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  It was on the tip of my tongue to mention her email to Anita and her reluctance to take part in the ‘circus’ surrounding the launch of her books, when she was seemingly planning a major performance of her own. But I sensed the irony might be lost. Pearl was determined to have the wedding of her dreams, limited budget or not.

  I spent most of the afternoon cramming crockery into the severely restricted space in the kitchen cupboards. The flat was open-plan apart from the bedroom and bijou ensuite shower room. The kitchenette barely took up a corner. Pearl jumped up off the sofa at five o’clock on the dot.

  ‘That’ll be Jack and Nev back,’ she said, peering out of the kitchen window. I hadn’t heard a thing; the Range Rover shared Nev’s ability to arrive by stealth. ‘I almost forgot, I’ve arranged a little dinner party tonight to celebrate your arrival.’

  At five, it was too late to protest. Pearl knew how to play her game.

  ‘A dinner party?’

  Her words were almost lost on the stairs. ‘Just a few of our new friends and neighbours, nothing too formal,’ she called. ‘See you for drinks at half six.’

  Half six. An hour-and-a-half away. I had been looking forward to a quiet night in my new home, a bottle of wine, feet up, watching mindless TV or even reading a book, maybe even starting to plan my new career. Anita had mentioned a couple of editing jobs she might be able to put my way, and was prepared to cast her eye over Stella’s memoirs. My desk from Beech Mews was far too big for the stable block, but I had requisitioned Freddy’s old computer workstation, and that now had pride of place under the living room window. The flat had been decorated with a quick coat of magnolia paint since my first viewing. According to Pearl, Nev and Heather had lived in the stable block when they’d first arrived at Rivermede, but had quickly opted to move to the old gardener’s cottage on another part of Jack’s estate. I could quite see why they might wish to have more substantial distance of separation from Pearl.

  As I crossed the drive to the front door, bracing myself for the evening’s entertainment, Freddy pulled up on his Lambretta, having just finished work for the day.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I asked. He’d been on the marina for less than three weeks but already he had developed some colour to his cheeks. Even his spindly white legs, incongruous and unfamiliar in the marina uniform of baggy regulation shorts and workmen’s boots, seemed to have gained a bit of muscle.

  ‘I hate it,’ he replied. ‘I hate being outside all the time, the weather’s been bloody awful all week. JJ’s a right bastard, everyone hates him. Look at my fingers.’ He held up his hands which were red with blisters. ‘I’m not cut out for manual work.’

  ‘Think of the money,’ I reminded him. ‘You’d best hurry up and get yourself tidy. You are coming to my welcome party, I take it?’

  ‘No, I’m bloody not,’ he grunted. ‘I’m shattered. I’m having a bath and going straight to bed. I’m working tomorrow morning at six.’

  Nev, in full butler attire, waylaid me in the hallway. Freddy stomped upstairs while I was escorted into the drawing room. The French windows were slightly ajar, soaking up the warm early evening air. There was no denying this room was the piece de resistance to the house, the views of the river were spectacular, and at their best this time of day.

  I was not the first guest. I was surprised but pleased to see the Twitchers, Craig and Chrissie, perched awkwardly on the edge of a sofa, while a plump but jolly-looking woman in her early seventies had requisitioned Pearl’s favourite armchair next to Jack’s crossword puzzle table. A man I assumed to be her husband was dissecting the weekend sailing forecast with Jack.

  ‘Come on in, Becca darling, let me introduce you,’ Pearl fussed. She was in a yellow cocktail dress, something she’d picked up for her cruise. I had swapped regulation office wear black trousers for an evening version of the same thing, coupled with a sheer burgundy silk vest. Chrissie was in white slacks and a sequin-embellished white T-shirt, while Craig wore jeans and a grey polo shirt. The older couple were smarter, but they all fell way below Pearl’s standards. Chrissie looked particularly uncomfortable, but Craig seemed non-plussed.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said, jumping to his feet and stretching out his hand. He turned to Pearl. ‘We’ve already met.’

  ‘You have?’ Pearl looked surprised. ‘How come?’

  ‘Quiz night,’ Craig replied. ‘We could have done with her again this week. We had another food and drink round. If it isn’t made with hops or doesn’t come with chips, we’re flippin’ useless. I don’t know a lot about the culinary arts, I’m afraid. Becca was brilliant last time.’

  ‘I’m so pleased the expensive education in Switzerland is finally paying off,’ Pearl mused. ‘I always knew that Cordon Bleu cookery course would come in useful.’

  Chrissie gave me a welcome hug, and Heather appeared by my side bearing a tray of something sparkling. Chrissie and I both grabbed one. I wondered briefly whether the remaining member of the Twitchers’ quiz team had been included in Pearl’s invitation to dinner, but of course if he had, ‘Alex’ could hardly accept. In any case, Pearl didn’t know him, which made me wonder how she had become acquainted with Chrissie and Craig. They weren’t her usual type, but then, I didn’t know my mother any more.

  Before I could enquire further, Pearl ushered me over to the other side of the room. I gave Jack a brief kiss on the cheek and was introduced to the other two guests – Commodore Stevenson, who was apparently something high up at the local yacht club and didn’t appear to have a first name, and his wife, Judy. Judy explained that she and the Commodore were Rivermede’s closest neighbours.

  ‘We’re in Honeypot Cottage; you’ll have driven past it, at the top of the lane.’

  I had indeed. Although it had a partly thatched roof, Honeypot was hardly a cottage. I had admired the sprawling mansion many times.

  Another couple was escorted into the room and provided the connection between the rather oddly-matched guests. It transpired the new arrivals – Pete, also something big at the yacht club; and his wife, Natalie, at least fifteen years his junior – were members of the ‘Kerridge Pops’ choir, as were Chrissie and Judy. Pearl really was going all out for that freebie musical interlude at her nuptials.

  ‘Just JJ and Rita to come now,’ Pearl said. She turned to me with a grimace. ‘Jack insisted.’

  Despite living on the premises, JJ and Marguerite were late. Rita, wearing another designer jumpsuit, was profusely apologetic. Some drama on the marina had delayed JJ.

  ‘Nothing to do with young Freddy, I hope,’ Jack guffawed.

  ‘Sadly not, otherwise I’d have a good excuse to give the boy the sack,’ JJ muttered. ‘Buyer pulled out of the Beneteau 40 last minute, which means I’ll have the damn thing sat on the forecourt for the next month and I’ve got two new cruisers being delivered at the end of next week. Don’t know where I’m going to put the ruddy things now.’

  ‘How’s business going?’ the Commodore asked. ‘I’d heard sales have slowed right down at Graysons in Portdeane. Economy’s up the spout, isn’t it? Government hasn’t got a clue.’

  Pearl took me to one side. ‘Don’t get anyone started on politics,’ she chuckled. ‘Can you just go and check on timings with Heather? I think we’re ready to sit down.’

  I wanted to point out that she was the hostess and I was supposed to be the guest of honour, so it wasn’t my job to do the running around, but Pearl had always been very good at delegation and it was very hard to break the habits of a lifetime.

  Everything appeared calm in the kitchen. A large pan of fragrant soup was bubbling away on the stove, whilst I could smell something equally as aromatic in the oven.

  Nev was helping himself to a can of beer at the kitchen table while Heather was surrounded by battalions of regimentally-chopped vegetables.

  ‘You look very much in control,’ I told her. ‘Pearl says we’re ready.’

  ‘Right, I’ll bring the soup through,’ Heather said. ‘Nev, you
best go and sort the wine out.’

  The dining table was sumptuously laid with silver cutlery and cut glass. The dinner service was Royal Doulton, edged in gold leaf.

  ‘Only the best for you, dear,’ Pearl whispered when I murmured my appreciation. ‘You’ll be amazed what treasures I’ve uncovered ferreting around in Jack’s cupboards.’

  To my relief, JJ and Rita were placed at the opposite end of the table, alongside Natalie and Pete. To begin with, the conversation focussed on the food – Thai fish soup followed by Oriental spiced chicken with jasmine rice. Heather was clearly an accomplished cook.

  ‘Compliments to the chef,’ Judy said, echoing my very thoughts.

  ‘She’s a marvel, isn’t she?’ Pearl agreed. ‘We’re so lucky to have her. She cooks everything from scratch. Not that I’ve been down to check it out, but apparently Nev’s transformed a patch of the old kitchen gardens into a flourishing allotment. In future, everything will be home-grown.’

  I made a mental note to take a wander through the grounds to take a look for myself.

  ‘Where did you find this marvellous couple?’ Judy enquired. ‘It’s so hard to get good staff. We’re on our third cleaner in almost as many months.’

  ‘It was through JJ,’ Jack replied. ‘Some people he knew up in London were letting the pair of them go. Their loss, our gain. Nev’s been a godsend since my hip went. I don’t know how I’d have managed without him. We only had Norah Morland before that. If it wasn’t for Marguerite being on hand, I don’t know how I’d have managed.’

  Marguerite looked up at the mention of her name and beamed. JJ gave a mock shudder. ‘Norah Morland was the housekeeper from hell,’ he muttered.

  ‘Norah was Mary’s old nanny,’ Jack explained to Pearl. ‘I kept her on out of the kindness of my heart. We should have let her go long ago.’

  It was the first time I’d heard Jack mention his late wife. I’d not seen a single picture of her in the house – presumably that was Pearl’s doing. Another mental note: find out more about Mary.

  ‘How long have Nev and Heather been with you?’ I enquired.

  ‘Eighteen months maybe,’ Jack glanced at JJ. ‘Would that be about right?’

  JJ nodded. ‘They came with excellent references.’

  ‘And you can certainly see why,’ the Commodore said, patting his stomach. ‘That was excellent, Jack, Pearl, thank you.’

  ‘Well, it’s not finished yet.’ Pearl smiled. ‘We’ve still got dessert to come. Always my favourite part of the meal.’

  ‘So, tell us about the Cordon Bleu lessons, Becca,’ Craig said, making a valiant attempt to contribute to the conversation. ‘You’re a bit of an amateur cook yourself?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m not any great shakes, but I did tend to be in charge of all the cooking at home.’ I’d always thought Pearl had been rather fond of my attempts in the kitchen, but I sensed my achievements had been surpassed.

  ‘Well, somebody had to be, darling,’ Pearl said with a chuckle. ‘Jack’s certainly not marrying me for my culinary skills.’

  ‘Makes one wonder exactly what he is marrying you for,’ JJ murmured under his breath, but quite loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Diplomacy could have been Judy’s middle name. ‘I think Jack and Pearl are made for each other,’ she said, smoothing over JJ’s rudeness. ‘It’s such a breath of fresh air for us to have you here in Kerridge, Pearl, and you, too, Becca. I hope you are going to fully embrace village life, just like your mother. Do you sing?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not in public, Judy.’

  ‘So, are you single, Becca?’ Natalie asked. I’d almost forgotten she and her husband were present at the far end of the table. Natalie had spent most of the evening engaged in a whispered conversation with Rita. Both women had succeeded in consuming very little, while Pete had been far too busy doing the opposite to stop and talk. Rita was looking very smug

  I smiled through gritted teeth. Here we go again. ‘Footloose and fancy-free, that’s me,’ I said cheerfully.

  ‘Are there any eligible bachelors in Kerridge?’ Pearl asked. ‘Becca’s not had much luck with men in London, have you, darling?’ She could learn a lot about diplomacy from Judy.

  ‘I believe Sailor Gerry is still unattached,’ Rita replied, wiping her mouth on her napkin to disguise her snigger.

  ‘Sailor Gerry?’ Pearl turned to the Commodore, her voice full of hope. ‘Is he a friend of yours at the yacht club?’

  A ripple of laughter fluttered around the table. Pete almost choked. Even Judy couldn’t contain her mirth. ‘Gerald Kimble is a stalwart of Kerridge waterfront,’ she replied, ‘but he’s not exactly yacht club material. It’s a nickname, Pearl, dear. He’s an old chap who used to work at the boatyard. The Kimbles have been in Kerridge for centuries. Gerald lives on the Regatta Queen – an old coastal patrol vessel moored just off the marina. It’s a bit of an eyesore, to be honest, and I don’t think he’s quite what you’d have in mind for lovely young Becca here.’

  ‘I had heard a rumour you’d given him notice to quit his berth,’ the Commodore said, turning to Jack.

  ‘We have,’ JJ replied on his father’s behalf. ‘If we can get rid of him, I can get another twenty moorings on that pontoon, and right now we could really do with increasing our capacity.’

  ‘I heard he had some sort of legal right to that mooring,’ Judy said.

  ‘Not unless he can find the paperwork to prove it.’ JJ almost snapped her head off.

  ‘His vessel’s a bloody disgrace,’ Pete said, having regained his composure. ‘I keep telling you, JJ. Goes against marine safety legislation. We can soon find a legal clause to have it towed away, I’m sure.’

  ‘Jack, you’d know more about Kimble’s claim. Is there any truth in it?’ Judy persisted.

  ‘Like JJ says, he needs to prove it.’ Jack seemed unwilling to be drawn into the discussion. ‘Mary’s father was not very good at record-keeping.’

  ‘What about your chum van der Plaast?’ the Commodore chuckled, turning to JJ.

  ‘What’s he got to do with Gerald Kimble?’ JJ looked puzzled.

  ‘I hear he’s single again. The Pegasus is back on the river, so I assume he is, too.’

  ‘I really don’t think Becca is Max’s type, Commodore,’ Natalie giggled.

  ‘I thought Becca and Alex struck up a bit of a rapport when they were in our quiz team,’ Chrissie ventured, turning to Craig. ‘He’s single, isn’t he? And probably far more attainable than Max van der Plaast.’

  ‘How old is this Alex?’ Pearl demanded.

  ‘Forty-ish, I’d say. He’s quiet, intelligent,’ Chrissie continued. ‘Keeps himself to himself, but he’s a polite enough chap, probably just a bit shy. He’s renting Stella Markham’s houseboat down at Helme.’

  ‘I wish I’d known,’ Pearl pouted, ‘we could have invited him along tonight, made the numbers up.’

  ‘I really am quite happy as I am,’ I insisted, trying to keep my tone light.

  ‘Now listen, Becca,’ Pearl smiled, ‘the big forty is looming up next year, and I’m just thinking about your body clock. When is the next quiz night, Chrissie?’

  I spent the rest of the evening fending off questions about my social life and why I was so sadly lacking in male companions. I conceded I might just possibly be interested in joining Judy for yoga, having turned down every other social activity in the village which involved meeting a man, but Natalie and Rita were both very quick to point out that yoga in the church hall was really just a stretching class for the sixty-plus age group. A real workout was only attainable at the Deane Valley Golf & Country Club. They were both members.

  ‘I’m not particularly keen on gyms,’ I confessed. ‘Although I do like to exercise.’

  ‘How about rowing?’ Jack suggested. ‘With the river on your doorstep, it would be silly not to. You can borrow one of our old canoes. Why don’t you take Becca down to the boathouse one afternoon and show her where everything is, JJ?
’

  ‘I’m busy all week,’ JJ replied. ‘In any case, I don’t have the canoes any more.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Jack looked puzzled.

  ‘No. We don’t use the boathouse, Dad. I did tell you.’

  Jack continued to look perplexed, but the conversation rapidly changed direction. Chrissie had a complaint about bin collections – recycling was all well and good, but it should happen on a more regular basis – while the Commodore was keen for a progress report from Pete, who was apparently restoring a vintage vessel. Pete was more than happy to hold the floor, stretching out somewhat uncomfortably in his dark designer jeans as if he was already regretting consuming not just his own dinner but half his wife’s as well. He droned on for several minutes about his yacht. I was rapidly losing patience with all of Pearl’s carefully selected guests.

  ‘Have you seen what treasures Chapman’s currently got in his workshop?’ Commodore Stevens asked. ‘I was down there last week. The place is an Aladdin’s cave of spare parts.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Pete agreed. ‘I have been able to pick up a few bits and bobs from him.’

  ‘I think Pete’s converting his boat into a shag pad,’ Natalie giggled to Rita. ‘It’s so hidden away down at Helme Point, goodness knows what he gets up to down there on his days off.’

  Judy was very at good engaging Pearl and I whenever she could, as did Craig who, like me, seemed way out of this depth. It was far removed from the dinner party conversations I had enjoyed on a regular basis in London. JJ contributed very little but helped himself to copious amounts of red wine.

  Dessert consisted of lemon torte with a raspberry coulis, followed by an overflowing cheeseboard, grapes, and liqueurs, after which Jack finally suggested we retreat to the drawing room for coffee. JJ said he needed to slip outside for a cigarette.

  ‘Fancy joining me, Pearl?’ he asked. ‘Or are you still pretending to have given up?’

  Pearl maintained a dignified silence while Pete sniggered and Judy announced that the church knit-and-natter group were creating a life–sized woolly nativity scene, if anyone wished to contribute an animal or two in time for Christmas.