A Married Man, page 9
‘Up here, Mummy! Look!’
The boys had clattered up to the gallery and were leaning over. ‘There are some rooms up here, Mum, bedrooms, and – ooh, look!’ They disappeared into one. ‘This is ours, must be, because it’s blue with two beds in it and – oh! A train set! Hey, Mummy, there’s a train set! A Hornby one!’
‘Hector’s old one,’ explained Rose. ‘And I put them in together because I knew that’s what they were used to in London.’ She sounded anxious. ‘There is another bedroom, only it’s much smaller and I didn’t know if Max might feel aggrieved.’
‘No, together is perfect,’ I said. ‘Just perfect. And just as they’d want. Thank you, Rose. Thank you so much.’
As Rose despatched Hector to supervise the bringing round of my luggage, I wandered around touching everything, taking it all in. Stroking the backs of the sofas, running my hand along the granite work surface that divided the kitchen, feeling the soft, thick curtains, admiring their warm stripes of ochre, grey and spicy red; soft, unpretentious, expensive.
‘But the money,’ I breathed, ‘I mean, to convert this place. The plumbing, the lighting, and then – then putting in a proper fireplace, and all these furnishings!’ I knew it was unutterably vulgar to mention the subject in this family, but I simply couldn’t help myself.
‘Now don’t you worry, Lucy,’ said Rose, quickly coming over and putting a hand on my arm. ‘I wanted to do this for you and the boys, but …’ she hesitated. ‘Well, I wanted to do it for Ned, too,’ she finished softly.
I hung my head. Waited. This would normally be the cue for a hanky to come out of a sleeve, for a small sniff, a dab at the eye and then a reminiscence; a story of the day she’d taken him to the village fête and he’d won the best-kept rabbit competition, or the day he’d accompanied her to the sheepdog trials, and then the sniff would turn into a full-blown weep, and Lavinia would rush up to console her. I steeled myself – but nothing. Instead, she smiled, shook her neat grey head impatiently.
‘Anyway, it’s what I wanted to do, and it’s given me an aim, a project. We’ve loved it, haven’t we, Lavinia? Every second. Had real job satisfaction. Don’t quite know what I’m going to do with myself now.’
‘I’m not sure I do, either,’ I said nervously. ‘You see, I’m afraid they’ve ditched me at Christie’s. Couldn’t cope with me being quite so temporary, apparently. I’ll have to look for something else. Something round here.’
‘Oh, what a shame.’ Rose looked genuinely concerned. ‘You loved that job.’
‘But quite nice to have a break from it, surely?’ suggested Lavinia. ‘I mean, you’re not exactly desperate to work, are you?’
‘Well, I’ll need the money, obviously.’
‘Oh, but my dear, I intend to pay for everything here,’ said Rose in surprise. ‘You know that, surely? All your bills, your gas and electricity, telephone – you won’t actually need much money.’
‘I couldn’t possibly let you do that!’ I said, horrified.
‘Nonsense, I do it for all the other children. I do it for Lavinia, in her flat, and Hector in his cottage on the estate, and Pinkie in her rooms here, why on earth wouldn’t I include the barn? Of course I would. And it would be quite wrong of me not to,’ she added firmly. ‘Quite wrong. And actually, Lavinia’s right. Now that the school fees are covered and what with the money you got for the flat in London – well, you won’t need to work.’
They regarded me squarely. I felt a bit like Lear, trying to explain his frivolous need for soldiers to Goneril and Regan. Reason not the need. But she was right. If she was covering all my bills, and all I had to do was find the wherewithal for food and clothing for me and the boys, the Royal Avenue money would easily cover it. I was grateful, overcome even, but panicky too. I took a deep breath.
‘You’re very kind, Rose,’ I said carefully, ‘but you know, I will have to do something. Find some sort of employment, just – well, just for me. To satisfy myself. I also have to have some sort of financial independence. Because although I’m obviously going to be here for quite a while, who knows, maybe one day …’ At this point my courage failed me. It seemed so churlish to mention it. To mention moving on, buying my own house, standing here as I was in her luxurious barn, her wide, anxious blue eyes upon me.
‘Well, one day, who knows.’ I finished lamely. ‘You’ve all been so incredibly kind, but I do feel I’d like to do something.’
Lavinia seized my arm urgently and brought her face close to mine. ‘Prison visiting,’ she hissed. ‘That’s what I do. Honestly Lucy, it’s marvellous, and quite, quite gripping. You should hear some of the stories they tell me.’ Her bosom began to heave rather alarmingly. ‘Quite unprintable! And I really get through to them too,’ she added earnestly. ‘Those poor, poor misguided men. I really,’ her bosom lurched again, ‘you know – communicate with them. It’s so spiritually uplifting, I can’t tell you.’
I had an idea it was their spirits that were supposed to be lifted, but I let it pass.
‘Er, yes, well, prison work would be lovely, or –’
‘NSPCC?’ Rose swooped, with a quick, hawk-like plunge of the nose. ‘I always did the NSPCC when I was younger, remember, Lavinia? And we had a super committee. Hugo Ashworth was chairman then, of course.’ She looked wistful. ‘He had the most marvellous balls.’
‘Oh!’ I blinked.
‘Yes, huge. In his old barn. We used to get at least three hundred in there, plus a jazz band. Or Cancer Relief? That’s very rewarding, if you get the right people.’
What – dying? I wondered wildly. Or just on chemo?
‘Er, yes, maybe. Or,’ I ploughed on bravely, ‘or, you know, perhaps something in an office? Or a shop?’
Rose looked thoughtful. ‘I believe Save the Children has a shop in Oxford.’
Lavinia nodded slowly. ‘It does. Second-hand clothes, books, home-made marmalade, tea-towels, that sort of thing. I could ring Patricia McGovern, she’s very big in Save the Children.’
‘No, I meant, you know, proper work. For money.’ God, that word again.
‘Oh!’ Rose looked startled. ‘For you?’
‘Well, yes, you know, like a career,’ I said desperately. ‘Like I had before. Not just for the money, but – well, something for me!’ I flushed. Awful. Like some jumped-up little arriviste in a Noël Coward play. Except this wasn’t a Noël Coward play, dammit, this was the twenty-first century and why was I being made to feel like a grasping parvenu, demanding even more largesse?
‘But you’re quite right,’ I mumbled. ‘I could do some charity work as well. It would be … terribly good for me.’
‘Excellent!’ beamed Rose. ‘I’m sure Lavinia can think of something suitable. The NSPCC are always looking for volunteers, even if it’s just rattling a tin outside Waitrose, and there’s always the church flower rota, of course. Mimsy Compton-Burrell usually does the altar, but you could take the pews, and we’re always short of people to make new kneelers. Do you do tapestry, Lucy?’
‘Not … terribly well.’
‘Oh well, never mind. The cleaning rota then. Anyone can do that, rub-a-dub-dub! And don’t forget, it’s not all work and no play around here. There’s always a tennis four somewhere, isn’t there, darling?’
Lavinia nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh absolutely. And in the winter of course the hunt meets twice a week, here sometimes, which is jolly convenient, but – oh. You don’t, do you, Lucy?’
‘Not as such,’ I said weakly.
‘Oh well. Masses of girlie lunches and dinner parties galore, then. You won’t be short of things to do!’
‘Super,’ I breathed faintly.
‘Now. Hector’s gone to make sure that your luggage is brought straight round here by Ted and put exactly where you want it. Don’t take any truck from him, incidentally,’ warned Rose. ‘We’re having a bit of trouble with him at the moment. He doesn’t think Archie pays him enough, which is ludicrous. And I gave his wife my old pashmina the other day.’
‘Not your lavender?’ Lavinia raised her eyebrows.
‘Absolutely. So watch him, Lucy, he can be rather …’
‘Uppity,’ finished Lavinia firmly.
‘Exactly,’ her mother agreed. ‘So. We’re going to leave you in peace now to unpack, and we’ll see you for an early supper, my love. Drinks at six, and I’ll introduce you to your new au pair! Don’t take any truck from her, either. Quite a little madam. Too exciting! Toodle-oo!’
And off they both scurried, arm in arm, out of the barn and down the bank to the lake, chattering animatedly.
I walked to the door and watched them go, leaning rather feebly on the door frame. I felt exhausted already. Faint, even. No breakfast, of course, which didn’t help, and this vile hangover, but – something else, too. I narrowed my eyes across the parkland, watching their figures hurrying up the hill to the yellowing glory of Netherby. Something to do with turning over a new page in my sketchbook, expecting to see a fresh sheet – only to find someone else had already started a picture. A picture I wasn’t sure I liked. I quickly averted my eyes from the house and gazed instead more proximately, at the myriad flowers at my feet. The sun, high in the sky, beamed be nevolently on the phlox and roses and lupins that spilled over the little path, urging me to forget my misgivings and feel the pulse of nature. I breathed in deeply, shutting my eyes and savouring the heady scent. Lovely. Suddenly, though, I shivered. When the sun went behind a cloud, it was cooler than one imagined. I turned and went inside to phone Maisie and Lucas. Let them know I’d arrived. It seemed to me I missed them already.
Chapter Seven
Before the boys and I finally panted up the hill to Netherby on the dot of six that evening, we were to endure a faintly hysterical afternoon. It had started soberly enough with Ben and Max playing quietly with the train set whilst I unpacked, then gravitating to bouncing on every bed and sofa in the place yelling their heads off, to them finally going awfully quiet as they discovered a long coil of rope at the bottom of the garden.
When I came down from making up the beds, someone whizzed past my ear.
‘Hey!’
It was Ben who, having climbed onto the kitchen table, slung the rope over the lowest beam and tied it fast, had launched himself off the gallery. He was now swinging, Tarzan-style, from one side of the room to the other, shrieking and grinning from ear to ear. It looked great fun and not as dangerous as it sounds as the rafter was low and immensely strong, but I couldn’t be persuaded to join them.
‘Come on, Mum! It’ll easily hold you – look, we’re both on it!’ He swung across with Max holding onto his legs, whooping madly.
‘No thanks,’ I said unpacking a box full of tins and cereal. ‘I don’t particularly relish the thought of Granny popping down to see how we’re getting on and finding me flying around the room, flashing my knickers.’
‘Why not? It’s our house, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but it just looks a bit, you know. Cavalier.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, you know, a bit ungracious and flippant. Like pop stars trashing a hotel or something.’
‘I’m not trashing it!’
‘I know, you’re fine but – oh crikey. I don’t know why I’ve brought all this food, come and look at this!’
They slid down the rope and ran over.
‘Cupboards,’ I cried, flinging them open, ‘literally full of stuff. Soup, cereal, pasta – she’s catered into the next century. And blimey, look at the larder!’
I held open the door for them to see and we gazed upon, not just a pint of milk and some Mother’s Pride to keep us going, but shelves full to bursting with cakes, fruit, biscuits, pork pies, pâté, cold sausages, salami, children’s yoghurts and bars of chocolate.
‘Yum,’ drooled Max.
‘How kind,’ I murmured, as the boys fell upon it. ‘She really has thought of everything.’
‘I know, let’s take it outside and sit by the lake.’ Ben was already grabbing some scotch eggs and a packet of biscuits.
‘We could, I suppose,’ I said doubtfully. ‘As long as we remember to be back in time for drinks. It’s quite late already …’
But Max was already disappearing out of the door with fistfuls of chocolate and bananas.
‘Hey, hang on. Here!’ I seized a wicker basket Rose had left on the bottom shelf of the larder and we piled the stuff into it. Convenient, I thought, as I packed the basket. And there was a rug on the larder floor too, and a checked tablecloth. I picked them up slowly. Was this what she’d planned then? And if so, why hadn’t she just said, ‘Oh by the way, I’ve left you a picnic?’
Nevertheless, we dutifully set off down the hill to the lake, and picked a spot just before the grass got too long and the bulrushes started. On the other side, the moor-hens dipped and the mayflies were gathering. The lake had that perfect, peaceful flow, without turbulence; silent but for the dragonflies and butterflies adding their delicate hums and flutters to the shimmer. All very idyllic, but – I glanced up warily – there too was Netherby, looming on the hill, windows glinting in the sun. We were incredibly visible. Max already had his shoes and socks off, and was dangling his feet in the water, his toes large and bleached against the bronze pebbles of the shallows. Ben grabbed the rug and made to throw it up in the air, but as he did, I held his arm.
‘Actually, no, not here, Ben. Tell you what, why don’t we go round the other way? Towards the folly?’
‘Oh M-u-m.’ Max protested. ‘I’m all wet!’
‘But it’s just fields and things up that way,’ reasoned Ben.
‘I know but – so? We could explore.’
I turned and set off determinedly. Off in the opposite direction, up and around the back of the barn. After a few moments, I heard the boys complaining, but nevertheless following on behind.
The sun was strengthening now, but up the hill we trudged in the heat, towards the old folly, traipsing through fields of watchful sheep, until finally, we pushed open a gate and arrived in a glorious meadow full of tall grass and buttercups. I had a quick look around to ensure it was stock free.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea where we are,’ I panted, pretty much on my chin strap now, ‘but what d’you think? Will this do?’
I glanced back to see that the boys had already flung themselves into the buttercups with the air of travellers who’d reached their journey’s end. Flat on their backs, arms and legs spread like a couple of starfish, they gazed up at the sky. I grinned and knelt beside them, setting out the picnic. Yes, I thought, eyeing them as they sat up and guzzled the Coke I handed them in cans, yes, this will do. This is good. Thank You, God. This is precisely what I had in mind for them this summer.
We ate our picnic, and then I watched as they tickled buttercups under each other’s chins, measuring their mutual regard for butter. Building poignant memories, I told myself. And this was how it should be. Miles from the city and with world enough and time, for once, to enjoy one another.
I laughed as the boys tried to flop backwards in the grass without their knees buckling, and then, the grass being so high, hiding from me as I pretended I couldn’t find them. Later, we lay on our backs in the meadow, peacefully counting butterflies; Max was burping on purpose and pretending he couldn’t help it and Ben and I were doing our best to be outraged – ‘Max!’ – but giggling too, when suddenly a shot rang out.
We sat bolt upright in horror. Then – peoww! – another one came winging over our heads.
‘Shit!’ I grabbed the boys and shoved them down in the grass.
‘Get off my land you bastards, or I’ll blow your brains out!’
Keeping the boys’ brains firmly in the dirt, I sat up and swung about, terrified. I couldn’t see anything, but the voice had come from up near the folly. I narrowed my eyes. Away in the distance, I spotted a tweedy figure, in breeches and a hat.
‘Go on! Bugger off!’
‘I don’t believe we’re trespassing,’ I squeaked back nervously. ‘My parents-in-law, Lord and Lady Fellowes, own this land, and they –’ Peoww! ‘Shit!’
There it went again, another shot, only this time, I didn’t hang around to argue.
‘Come on, boys,’ I muttered, grabbing the basket which happily I’d pretty much packed. ‘We’re leaving. OK, we’re going!’ I yelled, as seizing our bundles but still leaving a certain amount of detritus behind, we fled.
‘Keep your heads down!’ I hissed as we raced across the field.
‘And don’t come back!’ came the warning shot as we raced down the hill to the barn.
We flew inside.
‘Was he going to kill us?’ breathed Ben, wide-eyed with terror as we slammed the front door shut behind us. I leaned back on it, eyes shut, heart racing.
‘No darling, not kill,’ I gasped, clutching my chest. ‘Just trying to frighten us, that’s all. Probably the gamekeeper, who has no idea we’re here yet.’ I staggered weakly to the sofa and flopped down. ‘Grandpa probably forgot to tell him. Although I could have sworn …’
‘What?’
‘Well, I just thought the voice was familiar, that’s all.’ Suddenly I sat up with a jolt. Looked at my watch. ‘Oh Christ you two, look at the time! It’s ten to six already. Granny’s expecting us in ten minutes.’
‘But were they real bullets, Mummy?’ persisted Ben.
‘No, darling,’ I soothed, snatching a hairbrush and raking it through my hair. ‘An airgun probably. People don’t shoot each other out here. This isn’t the Wild West.’
I hurriedly brushed their hair and rubbed dirt off their faces with spit before running up to change. Ben, tailing me the while, was clearly still unnerved by the experience, whilst Max, exhilarated, kept popping up behind sofas with an imaginary gun, yelling with homicidal glee, ‘Peeeow! Peeeow! Go on, bugger off, you bastards!’
‘Max!’ I came running down in what was hopefully an appropriately chaste skirt and top, fiddling with some beads around my neck. ‘That’ll do. Now forget it, please. Come on, let’s go – oh God, look at me!’
