Chapter 7

Jim seemed about to say something else when a woman in her fifties with hair greying at the roots came over, an ATP lanyard round her neck. She was carrying a tray with teapot, cup and saucer, and wore jeans and a bobbly red jumper, with the collar of a floral blouse showing. She gave me a warm smile. Her aura was a positive one and instantly, I sensed an ally.

Putting the tray on the table next to me, the woman said, ‘Hello, Jim,' in a tone implying she knew what he could be like but tolerated him.

‘Helen, this is Claire, the newbie and my next-door neighbour.'

‘Pleased to meet you at last, Claire,' she said.

‘Hi,' I said.

Looking across the table at me, Jim said, ‘Helen's a volunteer and she does a bit of everything, don't you?'

‘Yes, I've been at Gatley Hall for over ten years,' Helen said, lifting her lanyard, proudly.

I leant forwards, to see the number ten and a big pink star on it.

‘I'm a steward when the house is open from March until Christmas, otherwise I help Wendy with PR. During busy times, I get involved with the gardening too. Last year, I helped set up the staff allotment scheme and planted bulbs in the herbaceous border. Jim's even had me move fallen trees – not single-handedly, I might add – and check on abandoned lambs. Are you going to leave then, Jim, so I can get to know this interesting young woman?'

‘All right, I get the hint,' he said.

‘Do you mind if I take Jim's seat, Claire?'

‘Please do.'

Helen moved her tray to my table, sat down, poured tea into her cup and added milk, giving it a stir with a teaspoon.

‘So, how are you settling in?' she said.

‘It's going okay, thanks.'

Jim stood there, using his thumbs to tap out something on his phone.

‘See you later, Helen. Claire,' he said, throwing me a look. The way he said my name was provocative, and he winked at me over his shoulder while walking away. I couldn't help enjoying our interaction. Miles had no idea how to flirt and didn't know the meaning of the word banter. Without realising, I watched him walk away, studying his firm backside in those khaki chinos. Helen caught my attention by waving from the other side of the table, the corners of her mouth raised in a knowing smile.

‘Everyone likes Jim,' she said.

I laughed. ‘He can be a bit much sometimes though, can't he?' I said, instantly realising, as Helen raised her eyebrows, that I was talking about a colleague and being hugely unprofessional. The caffeine hadn't kicked in yet, and I ought to be more careful on the first day of my new job.

‘Sure, he can,' she said, now grinning. ‘So, you've replaced Mike at Rose Cottage. How is it?'

‘Mike left it in a bit of a mess and allowed Jim to wander in and use the shower whenever he felt like it,' I said.

‘Oh, has he done that with you then?' Helen said, her eyes lighting up.

‘He let himself in, dressed only in a towel wrapped round his waist, and I thought he was an intruder.' I told her about almost knocking him over the head with the wine.

Helen laughed. ‘Sounds like a meet-cute to me,' she said.

‘What?'

‘You know, like in romcom films. I'm a romantic novelist so I know all about that kind of thing. Ooh, might have to use that one.' She took out her phone and tapped into it. ‘My phone notes are full of random bits of information like this,' she said.

‘You're a romantic novelist?'

‘I am indeed. Published thirty-five books with Hunt and Mellor.'

‘That's impressive,' I said. ‘Do they have rude scenes in them?'

She laughed. ‘They're a little on the spicy side, one might say. So, is there a man in your life, Claire?'

‘I recently split up with my boyfriend.'

‘Were you together long?'

‘A few years.'

‘Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear that. I don't expect it will be long before you meet someone new.'

‘I'm not sure I could handle seeing anyone right now.'

‘Fair enough. Jim couldn't wait for you to start working here, by the way. He's a bit of a fan of your father's films, I think, especially that one that got nominated for an Oscar.'

‘The Monopoly?'

‘That's it. I am sorry for your loss, by the way.'

‘Thank you.' Not wanting to talk about Dad once again, I said, ‘I ought to get to the office. It is my first day, after all,' but my attention was drawn to Jim, beyond Helen's left shoulder as he talked to a well-turned-out woman with blond hair knotted in a high ponytail. She was slim and dressed in skinny grey jeans with zips at the ankles and a baby-blue polo-neck, her ATP lanyard resting on perfectly pert boobs. She used her hands to express herself while speaking – her nails were painted a deep-red colour – and she touched his arm every now and again. He clearly enjoyed her attention, his face fixed in a beam.

‘Who's that talking to Jim?' I said.

Helen turned round, as indiscreetly as was physically possible, but Jim and the woman were so engrossed in their conversation, it didn't matter.

‘That's Samantha,' she said, in a tone of voice that implied she was bad news.

‘And what does she do?'

‘She's a volunteer. Used to work in PR. The ex-husband was loaded – he invented one of those fancy hand driers they have in public loos. She lives in a mansion with her five kids – the kitchen itself is bigger than my whole house – over in Winsham. At Christmas, she invited staff and volunteers over for drinks. Champagne was free-flowing and there were waiters with canapés. Rumour has it Jim stayed the night and they've been seeing each other ever since.'

While watching them interact, I couldn't help disliking her and knew that was unfair. I was someone who liked to judge people as I found them rather than from what others told me. But she was all over him and he was loving every single second. Jim's radio buzzed and he lifted it from his pocket and spoke into it. He gave Samantha a wave as he left, and she fixed her eyes in our direction. She started to walk towards us.

‘Oh wait, she's coming over,' I said.

On reaching our table, she leant forwards and proffered a hand. ‘You must be Claire,' she said.

‘That's me.' I shook it.

‘Samantha,' she said.

Helen glanced over her shoulder. ‘Hello, Sam.'

‘It's Samantha, actually. You should know that by now, Helen.'

Across the table, Helen smiled to herself.

‘So, you're organising the Below Stairs exhibition, I hear,' Samantha said.

‘I am,' I said.

‘Well, good luck, and let me know if you need any help. It was originally my project, after all.'

‘Will do,' I said.

‘Jim's got my phone number, if you have any questions. I hear you're neighbours?'

‘Yes, we are.'

‘How cosy.' Samantha threw me a nod before turning and walking away.

‘Why would he get involved with her?' I said. ‘From what you've said she probably uses half the energy in her local area, and he's massively into the environment.'

‘Sex, what else.' Helen winked, and I sensed she'd be fun to hang out with, despite being closer in age to Deborah than to me.

She sipped her tea. ‘Anyway, just a heads-up – she did apply for your job and was extremely miffed when she didn't get it. Almost handed in her notice as a volunteer, but Rosalind persuaded her to stay by giving her a little promotion to make her feel important. Now she helps Wendy with press releases.'

‘Ah, I see.'

‘Of course, you should get to know her yourself before making up your mind, but being someone who would rather like a person than not, she is rather bad news, I'm afraid. She got Larry sacked as a steward when he left the library unmanned while chatting to Sidney in the saloon. This place was Larry's whole life, the poor man is seventy-eight years old.'

‘Oh dear,' I said, standing up and pushing my chair underneath the table. It seemed Samantha was someone to look out for.

‘So, are you looking forward to working on the Below Stairs exhibition?' Helen said.

Pressing the lid onto my coffee cup, I said, ‘Yes, it's going to be interesting, I'm sure.'

‘Nice to meet you, Claire. Let me know if you need anything,' she said.

‘Thanks, Helen.'

Reaching up and giving my arm a squeeze, she said, ‘Really, I mean that. It doesn't sound like things have been easy for you lately, and if you need someone to talk to, just ask.'

‘That's very kind of you.'

Standing up, she said, ‘I'd better get going as well.'

Helen dumped her tray on the trolley by the kitchen, and I threw my coffee cup into the general waste bin, feeling a bit guilty after what Jim had said.

‘At the moment, I'm in the office above the stables with Wendy and the rest of the PR team. Why don't you come to the Old Fox on Thursday night, and get to know everyone?'

The idea of going out with loads of people I didn't know seemed overwhelming, but I could hardly pretend I was busy.

‘Sounds good,' I said.

‘I'll see you then?' Helen said. ‘Bye, Claire.'

I'd need to get out of those drinks and, running through the usual excuses in my mind, a migraine was likely to be the most realistic option.