Aimee’s eyes shone. “A bower of bliss,” she said happily. “With silken cushions and Persian rugs.”
“And several packets of Kleenex for afterwards,” said Harry sourly.
“Don’t be crude,” said Julia. “Aimee, you must try not to dwell quite so much on the erotic side of life.”
“It’s the only side of life that interests me,” said Aimee simply, forking a mouthful of paella into her mouth. She gave her shoulders a languorous shrug. “Some people have a talent for mundane matters, such as accounts or gardening or diseases. I have a talent for love. Lucky me.”
Julia gave up. “I shall want to eat early tonight, Guy. Please tell Maria.”
“Off on a toot while Victor’s away?” enquired Harry.
Julia’s look would have quelled anyone but Harry. “I am attending a meeting in Heartsbury. On teaching safe sex in schools.”
Aimee looked up. “How boring,” she said in her soft voice. “Safety and sex, ugh!”
Harry laughed. “A contradiction in terms, don’t you think, Julia?”
“I have no time for it,” said Julia. “If schools spent more time teaching proper academic subjects, and less time on how to be a Lesbian and introducing sadomasochism, these poor young people would all be much better off.”
“We had condoms on bananas at school,” said Aimee, thoughtfully selecting a peach from the well-filled fruit bowl. “It was disgusting, and quite unnecessary.”
“Liberals,” said Julia scornfully. “All quaint ideas and no sense. Guy, I shall be in the study this afternoon. I’ll have tea in there at four-thirty. And please bring it yourself; Esme broke a cup last time.”
Guy nodded. “Coffee now?”
“No, thank you,” said Julia. “Harry, you’re spending too much time at home. Your business will suffer.”
“My business is fine, Julia.”
“It won’t be if you neglect it.”
CHAPTER 10
“Hi, Pa,” Harry called down from an upstairs window.
Victor stopped, looked up, glared, and went on his way into the house.
“No luck,” said Harry, startling Gina as he landed beside her.
“I thought you were upstairs,” she said.
“I was, in my room, but I slid down the banisters. Thus puzzling you with my speedy arrival,” he explained.
“Who’s had no luck?” asked Gina.
“Pa. With his Swiss bint.”
“How do you know?”
“I can always tell,” said Harry. “If all had gone well, meaning that he’d got her into bed at last, there would be a happy curl to the mouth, a lightness of step, a general air of being well-pleased with himself. These characteristics are, you can see for yourself, all absent.”
“How absurd,” said Gina, laughing.
“Don’t mock,” said Harry. “It’s true. He’s walking firmly, he isn’t smiling, there’s a look of pent-up energy, so clearly the chase is still on.”
“What about Julia?”
“Julia will do all right, he’ll pounce tonight. Of course Julia knows exactly what he’s up to, so she’ll give him a hard time.”
“You’re very disrespectful about your parents. Apart from speculating on their private moments together.”
“One, they aren’t my parents,” said Harry, counting off on his fingers. “Okay, Victor is, but not Julia. Two, it isn’t disrespectful, just honest. Three, these moments aren’t so private. Julia hurls abuse at him, the whole house resonates. Just you wait. It reaches a crescendo, and then ... Silence. And you don’t need to have any imagination to complete the scenario. Besides,” he continued, taking Gina by the arm and leading her out of the door and towards the orchard, “I hate Julia; why should I be respectful?”
“You hate her? Why?”
“She nags,” said Harry.
“Nonsense,” said Gina bracingly. She was thinking about Victor. “Does your father often have these, oh, fancies?”
“All the time,” said Harry cheerfully.
“No wonder Julia gets narked. I wouldn’t put up with it.”
“She’d be jealous even if he didn’t give her any grounds, it’s in her nature. So he might as well go ahead and enjoy himself.”
“What happens if he really falls for one of these other women? Wants to divorce Julia?”
“I told you, he’s already done that. They didn’t marry again, as far as I know. I suppose my ma divorced him; I hope so, since she’s acquired a new husband.”
“So Victor could just arrive back at Heartsease with a new wife?”
“He’s too canny for that. Can you imagine the scenes? And another thing, Hester wouldn’t like it. Victor relies very heavily on Hester for all his creature comforts. Besides, he always comes back to base; these others are just flings. It’s not altogether surprising; I have to admit, Julia’s got what it takes. If you like that type, which I don’t; all cow’s eyes and creamy flesh. Of course, what’s really funny is when some other man starts making up to Julia. Wow!”
“Not allowed?”
“Definitely on the no-no list as far as Victor’s concerned.”
Gina’s mind was in the Alps. “If this Swiss girl isn’t interested, why does he bother?”
“He loves the chase,” said Harry simply. “He can plot and plan and work out strategies. I have to say, he’s usually successful in the end. After all, he’s got a lot going for him, even if he isn’t young. Still plenty of action there, one supposes.”
“Are you going to be the same?” asked Gina, leaning against a gnarled apple tree and looking thoughtfully at Harry.
“Me? Good Lord, no. Wonderful in bed, of course, please try me; but I’m much more the faithful type than Pa. When I find my heart’s delight, that’s it. Or even if I don’t, I still won’t emulate Victor.”
“What is your type?” Gina asked.
Harry wasn’t going to be caught out like that. “Dark, with sparkling if wounded eyes, abandoned curls, tallish, slim...”
“Not like your father, then.”
“His tastes are exaggerated,” said Harry primly.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Gina. “I expect voluptuous silver blondes are what you go for.” She plucked a green fruit from the tree. “Have a sour apple.”
“Thank you,” said Harry courteously.
Guy knocked loudly on Esme’s door. “Esme? Where are you? What are you doing? You’re needed in the kitchen, it’s a full house tonight.”
He was answered by a soft wailing sound. He paused for a moment, and then opened the door. Esme was lying, face down on the bed, stark naked.
Guy averted his eyes. “Esme, why are you making that peculiar noise? Are you in pain?”
Esme twisted her head round to look at him. “I should say so; agony is what I’m in.”
“Have you eaten something?”
“No, I’ve been out in the sun and I’ve burned my bum.”
Guy took a quick look at that portion of Esme’s anatomy. Her large and handsome bottom was indeed very red.
“I can’t move,” said Esme.
“And what were you doing in the sun with a bare backside, as if I couldn’t guess?” said Guy severely.
“None of your business. But I can’t work tonight.”
“Indeed you can,” said Guy. “Victor’s back, the whole family will be in for dinner, we can’t do without you. Wait there.”
“Listen, I’m not going anywhere, mate. Just don’t you think you’re going to get me up,” she yelled after him as he slipped quietly out of the room.
He was back in a few minutes, with aspirin and a tub of homeopathic belladonna tablets in one hand and a tube of painkilling sunburn lotion in the other.
“Take these two by mouth,” he said, “and apply this externally to the other end.”
“I can’t,” moaned Esme. “You’ll have to do it.”
“Oh, really,” said Guy.
“It’s nothing to you, a woman’s bum. Get o
n with it.”
“I never thought the day would come when I’d have to do this,” said Guy with distaste, smearing the lotion liberally over the affected parts.
“Shut your eyes, you might get to enjoy it,” said Esme.
“I hardly think so,” said Guy with dignity. “There. Now, get up, get dressed and get yourself into the kitchen. You’ve got five minutes.”
“Fascist,” muttered Esme, as Guy shut the door behind him.
Gina was alone with her thoughts, and she wasn’t finding them good company. Hester had gone shopping, and Gina was regretting that she hadn’t gone with her, for there was nothing particular to do at the Hall. Harry was in Bath for the afternoon, Nicky was in London, the kitchen was abuzz with some special effort of Maria’s.
It was too hot to cycle, too hot for any but the most minimal effort. She would walk down through the woods to the river and wander along the bank. Gina didn’t feel in the mood for Cordovans at the moment, and there was little chance of meeting any of them down by the river.
She set off across the terraces. The Cordovans were a very hardworking lot, she had to admit. She had always imagined that to be rich was to have limitless leisure and few worries. A state so far removed from her own experience that she had never seriously contemplated how the rich filled their days. No need to strive to pay the rent or to find the wherewithal to buy a new car or to save for a holiday; a recipe for idleness. Yet the Cordovans all seemed to be busy from dawn to dusk.
Aimee? She was the exception. There was a life spent in the pursuit of pleasure, to be sure. Although, presumably, you didn’t have to be rich in order to spend your days like that. All you’d need to do would be to pick your lovers judiciously and funds would doubtless be there for whatever you wanted.
Musing on the turbulent lives of her hosts, Gina walked and slipped and slithered down the steep paths which zig-zagged their way down to the banks of the River Heart. She rejected the broad, grassy tracks, which led gently downwards; feeling reckless, she took short-cuts, plunging off the path and down steep and narrow tracks.
Hardly wide enough for a bunny, Gina said to herself as she hurtled down an extra slippery patch. Good thing she was wearing trousers, otherwise her legs would be a mass of scratches. As it was, she was glad to get to the bottom and on to a more orderly path, which wound its way along beside the meandering river.
Gina had borrowed a map from Hester. Was there anything a visitor might need that she couldn’t at once provide? Gina wondered as she unfolded the sheet. Bend in the river... she looked up. Check, yes, bend in the river. On the other hand, there were several bends in the river; you could in fact say the river was all bends. So you couldn’t be sure which one this was.
Gina looked for other landmarks. Dovecote, the map said. Yes, she’d passed a dovecote on her way down. A large, pretty building with a domed roof and much fluttering of white wings as she’d approached. But had she gone on down this path, or that one there?
Gina gave up, and tucked the map away. She could walk along the river either way. She felt in her pocket for a 10p piece she’d noticed there. “Heads right, tails left,” she said, flipping the coin. Tails, so to the left.
Gina walked slowly along, ducking now and again under the long green branches which hung over the path and dipped down into the water. She felt hot, jungly hot, so kept in the shade as much as she could, relishing the whisper of a breeze which now and then stirred the leaves for a moment, and sent little ripples across the surface of the water.
She paused to admire a heron, fishing among the thick rushes at the water’s edge. Far away, in another great bend of the river, she could make out the figures of two men in a boat. They were doing something with nets as they worked their way up against the current.
I can hear peacocks, too, she thought; they would be up at the hall, trailing their feathers across the terrace.
She smiled as a kingfisher zoomed past in a flash of colour. I feel happy, Gina thought suddenly. Perfectly happy, with a happiness like that of a summer childhood, with no yesterday and no tomorrow. No fears, no worries, just a warm and delightful and fascinating world.
Happy?
Gina’s adult self wasn’t having any of that. Think of all you’ve got to worry about.
You’re an impostor who could be unmasked at any moment.
You need to make a decision about Harry.
Victor has been eyeing you, and you have to admit it, you find him pretty attractive.
You have no money.
And that lot’s just for starters. These hours of pastoral idyll are pure illusion. Stop trying to dream the hours away, there’s no way to escape reality.
Reality? Gina had no time for reality this afternoon. It was too hot, too pleasant for reality. Reality could wait.
She passed two small boys fishing with their father. He touched his tweed hat - tweed hat? in this weather? - as she went past; one of the boys gave a pleased wiggle as he felt a bite on his line.
The grassy path became more pebbly, more purposeful. A sign said, TO THE QUAY.
I don’t want the quay, thought Gina. Quay suggested activity and people. I’ll take the other fork, she decided.
And about a quarter of a mile further on, the dusty lane became altogether more serious, with tarmac and trimmed grassy sides. She had come to a village. HEARTSBANE, said this sign. Underneath, in scrawly letters, a wit had written: ‘Twinned with Coeur de Lyons’.
Heartsbane didn’t have a green. It had a single road, lined with houses, opening out into a small square with a horse trough set against one wall and a trickle of water pouring into it from a spout above. That was the only sound or movement. The inn sign with its gaudy purple grapes hung straight and still in the heavy air.
Just as Gina was thinking how peaceful it was, a series of shrieks and a stream of foreign words ruptured the tranquil spell. Gina didn’t exactly understand them, although one or two seemed vaguely familiar. However, a curse is a curse the world over.
The sounds were coming from a tumbledown cottage set slightly back from.the road on the other side of the square. Gina, always curious, headed for the noise. She tracked its source to an open window at the side of the cottage, and, opening the gate which hung on a single hinge, went to investigate.
“Huh, come to pry and poke your English nose into what doesn’t concern you!”
Gina drew back. Then she recognized the speaker. “Hello,” she said. “You were in the shop at the vineyard. Is something wrong? Can I help?”
It was an unnecessary question, and Gina was already on her way in through the kitchen door. She leant over the sink and heaved the sash window up, holding it while Nadia removed her arm. She lightened her hold and the window crashed down vindictively.
Nadia was clutching her arm with her other hand; her imprecations were louder and sounded much more threatening.
“Run it under cold water,” said Gina practically. “That will help the bruising.”
“This bruising needs no help,” said Nadia dramatically. “It will leave me black and blue without any help from cold water.”
“No, I mean the cold water will reduce the bruising,” said Gina, turning the tap full on. It belched, banged and finally spat out a few brown blotches.
“Oh.”
“You see?” yelled Nadia. “You see what I have to put up with? The window attacks me. The imbecile has turned the water off, so that all I get is brown bits. How can I cook in these conditions?”
Looking around, it seemed a miracle to Gina that Nadia could even think of cooking in the tiny kitchen. So cramped, and so hot; what a pointless way to spend an afternoon.
“Do you need to cook?” said Gina doubtfully. “On such a hot day? Wouldn’t a salad be easier?”
“Of course, we live on salad, I will cook nothing for us in this horrible place. But I cook for that Cordovan man who grows wine, to show him what he should be doing in that nasty little place he calls a shop.”
“Don
,” said Gina.
“Yes, Don he calls himself, although I don’t know what kind of name that is for a serious man of property.”
“What are you making?”
“I have made it. Complete, finished. I was leaning over to open the window to give me some fresh air while I cleared up, and whoosh, down it comes, cutting my hand off.”
“So what is it?”
“What you’re looking at there is wild boar pâté.”
“Wild boar?” Gina stared at Nadia in amazement. “Where did you get wild boar?”
“The forests here are full of wild boar,” said Nadia with satisfaction.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s farmed,” said a man’s voice just behind Gina. “The boars are kept in a fenced area of wood up near Corda Episcopi.” He noticed Nadia’s immobile arm. “Nadia, have you hurt yourself?”
Nadia’s eyes flashed. “Yes, because you cannot be bothered to fix the window when I ask you to.”
Byron was very apologetic. “I was going to do it, Nadia, it’s on my list.” He wiped a dusty arm across his hot face. “There’s so much to do, that’s the trouble. Listen, is that arm okay? Did the window come down on it very heavily? Should we get a doctor to look at it?”
“This person here ...”
“Gina,” she said helpfully.
“This Gina here tried to run cold water on to it. But, no, there is no water because you have turned it off.”
“Lord, of course. Darling, I’m so sorry, I’ll go and put it back on straight away.”
He dived round to the front of the cottage; the tap gave a final shudder and murky water shot out with great force.
“Nothing wrong with your water pressure at any rate,” said Don, appearing at the cottage gate. “Is this a party? Does one have to be invited?”
“You,” spat Nadia. “It’s to show you how things should be done that I take all this trouble.”
Don smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said.
“I make you pâté from wild boar and also some special sausages and wine sorbet, and there are many, many other things you could have to sell there at your vineyard.”
Wild Grapes Page 12