She sang in the shower, something she didn’t remember ever doing before (you could make some interesting gurgling noises when the water ran into your mouth), and ran down the stairs two at a time to breakfast on the terrace.
Mrs Phillips was just putting a hot dish on the table. ‘I didn’t know if you ate kippers,’ she said to Jenna by way of greeting, ‘so I made kedigree.’
The logic of this passed Jenna by, but she said, ‘I love kedgeree, thanks.’ And then had a moment of panic as she couldn’t remember whether it really was kedgeree or kedigree. They both sounded right.
Mrs Phillips lingered. ‘I thought that all went off all right, Mrs Everest, dear,’ she said. ‘One of my duck eggs was a bit hard but I told Fatty to give that one to you.’
‘Quite right,’ Kitty said. ‘She did. And it was delicious anyway. No one makes Hollandaise sauce like you.’
‘And my lamb came out just right,’ Mrs Phillips went on.
‘Perfect. Just pink enough, and beautifully tender and moist,’ said Kitty.
‘I wasn’t sure if I’d put too much coffee in the chocolate sauce.’
Jenna listened in amusement as the whole menu was gone through and praise garnered for each dish. From Kitty’s expression this was obviously a familiar ritual, which ended with deep and heartfelt thanks for ‘all your efforts and your great skill’, upon which Mrs Phillips said, ‘Oh, as long as you’re happy, Mrs Everest, that’s all that matters. I’m not one to fish for compliments, believe you me.’ And she took herself off to make shepherd’s pie for their supper from the seemingly endless cold lamb.
‘Bless her,’ Kitty said when she was out of earshot. ‘We always have to go through that. I thanked her in loving detail on Sunday night, but she likes to come back for more on a daily basis.’
‘It’s the most evanescent of art forms,’ Jenna said. ‘A painter or sculptor has something to show for his art, but a cook’s gets eaten right there and then, and it’s gone.’
‘True. It should be looked upon as performance art, really, like theatre.’
‘But even actors have their performances remembered and talked about. Who will ever mention Mrs Phillips’s roast lamb of the twelfth of May again?’
After breakfast, Jenna refused all beguilements and got straight down to work, and put in a solid day to ease her conscience. She was beginning to get some idea of the size of the task, and to doubt that she could get it done in the time allotted. But on this glorious morning she didn’t feel it was all that essential to be getting back to the Smoke and her career as soon as possible.
Kitty spent much of the day on the phone, as everyone rang up to say thank you, and how wonderful it was that she was entertaining again, and wouldn’t it be lovely to get back to the old routine. She also, as she told Jenna at lunchtime, had wistful calls from people who hadn’t been there but had heard about it, and were probably hoping to be on the guest list next time.
‘And we’ve had two return invitations already,’ she concluded. ‘To dinner with the Buckminsters, and Dolly Cornwall has asked us to lunch one Sunday because she has a lot of young people coming to play tennis. Do you play tennis?’
‘Not worth mentioning,’ Jenna said.
‘Well, you needn’t play, of course, but it will be a nice occasion, in the garden if it’s fine, so I said yes. And to the Buckminsters. I hope that’s all right.’
Jenna was embarrassed. ‘Really, you don’t have to make a social life for me. I’m here to work.’
‘I know,’ Kitty said, ‘but I want you to enjoy yourself as well. Of course I don’t want to impose my friends on you, so you must say yes or no absolutely freely. You won’t hurt my feelings, I promise.’
‘If you think it’ll be fun, that’s fine with me,’ Jenna said.
Jenna felt almost fluttery as she went upstairs to get ready for her ride – almost as if it were a date. You’d better stop that, and stop it right now, she told herself sternly. He’s only being nice to you for Kitty’s sake, and it’s probably a huge effort for him. Remember how he looked at you in The Dress? You come from different worlds. You are universes apart in character and everything else. And he’s taken. Let’s face it, the man who could stay engaged to Caroline Russell can’t be all good.
Calm down, she replied to herself as she reached her bedroom. It’s only the ride you’re excited about. It’d be grand to be on a horse again. She only hoped it was a nice, well-mannered horse, since she was out of practice. She stopped short for a moment with a cold thought – it wouldn’t be Caroline’s, would it? No, she’d never lend her horse to a fallen woman.
Or would she? A scenario sprang into her mind: a needle concealed in the underside of the saddle so that only when the rider’s weight came down on it would the needle prick the horse and drive it mad. Horse bucking wildly and then bolting. Red-haired rival tossed into the unforgiving road, or even into the path of an oncoming car. Ambulance summoned, but too late. Hospital so far away when you live in the country. Redhead pronounced dead on arrival. Crocodile tears. ‘Oh, if only she hadn’t pretended to be able to ride!’
What’s wrong with this picture? Jenna asked herself derisively as she stripped off her working trousers. Yes, you got it: Jenna is not a rival. It gave her pause for a moment, though. Was it possible that that was why Caroline instantly disliked her – that she was female, passably attractive and being thrown in Alexander’s path? She shrugged. He had made it clear enough at the party that he wasn’t attracted to her, so Caroline oughtn’t to have any fears on that score.
Probably it was just the country person’s legendary resistance to incomers. Anyway, she was getting a ride out of it, and she was going to enjoy it. She put on her jeans, her chambray shirt and her sensible shoes (which had been stuffed with paper and put before the fire last night to dry, and which someone had taken away in the night and polished to within an inch of their life – she suspected Fatty, bless her – so that they were supple and gleaming again). Then, in honour of that noble creature, the horse, she brushed out her hair and plaited it neatly into one fat tail to hang down between her shoulder blades. Touch of lippy and mascara – just enough for self-respect but not enough to show – and she was ready.
Downstairs, Kitty was waiting with a beam of pleasure about the whole thing. ‘I’m so pleased you’re going to have a ride,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like this.’ She handed over a carrot chopped into chunks. ‘For establishing good relations. I don’t know which horse he’s borrowing for you, but a little upfront bribery never goes amiss.’
‘Thanks,’ said Jenna.
‘And these,’ she went on, ‘as your hands will probably be soft if you haven’t ridden for a while.’ It was a pair of fingerless leather gloves, worn, but obviously originally expensive.
‘Thanks. That’s very thoughtful of you.’
‘I want you to have a good time,’ Kitty said, turning away not quite soon enough to hide a little, secret smile. Now what was she up to? ‘It’s almost half past. Xander’s always punctual, so perhaps you’d better go and wait in the yard, to save him having to dismount and tie them up.’
‘OK,’ said Jenna. ‘See you later.’
It was, indeed, on the stroke of half past by Jenna’s watch that there was the sound of multiple hoofs and Alexander rode into the yard on his big bay, which looked even more magnificent in the clear light of a golden afternoon. Actually, it had to be admitted that the rider looked pretty good, too. Without the riding mac, his body showed to advantage, the taut thighs and abdomen in the close-fitting breeches, the long, strong legs in the leather boots. Jenna tried to imagine Patrick in the same clothes and position and felt he would not have shone: he was more the lean and languid type, definitely cosmopolitan, fitted for lounging against bars and beside pools. There was a certain power to Alexander’s shoulders, while Patrick’s were more in the slim and neat class. Alexander was wearing a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His muscular forearms were nicely brown, and his watch
was a surprisingly plain and battered-looking aviator on a leather strap. Patrick was an aficionado of expensive Tag Heuers and Rolexes – Jenna wondered suddenly if Charlotte’s Cartier had been a present from him. That was his style. She banished Patrick and his floozie hastily from her mind, and arranged a smile for the nice man who was going to take her for a ride.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You’re very punctual.’
‘Punctuality is basic good manners,’ he said, to which there didn’t seem to be any answer. ‘This is Tabitha. Sorry about the name, but she’s a nice ride.’
Jenna dragged her eyes from him to the mare he was leading. She was about fifteen hands, part Arab, milky white with a little dappling over the quarters. Her dark, expressive eyes were looking about her with interest; her goose rump and very long pasterns suggested that she would be fast, and could jump. ‘She looks lovely,’ Jenna said. ‘I forgive the name. We all have our weak moments. Whose is she?’
‘She belongs to Anne Tyler from Grey’s Farm over at Burholt. She’s away at university and her mother has difficulty finding time to exercise her, so she was happy to let me borrow her.’ He looked down at her seriously. ‘I’m to watch you carefully, and if you really can ride and have light hands, I’m to tell you you can borrow her as often as you like.’
‘How indiscreet of you to tell me I’m on trial,’ Jenna said. ‘Though I probably would have guessed it from your gimlet eyes, and tooth-sucking of disapproval when I fall off at the walk.’
‘If you do that I’ll abandon you. Nice-looking mare, isn’t she?’
‘She looks like a jumper.’
‘Anne does jump her,’ he admitted. ‘Or she did, until she went to university. Who knows how she’ll feel when she gets back? University does change people, especially horse-mad girls.’
‘What’s she reading?’
‘Chemistry.’
‘Oh, she’ll be fine, then. Male science undergrads are too dull to replace horses as a passion. Now if it had been English or drama . . .’
He laughed. ‘You do say the most peculiar things.’
‘I’m a most peculiar person,’ she said solemnly.
He looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it as a criticism.’
‘I know.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Shall we get going?’
The mare was wearing a halter under her bridle and he was leading her by its rope. Actually, she noticed that Victor also had a halter on, the rope tied round his neck. It struck her as unusually informal for such a formal man.
He handed her the lead rope and said, ‘Will you be able to manage to mount on your own? Do you want me to get down and help you?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.
‘I don’t know how long it is since you last rode.’
‘A couple of years,’ she said. She brought out carrot chunks and the mare took them eagerly, and tossed her head up and down with pleasure as she crunched them. Jenna tied the halter rope loosely round the grey neck, and took the rein.
‘Check your girth,’ Alexander said.
‘Yes, I will,’ Jenna said. It was second nature always to check the girth, but he seemed to have doubts about a townie’s first nature, let alone her second. She stuck her head under the saddle flap and hauled in the girth a couple of notches. Tabitha hitched her back up skittishly and kicked, but it was a very mild protest, not meant to do damage, and Jenna heeded it not.
‘She might be a bit lively,’ he said anxiously. ‘Perhaps I ought to give you a hand to get settled.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, pulling down the stirrup.
‘Keep your nearside rein short,’ he advised.
‘Yes,’ she said patiently. She was on her mettle now – no fumbling the mount! She got her foot in the stirrup – jeans were not ideal, being tight in the knee just where you needed flexibility – gathered herself, and with a great effort, managed to make it look as if it was not an effort, and was up and across. The mare wanted to move off straight away, but with the rein short on the nearside she could only turn a circle.
‘Can you adjust your own stirrups?’ he asked.
She looked up at him. ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said.
He blushed slightly. ‘Sorry. Am I being a bore? I feel a bit responsible for your well-being.’
‘My being is quite well, thank you. Don’t worry.’ The unknown Anne’s stirrup length worked all right for her, so she didn’t adjust them. She settled herself, feeling the old thrill of being astride a horse, with all that power and potential beneath her. Tabitha was comfortably narrow, and her mouth was responsive at the end of the reins. ‘Ready?’ Jenna said.
‘Oh, Lord, I almost forgot.’ He reached to his offside, and produced a crash cap. ‘I hope this fits all right. I’ve got a handkerchief to stuff it with if it’s too big, but I don’t know what we’ll do if it’s too small.’ Jenna urged Tabitha closer and took it from him. ‘I hope you’re not squeamish about hats as well as boots.’
‘I am,’ she said, ‘but I’m guessing you’ll refuse to take me out without one, so I’ll suffer in silence.’ It was an adequate fit – good enough for someone who didn’t intend to fall off, anyway. She’d always had serious doubts as to whether a hat would really protect you much, but it was the done thing to wear them.
‘All set?’ He gathered his reins and turned Victor. ‘Stay behind me on the lane, and we’ll get off it and on to a track quite soon. Then we can ride side by side.’
Tabitha jostled and jogged a bit, but Jenna felt quite comfortable. Her paces were wonderfully smooth and sittable, and she was obviously only eager – there was no vice in her. She followed Alexander’s broad back and Victor’s shiny rump up the lane and after a couple of hundred yards he turned left on to a track between the hedges and she came up alongside him. Both horses were flicking their ears back and forward excitedly, and Tabitha was pulling a little.
‘All right?’ he asked.
‘Fine.’
‘How about a canter to settle them down?’
‘And to check if I really can ride?’
‘Don’t take it to heart. I am responsible for you and the mare.’
‘Up to a point, Lord Copper,’ she said, grinning.
He smiled too. ‘All right, then. You go first, or she’ll try and race. There’s a gate at the end of the lane that’ll stop you if she gets away from you.’
‘She won’t,’ Jenna said, and gave the mare the office. She sprang into a rocking-horse canter which Jenna had no difficulty in sitting, and after the first few paces she settled down and stopped trying to gallop. She was fast! The hedges whipped by, the sweet air buffeted her cheeks, and she felt her plait thumping her back rhythmically. It was heaven! After about a mile – all too soon – the gate appeared up ahead, and she sat down and slowed the mare, who came back to hand very well, though she didn’t want to stop cantering, and halted with a couple of bounces in front of the gate. Jenna turned her head to see Alexander – who had been keeping well back so as not to encourage the mare to race – pull down into a trot and then a walk as he approached them.
‘That was great!’ Jenna said.
‘You looked comfortable,’ he said, with a slight question in it.
‘She’s lovely. An armchair ride. Did I pass muster, then?’
‘You have a nice seat,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit—’
‘Magisterial?’
‘Is that how it seemed to you? I’m glad you didn’t say bossy. But I really didn’t know how much riding you’d done, and you could have been—’
‘Boasting? Lying?’
‘I didn’t say either of those things. Can we call a truce?’
‘Consider it called. I’ll let you open the gate, though. I was never very good at that.’
He opened the gate with a masterly ease, and they passed through on to another track at right angles to the first. It had trees to its right and a low hedge to the left, beyond which was a stretch of open, rolling fields and a fine view of the h
ills.
‘Oh, this is better,’ she said. He came up alongside her, and the horses adjusted their pace to each other, and walked along, heads bobbing, hooves making a soft thub-dub on the bare earth. The evening was clear and beautiful, the sunlight slanting and golden across the fields, illuminating a carpet of buttercups, and a million tiny flying things dithering in the warm air. Chaffinches and blackbirds were making their evening claim to territory, great tits were shouting me too, me too! from tree to tree, and now and then a robin thrilled the air with its wistful falling cadence.
‘What a perfect evening,’ Jenna said, enjoying the rocking motion of Tabitha’s long stride. ‘You were right about the weather.’
‘Of course I was,’ he said.
‘Well, you needn’t be too smug,’ she said. ‘We had a pretty infallible way of telling the weather in Muswell Hill when I was a kid.’
‘You did?’ he indulged her.
‘Absolutely. It was a special piece of seaweed.’
‘Oh, I’ve heard of the seaweed test,’ he said, ‘but never understood it. How does it work, exactly?’
‘You put the seaweed outside on the window sill, and you look at it first thing every morning.’
‘And?’
‘If the seaweed’s wet, it means it’s raining. If it’s dry, it means it’s sunny. And if you can’t see it, it means it’s foggy.’
He smiling, shaking his head. ‘You do say the—’
‘Strangest things?’
‘Well, you do. I’ve never met anyone like you.’
‘Oh, I’m pretty normal,’ she said. ‘It’s the rest of the world that’s odd.’
‘There you go again.’
‘Shall I stop talking?’
‘No, I like it. Everyone else I know is so – predictable.’
‘Not Kitty.’
‘No, she’s an original all right,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s why you and she get on so well.’
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