Up To No Good

by Victoria Corby

  ‘We could sort out the whole problem of world peace and the state of the environment and you’d still be saying it was too soon to be on kissy kissy terms with me,’ I retorted.

  He laughed. ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed cheerfully.

  Just then, Phil tapped him on the shoulder to ask him if he could name three of Alan Ladd’s films and he turned away from me, getting embroiled in a discussion on which were the best westerns ever made, which probably would have lasted right until the small hours of the morning if someone, quite possibly Solange who was patently uninterested in westerns or any subject that didn’t include her in it somewhere, hadn’t suggested that it was a lovely night for dancing under the stars.

  With great enthusiasm chairs and tables were pushed back against the wall, flowerpots which couldn’t be easily seen under the soft light from the candles were put safely where they couldn’t be tripped over, and Solomon, who was sleeping the sleep of the old and deaf in the middle of the terrace, was persuaded to go and lie somewhere more convenient. Janey chose tracks on the fast and lively side, saying out of the corner of her mouth as she passed me that she bloody well wasn’t giving Solange a chance to do a cheek-to-cheek number with Tom, not that anyone with any sense tried to dance with him unless they were wearing protective footgear. Her grand plan backfired when Tom, who really did seem to have the proverbial two left feet, unwisely attempted an ambitious rock and roll move and stamped on Solange’s lightly shod foot. It went without saying that she had to sit down in a secluded comer to recover from this appall­ing injury and it was necessary for Tom to absolve his conscience by sitting next to her, holding her hand, repeating how incredibly sorry he was and, as Janey said wrathfully, doing everything short of promising to kiss the poor wounded toe better.

  Maybe he was, but if you ask me he was also keeping a discreet eye on his wife. I’d been talking to her while Charlie and Oscar were arguing in a good-natured way about which one of them was first in line to have a bop with her, when Jed nipped in with some nifty footwork. The next moment, he was leading her out into the middle of the terrace while Charlie and Oscar looked at each other with raised eyebrows and knowing smiles. Tom, who had been listening attentively while Solange pouted attractively in his ear, raised his head, mouth set in a straight line as he watched the pair of them give a far more skilful display of disco dancing than he had done with his own partner. Seconds later his attention was back on Solange as if she was the chocolate he’d most like to find on his pillow that evening. I was the lucky recipient of the fallout from Jed’s speedy manoeuvre as Charlie promptly turned to me. In the circumstances it would have been churlish to get all offended about being so obviously Charlie’s second choice, especially as he went to great lengths to ham it up and assure me that he’d been dreadfully torn about who to dance with, but of course I had to understand manners insisted he asked his hostess first...

  One of the things I had liked about George was that, unlike most of the men of my acquaintance, he enjoyed dancing as much as propping up the bar having another drink. He was always happy to take to the floor to bop around with admirable unselfconsciousness, if not an enormous amount of skill. But Charlie was in another league altogether. He was the sort of partner who can make anyone feel that she really has got a sense of rhythm and that one of these days she could even be twirling around in clouds of feathers and sequins on Come Dancing, showing off her fancy footwork. He modestly denied having any great skill, merely saying that he’d had a girlfriend who’d been into all forms of modern and ballroom dancing and out of necessity he’d been forced to learn how to do it properly otherwise he’d never have seen her at all. ‘Or had much to talk to her about either,’ he said reflectively and smiled. ‘She didn’t have much of a brain, but wow, did she have wonderful muscle tone.’ He could also, unlike many men, dance and talk at the same time and to my pleasure it wasn’t just Janey who seemed to be able to bring out his lighter side. That laugh was definitely very attractive, I told myself, as he was good-mannered enough to laugh at a weak joke of mine rather more than it could possibly have warranted.

  Much too soon, and much to my irritation, my shoulder was tapped firmly by Phil who was demanding a dance as Maggie had been borne off by Hugh. I reluctantly let go of Charlie, reminding myself that he was already bagged by Sally - even if she was still hanging on George’s every word.

  ‘If you’re wondering who to bestow your talents on next, you’d be doing Janey a real favour if you could amuse Solange for a while,’ I said over my shoulder as Phil bore me off.

  ‘Right, I get your message,’ Charlie said cheerfully. ‘But I’ll see to the music first, I’m getting bored with this.’ Minutes later an unmistakable Latin-American beat throbbed out from the speakers and he shimmied up to Solange with his hand held out invitingly, as if he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. She looked surprised and amused but after a quick glance at Tom, probably to check he could support the prospect of her absence, she gave Charlie her hand and got to her feet.

  From the moment she and Charlie stood facing each other, his hand curled around her waist, you got the feeling that we were about to see something different here. We did. You would never have guessed that they were moving over flagstones instead of the best waxed, perfectly sprung wood, their steps were so fluid and seamless, nor that they were merely amusing themselves after dinner on a terrace in France instead of engaging in a battle of sexual wits and dalliance in some smoky dive in downtown Buenos Aires. Gradually, everyone else stopped dancing and stood back to watch as Charlie and Solange slid, slunk and slithered up and down in a tango, their steps and bodies in perfect unison.

  ‘Wow!’ said Janey as Charlie bent Solange over backwards like a piece of rubber, her legs sliding fluidly between his. ‘She might be a cow but you’ve got to admit she can dance. So can he, for that matter,’ she murmured appreciatively. ‘I had no idea that Charlie could be so sexy. Will you look at that!’ she breathed as they turned and Solange ran her knee up Charlie’s thigh and smouldered into him as if a fire blanket might be needed at any moment.

  ‘Granny used to tell me that her mother wouldn’t allow her to dance the tango because it was unsuitable for young gels, might give them strange ideas,’ Venetia said, her eyes almost as wide as ours. ‘I can see what Great Granny meant now!’

  The three of us settled back to enjoy the spectacle, but I didn’t feel that everyone else was enjoying it quite as much. Sally had a slight frown between her brows, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, Phil was openly bored and was occupying himself looking for a bottle with something in it while Napier simply looked deeply displeased. Well, I suppose if it had been my wife rubbing herself up against another man like that I wouldn’t have been too thrilled either.

  Eventually the CD came to an end amidst a spontane­ous burst of applause. Hugh was too busy gazing sheep­like at Maggie to even notice the music had stopped and Napier’s fingers were flexing in a way that suggested he could think of other ways of using his hands, possibly around Charlie’s throat. Charlie bowed over Solange’s hand, kissing it with a splendidly theatrical gesture that brought another black frown to Napier’s brow, and laughingly refused to give us another demonstration of his skill. ‘Not that I wouldn’t give almost anything for another chance to dance with this beautiful lady,’ he said with a look at Solange, who preened in a way that wasn’t entirely suitable for a woman of her age, ‘but I’m com­pletely knackered. Couldn’t do another step. Yes, Tom, a drink would be very welcome indeed,’ he added, stretch­ing out his hand.

  Naturally after a virtuoso display like that, nobody else felt inclined to risk looking like a flat-footed fool so from then on the dancing was a complete non-starter. But there seemed to be a mutual feeling that it would just be too boring to simply say our goodnights and make our way back to our respective beds and so nobody objected when Tom grandiloquently suggested we should all have a nightcap to see us on our way home.

  That was
probably the root of the problem. If Phil hadn’t had that extra glass or two he might just have realised that while flirting was one thing, and even a bit of surreptitious knee-stroking could be held to be comparatively harm­less, trying to kiss another woman while his girlfriend was only a few feet in front of him was another matter entirely. And if my mind hadn’t been so dreamily full of other things, the beat of the tango still reverberating through my pulse, I might have had the nous to realise that someone like Phil wasn’t going to be put off by a fork, and I wouldn’t have allowed him to give me an impromptu lesson in star-gazing. At least he held himself in check until we’d left the château and were weaving our way slowly home through the vines, so Janey and Tom weren’t there to hear the flaming row that ensued when Maggie turned to see Phil lunging at me.

  CHAPTER 12

  I was sitting on the kitchen table with my feet comfort­ably propped up on a chair staring out of the window, for once finding no charm in the view, and thinking that it’d be a good idea to make myself scarce for a while. There was always a faint chance that if I wasn’t around to rub salt into the wound, Maggie might calm down a bit, although that seemed optimistic, judging from the way she’d been going on last night.

  Where could I go? The château was out. For one thing they’d all seen rather a lot of me recently; more importantly, I didn’t feel up to explaining why I was currently persona non grata at the cottage. Especially not to Venetia, who definitely knew a good story and when to run with it. For that matter I wasn’t keen on Robert finding out that I’d been stupid enough to let myself be caught in a clinch with Phil. This wasn’t the sort of countryside where you could pack a few sandwiches and a drink and take yourself off for a walk. Too hot, not enough shade. Those same factors, plus the number of hills locally and my distinctly unmuscley legs, ruled out using the elderly bicycle stored in a shed at the back of the cottage. There was always the bar in the village, but I gathered from a brief glance in at its smoky interior that it was not a place respectable women went on their own.

  The door opened slowly and Oscar’s fair head popped around, cautiously surveying the terrain. As he saw who was sitting on the table, he hesitated for a moment and then said in a painfully polite voice, ‘Do you mind if I come in?’

  ‘Why should I?’ I asked, slightly taken aback.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I thought you might still be angry with me, and you know that I’ve never been able to face rows before I’ve had my first cup of tea in the morning.’

  Oscar always dodges out of rows if he can help it, whatever the time of day. Judging by his pallid face he was in greater need of Disprin than the tea pot but, as he always indignantly denies he ever has hangovers, I didn’t say anything, just pushed the packet into the middle of the table where he could see it. I’d already had to use it myself, though I put my headache down to entirely justified nervous tension after the events of last night.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I scoffed and showed I meant it by getting up off my perch and putting the kettle on for him. He was still at that hungover stage where it’s difficult to hold the kettle under the tap and turn it on at the same time. ‘How could I be angry with you after the way you defended me last night?’

  I had been on the verge of properly losing my temper, for there is only so much you can take of being accused of being the next best thing to the Whore of Babylon, when Oscar waded in. He told Maggie to stop making so much fuss. It didn’t matter whose fault it was and we should all forget about it. Phil, standing behind her looking cowed, nodded vigorously in agreement. Needless to say, Maggie had no intention of forgetting about any of it and Oscar ended up getting a torrent of abuse dumped on his own head, largely to do about his total lack of judgement in being friends with me. It’s hard to continue bearing a grudge against someone when he’s shown such bravery on your behalf; impossible when you’ve heard him tell Maggie that she was making more fuss than a maiden aunt at an orgy. It was after the explosion that followed that he’d felt it necessary to retire for a restorative drink or three with Jed.

  I tactfully kept my back turned ladling tea into the pot while the rustling sounds of pills being emptied from their packet went on behind me. I smiled reassuringly as I put the milk jug, sugar bowl and a large gaily painted mug in the middle of the table. ‘Come on, Oscar, you’re my knight in shining armour. What maiden in distress ever starts banging on to her saviour about a few of his past transgressions? It’d hardly be grateful, would it?’

  Oscar brightened immediately. ‘I’m so glad. I hate having you cross with me, Nella.’

  Yet I noticed he didn’t promise not to transgress again where George and I were concerned. Maybe he had decided he couldn’t go on making promises he had no intention of keeping.

  ‘I wonder how long it’ll be until I’m forgiven in other places,’ he remarked, as he drained a mug of disgustingly sweet tea. He didn’t look too worried about it, he knows perfectly well that no one stays angry with him for very long, but in the meantime the atmosphere wasn’t going to be very pleasant. He poured out a second mug of tea, adding enough sugar to keep a dentist in Ferraris for months, then sat in silence for a few moments stirring absently. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s a shame to be so near the sea and never go to the beach. The Atlantic coast is supposed to be lovely too. Today looks like it might be a good day to go... just the two of us. What do you think?’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ I said fervently. ‘You’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer, Oscar!’ He preened modestly. ‘Can I call on you if I need any other dragons dealing with?’

  ‘Now, now, Nella,’ he said reprovingly. ‘It’s not nice to call Maggie a dragon.’

  I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘When do you want to leave?’

  ‘Before she wakes up?’ he asked hopefully.

  I have never got ready for a trip to the beach so quickly or so quietly before. It was only a matter of minutes before we were tiptoeing towards the car with a basket full of all the paraphernalia you need. ‘Phew!’ said Oscar once we’d put a safe distance between ourselves and the cottage. I was amused to notice that he’d driven at a faster speed than was strictly necessary for the first few kilo­metres. ‘It feels just like bunking off double maths at school, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Double domestic science actually,’ I corrected him. ‘You and I were down on the rota to do lunch today.’ The car wobbled as Oscar gave a horrified groan.

  ‘Want to go back and do your detention?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly not,’ he said promptly. ‘But it might not be such a bad idea to send you back to do yours. I’d never have asked you to join us if I’d had any idea what trouble you were going to get me into. Honestly, Nella, you know what Phil’s like. What on earth induced you to dally around with him in the dark?’

  ‘I wasn’t dallying with him!’ I said indignantly. ‘He was showing me the Great Bear.’

  Oscar made a pull-the-other-one snorting noise.

  ‘Really, I promise you. He had a telescope when he was a boy, so he knows all about the stars. It was just unfortunate he seemed to think it necessary to put his arm around my shoulders to point me in the right direction. OK, maybe I should have known what was coming,’ I admitted, ‘but I had this strange idea that even if Phil assumed the fork I dug into his thigh earlier was some form of weird come-on, he’d find his girlfriend being only five feet away might put a blight on any ideas of combining star-gazing with a little slap and tickle.’

  ‘Except you didn’t slap him.’

  Yeah, that had been pointed out to me, at length, by Maggie, as conclusive proof that I must have been leading poor Phil astray.

  ‘I was trying not to draw her attention to what was happening but I should have realised that along with all her other attributes she also has eyes in the back of her head.’

  ‘I’m glad it was only an error of judgement.’ Oscar slowed down to let an elderly woman and her prancing miniature poodle cross the road in fr
ont of us while I stared at him in surprise. ‘I couldn’t help wondering if Maggie had got up your nose so much that you decided to tease her by flirting with her boyfriend.’

  ‘No way!’ I exclaimed. ‘Even if I was careless enough of my own life to even think of nicking Maggie’s man, I wouldn’t go near anyone who runs after everything in a skirt. You don’t know where he’s been, do you? I can’t think how she puts up with it.’

  ‘She loves him,’ Oscar said simply. ‘And don’t ask me why someone as beautiful as her is besotted with such a slime bag for I’ve no idea. You’ll put up with a lot when you love someone. You should know after Robert.’

  ‘Robert wasn’t like that,’ I said. ‘He might not have scored high marks on the fidelity front, but he didn’t have a compulsion to try and pull every woman who crossed his path. And he only ever had one bit on the side at a time, rather than a whole crowd of them, so I suppose you could say it was serial infidelity rather than multiple infidelity.’ Didn’t make it much nicer though. ‘Besides, lots of men play the field in their early twenties. Phil’s getting too old to go on behaving like a teenager with a testosterone overload. And he spoilt everything too,’ I added with a sigh. ‘It had been such a nice evening up until then.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ asked Oscar in an offhand voice.

  ‘Discovering what you’d been up to with George was not one of the nicer parts.’

  He glanced sideways at me. ‘I didn’t plan it. Not like that,’ he amended with rare honesty. ‘I admit that Hugh knew we were going to be at the cottage; in fact, he arranged his and George’s own trip to coincide with it.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I gather he finds Solange altogether a bit much, and thought we’d be a tactful bolthole when he’d had enough of her. I didn’t tell you because you bit my head off every time I mentioned George’s name.’