'You've just given me the most marvellous f.u.c.k.'

Rafiq put his hand over her mouth.

'You must stop this horrible language.'

'I don't know anything about you. Why are you so angry?'

'I worry about what will happen to Furious and I am worried about my country. It is more unstable and dangerous than ever as the Americans pour troops into Afghanistan, murder thousands of innocent people and make me hate the West even more.'

'How did you get involved in terrorism?' Amber asked carefully.

'Why you ask these questions?' Suddenly Rafiq was suspicious.

'I want you to be happier. Trust me,' said Amber.

But as he drifted off to sleep again, panic swept her. What if her mother, Janey the journalist, who'd sell any of her family down the river, found out? Imagine the headlines. Oh G.o.d, she must protect him. But as she tugged the only pillow under her head, a photograph fluttered out. It was a lovely smiling picture of Tommy and Rafiq together in the garden. Oh G.o.d, she mustn't hurt Tommy either.

68.

On the day the syndicate went to Wetherby, Woody lost his beloved horse chestnut. The powers of Health and Safety, heavily bunged by Lester Bolton, declared that the tree should be felled. Traces of horse chestnut disease were alleged to have been found which could result in branches falling on unwary pa.s.sers-by.

Henceforth the great tree's candles would no longer light the village in spring, nor the burnished shingle of its conkers beguile the children of Willowwood in autumn, which was an added plus for Health and Safety who considered conkers weapons of ma.s.s destruction. The tree would no longer obscure the CCTV view of the much extended rear of Primrose Mansions. The Major, who, as head of the Parish Council, had backed the felling, could feast his eyes on Cindy Bolton undressing.

A smell of burning logs was softening the night air, as Woody b.u.mped into the Major outside the Fox the following evening.

'At least you'll make a few bob cutting the thing down, Woody,' joshed the Major, 'and I've no doubt Lester Bolton will give you a cut for disposing of the timb-ah. Ouch,' he squawked, 'ow-ow-ouch,' as Woody's long fingers closed round his short, thick neck, squeezing tighter and tighter.

'Don't ever mess with me again, you fat greedy b.a.s.t.a.r.d, or I'll really kill you,' spat Woody. Leaving the Major groping in the gutter for his spectacles and his new check racing cap, Woody stumbled off into the dusk.

This exchange was witnessed by Niall as he returned home from choir practice. He was too shy to run after Woody, but incredibly fit images of him surging up trees in his harness, leaping from branch to branch like Tarzan, had haunted Niall's dreams since Newbury, so he pondered what he had heard in his heart.

Next Sunday's Sung Eucharist was combined with a christening, which meant the church was quite full. Etta was admiring the stained gla.s.s window of Sir Francis Framlingham and Beau Regard so like Mrs Wilkinson and idly wondering if Niall would run out of drink if he had to give communion wine to so many people, when he launched into his sermon. Taking a deep breath, he exhorted the congregation to come to the rescue of one of the village's most beloved citizens: the Willowwood Horse Chestnut.

Instantly everyone woke up, particularly Ione Travis-Lock who, armed with a spade, which she'd left propped against Beau Regard's tombstone, to plant another willow for another local son, had absolutely no desire to see Cindy undressing.

Striding round to the village shop after the planting, she launched a pet.i.tion to Save Our Chestnut, which soon attracted hundreds of signatures.

What tipped the balance, however, was Ione's dropping in on Lester Bolton, his first visitor at the officially renamed Primrose Mansions, and telling him he had upset the people of Willowwood more than enough over the past two years. Their gas and electricity had been frequently cut off while his was installed, the traffic had been constantly held up due to deliveries, the roads wrecked by his lorries, and his workmen, making a din worse than the Nibelung, had prevented mothers ever getting their babies to sleep in the afternoon. If Lester ever wanted to be welcomed as a member of the community, he'd better start by leaving the Willowwood Chestnut alone. It could easily be trimmed back to give access to CCTV.

Lester took it well, placating Ione by pointing out the solar panelling, the rain-harvesting plant, and his plans to install a wind turbine and to lower the wattage on his lights up the drive. Finally he promised not to cut down the chestnut.

An eternally grateful Woody dropped a lorryload of apple logs and a crate of red off at Niall's as a thank-you, but was too shy to stay for an answer. The rest of Willowwood, however, who were gagging to find out what Primrose Mansions looked like inside after two million had been spent on it, were disappointed with Ione when Mop Idol imparted the information that her boss hadn't noticed anything in particular except that Bolton had made out a generous cheque to the Compost Club.

Phoebe and Debbie, who were having a rapprochement because Bonny hadn't, as promised, invited Phoebe to the premiere of her latest film, were delighted when Bolton summoned the Major for a drink the following evening.

'Can't we come too?' pleaded Phoebe.

'No,' replied the Major pompously, 'Lester Bolton wants to talk business with me wearing my Parish Council hat.'

'I bet it's very OK.'

'Very un-OK with Madam Cindy's taste,' sniffed Debbie.

'No, OK as in OK! OK! and and h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo! WAG taste,' giggled Phoebe. WAG taste,' giggled Phoebe.

'Take your camera, Normie, and as many pictures as you can.'

Lester Bolton had taken Ione's sermon to heart. He had also seen the papers and the pictures of Valent, Bonny, Corinna and Seth at the races. He was envious of men like Sir Alan Sugar and Sir Philip Green. Like them, he wanted to be recognized in the street.

He was shrewd enough to realize that even the most cut-throat tyc.o.o.n took on a new persona at the races. Filmed wiping away a tear and hugging a beautiful, panting horse in the winners enclosure, the most ruthless bully could suddenly be regarded as a big softie, and emerge from the financial pages, which women tend not to read, on to the front pages. Look at Valent, the taciturn Tin Man without a Heart, his arm round Corinna one week, Bonny the next. Bertie Barraclough, despite his happy marriage and his religion, was a thug in the workplace.

Lester also wanted Cindy to be recognized as an actress. Fame was the spur. Lester decided to take up racing and invest in some horses.

His first choice as a trainer would have been Harvey-Holden, with whom he'd dined after Ione Travis-Lock's party two years ago, and part of whose wood he had bought and was transforming into an arboretum, but they had fallen out. H-H wasn't good at observing boundaries. Ilkley Hall had nearly run over him and Cindy having a woodland s.h.a.g the other day and when, at the time, Lester had resisted buying horses, H-H had dropped him. Shade, H-H's biggest owner, had cut him dead in the City the other day. Marius Oakridge's yard and the Willowwood syndicate looked more star-studded and exciting, so in March he summoned the Major to Primrose Mansions.

Picking up a video of Furious winning at Wetherby from the pub, the Major arrived to find the last Portakabin had rolled away and not a chip of gravel out of place. He had great difficulty getting in through the electric gates and, in the dim, Ione-induced lights up the drive, tripped over a garden gnome in a bikini.

The Major was in a lather about seeing Cindy again. The two years out-of-date girlie calendar she'd presented to him remained locked in his den desk with the British Legion cashbox. Frequently he took surrept.i.tious glances at August, showing Cindy's thrusting b.r.e.a.s.t.s, or November, which revealed her parted b.u.t.tocks.

He was almost relieved when fat little Lester, wearing an open-necked very white silk shirt and showing off a 'Dearest Dad' pendant nestling in a copse of ginger chest hair, said Cindy was out pampering herself at a salon in Larkminster.

The Major was then given a brief look at the library, lit by a huge chandelier. It contained a vast screen and shelves crammed with p.o.r.n videos, of which he glimpsed a few t.i.tles: Young m.u.f.f, Juicy s.n.a.t.c.h Young m.u.f.f, Juicy s.n.a.t.c.h and and The Naughtiest Girl on the Monitor The Naughtiest Girl on the Monitor. The Major felt he'd like to revisit Lester's oeuvre again and again.

' 'Elp yourself at any time, Mijor,' urged Lester. He led his guest downstairs to a bar, which had leopardskin walls, a huge screen and nude photographs of Cindy cuddling a lion cub, and vast leather sofas like beached oxen, covered in leopardskin cushions.

As the progress of his lifts was impeded by the off-white s.h.a.gpile, Lester clutched on to a lap-dancing pole descending from the ceiling.

'Cindy will give you a personal demonstration one day,' he told a sweating Major.

Also built into the ceiling was the large gla.s.s-bottomed swimming pool whose delivery had held up the minibus on the way to Newbury.

On the bar was the Daily Mail Daily Mail, with a picture of Bonny and Valent at Wetherby.

'A lovely lady, but not a patch on Cindy.'

Lester opened a bottle of sparkling wine.

'I need your 'elp again, Norm.' He rested their two gla.s.ses on the back of a fibregla.s.s nude bending down to touch her scarlet toes and, sitting down, practically disappeared into the folds of a leather sofa.

'I 'old my 'and up, Norm. I've upset the folk of Willowwood, I've stopped the flow of village life. Work at Ravenscroft and Badger's Court 'as been equally extensive, but the properties are outside the village. I want to win over 'earts and minds, engage with the community and send our kiddies to Greycoats. Mijor, I'd like to join the Willowwood syndicate.'

Before the Major had time to express any opinion, Bolton added that he would like to invite all the syndicate to an 'a.r.s.e-warming party.

'Blinis and bubbly. They could bring their cossies, or not,' Bolton winked lasciviously, 'and have a swim in the pool after dinner, or there's a jacuzzi, takes eight.'

Bolton also wanted to treat guests during the evening to a preview of Cindy's latest movie, Little Red Riding Whip Little Red Riding Whip, which had a horsey theme. He put a DVD in the machine and immediately Cindy could be seen tripping through North Wood in a high wind, wearing nothing but a red cloak.

'See, it's very tasteful.'

'Might be a bit racy, ho ho, for some of our members,' volunteered the Major, taking a large gulp of wine to cool himself down. 'Miss Painswick, Etta Bancroft, indeed my own wife' (who was broad of beam but not of mind), 'and of course the vicar.'

'Show it later in the evening then when the oldies have gone 'ome.'

The Major retaliated by showing Bolton the video of Furious winning at Wetherby.

'Everyone is after this horse since that win. Campbell-Black, Dermie O'Driscoll, Isa Lovell. I could see my way to having a word with Marius Oakridge if you move fast.'

'Would the syndicate buy shares in Furious?'

'I doubt if they could afford it. Many of our members are strapped paying for Mrs Wilkinson.'

'Valent bought in.'

'Only because Chris and Chrissie at the Fox pulled out, and Valent wanted to give his share to Bonny as a birthday gift.'

'I'd be prepared to pay well to buy into the syndicate,' said Bolton, getting pushy. 'I'm sure Etta Bancroft could use the money.'

'Etta would never forfeit her share, she's devoted to Mrs Wilkinson,' said the Major with rare asperity. 'If you bought into the syndicate and in addition bought Furious, you would have more clout. Trainers tend to listen to those with the most horses.'

There was a pause.

'So you're not cutting down the Willowwood Chestnut?' asked the Major.

'Ione decided me,' said Bolton smugly. 'She was very civil. Stayed over an hour.' Then, lowering his voice: 'Did you know she widdles on her compost every night? Got a shot of it in the shrubbery last night.'

The Major choked on his wine.

'Always wanted to make a film about mat-uer women, Ione, Etta, Corinna, call it The Rude Antiques Show The Rude Antiques Show.' Lester laughed fatly. 'Showy-looking 'orse, that Furious,' he went on. 'Might be the answer. Cindy's going to play Lady G.o.diva, or Lady m.u.f.f Diver, this summer. Furious might suit.'

He refilled the Major's gla.s.s and put Little Red Riding Whip Little Red Riding Whip on again. By the time the wolf had abandoned his grandmother drag role and jumped on Cindy, 'All the better to eat you out with, my dear,' the Major's gla.s.ses had steamed up and his too-long Christmas sweater was proving to have its uses. on again. By the time the wolf had abandoned his grandmother drag role and jumped on Cindy, 'All the better to eat you out with, my dear,' the Major's gla.s.ses had steamed up and his too-long Christmas sweater was proving to have its uses.

'Tasty, isn't she, my old lady,' observed Lester smugly.

'Don't you mind the world seeing, well, so much of your wife?' asked the Major.

'I'm always present during shooting,' said Bolton, filling up the Major's gla.s.s. 'Perhaps you'd like to come along one day.'

'Indeed,' croaked the Major.

'Now, about the syndicate. You've been good to me, Norm. That holiday villa in Portugal is yours for nothing whenever you and your good lady need a break. Might even see my way to making it over to you.'

At that moment, lights flashed on above, illuminating the swimming pool. It was as though the Major's Cindy calendar had sprung into life, and February and March were following January and racing on through the year as a naked Cindy, back from the spa, her pink b.r.e.a.s.t.s, bottom and shaven haven flashing above him, breast-and backstroked through the water. Good G.o.d, there was August and November again ...

'I'm sure we can sort out the syndicate,' he spluttered.

'I'll leave it in your capable hands,' said Lester as he ushered the Major out. 'We'll come and view Furious p.r.o.nto, but I'm not interested unless Cindy and I can become part of the syndicate.'

69.

The Major called a meeting of the syndicate at the Fox the following night, played the DVD of Furious winning at Wetherby and reported the thrilling news that Bolton was anxious to become involved.

Etta was violently opposed from the start. The syndicate was becoming too big and unmanageable, and much less fun since Bonny and Corinna had taken over. She had observed Lester at the Travis-Locks, greedy, predatory, a great fat spider waiting for the flies to come down. If he acquired 20 per cent, as the Major suggested, he could get the Major and Debbie, s.h.a.gger, Phoebe and Toby on his side and vote everyone else out.

Etta had hoped for support from Painswick, but after several weeks working for Marius she was aware how desperately strapped for cash he was. Selling Furious for 100,000 might be one way out of the mess, particularly if Bolton bought other horses.

'Let me explain,' urged the Major. 'Mrs Wilkinson has proved herself a winner and is now worth at least fifty thousand. Therefore if Bolton buys in at 20 per cent, he would have to hand over ten thousand, which would mean a grand for each shareholder.' Everyone brightened. 'The moment he buys in, I'll be able to issue you with a cheque and we'd be saving Marius.'

'Can't think why,' sniffed Debbie, 'he's so rude.' Etta was now the only dissenting voice.

'My dear,' urged the Major, 'Bolton truly won't buy Furious unless we let him into our syndicate. He wants the social standing. We owe it to Marius.'

'And Rafiq too,' said Painswick. 'The poor boy's been crying his heart out, according to Tommy, ever since Mich.e.l.le gleefully reported how many trainers were after Furious.'

'I don't like Bolton, and I think we should check with Valent who's only just joined,' said Etta. 'He might not like Bolton s...o...b..ring all over Bonny.'

'He's too small to s...o...b..r over anyone,' said Alan.

'I talked to Bonny,' said Seth idly. 'I called Valent at home but he's still in China buying some electronic toy factory. Bonny didn't seem too concerned about Lester Bolton. She thinks the syndicate's a broad church. Anyway, Etta darling, Alan and I and Valent can handle t.o.s.s.e.rs like Bolton. And it is the answer.'

'I don't trust him.' Etta was fighting back the tears when Seth put an arm round her shoulder, leading her to the fire at the other end of the bar. He sat her down on the fender and, clicking his fingers to Chris, bought her another gla.s.s of white.

'Darling,' he gently stroked her hair and then the back of her neck, 'it's the only answer. The Major's pushed Bolton up to a hundred thousand for Furious and ten thousand to buy into the syndicate, which'll be a few bob for you and me.

'More importantly, angel look at me, Etta,' he forced her chin up with his other hand, giving her the benefit of his Holby City Holby City sincerity smoulder, 'Marius is about to go under. Poor Joyce Painswick paid the wages out of her own pocket last week.' Then, at Etta's look of horror: 'Rafiq will lose his job and is unlikely to get another, and so will Tommy, and Mrs Wilkinson, the Beau Regard of Willowwood, will be without a trainer. She'll have to go somewhere else and you won't be able to see her all the time, and that will break your heart, darling. And haven't we had fun in the syndicate so far, and we'll have more fun as Wilkie beats everything in sight, and Bolton and Cindy, who I've yet to meet, will provide us with so many laughs. If Bolton wants to throw an a.r.s.e-warming party for all the syndicate and you and I can romp in the giant jacuzzi while sperm whale Debbie frolicks naked in the sunken pool ...' sincerity smoulder, 'Marius is about to go under. Poor Joyce Painswick paid the wages out of her own pocket last week.' Then, at Etta's look of horror: 'Rafiq will lose his job and is unlikely to get another, and so will Tommy, and Mrs Wilkinson, the Beau Regard of Willowwood, will be without a trainer. She'll have to go somewhere else and you won't be able to see her all the time, and that will break your heart, darling. And haven't we had fun in the syndicate so far, and we'll have more fun as Wilkie beats everything in sight, and Bolton and Cindy, who I've yet to meet, will provide us with so many laughs. If Bolton wants to throw an a.r.s.e-warming party for all the syndicate and you and I can romp in the giant jacuzzi while sperm whale Debbie frolicks naked in the sunken pool ...'

Then, as Etta started to laugh: 'Please, darling, Bonny's given the OK. We've got a majority vote, people are only not endorsing it out of respect for you. They love you, and they want you on our side.' For a moment he was serious, then he laughed. 'Goodness, that soliloquy, silly-quoy, was longer than "Friends, Romans, countrymen". Please, darling.'

A log crashed out of the fire, making them jump, and as Seth brushed the sparks off her old tweed skirt Etta melted in both senses of the word.

'Of course it's OK,' she stammered. 'Thank you so much for putting things into perspective. Poor Joyce must be reimbursed.' At that moment Priceless wandered up, snaking his head along Etta's thigh until she rubbed his ears. 'Such a darling dog.'

'I wanted to ask you a great favour. A week's filming has come up, a motoring commercial, marvellous money only problem is it's abroad. Since Priceless adores you so much, could you possibly look after him for me?'

'Yes, of course.' 'Etta could deny him nothing, but quailed at the rumpus it would cause. She leapt to her feet. 'I must go. I've got to make supper for Martin and Romy, they're due back from skiing.'

'Not until you've finished that drink.'