‘Dominic might well be, he’s had lots of practice. All you have to do is oversee things. It’s the ideas that are the important part. And you are perfectly capable. William’s wedding may have been slightly unconventional, but it was a success.’
‘But nobody had to pay.’ Lottie felt herself shrivel inside when she thought about her father’s wedding and just how much the event had cost. It wasn’t just the flowers (most of which had been eaten by the horses), but the general destruction that came when a marquee and trestle tables were used for show-jumping practice. And an awful lot of champagne had been drunk after most of the guests had gone. And the poor Mr Music Man had been a quivering wreck, so she’d sent him home, clutching his laptop, with double his normal fee and a bottle or two to calm his nerves.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that the venue, Amanda and Dominic’s home, had come for free, the whole event would have cost Billy more than he’d paid out for his latest show jumper. She’d also been driven to showering the caterers with gifts, in the hope that they wouldn’t refuse to come anywhere near Tippermere ever again.
‘Do a little gymkhana at your father’s place for practice, dear, the pony club is always up for a bit of support.’
‘No.’ Dom and Lottie spoke together. Both horrified at the thought of chaos that could ensue if dozens of pony-mad children on spirited mounts had the run of the grounds.
‘You’ll think of something. Right, let’s have that drink. I feel much better already.’
‘How about a dog show?’ Pip, who had taken the role of observer, decided it was time to chip in. Elizabeth looked at her as though she had grown an extra head.
‘You know, start small.’
‘Have you ever heard the expression “going to the dogs” Philippa?’
Pip laughed.
‘I’m not convinced that inviting every dog owner in the county to bring their animals to defecate on the premises will raise enough money to fix the roof.’
Dom grimaced. So she did know about the roof.
‘I was just thinking of how Lottie can improve her organisational skills. Okay, if you don’t want people traipsing in and out every day, and you want a big fundraiser, how about a pop concert?’ Pip grasped on Elizabeth’s earlier comment, knowing it would be harder for her to dismiss it. ‘Not that Bob Dildo, or even Sir Bob, will come.’
Dom rolled his eyes heavenwards.
‘I saw that, Dominic.’ Pip was not in awe of Dom in the same way that Lottie was. In fact, she was rarely in awe of anyone. ‘You know, party-in-the-park type thing. If it’s good enough for royalty, then….’
‘Royalty did not exactly have everybody in the front garden.’
‘For the Diamond Jubilee it was Party at the Palace.’ Pip finished triumphantly. ‘As in Buckingham Palace.’ Just in case anybody wasn’t following.
‘Well, you may do it at my funeral, dear, but not before.’
‘It would make a lot of money.’ Lottie gazed thoughtfully at Dom, who was looking his most stern.
‘Charlotte you had enough problems trying to control your father’s wedding guests. How on earth are you going to co-ordinate a pop concert?’
‘Well, there won’t be any horses, for one. And Prince Harry did it.’
‘True.’ Pip was almost buzzing with anticipation. ‘And if he managed, I’m sure you could.’ She grinned encouragingly. ‘He’s nearly as daft as you are.’
‘Well,’ Elizabeth drained her glass and put it on the table with a clatter before levering herself out of the chair. ‘As we’ve all agreed that Charlotte does need to step up to the plate, I don’t think you need me here interfering, do you? I could always move out to the Lodge for some peace and quiet, which I am beginning to think I will need.’
‘You can’t do that.’ Lottie looked horrified, and Dom thought his mother was now going a step too far in her bid to show indifference. She was definitely up to something.
‘Nonsense mother.’ His tone was mild, but she shot him an assessing look.
‘Jolly good! As long as we’re all in agreement. And I did notice how small that drink was, Dominic. Right, I am going to rest my eyes. This weather is very drying. Come on, boys.’ And she was off, the dogs’ claws click-clacking on the polished wood as they followed closely behind.
‘I think Prince Harry had considerably more help than you will get.’ Dom drained the last dregs of the brandy and sat down. ‘And he also has more contacts in the music industry.’
‘I have lots of contacts.’ Pip looked a bit disgruntled.
‘And we have a long-term problem here. One injection of cash isn’t enough.’
‘We could make it an annual event?’ Lottie sounded more hopeful than confident. ‘Like Glastonbury?’
‘I think you need something big to put you on the map, and then you need to capitalise on it. You know, let people visit, or something.’ Pip poured herself another drink.
‘Which is something mother has steadfastly refused to do, speaking of which I better check that she’s okay.’
‘But you never check…’ Lottie stared at Dom, her heart suddenly a lump in her chest. ‘Is there something you haven’t told me? She isn’t really ill is she?’
‘Would she have said yes to you getting involved otherwise?’ His voice was soft and he put a gentle hand on her shoulder, then headed off towards the stairs, tossing an ‘I won’t be long’ over his shoulder as he went. Which made the lump in her chest move up to her throat. There couldn’t be anything wrong with Gran, there just couldn’t. She was the one person who was never ill and never let anything stop her doing anything. Wasn’t she?
‘Isn’t it something all girls want?’
Pip was only half listening to Sam, who had been waiting on her doorstep when she got home. Well, more precisely, waiting in her soft-top car with a dreamy look on her face. When Pip had glanced over her shoulder she’d been horrified to see that Sam was flicking through baby pictures on her mobile phone.
The news that Elizabeth was ill worried her. It was easy to forget just how old Lottie’s gran was as she meddled in the villagers lives, supped her gin and tonics and strode out in her Hunter wellingtons and Barbour jacket. Pip couldn’t imagine her not being around and nor, she imagined, could Lottie.
‘Sorry, what did you say? God, it stinks in here!’ There were many good things about living with Mick, the farrier, but one enormous negative. The smell. Of horses and burnt hoof. And open windows didn’t seem to solve the problem. And then there was, of course, the whole maybe-he-didn’t-love-her thing.
‘Are you okay, babe? You seem bothered.’
‘Bothered and bewildered.’
Sam stared, confused.
‘I’ve just come from Tipping House. I don’t think Elizabeth is very well.’
‘Oh no, not her Ladyship. You two get on so well, don’t you?’ Sam wrapped her arms around Pip in a spontaneous hug. ‘Although she is quite old, I suppose, but the Queen Mum went on for years, didn’t she? And Lady S is, like, related to her, isn’t she? I’m sure she’s got wonderful gene things. She’s not in hospital