Closing her eyes, Kate remembered a magical summer long ago, when she and Maddy Harvey had played endlessly together in this very pool. They had been like sisters then. The following year she had been sent to Ridgelow Hall and had made new friends. She recalled the scorching, dusty afternoon when she and a couple of her new best friends had bumped into Maddy outside the sweet shop. How old had they all been? Eleven, maybe twelve? Nudging her companions, she had said gaily, ‘Hey, fancy a swim?’
Maddy, her thin little face lighting up, had said, ‘Oh, that’d be great.’
And she had smirked – God, actually smirked – and said, ‘Better go and jump in the river then.
Bye!’
It had seemed funny at the time. She and her friends had screeched with laughter at the look of disappointment on Maddy’s face. Now, Kate inwardly cringed at the memory.
There was no getting away from it, she had been a snobby little cow, seduced by the my-dad’s-richer-than-your-dad mentality of her fellow pupils. Once, visiting the spectacular home of one of the girls and discovering that the pool there was twice the size of her own, she had promptly broken off the friendship in order not to have to invite her back to Dauncey House. For weeks after that, she had even badgered her father to buy a helicopter purely to compensate for the embarrassment of not owning an Olympic-sized pool.
A cloud had drifted over the sun. Brushing a fly from her shoulder, Kate opened her eyes a fraction then let out a yelp of surprise, because it hadn’t been a cloud after all; the shadow on her face had been caused by a complete stranger who
‘Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you! Crikey, what must you think of me? I honestly thought you were asleep. Sorry, all my fault, I did ring the doorbell but there was no reply.’
Kate stared at him. If this was a burglar, he was the friendliest burglar she’d ever encountered.
‘And you are ... ?’
‘Will.’ He smiled, extended his hand and shook hers vigorously. When Kate continued to look blank, he said, ‘Will Gifford? And you must be Kate. Good to meet you, really good to meet you. Oh dear.’ He paused and shook his head in sorrowful fashion. ‘He didn’t tell you, did he?’
‘Who didn’t tell me what?’
‘Your father. God, I’m so sorry, I just assumed he’d have mentioned me.’
He was also the most apologetic burglar she’d ever met. Except it was fairly obvious now that he wasn’t a burglar.
‘Hang on. You rang the doorbell,’ said Kate, ‘and no one came to the door. So you assumed everyone was out and just decided to explore the back garden anyway?’
‘Oh Lord, it sounds terrible when you put it like that. Imean, I didn’t break down the front door, just wandered round the side of the house. I didn’t know how long I’d have to wait, you see.
And Oliver did invite me. I’ve got my case in the car.’
His case? ‘You mean you’re staying here? Look, I’m sorry,’ oops, now she was doing it too, ‘but who exactly are you?’
Kate was mystified; whoever this Will Gifford might be, he didn’t look like a business colleague of her father’s. In his mid-thirties, he was tall and indescribably scruffy, wearing crumpled black trousers and a baggy un-ironed checked shirt. His dark brown hair was all over the shop, sticking out in tufts, and his spectacles were Harry Potterish. The overall impression was of a gangly overgrown schoolboy, quite shy and clever but incapable of wielding a hairbrush.
As Will Gifford opened his mouth to reply, Estelle came into view, hurrying across the lawn calling, ‘Hello, I’m ba-ack.’
Will Gifford turned and said charmingly, ‘Mrs Taylor-Trent.’
Puffing, catching her breath, Estelle said, ‘Oof, it’s hot. You must be Will, how lovely to meet you. And please, do call me Estelle. You’re early!’
‘I’m a bit of a one for getting lost,’ Will confided, ‘so I set off from London at nine o’clock, to give myself that extra hour to get lost in. But it was like a miracle, I got the entire journey right first time.’ He shook his head, clearly delighted with this achievement. ‘Never happened to me before. Remarkable.’
Kate’s suspicions were growing. Her father had invited this man here to stay with them. Her mother had been expecting him, but hadn’t mentioned it to her. Was Will Gifford some kind of self-help guru, hired by her parents in order to teach her that looks weren’t everything?
They certainly weren’t as far as he was concerned. The man looked like a cross between a mad scientist and a scarecrow.
Oh God, was he supposed to be her present?
Gaily, Estelle said, ‘Right then, why don’t I make us all a nice pot of tea?’
Kate waited until her mother was back inside the house before saying, ‘I still don’t know what you’re doing here.’
‘Relax, you’re looking at me like I’m a dentist.’ Will grinned and flopped down on the grass a few feet away from her.
‘Is it something to do with me?’
‘Nothing at all to do with you, crosspatch. I’m making a documentary about your father and he was kind enough to ask me to stay for a few days. Although since the idea of the programme is to see Oliver Taylor-Trent both at work and away from it, of course I’d like you to feature in the film.’
A documentary. Well, she hadn’t seen that one coming.
‘Can I say no?’
‘Of course you can say no.’
‘Good. In that case, no.’
Mildly, Will Gifford said, ‘That’s a shame. Why not?’
‘Oh please, don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed.’ Kate gazed steadily at him, hoping he’d be embarrassed.
‘Your face, you mean? Oliver told me about your accident. But I’m sorry, I don’t see how it’s relevant.’
‘OK, let me put it this way. Why on earth would I want to appear on TV, so that even more people can see my scars? Don’t you think it’s hard enough for me, just walking down the street?’
It was meant to be the ultimate riposte. Will Gifford spoiled it completely by tilting his head to one side and saying easily, ‘With dress sense like mine, you get used to it.’
If she hadn’t been lying flat on her back, Kate would have stamped her foot.
‘It’s hardly the same thing, is it? Please don’t try and compare your hideous shirts with my face—’
‘ Yoo-hoo, here we are! Dad’s home,’ sang Estelle, heading up the path with a tray of tea in her hands and Oliver Taylor-Trent following in her wake.
Despite everything, Kate felt a lump form in her throat. Being back in Ashcombe was having a weird effect on her hormones; for a split second she’d longed to scramble to her feet and hurl herself into her father’s arms. But since they weren’t a buggy family and Oliver certainly wouldn’t appreciate getting sun cream all over his Hugo Boss suit, she stood up and gave him a decorous kiss on the cheek instead. The next moment he was briskly greeting Will Gifford, while Estelle fussed around with the tea tray and attempted to tear open a packet of shortbread with her teeth.
Will, welcome to Dauncey House. I don’t think we want tea, do we? Got a bottle of something decent in the fridge, darling? We should raise a toast to an interesting and mutually profitable project ...
and Kate, maybe you’d be more comfortable slipping some clothes on?’
As ever, Oliver had taken charge of the situation, reorganising the family to his satisfaction. As Estelle rushed back inside with the no-longer-required tea and biscuits, he put his hand on Will’s frayed shirt cuff and said, ‘While we’re waiting, why don’t I show you the grounds? Afterwards you can see the rest of the house, then later on I’ll take you on a guided tour of our little town.’