The Peacock Emporium(103)

“The main thing I wanted to tell you is that we have permission to convert the barns by Philmore House into holiday cottages.”

Ben shuffled in his chair, making it obvious that he already knew this. Lucy nodded vaguely. Suzanna’s face was blank.

“We think there’s a potential market, and that, with reasonable occupancy levels, we could clear the cost of conversion within a few years.”

“Weekenders,” said Lucy. “Cater for the upper end of the market and you’ll be laughing.”

“And people who want a full week. Less laundry and cleaning,” said Ben.

“My boss says there are hardly any really nice weekend cottages for people with money to spend. He says it’s all plastic cutlery and nylon sheets.”

“Mum, make a note that we don’t want nylon sheets.”

Vivi leaned forward. “I don’t believe they even sell them anymore. Awful things. Used to make you sweat terribly.”

“Ben is going to oversee the building work, and manage them.” Douglas scanned his three children. “He’ll look after the bookings, the cleaning, and the handing over of keys, as well as the money side of things. If he fails, obviously, we’ll have him shot.”

“Which will save on raising pheasants.”

“I’ve got this image of Ben now, running naked through the woods, pursued by tweed-clad bankers,” said Lucy, laughing. “It’s put me right off my lunch.”

“Witch,” said Ben. “Pass me a cheese and pickle.”

“There are some other issues, but I won’t bore you with them today, as I know none of you has much time. But, Suzanna, there was one thing I wanted particularly to mention to you.”

Suzanna sat with her mug of tea in her lap. She hadn’t, Vivi noticed, taken a single bite of her sandwich.

“When I was discussing what to do with the barns, I had a long talk with Alan Randall—you know, the estate agent. He’s told me that the owner of your shop is thinking of selling. We wondered if you’d like us to take a financial interest.”

Suzanna placed her mug carefully on the table beside her. “What?”

“In the Peacock Emporium. Neil has told me things aren’t great for you at the moment, and I know you’ve been working very hard at it. I think it’s a good little business, or has the potential to be, and I’d like to help it have a future.”

Vivi, watching her daughter, saw almost as soon as Douglas started to speak that yet again they had done the wrong thing.

Suzanna swallowed hard, then lifted her head, her features rearranged into something painfully controlled. “You don’t have to do this, Dad.”

“Do what?”

“Compensate me. For our relationship. For Ben’s holiday cottages. Whatever.”

“Suzanna . . . ,” said Lucy, exasperated.

“It’s a legitimate business offer,” said Douglas.

“I’m not being rude. Really. But I’d rather you all stayed out of my business. I’ll decide what happens to it.”

“Jesus, Suzanna,” Ben said crossly. “They were just trying to help.”

Suzanna’s voice was icily polite. “I know. And it’s very kind of you to think of me, but I don’t want any help. Really. I’d rather you all just left me alone.” She looked around the room. “I’m really not being difficult,” she said, sounding curiously poised. “I would rather you just left me and Neil to it.”

Douglas’s face had closed. “Fine, Suzanna,” he said, his head lowering over his paperwork. “Whatever you want.”



* * *



—

    Lucy found Suzanna where she had expected, on the stone steps that overlooked the offices. Suzanna had been smoking, hunched over her knees like someone trying to combat stomachache. When Lucy closed the house door behind her, her sister nodded acknowledgment.

“I like the hair,” Lucy said.

Suzanna raised a hand to it.

“Why’d you cut it? I thought you liked it long.”

Suzanna wrinkled her nose. “Just needed a change. Actually,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette, “that’s not strictly true. I got sick of people telling me I looked like that stupid painting.”

“Oh.” Lucy waited for something more. She reached out and took a cigarette from her sister’s packet.

“Neil likes it,” Suzanna said, eventually. “He’s always liked me with short hair.”

The sky was cloudy, threatening more rain, and the two pulled their jackets closely around them, each shifting as the cold of the stone step seeped unforgivingly through their clothes.

Lucy took a long drag. “Two years since I gave up, and the odd one still tastes delicious.”

“So do the odd twenty,” said Suzanna.

There was something peculiar in her tone. Lucy, changing her mind, stubbed out her cigarette and tossed the evidence behind a flowerpot, as if they were still teenagers.

“Are you going to tell me off?”

“For what?”

“For refusing Dad’s help. Like Ben did.”

“Why would I?”

“It doesn’t seem to stop anyone else.”

They sat in silence, each alone with her thoughts, watching the clouds race across the sky, occasionally revealing the odd game patch of blue.