Jump!

by Jilly Cooper

  As he turned the helicopter round, Woody put an arm round Etta.

  ‘Good thing you weren’t wearing a jacket, water in your pockets would have pulled you under.’

  ‘Thank you again for rescuing me,’ mumbled Etta. ‘If you could just drop me off—’ Looking down, she realized she couldn’t see Little Hollow. It had disappeared beneath the water. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘You’re coming home,’ said Valent firmly.

  Mop Idol had lit a fire in a spare bedroom. Valent had buzzed off to Throstledown to reassure himself and Etta that Wilkie was all right. He returned with Priceless, who, having done nothing but eat Painswick’s shortbread all afternoon and run down the hill to Wilkie, had collapsed exhausted on the bed. Valent had unaccountably disappeared again.

  Etta, slowly coming to the realization how near death she had been, was distraught about Gwenny.

  ‘I must go and look for her.’

  Mop Idol, who hadn’t been to the races, persuaded her not to. ‘We don’t want you to suffer from hypothermia, you’re exhausted. Mr Edwards insisted you rest and it’s more than my part-time job’s worth. Cats have nine lives, Gwenny’ll turn up.’

  ‘She’ll die like the first Gwendolyn,’ wept Etta.

  After a boiling bath, she found a beautiful pale pink silk short nightie and dressing gown laid out.

  ‘That’s Bonny’s,’ cried Etta in embarrassment.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. She’s got too many clothes. Mr Edwards insisted you put them on and got this down you,’ said Mop Idol, marching in with a bowl of game soup and a very large brandy.

  ‘You are kind.’

  Etta had nearly cried herself to sleep when a dripping Valent, his hair falling in wet black tendrils over his forehead, marched in and dropped an exhausted Gwenny on her pillow.

  Dried off, her black fur flattened, Gwenny looked half her normal size but was purring twice as loudly.

  ‘Oh thank you, thank you, how did you find her?’ mumbled Etta. ‘You must get out of those wet things.’

  Was she dreaming or did Valent really take her hand, muttering, ‘Oh Etta, thank God you’re safe. I lost Pauline. I couldn’t have borne it if I’d lost you.’

  Then, dropping a kiss on her forehead, he was gone.

  107

  Etta was woken by Priceless squeaking to go out and Mop Idol bearing a cup of tea and full of gossip. Mr Edwards had flown to London to avoid the press, the ones who got through the flood, who were hanging around outside.

  ‘They want to interview you. Mail ’s got the story.’ She handed the paper to Etta.

  Page one concentrated on general flood devastation. On page three, under the huge headline GALLANT EDWARDS, was a picture of Valent, Etta and Mrs Wilkinson taken when he’d rolled up and turned the court case. The piece described how he had flown back from the races and saved Etta and the famous Mrs Wilkinson from drowning. He was quoted as saying how brave Etta and Woody had been and how Etta had nearly been killed leaping into the water to save Wilkie, but how in the end Wilkie, showing typical resilience and guts, had saved herself.

  ‘They want to interview you and Gwenny,’ said Mop Idol.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Etta.

  As Mop Idol sat down on the bed, Etta thought how pretty and merry she was despite working so hard and felt sad that Joey was messing around with Chrissie.

  ‘The top of the village has no water, and neat sewage and used tampons are flowing down the high street.’ Mop Idol shuddered. ‘The stink’s horrible. The Major’s gone berserk because abandoned cars all over the place are holding up the traffic.

  ‘Repulsive Harvey-Holden’s gloating because his yard’s so high up he hasn’t been touched by the floods, but everyone else has. The Salix Estate has got water up to the skirting boards, and the vicar and Tilda Flood and the school have all been flooded. Parents had to paddle across the high street to collect their kids yesterday.

  ‘Mr Pocock was flooded. He was brilliant, he built a wooden barrier to put at the bottom of Miss Painswick’s drive, stopped the water pouring in.’

  Contributing to Mop Idol’s good cheer was the fact that her own ground floor had been flooded out, which meant the council providing her and Joey with nice new carpets and a new kitchen.

  ‘The Major and Debbie’s garden’s been flooded. Angela Rippons and Alan Titchmarshes not eaten by Chisolm were up to their necks, all the goldfish in the pond swept away. Serve the Major right for not opposing Bolton’s moat,’ said Mop Idol. ‘Bet his rain gauge has overflowed.

  ‘I ended up in the Fox last night, and Chris said the only funny moment was when Cindy Bolton boasted her Chelsea tractor could cope with any flood. She drove off down the high street and disappeared totally under water. Pity the Major wasn’t there to rescue her.’

  ‘I must get up,’ sighed Etta.

  ‘Mr Edwards insisted you stay here until your bungalow’s recovered.’

  Gwenny gave a raucous caw of agreement and snuggled up between Etta’s blanketed legs.

  ‘How did Mr Edwards find me?’ Etta asked timidly.

  ‘Trixie was worried you was driving to Weybridge. Valent tried your mobile number and when he got no answer he hijacked Woody before he got plastered like the others. Then they saw the Polo and your red shirt. So romantic, the papers want to talk to you. Brilliant to save Mrs Wilkinson, poor Chisolm will be hoppin’ to miss the fun.’

  Etta let Mop Idol rabbit on and her tea get cold, totally distracted trying to remember the blissful thing Valent had said to her last night. Had she dreamt it? ‘Gallant Valent’, he’d been so amazing rescuing her.

  ‘Where’s Bonny?’ she asked.

  ‘In Bath.’

  Etta looked out of the window. The valley steamed like a victorious racehorse, everything dripped. She could see lots of people with cameras and a television van beyond the gates.

  ‘Oh goodness.’

  ‘You don’t have to talk to them.’

  ‘My hair’s such a mess, and this red shirt.’

  ‘Borrow something of Bonny’s. A nice white shirt, she only wears things once.’

  *

  Having a quick shower however, Etta caught sight of an upright pink pig in the long bathroom mirror and realized it was her own plump body with its ‘dinner for one’ spare tyre.

  Amid Bonny’s battalion of make-up, needed to create that natural look, she found a magnifying mirror, in which she could see a watery sun caressing the lines on her face, her crêpey breasts and the pleated skin on the inside of her arms. As she came out of the bathroom, she noticed a huge ravishing blow-up of Bonny hanging on the wall looking down the stairwell: naked but ‘tasteful, resonant and empowering’. After Bonny, how could Valent fancy an old biddy like herself ? She’d been such a fool over Seth, she must stop herself falling in love with Valent. Crumpets and Midsomer Murders with Painswick were all she could hope for. She must stop crying.

  She had put on her clothes, including the red shirt Mop Idol had washed and dried, and was just wondering what to do next – take Priceless for a swim? – when Romy swept in.

  ‘We’re back, we’re back. We heard the news this morning and saw the papers. Of course it’s the silly season or they wouldn’t have made such a fuss, but we felt we couldn’t desert you – must have been frightening. The road’s cut off still so we can’t check the bungalow yet, but I’m sure it will be all right when the water goes down. Anyway, for the moment you must stay with us at Harvest Home.’

  ‘But I’m staying here,’ stammered Etta.

  ‘Mrs Bancroft’s had a terrible shock,’ said Mop Idol quickly. ‘She’s just lost her home. Mr Edwards insisted she stay.’

  ‘One must keep a sense of proportion,’ said Romy, who wanted a live-in babysitter to free up her and Martin for work during the summer holidays. ‘People in the third world are much worse off. Could we be alone for a minute?’ She opened the door. Reluctantly Mop Idol left them.

  ‘Valent is a very kind man,’ Romy waved a finger at Et
ta, ‘but you can’t stay here. Bonny’s coming home later. With her away on tour so much, they need their special precious time together. Remember how you got the wrong idea about Seth.’

  Romy in fact had met Bonny in Bristol earlier in the week to discuss the WOO launch. During a lunch of lettuce, cucumber and plain yoghurt, Bonny had begged Romy yet again to get Etta off Valent’s back. ‘I’m fed up with her fawning all over him.’

  ‘It’s important to know when you’re not wanted, Etta,’ went on Romy. ‘It’s so undignified to throw yourself at men at your age,’ she added brutally. ‘So let’s get you over to Harvest Home.’

  ‘What about Gwenny and Priceless?’ whispered Etta.

  ‘Not invited,’ snapped Romy. ‘Priceless is Seth’s responsibility and Gwenny belongs to Pocock.’

  When Valent rang Harvest Home to raise hell about the hijacking of Etta he was for once outsmarted by Martin, who thanked him profusely ‘for saving Mother’s life. If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, things could have been serious. Afraid you can’t talk to Mother, she’s actually fast asleep. I think she felt safe the moment she got to us – she doesn’t want to take personal calls. The great thing is I’ve been down to the bungalow and the water’s dropping. It’ll clean up OK. Fortunately Mother kept Dad’s photographs and letters on a special high shelf, and they’re unharmed. She would have been heartbroken if they’d been ruined.’

  Thank God he and Carrie had appropriated most of Etta’s more valuable things when she left Bluebell Hill.

  Poppy was the most excited that her grandmother was coming to stay, and by her adventures.

  ‘All the same, Granny, it’s a shame you didn’t die, then I could have gone on television saying what a caring grandmother you were and put tulips outside the bungalow and all my friends would have cried and hugged me.’

  108

  From the safety of the stage at the Theatre Royal, Bath, Seth was greeted by applause even louder than the water thundering down Willowwood high street.

  After a rapturously received Saturday night performance, he had returned to Willowwood on Sunday afternoon, having been summoned by an outraged Martin to retrieve his dog. Seth was relieved to discover the Old Rectory at the top of the village was unflooded, and the delphiniums in the garden had been toppled (since they laid off Pocock) by bindweed rather than downpour. Corinna was currently wowing Broadway with Mother Courage and Bonny had returned to Badger’s Court and Valent. As the ground floor of the Fox had been flooded, Seth met his friend Alan in the skittle alley upstairs.

  Outwardly Seth was in cracking form, but secretly he was irked by the fuss Bonny was making over the massive publicity afforded to Gallant Valent’s rescue of Mrs Wilkinson and Etta.

  There was no ice because the pub fridge had surged up from the floor, smashing the kitchen ceiling, so they had warm Bloody Marys. On the trestle tables rescued from downstairs were the framed photographs of the hunt and Marius and Harvey-Holden’s horses, alongside horse brasses, drenched silks, foxes’ masks and red coats.

  ‘It was like being on the Titanic,’ grumbled Chris, who was polishing glasses. ‘Water gushed in through the walls and the floorboards.’

  ‘Bloody bad luck,’ commiserated Alan.

  ‘This’ll all make a great chapter for your book on Wilkie,’ said Seth.

  ‘Bloody needs to,’ said Alan gloomily. ‘I’ve a feeling the publishers won’t find enough bullying and sexual abuse in Depression for today’s market.’

  ‘Interview Bonny. She loves rabbiting on about her journey. You been flooded?’ Seth asked Alan.

  ‘Only the cellar, we found a dead rat floating there.’

  ‘Probably Harvey-Holden.’

  ‘Au contraire,’ sighed Alan, ‘the little weasel is very much alive and gloating because his yard’s untouched, unlike poor Marius, who’s had two furlongs of his new all-weather washed away.’

  ‘Jesus – that bloke’s star-crossed. How’s Etta?’

  ‘In floods in all senses of the word – poor angel. That bungalow Martin built for her nearly disappeared beneath the water.’

  ‘Which would have benefited Willowwood aesthetically.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ grinned Alan. ‘Even worse, bloody Romy whisked her away from Badger’s Court, insisting she stay with her and Martin, but they wouldn’t allow her to take Gwenny and Priceless so they’ve all moved in with us until—’

  ‘That’s very kind of you to take in Priceless,’ Seth interrupted quickly. ‘Great weight off my mind, couldn’t take him on tour. Let me buy you a drink.’ Seth splashed vodka from the bottle into Alan’s glass, topping it up with tomato juice and Worcester sauce before filling his own. ‘How’s little Trixie?’

  ‘Buttering Gwenny’s paws and the house because Gwenny keeps escaping.’

  ‘Lucky Gwenny.’ Seth wondered if he dared have another go at calling Trixie to beg forgiveness for the Stratford foursome. Bonny would go ballistic if she found out.

  ‘How’s Private Lives going?’ asked Alan.

  ‘Fantastic – sold out in every city – possible film in the offing. Oh God, here comes the Major to bore us.’

  The Major was in a high state of chunter and statistical overkill.

  ‘Last time we had this much rain in Larkshire was in July ’sixty-eight. Folk rushed around providing portable toilets.’

  ‘It was Bolton’s moat bursting its banks wot did it,’ accused Chris, handing the Major a tepid pint.

  ‘Jude probably fell in,’ said Alan.

  ‘Willowwood should sue Bolton collectively,’ said Seth.

  ‘And the planners and the Parochial Church Council he bribed,’ said Alan slyly.

  The Major choked on his beer.

  ‘Must keep a sense of proportion,’ he spluttered. ‘All Larkshire’s been hit. Hundreds of people trapped in their cars. Thousands still without power. A hundred and eighty thousand homes without water.’

  ‘Let them drink Scotch,’ said Seth.

  ‘Debbie is very distressed all the carp in her pond were swept away. I intend to form an action group to address the problem of flood defence.’

  ‘I hear the banging of stable doors,’ Alan shook his head.

  ‘Whatever happens, council tax will go up,’ said Chris, emptying the vodka bottle into Seth’s glass.

  ‘And how’s your Tilda Flood defence, my dear?’ murmured Seth to Alan.

  ‘Non-existent, I adore her and the poor darling’s school’s been trashed, but shut up about it.’

  ‘Only if you tell your sweet daughter to call me. I’ve got an idea for when Corinna comes back from America: we’ll give an evening of Shakespeare and perhaps Noël Coward to raise money for the flood victims. Trixie loves Shakespeare. Maybe she could help. What d’you think, Norman?’

  But the Major was off bellyaching about Larkminster Council who were offering free sandbags. ‘But when Debbie and I rolled up this morning they were only handing out bags with no sand in them, which are utterly useless.’

  ‘Why don’t they use the obese as sandbags?’ suggested Seth. ‘Give them a feeling of self-worth. They could start with Jude. It’d be better than pounding the streets with Martin to raise awareness for WOO.’

  ‘That is in deplorable taste,’ exploded the Major. ‘Jude is a lovely lady.’

  109

  Even though she’d been lucky enough to keep Priceless and Gwenny with her at Russet House, Etta was fretting about what she was going to feed them on, now the village shop had been flooded out. Priceless also needed a walk.

  ‘I must take him,’ she wailed, rearing out of bed.

  ‘You’ve got to rest,’ ordered Trixie, adding hopefully, ‘Dad should be home in a minute. I’m defrosting a chicken for everyone’s supper and I’ll take Priceless out for a quick walk. I know he hates getting wet, so we’ll go east across Farmer Fred’s land.’

  Outside, everything dripped and reeked of sewage, and Farmer Fred’s fields had been replaced by huge lakes of pale brown
water with clean-washed cows and very white sheep grazing on the still green high ground. Yesterday’s deluge had bowed down the willows and flattened the shocking-pink willow herb growing along the footpath, which had become a rushing stream. A light breeze ruffled the yellow antlers of the wild honeysuckle.

  Priceless bounded in front, picking his feet out of the water, tossing his head from side to side, to beckon her on, before charging off in search of rabbits. Despite the muggy closeness of the evening, Trixie shivered. She had been jolted by how close her grandmother and Wilkie had come to death. She must try to enjoy life more.

  Suddenly Priceless gave a bark of joy and loped forward as a tall, dark and decidedly handsome man emerged from the shadowy hazel grove ahead. The smell of sewage retreated, giving way to the musky lemon scent of Terre. And Trixie’s heart failed. It was Seth. She must keep her feet on the terre.

  ‘Go away,’ she whispered in horror, as he fell into splashing step beside her, ‘I so don’t want to see you.’

  ‘Darling, please, please, please listen to me,’ Seth begged, ‘I only want to say how desperately sorry I am about Stratford. It was appalling. My only defence is I was so relieved the first night had gone well, I got absolutely plastered. Four in a bed was all Rogue’s idea, he was so desperate to shag Bonny.’ The more Seth lied, the more truthful he made it sound. ‘And in vino veritas, the only thing I wanted to shag was you. I’ve never desired a woman,’ how flatteringly his deep voice lingered over the word, ‘the way I desire you. I’m afraid that night my vile animal nature overcame me.’

  ‘Don’t blame animals, they’ve got much nicer natures than you,’ said Trixie furiously. She must not look into his face or she’d be lost. She wished her heart would stop thumping and she wished she could breathe again. But when she slipped in the mud, his hand caught her elbow and he left it there.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ his voice became hypnotically mesmerizing, ‘just give me a second chance. I can’t bear us not to be friends, I so adored coaching you.’