Read Page 49

“You’ve been very thorough!” I say, impressed. “You look totally L.A. Has Tarkie done the same? Where is he anyway?”

“Coming. He stopped to look at some special tree variety in the grounds. And no, he hasn’t done the same.” She looks suddenly disconsolate. “He won’t join in. I bought him this really cool ripped T-shirt and cutoffs, but he won’t wear them. I can’t get him out of his shooting coat.”Advertisement

“His shooting coat? In L.A.?” I stifle a giggle. Tarquin’s shooting coat is an institution. It’s made of the family tweed and has about ninety-five pockets and smells of wet dog all year round.

“Exactly! I wanted him to wear a leather bomber jacket, but he refused. He thinks friendship bracelets are stupid and my tattoo is ghastly.” She looks indignant. “It isn’t ghastly. It’s cool!”

“It’s lovely,” I say reassuringly.

“I just thought it would be a chance for him to break away, you know?” Suze’s indignation fades to a familiar anxiety. “He needs to stop moping. He needs to forget about his father and the LHA and all of them.”

“The LHA?” I say. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” She grimaces. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s the Letherby Hall Association. They’re members of the public who support Letherby Hall. They’ve started a petition against the fountain.”

“No!” I exclaim in dismay.

“I know. And then another lot of them have started a petition for the fountain. They hate each other. They’re all nuts.” She shudders. “Anyway, forget about that. Are there any celebs here?” Her eyes dart all around as we walk along the path toward the leisure area. “I can’t believe you’ve started coming to Golden Peace.”

“Isn’t it great?” I say enthusiastically. “There are brilliant groups, and yoga, and they serve brownies.…” I pause at a paved area with bronze bells set into small stone pillars all around. “These are Paths of Serenity, by the way,” I add. “You can ring the bells if you need clarity.”

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“Clarity?” Suze raises an eyebrow.

“Yes. You know. Clarity in your life.”

“You get clarity in your life from ringing a bell?” She snorts with laughter as she pings one of the bells.

“Yes!” I say defensively. “You need to keep an open mind, Suze. It’s, like, a vibration thing. The chiming of the bell changes the rhythm of your inner ear, promoting understanding and resolution and … er …” Oh God, I’ve forgotten the rest. “Anyway, they sound nice,” I finish lamely.

It was Bryce, the personal-growth leader, who explained to me about vibrations and clarity, during my induction session, and I totally understood at the time. I’ll have to ask him to explain again.

There’s a sudden violent clanging all around us. Suze’s children have decided to have a go at bashing the bells. Ernest, who is my godson, is actually kickboxing his, and it’s nearly coming off its pillar.

“Stop!” Suze says, dragging them away. “Too much clarity! Can we get a cup of—” She stops herself. “A smoothie?”

Ha. She was going to say “cup of tea.” I know she was.

“D’you want a cup of tea, Suze?” I say, to tease her. “And a nice digestive biscuit?”

“No, thanks,” she says at once. “I’d far rather have a fresh juice. With a wheatgrass shot.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she says obstinately.

She so wants a cup of tea. But I won’t wind her up any more. She can have one when we get home. I’ve bought English tea bags especially, and Cooper’s Oxford Marmalade and Branston Pickle.

I lead them all to the leisure area, where there’s a café and a children’s playground. Nearby, some guys are playing volleyball, and about a hundred yards away there’s a tai chi class going on under the trees.

“How come they have a playground?” says Suze, as the children all run off to the swings and we sit down at a café table. “They don’t have children here, do they?”

“Oh no,” I say knowledgeably. “But the residents often have their families to visit.”

“Residents?”

“You know. The burned-out drug-addict rehab ones. They live over there.” I gesture at a gated enclosure within the resort. “Apparently there’s some major, major A-list star in residence at the moment. But no one will say who.”

“Damn!”

“I know.” pqdm.com