important. She takes up the golf club again.
'And yet at the same time feminine? I don't want to look as though I'm too aggressive.'
Aunt Winnie pretends to consider this but I know she's bluffing because she obviously lost interest in the subject about half an hour ago. I'm starting to bore myself as well.
'The third one then.'
I nod and disappear to get changed. I am inexplicably nervous at seeing the Monkwells again and I desperately want to make a good impression.
Aunt Winnie shifts down into second gear and urges the Mini on to new heights of speed. I close my eyes and try to think of positive things to say during my meeting with Monty Monkwell. I have an awful tendency to say the first thing that comes into my head when I'm nervous. At my first-ever job interview, when asked what I liked to do in my spare time, I completely lost my usual self-composure and said, 'I like to eat toast'. Not very professional.
'Aunt Winnie? Have you seen anything of the Monkwell family recently?'
'I've only seen the pictures of Simon in the papers. Haven't seen the rest of the family since you left Pantiles. You know that Elizabeth, their mother, died?'
'Yeah, Mum told me. Quite a few years ago though, wasn't it?'
She nods and I stare out of the window, lost in thought. Neither of us has been back to Pantiles for more than fifteen years. Although it is only about thirty minutes' drive from Aunt Winnie's house it might as well be on the other side of the world.
Finally we start the descent into the Monkwells' valley, and I mean that in the proprietorial sense as they own everything as far as the eye can see. Little copses of trees and huddles of cottages dot the plush landscape to the left, separated occasionally by low-slung and sometimes collapsing dry-stone walls. I look over to the right and give a little gasp. Like something out of
Jurassic Park
, animals speckle the pastures.
'Deer, Aunt Winnie!' I cry.
Aunt Winnie glances at me in the mirror. It's the only thing she ever uses it for. 'Yes, darling?'
'No!' I lean between the front seats and point off to the right. 'I mean, they're keeping deer now!' It is always a mistake to distract Aunt Winnie when she is driving. We mount the verge, drive along at a thirty-degree angle for a while and then plop back down on the tarmac.
'They must be trying to make some money out of the estate,' I say, ignoring our little diversion.
'Well, Simon is the eternal businessman! Stags can be very dangerous in season though. Wouldn't want to get caught out in the open with one of those.'
I give Aunt Winnie a look. She says the same thing about all animals. Horses, pigs, cows. I think it's because she and Dominic love to see me running like hell on our walks whenever we come across any wildlife. I can never tell whether she is serious or not.
We arrive at the picturesque village of Pantiles. The Monkwells also own all the houses here. I look around me with interest; after all, this was my stomping ground for a few years. Amazingly, the village of Pantiles has managed to remain completely unaltered. My head swivels from side to side as I recognise and remember. The little village shop that doubled up as the post office, where Sophie and I used to haggle with the proprietor over the maximum number of penny sweets we could buy with our pocket money. The village green with its ancient cherry tree. More than fifty years ago the then vicar grafted a pink blossoming cherry on to an existing white one, and every year the core of the tree blossoms pink while surrounded by a halo of white. There's a gnarled old seat under the tree which is known as the wedding seat, supposedly because the tree looks like a bride from a certain angle, and all couples who sit on it are supposed to get married. The fact that you would need to have taken a kilo of the magic mushrooms that purportedly grow in the local woods in order to see the similarity seems to have completely passed the locals by.
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'And yet at the same time feminine? I don't want to look as though I'm too aggressive.'
Aunt Winnie pretends to consider this but I know she's bluffing because she obviously lost interest in the subject about half an hour ago. I'm starting to bore myself as well.
'The third one then.'
I nod and disappear to get changed. I am inexplicably nervous at seeing the Monkwells again and I desperately want to make a good impression.
Aunt Winnie shifts down into second gear and urges the Mini on to new heights of speed. I close my eyes and try to think of positive things to say during my meeting with Monty Monkwell. I have an awful tendency to say the first thing that comes into my head when I'm nervous. At my first-ever job interview, when asked what I liked to do in my spare time, I completely lost my usual self-composure and said, 'I like to eat toast'. Not very professional.
'Aunt Winnie? Have you seen anything of the Monkwell family recently?'
'I've only seen the pictures of Simon in the papers. Haven't seen the rest of the family since you left Pantiles. You know that Elizabeth, their mother, died?'
'Yeah, Mum told me. Quite a few years ago though, wasn't it?'
She nods and I stare out of the window, lost in thought. Neither of us has been back to Pantiles for more than fifteen years. Although it is only about thirty minutes' drive from Aunt Winnie's house it might as well be on the other side of the world.
Finally we start the descent into the Monkwells' valley, and I mean that in the proprietorial sense as they own everything as far as the eye can see. Little copses of trees and huddles of cottages dot the plush landscape to the left, separated occasionally by low-slung and sometimes collapsing dry-stone walls. I look over to the right and give a little gasp. Like something out of
Jurassic Park
, animals speckle the pastures.
'Deer, Aunt Winnie!' I cry.
Aunt Winnie glances at me in the mirror. It's the only thing she ever uses it for. 'Yes, darling?'
'No!' I lean between the front seats and point off to the right. 'I mean, they're keeping deer now!' It is always a mistake to distract Aunt Winnie when she is driving. We mount the verge, drive along at a thirty-degree angle for a while and then plop back down on the tarmac.
'They must be trying to make some money out of the estate,' I say, ignoring our little diversion.
'Well, Simon is the eternal businessman! Stags can be very dangerous in season though. Wouldn't want to get caught out in the open with one of those.'
I give Aunt Winnie a look. She says the same thing about all animals. Horses, pigs, cows. I think it's because she and Dominic love to see me running like hell on our walks whenever we come across any wildlife. I can never tell whether she is serious or not.
We arrive at the picturesque village of Pantiles. The Monkwells also own all the houses here. I look around me with interest; after all, this was my stomping ground for a few years. Amazingly, the village of Pantiles has managed to remain completely unaltered. My head swivels from side to side as I recognise and remember. The little village shop that doubled up as the post office, where Sophie and I used to haggle with the proprietor over the maximum number of penny sweets we could buy with our pocket money. The village green with its ancient cherry tree. More than fifty years ago the then vicar grafted a pink blossoming cherry on to an existing white one, and every year the core of the tree blossoms pink while surrounded by a halo of white. There's a gnarled old seat under the tree which is known as the wedding seat, supposedly because the tree looks like a bride from a certain angle, and all couples who sit on it are supposed to get married. The fact that you would need to have taken a kilo of the magic mushrooms that purportedly grow in the local woods in order to see the similarity seems to have completely passed the locals by.
Next to the post
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