by Jilly Cooper
‘That tea’s going to be very stewed,’ crowed Georgie twenty minutes later. ‘Hermione’s quite fat, isn’t she?’
‘Kind Bob always turns down the scales when she comes home from tours,’ said Marigold. ‘Oh, good shot, Kitty.’ The spectators gave a great cheer. ‘They’ve caught up at last.’
At six-all they went into a tie-break.
‘Well done, Kitty. Take it slowly. You’re doing brilliantly,’ said Lysander, as, like a cat washing its ears, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with an inside arm.
Rannaldini kicked off and won his first serve. Watching his brute strength as he uncoiled like a cracked whip, Lysander was unpleasantly reminded of his behaviour in the indoor school. Fired up, Lysander served two aces, and somehow Kitty got Hermione’s next serve back. Bounding in front of Hermione, Rannaldini poached her ball. But, in trying to pass Lysander, he left his own side exposed. Unpassed, Lysander powered the ball away into the farthest corner. Hermione now served to Lysander, promptly netted his return, and turned dark red as Rannaldini swore viciously at her under his breath.
‘Kitty and Lysander lead 4–1,’ said Bob, not without satisfaction. The spectators were cheering every point.
Kitty managed to lob her service in to Hermione, who was so upset by Rannaldini’s invective that she hit it straight to Lysander who whipped a top-spin pass down the backhand. Rannaldini didn’t get near it.
‘Someone’s soon going to have to save the Rhino-ldini,’ drawled Flora.
The crowd, except Rachel and Guy, howled with laughter. Rannaldini was so furious that he ran in, hitting such a vicious return to Kitty’s service that she ducked to avoid being killed.
‘Temper, temper,’ said Lysander. Then to Kitty, ‘You OK, babe? We’ve got him on the run.’
Rannaldini promptly aced Kitty, making it 5–3. A heart-stopping rally followed, which had the crowd on their feet yelling with excitement. Seeing his wife quivering like a strawberry jelly in the middle of the court, Rannaldini opened his shoulders and fired the ball down the tramlines.
‘Well played, partner,’ panted Hermione.
‘Run, Kitty,’ begged Lysander.
Like a little hippo, Kitty lumbered across the court, slicing the ball with a stretched-out racquet, so it just toppled over the net, and Rannaldini, who was now reaching for a towel, had no time to catch it.
‘6–3! Well done, we can do it,’ whooped Lysander.
‘Great play, Kitty,’ called out Natasha who had taken Ferdie’s lecture to heart.
How can I love a man who is such a terrible loser? thought Flora in despair.
It was Lysander to serve again. Crouching at the net, Kitty felt stabbing pains in her tummy, but was more aware of Hermione crouching on the back line. There was no goodwill in that beautiful face now, just hatred. Her return came straight at Kitty, hitting her glasses, sending them flying. Blindly Kitty groped for them.
‘In front of you,’ shouted the crowd.
Racing up, Lysander disengaged them from the net.
‘You OK, sweetheart?’
She’s got gorgeous eyes, he thought irrationally, as he handed her glasses back to her. Ferdie must get her into contact lenses.
Strolling back to the base line, he bounced the ball longer than usual, until a hush fell over the court. It was still set point. Rannaldini took service, blasting it at Kitty, who, shaken, mishit it. The pink ball sailed up in the air.
‘Brilliant,’ howled Lysander. ‘Terrific return, Kitty.’
‘Mine,’ shouted Rannaldini, shoving Hermione aside and coiling himself up for a pulverizing smash. Alas, he was an inch too short. The ball cleared the top of his racquet, dropping a centimetre inside the back line. The crowd erupted.
‘Game, set, match and tournament to Kitty and Lysander,’ said Bob in ill-disguised delight.
Rannaldini’s face was expressionless as he shook hands, but Kitty gasped with pain as his grip almost broke her fingers. With the sun gone, it was suddenly chilly. A screech owl screamed from the depths of the wood. As people gathered round clapping Lysander and Kitty on the back, the pavilion telephone rang. Only members of the family knew the number. Natasha got there first.
‘Wolfie,’ she gave a scream of delight, ‘where are you? You got straight As, didn’t you know? Bloody good. How’s Australia? What time is it? You sound plastered. It’s Wolfie,’ she said to Rannaldini, who’d gone even stiller, his eyes boring into Flora.
‘D’you want a word with Dad?’ Natasha went on, as Rannaldini held out his hand. ‘Oh, right.’ Then, incredulously, ‘You want to speak to Kitty? You’ve rung up to wish her happy birthday? Omigod.’ Even Natasha was horrified. ‘Is it today? I’ll put her on.’
Everyone exchanged shocked glances, but no-one looked blacker than Rannaldini or redder than Kitty as she picked up the telephone.
‘’Allo, Wolfie. Well done with your Hay levels. We was so proud. It’s ever so kind of you to remember. Well, I got a postal order from Mum, and a nice card.’
Flora’s eyes filled with tears. Poor Kitty, and poor Wolfie, whom she’d treated so dreadfully. She was about to snatch the telephone from Kitty and ask him how he was, when Kitty said: ‘Cheerio, Wolfie. We all miss you. Come back soon.’ She put down the receiver to a chorus of, ‘You should have told us. Shame on you, Rannaldini!’
‘Happy birthday to you,’ sang Flora’s sweet, clear, piercing voice and everyone joined in, with Hermione’s voice soaring above everyone else’s, just to prove she should have been picked for Leonora.
‘Many happies, Brickie.’ As the singing ended, Guy hugged Kitty. ‘I can’t tell you how much we’re all looking forward to tea.’
‘You better come and organize it,’ said Rannaldini, stalking off towards the house.
As Kitty panted after him, Lysander noticed a dark red stain on the back of her shorts. Snatching up Natasha’s long scarlet cardigan, he sprinted after them. Where the hell were his dogs? Ferdie was useless at keeping an eye on them.
Entering through the french windows of the summer parlour, he heard Rannaldini saying in a chilling voice: ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’
‘I’m ever so sorry, Rannaldini. I didn’t want no fuss.’
‘It’s your job to remember birthdays. How dare you show me up as a sheet in front of all those peoples? You’ll pay for eet.’
‘Ahem.’ Lysander joined them in the hall. ‘You mustn’t get cold.’ And, putting Natasha’s cardigan round Kitty’s shoulders so it completely covered the bloodstain, he did up the top three buttons. He was just pondering how he could warn her that she’d got the curse without her dying of mortification when an even more piercing scream made them all jump out of their skins, and Mrs Brimscombe rushed in.
‘It’s Mrs Kitty’s tea,’ she screeched. ‘Come quickly.’
Joined by the rest of the guests, swarming into the dining room in greedy expectation, they were greeted by a scene of total devastation.
Jack was on the table, paws in the smoked-salmon quiche, cocktail sausages hanging like fangs from his mouth. Dinsdale stood with his forepaws up on a chair, owlishly looking round like an old man disturbed in his club, a large chocolate Swiss roll drooping from his lips like a cigar. Plates of sandwiches and cakes had been upended all over the floor, and a great jug of milk dripped its last into a huge white puddle on the floor, beside which Maggie was languidly licking the last of the whipped cream out of Kitty’s strawberry flan.
There was a terrible pause, then over the pandemonium, Rannaldini’s voice could be heard saying: ‘I shall be leaving in five minutes, Keety. There’s a button needs sewing on my tailcoat.’
40
‘Compared with Rannaldini’s green and pleasant oasis, this place is like the Sahara,’ grumbled Georgie as she sat on the terrace with Ferdie and Lysander the following evening, drinking Pimm’s and surveying her parched garden.
All the little trees she and Guy had planted were dying. The only things that thrived w
ere the wild oats growing outside the kitchen window which had turned as claret coloured as an old club roue’s face.
‘Why was Kitty crying so much?’ she went on. ‘She’s such a trouper I was convinced she’d magic up Stroganoff and lemon meringue pie for twenty out of the freezer. I never dreamt she’d go to pieces.’
‘She thought she was pregnant and found she’d got the curse.’ Lysander put down the Racing Post. ‘She’s desperate to have a baby.’
‘If she had Rannaldini’s child,’ said Ferdie, ‘it would give her some financial hold on him.’
‘She’s not like that,’ said Lysander quickly. ‘She just adores children and wants one of her own. Then she wouldn’t be lonely in that great Dracula barracks. I’d be scared shitless living there alone.’
‘I’d be more frightened when Rannaldini was at home,’ said Georgie with a shiver.
‘She confessed he doesn’t sleep with her very often.’
‘You did get a lot out of her,’ said Georgie, amazed.
‘So you’ll take her on?’ asked Ferdie, suddenly business-like.
Lysander gazed moodily at the gold coin of the setting sun on the dark horizon. It was as though Ferdie was putting a pound in the slot.
‘OK. But only to annoy Rannaldini.’
‘Improving her appearance is the most important thing,’ said Ferdie briskly. ‘We’ve got to de-prude her. Burn those terrible clothes and get the weight off. Mind you, I’m one to talk!’ He squeezed the huge roll of fat above his agonizingly tight waistband. ‘Sales of chocolate have rocketed since the recession.’
He was feeling guilty about skiving from the office, but at least he’d confirmed his suspicions that both Larry and Guy were desperately strapped for cash. Neither had bought a single round when the remains of the tennis party had retreated to The Pearly Gates last night. There was no point in Marigold and Georgie having quixotic and extravagant schemes for salvaging Kitty’s marriage if there wasn’t any money. Fortunately Georgie had received a large overseas royalty cheque that morning. She’d planned to give half to Guy, but after yesterday’s pursuit of Rachel, she wrote a cheque to Ferdie instead, retaining Lysander’s services for herself and Kitty until Christmas.
‘Let’s go and see Kitty,’ said Ferdie, draining his Pimm’s.
They found her in the garden talking to Mr Brimscombe. Her eyes were still red, but she greeted them cheerfully.
‘Mr B. and I’ve been chasing a cow out of the vegetable garden. Must of stuffed hisself. Fank goodness Rannaldini’s away.’
‘How did it escape?’ asked Georgie. ‘I thought your husband’s fences were everything-proof.’
‘Must have come over the cattle grid,’ said Mr Brimscombe. ‘I’ve seen cows do it. They get so hungry, they stand sideways on the edge of the grid, then they lies down, and roll their legs over, and wriggle till their feets touch t’other side. Then they stands up and off they goes.’
‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ said Kitty in delight.
‘Reassuring, too,’ said Georgie drily. ‘Means you can get out of anything, if you want to enough. Done much damage?’
‘Only a few footprints on the lawn and a lot of veggies,’ said Kitty. ‘But ’Arvest Festival comes up before Rannaldini’s back, so we can blame that.’
Waving Mr Brimscombe goodnight, Kitty led them into the kitchen, where she had been making bramble jelly and listening to the tape of Miss Saigon.
‘Heavenly smell.’ Georgie gave the scummy dark crimson mixture a stir.
‘I’ll give you a jar,’ said Kitty, ‘and fank you for the lovely bouquet, Ferdie. I got a lovely azalea from Guy as well.’
We even send separate presents these days, thought Georgie wearily.
‘And fank you for Miss Saigon, Lysander. I’ve been playing it all day.’
‘What else did you get?’ asked Georgie.
Kitty giggled. ‘A solar-powered calculator from Rachel, and a jumper from Hermione. It’s got a pattern wiv sheep round the bottom, which make my bottom look ’uger than ever.’
‘Typical,’ said Georgie. ‘And what did Rannaldini give you other than a thick ear?’
Kitty blushed. ‘Nuffink, but he’s been filming all day.’
‘Never mind,’ said Ferdie. ‘Marigold and Georgie are going to give you a special present. Let’s you and me go into the drawing room.’
‘In a place that won’t let us feel, I have found you,’ sang Miss Saigon.
‘Just let me hear this bit,’ pleaded Kitty.
‘You can hear it later.’
Kitty was flabbergasted to learn that Lysander had been paid to make Guy and Larry jealous.
‘But he seemed so keen, particularly on Georgie.’
‘Things have got a bit out of hand there,’ admitted Ferdie, ‘and I’m not sure it’s had the desired effect on Guy.’
But when he explained that Marigold and Georgie wanted to give her Lysander’s services, Kitty at first flatly refused.
‘I couldn’t do that to Rannaldini. It wouldn’t be right. Anyway nuffing would bring him back when he wasn’t there in the first place.’
‘But you love him.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Kitty gave a sigh. ‘I go weak wiv longing every time I sees him.’
‘Then it’s worth a try, just till Christmas. You’d like to be thinner.’
‘Oh, I would.’
After a lot of persuading, Kitty agreed to let Lysander help her improve her appearance, but not to his hanging around pretending to be keen on her.
‘It was realistic wiv Georgie and Marigold. They’re both beautiful.’
‘Not when he took them on,’ said Ferdie. ‘Look, I’d like to lose a bit myself. I’m going on holiday to the Algarve on Friday. I bet you a hundred pounds I lose more than you by the time I get back in the second week in October.’
That’s the rest of my running-away money, thought Kitty wistfully. Oh hell, it was worth a try.
‘All right, you’re on,’ she said, then blushing scarlet, ‘d’you fink it might help if I talked more proper? Marigold suggested elocution lessons like she ’ad. Marigold talks so lovely.’
‘No, no,’ said Ferdie hastily. ‘You don’t want to end up talking like Mrs Thatcher.’
In appalling embarrassment, Kitty and Ferdie were then weighed in, with Lysander and Georgie as witnesses. Kitty was eleven stone one, Ferdie over fifteen stone, until Lysander discovered two Jaffa oranges in his blazer pockets.
‘That’s cheating,’ he shouted, shoving Ferdie back on the scales. ‘You’re only fifteen now. Enter it in the game book,’ he ordered Georgie.
‘Kitty’s will-power is stronger than mine so she deserved a handicap,’ grumbled Ferdie. ‘And get that ghastly tight perm cut off,’ he added taking Lysander aside. ‘And I want her in contact lenses by the time I get back from Portugal.’
Rannaldini was away for two months filming and guest conducting. Georgie was working flat out on the album, seeing musicians and rehearsing for a concert in London the same week that Ferdie got home, which left Kitty and Lysander a lot of spare time.
He tried to cure her terror of horses by walking her round on Arthur who seemed slightly less lame, but although Kitty liked Arthur and took to making him his favourite bread-and-butter pudding, she still much preferred a fence between the two of them. She and Lysander also played endless tennis, worked out and swam. Seeing Kitty’s vast thighs inside which the gusset of her black bathing dress practically disappeared, Lysander wondered if it was all worth it, but he carried on because she was so touchingly grateful.
The drought continued, and was now called an Indian Summer. Leaves were so dry they clanged down. More cows wriggled across the sheep grid into Rannaldini’s woods.
One evening Lysander sat in the kitchen at Valhalla celebrating a large win on Rupert Campbell-Black’s horse Penscombe Pride and watching Kitty iron.
‘Rachel says it’s a wicked waste of energy ironing underpants and ’ankies,’ announced Kitty, ‘but can y
ou imagine Rannaldini goin’ on the rostrum wiv a crumpled ‘ankie.’
‘Why did you marry him?’
‘I was his secretary.’
‘I know that.’
‘It was the Wednesday. I asked him if I could have the Saturday off to go to a wedding. “That’s very inconvenient,” he said. “Whose wedding is it?” I said, “It’s mine, Rannaldini.” He was ever so upset, I fink he was worried he wouldn’t find nuffing when I was on honeymoon. That night he turned up at our ’ouse at two in the morning. Mum was ’opping. Rannaldini drove me to Valhalla. Dawn was breaking, an’ there was a white dew, and all the birds in the air was singin’. It was so beautiful. He was separated from Cecilia by then. He said I couldn’t marry Kevin, because he was going to marry me. Just the same way he used to say: “Bring your book in”. You know how forceful he is.’
‘Christ,’ said Lysander in awe. ‘What happened to all the presents and the cake and things?’
‘They went back.’ Kitty hung her head. ‘It was the worst fing I ever done. Mum was so upset, so was Kevin’s mum and dad, Kevin was — ’ Kitty went pink — ‘he was ’eartbroken.’
‘But you’re Catholic, Kitty. It’s a mortal sin to marry a divorced man.’
‘No, I’m C. of E. Rannaldini’s Cafflic. The vicar at ’ome was ’orrified. Rannaldini got a quickie divorce and married me three weeks later.’
‘I’m gobsmacked,’ said Lysander. ‘Was it ever any good?’
‘Was he faithful? No, never. I caught him phoning Hermione on our honeymoon. “Nuffing will change, my darlink,’ he was reassuring her. An’ it didn’t.’
‘You’re singeing that shirt,’ said Lysander.
Kitty jumped and snatched up her iron.
‘I just ’oped one day he might fall in love wiv me, like Mr Rochester. I’ve read too many romances. People say pack it in, but I ’ate frowing flowers away when they ain’t all dead.’