Page 100 of The Way We Are Now

To: Theodore A. P. Mandeville

I’m assuming, Theo, this isn’t just to wish me Merry Christmas?

From: Theodore A. P. Mandeville

Subject: Re: We need to talk

Date: Friday 12 December 2025 at 22.11

To: Anna Piasecki

Please, Anna, this is terribly important. I can take the train down to London early morning. Meet me tomorrow? Come to the house?

Theo

From: Anna Piasecki

Subject: Re: We need to talk

Date: Friday 12 December 2025 at 22.13

To: Theodore A. P. Mandeville

Holland Park? 1 p.m. tomorrow?

Anna

Even after all these years, my heart continues to come to a standstill, before lurching and racing like a bloody express train whenever I see any mention of Theo Mandeville either in the news or on TV. Both the hall and the estate have continued to be used for filming period dramas, but also, about fifteen years ago, the lake and nature reserve, plus the farms, were scheduled for a series of nature programmes on Yorkshire wildlife and I’d sat, avidly watching each episode, catching sight of Theo as he worked on the land, with the sheep and with a herd of rare-breed cattle he’d introduced to the estate.

Honor Mandeville had obviously been determined to get in on the act, floating around like Little Bo Peep in a bloody huge straw hat and Laura Ashley-type smock, but it was the beautiful, quite exquisite little girl who followed Theo and his dog – Beryl – around the estate, scrambling up haystacks, sitting beside her father on the tractor and fearlessly cantering her pony around its paddock. I’d fallen almost as much in love with blonde little Immi Mandeville as I had her father in Leeds, so many years earlier.

So, on this Saturday afternoon, I check on Mum and tell her I’m just popping out to do a bit of Christmas shopping. She’s more than happy to sit with a sherry and her feet up, watching an inevitable rerun of The Sound of Music in front of the log burner.

‘Stick a shovelful of coal on that, lass,’ she says as I slip on my coat.

‘It’s a log burner, Mum!’ I laugh, throwing on another piece of wood. ‘They haven’t burnt coal in London since the great smog of whenever it was.’

‘Aye, well, more’s the pity.’ Mum sniffs. ‘Just pass me the TV control and that box of Quality Street and I’ll be right as rain. Where’s our Noah?’

‘Catching up with all his mates from school. Always the same when he’s back from uni.’

‘Is he not seeing his dad?’

‘Michael?’

‘Who else?’ Mum gives me one of her looks.

‘Of course. He’ll be popping over to see him and Tania and the girls. I did invite them all over for Boxing Day, but they’re off to Dubai for the week.’

‘Dubai? On Boxing Day? I don’t understand folk. Why would you want to do that in December?’

‘To get away from the bloody cold?’ I kiss Mum, tuck the travel rug she always has with her around her knees, and go to check my appearance once more in the downstairs loo.

Despite telling myself not to get dressed up for Theo, to go round to Holland Park in my usual weekend wear of jeans and sweater, I think, sod it, and am dressed to impress in cream flared gabardine trousers, and a Katherine Hooker brown tweed waistcoat over a Loro Piana cream shirt. Despite loving Hooker’s Italian cashmere and British wool fabrics, as well as the attention to detail in every garment, I can’t take her clothes from the wardrobe without thinking of Fliss and Sara Cleeves. Which obviously takes me straight back to Hugh Mandeville and, of course, to Theo.

I tie the belt of my camel Jaeger coat securely and reach for the brown fedora I’ve taken to wearing recently, angling it on my still dark shoulder-length hair. Too much? Sod it, I think again, and add more lipstick. There, not bad for a miner’s daughter from Rothersley.

‘You all right?’ Mum calls, peering over her glasses. ‘You seem a bit, I don’t know, not yourself. Got yourself a hot date, Anna?’