23
‘I HATE THE A1,’ said Jessica. ‘It always brings back so many unhappy memories.’
‘Did they ever get to the bottom of what really happened that day?’ asked Clive as he overtook a lorry. Jessica glanced to her left and then looked back. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just checking,’ she said. ‘The coroner’s verdict was accidental death. But I know Seb still blames himself for Bruno’s death.’
‘But that’s just not fair, as both of us know.’
‘Tell Seb that,’ said Jessica.
‘Where did your father take you to lunch yesterday?’ asked Clive, wanting to change the subject.
‘I had to cancel at the last minute. My tutor wanted to discuss which pictures I should enter for the RA summer exhibition. So Dad’s taking me to lunch on Monday, although I must admit he sounded disappointed.’
‘Perhaps there was something in particular he wanted to talk about.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait until Monday.’
‘So which picture did you and your tutor pick?’
‘Smog Two.’
‘Good choice!’
‘Mr Dunstan seems confident the RA will consider it.’
‘Was that the painting I saw propped up against the wall in the flat just before we left?’
‘Yes. I’d intended to give it to your mother as a present this weekend, but unfortunately all the entries for the exhibition have to be in by next Thursday.’
‘She’ll be proud to see her future daughter-in-law’s painting displayed alongside the RAs.’
‘Over ten thousand pictures are submitted to the RA every year, and only a few hundred are chosen, so don’t start sending out the invitations yet.’ Jessica looked to the left and back again as Clive passed another lorry. ‘Do your parents have any idea why we’re coming up this weekend?’
‘I couldn’t have dropped a much bigger hint, like, I want you to meet the girl I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.’
‘But what if they don’t like me?’
‘They’ll adore you, and who cares if they don’t? I couldn’t love you any more than I do now.’
‘You’re so sweet,’ said Jessica, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. ‘But I’d care if your parents weren’t sure. After all, you’re their only son, so they’re bound to be a little protective, nervous even.’
‘Nothing makes Mother nervous, and Dad won’t need any convincing once he’s met you.’
‘I wish I had your mother’s self-confidence.’
‘She can’t help herself, dear thing. She went to Roedean, where the only thing they teach you is how to become engaged to a member of the aristocracy, and as she ended up marrying the fish-paste king, she’ll be excited by the idea of your family being joined to ours.’
‘Does your father care about that sort of thing?’
‘Hell no. The factory workers call him Bob, which Mother disapproves of. And they’ve made him president of everything within a twenty-mile radius of the house, from the Louth Snooker Club to the Cleethorpes Choral Society, and the poor man’s colour blind and tone deaf.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ said Jessica as Clive turned off the A1 and began to follow the signs for Mablethorpe.
Although Clive continued to chat away, he could sense that Jessica was becoming more and more nervous as each mile went by, and the moment they drove through the gates of Mablethorpe Hall she stopped talking altogether.
‘Oh my God,’ said Jessica eventually, as they continued down a wide drive that boasted tall, elegant elms on either side as far as the eye could see. ‘You didn’t tell me you lived in a castle.’
‘Dad only bought the estate because it was owned by the Earl of Mablethorpe, who tried to put my grandfather out of business at the turn of the century, although I suspect he also wanted to impress my mother.’
‘Well, I’m impressed,’ said Jessica as a three-storey Palladian mansion loomed up in front of them.
‘Yes, I must admit you’ve got to sell a few jars of fish paste to buy a pile like this.’
Jessica laughed, but stopped laughing when the front door opened and a butler appeared, followed by two footmen who ran down the steps to open the boot and unload their bags.
‘I don’t have enough luggage for half a footman,’ whispered Jessica.
Clive opened the passenger door for her, but she wouldn’t budge. He took her hand and coaxed her up the steps and through the front door of the house, to find Mr and Mrs Bingham waiting in the hall.
Jessica thought her legs were going to give way when she first saw Clive’s mother; so elegant, so sophisticated, so self-assured. Mrs Bingham stepped forward to greet her with a friendly smile.
‘It’s so wonderful to meet you at last,’ she gushed, kissing Jessica on both cheeks. ‘Clive’s told us so much about you.’
Clive’s father shook her warmly by the hand and said, ‘I must say, young lady, Clive didn’t exaggerate, you’re as pretty as a picture.’
Clive burst out laughing. ‘I hope not, Dad. Jessica’s latest painting is called Smog Two.’
Jessica clung on to Clive’s hand as their hosts led them into the drawing room, and she only began to relax when she saw a portrait of Clive, which she’d painted for his birthday not long after they met, hanging above the mantelpiece.
‘I’m hoping you’ll paint a picture of me one day.’
‘Jessica doesn’t do that sort of thing any longer, Dad.’
‘I’d love to, Mr Bingham.’
As Jessica sat down next to Clive on the sofa, the drawing-room door opened and the butler reappeared, followed by a maid carrying a large silver tray, with a silver teapot and two large plates of sandwiches.
‘Cucumber, tomato and cheese, madam,’ said the butler.
‘But, you’ll note, no fish paste,’ whispered Clive.
Jessica nervously ate everything she was offered, while Mrs Bingham chatted away about her busy life and how she never seemed to have a moment to spare. She didn’t seem to notice when Jessica began to draw an outline of Clive’s father on the back of a napkin, which she intended to finish off once she was alone in the bedroom.
‘We’ll have a quiet supper this evening, just the family,’ she said, before offering Jessica another sandwich. ‘But, tomorrow, I’ve planned a celebration dinner – just a few friends who can’t wait to meet you.’
Clive squeezed Jessica’s hand, aware that she hated being the centre of attention.
‘It’s very kind of you to go to so much trouble, Mrs Bingham.’
‘Please call me Priscilla. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house.’
‘And my friends call me Bob,’ said Mr Bingham, as he handed her a slice of Victoria sponge.
By the time Jessica was shown up to her room an hour later, she wondered what she’d been worrying about. It was only when she saw her clothes had been unpacked and hung up in the wardrobe that she began to panic.
‘What’s the problem, Jess?’
‘I can just about survive having to change for supper this evening, but I have nothing to wear for a formal dinner party tomorrow night.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that, because I have a feeling Mother plans to take you shopping in the morning.’
‘But I couldn’t let her buy me anything when I haven’t even given her a present.’
‘Believe me, she only wants to show you off, and she’ll get far more pleasure out of it than you will. Just think of it as a crate of fish paste.’
Jessica laughed, and by the time they went up to bed after supper, she had relaxed so much that she was still chatting happily away.
‘Wasn’t that bad, was it?’ said Clive as he followed her into the bedroom.
‘It couldn’t have been better,’ she said. ‘I just adore your father, and your mother went to so much trouble to make me feel at home.’
‘Have you ever slept in a four-poster before?’ he asked as he took her in his arms.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Jessica replied, pushing him away. ‘And where will you be sleeping?’
‘In the next room. But as you can see, there’s a connecting door, because this is where the earl’s mistress used to sleep; so I’ll be joining you later.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Jessica mockingly, ‘although I rather like the idea of being an earl’s mistress.’
‘Not a chance,’ said Clive, falling to one knee. ‘You’re going to have to be satisfied with being Mrs Bingham, the fish-paste princess.’
‘You’re not proposing again, are you, Clive?’
‘Jessica Clifton, I adore you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I hope you’ll do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Jessica, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around him.
‘You’re meant to hesitate and think about it for a moment.’
‘I haven’t been thinking about much else for the past six months.’
‘But I thought—’
‘It’s never been you, silly. I couldn’t love you any more if I wanted to. It’s just that . . .’
‘Just what?’
‘When you’re an orphan, you’re bound to wonder—’
‘You are so silly sometimes, Jess. I fell in love with you, and I don’t give a damn who your parents are, or were. Now let go of me, as I have a little surprise for you.’
Jessica released her fiancé, who took out a red leather box from an inside pocket. She opened it, and burst out laughing when she saw the pot of Bingham’s Fish Paste. The paste even the fishermen eat.
‘Perhaps you should look inside,’ he suggested.
She unscrewed the lid, and stuck a finger into the paste. ‘Yuck,’ she said, and then pulled out an exquisite Victorian sapphire and diamond engagement ring. ‘Oh. I bet you won’t find one of these in every jar. It’s so beautiful,’ she said after she’d licked it clean.
‘It was my grandmother’s. Betsy was a local Grimsby girl who Granddad married when he was working on a fishing trawler, long before he made his fortune.’
Jessica was still staring at the ring. ‘It’s far too good for me.’
‘Betsy wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘But what about your mother? How will she feel when she sees it?’
‘It was her idea,’ said Clive. ‘So let’s go down and tell them the news.’
‘Not yet,’ said Jessica, taking him in her arms.