“I can hear her in the outer scullery,” said Guy. “Listen.”
“Yes,” said Maria, brandishing a large wooden spoon and heading for the distant corner where Esme was yodelling and carolling among the suds.
“Ahora, take those earphones off!” shrieked Maria.
Esme was oblivious. Strains of the Italian opera blasting through her earphones were audible even to Maria. Mingled with Esme’s own singalong noises, the overall effect was, Maria considered, horrible. She advanced and snatched the earphones from Esme’s head.
“Ave Maria purissima, you are not even listening to a good Spanish tenor, a Carreras, or Placido. No, you listen to that fat Italian.”
“Pavarotti is the goods,” said Esme, not at all put out by losing her earphones. “What’s the fuss, Maria?”
“Fuss? Dinner is ready, everyone is there, waiting, picking quarrels with each other because their blood sugar is so low.”
“They don’t need low blood sugar to pick a quarrel,” said Esme, drying her hands. “You want me to go tell them grub’s up, I suppose.”
“Do it with grace and courtesy for once,” pleaded Guy as Esme, six foot in her flip-flops, made her way through the kitchen.
“Grace and courtesy?” said Maria contemptuously. “That one? Never! The sooner she goes back to Australia the better, that’s what I say.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Guy, deftly tipping the gazpacho from its chilled bowl into an ornate soup tureen with feet and a curly top. “But she and Mona from the village are getting very, very friendly, I have to tell you.”
“Ayi!” said Maria, casting her eyes up to heaven.
Esme came back into the kitchen, slap, slap on the stone floor. “Right-o,” she said, “that’s them all sitting down ready for their din-dins. Except for the new girl, she isn’t down yet. Who is she? I passed her in the hall this afternoon; she doesn’t look very happy.”
“She’s a cousin,” said Guy repressively. “She’s staying for a while. Now, I’ll take the soup in, and you follow with the tray of garnishes.”
“That soup’s cold!” said Esme in disbelief.
“It’s a chilled soup, stupid one,” hissed Maria. “A speciality of Andalucia, where I come from.”
Esme was intrigued. “I thought you were Spanish.”
“Give me strength,” said Guy.
“Where have they put this cousin?” said Esme, falling into place behind Guy.
“In the yellow room,” said Maria.
“You helped Hester get it ready this morning,” Guy pointed out.
“Yeah, well, I thought she was just being fussy, doing out the room. Hope the owls won’t disturb the cousin.”
“Never mind the owls,” said Maria. “You take that soup in right now, this instant, because otherwise my fish will be spoilt and then I will kill you.”
“You’re the boss,” said Esme, padding after Guy. “But don’t expect me to eat any of that cold soup for my tea. Ugh!”
The small dining-room where the family was assembled was dark, even on a summer evening, since the stone mullioned windows let in the minimum of light. Candles flared on the sideboard and on the deeply polished table.
Victor crushed a roll and flattened his white napkin across his knees. He looked across at the empty place. “Where’s Gina?” he demanded. “Harry, you should be looking after her.”
“She’s coming,” said Harry. “Went back to get her watch.”
“Nervy-looking,” said Victor. “Needs feeding up; what’s she been doing to make her look like that?”
“I remember her as a very bouncy, robust child,” said Hester. “She does have a troubled look to her; never mind, a quiet spell in the country with us will soon bring the colour back into her cheeks.”
Harry tilted his chair back and flashed an amused glance at his aunt. “Quiet spell?” he said mockingly. “Here?”
Gina slid into the room, awkward because of being late. Then she took in the full glory of the dining-room, and let out a surprised “Oh!” as she saw the intricately plastered ceiling and the exquisite tapestries on the wall. The seventeenth-century hangings were in faded shades of green and grey and cream, although they must once have buzzed with colour. They depicted scenes from classical mythology; across from where Gina was standing a languishing nymph was being approached by a vigorous-looking satyr. Further along, Persephone wandered in the fields, and there was Venus in the foam.
Gina gave a sigh as she came back to the present day to find that Victor was standing beside her, introducing her to the big, golden woman with a watchful face who sat at one end of the table.
Julia gave her a cool nod. “Good evening, Gina. Hester was right, you look worried and unrested. Drink plenty of water, my dear, it does wonders for the complexion, you shouldn’t have those dark shadows under your eyes at your age.”
Victor sat Gina on his right, next to Harry. “A cosy family party,” he said jovially as he sat down again.
Prim, who had changed into another pair of less faded trousers and a clean shirt, sent him a single malevolent glance before turning her attention back to Hester. They were discussing vine weevils in some considerable detail. At the other end of the table, Julia was holding forth about an interesting patient she had seen that day.
“One look and you could tell it wasn’t a urinary tract infection. Well, of course the smell of the discharge is an immediate giveaway.”
Revolting though this conversation was, Gina felt that it was a lot better than her own interrogation by Julia which followed. Unlike the others, Julia had little time for polite enquiries to make about the Hartwell family. Just a few remarks about what an admirable couple Gina’s supposed grandparents were.
“They never got on, of course, quite incompatible; in fact I believe they loathed each other. But they stayed together through thick and thin, their marriage vows meant something to them.”
Victor wasn’t having any of that. “Nonsense,” he said. “The only thing that’s held them together is money. He made some, she provided some more; excellent dowry she had. There was no way they could split up, no way at all.” He nodded at Gina. “Not much of the other trouble these days, well, there wouldn’t be, not at your grandmother’s age. No one would look at her now, I dare say.”
Even if she had known what they were talking about, and these people being so ruthlessly dissected were her own family, Gina wouldn’t have known how to reply. Luckily, Julia, having got the social niceties out of the way, changed the subject.
“Tell us about yourself, Georgiana.”
Harry was lolling back in his chair, obviously much amused. “She likes to be called Gina, Mother.”
“Gina, very well. Have you any boyfriends? How old are you now? Must be what, twenty-four? High time you were married, nothing like marriage to keep a young girl out of mischief. Best place for all those urges is the marriage bed, and none of these unmarried mothers running round on social security will persuade me otherwise. If you choose right, some man who is good in bed, then there’s no need for promiscuity. Keep him happy, plenty of good food, regular rest, then he’ll perform well when you want him to, and you’ll have a good marriage.”
Gina didn’t know what to say. Harry winked at her. “Pay no attention,” he said. “It’s Julia’s hobby-horse, marriage.”
Julia gave Harry a frosty look. “Not a hobby-horse, Harry; don’t be impertinent. I know what I’m talking about, which is more than you do.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin and waved an imperious hand at Esme. “Over here, Esme, some more of this soup.”
Gina watched, fascinated, to see how skilfully Julia manoeuvred the soup over her magnificent bosom. She wasn’t a young woman, nor was she slim or trim or any of the things which are modern necessaries for fashionable attractiveness. She was, however, magnetic and overpowering and very sexy, and Victor, whom Gina suspected of having a roving eye, was clearly feeling uxorious this evening; judging by his bedroom eyes when he l
ooked at Julia.
Hester in her kind way now began a stream of gentle questions about Gina’s well-being, whether she liked tea or coffee in the morning, were the spa salts in her bathroom to her taste, or did she prefer a shower gel, there was an ultra-light quilt in the wardrobe if she found it too hot at night, did she care for a hot or cold drink when she went to bed?
Gina had to concentrate hard to give sensible answers. They must think I’m very stupid, she said to herself as she um-ed and er-ed her replies. Then, horror, Hester began on her family. Had she seen Jack recently? Was it her Aunt Sophie’s girl who had got married in the spring? How was George’s back, she’d heard he’d had to go into hospital..
Hester came to her rescue as the fish remains were carried out. “Gina doesn’t spend much time at home these days, do you, Gina? Too busy organizing this and that at Oxford, from what Harry has told us.”
“Yes, of course, that was where Harry ran into you, wasn’t it?” said Victor.
“Tell us about your writing work,” said Hester.
By the time an elderflower ice had come and gone, and the cheese had been passed round, Gina felt as though a steamroller had been over her.
“I’ll take my coffee to my office,” Victor told Esme.
“Right-o,” said Esme. “Is there a good game on tonight? Who’s playing?”
Victor looked like a naughty boy caught out in a misdeed. “I’m going to do some work,” he said with dignity.
Esme gave a snort of laughter and clashed a few plates together.
Guy, who had come in on silent feet, cast Esme a withering look and took the tray from her.
“Coffee in the library for everyone else?”
“Not for me, thanks,” said Prim. “Time for a bit of weeding in the veggie patch before it gets dark.”
“We’ll have it in the drawing-room tonight, I think, Guy,” said Julia. “And, Victor!”
Victor paused at the door.
“Don’t be late to bed tonight.”
Gina slunk away to her room, pleading tiredness, as soon as she could. She waited for twenty minutes or so, to make sure that Hester wasn’t going to come tapping on the door to enquire about her well-being, or offer her again the nightcap she had refused earlier. Then she opened the door and, wincing every time a floorboard creaked, made her way down the back stairs, hoping to be able to slip out unobserved.
“Hello, Gina,” came an antipodean yell, as she reached the bottom. “Do you need something?”
“No, I’m all right, thank you,” Gina shouted back. She had to shout; Esme had a radio going full blast with Act 3 of I Puritani. “I just came down the wrong stairs. I only wanted a breath of fresh air.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” said Esme. “Sweat pours off you, night like this. Here.”
She obligingly held the back door open for her, and Gina found herself in the stableyard. She could hear voices over on the other side, and paused. Esme was behind her. “Don’t worry about them, it’s only Guy flirting with Harry. Harry’s tuning his motorbike. Harry’s always tuning his motorbike, should get himself a new one if you ask me.”
Gina made an agonized sshing noise, but Harry was too intent on his revs and Guy too intent on Harry for either of them to notice her.
“Best place to go is on the terraces,” said Esme kindly. “The mozzies don’t bite nearly so much there.”
“Thank you,” hissed Gina, who knew exactly where she was going.
Once free of the house and its ubiquitous inhabitants, she set off along the drive. She had come this way with Harry, and had noticed a red phone box on the triangle of green outside the village pub. Armed with 10p coins, because something told her the phone wouldn’t take a card, she made her way out of the gates and along the darkening lane to Heartsease.
Mercifully, the light in the telephone box had long since ceased to function, otherwise Gina would have been spotlit and visible to all the houses grouped round the small green. As it was, she felt that eyes were on her as she peered at the dial, anxious to get the numbers right. The phone rang at the other end.
Let Zoe be in, Gina prayed. And let her answer the phone, not Fergus.
“Oxford 429817.”
Zoe.
Relief.
“Zoe,” said Gina. “It’s me, Gina.”
“Who, oh, Gina! Great. Speak up, this is a terrible line. Or can’t you, are you in a hall?”
“No, I’m in a phone box,” said Gina in her normal voice.
“That’s better. Is someone with you?”
“No, no, that’s why I’ve come out to the village. I just feel that people are listening.”
“I know the feeling,” said Zoe. “I grew up in a village like that, and do you know what? There always was someone listening. Look, give me your number, and I’ll ring you back.”
“Can’t,” said Gina. “Blank space on the dial, I think it must have faded.”
“Probably removed in the war to fool the Germans,” said Zoe. “Quick, then, before you run out of money. Your news first, and then I’ll bring you up to date at this end.”
“It’s no good, Zoe, I’m coming back to Oxford. I can’t go through with this.”
“Marrying Harry? I thought you said from the start there’s no question of that. Is he being difficult?”
“No, no, he’s rather kind, actually, and we haven’t even discussed... well, what you’re talking about. No, it’s just that I can’t possibly go on pretending to be Georgie. They ask me impossible questions which I can’t answer, and besides, Zoe, this isn’t an ordinary family!”
“Very upper class?” said Zoe. “Bit stiff and dim and unfriendly?”
“Oh, not at all. They’re just, oh, different. I suspect they’re all wildly clever, and I’m sure they know I’m up to something. This is premier league, here, Zoe, I’m playing in the wrong game.”
“No, no, you’re imagining it,” said Zoe. “Now, listen, you can’t come back. Popplewell’s still sniffing round.”
“Popplewell? He can’t be,” wailed Gina. “He knows I’ve left the country.”
“He’s not too sure. He turned up on the doorstep and started asking all kinds of nosy questions. Fergus soon sent him packing, but he does suspect something. You’ll have to stay where you are.”
“No, I won’t,” said Gina firmly. “I’ll come back to Oxford and tell the truth...”
“And be had up for deception or a misdemeanour or disturbing the peace and then they’ll deport you, and put squiggles all over your passport and you won’t have a hope in hell of ever coming back.”
“Oh, bugger,” said Gina.
“You mustn’t blow it now,” urged Zoe. “I know you can carry it off. Don’t let them frighten you. Look, I have to go, I can hear Fergus, you know how nosy he is, he’ll want to know who I’m talking to.”
Gina heard a rustle at the other end, and then Zoe’s voice, very clear and precise. “It’s my Aunt Alice, Fergus.” Then, in a whisper, “These English families aren’t so bad when you get to know them. Really. Bye.”
Click.
No, thought Gina gloomily, as she pushed open the door of the kiosk with her shoulder. They’re much, much worse.
CHAPTER 6
Rattle. Crash. Bang. Esme banged a cup of tea down beside Gina’s bed and slopped over to the window. “Great day,” she said enthusiastically, drawing the curtains back. “Hope the owls weren’t too noisy. I hate owls.”
Gina, who had passed a sticky and restless night, pursued by winged motorcyclists, Popplewells in drag and a raging white bull, mumbled her thanks. Esme shut the door behind her with a loud thud, and then immediately opened it again.
“Forgot to say, breakfast in half an hour.”
Although only half past eight, the sun streaming in at the window already carried the promise of almost tropical heat. Owls? thought Gina, sliding out of bed and heading for the bathroom. Yes, she remembered hearing owls last night. Several different sorts of owl, judging by the va
ried hoots which had interwoven her dreams.
She didn’t look in the mirror; she knew all too well what she would look like. Grim.
A powerful shower refreshed her somewhat, but the air was still hot and heavy. Shorts, she decided. Usually she kept those for walking; the sights that hot weather brought out in city streets were enough to put anyone off shorts. But this was the country, she was in a sense on holiday - better to think of it like that than to admit she was in hiding.
Gina had very good legs, but she realized the shorts were a mistake as soon as she came into the breakfast room. Guy, who was hovering round with plates, greeted her with a “Love your shorts,” but Victor’s glance was altogether of a different kind, and Julia didn’t look at all pleased. Hester, who probably never noticed what anyone was wearing, at once offered tea, coffee, fruit juice, and led Gina through an assortment of cereals, eggs, fish and various rolls and kinds of toast. “What do you normally have for breakfast, my dear?” she asked.
Gina didn’t like to tell her that it was a slice of toast and an instant coffee if she had time. Except for Sundays, of course. Lovely Sundays, when Fergus cooked what he called a proper breakfast at about eleven o’clock in the morning, and they sat in a room strewn with Sunday papers, eating platefuls of food which lasted them until a late supper. Gina wondered if she’d ever enjoy another one of those leisurely Oxford days; somehow at the moment it didn’t seem very likely.
“No point looking back all the time,” said Harry in bracing tones.
“What?” said Gina.
“I can tell, you were feeling mournful about something in the past. The food reminded you, I expect. You know what smells and tastes are like. Ex-pats getting a whiff of cut grass and going all moody at the thought of England, forgetting the wet, the dirt and the general nastiness of life. Or, contrariwise, poor exiled Mediterraneans like Maria getting a scent of cypress or orange blossom. You can tell those days with Maria, because her creme caramels don’t set and she gets into a very Spanish temper.”
Wild Grapes Page 6