A Married Man, page 14
‘Now, Jess, you are not to be inflammatory!’ I hissed, hustling her upstairs as she dragged her case. ‘You’re here as a guest in her bloody house, so you can jolly well behave.’
‘Her house?’ She stopped on the stairs and frowned. ‘Some mistake, surely, Luce. I could have sworn this was yours.’
She grinned as I ground my teeth, then suddenly dropped her case and gave me a hug.
‘Sorry,’ she said contritely. ‘God, sorry. I’m being a cow already, aren’t I? Really scratchy. I’m just a bit jealous, that’s all.’ She sighed. ‘Life seems to be such a bloody struggle at home at the moment, if you must know; screaming baby, filthy nappies, broken nights, a tiny flat and an absent husband. I’m sunk in the mire of shitty despair, and here you are in this palace …’ She gazed around wistfully. ‘Seems you’ve really fallen on your feet this time, Luce.’
I hugged her back, relieved. This was some admission coming from Jess. ‘Oh don’t worry. It’s not all beer and skittles,’ I assured her magnanimously.
‘Glad to hear it. Got to get my cynical teeth into something or I shall have withdrawal symptoms. And don’t worry about tonight.’ She winked. ‘I shall sing for my supper and be as good as gold. You won’t recognize your gracious, socially adept friend. I’ll charm the pants off them.’
I grinned gratefully and settled them all in their rooms; Rozanna and Teresa sharing, Jess in with me, and the boys downstairs. Later we ate huge bowls of pasta and salad in the garden and drank far too much wine, roaring with laughter about anything at all, but particularly a story Rozanna recounted about Theo and Ray having a stand-up row on the corner of the road about which flowers to buy that week, which culminated in Ray hissing, ‘Well, if we’re going to have tulips, you can jolly well give me back my Calvin Klein underpants!’
The boys played happily the while, proudly showing Pietro the lie of the land, whilst the rest of us frittered away the afternoon; draining bottles dry, lying flat on our backs in a soporific haze, and exposing parts of our bodies that hadn’t seen daylight for months. Occasionally someone would open one languid eye and murmur sleepily, ‘So lovely here, Lucy. Just smell those roses!’
‘And so quiet,’ someone would murmur back.
I’d smile to myself, and I must admit to feeling rather smug and proprietorial, but I also occasionally sat up and glanced nervously over my shoulder lest Lavinia should wander into view, keen to join the party, staggering slightly, clinking her ice and lemon, all ready with a jolly ‘Yoo-hoo!’ to give Jess the thrill of her life. Happily, she stayed away.
Later that evening when we’d all abluted and changed into our party gear, there was much more to admire. It was a beautiful evening, and as we strolled across the fields and down to the lake, the sun was low in a hazy sky. I’d deliberately taken them a rather convoluted but pretty way; out of the back of the barn, through the buttercup meadows where the willow trees waved their feathery fronds languidly in the evening breeze, and then down and across to the shimmering lake, which even the jaundiced Jess couldn’t fail to admire. We crossed the wooden bridge, subtly exchanging nature for nurture as the wild-flower meadows turned to manicured parkland, and then strolled up to Netherby, perched proudly on the hillside, bathed in evening sunlight.
‘Dio mio,’ said Teresa nervously, reaching out for Pietro’s hand suddenly. ‘What’s this, Balmoral?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jess drily. ‘Rose wouldn’t stoop to showing visitors round like they do at Balmoral.’
‘You’re wrong actually,’ I informed her. ‘On Thursdays and Fridays an orderly queue forms and a little old lady from the National Trust performs the task in precisely forty minutes.’
‘No! You mean there are state rooms, or something?’ said Teresa.
‘Certainly there are,’ Jess assured her. ‘There’s even a throne room, through which the orderly queue has to file, heads bowed, tugging forelocks to Lady Rose, the enthroned one.’
Teresa laughed nervously. ‘Now you kid me.’
‘I do, but believe me, I wouldn’t put it past her.’
‘And you were going to behave,’ I muttered as we approached the rose garden. It was thronging with glittering people.
‘I know,’ she sighed, ‘but she doesn’t half bring out the beast in me. Look at all this.’
We gazed around at the milling crowd, everyone chattering away at the tops of their voices in the dusky evening light, champagne glasses clinking. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees above, whilst below, roses in curved beds encircled the throng, mingling their heady scent with the musky nicotianas on the terrace.
‘You know secretly, Lucy,’ Jess confided in my ear, ‘I’m a terrible little suburban snob. I adore Queen and Country and all that regalia, wouldn’t swap it for any grotty little republic, and would biff on the nose any cad who suggested it, but this place makes me want to leap on the nearest chair and sing “The Red Flag”.’
‘For my sake, resist that temptation,’ I begged grimly as we moved forward and muscled our way in.
I’d deliberately timed our entrance rather late, so that hopefully, most people had assembled, and my few extra guests could mingle with the crowd and not be too noticeable. Thus far this seemed a reasonable ploy, since the garden was indeed awash with people, but none, perhaps, quite so gorgeous as Rozanna, in a simple white linen shift dress, slim arms and legs golden brown, her blond hair tumbling down her back, and none, perhaps, quite so trendy as Teresa and Jess, in their tight little shimmering King’s Road dresses and sling-backs. Rose was upon us in seconds.
‘Who, my dear, is that beautiful girl?’ she murmured, as I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray.
‘Hmmm?’ Jess had cleverly slipped away, and I gazed about, pretending I hadn’t the faintest idea. But there was no escape. She was pointing a bony finger now.
‘Oh, that’s Rozanna,’ I said.
‘Rozanna?’
‘Rozanna Carling. She’s staying with me tonight,’ I added bravely, knocking back my champagne for courage. Rose looked startled. Clearly my message hadn’t got through, but I took advantage of her silence to call Rozanna over. Surely she couldn’t be rude to her face?
‘Rozanna, this is Rose Fellowes, our hostess tonight.’
Rozanna said hello, and Rose inclined her head, just a fraction. She gave a tight little smile and looked like she’d swallowed a lemon.
‘My dear, you didn’t say you had other guests,’ she murmured, head still bowed.
‘Oh, just one or two,’ I said brazenly. ‘And this,’ I went on, emboldened, as Archie ambled up, ‘is our host, Archie Fellowes. Rozanna Carling.’
Archie’s eyes inexplicably popped, and he nearly bit clean through his champagne glass. ‘Rozanna!’ he gasped.
‘We’ve met,’ purred Rozanna, extending a golden arm. ‘Archie, how lovely to see you.’
‘Oh, er, yes. I – er …’ Archie spluttered as he took her hand, his face quite purple now. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.
‘You’ve met?’ Rose frowned. ‘Where?’
‘Oh. Now. Let me think. Where was it? Um …’ Archie stuttered.
‘House of Lords,’ said Rozanna quickly with a smile. ‘A reception there, back in May. Remember, Archie?’
‘Was it?’ He looked startled. ‘Oh! Oh yes, yes, that was it. House of Lords. And you were down here, my dear.’ He eyed his wife nervously, chewing his lower lip. ‘Tending to the um, you know. The roses.’
‘But – what on earth were you doing,’ Rose turned to Rozanna, ‘at the House of Lords?’
‘Oh, I was with my father. Lord Belfont.’ She regarded Rose steadily and didn’t flinch for a moment.
Rose did, though. ‘Oh! Really?’ She eyed her suspiciously. Archie continued to nod furiously, staring hard at the ground.
‘Hmm, yes, Belfont. That was it,’ he muttered.
‘Well, how lovely to meet you, my dear,’ Rose collected herself at length. ‘Always a delight to meet Lucy’s friends. Do excuse us if you would though, my husband and I simply must go and talk to the rest of our guests. So many people to get around. Archie, come.’ She called him sharply to heel and he followed sheepishly.
‘Oh please don’t tell me,’ I groaned as they disappeared, shutting my eyes. ‘Please don’t tell me, Rozanna …’
‘That he was one of my clients? Prospective, actually, but I turned him down. Much too old, and anyway, he couldn’t afford me. Tight as a drum, old Archie Fellowes, but through him I met a much younger, nicer chap who was a regular for years. His loss, not mine. I must say, I had no idea he was your pa-in-law, Luce. Just think, you could have bumped into him on the stairs of Royal Avenue! Imagine how entertaining that could have been.’
‘Hugely,’ I muttered grimly. ‘And you realize Rose has beetled straight off to the library to look you up in Debrett’s?’
‘Which is precisely where she’ll find me,’ she said sweetly.
‘Oh!’ I blinked. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ She glanced around. Sighed. ‘Rather a lot of people I know here, actually. Might have to make myself scarce. Can’t have too many men biting through their champagne glasses and trying to avoid my eye, can we? I must say, it’s a novelty to see them with their wives. Amazing really,’ she mused. ‘I could clear this place in seconds.’
‘Well, please don’t,’ I said nervously. ‘I shall have to live with the consequences. Oh look, here’s one you hopefully won’t know since he doesn’t have a wife to cheat on. Hector, this is Rozanna Carling.’
Hector sidled up blushing and shook hands, his enlarged Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Rozanna, spotting a gauche ingenu, smiled gently and engaged him in what passed, for Hector, for animated conversation, whilst I took the opportunity to wander off. I was vaguely looking for Teresa and Jess, hoping they were OK, but I needn’t have worried. As I glanced around I spotted them leaning against the terrace wall, giggling like schoolgirls, and being thoroughly chatted up by a couple of older, hearty-looking hunting types, who clearly couldn’t believe their luck to come across such a pretty young London duo at one of Rose’s bashes. Jess and Teresa, minus their husbands thank you very much, appeared to be having a whale of a time, and were flirting their little socks off. I watched as Jess, head back and roaring with laughter, gaily plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray, apparently having conquered any qualms she might previously have had about consorting with the ruling classes.
I jumped as Lavinia suddenly seized my arm from behind. ‘I think you should meet Simon,’ she hissed urgently, teetering to a standstill beside me and trying to focus her pink, road-map eyes on mine. ‘In fact, I think it’s imperative.’
‘Simon?’
‘Yes, lovely man. God, Mummy’s invited some real duffers this evening, I can’t tell you how shocked I am at the standard, Lucy, and I’m so sorry, but Simon’s sweet. You’ll like him. Bit of a rectory.’
‘Sorry?’ I glanced across as she jerked her head in the direction of a pallid, narrow-headed man in a shiny dinner jacket.
‘That’s what he’s got. Wouldn’t do for me of course, you’d be pushed to even call it imposing.’ She sniffed, and waved her glass in the direction of the pallid man’s back. ‘Handsome though.’
I peered. ‘D’you think?’
‘No no, the rectory.’
‘Ah, right.’ I recovered. ‘Oh, I see. Oh, well then no, Lavinia, in that case he wouldn’t do for me at all. You see, unless it’s Grade I Georgian and moated, with four thousand acres and a safari park in the back garden, I’m afraid I’m simply not interested.’ I bestowed a sweet smile and moved on.
‘Good for you,’ I heard her mutter behind me. Then, rather belligerently to a passing lackey, ‘To the top, please, young man. Yes, I’m perfectly sure. Just pour it, damn you!’
Hector reappeared at my elbow. Alone again, naturally, and looking awkward, as I suspected he always did at these shindigs.
‘You look lovely,’ he said wistfully.
I smiled, surprised. ‘Thank you, Hector.’
‘Everyone says so. And everyone keeps asking me who you are. When I say Ned’s wife, no one can quite believe it. I suppose they remember you years ago. You know, when you were quite fat. With darker hair.’
I giggled. No one could accuse Hector of being a smooth-talking charmer, and with such a seductive line in small talk, was it really any wonder he hadn’t found a wife yet?
‘You’ll be telling me next I don’t sweat much, for a fat girl.’
‘Don’t you?’
I sighed. ‘Oh Hector …’
‘And she was a sweet girl too,’ he went on, jerking his head back in the direction of Rozanna, surrounded now by admirers.
‘Rozanna?’
‘Mmmm.’ He sighed. Looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘You know,’ he said suddenly, ‘it occurred to me the other day, Lucy, that maybe I should just marry you. March you up the aisle and be done with it.’
I jumped, horrified. ‘Me!’
‘Yes, what d’you think?’
‘Well, Hector, I really don’t –’
‘You know, do the right thing by Ned and all that. Look after you. For him.’
I smiled. Squeezed his arm. ‘That’s really sweet of you, Hec, but I’d say it’s above and beyond the call of duty, wouldn’t you? That sort of chivalry went out with the Indians.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, it wouldn’t be too bad. Just think, you wouldn’t have to get to know a new set of in-laws, and from my point of view, you’re a known quantity and all that. Pretty, too. And being married of course, you’ve done it all before. Wouldn’t come as too much of a shock. Probably know more than I do, actually.’
Suddenly I had a violent desire to be elsewhere. The lavatory, perhaps. Perfect, that would do. I informed Hector of this and scurried away, glancing back nervously over my shoulder as I walked up to the house.
Deciding I might as well take refuge in the loo for a bit anyway, I walked through to the back hall and tried the one by the butler’s pantry, knowing it wouldn’t be familiar to the rest of the guests. As I rattled the handle, a shriek went up.
‘Hang on! Just a moment!’
Two seconds later Pinkie emerged, living up to her name, with a hectic glow about her cheeks. Her hair was tousled, and she was frantically smoothing down a very tight little black dress. She was followed, a moment later, by an equally flushed young man, doing up his flies.
‘Oops! Sorry, Lucy.’ Pinkie giggled.
‘Ah,’ I purred, with what I hoped was cool élan. ‘This must be Ludo.’
‘Ludo?’ He glanced up from his flies, looking blank. ‘No no, Peregrine Vesty, actually. Delighted.’ He smiled toothily and extended his hand.
I took it briefly then disappeared into the sanctuary of the loo, locking the door firmly behind me. God, this family, I thought, flicking up my skirt and sitting down with a vengeance. No wonder Ned had avoided them like the plague.
I emerged a few minutes later, looking about cautiously and keeping a wary eye out for Fellowes. Happily, though, the aunts had arrived and were causing a welcome diversion. Having roared throatily up the drive – momentarily scaring the party in the rose garden into silence as they no doubt imagined the local boy racers were about to career straight through them, scattering them like skittles – the red Fiesta had then spun around the fountain, and paused, leaving everyone in an agony of anticipation. I arrived just in time to see it – not scorch backwards into the hedge, but spring forwards, up onto the lawn, narrowly missing a waiter who had to leap out of the way, tray flying, and skid to a halt. The aunts emerged looking unperturbed. They were resplendent in matching floral frocks of an eye-searing pink and yellow combination, emblazoned with a bird of paradise design. It came to me that of course, these were the curtains. Hence the newspaper at the windows. On their feet were huge court shoes the size of boats, again identical, and presumably bought as a job lot in an outsize sale.
As we watched them march determinedly into the middle of the party, I heard Rose whisper to Archie, behind me, ‘We’ll have to get them back to the doctor again, Archie. Get him to or der them to give up driving. They’ll kill someone one day. Betty Partridge says they roar through the village like that every day!’
‘Awfully difficult to live in Netherby if you haven’t got a car,’ observed Archie mildly.
‘Much harder to live in Netherby if you’ve killed half the residents!’ she snapped back, before stalking off.
‘Actually, it wouldn’t make much difference,’ said a dry voice in my ear. ‘Most of the residents round here are half dead anyway.’
I spun around. ‘Jack!’ I said delightedly, as I was swept off my feet in a huge bear hug. ‘Oh Jack, how lovely! What are you doing here?’
Jack was Ned’s cousin, a lovely, irreverent, dissolute man; tall, and with the Fellowes’ blue eyes, but with dark chestnut curls and a disreputably handsome face.
‘What d’you mean, what am I doing here? I’m family, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, but I thought you couldn’t bear these bashes!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss this one for the world. I’m here in a professional capacity, you see, in anthropological mode. Come to watch another world go by. A dim and distant one.’ He grinned. ‘And anyway, I’d heard you were here, so I thought I’d come and pester you for a bit.’
‘You’re staying?’
‘Oh yes, most definitely. Most definitely on the scrounge for some hospitality, but unlike you, not for ever. That would be unscrupulous. No, I’m just here for a month or so while my house is being renovated.’ He regarded me mischievously over his glass.
‘Jack, I am not on the scrounge,’ I said furiously. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I was kindly offered the barn by Rose, and for the boys’ sake, simply for the boys’ sake –’
‘You thought you’d be mad to look a gift horse in the mouth. And quite right too.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Luce, I’m just seeing if you still rise as spectacularly as you always did. Just reeling you in.’
