‘Shall I ring you later and talk you through who needs what on the animal front?’ I said as she got in the car. ‘The sheep are fine, and the chickens and ducks you know about, it’s just Nutty who needs a bit of TLC at the moment.’
‘Do that, darling.’
‘Just wait until I’ve had forty winks, though, I’m on my chinstrap,’ warned my father as he got in the car. ‘And remind me never to escort your mother to a psycho-whatsit festival again. Words cannot describe the tedium, the exhaustion and frankly bonkers people.’
‘Quite right, Dad. I’ll go with her next time.’
‘Oh, would you, darling? There’s a marvellous American mind-reader appearing at Wembley in September, he’s filling stadiums in the States. You’ll love him.’
‘Er, well, yes. I expect so. We’ll see.’
‘And I’ll get going in the caravan again while I’m here, shall I? I’m rather inspired by my week away.’
‘Yes, but, Mum, please don’t keep telling Gordon Butcher he’s coming into a fortune – his wife told me he spent practically all his wages on lottery tickets last week. And after you told Brenda Smyth she’d meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger in Budgens they had to escort her from the premises. She loitered all day, accosting any man with dark hair, or, as the manager put it, any man at all.’
‘Anyone would think I make it up,’ said my mother tartly, snapping her seat belt on. ‘I can only tell them what’s written in the stars.’
‘Yes, I realize that,’ I said in a placatory fashion. ‘And of course get the caravan going and pop your sign out in the lane. I’m really grateful to you for holding the fort.’
‘No problem, my sweet.’ She patted my cheek. ‘Have fun, you two!’ She glanced past me and gave Paddy an annoying wink. My father raised his eyebrows in sympathy at me and then they drove away.
‘On second thoughts I think we should go tonight, actually,’ said Paddy as they chugged out of the drive in a cloud of messy exhaust fumes. ‘If we go in the morning we’ll never get there in time.’
‘Do you?’ I turned. ‘Yes, you may be right. And the dogs will be fine if Mum’s here tomorrow. I’ll text and ask her to come first thing. But where will we stay? Well, obviously at Lucy’s, but it’s tiny and they are so cross with me at the moment. I don’t know if I can impose much long—’
‘No, no, we can stay at my place. I told you, I grew up in Kensington. I’ll see you on the five thirty-six, and try not to miss it, Molly.’
‘As if I would! Golly, will they mind? Your parents? What will you say? Won’t they—’
But he’d gone, striding away in the midst of my babble of questions, no doubt keen to escape and to check on the difficult calf delivery up at Baldwin’s farm. I watched him go. Stood, a moment, feeling strangely unsettled. There was quite a lot I felt I knew about that man, but then again, more recently, quite a lot I clearly didn’t. My reverie was interrupted by Buddy, who gave me a friendly butt from behind which nearly sent me flying. He was far too familiar, I decided, staggering a bit, he’d be in the kitchen soon. I watched him saunter arrogantly away to have a word with Nutty over the stable door. I had to do something about that ram, he was becoming a problem in so many ways. My eyes strayed nervously to last year’s ewe lambs in a distant field which Nico said he’d broken into. And done what, exactly?
I hurried inside. The five thirty-six. Crikey – I glanced at my watch – I’d have to get a wiggle on. I didn’t have much time. Or much money left, I thought queasily. All this back and forth to London was taking its toll. As I got to the landing, Ted’s snores had reached fortissimo level. I dashed in to have another go. It was only when I unzipped his sleeping bag to try and shake him bodily to his feet that I realized he was naked. Shit. I stepped back, dropping the bag in horror. Oh no, I couldn’t be grappling with that. And knowing my luck, one of the children would appear again and accuse me of interfering with minors. Although there was nothing minor about … anyway. He’d have to sleep it off. I’d try again before I left. At least he’d turned over and stopped that dreadful racket. I hurried from the room and along the corridor.
I realized, as I glanced in the mirror in my room once I’d repacked a bag with clean clothes, that I looked an absolute sight. I peered. Never mind, it was only Paddy. And it wasn’t as if I was ever going to see Felix again. The thought both stilled and saddened me as I added a clean shirt to my bag. I paused as I recalled how, very recently, I’d been up here in my room, preparing myself, sartorially speaking, for him. Then my core stiffened as I thought of him with Camilla. At the theatre. Living together, probably. Where? There hadn’t been any sign of a woman at his house, but perhaps that had been deliberate. Was he really such an arch fixer? Such a Machiavellian schemer, removing all traces? Hard to imagine. And yet the signs were not in his favour. At any rate, I thought, zipping up my bag and seizing the handles, it was a relief not to squeeze into Spanx or camouflage the brown age spot on my cheek, or shave my legs to within an inch of their life, and also to be able, I thought, racing downstairs and opening the larder door, to eat a whole packet of Jaffa Cakes on the hoof. I threw the empty packet in the bin, munching hard. Not being in thrall to a man definitely had its compensations.
Paddy read his newspaper on the train and then Farmers Weekly and then The Field and then he did some work on his laptop and then he slept. For someone who was coming to my aid he showed remarkably little interest in me and I wondered if he owed his parents a visit or something. I asked him when he woke up.
‘Yes, definitely. They don’t make the journey to Herefordshire much and I rarely get to London.’
‘So this is a good excuse?’ I didn’t mean it to sound as snide as that and wished I hadn’t said it. He raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, I could do without it, if that’s what you mean. I’ve had to cancel appointments and get Poppy to stand in for the rest.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I’m incredibly grateful. I just mean it would be good to see them, from your point of view.’
‘Of course.’
‘And who will you say I am?’ Those eyebrows went up again. He wasn’t remotely meeting me halfway. ‘I-I mean –’ I stammered, ‘just a friend?’
‘You are just a friend.’
‘Yes, but – won’t they think it’s odd? I’ve come to stay?’ I could feel myself colouring, damn it. I wished I wasn’t sitting opposite him.
‘Well, you can stay with Lucy if you prefer.’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘No, my children are sick of me.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re used to me bringing home all sorts of people. They won’t bat an eyelid.’ He picked up his copy of The Times, folded it efficiently into quarters and started doing the crossword.
Right. That told me, didn’t it? All sorts of people. I watched his pen fly over the puzzle, really rather briskly. And it was a broadsheet, not the easy one I sometimes managed in the Mail. It occurred to me this man was very clever. Well, vets were, weren’t they? It was well known. Apparently it took longer to train to be a vet than a doctor. Which made sense, because animals couldn’t talk. Couldn’t tell you where it hurt. I was on the point of asking about this, if it was a problem, and stopped myself. How inane did I want to sound? Usually I didn’t care with Paddy, but something about his detached manner silenced me. Made me almost shy. I pulled my skirt down to cover, what I realized, were slightly bristling knees. I wished I’d shaved my legs.
The train rattled on. After a bit, I cleared my throat and contrived to look intelligent. ‘Paddy, can I ask you one more thing?’
‘Ask away.’ Without looking up.
‘Is it OK for Buddy to be in with last year’s ewe lambs? I mean, they’re too young to be – you know – susceptible, aren’t they?’
‘To what?’
‘To becoming pregnant.’
He looked up. ‘Of course they’re susceptible. And apart from anything else, he was the sire, wasn’t he?’
‘Oh. Yes.�
�
‘So we wouldn’t want him rogering his daughters, would we?’
‘No! Of course not.’
‘Which is why you borrowed one this year, if you remember.’
‘Yes, Bob Fisher’s. And he had Buddy.’
‘Quite. To guard against incest.’
Incest. Golly.
‘Why, has he broken in?’
‘To where?’
He eyed me. ‘To the ewes’ field.’
‘No! Of course not.’
More of that wretched blood to my face. Paddy regarded me a long moment then resumed his crossword. I bit the inside of my cheek. What would happen, I wondered? Would the lambs run round in small circles? Be a bit – you know … simple? But they were simple anyway. Mine certainly were. Thank God the mothers couldn’t speak, I thought, cringing down into the lapels of my jacket. Couldn’t tell the whole story, point the cloven hoof at Buddy and cry, ‘Rape! He raped me!’ Did Paddy mean the lambs would have deformities or something? I went a bit cold. Had a nightmare vision of ghastly monstrosities being born next year: Paddy’s cold eyes as he came round to view the five-legged, one-eyed flock. Would that happen? I couldn’t ask Paddy now, of course, he’d know I was guilty. Except, actually, Nico was. I’d have to pin that boy down, I thought grimly. Discover just how comprehensively he’d taken his eye off the ball.
At Paddington, we got a taxi to Kensington because Paddy said it would be quicker and as it was we were late.
‘For what?’ I asked.
‘For supper.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ A cosy supper with his parents in the kitchen. How lovely. And how intriguing. I perked up no end. He must have rung them. Well, of course he rang them, Molly, don’t be an idiot. Or texted them.
The taxi rumbled across London, weaving in and out of the traffic, and then eventually it purred down Kensington High Street, up the hill, and stopped outside a tall, white, stucco-fronted house in Essex Villas. Essex Villas. Blimey. The streets fairly creaked with money round here. It was all you could hear. As Paddy paid the driver I got out and gazed around. There was no bustle of pedestrians, just the purr of an expensive, smoky-windowed four-by-four as it stopped opposite. It deposited a child in a straw boater and blazer from the back seat. The man who opened the door for the girl was clearly not the father but a paid retainer, and the girl ran up to an enormous house, the door of which was opened by a foreign-looking woman in a white apron. Every window box frothed with tasteful white flowers and every front door was shiny and black to match the railings that enclosed the immaculate front gardens. Paddy’s parents’ door was no exception. Paddy led the way up the path and fished around in his pocket for a key, but before he could retrieve it, the front door flew open, and a ravishing-looking woman with a beautifully coiffed mane of ash-blonde hair and stunning cat-like green eyes in an extraordinarily well-preserved face, gave a beaming smile, which reached her eyes and beyond.
‘Darling!’ Dressed in a black wrap dress, she held out slim, graceful arms. She smelled divine.
Paddy grinned and walked up the steps to hug her. ‘Hi, Mum.’
I gaped. Mum? This gorgeous creature?
She beamed. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you made it, you’re in time for supper. I hoped you would be. Although we’ve polished off the scallops, I’m afraid.’
‘No worries. Mum, this is Molly Faulkner, who I told you about.’
‘Oh yes! You poor thing, with the farm and the soap and all those wretched animals and now those tenants in your house! Virginia,’ she told me, as I took her hand which she extended, smiling. ‘Come in, come in, you must be exhausted. Such a long journey and you’ve been back and forth quite a lot, I gather.’
‘Um, a bit,’ I admitted, ‘but glad to be here.’ She ushered us inside. ‘What have you said?’ I asked in an undertone to Paddy when she was out of earshot and leading us under a vast curving staircase and on down a lofty, chandelier-lit hall. My eyes were on stalks.
‘Only that you’ve got a tenancy problem with your house in London and that we’re here to sort it out,’ he said. ‘But actually, there’s nothing we can’t say out loud, is there?’
‘No. I suppose not. Within reason. How old is your mother, Paddy? She’s beautiful.’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Sixty-something? She had us quite young.’
The most beautiful sixty-something I’d ever seen was heading towards a room filled with noise and laughter, and as we turned a corner, it was into a dark red candlelit dining room full of people chattering and laughing, clearly mid-supper at a long mahogany table groaning with silver and crystal.
‘Paddy!’ An aristocratic-looking man with silver hair swept back from a high forehead got to his feet at the far end then came around the humming throng to hug his son, the likeness between them unmistakable. ‘Well done, you made it!’
‘Hi, Dad, this is Molly. My father, Jack.’
Oh, how I wished I’d not only shaved my legs but my armpits too, so that I could be wearing a little black sleeveless dress like the majority of the gorgeous women around this table. They gazed up at me with interest. Although the possession of such a dress, gossamer-thin and floaty over slim brown limbs, was of course out of the question.
‘So kind of you to let us invade when you’re clearly busy,’ I told Jack as he shook my hand heartily. His dark, penetrating eyes were spookily familiar.
‘Not at all, we don’t see nearly enough of Paddy. I’m delighted you’ve dragged him up. Now, Paddy, pull up a couple of chairs, one here, and one at the far end, next to Claudia, and you sit here, my dear.’ He indicated beside him at the head of the table as Paddy went down the other end. The woman I was usurping gave me a welcoming smile and politely shifted around a bit, not looking in the least put out as I apologized profusely. Jack clasped her shoulder warmly and introduced her as Regine, declaring her an absolute poppet.
‘Now,’ he said, resuming his seat and beaming at me. ‘I’ve put you opposite Willem for a reason.’ He nodded towards an attractive blond man deep in conversation with his neighbour on the other side of the table: meanwhile cutlery and a place mat appeared magically before me, courtesy of a discreet maid. ‘Paddy says he’s essential to your plan, but we won’t go there yet, first things first. Red or white, my dear? It’s game, I think.’
Everything seemed to be happening very quickly. I wanted to glance around the room, at the exquisite oil paintings on the deep red walls, the antiques, the other guests, to have a closer look at their faces. Paddy, I noticed, was sitting between two women of extraordinary beauty, who both kissed him warmly, looking inordinately pleased to see him. But the genial Jack was asking about my farm, my children, and as well as answering, I suddenly had a guinea fowl to contend with.
‘We barely see Paddy, he’s so immersed in his practice. Do they not have any other vets in your neck of the woods, to take the pressure off him?’
‘He’s the best,’ I said honestly. ‘So everyone wants him.’ For some reason this made me blush. ‘I mean, to see to their livestock. There is another practice in Ludlow, but the chap who runs it is a known alky and he doesn’t always get the diagnosis right. Then there’s a woman called Sarah Harris who’s absolutely terrifying and insists your animal always needs clinical attention – particularly horses – so the bill is astronomical. No, Paddy’s the one everyone wants to get hold of.’ There I went again. ‘But he’s horribly busy, as you say.’
I glanced down the table. It hadn’t escaped my notice that the blonde beside him had turned her chair at an almost ninety-degree angle to talk to him, her tiny pink dress riding high on her slim brown thighs as she crossed her legs. She chatted away excitedly. Paddy threw back his head and laughed.
‘Yes, well, he considered doing it here, of course,’ Jack went on, filling up my wine glass. ‘But only for a nanosecond. The idea of a surgery stuffed with pampered Kensington ladies and their equally pampered pekes did not appeal.’
‘He’d have made a fortune, though,’ obse
rved Regine in a French accent beside me and I shifted my chair back to include her. ‘Imagine the queue of lonely old women in his waiting room.’ She laughed.
‘Not so old, either,’ laughed another gorgeous creature, sitting opposite. ‘He’d have all those It Girls with chihuahuas in baskets lining up!’
This was extraordinary. It struck me abruptly, and with some considerable force, like that of a runaway train, that Paddy was a catch. A huge one. Even in London. Especially in London. Why hadn’t I spotted it?
‘That’s Claudia,’ murmured Regine with a conspiratorial smile, seeing me look down the table again. The blonde in pink was even closer now, her guinea fowl abandoned. ‘Because I know you’re wondering. I would be.’
‘Claudia?’ I asked.
She looked confused. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed you two were together. Thought you’d know about …’
‘Oh – no, we’re not together. Not at all. We’re friends.’
‘Ah, right.’ Her face cleared. ‘Well, Claudia’s his ex. He broke her heart disappearing like that.’
Inexplicably, my own heart lurched. ‘You mean, to Herefordshire?’
‘Yes. She just assumed they’d be in London, or the home counties at the very least. Guildford, perhaps. Kicked up quite a fuss.’
‘But he went anyway.’
‘He did. And she sulked like mad and finally said she’d come and join him, at which point he told her not to bother.’
‘Oh! But they were in love?’
‘Engaged.’ She looked surprised that I didn’t know this, as I too looked surprised to hear it. I would have liked a moment to accommodate this news, assimilate it, but Jack was interrupting, his hand on my arm.
‘Now Willem here is an art dealer from The Hague. And I hope he won’t mind me telling you he has some serious commissions under his belt.’ He smiled conspiratorially. ‘He places artwork in the reception halls of all those mighty City institutions – Chase Manhattan, UBS – you know the sort of thing?’
I didn’t, but I could imagine, and nodded knowledgeably, my mind still on Paddy and Claudia.
About Last Night . . . Page 27