Up To No Good

by Victoria Corby

  Robert laughed. ‘I find it difficult to believe that there’s anything you could get up to over a dining table that would make a Frenchman blush.’

  Venetia opened her mouth to reply and I intervened hastily before she could spell out exactly what could make the French blush, earning myself reproachful looks from several listening Australians. ‘Maybe she was having lunch with Napier? Women do go out with their husbands sometimes.’

  ‘Hugh couldn’t see who it was, just a leg and a man’s hand stroking her... well anyway, that doesn’t matter,’ she said to the disappointment of the large part of her audience who reckoned that even if it didn’t they’d still like to know. ‘But it definitely wasn’t Napier. They’d left him at the château working out some figures and he’d have needed to break the land speed record to get there in front of them, let alone to quite that stage with Solange. Napier’s always turned a blind eye to what she gets up to before, since he seems to think that if he allows her a bit of leeway she’ll stop short at flirting, but it sounds as if she’s gone too far this time. She’s making a laughing stock of him, and he’s too nice to be made a fool of like this,’ she said furiously. ‘Do you think Hugh should say something to Napier about it?’

  ‘It’s up to him, but if he goes on passing the word around like this he won’t have to,’ Robert said dryly.

  Venetia stared at him for a moment then nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re probably right. And it doesn’t really matter either. Napier would never kick Solange out, more’s the pity. I wonder who the man was?’ Her face fell. ‘You don’t think it might have been Daddy, do you?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I thought he just mucks around with Solange, nothing more, but he was out to lunch today too.’

  Robert’s eyes met mine. ‘Of course it wasn’t. Your father was out on business, and don’t even hint to Janey that he might not have been. He’ll be absolutely furious with you.’

  Venetia nodded obediently. ‘OK, I won’t say anything to her then.’

  CHAPTER 13

  I got a steely look from Maggie as I stumbled downstairs for breakfast a couple of days later, but at least she didn’t look on the verge of name calling so I gathered that time had done some of its healing stuff. All the same I thought it wiser to retire for the morning to the other side of the swimming pool and conceal myself behind the border of lavender bushes well away from any roving male gaze.

  I’d been waylaid yesterday by Janey who informed me that Miles and Adam had decided to help by doing the washing up. Unfortunately this included Tom’s post which had just been placed on the table next to his plate. She’d decided the best way of improving the twins’ chances of surviving until sundown would be to get them out of Daddy’s reach so she was going to take them for a picnic on the edges of a nearby lake. Would I like to go with them? It was a really nice place and she’d love some company... When I said I reckoned that, as it was Delphine’s day off, she was actually looking for another warder to help keep control of the boys, she unblushingly agreed there was an element of that too. We had lain in the shade of a pine tree nattering while the twins played on a small sandy beach and didn’t get into too much trouble, all things considered. They only fell in a couple of times. The water wasn’t very deep so it hadn’t been difficult to fish them out, and as they weren’t wearing anything all we had to do was shake the drops off and let them loose again.

  It occurred to me as I settled down with my book that, one way and another, this holiday had hardly been the peaceful type that’s usually recom­mended for convalescents. I rolled over on my back and closed my eyes for a moment, thinking that at least it hadn’t been boring.

  I jumped as a shadow fell across my face and my eyes flew open to see a black silhouette against the bright blue sky. God, what now? ‘Oh, it’s you,’ I said in relief as I saw it was Charlie.

  ‘Sorry if I startled you,’ he said. ‘I just came to tell you Venetia’s been down to say that Tom’s got the bit between his teeth about this match tomorrow and has summoned the others for an hour’s cricket practice.’

  I propped myself up on my elbows. ‘I thought Tom reckoned it went against the essential amateur nature of the match to do anything so serious as practice.’

  ‘Yeah, but Maggie’s offered to do the scoring and as she’s never done it before, Tom wants to give her a run-through before the big day.’ Charlie grinned. ‘That was his excuse for getting in a sneaky bit of practice, and he’s sticking to it.’

  Now he’d delivered his message, I expected him to take his leave and join the cricketing party, but he glanced down and said, ‘I don’t feel like walking all the way up to the château. It’d be much nicer to stay here and chat to you - if you don’t mind being disturbed from your book.’

  Of course I didn’t. Not by him anyway. ‘The book isn’t very interesting,’ I said untruthfully, ‘but aren’t you an essential part of the team?’

  He shook his head. ‘I went to one of those progressive schools where competitive sport is thought to be bad for the juvenile psyche, so the nearest I’ve ever got to playing cricket is throwing balls for my eight-year-old godson to practise his batting. Unfortunately the staff also seemed to think it would be bad for their own psyches if they did anything so strenuous as actually teach us anything, so I left after seven very expensive years a happy well-adjusted chap without any of the basic qualifications that you need to get a decent job these days.’

  I was startled by the bitter tone in his voice. ‘But Sally said that you’ve just started something new which could really lead somewhere,’ I said.

  ‘Sal’s in PR. She’s conditioned to putting the best spin on everything,’ he said with a wry smile as he pulled off his T-shirt and flopped down on the grass beside me. ‘My last job promised me great things and went precisely nowhere, but this one might turn out OK, I suppose. I hope so. It’d be nice to earn more than my girlfriend for once.’

  I was prepared to bet anything that he earned more than me, I thought, eyeing him covertly and noting how brown his torso was, a result of the olive-tinged skin that went with his dark eyes and hair. No matter how hard the pundits try to push pale skin as the newest fashion statement there’s no denying that a brown stomach is considerably more attractive than a white one. And his stomach was a good one too, not a six-pack or anything, just nice and firm... This sort of thought was leading me precisely nowhere, I told myself sternly. I might be merely taking an appreciative look, the sort of thing men do all the time, but wasn’t I already in enough trouble with the female duo who ruled this cottage without laying myself open to accusa­tions of making a play for both their boyfriends in turn? Besides, I was coming to rather like Sally, who had proved that she wasn’t entirely under Maggie’s thumb by hissing that if Maggie remained daggers drawn with every woman Phil had tried to kiss since they had been going out, she would soon be on non-speaks with most of the female population of London.

  ‘Are we the only two in the cottage who don’t have an official role to play in this great event tomorrow?’ I asked, forcing my eyes away from Charlie’s physique to contemplate a much less interesting small climbing rose on the cottage wall.

  ‘Well, I understand Jed’s being put on as eleventh man if Tom gets really, really desperate - he’s planning to try Lily out first - but otherwise it looks to me as if the only thing Jed’s doing is casting longing looks at Janey. Mind you, improving the morale of the team captain’s lady is a very important role indeed.’

  ‘Do you think it does improve her morale?’ I asked.

  ‘I doubt it somehow,’ he said slowly. ‘I wouldn’t like to make a comment on the state of Tom and Janey’s marriage, but I reckon Janey’s far too astute to import a lover, if she had one, right under her husband’s nose. And she certainly wouldn’t be insane enough to do it when Venetia was here.’

  I laughed and he added, ‘Of course, the reason Venetia thinks Janey might do that is because it’s exactly the sort of cock-eyed thing she’d do herself. Long on looks,
that girl, but short on brains. Just the way I like ’em,’ he said in such a deadpan voice that for a moment I was taken in until I saw the little smile on his mouth. ‘As for the others, Sal’s keeping Maggie company, otherwise known as a chance to yak, and Oscar’s supposed to be showing Tom how good he is, once he stops fussing about whether he can play in his white jeans. He thinks they might be too tight for strenuous exercise.’

  I thought of Oscar’s white jeans. ‘Well, he could wear them - it depends on how keen he is to keep his options open as far as fathering children is concerned. He’d better borrow something from Tom and risk the fit not being absolutely perfect.’ I picked a couple of daisies off the lawn beside me and started slitting the stems to make a daisy chain. ‘I didn’t know that Phil was going to play-’

  ‘He isn’t - he’s just tethered to Maggie’s right ankle,’ Charlie said cheerfully and shot me a mischievous look. ‘For some strange reason she didn’t feel like leaving him here when she wasn’t around to watch over him.’

  I groaned. ‘Is she still furious with me?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Not furious precisely,’ he said carefully, which didn’t do an awful lot to cheer me up. ‘I wouldn’t suggest having another cuddle with Phil in her presence, that’s all.’

  I sent him a dirty look and he grinned. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll get over it.’ I noticed that he hadn’t cared to put a time limit on this statement. ‘But listen, when I was getting the bread this morning I saw a poster for a foire à la brocante - you know, an antiques fair - in Roaillac. Shall we go this afternoon?’

  ‘What, just the two of us?’ I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop myself. I sounded like a gauche teenager, I thought in disgust, bending my head to concentrate furiously on my daisy chain so he couldn’t see my red face.

  ‘I doubt Sal will want to come, it’s not her sort of thing,’ he said easily. Was I imagining the unspoken ‘we don’t really have that much in common’? He went on, ‘And if you’re not here, Phil won’t be forced to come along and watch cricket practice, so if you’re feeling generous you could look on it as an act of kindness.’

  So this invitation was just a form of male solidarity, I thought, feeling slightly disappointed. It didn’t stop me accepting though. I fancied spending an afternoon wan­dering around with Charlie, and I like antique fairs too. I might even find a wedding present for my sister who was getting married in the autumn. Both Min and her intended had got houses so they were already well stocked up with the normal wedding-present fodder of china, blankets and quiche dishes, so finding something wasn’t easy, especially as Min had waved an airy hand and said, ‘Something beautiful’ when I asked her what she’d like. An amusing little quelque chose picked up from an antiques fair in France could be just the ticket.

  Maggie, Phil and Oscar arrived back in time for lunch, full of horror stories about Tom’s mood and congratula­tions for Charlie on having the sense to stay out of the firing line. At least Phil and Oscar were; Maggie was too busy checking Charlie for lipstick marks and preparing a report for later.

  Tom had had a phone call to say his fifth best batsman had a poisoned finger and couldn’t play, the third best had received a non-refusable summons from his mother-in-law to attend a family lunch tomorrow, and Tom had seen any hopes he might have had of getting even with Napier for trying to pass George off as a ‘reasonable’ player fading inexorably away. Besides him­self, his only decent batsman was Oscar; he was gloomily afraid he was going to have to include Jed in his team - Janey had already been co-opted - and had even been driven to making enquiries along the lines of was I any good at fielding and could I throw a ball? With admirable self-restraint Robert said he could personally assure him that my throwing skills were zero.

  It was best to draw a veil over what Tom said when he discovered Phil didn’t play cricket. ‘A waste of space’ was the only repeatable one. As for Tom’s reaction when he’d yelled for Venetia to come out and help field and she’d retorted that she’d just done her nails and didn’t want to smudge her varnish... Things went downhill even more when Maggie thought Robert was swotting at a mosquito rather than signalling four runs, and Tom had bawled that she should bloody well know it was far too early in the day for mosquitoes to come out; besides, they didn’t have ruddy mosquitoes up here anyway! The final straw had been when Solomon had waddled deafly onto the pitch, obeyed his Labrador instincts by retrieving the ball and had made off with it at a remarkable pace for someone so old and arthritic. Phil said he and Oscar had been laughing so much they had failed to give chase until Solomon was well away in the laurel hedge. That hadn’t done anything for the team captain’s blood pressure either.

  Tom had only been saved from an explosive coronary by the arrival, just in time for a pre-lunch drink, of a carload of Australians; cricket-playing Australians. In between whispering sweet nothings in Venetia’s ear, Carlton had let slip that he was a bit of a cracker at the old bat and ball, as were a couple of his mates. With commendable initiative Venetia had promptly invited them all to come over and try out their paces though she’d forgotten to tell her father and thus save everybody a trying morning. She had also forgotten to inform Janey that she’d invited an unknown quantity of beer-drinking Aussies for lunch though under the circumstances she was forgiven. Sally had offered to help Janey do a loaves and fishes act at five minutes’ notice while Maggie and Oscar were allowed to leave, albeit under strict orders to return for more intensive training this afternoon.

  Maggie hung around making one excuse after another to delay returning to her lesson in scoring until she was absolutely sure that Charlie and I really were going to be out for most of the afternoon. She’d been pretty pointed in her questions about how long we were going to be too, though these were disguised as queries about whether we’d be back in time to bring home some decent patisseries for tea.

  Fortunately the first stall we saw was selling home­made cakes and ‘things’ made of flying leaves of pastry interleaved with some gooey paste or other. They looked delicious so, even though I didn’t have a clue what they were, I bought one, hoping this offering would take me another step on the road to social rehabilitation. Charlie was more taken with the next-door stand, which was selling nineteen different sorts of armagnac of varying vintages, all of them made at home by the producer who was extremely generous about offering tastes. Somewhat reluctantly Charlie agreed it wouldn’t be a good idea to sample all nineteen, and allowed himself to be steered away from such temptation. Not before he’d bought two of the nineteen varieties though.

  The main part of the fair had been set up in a large market square dominated by a magnificent twin-towered and flying-buttressed church and was already packed with people moving slowly between the long lines of stalls. The really superior traders with the serious antiques, with serious prices to match, were in a long green and white tent in front of the church. We didn’t spend long in there as the prices made me wince, even more so when I imagined tripping over the uneven flooring and taking a pearler onto one of the tables laden with Chinese porcelain. I didn’t breathe properly again until we were in the safety of the outdoors. The stalls outside, sheltered from the sun by awnings, were much more my sort of thing. Their contents ranged from the frankly junk-like, such as rusty pans or bent spoons that someone was hoping to pass off as ‘antique’, to second­hand and antiquarian books, old dolls and children’s toys in various states of disrepair to stacks of pictures of very varied styles and quality. It was a junk-shop junkie’s paradise.

  We meandered around, rifling through boxes of old postcards seeing if we could find one of the château, turning up our noses at frankly dreadful collections of china, stopping to look at hundreds of old doorhandles jumbled together in a great big heap before we gave up our place to a man who had taken a handle out of his pocket and was trying to find a pair for it. I didn’t see anything that might do for Min and Francis, though I fell in love with a large wooden pig that had once advertised a
charcuterie and Charlie was particularly keen on a fine old armoire that he said would look marvellous in his high-ceilinged flat. Sadly, even with the best will in the world, it was much too large to go in the back of his car.

  We had seen nearly everything, had a drink and I’d got to that object-blind stage where a swim in the pool seems infinitely more enticing than any amount of fine china when Charlie, who seemed to have an inexhaustible appetite for going through boxes filled with mystery objects, pointed at a line of stalls we hadn’t investigated yet and said, ‘Shall we just take a butchers at this lot before we go?’

  ‘OK,’ I said wearily, and while he began to examine a pile of leather-bound books, I started to sort through a stack of pictures resting haphazardly against a wall. I knew the moment I saw the pair of watercolours in heavy old ornate gold frames, one of vinepickers returning home after a day’s work, the other of an extremely congenial fête du vin to celebrate all the grapes being in, that they were exactly what Min would like. I knew because our tastes are similar - in art, not in men - and I wanted them for myself. I sat back on my heels, considering the little price tag stuck to the top of one and doing a conversion from francs to pounds, wondering if I could afford them. I couldn’t, not even if I bargained the stall-owner down, but I knew my brother wouldn’t have got Min a present yet. Nick always leaves everything to the last minute, so if we went halves ...

  I havered nervously, and got Charlie’s attention for long enough to ask what he thought of them.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Not my taste,’ he said frankly. ‘Too pretty-pretty and the frames are in terrible condition. Look,’ he touched a place where the ornate gilding had flaked off to show the plaster underneath, ‘and there,’ indicating a curling acanthus leaf that had lost its tip.