The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton

by Catherine Alliott

  An idle crush. Well, I'd had a few of those in my time, who hadn't? I remembered a certain floppy-haired Italian boy behind the cheese counter at Waitrose; Ant and I had eaten a lot of Dolcelatte for a while. Oh – and a heavenly Latin teacher at Anna's school who I'd fondly imagined declining a few verbs with – but nothing more. For idle read harmless. I felt relieved. Flattered. But also… no, not disappointed. What did I need with thunderbolts?

  I took a deep breath. ‘I'd love a drink.’

  As we got out and walked across the road, I glanced doubtfully down at my jeans and pink jumper.

  ‘I'm not exactly dressed for an engagement party, though. More a rural weekend in Yorkshire.’

  He looked me up and down. ‘I think you look terrific.’

  It was a casual, throwaway remark, but it didn't do to toss remarks like that at vulnerable, insecure women. It verily made my knees knock, at the same time as making me feel about ten foot tall. My heart was going like a kettledrum anyway, so a knee trembling, heart thumping giantess loped along beside him. We went up the few steps to the front door, which the last couple, seeing us approach, had left open in a friendly fashion. Another couple, I realized they imagined, as they smiled back at us. We followed the sound of merrymaking up two flights of cream-carpeted stairs.

  The party was indeed at full tilt. Plenty of bright young things were packed in like so much human lasagne, knocking back champagne, shrieking and braying at each other in a high-ceilinged room with an enormous chandelier hanging pendulously in the middle. Amy Winehouse was doing her best over the noise but it was nip and tuck. God, I hoped Ludo's sister was younger, I thought, looking around nervously as we plunged into the scrimmage, otherwise I'd just arrived with a toy boy.

  ‘They look about nineteen,’ I shouted over the din, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter who was squeezing his way round with a tray above his head, having a precarious time of it.

  ‘Twenty five-ish,’ he shouted back. ‘Alice was an afterthought. Ten years after my little brother Ed. Ah, here she is – Alice, this is Evie. Evie – Alice.’

  ‘The bride.’ I smiled as an attractive blonde with very pink cheeks swayed towards us in a pissed fashion in a plunging black dress. She looked vaguely familiar. ‘Congratulations!’ I shouted.

  ‘Oh, we've met!’ she squeaked. She reached out and clutched my hand. ‘Don't you remember?’ She staggered a bit. Steadied herself on a friend's shoulder. ‘Oops.’

  ‘We have?’

  ‘Yes – you were having trouble with your poos!’ she yelled.

  I flushed. It was true, I did suffer spasmodically from constipation. Had news of it reached this side of the street? Had flags been hung out, or even noses pinched, when movement was finally achieved?

  ‘Really?’ I gasped, several shades brighter than my jumper.

  ‘Little annoying ones you had to pick up in your hands.’

  No. I was pretty sure I'd never… ‘Oh!’ It dawned. ‘Hector's!’

  She shrugged, eyes like road maps.

  ‘The horse,’ I hurried to reassure Ludo, whose eyebrows were gently raised. ‘I was mucking him out, and your sister was in the kitchen and – oh, you're getting married at the farm!’

  ‘That's it.’ She beamed happily. ‘Caroline Milligan's place. It's so fabulous – well, you know. You keep your horse there.’ She waved her champagne glass at me and some spilled down my jumper.

  ‘Yes, I used to live there, actually. It was my home.’

  ‘Really?’ Her bloodshot eyes widened. ‘Gosh, how could you bear to leave it, it's idyllic. Angus and I just love it.’

  ‘Well, it was my childhood home.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My childhood home!’ I yelled. ‘It's my brother's now, he farms it. He's married to Caro, she's my sister-in-law.’

  This was too much for Alice at this time of night, with the amount she'd shifted. She tried gamely to make sense of it. ‘Caro is married…’ she yelled, ‘to a farmer?’

  ‘That's it,’ I shouted back, feeling weary. ‘My brother, Tim.’

  ‘Is he a farmer too?’

  I remembered why I hated these stand-up-and-shout parties. ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Oh. And you're married to him?’

  ‘No, Caro is.’

  ‘So you're both married to farmers?’

  I began to lose the will to live. Ludo's sleeve had been plucked and he'd half turned away to listen politely, head down, to what a tall redhead in a green halter-neck dress had to say in his ear. A very beautiful tall redhead.

  ‘Can I just say,’ Alice had found my ear too and was hissing into it in a slurred fashion, ‘how thrilled we all are. Mummy and Daddy. Ed and me.’ She rocked back on her heels, chin disappearing into her neck, missive delivered.

  ‘Thrilled?’

  ‘Yes, since Ludo's met you – he's a different person. You've no idea!’ She flung her arms wide, champagne flying again. ‘Oops – sorry!’ This to a drenched back.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I shouted above the din. ‘You've got this wrong. I'm married!’

  ‘Yes, I know, and he knows there's no chance, knows you're happily married, it's just – well, he never thought, after Estelle, he was capable of feeling anything, ever again. Thought he'd sort of fossilized. The fact that he can, even if it's not to be, is just a miracle.’ She swayed and spilled champagne on my bosom again. I looked like I was lactating. ‘Angus and I are going to be like that.’ A faraway look came into her eye. ‘Really, really happy.’ Then she frowned, concentrating, realizing she'd lost her thread. ‘It's been ages, you see, since Estelle died – over three years. The fact that he can feel, even if it's you, and even if you're married, is just fantastic!’ Bug-eyed at the magnitude of this, she lurched, suddenly, to grab a passing waiter, refilling her glass when he wasn't quick enough on the draw with the bottle himself. Ludo was well out of hearing range now and I wanted to get to the bottom of this.

  ‘Are you sure you've not exaggerating?’ I shouted. ‘I've met him about three times. I smashed up his car. Twice!’

  She nodded. Lurched backwards. Someone steadied her elbow with an indulgent smile. ‘That's right,’ she yelled. ‘He met Estelle when she reversed into him in Sainsbury's in the Cromwell Road. That's what's so spooky. And she was engaged to someone else. He'd married her within three weeks!’

  I stared at her. Felt my Shetland wool jumper tighten around my throat. Felt it knit itself a few more rows. She shrugged helplessly, throwing up her arms for dramatic emphasis. More champagne flew through the air. ‘That's Ludo for you! Take it from me, he's got you firmly in his sights. This is no idle crush! Oh, s'cuse me. Clemmie!’ she shrieked as a girl in a tiny white dress and a bottled tan fell through the door, clutching a bottle. ‘Where've you been?’ They laughed hysterically and fell on each other's necks. I hastily downed my drink. Shit. I must go. Three weeks. I must go now. Three weeks.

  I began to thread my way towards the door, around Alice and the girl in white, towards freedom. I glanced over my shoulder. Ludo's back was still to me, talking to the redhead: tall, broad, but diminishing. I'd just slip away. He wouldn't notice for ages, and I could say—

  ‘Evie!’ I jumped out of my skin. Felicity had my arm. She followed my gaze.

  ‘Rather gorgeous, I agree,’ she yelled. ‘Half these young girls are lusting after him.’

  That hadn't escaped my notice. As we'd walked in, quite a lot of eyes had darted our way: hair had been flicked back, and skirts hitched up or down, depending on the state of the legs.

  ‘Felicity. What are you doing here?’

  ‘You mean at my age?’ She laughed. ‘I used to teach Alice, and she rather sweetly invited me. But I won't be staying.’ She made a face. ‘Not my scene.’

  ‘Oh – biology.’

  ‘Rather a bright little thing when she could get up for lectures. Quite a party girl too.’ We watched her swaying in her friend's arms, the pair of them singing loudly together now.

  �
�But not a patch on her brother, apparently,’ she yelled in my ear. ‘I mean, brains-wise. Not my department, though, a historian.’ She nodded in Ludo's direction. ‘Bit of a legend by all accounts.’

  Christ. Another bloody brilliant Oxford scholar. A legend. Why did I always pick them? Pick? No. I hadn't picked. Not remotely. I must go.

  ‘Ed, the brother, is very clever too, but this one's much sexier.’ She pointed out the younger brother over by the window. Prematurely bald with a shiny forehead. Short.

  Yes, much sexier. Help.

  ‘Felicity, I must go. Shield me, would you? I'm going to squeeze out.’

  She blinked. ‘Sounds dramatic. But listen, Evie, before you go, have you seen Maroulla?’ Her eyes were anxious suddenly, and she had my arm again.

  I went hot. ‘No, but I keep meaning to. Damn, I keep forgetting. I will go, Felicity. Definitely, next week.’ I glanced over my shoulder as I edged away. Ludo was still talking.

  ‘No, no,’ her hands were fluttery, ‘I'm not saying you should. I mean – well, the thing is, Evie, she's so gaga now, I went the other day. And it'll just upset you.’ She looked agitated.

  ‘Is she? Oh God, how awful, poor Maroulla.’ I stopped still. She'd been like a second mother to us when we were little: cooking endless plates of spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, showing us how to use garlic and basil, chucking away in disgust the fish fingers Mum had asked her to cook. The thought of her gaga in a home somewhere was ghastly.

  ‘I will go,’ I determined, edging door-wards again and whipping my phone out. ‘I'll put the address in here. It's Parsons Road way, isn't it?’

  ‘Yes, but, Evie, I wouldn't, because—’

  ‘Bugger, who's this?’ My phone tinkled suddenly in my hand with a text, making me jump. ‘Oh – Caro.’

  Felicity and I exchanged fearful glances as we often did at the mention of Caro's name. I read it out loud.

  In Carluccio's with Tim when Camilla rang. Wants to see Hector NOW. And you told Phoebe he could sleep rough. Thanks a bunch. On my way. Caro.

  ‘Who's Camilla?’ Felicity yelled.

  ‘Oh!’ I gazed at the text in horror. Then I hastily punched in Caro's number. She answered immediately. ‘Caro? I'm here!’

  ‘What?’ There was background noise at her venue too.

  ‘Back in Oxford,’ I shrieked, sticking my finger in my ear and making determinedly for the door, and then the landing outside.

  ‘I thought you were in Yorkshire?’

  ‘I was, I'm back. It's a long story. What's the problem?’ I kept my finger in my ear and turned my face into a huge stack of coats and pashminas hanging in the hall.

  ‘The problem – hang on, I'll just go outside…’ There was a pause and some rustling. Then she was back in my ear. ‘The problem is bloody Camilla Gavin. She's just rung to say she's on her way back from the sales in Newmarket, and she's passing our gate and wants to see Hector and give him a carrot. At this time of night!’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Which, as you know, will be tricky, since Hector hasn't slept in his bed for days, which means she'll go to his stable and find it empty!’

  I shut my eyes. Oh, blinking heck. And stride around the yard demanding my guts for garters. Or reins, perhaps. She didn't seem the garter type. And then she'd look around some more and see Hector sleeping in the paddock with his lady friends, which was what he loved most, with a nice cosy rug on, which, when Anna and Phoebe's enthusiasm for mucking out after school had waned, had seemed the obvious solution.

  ‘Right,’ I quaked. ‘I'll go over. Unless, of course, the children…?’

  ‘Phoebe's at a sleepover and the boys are on a school trip. And I'm in Carluccio's because it's my bloody birthday and the first time I've been out in eight weeks. We'd just sat down to the sun-blushed tomatoes.’

  Her birthday. Oh God, I'd forgotten.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said weakly, massaging my forehead with my fingertips. ‘Of course I'll go, Caro.’

  ‘Well, I'd get down there fast, if I were you. She's just leaving Newmarket now, and she drives like a whirling dervish. Oh – and don't forget, Pepper's in season so Hector's pretty sexed up at the moment. He might be a bit bolshy about coming in.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ I croaked. ‘Don't you worry, Caro. You, um, tuck in. Enjoy your meal.’

  I pressed the over-and-out button. When I glanced up, Felicity had been nabbed by a prematurely aged young man with a high, academic forehead, a type quite prevalent in this city. She was making wild ‘help-me’ eyes at me over his shoulder. Ludo, on the other hand, was at my elbow.

  ‘Problem?’

  I gazed up into his dark eyes. The greeny-yellow flecks in them were glinting.

  ‘What's your experience with sexed-up horses?’ I whispered.

  He returned my gaze steadily. ‘Extensive.’

  ‘You're lying.’

  ‘Of course. But how else am I going to keep a grip on your company tonight?’

  I took a deep breath, dithered momentarily, then: ‘Come on,’ I said grimly. ‘We're leaving.’

  24

  ‘Where exactly are we going?’ Ludo asked, not unreasonably, following at a more leisurely pace as I hurried down the stairs. I tumbled out of the open front door and across the street to my car. ‘Why not take mine?’ he called after me, as I fumbled for my car keys. Again not unreasonable; we'd just got out of his.

  Because I want to feel in some sort of control, was the answer, but I substituted it pathetically with, ‘Because I know the way. To my brother's place,’ I added, in answer to his first question as he got in beside me. ‘The farm, where your sister's getting married. It's where this wretched horse is.’ I turned the ignition, and because I'd left the car in gear, we kangarooed elegantly down the road.

  He clutched the dashboard in mock terror. ‘The horse with the unnaturally small faeces? Christ, steady.’ He braced himself against the door as I found second and picked up speed, wheels screaming as I took the corner.

  ‘The very same.’ The car righted itself. ‘And the voracious sexual appetite that keeps him out in the field with the ladies, and not in the stable where he belongs, and where the woman who owns him thinks he is right now, and is hot-footing it to come and check.’

  ‘Now? In the middle of the night?’

  ‘Oh, Ludo, you have no idea.’ I passed a harassed hand through my hair as we sped towards the ring road. ‘No idea. These horsy women are unbelievable. Particularly this one, Camilla.’

  ‘Not… the Camilla?’

  ‘Oh, no, not that one. Much more terrifying.’

  ‘Good Lord.’

  ‘That one would be fine. I could imagine having a giggle and a fag with her. This one… well, you'll see.’

  There was a silence as he sensibly let me negotiate a roundabout in peace, his white-knuckled grip on the upholstery the only giveaway.

  ‘Have you actually imagined a giggle and a fag?’ he asked lightly as we embraced the A40.

  I flushed in the darkness. Not stupid, was he? I glanced at his profile, his twitching mouth.

  ‘What – you mean have I fantasized about knowing her when she was ordinary old Mrs Parker-Bowles, and now she's married to Sir, and on account of our long girly friendship, I'm forever at Highgrove toasting muffins by the fire with the pair of them?’ Well, if that didn't put him off nothing would. And put him off I surely needed to do.

  He grinned. ‘Not the sexiest fantasy I've ever heard.’

  ‘I'm not a sexy person.’

  ‘I'm not sure you can be the judge of that.’

  ‘Oh, for God's sake…’

  I wondered if I should go further. Mention that I didn't call him Sir any more, and that we were planning a holiday together, the four of us: a riding safari in Botswana – Charles being very taken with Ant in a Laurens van der Post sort of way. Perhaps not. I wanted to put him off, not think I was mentally unstable.

  ‘Do you always drive as if you're about to throw up over the dashbo
ard?’

  I gritted my teeth and sat back. No, it didn't work for me. I assumed my edge-of-the-seat position again, wheel to chest.

  ‘We're here,’ I announced some minutes later, as, having belted at record speed down the lanes, I swung the car round the stone gate post, only just grazing it this time.

  We came to a halt in the stony drive: gravel, as I've mentioned, would be pitching it too high. The coach light was on above the front door, illuminating the Virginia creeper and little wooden porch with white window seats either side. A friendly row of wellingtons sat beneath. Caro had left the sitting-room light on too, which shone through a gap in the red curtains.

  ‘Pretty,’ said Ludo admiringly, as we got out.

  I smiled the smile of one who knows. ‘Yes, but tumbling down round their ears. Come on, the yard's over here.’

  He followed as I marched off round the side of the house.

  ‘So, presumably you grew up with horses?’ he said, looking about as I flicked on the yard light. Felix, Henry's pony, who was deemed too delicate to stay out under any circumstances, had his head over the door, ears pricked with interest.

  ‘No, it was only ever Dad's thing,’ I said, disappearing into the tack room and emerging with a head collar. ‘Tim and I never really got involved. I was much happier with a book.’

  ‘Ah,’ he smiled.

  ‘Mills and Boon,’ I said tartly, before he got too excited. Before he had me curled up with Don Quixote. ‘Or even trashy mags. Tit-bits, that kind of thing.’ I flashed him a triumphant look, wishing I had some gum to chew. ‘Right. Now you hold this…’ I handed him a bucket with pony nuts in it, ‘and when we're in the field, rattle it loudly to make a noise. When he comes across I'll try and nab him.’

  ‘Got it, sir.’

  I ignored him. It occurred to me he'd become remarkably skittish since his earlier revelation, not quite the brooding, dour chap of yesteryear. Really come out of his shell. Perhaps he felt he had nothing to lose? Or was this him turning on the charm? If it was, I had to admit, it was rather attractive. And it was forcing me into a shrewish, exasperated role I knew wasn't attractive at all. But then, that was the point, wasn't it, Evie? I shut the feed-room door.