by Jilly Cooper
‘I gathered that, several times,’ said Ace.
‘Oh shut up,’ I said. ‘Not in that way. I know he’s your brother and all that, but he’s terribly insensitive towards Maggie. Always putting her down. I couldn’t cope with it.’
‘I hope to Christ they don’t break up,’ said Ace.
‘To lose one wife looks like misfortune,’ I said, ‘but to lose two looks like carelessness. It’s difficult to get anyone to take you seriously if you’ve got two marriages under your belt.’
‘You’re a perceptive child sometimes, aren’t you?’
‘Not about myself,’ I said, gouging crosses in the brown sugar.
There was a pause.
Ace shot me a speculative glance. ‘Pendle’s the one who worries me really. He’s heading for a crackup if he’s not careful.’
‘Ah Pendle,’ I said, tearing out the soft inside of my roll and kneading it into pellets. ‘He only went after me because I looked like Maggie, and he was trying to kick the habit.’
‘You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.’
Suddenly I found I did.
‘He took me back to his flat, and tried to pull me the first night we met. We’d been to a party. I was a bit tight, but when the crunch came he stopped in the middle. He simply couldn’t bring himself to.’
I felt my face going very hot, and took another slug at my wine.
‘It was awful, as though he really hated touching me, like a person making himself pick up toads. I think I knew it was no good for ages. But I’ve always been one to go on watering plants long after they’re dead. I knew I was living in a fool’s paradise.’
‘Better than no paradise at all,’ said Ace. ‘He must have given you a hard time. I’m sorry.’
‘Wasn’t much fun, but in a way it was such a nightmare during, that afterwards hasn’t been nearly so bad. Like the Red Queen pricking her finger — pain first, prick afterwards.’
‘Pricks don’t seem to have had much to do with it,’ said Ace. ‘I’m going to have a large brandy. Would you like one too?’
Later we wandered for miles along the shingle, the waves booming, the seagulls circling and complaining overhead. I suddenly looked at Ace — angular features softened, black hair slightly ruffled, suntan whipped up by the wind — and my stomach disappeared.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Oh,’ I stammered, ‘I was just thinking how nice it is, and how I don’t want to go back to work and my horrid old boss.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Quite old,’ I said without thinking. ‘He must be thirty,’ and then realized what I’d said. ‘I mean I only called him my old boss, like some people call their wives their old woman — when they’re not old, I mean.’
‘I see,’ said Ace dryly.
When we got back to the car, we looked out to sea for a minute. Please God, make him kiss me, I prayed. I’ll behave well for at least a year. God wasn’t listening. Ace lit a cigarette.
‘I came here with Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘not long before she died. It was a bitterly cold day. She used to feel the cold. I kept giving her pairs of gloves, but she always lost them. She had a whole drawer full of single gloves because she couldn’t bear to throw away anything I’d given her.’
I found my eyes filling with tears.
‘Does it still hurt — all the time?’
‘It gets better — then one has terrible jabs like a war wound. It’s pretty good hell being a “widower”.’ I could feel him carefully putting quotes around the word. ‘Depression makes you lousy company. When you meet old mates you’re reminded of previous times when you were together. You avoid happily married couples — you can’t stand the togetherness. And you can feel yourself projecting your bitterness and indifference on to everyone else. However sympathetic people are, there’s something humiliating about disaster. You always feel yourself being pitied or patronized.’
The dark eyes were brooding beneath the thick brows. What a splendidly strong face he had. He was not at all like the person I first thought — much more complicated and, though he didn’t realize it, much more vulnerable.
‘One feels guilty, too, about forgetting.’
‘But you can’t give up women for good,’ I said.
‘I don’t — it’s been two years now. Casual affairs are all right. But when you’ve had the sort of thing Elizabeth and I had casual affairs aren’t really enough. On the other hand one feels guilty about becoming totally committed to someone else.’
He threw his cigarette out of the window and started up the car. It had suddenly got much, much colder. An apricot sun was firing the pine trees as we drove home. Some Pole was playing Chopin Nocturnes on the car wireless. Suddenly a black and white bird flashed across the road; it was a magpie. One for sorrow, two for joy. I looked frantically round for its mate. I’d had enough unhappiness recently, but there was no sight of another one.
‘Not too tired?’ he said.
‘I feel marvellous.’
‘We’ll stop soon for a drink.’
An hour later I sat in a happy stupor, drinking a huge dry martini.
‘Thank you for a heavenly day,’ I said.
Ace smiled. ‘It’s not over yet. The food’s good here. Would you like to stop for dinner?’
‘Oh, yes please,’ I said.
‘I’ll go and ring home.’ I was expanding like a flower. But my daydreams were rudely interrupted.
‘Afraid we’ve had dinner here,’ he said. ‘A couple of mates have turned up unexpectedly at home — arrived just after we left, and been cooling their heels waiting ever since — so we’d better go back. We can all eat out locally. I told Jack to book a table.’
We drove as fast as possible along the narrow roads, headlamps lighting up stone walls hung with rusty bracken and fern. The wireless was playing Schubert’s C Minor Symphony, and as various sections of the orchestra stalked catlike through the second movement, I tried to fight off bitter disappointment. No cosy tête-à-tête now, just Mulhollands scrapping all through dinner, with two more of Ace’s friends clamouring for his attention, and no doubt having conversations about politics ten feet above my head. Ace suddenly seemed very uptight too. The lovely intimacy we’d built up during the day was disintegrating like an iced lolly at the end of its stick. It was all the fault of that bloody magpie.
‘Look,’ Ace said.
‘Are they…?’ I began. We both started speaking at exactly the same time.
‘No, you go on,’ we both said.
There was a pause.
‘Are they nice, your friends?’ I said.
‘You may know one of them — Jimmy Batten. He’s a barrister; knows Pendle, I think.’
‘Oh, I love him,’ I said, perking up. ‘He was prosecuting in Pendle’s rape case. Who’s the other bloke?’
‘It’s a girl,’ said Ace. ‘An American called Berenice de Courcy.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t she churn out best-sellers about raising one’s consciousness? She’s a big star in the States, isn’t she?’
‘That’s right,’ said Ace, slowing down to avoid a sheep.
‘And ravishingly beautiful — “I can support the movement and shave my legs” sort of thing?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Trust Jimmy Batten to have someone like that in tow. I thought he was married.’
‘Not very,’ said Ace, putting his foot on the accelerator.
I wanted to put on some make-up to compete with the formidable Berenice, but there was not much I could do careering along in the dark. I nearly gouged out my eye with my mascara wand, then slapped on the dregs of a bottle of Diorissimo and had done with it.
Chapter Twelve
They were all in the drawing-room when we got back. Neither Rose nor Maggie were looking their best. Rose had obviously had too much to drink and no time to wash her hair. A three-day-old fringe separated on her
forehead, showing up lines, making her look much older than usual. Maggie was sulking and wearing too much make-up. Jimmy Batten stood with his back to the fire, nursing a large gin and tonic and exuding urbanity. He looked less attractive than I remembered him. His camel-coloured casual clothes were a little too tight, and clashed with his now drink-flushed face. His sleek, dapper otter good looks went much better with a dark suit. Jack, just back from the office, already with several large whiskies under his belt, was gazing at Berenice with undisguised admiration. And well he might, because she was ravishing, straight out of the pages of Harpers, with a mane of black hair rippling down her back, a long lean figure, slitty dark eyes, a wide red mouth and a conker brown suntan. She was wearing a black satin shirt, grey suède Gauchos clinched by a black Hermes belt, and black cowboy boots which showed off her terrific legs. And she exuded so much glossy good health she made everyone else look like hospital cases. Goodness, I thought, J. Batten has done well for himself. The next moment she had swiftly crossed the room to us.
‘Ivan, sweetest,’ she purred, taking both his hands, ‘I know we should have warned you, but I got your letter, and you sounded so down I decided to come over myself instead of answering.’
Ace gave a slightly twisted smile, and kissed her smooth brown cheek.
‘You were always one for surprises. I thought you were in Florida.’
‘I got bored out of my mind with sunbathing. Then James phoned from New York, and persuaded me to come over.’
‘Hullo Ace,’ said Jimmy, grinning. ‘I was guarding her from hijackers, honest I was.’
Then he gave me a great hug.
‘Pru, my darling, I hear you’ve been terribly poorly. You do look a bit pulled down. Never mind, Berenice is the health freak round here. She’ll soon pump you full of mega-vitamins and have you right as rain.’
‘Hi, Prudence,’ said Berenice, flashing her great white teeth at me. ‘James hasn’t stopped talking about you since we met.’
She turned back to Ace.
‘How was Venezuela, darling? I read your piece on Sunday. It was terrific. Boy, can you empathize with the under-privileged! And I’ve got finished copies of Brave Nutritional World,’ she went on, picking up a book with a large photograph of herself on the front. ‘They’re already reprinting. My British publishers really zapped out when they heard I was coming. The BBC and Border have already been on, and I’m going to Granada in Manchester tomorrow.’
Ace laughed. ‘You’ve certainly been busy.’
‘Rose-Mary has been so gracious letting me use the phone,’ said Berenice, smiling at Rose. ‘You’re quite right about your family, Ivan. I recognized Margaret and Rose-Mary, and of course Jack, immediately without being introduced. We’ve been verbalizing non-stop since we arrived.’
For a second I caught Jack’s eye and started to giggle, then hastily turned it into a cough.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ said Jack, who wanted an excuse to refill his own. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind, Berenice? She refuses to drink anything but tomato juice,’ he added to Ace.
Berenice smiled and said she didn’t need alcohol, she was ‘bombed out of her skull just meeting Ivan’s folks’. She didn’t seem quite so keen on the animals, giving Coleridge and Wordsworth vertical pats to keep them away whenever they approached her, and fussily brushing Antonia Fraser’s ginger fur off the sofa — and her shirt.
‘I don’t mean to sound pressing,’ said Jimmy Batten, as his glass was filled up, ‘but I for one ought to mop up some alcohol soon.’
‘I’ve booked a table at Dorothy’s at 9.30,’ said Jack.
Rose peered at her face in her powder compact, then calmly got a pair of pants out of her bag and cleaned the glass with them. Berenice determinedly didn’t look shocked.
‘You can count me out,’ said Rose, putting pants and mirror away and getting to her feet. ‘I’m going to wash my hair and go to bed early.’
‘I’m going to change,’ I said.
‘Are they staying the night?’ I said to Rose as we went upstairs.
‘Yes. Mrs Braddock’s made up a bed.’
‘Hadn’t they better have my room,’ I said, ‘It’s got a double bed.’
‘Oh no sweetie, it’s not worth shifting your things just for one night. Jimmy’s going early tomorrow morning. He can have Linn’s room, and Berenice’ll be sleeping with Ace.’
I clutched the banisters for support.
‘I thought she was Jimmy’s girlfriend,’ I whispered.
‘Oh no, darling. She and Ace have been living together in New York for the past six months.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
‘Of course I am,’ said Rose rather acidly. ‘She’s spent all afternoon, when she wasn’t on the telephone, telling us what a “warm beautiful human being” Ace is. I hope she’s tough enough to cope with him.’
Once in my room, despair overwhelmed me. To be so unprepared. To have no idea I had fallen so totally in love, only to find it was hopeless. And to think I’d been presumptuous enough to imagine that a man in Ace’s class could possibly fancy someone as young and unsophisticated as me. It was ludicrous.
I didn’t cry. It’s funny, you don’t when something really cataclysmic happens. I sat on the bed trembling and dry eyed, clutching the kitten who purred noisily, and grooved the side of its face against my chin.
Desperately I cast around for some kind of comfort, but there was none. No lifebelts, no driftwood, no passing ships.
‘Oh no,’ I whispered. ‘No, no, no.’
There was a knock on the door. My heart leapt. Perhaps it was Ace come to say it was all some horrible mistake. But it was Lucasta in tears.
‘I can’t find my foxy,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve looked for him everywhere.’
‘He’s in the hot cupboard,’ I said. ‘We put him there after he fell in the bath yesterday.’
‘Oh, so we did. Please don’t go away again. I’ve been left with Mrs Braddock all day. I wasn’t allowed in the drawing-room because Bare Knees is there. She said she just loved children; then she kept telling me to go away. Granny says she’s going to marry Ace. I hope she doesn’t. At twelve o’clock tonight, I can say tomorrow’s my birthday. You will stay for my party, won’t you?’
Would I? I was tempted to bolt straight back to London, but couldn’t bear to tear myself away quite yet.
‘Oh look,’ said Lucasta, running to the window.
Snow was beginning to fall. A glistening, crumbling drift had formed on the window ledge. Now a storm of big flakes swept giddily by.
‘Tomorrow we can make a snowman. Oh, I wish I had a sledge.’
I looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection stared back pale and hollow-eyed, with the exhausted gritted-teeth look of a candidate who’s just lost his seat. What the hell could I wear tonight? Ace had seen everything I’d brought. All my seductive clothes were in London, anyway, except for my green culotte dress, which was much too naked, and went too well with my little green face.
In the end I kept my jeans on, and put on a white slightly see-through shirt. Not that there’s much to see any more, I thought gloomily. Then I discovered I’d left my only decent eye-shadow behind in the pub at lunchtime. It seemed centuries ago, when I was happy.
Ace was waiting in the hall.
He’d changed into a suit and a pink shirt. Oh the beauty of those broad pinstriped shoulders, and long, long legs. I could smell his aftershave. I felt faint with longing.
‘Are you sure you’re up to going out?’ he said.
I could read the compassion in his eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ I snapped, absolutely terrified of betraying myself.
Dorothy’s restaurant was named after Dorothy Wordsworth. It had soft lighting, black beams, framed photostats of pages from Dorothy Wordsworth’s diary on the whitewashed walls, and forced daffodils on every table. It was pretty but a bit twee. Berenice, however, absolutely freaked out, standing in the doorway of the dining-room in he
r huge wolf coat, shrieking,
‘My God, I am not ready for this! I am simply not ready for this!’
‘Well if you’re not, I am,’ said Jimmy Batten briskly. ‘Come on, Pru. You go in first. I’ll sit next to you.’
Maggie sat on the other side, with Jack opposite me, and Berenice next to him, and then Ace. So at least I didn’t have to spend all dinner directly avoiding his eyes. Berenice made a great deal of palaver about removing her coat and entrusting it to the waiter, until everyone in the restaurant was staring at us.
‘Isn’t this place just darling?’ she went on, glancing round at the couples in the alcoves. ‘We must come here on our own one evening, Ivan darling.’
She was slightly less amused when she consulted the menu, which took up the whole table, and discovered there were no vegetarian dishes.
‘I forgot you were all on this carnivore trip over here,’ she said. ‘Can you have a word with the waiter, Ivan? They might have some egg plant lasagne or some lentils.’
‘They’re not into all that macrobiotic crap over here,’ said Ace. ‘This is England.’
‘Oh well,’ said Berenice, looking martyred, ‘I’ll just settle for veggies and sour cream this evening.’
‘I’d like an enormous steak, very rare, and chips,’ Jack said to the waiter. ‘And tell the wine waiter to step on it.’
‘We’re not into gourmet tripping any more in the States,’ said Berenice. ‘I just ask people to drop around and take pot luck.’
‘And then dump another quart of water in the lentil soup,’ said Jimmy Batten, spreading butter thickly on a roll.
Berenice looked at him in disapproval. ‘You don’t realize what white flour does to you, James. It amazes me the garbage you British eat. Ivan was living on hamburgers when I met him. No wonder he nearly had an ulcer.’
‘When’s your new book coming out?’ said Jack.
‘In January. It’s being translated into fifteen languages.’
‘It ought to be translated into English first,’ said Ace.
‘Oh starp, sweetest, starp,’ said Berenice, laughing. ‘He’s so vile about my literary style. Being an academic, I’m afraid I’m used to writing for an optimum intellectual readership. You know I can’t believe I’m in Ivan’s home town at last.’