Etta how she was getting on in Willowwood.
‘Etta’s great,’ said Woody, ‘best cake-maker in the world.’
‘How wonderful! Might you make something for our Christmas Fayre?’ asked Tilda. She was shadowing Shagger, to his intense irritation.
‘How are things?’ he asked, pointedly turning to Woody.
‘Crazy since the gales.’
‘Why don’t you take on an assistant?’
‘Insurance gone up too much.’
‘Call me.’ Shagger posted a card into Woody’s breast pocket, letting his fingers linger against Woody’s chest. ‘I’ll get you a better deal.’
‘Have a Fairtrade nut,’ said Tilda, waving a bowl between them.
‘Shagger’s only interested in rough-trade nuts,’ observed Alan, returning from the kitchen with another large whisky.
As the guests were thinning out and Mop Idol was gathering up glasses, Araminta, the black Labrador who missed embassy life, and an adorable springer spaniel puppy were allowed to bound into the room.
‘Oh how lovely,’ cried Etta, moving forward, but Harvey-Holden, irritated at being lectured by Ione about his inorganic yard, had already picked up the puppy by the scruff of her neck. He roughhoused with her until she shrieked, then dropped her from a great height on to the floor.
Beastly man, thought a horrified Etta, then was distracted by Shagger’s great red hand shooting out to grab and down a three-quarters-full glass.
‘That’s Alan’s whisky,’ she squeaked loudly.
A squeak overheard by most of the guests, who had difficulty not laughing, except Ione, who looked at the empty glass: ‘Whisky, surely not?’
‘I must be mistaken,’ stammered Etta.
‘Go back to Harvest Home at once, Mother,’ said Martin icily, ‘and check on the kids.’
‘Don’t go, Etta,’ said Woody and Joey.
‘Trixie’s at home,’ Alan pointed out.
‘Is that your gorgeous granddaughter, Etta?’ asked Shade.
‘Mother,’ said Martin ominously.
Olivia raised an eyebrow. ‘Do bring Poppy over to see the horses again.’
‘I don’t want Poppy to get involved in ponies,’ snapped Romy. ‘She’s got so many other interests.’
‘A pity,’ said Olivia lightly. ‘Horses teach children to love and to cherish.’ She smiled up at Shade, then, turning to Etta: ‘Come and have supper without Poppy, we’ll find you a nice man.’
‘Utterly inappropriate,’ exploded Romy. ‘Etta has just lost the most wonderful man.’
And Etta fled, hardly having time to grab her coat and stammer thanks for a lovely party before a going-away present of a jute bag, with ‘Join the Jute set’ on the side, was thrust into her hand.
‘Goodbye, Etta,’ called out Alban, kissing her as his wife went round dimming the lights even further to encourage everyone to go.
‘Give me the sun,’ cried Alan theatrically. ‘Your wife’s going to do us for drink biking, Alban.’
‘Go home,’ chided Ione. Despite his leading her husband astray, she was fond of Alan and amused by his antics.
Ralph Harvey-Holden, having not sobered up after the races, invited Cindy and Lester to join him as well as Olivia and Shade for dinner.
‘That’ll set him back a few bob,’ observed Jase. ‘Surprised he can afford it. Hasn’t paid me for months.’
‘Don’t forget, Mr Bolton,’ Ione called after a departing Lester, ‘solar panels provide hot water, and you’ll halve your electricity bills with a wind turbine. Save money yourself and save the planet.’
‘Shut it, you bossy cow,’ muttered Cindy. ‘Why the ’eck doesn’t she have lights down her drive?’
Next moment, Lester had tripped over his lifts and landed in a flower bed, pulling Cindy on top of him.
‘Pooh,’ shrieked Cindy. ‘Think of all those worms wriggling round underneaf you, Lester.’
‘You must feel among friends,’ said Alan.
Waving Miss Painswick off into the gloaming, a still giggling Etta swayed back to Harvest Home. Alban and the Major had kissed her good night. Pocock had asked her if she’d like him to organize her an allotment. Woody had invited her to join him and Jase in the pub. She’d refused reluctantly, sad to see the dreadful Shagger spurning a disconsolate Tilda’s fish pie and belting after them.
Willowwood, with far too many lit-up windows for Ione’s liking, looked like an opera set. Stars glittered like diamond earrings in the bare trees, while Orion, arms raised like a victorious returning jockey, bestrode the valley. The moon, emerging sad, white-faced and hollow-eyed from behind a black cloud, reminded her of Beau Regard. Wet willow fronds brushed her face like lank hanging locks on a ghost train.
Arriving thankfully ahead of Romy and Martin, Etta found Poppy and Drummond watching the adult channel and eating forbidden chocolate, and Trixie on the leather sofa in Martin’s den ferociously snogging red-headed Josh, the best-looking of Marius’s