on Woody, the buffest and fittest, and had observed him and her grandmother sloping off to Badger’s Court twice that morning.
She therefore followed Etta and rumbled her secret.
‘I promise I won’t tell anyone,’ said Trixie, collapsing in the wood shavings beside a trembling Mrs Wilkinson. ‘Just let me stroke her, she’s really sweet. I’ll look after her while you go and prepare the fatted calf for Uncle Martin.’
Etta had already made two shepherd’s pies, one with salt for Trixie and one without for Martin and Romy, but got them muddled. Martin and Romy, replete and bronzed from skiing and living in a five-star hotel, were not impressed.
‘You could have made us a nicer meal, Mother,’ complained Romy. ‘This is so salty, I’ll be up drinking water all night.’
‘We’re tired,’ Martin announced the moment supper was over. ‘You’ve had a good break, nice if you could put the kids to bed.’
Etta was gratified when Poppy hugged her.
‘I’ve missed you, Granny, snow’s boring. Yours were the only presents we got. Will you read me two stories?’
Drummond wanted a story, but only one.
‘You can go now,’ he said coolly. ‘I want to play with my willy.’
On the way home, Etta popped into Badger’s Court to check on Mrs Wilkinson and found Trixie asleep there, her head on Mrs Wilkinson’s shoulder, their dark and white manes entwined.
Once more swearing Trixie to secrecy, Etta sent her home.
26
As Valent Edwards landed the Lear at Staverton, he wondered how difficult it would be to install a runway in Willowwood. The locals, spearheaded by that monster Ione Travis-Lock, had kicked up enough fuss about a helipad.
Valent was not a man who ever admitted to tiredness, but Bonny Richards had been a very exacting companion. She had upset his routine. She was always two hours late for everything, which drove him demented.
Since he’d met her, he’d spent £30,000 on very beautiful teeth but wasn’t any more inclined to smile in photographs. He had lost two stone, worked out in the gym and ceased to look laughable in bathing trunks. Women had always run after him, more, he suspected, for his success than his sex appeal, but it was wonderful for his ego to have such a beauty on his arm and in his emperor-sized bed, although it was an effort to keep his tummy in. He had refused to wear lifts so he’d appear much taller than Bonny even when she went out in six-inch heels. He had refused to dye his hair or his eyebrows, but had cut his thick, iron-grey hair short so it didn’t flop around when he was sailing on the vast new yacht that Bonny had persuaded him to buy. He refused to admit it made him seasick.
Bonny was terribly demanding and hot on her rights. On holiday she had thrown not only tantrums but his mobile and his BlackBerry into the swimming pool to get his attention. She had also engaged him in a colossal amount of sex and shipping. Having kept him up half the night, she would drag him off to visit museums and temples whenever they drew into port.
Having attempted to improve his mind and his figure – ‘No desserts, Valent’ – Bonny had set about him socially. Along with the make-up artist, agent and personal trainer, she’d also invited on board a voice coach, ostensibly to prepare her Southern accent to play Maggie, her latest television part, in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, but in fact to teach Valent to talk proper.
And when Valent had lost it, and shouted he was not going to talk like a ‘fooking fairy, how now bluddy brown cow’, Bonny had replied that he had only to listen to himself to prove her point.
As a final straw, Redwin, the voice coach, had made a pass at him.
Valent had been born in Bradford sixty-five years ago into a mining family. His dad had loved his mum. He had loved his wife Pauline and had never been into one-night stands, which went against his Chapel background. This was also why he had half committed himself to Bonny but had still not given her a ring.
Bonny didn’t drink, which was great for her flawless complexion but not for jollity. Valent, a workaholic, liked to unwind on holiday, read a dozen biographies, watch football on Sky, drink rather too much and put on half a stone.
As a goalkeeper who had once played for a Premier Division club, he had arthritis in both hands but also the hawk