Debbie walked out of the garage as the lorry came to a halt outside. She watched as the woman, Laura?, got out of the passenger side.
"Are you sure you're alright, love?" the driver asked after winding down the window.
"I thank you, but I'm fine now," Laura replied, offering him a sweet smile. "Thank you, you saved me."
"Maybe you should call the police?" the driver asked.
Laura shook her head, "No need, but thank you for your kindness."
The driver gave her a final appreciative look before driving off.
"Oi!" Debbie shouted, folding her arms over her thick quilted jacket and coming to a standstill a short distance from Laura.
"Hello again," Laura said, her voice a sarcastic drawl, any previous concerns about her safety seemingly vanished.
"What was that about?" Debbie asked, nodding towards the disappearing wagon.
"Oh, nothing," Laura replied enigmatically.
"What did you mean earlier? Yer know, about this being history repeating itself?" Debbie demanded. "If you know summat..."
"You'll what? Hit me? Call the police?" Laura answered, her voice a sarcastic drawl. "Darling, there's little you can do to me now, I think I'm, as you Brits call it, 'at rock bottom'."
Laura moved closer, her face twisting into a frown, "Your family home, the one Joe destroyed, is it still there or..."
"It's partly standing, what of it?"
"Can I see it?" Laura asked.
"Why?" Debbie asked suspiciously.
"Please, indulge me."
Debbie looked thoughtful for a moment, before gesticulating to a nearby car. She brought the keys out of her pocket and unlocked it.
"Get in."
Coming out of the cafe, Ross stopped, mid-bite of his bacon sandwich and watched as Laura and Debbie got into a car and drove off.
He quickly pulled the keys to Joe Tate's car out of his pocket, running towards the parked car. Stuffing the sandwich onto the seat, he set off after them with a screech of tyres.
-x-
Debbie switched off the engine as she pulled into the yard of what was left of Wishing Well cottage and looked across at Laura.
Her face was unreadable as she got out of the car and took a few steps, gazing around at the sight before her.
Debbie got out of the car and followed her, watching Laura carefully.
"Oh, yes...this is...familiar," Laura drawled, her eyes sweeping across the landscape before her.
Debbie was about to speak, when behind them, a car horn beeped. They both turned to see one of Joe Tate's cars slow to a halt. The window slid down to reveal Ross grinning back at them.
"What do you want?" Debbie demanded, folding her arms.
"Rude!" Ross answered. "Can't a man stop to say hello to two lovely ladies?"
"A man can, but I can't see any around here," Debbie quipped, scowling at Ross.
Ross gasped in feigned horror and clutched one hand to his heart, "Sometimes Debbie, your words, they hurt!"
"Oh, shut up!" Debbie snapped rolling her eyes.
"'Ere, does your husband know yer cavorting around up 'ere with 'er?" Ross addressed Laura.
Laura raised an elegant eyebrow, "Who is this man?" she asked Debbie.
"Ross Barton, at yer service Ma'am" he replied in a dreadful American accent. "Mr Tate's newest, and even if I say it myself, best driver!"
"Idiot," Debbie muttered.
"I'll give Mr Tate yer best shall I?" Ross asked, "And you, Miss America, I'll tell Mr Tall, Dark and Brooding, 'is dinner'll be ready at 6, yeah?"
"I cannot understand a word this man is saying," Laura said haughtily.
Debbie rolled her eyes, "Get lost, Ross!"
Ross gave a cheeky grin and cast an appreciative eye over Laura. He whistled leeringly before roaring off down the road.
Debbie made an annoyed noise, "Absolute idiot," she said.
"Aren't all men?" Laura asked, turning her head to look at Debbie.
"Even Graham?" Debbie pressed, her expression darkening slightly.
Laura looked away, "Even Graham."
A silence fell between them, the wind tousling their hair until finally, Laura spoke.
"I said this is like history repeating and it is."
"In what way?"
"The Grange, Holbeck in Leeds. Look it up. You'll find some of the answers you're looking for," Laura replied and began to walk away. "That's all I can say."
-x-
Ross pulled up outside Home Farm and whistled a tune as he got out of the car. He strutted across the gravel and cast a glance at the Bentley parked up. It was splattered all along the side with sandy coloured mud. He made an annoyed noise between his teeth and tongue and continued in his stride towards the House.
Opening the door he quipped loudly, "Honey, I'm home!"
He glanced into the office and spotted Joe sat at his desk whilst Graham stood by the window, coffee cup in his hand.
Ross dangled the car keys out in front of him, "One car, spotless and full of fuel," he announced proudly.
"Thank you, Ross, nice to see your professionalism is still at its peak," Joe said, not looking up from his computer, but an eyebrow lifting.
"Professionalism personified. That's me!" Ross said, tapping his chest. "'Ere, what the hell's 'appened to the Bentley? I cleaned that yesterday and it's covered in mud!"
"I had an errand to run," Graham deadpanned from his location by the window.
"What? Doing doughnuts in a mud field?" Ross quipped with a scowl. When Graham made no reply, he gave his head a little disbelieving shake.
"Maybe you can get it washed again?" Joe suggested, not looking up from his computer.
"No rest for the wicked," Ross sighed dramatically. "Got the keys?"
Graham turned and tossed them across the room making Ross lunge to catch them.
"Oh, yeah," Ross began, nodding at Graham. "How come I've just seen your missus up at Wishing Well cottage with Debbie?"
Joe paused and slowly looked up at Ross. Behind him he heard Graham move nearer. Heard the clink of china as he set down his cup.
"I have no idea," Graham answered, his voice betraying no emotion.
"Looked proper pally with her, she did." Ross continued, watching Graham carefully. He noticed the involuntary twitch in the man's cheek.
Joe sat back in his chair, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"May I just say, she is one hot piece," Ross continued, "yer wife I mean," he clarified and shook his head and gave an appreciative whistle. He pointed a finger at Graham, "You, my friend, are one lucky man!"
Joe tried to hide his amusement at the conversation, he tried to frown contemplatively, but the smirk kept pulling at his mouth. He could sense Graham bristle behind him, feel the irritation rolling off the older man towards the idiot in front of them. If Ross had noticed, he was paying it no attention,
"I mean," he continued, "I would not be letting her loose around 'ere if I wer' you, there are some men in that village who'd kill for a bit of skirt like that!"
Joe couldn't help himself, "Men like you, maybe?"
Ross attempted to look affronted, "Me? Nah, boss. Nicking another man's bird ain't my style," he paused, "not anymore anyway. Nah, that's are Pete's thing. I'm just saying, Mr Broodin 'ere, oughta watch out, keep her on a tight rope if yer get me drift? 'specially round the likes of those Dingles."
"I'll take it on advice," Graham gritted out.
Joe tried to swallow back his amusement, something told him he should get rid of Ross soon before Graham ripped his head clean off his shoulders.
"Thank you, Ross," he said quickly, offering an amused smile. "If you could go and sort the car?"
Ross gave a cheeky salute, "Aye, aye, Captain!"
He tossed the keys into the air and caught them before striding out of the room whistling cheerily.
Joe turned to Graham, an arrogant look on his face.
"So, what is she up to?"
Graham turned away, his face darkening, "I don't know."
"What shall we do?" Joe asked. "We can't let her get close to Debbie."
"We do nothing," Graham said, facing the window again.
"Really? I'm not sure that's wise," Joe replied. He thought for a moment. "I could call my friend in immigration again?"
"No," Graham snapped. He looked back at Joe. "No immigration."
"Shame," Joe smirked. "I did enjoy watching her kicking and screaming her way into a police van the last time. It was...cathartic."
Graham turned, his face dark and threatening, "You should learn when to stop," he growled.
Joe had the decency to attempt contrition, "I'm sorry, that was...low of me," he said. Leaning back and folding his hand, he allowed a few moments of silence to pass by. "I take it you have a plan? At least, I hope you do."
"We do nothing. She only has a short visa, she will be leaving soon. I'll speak to her again, keep her quiet." Graham was facing the window once more.
"And if she won't keep quiet?"
"She will," Graham insisted, glancing back at Joe.
Joe turned back to his laptop, "She's your wife, you know her better than me. But, Graham," he looked up, his face darkening, "if she so much as breathes out of line, you know what you must do."
Graham made no acknowledgment but turned away once more.
-x-
Ross swaggered merrily out towards the Bentley and shook his head at the state of the car. He got into the drivers side and began pulling on his seatbelt. His hand had just moved to the ignition when he caught sight of something in the passenger footwell.
Looking up at the house to check nobody was watching, he leaned over and picked up the female handbag.
"Well, what do we have here?" he asked the car quietly.
Checking the house again, he rummaged through the contents, pulling out an American passport. He pulled out a purse and mobile phone before his hand landed on the two envelopes in the front of the bag.
Opening the larger one, he whistled as he realised they were divorce papers. Seems the Foster marriage was on the rocks. He opened the smaller one and felt his eyes widen.
"What the?" he muttered as he cast his eyes over the cheque. "Well, well."
Stuffing everything back into the bag, he set the car in drive and roared off.
-x-
"Babe, what are we looking for?" Charity whined, sitting back against her seat at the dining room table in the back room of the bar.
"If I knew that, I wouldn't be looking would I?" Debbie irritatedly replied, scanning through the pages of websites relating to "The Grange" All mentions of this place in Leeds seemed to be from years ago, nothing recent and nothing that would be of any use to Debbie.
"Has it occurred to yer that Princess America was spinning yer a yarn? Why'd she wanna help you anyway? Stuck up Mare..." Charity said, her voice laced with sarcasm and boredom.
"Jealous, mother?" Debbie asked, clicking on a new link.
"Me? Jealous? Of her? Yeah, right!" Charity scoffed, the high pitch to her voice betraying her true thoughts. She rolled her eyes, "OK so she's got hair to die for and her complexion is lovely, so creamy!" She sighed and then grimaced, "American cow."
Debbie shook her head and continued scrolling just as the door opened and Ross sauntered in.
"Oh, what do you want?" Charity groaned.
"Er, a bit of respect, actually!" Ross replied indignantly.
"Yeah, well yer in the wrong place!" Charity retorted with a sneer.
"I've got something I think you may be interested in," he said, dropping Laura's bag onto the table.
Debbie and Charity stared at the bag and then at Ross.
"I'd like to say something positive here, but I don't think it's your colour," Charity quipped.
Ross screwed up his face and sneered, "Ha! Ha!" He gesticulated at the bag, "That's Miss America's bag."
"Where'd yer get that?" Debbie demanded.
"I didn't nick it! Found it, didn't I? In the footwell of Joe's car. She must have left it there after a little...Well, who knows what with Mr Broodin'?" Ross explained. "There's a cheque in there from Joe Tate for 250,000 smack-a-roos! Big bucks! He's defo hidin summat and tryna keep 'er quiet."
"£250,000?" Charity gasped.
"And some divorce papers. Looks like good old Graham is filing for divorce. What a loser," Ross added. "As if you'd divorce that hot piece of skirt!"
"Scuse me," Debbie said indignantly, tapping her finger onto the desk in annoyance. "Skirt?"
Ross rolled his eyes dramatically, "Alright, lady," he corrected.
"Can we stick to the point here, why is Joe paying the butler's wife £250,000? What is he so afraid of that he feels he has to pay her that amount? What does she have on him?" Charity pondered.
Debbie paused, her eyes re-reading the opening lines of the article. "This," she said.
Ross and Charity crowded around her and read.
"No way!" Charity gasped.
"As if," Ross added.
"She was right. This ain't the first time. He's done it before," Debbie said angrily.
"Wait, wait, go back, what's that?" Charity demanded pointing at the screen.
Debbie scrolled up and stopped.
"Compulsory purchase order of 23 The Grange. Current status: Occupied. Resident: Mr and Mrs G Foster."
"He bought their house?" Ross asked.
"Looks like it...Wait, hang on."
"Compulsory order agreement signed by: Graham Foster (son)."
"His parents house? He sold his parents house?" Charity looked between Debbie and Ross.
Debbie scowled, "To Tate Enterprises."
Ross pointed at the following line, "Looks like Mr Broodin's parents weren't happy about it either."
"Demolition date: TBC, current residents refusing to leave."
"Well, this just gets better and better," Charity quipped.