by Jilly Cooper
A warm west wind was blowing up from Limesbridge to wish them luck. Leaves were falling seriously now, huge pale gold cornflakes, blanketing parks and pavements, as though the trees were determined to strip off before November. It had been raining and their trunks glistened in the street light. People turned to stare as Jonathan and Emerald crossed St James’s Square, hand in hand, eyes only for each other. Every so often, Emerald pulled off strands of jade-green feather boa which clung to her scarlet mouth.
Jonathan was so certain of the outcome that in his pocket was a black leather box containing an exquisite ring, four emeralds in the shape of a four leaf clover. He’d checked with Dr Bredin. The results had gone first-class post to Raymond yesterday. Emerald was the one panicking. If Raymond were her father, she’d lose Jonathan for ever.
As they went up in the lift, Jonathan took her tiny cold face in his hands.
‘It’s been worth every moment of the waiting,’ he said softly. ‘Tonight I will make love to you until the dawn rises. The stars won’t dare to set in case they miss something and the sun will hang back knowing he’s been knocked off the number one spot for ever. I love you.’ He dropped a kiss on her trembling mouth as the lift doors opened into Raymond’s flat.
Normally when she entered a new place, Emerald’s first move was to look at the pictures. But having quickly kissed Raymond and Anthea, she ran to the sitting-room window gabbling, to disguise her nerves, about the wonderful view of the Houses of Parliament and the tawny towering trees of St James’s Park. Then she swung round, wide-eyed, flushed and about to be all mine, thought Jonathan in ecstasy.
As memorial services were an increasing chore of the much younger wife, Anthea had felt justified in spending a bomb at David Shilling on a ravishing midnight-blue feather hat for such occasions, which she had left on the hall table. Jonathan couldn’t resist putting it on and wrapping Emerald’s feather boa round his neck to make her laugh. Then he noticed Anthea looking extremely smug, and felt an icy hand clutching his heart.
‘Glad you’ve both had a nice long holiday in Vienna,’ she said. ‘Lucky for some.’
‘And there is some good news in the world,’ said Raymond. ‘I think we can manage this between us, don’t you?’ Then, as the cork burst out of a magnum: ‘Let Raphaels and Casey Andrewses fall about our ears.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Jonathan numbly.
‘I’ve just got the results of my DNA test’ – Raymond brandished a chart of waving black lines which could have been painted by Moholy-Nagy – ‘and Emerald is definitely my daughter. So there are no more doubts,’ he went on happily as he filled up four glasses.
‘I feel a little hurt you doubted my word, Emerald and Jonathan’ – Anthea smiled at them graciously – ‘but I do understand you wanting to be a thousand per cent sure.’
‘This is definitely one to file under “Oh Fuck”,’ said Jonathan slowly.
There was a thud as Emerald fainted, sending a vase of scarlet and purple anemones flying.
‘Overwhelmed by relief and happiness,’ said Anthea complacently.
Still wearing Anthea’s frivolous feather hat like Picasso’s weeping woman, Jonathan gathered up his sister, carried her next door and laid her on the bed. For a second he gazed down at her, running his hand slowly over her death-mask face to memorize it for ever. Then he kissed her briefly on the lips, returned to the drawing room and went berserk.
‘All your Seventies crap about love and peace!’ he yelled. ‘All your bloody permissive society!’ Then, turning on Anthea. ‘If you hadn’t shagged my father when he was married to Mum, none of this would have happened. By your bloody adultery, you’ve totally destroyed my and Emerald’s lives.’
‘Get out,’ yelled back Raymond, ‘don’t you dare to talk to Anthea like that, you spoiled brat.’
‘It was you two who spoiled life for us.’
‘Bring back my hat,’ screeched Anthea as he stumbled into the lift, groping for the ground-floor button and the descent into hell.
Tears pouring down his face, walking distractedly into the Piccadilly traffic, he lost Anthea’s hat and watched it disappearing under the wheels of a 22 bus. With the satisfaction of the serpent after a good afternoon’s mischief, Emerald’s green boa slithered off into the gutter.
Tempted to give up his life in Savile Row police station, two leaves for happy days nestling in his curls, Jonathan ended up at the Pulborough.
‘Vine leaves in his hair,’ murmured David, who was reading Private Eye’s account of Casey’s defection: ‘King Rat leaves sinking ship’, and waiting for a call from New York before going out to dinner.
Jonathan was so unhinged by unhappiness, he told David everything.
‘I love Emerald, and she’s my sister.’
David, who hadn’t yet heard from Anthea, felt like Christian at the wicket gate.
‘Never deterred you in the past,’ he said bitchily.
‘Bloody does now. Sienna and I were just a wind-up, I never believed in a million years Emerald was Dad’s daughter.’
Nor had David. Raymond had clearly done a good deal more than fiddle with Anthea. Since Emerald had rolled up in May, David had been in a continual panic he’d be outed as her father. The last three days since his meeting with Anthea had been a nightmare, in which he had bidden farewell to Rosemary’s millions and the post of High Sheriff.
Being stingy, he was also incensed at having had to fork out unfairly, twenty-six years ago, for all those hotel bills in Yorkshire, train fares, gynaecologists, supporting Anthea after the birth, giving her a holiday in Spain, not to mention all the people he’d had to buy to keep quiet so Rosemary didn’t twig, particularly when he’d been using her money. There had been no need for it; he had been fleeced and conned. Thank God he had always refused to sign the birth certificate. Just wait till he saw Anthea.
Irrationally, a tiny part of him had wanted to be Emerald’s father, and now ‘Shrimp Villy’ would be strutting round like an old buck. And so David vented his rage on Jonathan.
‘I can’t think why you’re making such a fuss,’ he said nastily. ‘As your well-read father is always quoting: “Never morning wore to evening, but some heart did break.” It just hasn’t happened to you before. Should give your work more depth. Anyway, you’d be useless for Emerald.’ David put Casey’s cuttings back in a blue cellophane folder. ‘You’re too libertine, too lightweight. Emerald needs someone stable, responsible, possibly much older.’ David licked his smirking lips.
‘Like you,’ whispered Jonathan in horror. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on her, you bastard.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said David smoothly, ‘I must call her first thing – although she’ll need a bodyguard – Casey is determined to immortalize her on canvas.’
‘I’ve already done that,’ snarled Jonathan. ‘Tell the fucker to stay away from her.’
‘I doubt if you have “immortalized her”. You’ve blown your career: fooling around, drinking, shagging, hell raising.’ David picked up his purple cummerbund, which he only just managed to tie round his waist. He must take more exercise; he and Emerald could jog in the park to get her in training for running away from Casey.
‘No-one’s asking for your stuff any more,’ he went on, shrugging on his dinner jacket. ‘I’ve had no orders for Expectant Madonna, nor Millennium Buggers. The world was at your feet, but today’s taste is fickle. Everyone’s clamouring for the latest thing, but it’s not you any more.’
‘Thanks a bunch,’ said Jonathan, who hadn’t registered a word, ‘I’ve just got to leave Emerald alone.’
‘She’s got Anthea and Raymond now,’ said David sourly. Then, seeing Jonathan looked near to death, and not wanting to lose him as an artist, only to shock him into working harder, he added more gently, ‘Vogue are planning to make Kate Moss an artist’s muse. The Chapman brothers, Tracey, Gary Hume and Sam Taylor-Wood are all doing her, they want you as well.’
‘I’m not interest
ed.’
‘Not in Kate Moss? You must be in a bad way.’
‘I need to talk to Alizarin,’ muttered Jonathan. ‘He went through the same thing over Hanna. I’m going abroad.’
‘Well, don’t forget to leave a forwarding address – look after yourself, dear boy.’
But Jonathan had staggered off into the night.
Back in Duke Street, St James’s, Anthea was flabbergasted when a revived but distraught Emerald confessed she was hopelessly in love with Jonathan.
‘I thought you loved Zac.’
‘Zac’s just a feckless opportunist. Jonathan’s the warmest, sweetest, most loving man I’ve ever met.’
‘I agree about Zac, but I don’t think Jonathan’s any more capable of being faithful—’
‘Than his father was, humping you when he was supposed to be Galena’s besotted husband,’ said Emerald hysterically. ‘Was I conceived right here? Did Galena ever find out you were shagging her husband in the marital bed?’
‘How dare you!’ An enraged Anthea slapped her daughter very hard across the face. ‘High time someone taught you some manners, young lady.’
‘Well, it won’t be you.’
As she hadn’t brought any money with her, Emerald ran most of the way back to Shepherd’s Bush, losing her bag and her shoes on the way.
Hearing the outside doorbell ring just as Peak Practice ended, Patience picked up the receiver by the front door.
‘Hello,’ she called out.
There was no reply. It was spooky round here at night when Ian was out minicabbing. Goodness knows what wickedness was luring her to open the downstairs door. Then Patience heard desperate sobbing, her big heart prevailed and she pressed the intercom button. The pattering up the three flights of stairs could have been made by the paws of a little lurcher. The next moment Emerald had collapsed into her arms.
‘Oh Mummy, oh Mummy, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch, please help me.’
The Belvedons did not enjoy the Millennium. No matter how many times Anthea expressed relief at a step-free Christmas, Raymond, still fretting over the Raphael and the gallery’s fate, couldn’t get used to such a depleted family gathering. Only Lily, Dicky and Dora, who ought to have been in bed, saw the New Year in with them. Grenville, without the support of his friends, Visitor and Diggory, was having a nervous breakdown over the fireworks, which had been banging away for days. Every time Raymond coaxed him into the garden, another rocket would go off and Grenville would bolt back into the house. Dicky and Dora were equally miserable about the dearth of their elder brothers and sisters.
‘I even miss Emerald,’ said Dora in amazement.
‘So do I,’ sighed Dicky.
Nor could Anthea and Raymond invite their old friends, the Pulboroughs, over, even for a drink. David was still punishing Anthea for conning him and Raymond had not forgiven David for annexing Casey Andrews.
Jonathan, meanwhile, unhinged by unhappiness, wandered the streets of Vienna mocked by the manic jollity of the singing Glühwein-swigging revellers, as he relived all the happy times he’d spent with Emerald. He was trapped in his Viennese coffin of despair, with no bell to ring ever to free him.
Back in England, on New Year’s Eve, a landscape by Cézanne was stolen from the Ashmolean, triggering off much talk of a crackdown on art theft, which didn’t bode well for Sienna. Still in New York, she refused to join Adrian Campbell-Black, his boyfriend Baby and their pals in Connecticut for a party. Instead she worked feverishly trying to amass enough pictures for an exhibition to raise money for the court case.
Dora and Dicky were further lowered by the continued absence of Alizarin and Visitor.
‘I want to ring them up and wish them a Happy New Year,’ wept Dora. ‘Visitor always recognized my voice on the telephone.’
Nor were there any lights in Jupiter’s cottage. Since word had sped round that there was a glamorous new spare man in London, an eldest son, who would inherit Foxes Court and who had a dazzling political career in front of him, Jupiter had been bombarded with invitations.
On Millennium night, a stunning divorcee had asked him to a party in her flat overlooking the Thames to watch the River of Fire. But gazing down at the leaping blaze of fireworks as her jewelled hand crept into his, Jupiter realized his heart had already turned to ashes. How utterly meaningless life was without Hanna!
Feeling an utter shit – again – he left the party, like Cinderella, and now, alone in the gallery, was drinking himself insensible and trying to hang pictures for a sale starting on 2 January, in the hope of raising some quick cash.
He had already smashed the glass on a watercolour and had insufficient strength to lift a vast Landseer into position. Only Alizarin could have done that. Jupiter took another slug from the Armagnac bottle.
‘Unhappy New Year, Jupiter,’ he told himself.
If it weren’t for his stupid pride, he’d have begged Hanna to come back. But he was convinced she was with Alizarin. He groaned in despair as he imagined them laughing over Visitor’s antics, making love, throwing snowballs in a bridal-white Norwegian landscape.
Going into the back room to collect two Dutch still lives of fruit that would look lovely in a group with the Boucher bottom, which he’d hijacked from the Blue Tower, he heard the doorbell ring. Glancing in the monitor, he gasped with joy. For outside the glass door, her sweet face and exuberant gold hair framed by a black velvet hood, stood Hanna. Jupiter rushed out into the main gallery, then groaned with disappointment. Not Hanna – too young, but familiar. Then he realized it was Emerald’s plump sister, Sophy, swaying, with a bottle of Chardonnay in each hand.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I was just passing and I wondered if you had any news of Alizarin.’
‘Come in,’ said Jupiter. ‘It’s a bit of a mess.’
‘I was at a party.’ Sophy, clearly drunk, hung her head.
‘So was I,’ said Jupiter.
‘It was such an important time, I suddenly couldn’t bear not to be with someone important,’ mumbled Sophy.
‘I’ve been putting up pictures,’ explained Jupiter, ‘but I’m not seeing them, or anything, very straight. How’s Emerald?’ he asked, as he handed her a glass of Armagnac.
‘Ghastly. I’ve never seen such unhappiness.’ Sophy explained about Jonathan and the DNA test.
‘He was so wonderful for Emo. She’s never been properly loved or in love before. It’s made her really appreciate Mum and Dad. We’d be such a happy family, if . . .’ Sophy’s voice trailed off: ‘she wasn’t so in love with Jonathan and we weren’t so poor.’
‘Poor Jonathan,’ murmured an appalled Jupiter, who’d been so wrapped up in his own misery, he’d not realized what was going on. ‘I just heard there’d been a row, not unusual, and that Jonathan had pushed off abroad.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think she was Dad’s daughter either, or I’d never have jumped on her.’
‘You mustn’t feel guilty, everyone falls in love with Emo.’
‘I just wish Hanna hadn’t caught us.’
Jupiter put a frightful nude up on the wall and took it down again. Who the hell had bought that?
‘What’s happened to Alizarin?’ Sophy’s elbow shot off the table. She heaved it back.
‘Anthea and I chucked him out,’ Jupiter was amazed to find himself admitting it. ‘I’ve always been jealous of him. He inherited all Mum’s talents. Only thing she handed on to me was a passion for caviare.’
‘You’re a terrific organizer,’ said Sophy comfortingly, noticing that Jupiter’s dinner jacket, which he’d hung over a chair, had an unexpectedly dashing cherry-red lining.
‘I’m fed up with running a gallery,’ he went on. ‘Dad loves saving pictures for the nation; I just want to save the nation.’
‘You could save the Tories. My father would certainly vote for you.’ Sophy couldn’t resist asking: ‘How’s Hanna?’
Collapsing into a chair, putting his head in his hands, Jupiter said despairin
gly, ‘She must be with Alizarin, no-one’s heard a squeak out of either of them.’
Ask a silly question, thought Sophy.
‘Alizarin’s got more integrity than I have,’ said Jupiter bleakly.
‘She married you,’ said Sophy stoutly. ‘You’re extremely attractive.’ And terribly like Alizarin, she thought wistfully, as Jupiter squinted up at her with narrowed eyes and his hair all ruffled. It must have been very confusing for Hanna.
‘Extremely attractive,’ she repeated owlishly.
And so are you, decided Jupiter in surprise. Very Dawn French, or rather Dawn English Rose with that exquisite colouring.
‘Our assistant, Tamzin, has failed to return from Gstaad, claiming to have fallen in love with a ski instructor,’ he told Sophy. ‘Would you like a job for the rest of the week? We’ve got a sale on.’
‘Oh please, how gorgeous, thank you.’ It would bring her nearer to Alizarin.
‘Look!’ She leapt to her feet. ‘There’s a man in the doorway, slumped like a great black wounded crow. Shall I offer the poor thing a drink?’
‘Christ no, he’s asleep. Don’t encourage him,’ snapped Jupiter.
When he was running the country, he’d get all those homeless scroungers off the streets.
Little did Jupiter realize, as the bitter winter kicked in, that his own brother was sleeping rough less than a mile away around Centre Point. After he had been evicted from the Lodge, Alizarin had eked out a living painting portraits in Leicester Square. But with his sallow skin, black hair, and slanting dark eyes above high cheekbones, he looked too like the asylum-seekers flooding in from the Balkans, allegedly up to every con trick. Too many drug-dealers and criminals were also posing as pavement artists, threatening to beat up customers if they didn’t pay outlandish prices. Consequently the police kept fining Alizarin and seizing his painting equipment. Just before Christmas, his landlady had chucked him out because he couldn’t pay the rent.
