by Jilly Cooper
I had a bath and dressed. No one was about downstairs. I went into the drawing-room. Last night’s jetsam of glasses, cigarette ends and coffee was still lying about.
I pulled back the musty, dark blue, velvet curtains and caught my breath at the desolation of the scene before me. Down below in the valley was a huge, black lake, and all around like dark, sleeping beasts lay the mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist.
The garden was a wilderness of tangled shrubbery. Lichen crawled over the paved terrace — and I’d never seen such rain, sweeping in great curtains across the lake, stripping the last leaves from the trees, flattening the blackened dahlias. There was no colour except where the beech trees still smouldered among the dark pines.
This is Pendle’s country, I thought, country that would put winter into anyone’s soul. Oh God, I did hope he wasn’t upset about Jack kissing me last night.
Remembering Jane’s advice about helping in the house, I gathered up the glasses and cups, found the kitchen and washed them up — not so easy as there was no washing-up liquid.
Where on earth was everyone? I was dying for some coffee. Suddenly I heard a noise and, poking my head out of the kitchen door, saw a tall man with a black and grey flecked crew cut wearing a college scarf and a tweed jacket tiptoeing towards the front door, carrying his shoes. I couldn’t see his face. The next moment he’d opened the door and shot out closing it very quietly behind him. He must be one of Rose’s boyfriends. I went back to the drawing-room and had another look at that terrifying view.
‘Drinking it all in?’ said a voice. It was Maggie, in a dressing-gown. She didn’t look so ravishing this morning, deathly pale with her mascara smudged underneath her eyes.
‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’ she asked. ‘Jack’s gone over to the mill with Pendle and I’ve run out.’ I got a packet out of my bag and handed it to her. She lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.
‘God, I needed this. We rather overdid the boozing last night.’
‘What a fantastic view this is,’ I said.
Maggie shrugged her shoulders. ‘It gives me the creeps, particularly on days like this. I want to go back to London, but Jack’s so keen on the mill, I suppose we’re stuck here for good.’
I asked her if I could make a cup of coffee.
‘Oh, hell, it’s Mrs Braddock’s day off, so everything goes to pot. Tomorrow she’s got to blitz the house from top to toe. Ace is coming home. He’ll be appalled at the state of the place.’
She looked round, grimacing at the sticky rings left by glasses all over the furniture, the peeling paint, the dead flowers.
‘That’s the odd thing about my mother-in-law,’ she went on, ‘as long as she can have stunning clothes and pay her bridge debts, she doesn’t mind if the house falls to bits.’
We went into the kitchen. Antonia Fraser jumped off a chair and started weaving between my legs, mewing for food. I found some bacon and eggs.
‘Shall I make you some?’ I asked.
Maggie shuddered. ‘I never touch breakfast. Anyway, I’m getting disgustingly fat. I’ve put on a stone since I married Jack — boredom, I suppose.’
‘Where’s Pendle’s mother?’ I asked, putting rashers into the frying pan.
‘Rose? She never surfaces before lunchtime.’
‘Pendle said she was formidable,’ I said, ‘so I imagined she’d be all tweeds and corrugated hair.’
Maggie laughed. ‘She’s stunning, isn’t she? Gosh, that bacon smells good. While you’re making it, you might as well cook some for me.’
I made some coffee and dished the bacon and eggs on to two plates and we took them into the drawing-room.
‘How long have you been married?’ I asked.
‘About two years. It seems ages longer.’ She turned her headlight eyes on me. ‘Did you know I was going to marry Pendle before I met Jack?’
Suddenly the room seemed to go dark. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said.
‘Yes. It was funny really. I came up for a holiday when I was only eighteen, and met Pendle and we had a most terrific affair, not just bed, but endless gazing into each other’s eyes, and walks in the moonlight, and passionate letters full of quotations. You know how good Pendle is at making things serious. I wanted to get married at once, but again, you know Pendle. He swore he loved me, but he thought we ought to wait six months so we could find somewhere proper to live.
‘And then Jack came home from South Africa. His first marriage was on the rocks by then. He was all brown and his hair was bleached almost white, and he seemed to be always laughing and pulling fivers out of his pocket. I came up to see Pendle for the weekend and fell in love with Jack, and we eloped.
‘Rose thought it hysterical, but everyone else was livid, particularly Ace. For the first month we holed-up in a little hotel in Ambleside, terrified that Pen would turn up with a hatchet. But, typical don’t-lose-your-cool Pendle, he sent us a nice letter and later even a wedding present. I was disappointed. I’ve always wanted to have men fighting over me. Then Ace’s wife was killed in a car crash so the limelight was directed off Jack and me. We all met up at the funeral. Then Ace took this job working for American television and Jack took over the mill.’
I felt sick. I couldn’t finish my breakfast. So this was the girl Pendle had loved, who had broken through that icy reserve. Knowing Pendle, he would never forgive her for jilting him and marrying Jack, but if he had forgiven her he must still love her. Why the hell had he brought me here?
‘Why is their step-brother called Ace?’ I asked, in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
‘He’s really Ivan. “Ace” stems from when they were children. Three boys and a girl, with Jack the youngest. Ace, King — Pendle, Queen — Linn, and Jack, you see. “Ace” stuck as a nickname.’
‘What’s he like?’
Maggie took one of the photographs down from the desk and handed it to me.
It was a face you would never forget — black-haired, beetle-browed, very deep-set eyes, high cheekbones like Pendle’s, a large aquiline nose, something slightly cruel about the mouth — a tough, haughty, uncompromising face, used to getting its own way.
‘I wouldn’t like to meet him on a dark night,’ I said lightly.
‘Oh, I would.’ A dreamy expression came over Maggie’s face. ‘You can’t help fancying Ace. He’s a cross between Mr Rochester and Darcy, but there’s a kind of gipsy passion about him like Heathcliff.’
‘Why is everybody so scared of him?’
Maggie took another of my cigarettes. ‘He holds the purse strings. Old Mr Mulholland realized what a spendthrift Rose was and left all the money to Ace. He’s generous, mind you, but nothing could be enough for Rose. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but he’s still wildly attractive.’
‘So’s Jack,’ I said quickly.
Maggie looked at me out of the corner of her eyes.
‘Oh, Jack has very taking ways, particularly with other people’s girlfriends, and a very good line in smooth talk, just like his mum. But we’re hell together, we rat all the time. Now if I were married to Ace it would be different. I wouldn’t dare behave horribly. I’ve always wanted a man I can honour and obey.’
She really shocked me.
‘Let’s go and get Rose up,’ she said. ‘She should have finished her exercises by now.’
I took Rose some coffee, and Maggie went on ahead carrying my cigarette. Rose’s bedroom, quite unlike the rest of the house, was enchanting. All pink silk and rosebuds. She was fully made-up, wearing a pink negligee and painting her nails.
‘Darlings, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s terrible to leave you on your own on your first day,’ she added to me, ‘but those wretched boys have rushed off to look at the mill. Jack’s like a little boy with a new toy.’
Maggie pulled a face behind her back.
‘They make the most lovely tweeds,’ said Rose. ‘Not quite my style but the Americans go wild about them. You’ll have to get Jack to
give you a piece, and have it made up into a skirt when you get back to London.’
The telephone rang, and Maggie rushed off to answer it, but was back in a few seconds.
‘Some awful-sounding man for you, Rose,’ she said. Rose brightened, pinched one of my cigarettes and the matches and went out, carefully shutting the door behind her.
‘It’s that ghastly Copeland, Linn’s boyfriend,’ said Maggie, trying on one of Rose’s lipsticks and wiping it off on the counterpane. ‘He’s always hanging around. I once asked Jack what his childhood was like. He just said, “My mother was always in love.” ’
We couldn’t hear what Rose was saying, but her laugh rang out over and over again.
‘Copeland once told her she had a beautiful laugh,’ said Maggie sourly, ‘and she’s been behaving like a hyena ever since.’
‘Does she have lots of people after her?’ I asked.
‘Oh, millions,’ said Maggie. ‘Seems extraordinary, doesn’t it? She must be at least fifty; but I suppose she’s only a few years older than Bardot. I hope I have as much fun when I get to her age.’
‘What does Copeland do?’ I said.
‘Calls himself a writer, but we’ve never seen any evidence of it. He was attached to Manchester University, but he gave it up to write full time and pursue Rose.’
I wondered if he was the tall man I’d seen creeping out that morning. I examined Rose’s dressing-table. I’d never seen so many bottles. Her knowledge of make-up and skin care must be positively encyclopaedic. In the middle, tucked into a framed photograph of Jack, was a snapshot of a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.
‘Who’s she,’ I asked Maggie.
‘Lucasta, Jack’s child from his first marriage,’ said Maggie.
‘She’s ravishing,’ I said, and suddenly, as Maggie’s eyes narrowed, I realized I’d put my foot in it.
‘Well she certainly doesn’t get her looks from her mother,’ she said sharply. ‘Fay’s an old frump. I can’t think why Jack ever married her. And Lucasta’s so bloody spoilt, she winds Jack round her little finger. She’s terribly jealous of me of course.’
‘And you’re terribly jealous of her,’ I thought.
‘Does she come over here often?’
‘As little as I can help it. She’s an absolute menace when she does…’
Her outburst, however, was checked by Rose coming back pink with excitement.
‘Admiring my beautiful grandchild?’ she said, seeing me still holding the photograph. ‘Isn’t she a poppet? That was dear Professor Copeland,’ she went on. ‘He’s coming to dinner.’
‘There’s no one to cook,’ objected Maggie.
‘So there isn’t. Never mind. There’s buckets of drink and we can always go out. I thought we’d ask Admiral Walker and the Simons and have a little party.’
Maggie, who was gazing through the rain-smeared window at the grey sky and careering leaves, cheered up a bit. ‘It’s the last one we’ll have,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to give up your cakes and ale once Ace arrives.’
‘Yes,’ said Rose gaily, ‘I must remember to stop the milkman tomorrow.’
And although they smoked their way through three packets of my cigarettes and I cooked and washed up lunch and tea and the thought of Pendle and Maggie was never far from my mind, that day was one of the happiest I spent with the Mulhollands. It was like being in the flat with Jane.
I can’t say the same of the evening. Pendle and Jack got home about six. Jack looked tired and headed straight for the drinks tray. Pendle kissed Rose, and ruffled — yes, actually ruffled — my hair. He seemed curiously elated.
‘I’m sorry we slunk off at the crack of dawn,’ he said to me, ‘but we’ve had a marvellous day. Jack’s done wonders with the mill. You should be proud of him, Maggie.’ He looked at her for the first time.
‘Oh I am, I am,’ she said.
‘Have you been all right?’ Jack asked me, pouring himself a tumblerful of whisky and not even bothering to dilute it with water.
‘She’s been perfect,’ said Maggie. ‘A walking cigarette machine and endless lovely food appearing on trays.’ There was a slight edge to her voice.
Jack smiled and said, ‘I expect you’ve waited on them hand and foot. My mother is the laziest woman in the world, but my wife runs her a close second.’ He squeezed Rose’s hand as he said this, but the look he directed at Maggie was decidedly unfriendly.
Pendle lit a cigarette. ‘People in boiler suits kept rushing up to me,’ he said, ‘telling me what a great thing Jack’s been for the Mill.’
‘He spends enough time there,’ snapped Maggie.
‘At least I get regular meals at the canteen,’ said Jack. ‘Did you get my blue suit out of the cleaners?’
‘No,’ said Maggie.
‘You’ve had all bloody day. Did you go down the house and talk to the plumber?’
‘No.’ Maggie’s lashes swept down over half her cheek.
‘Well, what the hell have you been doing?’
‘Entertaining lovely Pru,’ said Maggie, demurely. ‘I know what a fan of hers you are.We couldn’t leave her alone on her first day.’
Jack shot her a murderous look.
‘By the way, Lucasta’s coming next weekend,’ he said.
‘Christ,’ muttered Maggie, ‘that’s all we need.’
My blood froze as I looked at Pendle. His pale grey eyes were gleaming. He’s enjoying it, I thought. He likes them sniping at each other.
‘Professor Copeland and a few people are coming over this evening,’ said Rose.
‘Oh God!’ said Jack, draining his glass of whisky. ‘For once I thought we might get an early night.’
I felt very depressed as I went up to change. Then I thought, to hell with it. Where’s your fighting spirit? Put on your warpaint and three pairs of false eyelashes, and go out and get him.
I wore a very simple, very short tunic in coffee-coloured crêpe, with a wide belt. At least I had a waist to belt, which is more than Maggie had, and I brushed my curls sleek to my head. I was pleased with my appearance. But it might just be the Mulholland’s mirrors — they were so dusty one tended to look good in them.
Jack, meeting me in the hall, gave an appreciative whistle.
‘You look like a Greek youth,’ he said.
‘Is that nice or nasty?’
‘Nice and extremely disturbing.’
I was pleased that Maggie wore a purple dress obviously bought before she put on weight. She had added black fishnet stockings, yesterday’s green belt and jade earrings.
‘That looks smart,’ mocked Jack. ‘It must have shrunk at the cleaners.’ Maggie scowled at him.
At that moment the door bell rang. Answering it, Jack found a man from the Inland Revenue, come to talk to Rose about her tax. He was pasty-faced and bald with a few strands of hair combed across his head, like anchovies across a boiled egg.
‘It isn’t a frightfully convenient moment,’ said Jack.
‘Of course it is,’ said a voice, and the next moment Rose swept down the stairs, poured into a black velvet dress which showed off her lovely figure, with pearls gleaming round her neck and at her ears.
‘Mr Ramsbotham,’ she said, taking both the taxman’s hands, ‘I’m so sorry I haven’t answered your letters, but I’ve been away. Come in and have an enormous drink, we’re just about to have a party, you simply must stay. Jack darling, Mr Ramsbotham wants a large whisky.’ And ignoring Jack’s signals of horror, she swept him into the drawing-room and introduced him to the rest of us.
‘Hasn’t the weather been frightful?’ she went on. ‘We’re thinking of building an ark.’
Mr Ramsbotham went rather pink and muttered that perhaps he’d better have a private word with Rose as matters were getting rather pressing, and he was expected home for supper.
‘Nonsense, nonsense,’ said Rose airily. ‘It’s Friday. A man must unwind after a long week. We can’t talk about boring tax now. Actually I’m thrilled
you dropped in this evening. I know you’re a racing man and I just thought you might be able to give us some tips for Newcastle tomorrow. Here’s your drink. Thank you, Jack darling.’
One had to hand it to her. Within seconds, Mr Ramsbotham was totally hypnotized, discussing racing from nose to nose on the sofa.
Jack and Pendle were still talking about the mill. I sipped my drink and talked to Maggie about pop music and took another good look at her, sizing up the competition. She had sat down opposite Pendle and kept crossing and re-crossing her legs, so he must be getting a constant suggestion of gleaming white checkered thighs. She looked carnal and hemmed in, and not what mother would call a ‘lady’, but who wants to be a lady, when they can exude so much animal health in such a dangerously unhealthy way? Unlike Rose, she wasn’t at all flirtatious, she didn’t flutter her eyelashes or flaunt her bosom. She just stared at Pendle with that stripping look. You felt if you’d walked between them it would have burnt you like a laser beam.
‘You’re not to call me Mrs Mulholland any more. My name’s Rose, and I’m going to call you Arnold,’ Rose was saying to Mr Ramsbotham. ‘Jack darling, you’re not doing your stuff. Arnold’s drink’s nearly empty.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Maggie, scooping up a handful of nuts. ‘I was going to go on a diet before Ace came back, wasn’t I? I wish I had a small bust like you, Pru. It’s so much easier for clothes.’ She looked complacently down at her own cleavage.
Bitch, I thought. Perhaps she does mind Jack chatting me up after all.
‘Do you think he’s here for the night?’ I muttered to Pendle as Vatman enthusiastically accepted a refill.
‘Expect so. At least he can dance with Copeland.’
Chapter Six
It was an odd party. Jack mixed a hell’s brew with a brandy base. I was as high as a kite after the first glass. Everyone seemed determined to drink as much as possible, as fast as possible. To wash away the boredom, I suppose. Two hours later, things were really in their stride.
Pendle was behaving impeccably, filling my glass, plying me with drink. But there was no message in his eyes. In Jack’s eyes, however, there was too much. He never missed a chance to reach my hand or squeeze me round the waist. Every time I looked up, I seemed to see those dissipated blue eyes smiling at me.
