Moonshine

by Clayton, Victoria

  ‘Very good,’ I said, as Kit frowned. ‘Well?’ I looked at him. ‘Why don’t you go?’

  Kit seemed about to say something but in the face of Flavia’s innocent hopefulness he evidently lacked the brutality. He left the kitchen without another word.

  ‘I can’t wait until Saturday,’ Flavia continued. ‘Did lots of people come today?’

  ‘It felt like thousands. I haven’t counted the ticket stubs yet. Will you stir this for me while I poach some eggs?’

  ‘Everything seems to be coming right.’ Flavia stirred industriously. ‘Mummy’s going to be quite well and I’m going to be a waitress. We’re going to make money and Liddy’s in a much better mood than she usually is.’ Now that Flavia had pointed it out I realized this was true. ‘If only Daddy would come home things’d be perfect, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I expect you miss him a lot.’

  ‘All the time. You like Daddy, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Because I can see he likes you. Not as much as Mummy, of course, but I know he does. You mustn’t mind when he’s cross. Often the crosser he is the more he likes someone. He’s very polite to people he hates. Once I saw him looking at you and he looked really fierce.’

  It seemed I was surrounded by Argus-eyed observers, possessed of the wisdom of Solomon.

  During dinner my headache developed into a blinding migraine. But not before I had seen that Kit met all Violet’s attempts to flirt with him with a pontiff-like gravity. By the time I served the Norwegian cream, which would have been much nicer could I have laid my hands on a pot of apricot jam instead of the so-called strawberry preserve filled with woody pips that was all Dicky Dooley offered, Violet was downcast and inclined to be petulant. Primed by Flavia’s remarks earlier I also noticed that Liddy was in a state of ill-concealed excitement. She slipped away from the table the moment she had finished her share of the pudding. When I went to the kitchen to wash up I found that every trace of the remnants of the three courses and half a truckle of cheddar had disappeared.

  I stood on the platform at Williamsbridge station the next evening, searching the onrushing crowd for signs of Jasmine. An elegantly gloved hand was raised above the throng.

  ‘Bobbie, Bobbie! My heart’s broken! I shall never be able to love anyone again!’

  I was enveloped in fur and Mitsouko. Jasmine’s make-up was streaked with tears. She wore a full-length mink coat and her thick black hair was fastened up into a knot stuck with large tortoiseshell pins. Behind her a porter struggled with three large matching suitcases.

  I took her vanity case in one hand and tucked my other hand under her arm. ‘I know the end of an affair feels like the end of the world at first. But I promise you, the misery will go.’

  ‘But I’m not like you, Bobbie.’ Jasmine’s eyes continued to drip tears. ‘I’m not strong and clever. I haven’t any self-control. Teddy always said he liked that. It made me uninhibited in bed, you see.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ I saw we were attracting attention. ‘We’ll talk about it in the car going home. Come on, we’ll have to run, it’s simply pouring.’

  ‘I’ll try, darling.’ Jasmine’s mouth was a pout of misery. ‘But I’m not very good at running.’

  Certainly the five-inch heels of her red shoes did nothing to help whatever athleticism she may have possessed.

  ‘Get in.’ I hurled the vanity case into the back of the Morris Traveller, tipped the porter and threw myself into the driving seat.

  ‘What a funny little car. It’s like a toy. Are your people awfully poor?’

  ‘They certainly aren’t rich. That’s why we’ve applied for a grant. To get the roof mended.’

  ‘Sort of social assistance or whatever it’s called, do you mean? Oh dear, how sad. Well, I shan’t cost them a thing. I’ve sold the diamond bracelet Teddy gave me and I’ve tons of money. I shall buy them something nice to cheer them up.’

  I heard a brighter note in Jasmine’s voice at the prospect of present-giving. Naturally she could have no idea what Curraghcourt was like because our telephone conversations had dealt almost exclusively with the progress of her relationship with Teddy. ‘It’s a kind thought but you may not find it that easy to find something desirable in this part of the world.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean luxuries, darling. If they can’t afford to mend their roof they’ll be grateful to have something quite ordinary like cashmere bed-socks or handmade chocolates, don’t you think?’ She leaned forward to peer through the arcs made by the windscreen wipers. ‘When will we reach the town? Perhaps I could get something in Williams-what’s-it. I didn’t have time to shop before I left.’

  ‘That was Williamsbridge.’

  ‘No! But it was hardly a town at all. Are we coming to somewhere bigger soon?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Everywhere gets even smaller from now on. What’s the matter?’

  Jasmine had given a faint scream. ‘It’s so dark. All the lights have gone out!’

  ‘This is the country.’

  ‘You mean there aren’t street lamps?’

  ‘Nothing but the moon and stars.’

  ‘How peculiar. Even in Middlesex there’s street lighting.’

  She screamed again, louder.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Eyes. Glaring. In those shrubs. I hate shrubberies. Enfield is full of them.’

  ‘It’s a hedge, Jazzy. Don’t worry. It was just a cat. Or a fox.’

  ‘I’m absolutely terrified of them.’

  ‘Foxes are timid creatures, really.’

  ‘Not foxes. Cats.’

  At least, I reflected, Constance need not be concerned that Jasmine would have nothing to occupy her mind during her stay at Curraghcourt.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘I can peel potatoes,’ said Jasmine with simple pride on seeing me drag a sack from the larder. Then she looked sad. ‘Teddy taught me.’

  Jasmine had been at Curraghcourt for several days now and the family circle had expanded to include her as comfortably as though she had been born and bred there. That was the way of the house. This is not to say that she herself felt like a native. Her body was in Connemara but her thoughts were all the time in Canonbury. Everything reminded her of Teddy.

  When I had brought her in through the front door of Curraghcourt on her first evening she had looked at the vaulted ceiling, the magnificent fireplace, the sedan chair and the suit of armour and said with a heartbroken sigh, ‘Teddy would have loved this! We took his children to Warwick Castle once and Teddy enjoyed it more than they did.’ She looked at the swords and daggers and battle-axes and said, ‘How lovely,’ with an obvious lack of conviction. The giant elkhorn antlers had provoked a silent shudder.

  When I showed her the drawing room she said that yellow was Teddy’s favourite colour and when I took her up to her bedroom she said that Teddy had always maintained it was healthier to sleep in a cold room but she herself liked it hot enough to be able to walk around without any clothes on. On hearing this I had begged her to wear at least a nightdress as her room had a large window and the grounds were filled with sex-hungry men.

  ‘Really, Bobbie?’ She had looked at me with questioning eyes. ‘Aren’t there any girls for the poor things to make love to?’

  ‘This is a Catholic country where sex outside marriage is considered sinful.’

  ‘That’s so-o-o sad.’

  ‘Of course it goes on but not as frequently and uninhibitedly as in England. And there’s no contraception so the price to be paid is not only hell-fire for eternity but hell on earth as well. At least for the girls.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’ Jasmine thought about this for some time before saying, ‘Teddy wouldn’t like that!’

  It was not long before I could happily have rowed Teddy, bound and gagged, into the middle of the lake and dropped him overboard.

  I had thought I knew Jazzy pretty well but I had been surprised to discover how many aspects of life at Curraghcourt were
terrifying to her. When she had seen a small spider in the hall she had shrieked so loudly that I had dropped her cases in fright. In the dining room Jasmine had yelped and leaped from her chair on seeing a man peering in through the window. I explained that he was on his way to see Timsy and had looked in out of mere curiosity, but for the rest of dinner Jasmine’s eyes roamed continuously between the window and a speck of damp on the ceiling which she thought she had seen moving. A brief power-cut provoked a bloodcurdling screech of terror and made Eugene spill his glass of red wine over his trousers.

  But as a guest Jasmine made up for these slight imperfections in several ways. For one thing she was soft-hearted and amiable and charming to everyone. And for another she proved to be a star in the tea-room. She was so eager to oblige that the visitors easily forgave any muddles with orders and so pretty that half of them – the male half, naturally – would have been content to starve and thirst as long as they could watch her tripping about the granary in her apron, short black leather skirt and red high heels.

  Even Pegeen and Katty fell under her spell when she quickly became as addicted to Hangman as they were. I had several times found the three of them bent over a game when they were supposed to be getting the tea-room ready for the onslaught of coach-weary customers. Timsy was the only member of the household who regarded Jasmine with suspicion verging on hostility. He was clearly frightened by her Eurasian looks, which spelled a blatant but sophisticated sexuality, not at all the same thing as Francie Synge’s reasonably priced availability and reassuring quantities of body hair.

  ‘Surely I could peel those potatoes for you?’ Jasmine persisted. ‘I shall feel I’m just in the way if you won’t let me.’

  ‘What you bring in, in tips alone, makes your presence thoroughly desirable,’ I said. Seeing that her beautiful black oriental eyes were beseeching I gave her a knife, a saucepan and the bowl of turnips. ‘Be careful, it’s sharp.’

  ‘I’m not a child,’ Jasmine said reproachfully.

  She plugged the electric fire she carried round with her into the nearest wall socket and moved a chair next to it. The fire enabled her to take off her fur coat. The second Osgar had seen the coat he had advanced on her, saliva dripping from his jaws. Only the pitch and volume of Jasmine’s screams had deterred him from attacking it. She was unused to animals and it was a pity that this first encounter was likely to put her off for good. Maria, usually the friendliest of dogs, was displeased by the screaming and disinclined to wag her tail.

  Flavia had the good idea of giving Osgar the fur glove Kit had found in the car-park. Osgar was a changed animal from that moment. He licked it and nibbled it and shook it and nudged it along the floor with his nose. He slept with it under his chin and carried it about with him wherever he went, like a devoted parent or, as Timsy said, ‘like a just-whelped bitch, begging the ladies’ pardons’. Provided no one attempted to take it from him, Osgar was much better tempered and even put up with being petted by the visitors.

  ‘There’s mud on these potatoes.’ Jasmine’s tone was querulous.

  ‘Did you get those shoes in Bond Street?’ asked Liddy. From the moment of their introduction, Liddy had cross-questioned Jasmine minutely as to the source of her undeniably glamorous wardrobe.

  ‘New York, sweetie.’

  ‘New York.’ Liddy was silent for a moment, imagining this metropolitan treacle well. ‘I’d give anything to go there. Brooks Brothers, Bonwit Teller, Saks, Fifth Avenue; and, of course, the States have been immensely loyal to the Republic,’ she added. ‘The IRA couldn’t have survived without American funding.’

  ‘Are you feeling quite well, darling?’ Constance looked at Liddy with concern.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘It’s not like you to be interested in politics, that’s all,’ said Constance. ‘Your father will be pleased. He says women can’t expect to be treated as equals if they can’t be bothered to take an interest in the judiciary system, the exchequer and the government of their country.’

  ‘If that’s the case I don’t want to be treated as an equal,’ said Jasmine. ‘I should hate to have to think about laws and taxes and interest rates. It would bore me to death.’

  Neither Constance nor I were quite honest enough to admit that on the whole this was our own view.

  ‘I bet there’ve been plenty of men – poets, artists, musicians – who weren’t interested either,’ said Constance, ‘but you wouldn’t say they were inferior, would you?’

  ‘I used to be bored by politics,’ said Liddy, ‘but now I think they’re interesting. So many thousands of brave men have given their lives in the cause of Ireland’s freedom.’

  Constance and I exchanged glances. ‘You haven’t been talking to Father Deglan?’ she asked.

  Liddy looked indignant. ‘The Church is run by power-hungry sadists, intent on keeping their flock poor, uneducated and voiceless.’

  ‘Please, darling, don’t say anything like that outside the family,’ begged Constance. ‘You’ll upset so many people.’

  ‘Dad says it in front of hundreds of people and it gets reported in the papers. So why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well, it’s your father’s job …’ began Constance hesitantly.

  ‘You mean it’s because I’m a girl. So much for the equality for women you’re always preaching about, Aunt Con. You’re just pretending to be liberated. Between them priests and politicians have got your mind in a vice-like grip. I think I’ll go for a walk.’

  Constance was too stunned to think of a riposte.

  ‘Shut that door, will you?’ called Jasmine. ‘There’s a draught like a tornado. I’ve finished the potatoes, Bobbie.’

  I took the saucepan of marble-sized turnips. Some of the peelings were larger.

  ‘What’s got into Liddy?’ said Constance. ‘Perhaps she’s got a new history teacher?’

  ‘What’s got into Liddy is a boy.’ It was rare that Maud entered the kitchen. ‘I hope not literally, though these days …’ She looked around critically. ‘You seem to have cleaned the place up quite a bit. Not the usual slum of stinks and slops. When I was a girl some of the kitchens in the big houses had a gallery up there’ – she pointed to the ceiling – ‘so the mistress of the house could give orders without having to set foot in the place.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it put you off your food, though?’ suggested Constance mildly. ‘I mean, if the kitchen was too dirty to walk into?’

  ‘We were too busy having a good time to worry about that. Dirt gives you immunity. These days we’re all too soft.’ Maud’s eyes fell on Jasmine who was trying to remove mud from her fingernails with the pin of her diamond brooch. ‘Some of us are nothing more than pampered, empty-headed fools. Violet’s hysterical. She’s refusing to eat. I want some arrowroot to settle her stomach. She seems to think there’s something wrong with her and that the only cure would be several days in Dublin shopping, going to the theatre and lunching at the Shelbourne with some amusing people.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Constance, ‘do you think arrowroot will be an adequate substitute?’

  ‘Of course it’s all self-indulgence. We’ve spoilt her between us. I wish Finn would come back and give her a good thrashing. That’d do more good than anything.’

  Jasmine looked horrified. ‘You mean her husband beats her?’

  ‘Finn never has.’ Constance rushed to her brother’s defence. ‘Not so far as I know, anyway.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ said Maud. ‘It would have done her a lot of good.’

  ‘Teddy liked to be beaten, ‘said Jasmine thoughtfully. ‘But I could never bring myself to hit him as hard as he asked me to.’

  I could see that the turn the conversation had taken had aroused interest from the hearth. Pencils had ceased to draw stickmen. It was a pity because I longed to ask Maud something. I gave her the arrowroot and followed her from the kitchen into the hall.

  ‘When you said a boy had got into Liddy, what did you mean, exactly?’

&nb
sp; ‘I’ve tried to tell the girl to safeguard her market value but she’s as silly as the rest. For the last week she’s been talking like a trashy Republican newspaper so it’s obvious that some man’s filling her head with such stuff. Let’s hope that’s all he’s filling.’ Maud gave her bark of a laugh and lit a cigarette. ‘Cherchez l’homme.’ Leaving a trail of smoke she shuffled across the hall, her head sunk between her shoulders, like Carabosse surrounded by wisps of dry ice.

  I pondered on her words as I unfroze three packets of fish fingers (Sean Rafferty, the butcher, having failed to deliver). I could hear the shade of Constance Spry tut-tutting in the background but I ignored her. I made a beurre noisette to smarten them up, sautéed potatoes, mashed the turnips and made petits pois à la française. The fish fingers were received with such rapture that I asked myself, with the exasperation familiar to housewives the world over, exactly why I bothered.

  While Kit and Constance did the washing up, I made a walnut cake and kept Liddy under surveillance. From the corner of my eye I saw her load a plate with the leftovers from dinner. She glanced about to see if she was observed. I beat butter and sugar vigorously. Liddy cut a slice of bread as thick as a dictionary, then drifted towards the back door. I followed at a discreet distance. Outside rain was drifting against my face like folds of silk. She crossed the yard and disappeared into the barn. Inside, the Flying Irishman, painted dark green with gold coach lines, was glorious in its finished state. Flurry was busy with hammer and nails constructing the sides of the first carriage.

  ‘That seems to be coming on well,’ I said. ‘Have you seen Liddy?’

  ‘No.’ Flurry continued to hammer without looking up.

  A wooden staircase led to the loft from which came a faint glow. I heard whispered voices before I was more than halfway up it.

  ‘Thanks, Liddy,’ said a male voice with an enthusiasm that suggested youth. ‘I’m famished. You’ve been an age.’

  ‘I couldn’t help it.’ This was Liddy’s voice. ‘I had to do my fucking homework. And dinner took for ever.’