‘Was this Sam’s?’ I asked, surprised, over Archie’s deafening ‘MOO!’
‘Good boy!’ she told him. She turned to me. ‘It was once, and the tenants didn’t use this room so they didn’t bother decorating. Didn’t decorate much at all, in fact, as you’ll see. Well, it wasn’t theirs, was it? Not worth the investment. And Sam won’t get round to it, what with the roof falling in and other things to worry about. Now then, young man,’ she fussed over Archie, popping him in between sheets. He instantly popped out of them, roaring with laughter. My son was having the time of his life.
‘And have you worked here for years?’ I persisted. Shut up a minute, Archie. I sat beside Janice on the bed. ‘Did you work for Sam’s parents too?’ Any detail, however small, would help.
‘Thirty years in all,’ she said, tickling Archie’s neck. He squealed like a piglet, tucking his chin in. ‘And when my Stan was alive we were housekeeper and gardener for his folks. Lovely, they were. Well, she died young, didn’t she? Cancer, it was. And he didn’t make old bones; died of a broken heart, I always said. We lived in the cottage, Stan and me. But that’s long been sold, what with death duties and that. I live in the village now. I worked for the tenants too, nice people they were. Just cleaning and a bit of silver; well, they had au pairs, didn’t they? And they were in London, mostly. That’s all I do for Sam now, a bit of cleaning, because of course I’m in his office by day, doing the typing. Taught myself, I did, a while back, when he needed more help there than he did here. Only four days, mind. Fridays I’m here to keep on top of things. Can’t be everywhere at once, can I? But I keep the place nice. General dogsbody, that’s me.’ She grinned as Archie embraced her neck warmly. ‘Well, he’d be lost otherwise, and there’s no one else. Time was, we had gardeners and grooms and a girl from the village and what have you, but not any more.’ I noticed the wall behind her head was riddled with cracks, the carpet, worn beneath our feet. Times were clearly tougher.
‘And he’s easy to work for?’
She broke off from blowing in Archie’s ear to turn. She raised her chin and gave me a level stare. ‘There isn’t a better man.’
There was something decidedly eighteenth-century about this remark, and since I’d just seen him looking impossibly handsome downstairs in something resembling a doublet and hose, it didn’t help my equilibrium. Why couldn’t she have kept to the Regency rhetoric but said he was a cad? A bounder? I felt something I’d been determinedly stiffening inside collapse a bit.
‘So, were you here when he got married?’ I persisted nosily. ‘To Hope?’
‘I was.’ This, more shortly.
‘And – and so it must be odd for him, don’t you think? Having her back here, with her new husband?’ I blushed at my inquisitiveness.
She looked at me appraisingly. ‘I don’t know how he does it. But he’s that fond of Chad, who’s a nice boy, and that upset for him too. That’s why they’re here, I’m sure.’
This didn’t make much sense to me, but as I was trying to figure it out and formulate another question, which obviously couldn’t quite take the form of ‘And is he still in love with her?’ Janice got to her feet. She was leading me to the door too. Quite forcefully, really; taking me by the arm and telling me to go off and have a good time and she’d sort out the kiddies. She thought a game of I-spy and then a story? And perhaps some hot milk? Clemmie and Archie, looking as if it was Christmas and not at all sorry to see the back of their mother, who would have put the lights out more instantly, agreed, bouncing in their beds, shiny-eyed.
Down the stairs I went in my old black, thoughtful; then along the passage, following the noise to the front of the house. The front hall, of course, was the entrance we should have arrived at, and as I turned the corner under an arch, it was everything I’d imagined.
A grand sweeping staircase curled majestically down to a black and white limestone hall, two marble pillars supported a gallery at one end, and haughty-looking ancestors frowned darkly from the walls. It was heaving with people, so much so that some of them were halfway up the stairs. All seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, talking at the top of their voices, shrieking to one another as they knocked back the champagne. Many I knew, but so deceptively attractive were they looking, in silks, velvets and sparkling jewels, the men dapper in black tie, that now and again I had to take a second look just to confirm. I took it all in for a moment, ridiculously pleased to be here. Then I cast around for Dad. We were obviously late and there seemed to be a general move towards the dining room for supper. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to drift in there alone. My eyes darted about. Instead of my father, though, I found Jennie, who, shimmering in her grey silk, dark curls professionally swept back in soft waves from her face, was hastening towards me from the foot of the stairs. As she muscled through the scrum, her eyes were wide in consternation.
‘I thought you weren’t coming!’
‘No, I wasn’t, but then Dad had a spare ticket and I thought: oh, what the heck. You’ll never believe it, Jennie, the children are upstairs with the housekeeper. Dad swung it, naturally. How Mortimer is that!’
Ordinarily this would amuse her hugely, but it didn’t for some reason. Her eyes flitted nervously about. ‘There’s Angie. Come on, let’s go and say hi.’
Rather purposefully and with quite a grip on my arm, she turned me about and made to lead me across the crowded room. Indeed, so forcefully and with so much steel, something made me turn and glance over my shoulder: my left one.
Luke was in the stairwell, with his back to me. One hand above his head was hanging on to the banisters, the other was on his hip. He was leaning in, talking confidentially to someone. I craned my neck. To Saintly Sue. I shook Jennie off. Watched. Body language is fascinating and this was compelling. The way he was arched over her, whispering in her ear: the way she threw back her head and laughed, cheeks flushed. She was in a midnight-blue off-the-shoulder dress, showing a great deal of bosom and looking far from saintly. Suddenly, over his shoulder, she saw me. She looked surprised, but then a triumphant look flitted across her face. A moment later Luke turned to follow her eyes. He startled visibly. I walked across.
‘Hi, Luke. Hello, Sue.’
‘Oh, um, hi, Poppy.’ Luke nervously smoothed back his mop of blond hair and straightened up. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘Oh, really? Why not?’
‘Well, I – didn’t think it was …’
‘Oh, it’s very much my thing. Thank you for the flowers, by the way. Sorry I couldn’t make supper at your place the other night. I hope you found someone to take my place? Eat all those delicious prawns?’
Sue looked taken aback. Ah, spot on. How interesting. And I’m not normally a bitch, but it felt surprisingly good. Then she looked thunderous. Just so you know, Sue, I thought, bestowing a sweet smile on her. Then you can make your own mind up, can’t you? But best to be informed, hm? I turned to Luke, who looked like a small boy caught with his hand in the sweetie tin – either that or with his trousers down. Oddly, though, as I regarded him gazing sheepishly at the floor, I realized I wasn’t about to follow through with another waspish remark. Wasn’t going to tear him off a strip. Principally because – and this was quite comforting – I wasn’t inordinately distressed. In fact, I decided, there was something about his chutzpah I rather admired. Perhaps because I wasn’t going to have to be too closely acquainted with it? Could view it from a distance? It wasn’t going to be my problem.
I let him sweat a moment, then gave a wry smile. ‘Bon chance, Luke,’ I said quietly, realizing I meant it. His eyes came up immediately to meet mine: we communed silently a moment.
He grinned. ‘Yeah, you too, Poppy.’
I turned and walked away. My heart was pounding a bit, but I wasn’t too out of sorts. Although I wouldn’t mind finding someone to talk to pretty quickly. Jennie seemed to have disappeared, but – oh good, Peggy was standing by the fireplace in her black sequins. She was ostensibly talking to
Sylvia, but actually watching this little scene unfold.
‘Sylvia was just telling me,’ she told me softly as I approached, ‘that the piano teacher is perhaps not all he appears.’
‘He said he’d teach my granddaughter, Araminta,’ Sylvia said heatedly. ‘It was my birthday present to her, and of course I didn’t think to pin him down on a price. Well, my dear, I’ve just received a bill for a hundred and fifty pounds for three lessons! Can you believe it!’
‘Yes, I can, actually,’ I murmured.
‘But fifty pounds a lesson! Who does he think he is, Elton John?’
‘Different sexual inclination,’ observed Peggy as Jennie approached, flustered. ‘And nowhere near as talented.’
‘Sorry, Poppy. Got that wrong,’ Jennie muttered.
‘Not to worry,’ I soothed. ‘Just a bit too much grey for my liking.’
‘Grey?’ Sylvia peered over her spectacles. ‘No, he doesn’t look grey. But he’s clearly a bit of a spiv. You stay away from that one, Poppy. We don’t want you getting it disastrously wrong again, do we?’
I was left rather speechless at this. Was I so much public property? My affairs, my life, discussed so minutely, even at the Old Rectory? Over breakfast and the Frank Cooper’s? Suddenly London and all its anonymity appealed. Clapham, perhaps, where I’d spent many happy years. And surely the schools weren’t all a hotbed of underage sex with crack cocaine on every street corner? As I sank into my champagne I found Dad at my elbow.
‘All right, love? Children settled?’
‘Yes, thanks, Dad.’
‘Glad you came, then?’ He puffed out his chest, pleased with himself. ‘And wasn’t our host big about it? Nice man, just had a long chat,’ he turned to nod in Sam’s direction.
The hall was thinning out now as people filed into dinner and I saw him over by a tall window framed by ancient tapestry drapes, talking to Hope. In much the same way as Luke had been talking to Saintly Sue. Intently; leaning over her, but not flirtatiously, protectively. She was looking through her lashes at the floor, beautiful in a long white Grecian dress. She was blushing a bit. He pressed his case gently. The body language of men in love. Which I’d now seen in stereo.
The wave of jealousy that surged through me rocked me. All at once I knew why I’d been so desperate to come here, what clambering into a filthy lorry with wet hair and odd-coloured pop socks under my old dress had been about. Seeing Luke with Sue had made me feel irritated. Seeing Sam with Hope made me feel desolate. And very, very alone. I’d kept Sam Hetherington at bay in my mind; kept him in a little box which I opened only occasionally, when I knew I was in a strong frame of mind. I’d protected myself from falling in love with him. Now he was bursting out like a jack-in-a-box, making himself even more lovable as he exposed his vulnerability, laid bare his soul across the room. Hope looked away as he spoke. I saw her swallow, her white neck lovely. Over by the door into the dining room, I saw Chad, watching the scene. His eyes were haunted, terrible. My breath seemed laboured, but I turned to my father.
‘Really glad, Dad.’
‘What, love?’
He’d forgotten his original question, so long had I been in answering.
‘I’m really glad I came. It’s about time I got a few things sorted out in my head.’
And with that, leaving my father looking slightly bemused, I took his arm, and swept him into the dining room for dinner.
A sea of round tables covered in white cloths and flower arrangements and surrounded by little gilt chairs had been squeezed into the room, which, although large, was not built for feeding two hundred. A seating plan was pinned to a board at the door. With the noise level rising dramatically, I scanned it and found my place. Naturally I was Mary Granger for the night, and naturally I had a deaf octogenarian on one side, and Odd Bob on the other. He looked pleased as punch with his draw whilst I thought: beam me up, Scotty.
Bob spent the first course telling me how handy he was around the house: how he could put up shelves, fix the plumbing, cook, too. How, last year, he’d done the whole of Christmas lunch for him and his aunt. I nodded and smiled politely, feeling all the time as if I were pushing torrents of dam water away from my flooding heart. I escaped him for the main course and had a shouting match with the old man on my left, one hand cupped to his ear as he yelled, ‘What? What?’ Then I turned back, and Bob proposed. Asked if I’d marry him on Valentine’s Day, which was a Saturday, he’d checked. Said we could live at his place while we looked for somewhere bigger. Told me he liked children. He squeezed my thigh and I slapped his hand. During pudding he squeezed my thigh again and I pushed my chair back. Quite loudly. A few people turned to look. I pulled it in, knowing my face was flaming. Then I warned him, in no uncertain terms, that if he tried that again, I’d deck him. Bob looked astonished. Why, I could see him wondering, would I hit a man who really was my last and only hope? All there was left for Poppy Shilling in the man pool?
I’d shifted quite a lot of wine during dinner for obvious reasons, but even I knew I was more than well oiled when I swayed into the disco sometime later. I’d bided my time, waited at my table until most people had gone through, Sam and Hope included, I noticed. Finally I followed the throng, yet another drink in hand for courage. The dark little room, lined with tatty, leather-bound books, so presumably a library, was throbbing with drum and base and strobe light, packed to the gunnels with gyrating bodies. In the flashing light, I saw Chad standing on the edge of the dance floor. He still looked haunted. I glanced across, expecting to see Hope dancing with Sam. She was certainly dancing with someone, a blond chap, though; I could only see the back of him, couldn’t see his face. And not a clinchy number, more throwing herself around the floor in a sexy manner, lots of hip action. I was just wondering whether to go and talk to Chad when there was a voice in my ear.
‘Hello, Poppy.’
I turned too quickly and nearly toppled. A terribly attractive older man with silvery hair swept off a high forehead and twinkly blue eyes smiled down at me. He held my arm as I lurched towards him. ‘Oh – Tom! Hi, there!’
‘You all right?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ I grinned as he steadied me, inordinately pleased to see him. ‘I heard you were coming. Quite bold on Angie’s patch, don’t you think?’ Drink surely did loosen the tongue.
He laughed. ‘Possibly, but someone sent me a ticket and Peggy and the girls told me to go for it.’
‘The girls?’
‘Clarissa and Felicity.’
His daughters. I saw them on the other side of the room making furious signals at him.
‘I think you’re supposed to ask their mum for a dance.’
‘I know,’ he said nervously, and I’d never seen the charming Tom nervous. He passed a hand through his still abundant hair. ‘Will she laugh in my face, though? She left an encouraging message on my answering machine a few days ago, but I’m fairly sure she was in her cups and regretted it later, so I didn’t ring back. Is she still furious with me? Will I get a black eye, d’you think?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
Angie was looking very beautiful tonight. Diamonds sparkled around her neck and down onto her black velvet dress like a sprinkling of stars on a night sky; her red-gold hair was piled in loose curls on her head. She was across the room talking to Jennie and … oh, good heavens, Simon. Here without Emma, of course, who, if she wasn’t being detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure, soon would be, rumour had it. I saw Tom straighten his bow tie and approach. Angie smiled and said yes, as I knew she would, and as her daughters had told her to. I caught Clarissa’s eye; she smiled with relief. Which of course left Jennie and Simon together. But before Simon could even give it a thought for old times’ sake, Dan had sauntered up. He was looking remarkably handsome in his dinner jacket, which I’d never seen him wearing before. Quietly taking his wife’s arm and with a polite ‘Excuse me’ to Simon, he masterfully steered her onto the dance floor. Jennie, luminous in her silver gown, glowe
d, and I sighed. If only men knew how simple we women really are, I thought. That all we wanted was to be shown some chivalry, made to feel special. Of course the road to forgiveness would be much longer for Angie and Tom, I thought, turning to watch them dance – not too close – but this was surely a start. And since you’ve got to start somewhere, a public show of affection in front of all your friends and neighbours – I saw a few people spot them and give Angie a delighted look, which she pretended not to see but the light in her eyes gave her away – was not a bad place to do it.
The party lurched on in a spirited manner. A band replaced the disco and there appeared to be a free bar, a splendid idea as far as I was concerned, and one I made regular use of. I had a bop with Felicity and Clarissa, who for some reason rocked with laughter at me. Frankie and Hugo had diplomatically stayed away, I noticed, so no haunted look for Clarissa tonight. She and her sister were sweet, though, finding me a seat by the wall after I’d more or less cleared the dance floor to ‘Brown Sugar’, so that I felt like a dowager duchess in a Jane Austen novel. They kept asking me, rather anxiously, if I’d like a glass of water? Or some air? I declined.
It was late now, and some girls dressed as French maids were circulating with trays held above their heads bearing little blue glasses.
‘Lethal,’ Peggy warned me, en route to the dance floor with my father as she saw me take one. She sighed as I knocked it back. God, delicious. I swiped another from a passing tray and knocked that back too. Then I went to the Ladies. Went twice, actually. Came back and found my chair. Then found the strap of my handbag incredibly interesting. Everyone was dancing. There were literally only a handful of people left in the dining room – I got up to pop my head round the door. A few people – including Bob, who, oh Christ, was making a beeline for me. I turned and fled. Scurried back to the library to lose him, muscling onto the dance floor.
A Rural Affair Page 38
