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  ‘You’ve only known Jack a few weeks,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s far too soon for you to be making big decisions like this. I like him, seriously I do, but can’t you just date for a bit, live together if you have to, but keep the flat as security? What if it all goes pear-shaped?’

  ‘It’s not going to go pear-shaped,’ Pearl replied. ‘We had a long chat last night and we’ve decided to set the wedding date.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s going to be midsummer, 21st June. We’re going to have a quiet civil ceremony at the registry office in Southampton, and then back here to say our vows and have a garden party. Jack’s out in the grounds now with Nev, looking at the logistics of putting up a marquee.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘You could at least look pleased.’

  ‘What have I got to be pleased about? You’re doing me out of a job and out of a home.’

  ‘I told you, you’ve got a home here.’

  ‘And my career?’ My frustration bubbled over. ‘Of course, I’d forgotten. Kerridge is overflowing with publishing houses looking for editors, and writers looking for PAs. Can’t you see I need to be in London if I want to find work?’

  ‘London’s only just over an hour away. You do most of your work on your lap-top. You’re always telling me I’m a positive dinosaur because I like an ink pen and piece of paper. When you work online, it doesn’t matter where you’re located, does it?’

  ‘And my social life?’

  ‘There’s the sailing club. They put on a good do every now and then; we went to one just the other night. And there’s a couple of nice pubs, and that reminds me, I need to tell you about the pub…’

  ‘Are you being serious?’

  I could have throttled her. Almost as if he could sense his fiancée’s life was in peril, I heard the sound of Jack’s wheelchair approaching along the corridor. Nev wheeled him into the conservatory.

  ‘Good morning, Becca dear,’ Jack said. His greeting contained genuine warmth, and Pearl’s face lit up at his arrival, once again rushing to his side. I turned away, ashamed of my outburst.

  Jack reported that he and Nev had earmarked the perfect spot for the marquee while Heather had been charged with investigating local catering companies. After lunch, Pearl insisted we sit down with a stash of bridal magazines, and in an attempt to redeem myself I tried to look interested as she offered up suggestions for bouquets and dresses.

  ‘I hope you’ve started that diet I recommended,’ she said. ‘You don’t look like you’ve lost any weight yet.’

  I felt positively inspired to put more on but quashed all thought of rebellion. I did need to lose a few pounds. Pearl was the one who’d been on an all-you-can-eat cruise, yet she’d returned looking trimmer than ever. In her absence, I’d been tucking into calorie-laden comfort foods.

  ‘I originally thought of yellow for the colour theme,’ she mused, flicking through pages of glossy photographs of beaming brides and their handsome grooms. ‘An homage to spring. I quite fancied a maypole and floral bunting, but I suppose now we’ve decided on June, the maypole idea is out. So, I’m veering towards purple, with sprays of cornflowers and hints of lavender. Or is that too similar to what we had for you? What do you think?’

  I replied I thought purple would be just perfect, but felt tears smarting in the corner of my eyes. I felt totally deflated. Confused and deflated. It was all too much. ‘Do we have to do this now?’ I muttered.

  ‘Of course we do. You of all people should know these things take meticulous planning. Do you think I should ask Freddy to give me away, or Laurie?’

  My honorary ‘uncle’ Laurie was an old family friend. He’d been Pearl’s first boss in publishing, and had later taken me under his wing. He had stayed in touch over the years, checking up on Pearl every now and then out of a sense of misplaced loyalty. As a child, I’d often dreamed that sensible Uncle Laurie would one day see the light and marry my mother, but of course he was far too sensible for that. Thankfully, when Pearl’s world imploded, as it did every so often, he was still there to pick up the pieces. I’d always suspected Uncle Laurie was a little in love with Pearl himself, so it seemed somewhat insensitive to ask him to give her away, but right now my mother’s lack of sensitivity had reached boiling point. Finally, she took the hint.

  ‘Freddy,’ she said decisively. ‘I expect he’d relish the task.’

  ‘Not when you’re about to diddle him out of his home.’ I was unable to stop myself.

  Pearl pursed her lips. ‘I’m not diddling anybody out of anything. I don’t know how you can say such a thing, Rebecca. After all I’ve done for you.’

  I blinked away the tears. My mother was being incorrigible. It was as if she had absolutely no idea the impact her behaviour was having on me. I was floundering in an alien world, staring into a black hole. I’d dedicated the last fifteen years of my life to creating stability from chaos, and my mother had quite literally just pulled the rug from under my feet. The need for a quiet word with Jack’s son to discuss a joint plan of action was now paramount. I would grab him at the first opportunity.

  Dinner was arranged for six – Pearl never enjoyed eating late, and it appeared Jack shared her views. As much as I hated to admit it, they were extremely well suited.

  JJ Robshaw oozed the type of confidence and demeanour that came from a public school education, easy wealth, and a handsome visage. He had the physique of a rugby player and, although slightly stockier than those images I’d seen on the internet, he was still a good-looking man – and knew it.

  His wife, Marguerite – Rita, for short, according to Pearl – was a slender blonde, perhaps some ten years or so his junior. She wore a black and white polka-dot jump-suit, an outfit which wouldn’t have looked out of place on a children’s TV presenter. Even Jack looked taken aback as the couple made their entrance, while Pearl couldn’t hide her amusement.

  JJ barely glanced in my direction as his father introduced us, although Rita broke briefly free from his arm and air-kissed my cheek.

  ‘How lovely to meet you,’ she said.

  They both made no move to greet Pearl, but she seemed unfazed by their behaviour.

  ‘That’s quite an outfit, Rita,’ she said, helping herself to another glass of Prosecco from the bottle Nev had opened earlier and left cooling in an ice bucket on the cocktail cabinet. ‘Did you buy it locally? And how’s the house coming on, JJ? Has the problem with the glass for the windows been resolved?’

  JJ and Marguerite continued to ignore her, and I immediately felt insulted on her behalf. Even if they resented my mother’s arrival at Rivermede, there was no need for such blatant rudeness. JJ turned to speak to Jack while Marguerite asked Neville, who was hovering, if she could have a G&T.

  Pearl gave a shrug and came and sat on a sofa beside me. ‘The house is a bit of a sore point,’ she explained, as if that justified their behaviour.

  ‘So, what do you do for a living, Becca?’ Marguerite asked after a dainty sip of her G&T.

  ‘I’m Mum’s PA,’ I replied. ‘I handle the business side of her writing.’

  ‘I didn’t know you wrote, Pearl.’ Marguerite’s ignorance seemed quite genuine.

  ‘She writes trashy romance novels,’ JJ broke in. ‘I did mention it. You won’t have heard of her.’

  ‘I might,’ Marguerite contradicted. ‘What’s your pen name?’

  ‘I write under my own name,’ Pearl replied.

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me Pearl Gates is your real name?’ JJ snorted. ‘It’s made up, surely? Nobody is born Pearl Gates.’

  ‘When you are gifted with a name like mine, you don’t change it,’ Pearl said with a fixed smile.

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ JJ spluttered. He turned to his wife. ‘Pearly gates, get it, Reet?’

  Marguerite looked quite blank.

  ‘Not familiar with the Bible?’ Pearl raised an eyebrow. ‘Now there’s a surprise.’

  ‘Oh, those pearly gates. I hadn’t thought of t
hat.’

  With a discreet cough from the doorway, Neville announced dinner was about to be served in the dining room. Pearl whisked Jack off in advance while I helped myself to another large Prosecco. As I headed out into the hallway, I caught Marguerite’s peel of girlish laughter.

  ‘Do you think the daughter has a husband?’

  ‘Well, if he does, I already feel sorry for the chap,’ JJ replied.

  Conversation over dinner remained strained and somewhat stilted. Jack and JJ spent some time talking business, while Rita periodically looked up from pushing her food around her plate to comment on how many calories she had consumed already that week versus steps on her Fitbit and how many more exercise classes she would need to attend to counter-balance the effects of the tomato consommé and gorgeously succulent roast chicken, which had barely touched my sides.

  ‘So, do you have a partner, Becca?’ Rita asked, eventually pushing her chicken to one side.

  ‘A partner?’ I’d been waiting for the question to arise since we’d sat down. ‘You mean like a business partner? I could certainly do with one to help manage Pearl’s commercial affairs. A successful novelist can keep one PA incredibly busy.’

  ‘No, I mean like a husband, boyfriend?’

  ‘Oh. I see. No, I’m happily single.’ I gave her what I hoped was a pleasant smile and asked Jack to pass me more gravy.

  ‘I’d have thought an attractive, intelligent woman like you would have had no trouble finding yourself a young man,’ Jack remarked, sadly ignoring my attempt to draw him into a conversation about Heather’s culinary skills.

  ‘I’m more than content on my own,’ I assured him.

  ‘She always says that,’ Pearl interjected. ‘I don’t believe her. Ever since she was jilted at the altar, she’s been off men.’

  ‘You were jilted at the altar?’ Rita’s face was agog with interest. ‘Oh, go on, do tell. When was this, Becca? Recently or—’

  ‘A long time ago now,’ I replied. ‘This roast chicken really is excellent, Jack. How long has Heather been working for you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t change the subject,’ Rita whined. ‘I’m enthralled. Was it really at the altar, Pearl?’

  Pearl put down her knife and fork. She could never pass up the opportunity to revel in her lost mother-of-the-bride moment, especially after a drink or two. ‘Yes. We were all there in the church and her Uncle Laurie had walked her up the aisle, and the next thing we know she and her fiancé are having a slanging match in front of the vicar. Two minutes later, she comes storming back down the aisle and announces the wedding is off.’

  ‘Sounds like some young man had a very lucky escape,’ JJ smirked.

  Rita nudged him with her elbow. ‘So, was it you who decided not to get married, Becca, or was it him?’

  ‘Yes, actually it was me. I wasn’t jilted at all.’ I glared at Pearl. ‘I discovered my fiancé had been sleeping with my best friend, so I decided all men were bastards and I haven’t touched another one since.’

  To my surprise, Jack gave an approving nod. ‘Nothing worse than being betrayed by a loved one,’ he grunted.

  Rita seemed determined not to let the subject drop. ‘Why did you wait until you got to the altar? Why not call the whole thing off beforehand if you knew he’d been cheating?’

  ‘Because I’d spent a lot of money on that wedding,’ Pearl interjected, ‘and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. The very least she could do was walk up the aisle for me. We had friends coming from miles around, people booked into hotels. I didn’t want to let them down.’

  ‘What, you made her do it? You knew she didn’t want to marry him, yet you made her go through with the ceremony?’ Rita looked astonished.

  ‘Look really, I don’t want to talk about this,’ I said, pushing my plate away. ‘It was nearly fifteen years ago. I was very young.’

  ‘I think that says it all, Dad.’ JJ leaned back in his chair. ‘What sort of woman is this that you want to marry? Forcing her daughter to suffer that indignity and humiliation just because she wanted to wear a posh frock and show off in front of all her friends? How shallow is that. You heard her. Let’s drop this charade now.’

  ‘Don’t you start on that again,’ Jack growled. ‘Can’t we have a civilised meal?’

  ‘I don’t think we can. I don’t think there is anything civilised about Mrs Pearly Gates,’ JJ sneered.

  ‘That’s enough!’ Jack slammed his fist down on the table. ‘Do you hear me, boy? Enough.’

  I had intended suggesting to JJ that we devise a joint strategy on how best to dissuade our parents from marrying, but the battle lines had clearly already been drawn. JJ seemed intent on attacking Pearl’s integrity at every opportunity. I doubted he would approve my idea for a subtle approach.

  We carried on in silence until Jack needed the bathroom. Pearl ushered him out of the room towards the ensuite. JJ turned to me the minute we heard the click of the bedroom door. ‘How much money do you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. How much money are you two after?’

  ‘I’m not after any money,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, come on, look at my father, your mother. Do you honestly think this is a match made in heaven? They meet on a cruise ship and the next thing we know is he’s proposing marriage. A week later, she’s moved in lock, stock and barrel. The last thing my father needs at his time of life is a gold-digging divorcee. I’ll pay you whatever it takes to get your mother out of our lives.’

  ‘I’ll have you know my mother is a wealthy woman in her own right. You honestly think she’s after his money? Does she look cash-strapped?’

  Rita tapped her husband’s arm. ‘That scarf is Hermes, JJ, I did point it out.’

  ‘Are you worried Pearl’s going to show you up at the yacht club? Is that it?’ I attempted to fix a polite smile on my face.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ JJ snapped. ‘I said I’ll give you money to take your mother away from Rivermede and not bring her back. She might well have made a fortune from writing that romantic shit, but you look like you could do with an extra few bob or two. Come on, just name your price.’

  I’d thought Jack’s son and I would be allies, not adversaries, but I’d never taken such an instant dislike to anybody in my entire life. The last thing I wanted to do was align myself to such an obnoxious man. My mother had been on her own for a long time and she deserved to be happy. My own fears for the future paled into insignificance.

  ‘I think Jack and Pearl are absolutely perfect for each other,’ I announced, as I heard the bedroom door re-open and the soft whoosh of the wheelchair on the tiled hallway floor as my mother and her fiancé returned. ‘In fact, I don’t think this wedding can happen soon enough.’

  Chapter Four

  It was almost a relief to speak the words out loud. There, decision made, no going back. I had to accept that Pearl would come to live at Rivermede, marry Jack, and our lives would begin a new phase. I hadn’t yet worked out exactly what that new phase would entail, but at least it felt as if I was back in control in the driver’s seat, even if we weren’t travelling in the direction I’d originally planned.

  I hadn’t intended to head back to London until Tuesday. The next morning, I accompanied Pearl on another walk in the grounds, this time to check out the location for the marquee as suggested by Neville, and then to discuss the merits of releasing balloons versus doves to celebrate the vows.

  ‘I meant to tell you about the pub, didn’t I?’ she said as we strolled past the defunct fountain. ‘Do you remember Stella Markham?’

  Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, the name rang a bell, but not in the context of any authors or anyone in my mother’s immediate social circle.

  Pearl digressed to poke at the flaking stonework on the fountain. ‘I must ask Nev to look at this fountain,’ she said, ‘it needs a good clean out. We want that working on the day, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ I agreed,
mainly because it was always easier to agree with Pearl than to argue on matters that were unimportant. ‘Who is Stella Markham?’

  ‘Owen Markham’s wife, or ex-wife, rather.’

  Owen Markham. That name certainly rang a big bell. He was a celebrity chef from the era of my childhood, a trademark moustache and the dress-sense of a swashbuckling buccaneer. He’d earned the nickname ‘Captain Cook’ after a TV series followed him around the globe, catching and cooking exotic seafood from the back of his yacht, tossing red snappers and sea urchins into a frying pan and declaring we should all be able to emulate his skill with little more than a packet of frozen scallops from the local supermarket. Re-runs of his programmes still occasionally cropped up on lifestyle and cooking channels.

  ‘You might not remember, but he and his wife had that very public bust-up,’ Pearl said. ‘They were both sailing mad, and she made the headlines for winning a big yacht race and it all blew up her face. There was a huge scandal. Owen accused her abandoning him and her children. It was all over the press.’

  I shook my head, although the story sounded vaguely familiar. ‘Before my time,’ I pointed out. ‘What’s she got to do with the pub?’

  ‘She owns it.’ Pearl lowered her voice. ‘Her and her girlfriend.’

  So, that was the scandal; hardly a scandal these days, but thirty years ago it might have been pretty shocking.

  ‘Anyway, the thing is, Stella might be able to help you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She and Jack are quite pally. He likes to pop in for a drink every now and then, and the food in the pub is pretty good. He took me there when we got back last week.’

  ‘Oh, I see. So how could she help me? Has she offered me a job in the pub?’

  ‘No, listen. We were having a chat and we got round to the bit about me being a writer, and you being a brilliant editor, and how you would need to find some work once I’ve retired. And guess what, she’d like you to ghost-write her memoirs.’

  ‘Are you being serious?’