Sharing a room? thought Molly with alarm. What was this, the girl guides? She waited a few moments to see if a valet would appear to carry her bags in, but when none was forthcoming she reluctantly took her case from the driver and followed Donna around the side of the manor house, the wheels of the suitcase dragging on the gravel. They came to a large courtyard full of blooming terracotta pots, on the far side of which was the barn that had been converted into the Delemere farm store. Molly paused to pop her head inside, drinking in the delicious smells of fruit, flowers and fresh bread. The shop was full of immaculately groomed women in white jeans and smock tops handling misshapen bundles of organic vegetables and loaves the size of Easter bonnets.
‘I think the farm shop has expanded since the last time you were here,’ said Donna, peering in behind Molly. ‘We’ve had to build a private customer car park round the back. It’s getting so busy, the noise was drifting too much towards the manor house.’
‘What a shame,’ said Molly insincerely. ‘However, it must mean that business is booming.’
‘It is,’ agreed Donna, ‘although that’s less to do with our improvements than the growth of the luxury organic sector as a whole. We’re just cashing in on what Prince Charlie’s Duchy Originals and the Bamfords’ Daylesford estate have done before us. But I’m just glad we’ve created something that people enjoy. Something that’s good for them and good for the planet.’
What a crock of shit, thought Molly, following Donna towards another converted barn on the other side of the manor. Donna’s eco-zeal was less to do with a commitment to the environment and more about her grubby desire to get her fingerprints all over Delemere Manor so that, when the time came, her ‘invaluable commercial input’ would translate into a fatter divorce settlement.
‘So has anybody else arrived yet?’ asked Molly as they walked into a big open-plan lobby painted in a palest sage green decorated with vases of lilies and cream squashy sofas.
‘Well your roommate Denise is already here, and Karin and Christina are in room one. And do you know Diana Birtwell? She’s here with her friend Rebecca. But that’s it – as you know, this isn’t a full course, just a dry run for the real thing when we get paying guests in, but Angela Appleby – she’s the course leader – will give you the works, don’t you worry!’ she laughed. ‘Now, why don’t you go and unpack? The introductory session begins in forty-five minutes. You are really going to love it.’
Don’t count on it, thought Molly as she dragged her case to her room.
Donna’s old friend Denise Jeffries was sitting on a thin single bed in a small twin room that overlooked a field of grazing cows.
‘Hi! I’m Denise,’ she said, getting up.
‘Molly Sinclair. I take it we’re roommates.’
Denise was about forty with a head of red curls, a wide mouth and dry-looking skin that desperately needed a facial.
Molly dumped her case on the other bed and wandered into the hallway to find the other bedrooms. One door was open and she saw Karin and Christina changing into skintight leggings and crop-tops.
‘Oh, hello. I didn’t know you were coming,’ said Karin, pulling on a ballet slipper.
‘Can you believe we’re not sleeping at the manor?’ replied Molly absently, still looking around and surveying the property. ‘I feel like I’ve arrived at scout camp.’
Karin pulled a face. It was the first time she had seen Molly since she had sent her on a wild-goose chase to the Villa La Vigie in Monte Carlo. Time, as well as Molly’s dismissal from from the Midas Corporation, had softened the brunt of Karin’s anger but she still found that she could be no more than civil to her.
‘Oh, I think there’s something fabulously Zen about Delemere,’ said Christina, stretching her arms in the air to limber up. ‘Don’t you think it’s such a wonderful escape from it all?’
Fine for you to be slumming it, thought Molly cynically, when you’ve got a yacht and millions of dollars coming your way. In fact, Molly had been delighted to hear that Christina Levy was attending the retreat. If the whispers were correct, Christina’s divorce settlement was shaping up to be a very hefty one, and Molly couldn’t wait to extract as many details from her as possible; she might even be able to sell them on to the newspaper diary pages.
Angela Appleby’s introductory seminar was perhaps not quite the roaring success she had expected, but then she possibly underestimated the effect of announcing that her charges would have to give up alcohol, all stimulants, red meat and men.
‘During a detox, it is best to remove all distractions,’ said Angela in a cheery voice. ‘Your body needs time to heal itself and your mind to become clear. There is a reason Buddhist monks are celibate,’ she added. Having absorbed this bombshell and having been promised that they would all be ‘leaving Delemere on Sunday in a better place’, the six women all adjourned to ‘The Landing’ – the open lobby where a fire had been lit and an organic buffet prepared on a long table covered in white voile.
‘Apparently it’s lights out at 9 p.m.,’ said Christina, sipping at a ginger tea. Molly looked out of the window and saw the sky was bruising lilac as darkness was beginning to fall.
‘I told you it was like school,’ grumbled Molly still feeling hungry, despite the pumpkin seeds and carrot sticks.
‘I didn’t know you were a boarder, Molly?’ said Karin, raising one eyebrow and watching with satisfaction as Molly’s face reddened with anger.
‘Anyway, goodnight everyone. I’ve had a hectic week so I could really do with an early one.’
One by one, the women retired, until Molly and Denise remained alone in The Landing. Molly had warmed to her roommate; she somehow detected a kindred spirit but she couldn’t explain why. Certainly, Denise’s life was the most removed from the other women on the retreat. She had travelled from Esher, where she lived with her husband Neville Jeffries, a scaffolding contractor, and two young sons. She wore no expensive jewellery, except for a large pair of diamond studs which Molly felt sure were just zircona, and her clothes looked like high street. But while Denise was probably the most advanced yoga student in the group, there was something about the lines around her mouth, the creases by her eyes, that suggested that Denise Jeffries had lived a life.
‘Ahh, I love ’em to bits, but it’s great to get away from the kids for the weekend,’ said Denise, slumping back into one of the squashy leather chairs.
‘My daughter Summer is twenty-four, but she still needs looking after,’ smiled Molly, swivelling her legs up onto the sofa and stretching her toes.
‘Wow. I didn’t know you had a twenty-four-year-old,’ said Denise, her eyes widening. ‘Weren’t you modelling back then, not playing mum?’
‘You can do both, you know,’ said Molly wryly. ‘It was just a bit more difficult. I always think how far my career could have gone if I hadn’t had Summer. It was tough seeing girls like Yasmin and Linda take off like a rocket.’
Denise nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, well, you’ve got a daughter though, haven’t you? And anyway, you were successful. My brother used to love you!’ Molly appreciated the compliment, but she could have done without that word again: ‘used’. He used to love you. She sighed.