The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous trc-4

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘What d’you think of this story about your husband and Chloe?’ The girl thrust The Scorpion through the window.

  ‘Cheating Boris fakes happy marriage to clinch New York job,’ read Rachel.

  ‘It’s not true,’ she whispered, driving off with a squeal of tyres.

  ‘Look at the pictures,’ yelled the blonde.

  Half a mile away in Valhalla Kitty was in an increasing turmoil. For a week now she had been cut off from the outside world. As James Benson had prescribed complete rest, Rannaldini had employed a temp, a Miss Bates, who had very nice ankles and who fielded all telephone calls and visits.

  Now up and dressed for the first time, Kitty sat in an armchair in the summer parlour gazing listlessly at a little copse of young poplars thrusting their acid-green branches upwards in victory salutes and reminding her agonizingly of Lysander. Out in the park in their New Zealand rugs all Rannaldini’s horses, except The Prince of Darkness, who was still confined to box rest, were enjoying the spring grass. But not Arthur, thought Kitty in despair — and wondered for the millionth time whether Lysander was all right.

  Lassie was her one comfort. Already in trouble that morning for having pinched Mr Brimscombe’s paintbrush, peed on Rannaldini’s Aubusson and chewed one of Miss Bates’s green suede shoes, she had now collapsed in front of the fire and was showing off her white belly, with her speckled paws folded over like a model wearing smart new gloves.

  As the front door banged she rose with a lot of woofing, shot between Kitty’s legs, then bounded forward pirouetting with joy as her old friend Ferdie walked in with Natasha.

  ‘Kitty, you poor thing!’ Natasha ran across the room and kissed her. ‘We’ve only just found out how ill you’ve been. Are you OK? You look so pale and thin.’ She thrust a vast bunch of red tulips into Kitty’s hands. ‘And we’ve brought you some mags and some scent. Hasn’t Lassie grown?’ Leaving Kitty, she crouched down beside the puppy who was still trying to lick Ferdie to death.

  Kitty had never seen such a change in two people. Natasha looked utterly ravishing in a clinging campion-pink shorts suit and high-heeled black shoes. The heavy make-up had gone; dark-lashes and sparkle were enough, and what was the point of lipstick when it kept being kissed off? And the beady, calculating dead-pan Ferdie was grinning from ear to ear, which were mostly hidden by a curly new cherub’s haircut.

  ‘I took him to Schumi’s,’ said Natasha proudly. ‘Doesn’t he look gorgeous?’

  ‘Wonderful! You both do,’ said Kitty in amazement. ‘And so thin, Ferdie.’

  ‘Forget Special K and Lean Cuisine,’ said Ferdie patting his concave gut. ‘Love’s the answer.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s too thin?’ asked Natasha anxiously.

  ‘No, no. When did you two get togevver?’

  ‘Beginning of last term.’ Natasha collapsed on the sofa and pulling Ferdie down beside her, started nibbling his ear. ‘Ferdie started taking me out from Bagley Hall. Papa’s stopped bothering now he’s bored with Flora. Oh Christ, sorry, Kitty.’

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t take you out. I fort when you didn’t come ’ome,’ Kitty blushed, ‘you preferred it that way.’

  ‘Oh, I did.’ Natasha was ruffling Ferdie’s hair. ‘I’ve always grumbled about Papa and Mama neglecting me. Now I realize how wonderful it is. Ferdie and I have just had the most gorgeous ten days in France.’

  ‘We fort you was with Cecilia,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Mama thought I was with you,’ giggled Natasha. ‘No-one checked. And Ferdie takes care of me so much better than either of them. Oh hi, Papa.’ She edged closer to Ferdie as she noticed Rannaldini in the doorway.

  ‘I thought you were with your mother,’ he snapped.

  ‘Basically, no. She’s got a new boyfriend. You can read all about it.’ Natasha waved Hello!. ‘The last thing she wants is me around.’

  ‘And what about your A levels?’ said Rannaldini coldly.

  Natasha smiled. ‘Well, Ferdie’s been helping me with Business Studies and even more with Human Biology. And as for Ancient History — I ought to study Lysander.’

  Rannaldini was looking thunderous but fortunately rushed back to his study to answer the telephone. He was expecting confirmation from New York any second.

  Just for a second colour spilled over Kitty’s grey face. ‘How’s Lysander?’ she whispered the moment he’d gone.

  ‘Absolutely miserable,’ whispered back Ferdie, thrusting a letter into the pocket of her grey cardigan. ‘Almost as miserable as Tiny who never stops crying and running to the gate looking for Arthur. So most of the time Lysander lets her into the house. He’s back at Magpie Cottage by the way. Marigold rolled up with some prospective buyers and was not amused to find Tiny eating carrots in front of the fire.’

  ‘Lysander’s still wiped out about the Rutminster,’ added Natasha who was entwining her fingers with Ferdie. ‘He blames himself totally.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ flared up Kitty.

  ‘Course it wasn’t. Rupert’s had to apologize,’ said Ferdie, who was very shaken by Kitty’s appearance. ‘They did a post-mortem. Arthur had a massive heart attack. From what I gather some old worm larvae got into the gut and migrated through the wall of the artery into the aorta and died there leaving a lesion which couldn’t cope with all that blood racing round.’

  ‘You are clever to explain,’ said Natasha fondly.

  ‘So they’ve decided Arthur crashed into the railing and broke his neck as a result of the heart attack, so Lysander’s in the clear.’

  ‘Oh, fank goodness.’ Kitty’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so frilled, but poor Arfur.’

  ‘Wonderful way to go,’ said Ferdie. ‘Leading the field by twenty lengths, cheers echoing in his ears, his beloved master in ecstasy. He wouldn’t have known anything.’

  ‘Are you quite sure?’ Kitty gave a sob. ‘Lysander loved him so much.’

  ‘He loves you much more,’ said Ferdie with a furtive glance at the door. ‘He’s lost his Eurydice.’

  Kitty was about to ask him to explain when Rannaldini marched in, singularly unamused to see Natasha still wrapped round Ferdie, who was no doubt acting as a go-between for Lysander.

  ‘You better push off now,’ he said coldly. ‘Kitty gets very tired.’

  ‘She looks terrible,’ said Natasha. ‘Have you been feeding her on Paraquat?’

  ‘Don’t be infantile,’ hissed Rannaldini so evilly that even Ferdie shivered.

  Lassie was barking again. There was a knock on the door. It was Miss Bates with her normally bold grey eyes cast down.

  ‘Dr Benson to see you, Mrs Rannaldini.’

  Before Rannaldini could stop him, James had swept in.

  ‘Natasha,’ he said kissing her on both cheeks, ‘I haven’t seen you for years. You’ve grown even more lovely than your mother.’

  ‘Why, thanks. This is my boyfriend, Ferdie Fitzgerald,’ said Natasha proudly.

  ‘Lucky guy.’ James shook Ferdie’s hand, then glancing from this glowing buxom child to her desperately pale, red-eyed stepmother. ‘Aren’t you pleased about the new addition to the family?’

  Natasha looked blank.

  ‘He’s talking about Lassie,’ cut in Rannaldini. ‘Now buzz off you two and have a drink in the morning room.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about Lassie,’ said James Benson smoothly. ‘Hasn’t your father told you that your stepmother’s expecting a baby?’

  ‘She can’t be,’ whispered Natasha, utterly aghast. Then, fielding a laser-beam of warning from Rannaldini, ‘I mean, that’s great. How very exciting,’ she added in a strange high voice.

  ‘We’re not telling anyone,’ said Rannaldini grimly, ‘not until the New York job’s in the bag. Now bugger off you two. James wants to look at Kitty. He hasn’t got all day.’

  Natasha seemed so shattered that she walked out without even saying goodbye.

  ‘Look after yourself,’ said Ferdie, hugging Kitty. Seriously worried, he hated
leaving her.

  Natasha can’t bear my having her father’s child, thought Kitty hopelessly. Oh God, another dreadful complication.

  Rannaldini jumped up and rushed out as the telephone rang. He had been unbelievably edgy all morning. A long time talking, he met James Benson on his way out.

  ‘Not very happy about Kitty,’ James told him. ‘Not responding at all well, almost clinically depressed. I’ve put her on anti-depressants and some iron and vitamins to boost her up. But I cannot recommend TLC too strongly, Rannaldini. She needs a proper holiday.’

  ‘She has one,’ said Rannaldini, who was quite incapable of controlling his orgasmic elation. ‘That call confirm the New World Phil job. It is all I have dreamt of and worked for.’

  ‘Well done, great,’ said James, ‘brilliant, but that’s hardly a holiday for Kitty.’

  ‘It’ll be a change of scenery.’ Most uncharacteristically, Rannaldini kissed his doctor on both cheeks. ‘If you’ll forgeeve me, James, I must break the news to Kitty. That will be the best tonic.’

  What a victory! He wanted to shout to the rooftops as he bounded upstairs. How dare that little Russian upstart challenge his throne. The best man had won — even if he had had to fax The Scorpion piece on Boris and Chloe anonymously to Graydon Gluckstein the moment it came off the press.

  ‘It’ll be a new ’eaven and a new earth, my kitten,’ he told her joyfully.

  The early afternoon sun flooding his face made him look young and extraordinarily handsome.

  ‘We will leave our problems behind and start our marriage again. You will adore New York. It pulsates like an animal.’

  Cecilia lives in New York, thought Kitty bleakly, and once she’s dumped this latest boyfriend she’ll want Rannaldini back and me as a dogsbody. And if I go to the States and want to come back Lassie will have to go into quarantine for six months. And Hermione will come and stay for ages and little Cosmo will break the place up. At least in England they live in their own house.

  ‘They are so delighted to ’ave me,’ Rannaldini was saying, ‘they ’ave already release the news worldwide. Next week we can fly over and look at ’ouses. Oh, sheet,’ as his mobile rang again. ‘Why can’t people leave us alone? ’Allo, ’allo.’

  His face went utterly still, so instantly drained of colour and joy that for a second Kitty thought the job had been withdrawn. For a couple of minutes he listened, just interjecting the occasional ‘sí’. Then he said: ‘It was good of you to let me know. We’ll talk later, ciao.’ He switched off the telephone.

  Only then did the rage erupt, as he launched into a stream of Latin expletives.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Kitty clung to a cringing Lassie.

  ‘The stupid, stupid beetch,’ screamed Rannaldini, ‘driving over a fucking cliff and we’ve only recorded the first two movements of the Emperor.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Rachel. She kill herself driving off the road.’

  Kitty gave a moan. ‘Oh my God! Poor Rachel. ’Ow terrible. What ’appened? Did the brakes fail? It couldn’t have been suicide.’

  Rannaldini shrugged. ‘She was found clutching a copy of The Scorpion. They’d run a piece about Boris going back to Chloe.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t bear it. Oh, the poor li-el kids.’

  ‘Rachel left them with Gretel. Stupid, selfish beetch.’

  ‘Oh, poor Boris. Does he know?’

  ‘Ees in Eesrael,’ said Rannaldini contemptuously. ‘That was Bob. He’s trying to trace him.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Kitty’s face crumpled up with tears. ‘She was probably just distracted by the ’orrible article and drove off the road.’ Groping in her pocket for a handkerchief, she nearly pulled out Lysander’s letter. ‘She dropped me a line only this week sayin’ ’ow ’appy she and Boris was.’

  Again the telephone went. The Telegraph, having been tipped off, was ringing to congratulate Rannaldini about New York and wanting a comment on Rachel’s death.

  ‘One of the most tragic losses to the music world,’ Kitty could hear him saying as he walked back to his study, ‘Rachel Grant had an individual talent which I personally…’

  Guessing he would be tied up for some time, frantically brushing away the tears, Kitty took the note out of her cardigan pocket. It was full of crossings out. A demented Lysander had clearly struggled over it himself without any help from Ferdie or Rupert.

  Darling kitty,

  I wonnted to proove i cud do sumthing, well arthur and i allmost did. I havent got a big howse or a jetset life but i give you my hart wych feals as if its been trarnsplarnted withowt any annisetik. please wring i am dieing of missery. your luvving Lysander.

  Kitty felt as though the jagged teeth of a steel trap had closed into her leg, holding her back. Darling sweet Lysander. How could she ever even respect, let alone love Rannaldini, after he’d been so monstrously insensitive about Rachel?

  ‘Mrs Rannaldini?’

  Whatever was wrong with Miss Bates? She’d been so bossy and uppity yesterday, now she couldn’t meet Kitty’s eyes, as she handed her the second cordless telephone.

  ‘Mr Rannaldini’s still on the other line, it’s Natasha. She says it’s desperately urgent.’

  ‘’Allo,’ said Kitty, steeling herself for abuse.

  ‘Are you alone? Promise you won’t leave Papa.’ Natasha’s Italian-American accent was coming in gasps. ‘Wolfie won’t come back to Valhalla because Dad took Flora off him and I’m living with Ferdie now. Papa’ll be so lonely living on his own. I shouldn’t be telling you this — Papa’ll kill me. Promise you won’t tell him.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Kitty fearfully, ‘but be quick, he’ll be back in a second.’

  ‘Your baby isn’t Papa’s. It’s Lysander’s.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ whispered Kitty. ‘I slept with your dad the night before Lysander came out to France and the night I got back.’ She shuddered as she remembered Rannaldini’s ice-cold anger as he practically raped her. ‘I only slept wiv Lysander twice.’

  ‘Papa has had a vasectomy.’

  ‘He what? When?’

  ‘Just after he married you. He didn’t want any more children, what with seven of us and buckets of illegits. He was fed up with the expense and the hassle. But there’s a 28 per cent chance of reversing the operation, so you still could have babies together. Kitty, Kitty, are you still there?’

  ‘Yes — are you sure?’

  ‘Certain. He had the op in America. Not even James Benson knows.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Kitty gave a sob.

  ‘You will go on being my friend even if you leave him,’ pleaded Natasha. ‘But try not to. He loves you in his funny way, and he needs you. You’re the best wife he’s ever had.’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ mumbled Kitty, switching off the telephone and slumping back on the blue-and-yellow cushions, clutching Lassie, who stretched up, long pink tongue frantically trying to staunch her mistress’s tears. Outside, Rannaldini’s horses were lying down in a patch of sunlight close together to keep warm, folding up one after another like camels.

  Kitty couldn’t stop crying as she remembered the way Rannaldini had complained so bitterly when she had all those horribly embarrassing and often painful tests — not to mention the devastating disappointment each time her period came. Now he was bullying her non-stop to have an abortion and all the time he’d made her bear the full guilt and humiliation of being the infertile one.

  ‘The stupid bitch drove off the road,’ she muttered, ‘an’ we’ve only recorded two movements. Oh, poor Rachel, oh dear God.’

  Kitty had no idea how long she sat, her thoughts churning, but suddenly the door flew open and in bounced Hermione, smothered in leopard skin.

  ‘Come on, Brickie! We’re off to the bird sanctuary at Slimbridge. We’ve always vowed we’d go. Such a lovely day and what better way of celebrating Rannaldini’s wonderful new job.’

  He must have rung to tell her straight away, thought Kitty
dully.

  ‘You must wrap up warm.’

  Marigold, following Hermione into the room, thought how really ill Kitty looked.

  ‘But what about Rachel?’ said Kitty bewildered.

  ‘It’s terrible. We’re all devastated,’ said Hermione briskly. ‘Bob was crying when he rang from London to tell me, but crying won’t bring her back. We’ll all have to rally round Boris and the children. Gretel’s being a tower of strength. Mind you, spare men are lucky, they get snapped up very fast.’

  ‘We can’t go on a jaunt,’ said Kitty in horror, ‘not when she’s just passed away.’

  ‘Rachel was mad about conservation,’ said Marigold gently. ‘It’s a sort of memorial to her if we go. Come on, Kitty, it’ll do you good.’

  64

  So off they went in two cars: Marigold and Larry, Georgie and Guy rode in the first. Hermione, reluctantly accompanied by Meredith, because Bob was still in London coping with the ramifications of Rachel’s death, drove with Kitty and Rannaldini, who was resplendent in a new, long pale-fawn cashmere coat from Ralph Lauren.

  The clouds had rolled away. Primroses, violets and blue hazes of speedwell crowded the hedgerows from which the first green flames of hawthorn and wild rose were flickering brightly.

  ‘Dark glasses and head scarves, chaps,’ said Hermione, tying a rust silk square over her dark hair. ‘We don’t want to be mobbed by autograph hunters.’

  There was hassle even before they got inside Slimbridge when, ignoring a sign saying NO ENTRY FOR FURS MADE FROM SPOTTED CATS OR TIGERS, Hermione tried to force her way through the turnstile.

  ‘Is that coat fake leopardskin?’ asked the girl on the till.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Hermione in outrage.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t come in.’

  So Hermione threw a moody and as Rannaldini showed no signs of relinquishing his splendid new cashmere, kind Guy had to lend her his old army greatcoat.

  ‘It looks better on a man,’ joked Guy as he did up the brass buttons. ‘D’you remember that advertisement, Brickie?’