by Caro Fraser
He wondered, as he took deep breaths of the cold air, what it would be like to own such a place. When he had his tenancy, he thought, then his ambitions would have full rein. Perhaps one day he would have enough money to own such a house, to wake every morning to soul-healing loveliness. He closed the window, dressed, and went down to breakfast.
Friday and Saturday passed pleasantly. Piers and Edward went riding after lunch each day, and Julia and David and Anthony borrowed Cora Choke’s sprightly new little Citroën – ‘just my old runabout’ – and went off to investigate the surrounding countryside. They spent Saturday afternoon browsing round the junk shops of Napley, the nearest town, and Anthony bought Julia a cup and saucer, painted with green flowers. Then they went back to Kepple House for tea.
Edward’s cousin, Anthea, had arrived in their absence, and Edward introduced her. Anthony thought her rather awesome. She was very tall, with slender hands and feet, and elegant, sinuous movements. She had straight, fine blonde hair, which she would flick slowly back over her shoulders from time to time. She said very little, merely gazing with interested warmth at anyone who spoke, and smiling and rearranging her body by way of response. She rarely laughed, although one had the impression that she found most things mildly amusing. When Cora Choke informed her that David and Anthony were in the same set of chambers as Edward, she simply smiled serenely, glancing at all three politely, then shifted her gaze and attention elsewhere.
David was entranced. It seemed to be his fate to find himself attracted to the most incongruous women, all possessing physical and mental qualities which in no way corresponded to his own. When they all went to the village pub that evening, David, spellbound by her snaky charm, tried to engage her in earnest conversation. Her smiling silence was in marked contrast to his frank garrulousness, but he seemed quite happy to receive the occasional murmuring response, accompanied by a gentle toss of blonde hair.
Anthony watched David trying to teach Anthea bar billiards. She leant casually, inexpertly over the table, her indolent slenderness out of keeping with David’s stocky, proficient frame. She smiled always, muffing shots, pushing her hair back.
‘I think he’s totally smitten,’ remarked Anthony, as the rest paused in their conversation to observe them. Julia agreed.
‘She’s not exactly talkative,’ she said, having made a game effort at conversation on the way to the pub.
‘She hasn’t got a lot to say, that’s why,’ said Edward. ‘She’s a very dear thing, but totally dense. I sometimes wonder if her lift goes all the way to the top floor, as they say.’
‘Really?’ said Anthony. ‘I thought all that enigmatic smiling masked a terrific intelligence. I’ve been feeling intimidated by her all evening.’
‘That’s because you’re so self-deprecating,’ remarked Julia. ‘You always think other people are trying to put something over on you.’ Piers laughed at this, although Julia had sounded quite serious.
‘Well, she is a bit mysterious,’ said Anthony.
‘If she’s as stupid as you say she is,’ observed Piers tactfully, ‘she’d make a very refreshing change for David. Have you noticed how he’s always falling in love with really brainy women, and then working himself up into an agony because he thinks he’s got to keep up some kind of intellectual facade? He actually turned down a ticket to the France-Scotland game to go and see some Russian film with subtitles at the NFT that his girlfriend wanted to see. Even he admitted later that it was bloody dreadful. Anyway, she didn’t last long.’
‘They never do,’ said Edward. ‘At least he’s got nothing to fear in that direction from my dear cousin. She’s supposed to be doing some secretarial work for my father at the farm office for the next few months. Poor old Dad.’
The truth of Edward’s observations regarding his cousin’s mental faculties became more evident as the evening progressed, and as Anthea became more talkative. But, however fatuous her remarks, David seemed highly appreciative, treating them as a superior form of wit. The fact that David laughed admiringly at her every remark surprised Anthea a little, but she didn’t seem to mind. Piers seemed, to Anthony’s acute discomfort, to enjoy engaging her in blindingly complex discussions about esoteric subjects. Piers always found other people’s stupidity amusing. Anthony wondered how he could fail to be shamed by Anthea’s innocent, smiling bafflement. He thought, and not for the first time, that Piers was really a bit of a shit.
This conviction grew. After their third drink, Edward announced that he was hungry and that they should all go and get something to eat.
‘There’s a fairly decent hamburger place,’ he said, ‘or there’s a rather poncey little place called Arnold’s that’s just got into the Good Food Guide. That’s your choice, chaps.’
Anthony had already determined that he would not be bulldozed into spending more than he could afford, and said quickly, ‘Well, I can’t afford anything expensive, so I’d be happy to go for a hamburger.’
Julia, glancing at him, agreed. Piers eyed Anthony. ‘Come on, Tony,’ he said in his pleasantly lazy fashion, ‘you’ve got that great stack of notes that we all gave you last night. So you can’t plead poverty. Anyway, I loathe hamburgers. I thought you did, too, Julia.’ Julia said nothing.
‘I think we should all go for a decent meal,’ said David, who thought the atmosphere of an expensive little restaurant might be more conducive to his suit with Anthea than a hamburger joint. ‘Don’t you?’ he said to Anthea, who smiled and murmured something that sounded like an assent.
Edward yawned. ‘Well, I don’t frankly care. If you chaps all want to splash out, that’s fine by me. It’s supposed to be a very good place, or so Mummy says.’
Anthony saw that the matter had been disposed of; once again, Piers had had his way. He wondered how much of it was malice on Piers’ part. He must know, he thought, that Anthony really had little or no money, but he knew that he couldn’t argue against the observation that he did have enough cash on him. He felt he could hardly explain painstakingly to the company that he would need that money to pay off the Barclaycard bill that would eventually come.
But Julia saw how Piers was manipulating things and was determined that he should not have his way. She did not admit to a slight, rankling resentment of the fact that the lovely Anthea was being given the dazzle of Piers’ attention, which she, Julia, was accustomed to receiving as of right.
‘Well, you lot can go off to Arnold’s if you like, but Anthony and I will go for a hamburger,’ she said firmly. Anthony knew he should have been grateful to her for this, but he wasn’t. He could not bear that she should pity him, that she should have to side with him in his poverty.
‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘we might as well try this place. We can have a hamburger any day.’
Julia was relieved. She’d done her loyal duty, she thought, but she really didn’t want to sit in a café with Anthony in a sort of social isolation. If she was at all troubled by the fact that she knew Anthony really could not afford all this, she managed to thrust it to the back of her mind. Anyway, she was accustomed to bathing in the warm glow of Piers’ appreciation as well as Anthony’s, and she was determined to put in a little hard work that evening to ensure that she diverted some of the attention from Anthea.
In the muted pink glow of Arnold’s, each mused silently over the menu. Piers was wondering how long it would take Julia to become thoroughly fed up with the fact that Anthony hadn’t a bean, and dump him. Anthony was wondering whether he could insist that they should each pay for what they had, and whether he could put Len off for a while. Julia was considering Anthea’s earrings and how much she’d paid for them, and wondering how good a judge Edward could possibly be of other people’s stupidity. David was pondering the soft swell of Anthea’s breasts beneath her angora sweater, and reflecting that he could probably see a good deal more of her if Edward stayed on at Caper Court. Anthea was wishing that that tall creep in the yellow jacket would stop talking at her in what he obviously th
ought was such a devastatingly clever way. And Edward was wondering whether to have the mustard-coated rack of lamb or the French duck. The lamb, he thought.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Sunday, Edward’s parents left for a ball in Yorkshire, where they were to stay overnight. Mrs Choke stood in the hallway of Kepple House, expensively attired in a red Versace suit that had probably cost twice Anthony’s mother’s salary for that term, and went through lists of reminders to Edward concerning the dogs, the central heating, the burglar alarm and the Aga.
‘You’re only going to be away for one night,’ Edward pointed out patiently.
‘That reminds me. Mrs Howell will be here tomorrow morning at nine, so make sure you’re up in time to let her in.’
‘Don’t worry. The dogs’ll wake me.’
‘She’ll make some lunch for you. Oh, I hope we’re back before you go,’ she said, glancing round at them as they stood in the hallway to see them off. ‘But I doubt it. So lovely to see you all. Now,’ she said to Edward, ‘make sure that everyone has enough to eat and drink, won’t you?’
‘I’m cooking dinner tonight,’ said Piers breezily. ‘It will be absolutely excellent. Not quite as good as your cooking, of course,’ he added gallantly.
‘Piers, you are sweet,’ she murmured, giving him a light goodbye kiss, a privilege bestowed only on himself, Julia and Edward. ‘I’m sure it will be quite wonderful. Julia, dear, do give your mother my love. I shall be seeing her in London soon.’
They left amid a chorus of goodbyes, and Edward closed the door with a sigh of relief. Everyone sauntered back through the house, uncertain what to do with their day. The spring air was still and unseasonally warm. Piers took a dog and the Sunday Times out to a seat in the garden and lounged there, yawning and listlessly reading, occasionally scratching at the dog’s floppy ear. What a very useful prop a dog was for the upper middle-class male, Anthony reflected. He sat on a low stone wall with the colour supplement and watched David and Anthea make their way down the long flight of stone steps that led down the side of the lawn to the river. David’s voice, the only sound in the spring air, gradually faded as their figures vanished from sight behind the trees.
Edward reappeared with Julia.
‘I’m taking Julia over to the stables at the farm to do a spot of riding. Either of you two want to come?’ Piers shook his head without looking up, yawned tremendously, and turned another page. Anthony said no, he didn’t ride, and then immediately wished he hadn’t said that. Edward and Julia left.
After reading for a bit, Piers threw down the paper and stretched himself out on the long wooden bench, one arm flung over his eyes and his bare feet propped up on the end of the seat. Anthony could now study him more openly than he had been able to so far. He was fascinated by Piers’ arrogance and self-possession and stared at him closely, as though, by some minute scrutiny, he could fathom the man. He looked at the long, ugly face, with its over-prominent jaw and nose that must have been broken at some time. Piers had not shaved that morning, and was wearing extremely baggy old cords and a tattered Aran sweater with holes in both elbows, yet he had still managed to look the perfect house guest that morning as he bade his easy farewell to Mr and Mrs Choke. Anthony considered his own clothing, his best jeans and the checked shirt that he had carefully ironed on Wednesday evening. He supposed that Piers didn’t shop at C&A. Watching him, Anthony realised that it was the largeness of the man that he detested. The long legs, with their massive thighs, the broad chest, rising and falling in the April air, the large brutal hands, one of which was caressing the silky fur at the dog’s neck. The thought of Piers’ great naked limbs enfolding Julia’s suddenly came into his mind, and stayed there like a bad taste in his mouth. He thought of how they had been kissing at Julia’s party, and wondered whether Piers was good in bed. He continued to stare at the long, indolent body reclining on the bench.
He thought of Piers in privileged infancy, taught from his earliest days of his own importance in the world. Of Piers at his expensive prep school, a noisy and precocious eight-year-old. At Harrow, bullying and blossoming and basking in parental admiration, good at lessons, good at games. And all the while, thought Anthony, learning those careful little lessons of privilege. How to ride, how to shoot, how to compete and win, how to talk affably and winningly to women his mother’s age, how to dance properly, the right way to refer to things, people, places. How to feel contempt for people such as Anthony, people without the right background.
And here he was, Piers Hunt-Thompson, lying in the sunshine, apparently oblivious of Anthony. Watching him, Anthony wondered, in a detached sort of way, what it would be like to take one of Mrs Choke’s large Sabatier knives from the wooden block in the big, sunny kitchen, and slide it between Piers’ ribs. The massive chest would shudder, and then cease, to rise and fall no more. The muscles of his great thighs, upon which he rose mechanically and majestically each day in court and which carried him so effortlessly and successfully through his world, would twitch their last. The large hands would caress no more dogs and women.
So dead had Piers become in his mind, that Anthony was rather surprised when he spoke. He spoke without moving his arm from over his eyes.
‘Bit of a bore for you, isn’t it, with Edward at Caper Court?’
‘No, he’s rather good fun,’ replied Anthony, unthinkingly.
‘No, no, I mean,’ continued Piers, slowly lifting his arm and keeping it between the sun and his face, ‘it’s rotten luck to have to be in competition with the nephew of the head of chambers, I would have thought.’
Anthony was silent for a moment, apparently studying his magazine. But Piers persisted. ‘After all,’ he went on, this time looking across at Anthony, ‘it’s a bit of a shame that you won’t get a tenancy. I understand Edward’s thinking of staying on.’ This last was said questioningly, and Anthony felt obliged to reply. He looked at Piers’ smiling, insolent face. He had no inclination at all to discuss his affairs with him.
‘Yes,’ said Anthony, with an effort. He looked back at the magazine.
‘Well,’ drawled Piers, laying his head back down and closing his eyes, his arms folded over his chest, ‘I think it’s really rotten luck. You won’t exactly be able to afford Julia for long, will you?’ Anthony looked over at him. Perhaps the Sabatier idea was a good one, after all.
‘I don’t really want to discuss Julia with you,’ he managed to say, wishing that this didn’t sound so pompous, and also that he could manage to affect Piers’ laconic, dismissive tone. Piers raised his eyebrows. His eyes were still closed and he couldn’t know that Anthony was watching him, but somehow Anthony felt that he did.
‘Well, face facts, Tony,’ Piers went on. Anthony realised that he detested being called Tony by any man except Edward. ‘She’s a lovely girl, and expensive to keep. I regard her little fling with you as something of an aberration. She and I both had our eye on each other before you came along, you know.’ Piers’ tone was quite conversational. ‘We’d been getting along very well. You’re a nice boy, and I’m sure that you’re an excellent tumble’ – his tone was openly offensive and mocking now – ‘but you’re not quite our thing, are you? I mean, a bit of a comprehensive school novelty, really.’ He opened one eye, delighted at the effect he was having. Before Anthony could find words to reply, Piers sat up suddenly, rose, smiled, and slapped Anthony unnecessarily hard twice on the thigh. ‘But don’t worry, laddie!’ he exclaimed, with exaggerated heartiness, as though cheering up an old friend. ‘I’ll still carry on being nice to you. Talking to you, that kind of thing. After all, it’s impolite not to be kind to people, I always think. A bit common.’ And he smiled down at Anthony, picked up his newspaper, and sauntered off into the house.
Anthony sat in the warm morning air, watching an early bluebottle careering through the tulips. The dog that Piers had been caressing lifted its head, looked at Anthony, got up and walked away. Anthony tried hard not to feel humiliated, and failed. While he thou
ght that Piers was possibly the biggest bastard he knew, it struck him that most of what he had said was probably true. If Edward got the tenancy – and the chances were that he would – he’d be in dire straits, financially, certainly not able to keep up with Julia. They would drift apart gradually. Or probably not so gradually, if Piers made his move at a suitable moment. Even if he did get the tenancy, he wouldn’t be earning anything like a decent regular income for a year or so. But the real truth, the one which Piers had more than hinted at, was that he didn’t belong, that he was accepted by Piers and the others simply because he happened to be what Julia wanted at the time. Everyone treated him decently because, as Piers had said, it would be rude not to. Rude to Julia, that is, not to him. And when his time was up, as it surely would be, then he would drift back to the half-world of East Dulwich, and go on being a social misfit.
What Piers had said succeeded in robbing Anthony, briefly, of every ounce of self-confidence, and for the rest of the day had the effect of colouring every word uttered by the others with some nuance of slight or contempt. Even when Edward innocently said, that evening, ‘You be wine waiter, Tony,’ handing him two bottles and a corkscrew, he read some faint aspersion into the remark.
Although he had been determined that morning to ignore what Piers had said and not to let it trouble him, by the time evening came a deep gloom had settled upon Anthony. Julia was in high spirits, laughing and chattering as she helped Piers with the soup, and Anthony was both glad that she was too busy to observe that he was slightly withdrawn, and a trifle resentful that she hadn’t noticed.
Piers, having commenced his assault that morning, set about finishing it off that evening. He cooked splendidly, loudly and ostentatiously, supplying everyone with an amusing running commentary based on his own culinary beginnings at his parents’ summer homes in Italy and France, spattering his conversation with ludicrous bursts of French and Italian patois. Julia and Anthea loved it.