“I am willing to learn and to help,” said Hyslop. “Please don’t shout at me. Why do you call butterflies Dunderheids? What does it mean ?”
Sir Northcote shook his head. He put his stick down.
“I’m not swearing at you, child,” he said. “It may sound as if I am, but I’m not.” He shook his head sadly. “And obviously butterflies are not dunde… ” His voice tailed off, and it was as if he could not say the word in his normal posh voice. “It’s just a word my Scottish nanny used to say. She called everyone a dunder… well, that word. In fact she called everyone that word except me. She was always kind to me.” He gave a smile and seemed to be looking into the past again. “She taught me to say that word so that I didn’t swear and curse in front of people. If a swear word wants to come out I say that word instead. Dear old Nanny understood and wanted to help me. It doesn’t always work, but it’s pretty effective most of the time, specially if I imitate her accent. It may seem odd, but you’ll just have to get used to my ways.”
“And you’ll have to get used to mine,” said Hyslop without thinking.
There was a silence when she said this, and then the old man began to laugh. It was a funny wheezing laugh, but Hyslop found that she was pleased she had provoked it. He laughed for quite a long time, wheezing turning to chuckling, and then to snorting and head slapping.
“Come and see my butterfly collection, child,” he said. “It’s quite famous, you know. Come tomorrow early. I’m always up and about by seven. Don’t expect food or anything but come and see me. You know where I live.”
With that he headed off in a different direction, pointing his stick and muttering as he went.
Chapter Fifteen
Zak Ponders on the Nature of Beauty
Zak had positioned himself amongst the bracken and brambles behind Keeper’s Cottage patio. He had flattened the nettles so that he wouldn’t get stung, and he had to dodge the bramble thorns as best he could. Some insect had just bitten him on the arm and his knees were itchy and sore with crouching, but the view more than compensated for such discomfort.
There, sitting at the table on the patio reading a book, there in all her beauty was the girl Hyslop. She seemed to be looking at her book, then writing in another book, possibly a notebook, and he guessed it would be about butterflies. Occasionally she chewed the end of her pencil, or ran her fingers through her hair. Her hair, her amazing hair, danced in the sunlight with all its colours. When she began writing, there was no stopping and pondering, just swift, hurried writing as if she could write as fast as she could think, the way a teacher might. Not that you’d want to watch a teacher. No teacher had hair or eyes like Hyslop. Zak watched her hungrily. There was no danger of her spotting him and he could just look and look and look.
After a while she raised her head and peered around her in a puzzled way. Zak had noticed before that if you watched people secretly, some sixth sense told them they were being spied on. They would look around, as Hyslop was doing, but when they saw nothing would return to what they had been doing before. He had chosen his spot well, and knew that he was invisible. The girl looked around her in every direction, and he waited patiently for her to return to her books. Finally she stopped and turned her head in the direction of his hiding spot. She frowned and stared over at the patch of bracken and blackberry where he was hiding. He was confident that she could not possibly see him, but at the same time her gaze gave him a shivery feeling, and he felt all the hairs on his neck and arms, hairs that he never knew he had, stand up like a dog’s hackles. The girl narrowed her eyes, then rose from the table. It looked as if she was about to approach his hiding place, but before she could do so she suddenly whirled round in the opposite direction.
“Hyslop!” A sharp voice called from inside the cottage.
Zak watched as a woman in a shimmery dress came out onto the patio. This had to be the girl Hyslop’s mother, though she did not look particularly motherly. She did not look like anybody’s mother he had ever seen. She seemed shiny and radiant like a film star, one of those people from the magazines Mrs Braithwaite sent over to his grandmother once she had read them. She had to be quite old too if Hyslop was her daughter but she didn’t look old. She didn’t look any age. She didn’t even look real. She was like an adult doll.
“Are you coming to this dinner party or not?” he heard her say in a snappy voice that didn’t sound kind at all. “I mean, personally I don’t care either way, Hyslop, but you are expected, so could you hurry up. I’m ready.”
Hyslop gathered up her book and notebook.
“Oh, God, a book on insects,” said her mother. “I might have guessed. You are not bringing that to the dinner party!”
Well, she might be beautiful, this mother of Hyslop, but she was not a kind person. Her voice had a nasty tone that reminded him of his grandmother on a bad day.
“That’s what you’re wearing, is it?” she asked next. This seemed a curious question to Zak. “You look quite hideous, Hyslop.” Zak felt angry on Hyslop’s behalf when he heard this. He saw the mother’s face more clearly as he parted some leaves, and her expression was a cruel one. She actually looked more scary than his grandmother. It was strange to see such a horrible expression on a beautiful face. Beautiful people should be smiley and happy. After all, his grandmother was poor and old, had never been pretty, and had lots of washing and cleaning to do, so she probably had a right to be grumpy and sharp-tongued. Why did this lady, who was so radiant and beautiful, have to be nasty to her daughter, he wondered. Hyslop was only reading a book. And she certainly did not look hideous. Zak decided that he didn’t like Hyslop’s mother at all. He would definitely take care to keep out of her way.
Hyslop mumbled something that he couldn’t catch, and then followed her mother into the cottage. If they were going to a dinner party he wondered if it was at the big house or at the German woman’s house. That lot often trekked round to each other’s houses to eat each other’s food. Mrs Braithwaite at the big house was a kindly lady with sad eyes, but Zak tried to avoid Mr Braithwaite. He often shouted at Zak, not in a mad way like the old man, but always angry and impatient. Then again, although he wasn’t keen on the German woman, the Scottish furniture maker always had a friendly smile. You couldn’t trust any of them, but some were definitely worse than others.
Chapter Sixteen
A Dinner Party and a Potential Uncle
The one good thing about her mother being dressed up in tight skirt and high heeled shoes was that she could not walk very quickly. Hyslop was spared the usual scowlings and hissings to hurry up and stop dawdling.
“Hey, you two!” a voice from behind them called out, and Sandy joined them on the path to Ilga’s and Malcolm’s house. Her mother and Sandy air kissed and then Sandy gave Hyslop a hug. She had not been prepared for this. It was a proper, all-enveloping hug, and Hyslop felt her whole body stiffen and freeze. She had not been hugged like this since Nonna died, and she did not know how to respond.
“Now then, Sandy,” Vanessa said, linking her arm in Sandy’s, pulling her away from Hyslop. “You have to fill me in again on this set up.”
“Well, Nessie, I know you are used to wining and dining at some wonderful places, but I think you’ll enjoy Ilga’s cooking,” said Sandy. “And their house is pretty amazing too. Not grand, not all out to impress in a look-at-me sort of way, but Ilga’s an interior designer and Malc’s a furniture maker, so everything is unique, lots of hand-made stuff, and somehow just “right” if you see what I mean.”
“Not all arty farty and pretentious then?” Vanessa’s voice was full of laughter, but Hyslop could detect a hint of scorn.
“Oh, no,” said Sandy. “No. Ilga doesn’t like houses to look too perfect with everything matching. She likes to create a welcoming atmosphere, with a bit of clutter and mismatched stuff here and there. She takes a pride in making their house homely and warm. She always says too much money and too much good taste can ruin a place. There’s a German word
she uses. I’ve forgotten it.”
“And Hugo,” said Vanessa. “The famous big city lawyer. He’ll be here this time, won’t he? He didn’t make it last time, and I’m curious to meet him.”
“Oh yes, he won’t miss out on an Ilga supper,” said Sandy. “He and Malcolm actually get on rather well too, despite their different outlooks on life. Malc is very artistic, a real craftsman, but… ”
“Hugo’s the guy with all the money round here, though, isn’t he?” Vanessa interrupted as they reached the door of Ilga’s and Malcolm’s house. “The one with the international reputation in European law?”
Her mother seemed suspiciously interested in Hugo, and Hyslop began to have a sense of foreboding.
“Darlinks!” Ilga flung the door open the minute they knocked. She gave Sandy and Ilga effusive kisses on both cheeks but Hyslop managed to stand clear. She needn’t have worried about being noticed. Ilga was soon gushing about her mother’s dress and appearance, rushing around with little plates of nibbles, and Malcolm poured drinks for them all. There was no sign of either Penny or Hugo.
“Well, Ilga,” she heard her mother saying, as she looked around the room. “I am surprised by your house.”
“Really! Why is that?” asked Ilga.
“I imagined that an interior designer would have a very interior designer-y sort of house if you know what I mean,” said Vanessa. “This is not all matching and perfect, it’s almost homely. Everything is original and wonderful, but it’s warm and welcoming too. You have created a wonderful… ambience… or Stimmung. Is that the word?”
Ilga beamed with pleasure: “Well, that is exactly what I have tried to achieve,” she said. “A welcoming atmosphere! Stimmung! So few people understand the concept. Come with me and see my kitchen. All hand-made by Malcolm to my design!” Saying this, she slipped her arm through Vanessa’s and led her out of the room.
Hyslop looked over at Sandy. Her Godmother caught her gaze and smiled at her in a conspiratorial way. Hyslop felt a connection between them at that moment.
“Have some peanuts, Hyslop,” Malcolm suddenly appeared at her side, almost making her jump. “And a lemonade. I’m having a whisky, but I thought I’d better not offer you one of those.”
Hyslop took a large handful of peanuts. She had hardly eaten all day and was ravenously hungry. She had a sip of lemonade and decided that his comment about the whisky was a joke. He didn’t seem like one of those adults who would try and force her to drink alcohol. On the other hand, it was best to be on guard. Sometimes at her mother’s parties, the Uncles had slipped vodka into her orange juice. They had thought it funny when she was dizzy and sick.
“Can we come in!” called a voice from the door and Penny appeared with a man who must be Hugo behind her.
“Hey, Malc!” said the man who must be Hugo, slapping Malcolm on the back. “On the whisky without me I see!”
“Poured you one already,” said Malcolm. “We’re on Ardbeg tonight.”
“Fantastic!” cried Hugo. He was a loud man, much louder than Malcolm. Hyslop took a step back, as Hugo seemed to take up a lot of space. He took a noisy drink. “Just what the doctor ordered. Or even if he didn’t, just what I’d have ordered.”
They clinked glasses together, then Hugo began looking around him. He took Hyslop in with a dismissive glance, then gave Sandy a quick kiss on each cheek.
“Well, Sandy, where’s this glamorous old school-chum of yours I’ve been hearing about?” he said. “Chickened out of meeting us all, has she!”
“Sssshh, Hugo,” said Penny. “I think she’s in the kitchen with Ilga. Hello, Hyslop, how are you?”
“I’m well, thank you,” said Hyslop politely. She moved back into the corner of the room to keep out of everyone’s way.
Ilga and Vanessa appeared at that moment, and Hyslop watched Hugo closely. She was an expert by now, and she could see by his reaction that her mother’s beauty had literally taken his breath away. She felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.
“Vanessa, how lovely to see you again,” said Penny. “This is my husband, Hugo.”
“Hugo, piacere!” said Vanessa, greeting him in Italian for some reason, and turning on the full headlights of her smile. She said in English : “I’ve been told you speak rather good Italian!”
“Um… hardly,” said Hugo with an awkward little laugh. He seemed less boisterous and confident now. “Don’t know who told you that. I can do holiday Italian, get by in a hotel sort of thing, but… um… that’s about it I’m afraid.” His laugh was definitely nervous . He reminded Hyslop of an embarrassed schoolboy.
“Oh, but I hear you are an expert in European law, Hugo, always travelling round the world, and Sandy was singing your praises as a linguist.” Vanessa’s smile now encompassed Sandy too. Sandy’s slightly puzzled smile in return showed that she probably had no recollection of saying any such thing. “Well, we were sorry to have missed you the other night, when Penny kindly had us over to your house for drinks.”
“Yes, I… um… I was sorry too,” said Hugo. “Tried to leave work early but I think I just missed you all.”
“Missed them by a good four hours as I recall,” said Penny in a loud aside to Malcolm, as she took a glass of white wine from him. “Thanks, Malcolm.”
“Well, if I’d known what I was missing I’d have made more of an effort!” Hugo was simpering like a silly schoolgirl now. Hyslop recognised the scene all too well. Her mother was targeting him, and he was taking a direct hit. He stood no chance. Despite her instant dislike of the man, Hyslop could almost feel sorry for him.
“We are so grateful to you, Hugo,” said Vanessa, her eyes shining with sincerity as she gazed up at him. “You and Penny have been so kind letting us stay in the cottage. Bit of a safe port in a storm for us, but I know it’s a special place for you. Wasn’t it where your mother lived at one time? You must let us know when we have outstayed our welcome.”
“Oh, no question of that!” said Hugo. “Stay! Stay as long as you like. I told Penny it wouldn’t be a problem.”
From Penny’s wry smile, Hyslop guessed that Hugo was not telling the whole truth here. Adults rarely did, she found.
“Well, we shall try and stay out of your way as much as possible,” said Vanessa. “We don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“I assure you, Vanessa,” said Hugo, not taking his eyes off her for a moment. “You could never be a nuisance.”
Hyslop moved into the corner of the room. It was a familiar scene and she had heard enough. She had no interest in listening to her mother flirting and Hugo saying stupid things to her.
“I feel I have found a kindred spirit here at last amongst you all!” Ilga said, bursting in to claim some attention for herself. “Vanessa has a European soul. I do adore you Brits, but you can be so insular, you know!”
Hyslop wasn’t sure what insular meant, but Malcolm clarified this for her.
“Could be because we live on an island,” he said.
It seemed to Hyslop that both Hugo and Ilga were under her mother’s spell. They were being drawn into the Vanessa web, though one was a woman and one was married, which was not the normal situation. Who or what was the target here? There had to be a purpose, but it was unclear to Hyslop what her mother was up to. Was she just toying with these people? Although Vanessa seemed playful and full of fun, her actions always had a motive, a calculated purpose. Malcolm seemed immune to Vanessa’s charms which was unusual, and Penny was polite and aloof, so it was hard to tell what she was thinking. Sandy was the one who had worked Vanessa out in a way the others hadn’t. It must be because they had been at school together. She, like Hyslop, had seen the charm-bombing before.
“I have a suggestion to make, Hyslop.” Once again Malcolm was at her side, offering her a bowl of peanuts. Hyslop took a handful warily.
“We boring adults are going to sit down to dinner shortly,” he said. “Now, of course you are welcome to join us, and there is a place set for you.”
Hyslop glanced over at her mother to see what it was she was meant to do, but Vanessa was throwing her head back, laughing at something that Hugo had said and was not looking in her daughter’s direction.
“On the other hand, there is rather a snug wee room, just across the hallway, with a television,” he said. “where you could have some supper on a tray and make the acquaintance of Miss McKenzie and Miss Hilda McKenzie.”
The snug wee room sounded tempting, but the thought of two more adults was daunting. Who on earth were they, and why were they not joining the dinner party?
“There’s even a laptop in there that you can use,” continued Malcolm. “I hear you like butterflies, so you can look them all up on the internet.”
Hyslop weighed up the joys of a computer to herself with the fear of having to make conversation with two grown-ups who were also going to be there.
“Miss McKenzie and Miss Hilda are our cats,” explained Malcolm, his mouth still straight and unsmiling, but his eyes full of sparkling humour. “They can be a bit demanding, but it’ll just be you and them in there. Away from all of us.”
This time Hyslop did not even glance in her mother’s direction for approval. She followed Malcolm.
Chapter Seventeen
A Face at the Window and the Anatomy of a Bee
Hyslop decided that this was the ideal dinner party: she was having the food but not having to sit with grown-ups drinking and getting loud and stupid.
Malcolm had brought her some tiny pancakes with a delicious creamy topping and smoked salmon, a chicken curry dish with lots of peppers and rice, and then a sort of zingy lemon ice cream with home-made shortbread biscuits. It was not a sensation she was used to, but she felt so full she could hardly move. She flicked through channels and watched television distractedly, then turned her attention to the cats who had been trying to get on her lap throughout her meal.
The Summer of the Mourning Cloak Page 10