‘Sweetheart, are you terribly busy? I’m at the end of my tether. I’ve added the same column six times and got a different answer each time. Raiders of the Lost Ark is on at the fleapit. I read a review saying it was enjoyable hokum and I thought it might be just what we both needed.’
Joyfully I snapped Ulysses shut.
On Monday evening I had received a telephone call from Isobel.
‘Of course you’re coming tomorrow. You’ve got to. Conrad’s definitely going to be there and Mummy’s asked half the county. I must have someone on my side.’
‘Won’t Conrad be on your side?’
‘Oh yes, but he’ll be fenced around by jackals and vultures, not knowing anyone and being foreign. I don’t see how he can come to my defence. He’ll be too busy looking after himself.’
‘What are you worried about exactly?’
‘You know what Mummy’s friends are like. They disapprove of anyone who differs by a millimetre from them. You’ve got to talk the same, know the same people, live in the same sort of houses, grow the same sort of flowers in your garden … Mummy once dropped some poor woman after she found her garden was full of red-hot pokers. When I’m married to Conrad I shall tell the gardener to plant wall-to-wall red-hot pokers, just for the joy of seeing Mummy’s face when she comes to visit.’
I was impressed by Isobel’s idea of beginning married life. I could not imagine having a gardener, much less having the temerity to tell him what to do. ‘Rafe’ll be on your side, won’t he?’
‘Yes and no. He’s worried that I haven’t spent enough time with Conrad to be sure I’ll be happy living with him.’
‘Perhaps a week isn’t very long—’ I began.
‘Don’t you start. I can tell about people straightaway. We clicked immediately. I’ve never met a man I felt so positive about.’
I was reassured when I remembered Conrad’s shortness, baldness, tubbiness and his enormous nose and feet. It was obviously the attraction of like minds and not some passing sexual infatuation.
‘Come early so we can have a calming drink before the others show up. Conrad’s plane isn’t due into Newcastle until seven so he can’t be here until eight-thirty at the earliest. Mummy’s already briefed Mrs Capstick to keep things simmering.’
When I presented myself, early as bidden, it seemed that other things were simmering besides the food.
‘Hello, darling!’ Isobel shrieked down the stairs as Spendlove let me into the hall. ‘I’ll be down in a minute. I’m having trouble with my hair. It’s chosen this evening to be a perfect pig. Spendlove, give Miss Marigold a drink, will you?’ She disappeared before I could assure her that her hair looked lovely.
Spendlove took me into the drawing room, poured me a glass of champagne, then scuttled off to see to things in the dining room. I was happy to rest on my crutches and admire the drawing room, which I rarely had the privilege of seeing empty of people. The paintings were mostly Italian landscapes, romantic but at the same time distinguished. The sofas were a sort of grassy-green damask trimmed with dark red fringes. In alcoves each side of the fireplace were shelves of wonderful porcelain. Evelyn’s collection of tortoiseshell objets de vertu were prettily arranged on a satinwood table. In just the right places were vases of hyacinths, snowdrops and anemones. I heard quick footsteps in the hall and then Evelyn, looking glamorous in dark blue taffeta, came in.
‘Marigold!’ She kissed me. ‘That pretty dress again. Sorry I wasn’t down.’
‘Don’t worry about me, please.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind I’ll just go and check the table. Darling, could I detail you to keep an eye on Kingsley? If he starts talking about the war, create a diversion. Scream, faint, throw a tantrum, anything! Honestly, it’s too bad of Isobel to inflict this ghastly man on us.’ I realized she meant Conrad Lerner and not Kingsley. ‘She’s left it until this morning to tell me that he has a skin disease that means he can’t shake hands! I’ve rung the other guests to warn them but someone’s bound to forget. If he can’t touch people’s hands, how on earth are they going to … still, perhaps it’s as well if they don’t have any children … Oh!’ she clutched her head, ‘I feel as though I’m going quite mad. There’s the bell! It’ll be the archdeacon. He’s always the first to arrive, hoping to get the lion’s share of the canapés. His wife can’t come, luckily, because she’s even more idiotic than he is and we’ve far too many women … not that I’m not thrilled to see you, darling …’ Evelyn rushed away. I had never seen her so discomposed.
‘Good evening, Miss Savage.’ The archdeacon’s tone as he came into the drawing room was funereal. ‘It behoves us all to put our hand to the plough tonight. Poor Mrs Preston. It is wonderful how she bears up under the strain. Children do not understand how great is their power to strike at their parents’ hearts!’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting Conrad,’ I said coldly, planting myself on the stool and placing my crutches so he could not stand on the hearth rug. I noticed, having been primed by Evelyn, that the archdeacon downed his glass of champagne with a single gulp and took a handful of anchovy palmiers that nearly emptied the bowl. ‘Isobel says he’s clever and amusing. I’m afraid he’ll find us all dreadful bores.’
The archdeacon looked offended. ‘Perhaps – though I doubt it – in cleverness there may be found some compensation for a sickly constitution.’
‘I wouldn’t say a skin disease makes him sickly, exactly.’
‘I refer to the unfortunate man’s hydrophobia.’ I must have looked startled, for the archdeacon recovered his usual infuriating complacency. ‘Isobel telephoned me this afternoon to ask for my help in managing a delicate situation. Apparently Mr Lerner was once bitten by a rabid dog and, though the marvels of modern medicine saved his life, he has been unable to throw off all the side-effects of the condition. The merest mention of water is enough to induce a state of nervous excitement.’ The archdeacon scooped the remaining palmiers from the bowl and munched them up, looking well pleased with his role of trusted family counsellor. It was clear to me by now that Isobel had been amusing herself at his – and our – expense. I looked forward to an interesting party.
As the other guests arrived, the archdeacon whispered a few words to each one. I was cruelly amused to see the look of strain that appeared on their faces in consequence. I easily identified Lord Dunderave, a fat man with a bad-tempered expression who demanded single malt whisky instead of champagne. Ronald, a pale young man with crinkly gingerish hair and prominent front teeth hovered at his father’s elbow.
Isobel appeared on the threshold. She looked seductive in a dress of sealing-wax red. It was made of the flimsiest material and was cut so low that the archdeacon’s nostrils went white as he looked at her and glances of wonderment flew about between the other guests. Ignoring those who tried to attract her attention, Isobel came to sit by me on the stool.
‘Brilliant dress,’ I said.
‘Amazing, isn’t it? Practically like being starkers. I thought I’d remind Conrad what a sexpot I am.’
The archdeacon, who was hovering nearby, pressed his lips into a thin line of remonstrance.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get down earlier. My hair was being absolutely bloody impossible.’
She had fastened it to one side with a diamond clip. She looked marvellously vampish and ten years older. Perhaps this was in deference to the advanced years of her betrothed. Outwardly she was poised but I could hear tension in her voice. She drank her glass of champagne quickly, talking between sips. ‘Mummy’s extremely put out. She told me to invite Conrad to stay here but he sent a telegram to say he always travels with his factotum so they’ve taken rooms at a hotel in Carlisle. She thinks people will think it odd that we aren’t putting him up. Well, so they may but who cares? Oh, look!’ She waved. ‘There’s Rafe.’
I had seen him the minute he came in. His tall figure and noble brow were the more striking because the other men were all, except for poor Ronald, on the downward p
ath physically, with pouched eyes, rolls of neck and swollen stomachs.
‘Good Lord, Isobel!’ Rafe examined his sister’s dress with something like alarm on his face. ‘Are you the cabaret?’
‘Don’t you like it? It was very expensive.’
‘I’m sure it was. I don’t dislike it,’ he added as Isobel’s eyes grew stormy. ‘It’s just not how I think of you, that’s all. Hello, Marigold.’ He stooped to kiss me politely on both cheeks. ‘You’re looking lovely as always.’
During the days that had passed since our last meeting, I had debated whether I should ring him to thank him for the lunch, but then I worried that the sound of my voice might reawaken the memory of what happened at the pele tower and destroy a precarious equilibrium. The most exquisite tact was called for.
‘Thank you. How’s the painting going?’
‘The light’s not been too good the last couple of days. Too much cloud. Have you recovered from being shot at? It’s not every girl who can boast of having been the target of a crazy gypsy. Like Lorna Doone.’
‘I’ve never read Lorna Doone.’ I was relieved that he was smiling as though recalling a most diverting incident. ‘In fact I’ve hardly read any novels. But I’ve just started Ulysses by James Joyce. It’s on my list of improving books. So far I’m completely befogged but I’m hoping light will dawn.’
Rafe laughed. ‘You continue to surprise me, Marigold.’
I was gratified by what had to be a compliment. After all, no one wants to be unsurprising.
But Isobel said, ‘Don’t be patronizing, darling. Marigold’s zeal for self-improvement is sweet and absolutely typical.’
I had the feeling, but perhaps I was imagining it, that I had been subtly put in my place.
‘Where’s the nabob?’ asked Rafe. ‘Everyone’s longing to see the poor man. The archdeacon’s eaten all the cheese straws and my stomach’s grumbling like thunder.’
‘Poor?’ repeated Isobel, frowning.
‘Meeting a whole room of people and not being able to shake hands with them? Awkward to say the least.’ Rafe gave his sister a searching look which she fielded with a charming smile. ‘Besides, I’m sorry for any man whose value lies in his chequebook.’
‘That’s not true. He’s exceptionally interesting and nice.’ Before he could reply she laid her hand gently on her brother’s arm and her habitual expression of defiance softened. ‘Please, darling, don’t make up your mind to dislike him. You know how I feel. What we agreed.’
Rafe put his hand on hers. ‘The truth is, I’m envious, of course. Goldmines seem to be the least of what you girls expect.’
I was disconcerted by the enquiring look he gave me.
‘Oh, Marigold isn’t acquisitive in the least,’ Isobel laughed. ‘Unless she’s changed a great deal in the last five or six years.’
They exchanged glances that to me were unfathomable. Could it be that Rafe’s interest in me was more than fraternal? He was friendly and attentive but nothing more. Perhaps the casual promiscuity of the ballet company had impaired my ability to decode messages from other men.
Evelyn came up to us, allowing her smile to slip for a moment. ‘Isobel, where is this wretched man of yours? I’ve already had Capstick reheat the soup twice.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps the plane was late. Perhaps he’s changed his mind and isn’t coming …’ The agitation in Isobel’s voice made me wonder if she was as sure about Conrad as she claimed to be. ‘We could tell everyone the flight was cancelled. Or he’s got the date wrong and is coming next week … Marigold,’ Isobel grabbed my arm, ‘come and give me a hand with my zip. I can feel it inching its way down. In a minute all will be revealed.’
Obediently I followed her through the crowd into the hall, accidentally stabbing quite a few shins and feet with my crutches. ‘What’s the matter with it?’
‘What’s the matter with what?’ Isobel shook her head impatiently.
‘Your zip.’
‘Nothing. I just had to get away from Mummy’s endless questioning. She’s gone on and on today about Conrad until my head’s throbbing. If she was in uniform she’d be arrested for contravening the Geneva Convention. I had to get away from all those ghouls staring at me, speculating about whether I’ve been jilted or invented the whole thing. Probably Conrad’s got more sense than to—There’s the bell! It must be him! It must be!’
She held my arm tightly, digging in her fingernails until I murmured in protest, while Spendlove went to open the door. A shower of snow blew in, followed by two figures wrapped in overcoats, bringing with them a gust of cold air that made me shiver.
‘Conrad!’ Isobel rushed at one of the men and threw her arms round his neck. ‘You’re a darling to come! Thank you! Thank you!’
He kissed her cheek. ‘It was not so very much after all. Merely a dash over narrow, twisting, vertical tracks made for mountain goats through snow so thickly falling that we might have been travelling through walls of ice. But it was a matter of course that we should risk our necks for the pleasure of seeing you, my dear Isobel.’
I had already guessed that some, if not all, of Isobel’s descriptions of her lover were invented to tease, but now I actually had Conrad Lerner before my eyes it would be no exaggeration to say that I was thunderstruck. That I recognized him at once was no great feat of memory, since only a week before we had spent an hour together as fellow passengers in the same railway carriage. It was the man with the astrakhan collar.
15
Evelyn came into the hall. After everything Isobel had said about her future husband, Evelyn must have been surprised to find herself looking up into Conrad’s face instead of down on to his shining pate. Not only was he of a respectable height, with a full head of ink-black hair, but his nose, long and curving downwards slightly at the tip, had an aristocratic refinement that few Englishmen could boast. When Spendlove had helped Conrad out of his coat, it could be seen that his figure was slender and his feet in perfect proportion.
‘How do you do? I am Isobel’s mother.’ Evelyn held out her hand, remembered the skin disease and withdrew it just as Conrad put out his. A dash of pink appeared on her white cheek. ‘This appalling weather … such an awful journey from Newcastle … I hear they are thinking of closing the airport …’ She drew breath and a steelier look came into her eye. ‘Isobel has told us something about you but – naturally we were surprised to learn that our daughter had engaged herself to a virtual stranger without consulting the wishes of her family.’
Conrad looked at Isobel. It was, I thought, a questioning look.
‘Perhaps,’ Evelyn continued, still with that small patch of pink on her cheekbone, ‘these things are managed differently in Germany … I’m assured by my children that I’m hopelessly out of date … Apparently it is now common practice to marry someone one barely knows, without considering the feelings of anyone else.’
Conrad had turned his attention from Isobel to look gravely at her mother as she disburdened herself of this little speech, which I suspected she had rehearsed, hoping to pierce the amour-propre of the hated interloper. Faced with those black, unwavering eyes, she had been unable to deliver it as smoothly as she had intended.
‘Isobel tells me you are an industrialist – un homme d’affaires – molto occupato … I suppose we must be grateful you have interrupted your busy schedule to come and see us. Oh dear!’ Evelyn put her hands together and said almost pleadingly, ‘Can you understand a word I’m saying?’
Conrad closed his eyes slowly and opened them again as though clearing his brain. ‘I comprehend you perfectly, Mrs Preston. Forgive me, I am bewildered—’
‘Of course you are,’ Isobel interrupted. ‘I expect you’ve got jet lag. Anyway, Mummy, he’s here now – that’s what matters. Hello, Fritz.’ Isobel shook the hand of the man who stood beside Conrad. He had pale golden hair that hung in curls round his pink and white face. He smiled shyly and two dimples appeared in his fat cheeks. He looked like one of those painted
cherubs that flutter about the vaulted ceilings in Italian churches – only with clothes on, of course. ‘I hope you like being in the wild wastes of Northumberland. No, of course you don’t. No one could. But it’s good for you to take your nose out of a book. Mummy, this is Fritz Wolter. He’s a scholar and terribly serious and Conrad never goes anywhere without him. Fritz, this is my mother.’
‘How do you do?’ Fritz bent over her hand, kissing the air a centimetre above it.
Isobel seized Conrad’s arm. ‘Come and meet Marigold. My very best friend from years and years ago. She’s a brilliant dancer only she’s broken her foot so for the moment she’s only hopping along – very gracefully.’ Isobel made a face at me that Conrad could not see. ‘And she’s a tremendous bluestocking.’
‘We’ve already met,’ I said.
‘I think not,’ said Conrad, ‘I should have remembered it.’
I understood why Evelyn’s usual sang froid had deserted her. It was not easy to maintain one’s composure beneath the stare of sharp, treacle-black eyes like reflecting glass, revealing nothing of the thoughts of their owner. I felt confused and foolish. Had I dreamed it? Or were there two men of distinctive appearance and identical coats at large in Northumberland? ‘But the train—’
‘It is encouraging to meet with so youthful a savante.’ A slight pressure from his hand before he released mine told me I had not been mistaken. I understood that I was to say nothing more about our meeting. But why had he been travelling on a train in England when Isobel believed him to be in Germany?
‘Oh, Marigold’s years older than she looks,’ said Isobel. ‘She has to be like a strand of gossamer so that she can be twirled about above people’s heads.’
Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs Page 17
