Country Plot by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

don’t remember Ma talking about her.’
    â€˜He met her a couple of years ago. Something legal she went to him for, because of the family connection. I think that might have been when her husband died – did I mention she was a widow? He and Rock remembered her being around when they were little – they called her Aunty Kitty – but Ma sort of lost touch with her over the years. You know the way it goes. I mean, we never see any of our cousins, do we?’
    â€˜True. So how did Ma know this cousin wanted help?’
    â€˜It was Michael suggested it. He’d heard from a friend of a friend that Mrs Everest was thinking of selling some of the contents of Holtby House and needed someone to help with the inventory and so on. I rang Ma and put the fear of God into her. Ma rang Mrs E, Mrs E rang Michael, Michael rang me, I rang Ma again, Ma rang Mrs E again, and now all we’ve got to do is to confirm you’re going, and when you’ll arrive. It was as simple as that.’
    â€˜Wait, wait. You’re going too fast. I need to think about it,’ Jenna protested.
    â€˜What’s to think about?’ Oliver said. ‘Look, it’s live in, lovely house, gorgeous countryside, a little light clerical work and bags of time off to wander about the lanes and so on. You’ll get your keep, plus pocket money, fifty a week, cash. OK, it’s not a fortune, but frankly, there’ll be nothing to spend it on so you can stick it straight in the bank. And Michael’s got her to agree to a minimum of one month. So if you find there isn’t much of a job there, you can spin it out and enjoy yourself. And if it turns out that she needs someone permanent, Michael says he’d be glad if you’d help her recruit your successor, because he doesn’t want the old girl to get ripped off, or end up with some complete bastard living in her house.’
    â€˜He likes her, then?’ Sybil said. ‘He wouldn’t be worried if he didn’t think she was nice.’
    â€˜He says she’s quite a character. He thinks Jenna would get on well with her. Come on now, Jen, what do you say? Isn’t it the perfect solution? A real holiday in the country, with a little light work to keep you from getting bored.’
    â€˜And as long as no one tells me where Holtby is,’ Sybil added happily, ‘I’ll be able to tell Patrick I’ve no idea where you are.’
    Patrick! Jenna had forgotten about him for a blissful moment. Memories came crowding back in. She needed to get away. It was too easy to think about him here in London.
    â€˜In any case, even if you don’t like it, it’s only a month,’ Oliver said. ‘You can put up with that. But you’ll probably have a whale of a time.’
    â€˜I’ll do it,’ Jenna said. ‘Thanks, Oliver. Where is this place, anyway?’
    â€˜La la la,’ Sybil said loudly, putting her hands over her ears. ‘I can’t hear you. I’m going to put the children to bed. Wait till I’ve gone to tell her.’
    Jenna had mixed feelings about the countryside. When she was little, before her father died, they had had a country cottage for weekends and holidays in the depths of rural Buckinghamshire. She remembered wet weekends, when the cottage had a strange, mushroomy smell about it, and the bed sheets felt sticky with damp. The rain teemed down endlessly from a sky like the underside of a submarine – grey, dark and featureless. It dripped monotonously from gutters and branches and the eyelashes of morose cows in sodden fields. There was nothing to do, the sulky wood fire did little to mitigate the clammy cold, and even the cardboard of the indoor games went soft. Enforced walks were torture, for the mud stuck to your wellies in great joke clumps, weighing down your baby legs until you could hardly get along. You couldn’t even sit down and throw a paddy because the grass was