‘Interval,’ announced Georgina.
‘Aren’t they good?’ said Annie, turning to speak to Cressida. But Cressida was staring straight ahead, with a taut expression and unshed tears glistening in her eyes. Annie quickly looked away, and inadvertently caught the eye of Patrick. His face was thunderous. She quickly looked away again. Stephen was talking to Don; Valerie seemed to be talking at Ella, who was looking surprisingly interested in whatever she was saying. She glanced at Caroline. But Caroline had also noticed Cressida, and was staring at her with blatant curiosity.
‘Act two,’ announced Georgina, in a ringing voice. She eyed Caroline sternly. ‘And try not to laugh.’
Caroline took no notice. She was still gazing at Cressida. The sight of the younger woman sitting wanly, almost in tears, had struck a sudden chord of compassion in her. She and Ella had been laughing gaily that morning about Charles – but neither of them had to go through what Cressida did. The poor thing had quite obviously found out about Charles and Ella; perhaps she was contemplating leaving him; perhaps divorce. Suddenly Caroline felt remorse for her treatment of Cressida. She’d always taken her to be a cold, stuck-up bitch, but here she was, in a dreadful state because of that stupid Charles. A dim sense of feminism rose up in Caroline’s mind. Why should that poor girl suffer because of a bastard who’d only married her because she was rich anyway?
Suddenly there was a roar of laughter, and Caroline looked round to the lawn. One of the twins had come on, and sat down in a big cardboard box covered in straw. Georgina entered behind him, wearing a long, black cape and looking more like Dracula than a wolf.
‘Little pig, little pig,’ she intoned, ‘let me come in.’ The twin looked blankly at her. He was clearly too young to have been given any lines; but from the side of the lawn came Martina’s voice, high and squeaky.
‘No no, by ze hair of my cheeny cheen cheen, I von’t let you in!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the house down!’ yelled Georgina, and charged at the cardboard box. The face of the twin crumpled with fear, and he let out a piercing wail. Georgina, regardless, began to blow as hard as she could at the box and the twin’s wail turned into terrified sobs.
Suddenly the sound was joined by a cry from the audience.
‘Leave him alone!’ sobbed Cressida, tears starting to flow down her cheeks. ‘Leave him alone!’ She leapt up, rushed onto the lawn and scooped up her son, who began to sob unrestrainedly against her shirt. From the side of the lawn came more sobs, from the other twin, who had decided to join in with his brother. Without looking right or left, Cressida picked him up also, strode towards the house and disappeared in through the terrace door.
Charles remained motionless in his seat for a few seconds, then, as everyone turned to look at him, he stood up, muttering something, and went after her. The others sat for a few minutes in silence. No-one seemed quite sure what to say. It was an awkward moment. Then a voice came from the side.
‘Oh dear,’ said Ella in an expressionless voice. ‘I hope I wasn’t the cause of that.’ Caroline looked at her sharply.
‘So do I,’ she said shortly. ‘So do we all.’
Chapter Twelve
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Cressida to Caroline. ‘I don’t know what came over me. Too much sun, I expect.’ The two women were standing by the tennis court, waiting for the arrival of their partners for the grand final of the tennis tournament.
‘Too much bossing by Georgina, more like,’ said Caroline. ‘She’s a little Nazi. In fact, it’s me who should apologize, on behalf of her. She’s already caused havoc once this weekend.’
‘Really?’ said Cressida politely. Caroline cursed herself.
‘Well, yes,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Telling Ella it was all right for her to come and stay. She didn’t say a word about it to Patrick or me.’ She looked away uncomfortably from Cressida’s face. How could she have been so crass as to bring up the subject of Ella? But Cressida had obviously got her feelings under control.
‘Extra guests are always difficult,’ she murmured. ‘People don’t realize; they just phone up at the last minute and ask if they can bring their great aunt, or their godson, and one can’t just say no. It’s very trying. I’ve taken to making an extra pudding or two each time, just in case.’ She smiled tiredly at Caroline, who was overcome by a sudden, irrational feeling of guilt. Her eyes swept over Cressida’s pale, drawn complexion; the shadows under her eyes; the slender hand gripping the tennis racquet.
‘It’s not really a problem for me,’ she said frankly. ‘Since I never do any cooking.’
‘Really? But last night . . .’
‘Caterers,’ said Caroline. ‘I thought you knew. Can you see me making seafood tartlets?’ Her eyes crinkled humorously at Cressida. ‘I’m crap at cooking. When I first invited Patrick round to my flat for dinner, I hired a caterer to do Beef Wellington. They delivered it to the back door, and I brought it up the stairs, through the kitchen and out to Patrick. He thought I’d been taking it out of the oven!’ She burst into raucous laughter, and Cressida gave a shocked giggle. ‘He still thinks I made it,’ added Caroline. ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever told. You mustn’t tell him!’
‘Oh, no, I won’t,’ said Cressida. She stared at Caroline, wide-eyed. ‘Did he really believe you?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Caroline. ‘Men are so blind. He didn’t even notice it was on a foil caterer’s tray.’ Cressida broke into giggles again.
‘That’s amazing,’ she said.
‘Sometimes he asks for Beef Wellington again,’ said Caroline, ‘and I tell him I don’t want to make it because I want to keep the memory of that dish special.’
‘So you haven’t ever had it since?’
‘Never,’ said Caroline. She took out a cigarette, put it in her mouth and reached for her lighter. ‘The caterers went bust,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want to risk using another firm. They might do it differently.’ She caught Cressida’s eye and they both broke into laughter again. Cressida gave a few broken, almost painful giggles as she watched Caroline light her cigarette. Caroline looked up.
‘Would you like one?’ she asked.
‘A cigarette?’ Cressida paused. ‘I haven’t smoked since I was at school.’
‘Do you good,’ said Caroline. ‘Calm your nerves.’ She offered Cressida the pack. After a few moments, Cressida took one.
‘They’re menthol,’ added Caroline. ‘You may not like them.’ Cressida took a few hesitant drags.
‘Minty!’ she exclaimed.
‘Nice, aren’t they?’ said Caroline. She grinned companionably at Cressida. ‘They clean your teeth as well.’
‘Really?’ began Cressida, then saw Caroline’s face. She laughed. ‘I always believe what people tell me.’
‘I’m the opposite,’ said Caroline. ‘I always disbelieve what people tell me. It’s a good habit to get into.’
‘But what if they’re telling the truth?’ Caroline shrugged.
‘Then you’ll find out soon enough,’ she said. Cressida nodded puzzledly and continued taking puffs on her cigarette. Caroline watched her, inhaling with shallow little breaths and quickly exhaling again, and suddenly felt a strong, almost maternal fondness for her.
‘Have you ever tried to make it?’ said Cressida suddenly.
‘Make what?’
‘Beef Wellington.’ Caroline inhaled deeply, and looked at Cressida sardonically.
‘Me make Beef Wellington? You’re talking to the girl who got straight Es in cookery. I told you. I’m crap at cooking.’ She blew out a satisfying cloud of smoke.
‘I could teach you to make it.’
Caroline looked slowly round at Cressida, suspecting a joke.
‘Teach me? What do you mean?’ Her voice came out more sharply than she had intended.
Cressida’s face fell slightly; but she carried on, in a slightly hesitant voice, ‘I could come round – or you could come round to me – and I could show you ho
w to do it. I’ve made Beef Wellington lots of times. And I’m sure you could, too.’
‘Come round to your house?’
‘Not if it’s inconvenient, of course,’ said Cressida. ‘I could easily come here.’
‘No, no,’ said Caroline slowly. ‘I’m always popping into Silchester. It would be easy for me to come to you. And you really think I could learn to make Beef Wellington?’
‘I’m sure you could,’ said Cressida. She smiled shyly at Caroline. ‘You could cook it for Patrick. As a surprise.’
‘Christ, he won’t believe his eyes!’ said Caroline. She grinned at Cressida. ‘I have to warn you, I’m a bloody awful pupil. But I’ll make a special effort to listen. Are you sure you can bear it?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Cressida. ‘It’ll be fun!’ Her eyes sparkled and she looked for somewhere to stub out her cigarette.
‘Cressida! You’re not smoking?’ It was Charles’ stentorian voice. The light in Cressida’s eyes dimmed; her eyes darted about distractedly. Even her skin seemed suddenly lifeless.
‘It’s all my fault,’ called Caroline loudly. ‘Bloody nerve,’ she muttered under her breath. Charles approached the court briskly.
‘I didn’t think you smoked, Cressida,’ he said. ‘It’s an expensive habit, you know.’ Cressida was silent. He stared at her expectantly, his eyes cold; his face hard.
‘I just thought I’d try one,’ she said eventually, in a voice that trembled slightly. Caroline drew breath, and looked with a sudden fierce hatred at Charles. He met her gaze challengingly – then, with a sound of impatience, turned away.
‘Hello!’ The cheery voice of Annie reached them. ‘Everyone’s coming,’ she called. ‘Patrick was held up by a phone call.’ She was carrying a number of bottles and a plastic ice bucket. ‘I thought I’d bring a few supplies,’ she added. ‘Does anybody want a drink? I’ve got lemonade, and orange juice.’
‘We should have some water on the court,’ said Caroline. ‘I’ll go and get some.’
As she left, Cressida suddenly felt exposed, as though an insulating barrier between her and Charles had been removed. She looked surreptitiously at Charles’ face. It was still harsh, with taut lines and shadows that actually made him better looking. He looked . . . she groped in her mind for the word . . . moody. Mean and moody. Of course. The sort of looks one was supposed to fall desperately in love with. But Cressida had never been attracted to that sort of man. She had fallen in love with Charles because of his easy good nature; his wide smile; his even temper. She had felt safe with him; protected and secure. And now she was, in spite of herself, frightened. She didn’t want to be alone with him again; she didn’t want to listen to his shouts and threats; she didn’t want to experience again that tense, miserable silence.
‘Aha! Our worthy finalists!’ It was Don, striding briskly towards the court, with a straw hat on his head and a clipboard in his hand. He walked over to the green umpire’s chair and deposited his clipboard. Then he produced a tape measure, went to the centre of the court and ceremoniously measured the net.
‘It’s a bit low,’ he called. ‘Annie, would you mind adjusting it?’
‘Gosh,’ said Annie, getting up obligingly. ‘This is all getting a bit serious.’
Cressida stared straight ahead, avoiding Charles’ eye, as Annie wound the handle back and forwards. Stephen seemed a cheerful, straightforward man, she thought to herself. Lucky Annie . . .
‘A bit higher,’ called Don. ‘No, a bit lower . . . slow down . . . up a bit more, yes that’s right, stop, stop!’ He beamed at Charles and Cressida. ‘Might as well get it right before we start.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Charles, in a taut voice.
Caroline and Patrick were coming down the path towards the tennis court.
‘Listen,’ said Caroline. ‘We’ve got to beat that little shit.’ Patrick looked at her in surprise.
‘Who, Charles?’
‘Yes, of course Charles. He’s a complete bastard.’ Patrick’s eye fell on Charles, on his blond hair and insolent tanned face, and he scowled.
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘Well, then,’ said Caroline, ‘don’t play your usual crap.’
‘You’ve got a nerve!’ said Patrick indignantly. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘I thought you quite liked Charles.’
‘He’s a complete two-timing bastard.’
‘Ah,’ said Patrick. ‘I thought he might be. How did you find that out?’
‘Ella told me,’ said Caroline over her shoulder. ‘They did it last night. In a field.’
‘In our field?’
‘I know. Taking liberties a bit, I thought.’
Charles and Cressida had gone onto the court.
‘Hello,’ said Caroline briskly. ‘Just going to limber up.’ She took up a position by the court and attempted a few rather flashy stretching exercises. ‘My hamstrings are out of condition,’ she complained loudly, catching Patrick’s eye. She flashed a look at Charles. He was standing, scowling at the ground. Miserable sod, she thought. Can’t even enjoy adultery.
Charles was wondering whether he could bear playing this match at all. All the others seemed so fucking cheerful, while his mind was clouded over with bleak misery. The only other person who looked as downcast as him was Cressida. And she was beginning to annoy him beyond measure, with her fluttering eyelids, and her pale face, and that stupid outburst of weeping. Everyone obviously blamed him. Christ. That was bloody ironic.
‘Ready,’ announced Caroline. ‘Let’s knock up.’
Charles scooped up a couple of tennis balls and began slamming forehands angrily at Caroline, trying to relieve his frustration.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ shrieked Caroline, as another ball went straight into the back netting. ‘I’m not Steffi Graf, you know. Here, Cressida, you haven’t hit a single shot.’ She deliberately aimed the ball at Cressida, but it went in the net.
‘Oh fucking hell,’ she exclaimed.
‘Ahem, excuse me,’ said Don, waving to attract her attention. ‘I’ll have to warn you against bad language. It’s against the LTA rule book.’
‘What?’ Caroline gazed at him in amazement. ‘You must be fucking joking.’
‘As well as being unpleasant for players and audience alike,’ explained Don.
‘Bullshit,’ said Caroline. She turned to the audience. ‘Is anyone offended by my language?’ she asked loudly. There was silence.
‘Actually, Mummy,’ said Georgina politely, ‘I am.’
‘You don’t count,’ said Caroline. ‘Anyway, I thought you were going to be ballboy.’
‘We’re not going to stay for long,’ said Georgina. ‘Nicola wants to have a go on Arabia before she goes home.’
‘Well, come and be ballboy until then,’ said Caroline impatiently.
‘Actually,’ said Georgina, ‘we’ll probably go straight away. We’ll come back and see how you’re doing a bit later on,’ she added kindly. ‘Come on, Nick,’ she said.
‘I don’t understand it,’ said Caroline, as Georgina marched off with Nicola and Toby. ‘She was dead keen to be ballboy last week.’
‘She’s probably realized it’s actually quite hard work,’ said Annie, laughing. ‘She’s not stupid, your daughter.’
‘Let’s get cracking,’ said Patrick impatiently. ‘Who’s got rough or smooth?’
‘I’ll toss,’ said Don officiously. ‘Heads or tails?’
‘Tails.’
‘No, heads. That means Charles and Cressida are to serve.’
‘So we choose an end,’ said Caroline. ‘I’ll let you decide.’ Patrick stared at her crossly. He had never been able to understand the mentality that went behind choosing an end in tennis. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if you were stuck there for the whole match. Patrick gazed up at the sun, temporarily covered over with light, gauzy cloud, and looked back down at the court, none the wiser. What was it they always said? Let’s have one in the sun. But which end was the sun? He looked around
. Everyone was waiting for him to decide.
‘Let’s have that end,’ he said perversely, pointing to the opposite end. If he couldn’t decide on any reasonable grounds, he could at least make that bastard Charles walk the length of the court unnecessarily.
As Charles passed the net, he saw the figure of Ella, unmistakable in her blue dress, coming down the bank in bare feet. She sat down beside Martina and began talking to one of the twins. A cold fury went through him at the sight of her, unencumbered, free, with no responsibilities. She had the air of someone who is only pausing on the way to somewhere far more exciting; who has dropped in, considerately, to say a quick hello, but who is already anticipating leaving for much greater pleasures elsewhere.
And he had actually thought last night that he was going to be part of those pleasures. Watching her, it came to him that she didn’t really care whether he visited her in Italy or not. She hadn’t brought up the subject again, she hadn’t given him any conspiratorial glances or expressive looks. She was just going to go off, to her idyllic Italian ménage and leave him behind, with a wife, two children and possible ruin. Selfish bitch, he thought furiously.
As if aware of his thoughts, Ella directed her gaze towards him and took off her sunglasses to see better. Charles hastily turned his head away, and met the amused glance of Caroline, who was approaching the net.
‘You’re looking rather tired today, Charles,’ she said. ‘I hope you slept well.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Charles hastily.
‘Perhaps it was just the late night then,’ said Caroline, following Cressida, who was walking round on the other side of the court, with her gaze. ‘Ella tells me you made quite a night of it.’ She brought her blue eyes round to meet his; her face was full of contempt. A jolt ran through Charles. She knows what happened last night, he thought. That fucking bitch Ella told her. Why? Why tell Caroline?
She was still staring fixedly at him, and he couldn’t move his eyes away from hers. He felt pinioned, like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake. She had power over him, and she knew it. If she wanted to, she would have no hesitation in telling Cressida; perhaps even telling the whole assembled company. She was that kind of insensitive, vulgar, indiscreet woman. No wonder Cressida couldn’t bear her. He should have listened to his wife; they should have refused the invitation to come here.
The Tennis Party Page 20