Page 65 of Lessons in Life

‘That’s very mature of you.’

‘I thought so.’ Sorrel gave a little smile. ‘Now, go, will you? I need to sleep and get better.’

21

‘There’s nowhere to actually park at the restaurant, Fabian.’ I looked over at the stunning eighteenth-century former farmhouse that was The Beech Tree restaurant in Ilkley. ‘Gosh, that is so pretty.’

‘Nearly as gorgeous as our cottage.’ Fabian smiled.

‘Actually, you’re right. They must have been built around the same time.’ I attempted a smile myself, but was feeling sick with nerves at the thought of meeting the arrogant Gillian Carrington for only the second time. Virtually ignored by Fabian’s mother on the one occasion I’d been presented on a plate for the woman’s approval chez Carrington, I really wasn’t ready for another dose of the same.

‘Hang on, I can park here.’ Fabian pulled the Porsche onto a side street. ‘Oh, and there’s Jemima with Bruce.’ I looked across the street to where Fabian’s sister and her lovely new man were alighting their own vehicle.

‘Hi, you two.’ Jemima sprinted across the street, narrowly avoiding the wheels of a Sunday cyclist who swore something unpleasant, before hugging me and then Fabian. ‘Are you ready for this?’ She grinned. ‘Lunchen famille. The four of us under inspection from Ma?’

‘Fabian says your parents haven’t met Bruce yet,’ I said, linking with Jemima’s arm.

Jemima shook her head. ‘No, we’ve both been so busy we’ve not really had a chance to go down south. Bruce went back to his dad’s in Newcastle when Fabes and I went back home for Christmas.’

It was a great comfort to have another outsider in Bruce, whose Geordie accent was even more pronounced than my Yorkshire one, up for inspection at this lunch.

‘Hi, Robyn. How you doin’?’ He grinned in my direction, squeezing my hand slightly, and I knew, despite his being one of the north’s top oncologists, he was as nervous as I was. ‘Come on, let’s do this.’

Roland, Gillian and Julius Carrington were already seated at a round table near the stained-glass window and, as the men stood in greeting, Gillian remaining regally enthroned, Claudia, Julius’s wife, appeared at my side from somewhere. A mirror, probably, I surmised, marvelling at the large, immaculately outlined and lipsticked mouth that surely she couldn’t have actually been born with? Her very black eyebrows formed two perfect arches, her long straight hair was pulled back tightly from high contoured cheekbones and, as she turned to greet Jemima and Fabian, Claudia’s profile now towards me, I could only think of a cartoon cod. Goodness, where on earth did she put those lips when she went to bed at night? Glancing now at her husband, I realised that was probably a superfluous question.

‘Robyn. You are looking more than fabulous.’ Julius pushed back his chair and came forward to meet me, his hand immediately on my pink wool backside, remaining there despite my attempting to edge away. ‘Do come and sit next to me so that we can catch up.’

‘Catch up?’ I wanted to knock his hand from my bum but, trapped between the standing and kissing Carringtons and the edge of the beautifully dressed table, found I was unable.

‘Ah, Robyn, my dear. Do come and join us. How lovely to see you again.’ Sir Roland Carrington was at my side, kissing my cheek and seemingly genuinely happy to see me. ‘How’s life with you? Hmm?’

‘Good, good, thank you.’ I felt myself begin to relax. Maybe the Carringtons were not the enemy I’d conjured them up to be after that one awful meeting with Fabian’s family in the summer? A glass of Sauvignon Blanc down me and I might actually be purring contentedly in the bosom of my in-laws. The thought made me smile and, as I took the proffered chair from Julius – unable to come up with a polite reason not to – Sir Roland patted my arm.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘just let me go meet this young man of Jemima’s she’s kept from us all these months.’

‘A glass of champagne?’ Julius was already pouring me a glass as I sat down beside him, searching across the table for Gillian Carrington, the woman who had made so patently obvious her disapproval of, not only my heritage, but also my West Yorkshire working-class background and my career on the stage. Would she approve any more of my working as a teacher in a northern sink school?

Gillian, tall, raw-boned and red-haired, offered an on-off smile across the white starched tablecloth and cut glass. ‘Hello, dear. How are you?’

‘I’m very well, Gillian, thank you. And you?’ Oh hell, should I have addressed her as Mrs Carrington rather than Gillian? Lady Carrington? Your Honour, Judge Lady Carrington even? Which came first? Lady or Judge? I knocked back the champagne, immediately refilled by Julius, who appeared entertained by my obvious nervousness.

‘So, dear, we meet again on your home territory.’ Gillian lifted a glass of Evian to thin pale lips, eyeing my second glass of alcohol with patent disapproval.

‘Home territory?’ I wanted to laugh at that. Was the woman throwing down a gauntlet? The bell sounding and gloves on in readiness for a second round of confrontation?

‘Oh no, of course.’ Gillian offered a little smirk. ‘You’re inWestYorkshire, I believe? Huddersfield, Bradford, Midhope…?’

‘As well as Ilkley and Wetherby.’ I smiled. ‘Everyone appears to think because Ilkley is so pretty it must be in North Yorkshire along with Harrogate and Richmond.’

At my correction of her geographical knowledge, two tiny spots of colour appeared in Gillian’s already red-veined cheek and I wondered idly if, drinking water instead of the quite delicious champagne that was sliding down very nicely indeed, the woman wasn’t perhaps a recovering alcoholic. Gillian, obviously put out, not just at my presence at the table, but now at my cheek at correcting her in front of her whole family, turned instead to Bruce, who was being introduced to Claudia.

‘You’re a consultant ornithologist, I believe?’ Claudia tinkled merrily, flashing Bruce, not only large doe eyes, but a quite magnificent view of her sumptuous chest, which was totally at odds with the rest of her stick-thin figure.

‘Ornithologist?’ Bruce appeared somewhat nonplussed and then laughed raucously, the sound booming across the table and into the restaurant until Gillian offered up a pained expression in his direction. It gave much comfort to know I wasn’t the only one not to meet with Lady Gillian’s approval.

‘Oncologist, darling,’ Julius drawled. ‘Shame, he’s not – he’d have been well suited to working out what goes on in that bird brain of yours.’

Flushing, Claudia glared at her husband and I felt sorry for the girl. What must it be like to be married to such a horrible man? I thought, not for the first time, how glad I was that he and Fabian were only half-brothers, Gillian having married Sir Roland after seeing her first husband off to an early grave.

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