‘You’ll stay for dinner this evening?’ Rafe said over his shoulder.
‘Thanks, but I think I’d better get back.’
‘What on earth have you got to get back for?’ asked Isobel.
‘I ought to get an early night. I start a new job tomorrow.’
‘You mean you’ve given up working at the surgery?’ asked Rafe. ‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘I’m carrying on with that. But being the practice receptionist is just in return for being allowed to live at home.’
‘You mean you aren’t getting a salary?’ Rafe sounded shocked. ‘I don’t want to criticize your father, but is that quite fair?’
‘Perhaps not but there’s nothing I can do about it. And we’ve got to eat. Evelyn’s eggs have been a lifesaver, but Dimpsie and I’ll be getting scurvy soon if we don’t have some fruit and vegetables, so I’ve taken a job as a waitress at the Singing Swan starting tomorrow afternoon. Mrs Peevis is a nice old thing, and desperate for help as her hips are playing her up. She’s on the list for replacements for both but there’s a nine-month wait till she can have even one done. I’m going to get one pound fifty an hour and tea thrown in—’
‘I had no idea you and Dimpsie were so hard up,’ interrupted Rafe. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have thought. We’ll make you an allowance from the estate. There’s no need for you to be a skivvy, Marigold. Why didn’t you say?’
‘Don’t be an ass, Rafe,’ said Isobel. ‘You can’t expect Marigold to say she’ll marry you and in the next breath ask you for money. A girl has pride about such things. Conrad just sent me a chequebook without saying a word.’
‘Oh, did he?’ Rafe sounded intensely annoyed. ‘Well, he’s clearly more practised in such things.’ He changed down as we turned into the drive of Dumbola Lodge and made the engine roar in sympathy with his feelings. ‘Anyway, Marigold, I’ll open a separate account for you tomorrow and you should be able to draw on it in three or four days’ time. Until then—’
‘That’s enormously kind and generous of you.’ I leaned forward in my eagerness and smelled the cologne he always wore that made me think of the only time we had been to bed together. ‘But I don’t in the least mind being a skivvy and I couldn’t possibly accept your money until …’ I wanted to say not until we were married, but I still felt awkward about making a bald statement of fact in front of Isobel. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘I insist.’
‘And I insist on refusing. But thank you anyway.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re going to be my wife. Naturally I’ve an interest in seeing you don’t starve.’
‘Now I’ve got my leg back there’s no possibility of my starving. I’ve already told Mrs Peevis I’m taking the job. She was so relieved she almost cried. Last year the Singing Swan made a loss and if she can’t bring it round this year she’ll have to close down. She won’t be able get another job at her age—’
‘Yes, well, I’m sorry for her but there’s no need for you to sacrifice yourself. That’s what the welfare state is for.’
‘It isn’t a sacrifice. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been horribly boring not doing anything.’
‘I’m sorry you’ve been bored.’ Rafe sounded slightly offended, though it could hardly have been his fault. ‘If you like you can come round with me and visit the farmers. And we can go shopping in Newcastle whenever you want to. There’s a reasonable play coming on soon, I’m told.’
‘That would be lovely. But I need a challenge. It’s what I’ve always been used to. Hard work. I hate being idle.’
‘What Rafe really means,’ Isobel sounded amused, ‘is that he doesn’t think it’s seemly for the future Mrs Preston to be seen by her tenants and inferiors trundling about the local caff in a cap and apron.’
‘I don’t believe that’s got anything to do with it. Has it, Rafe?’
Rafe thought for a moment before saying, ‘I quite appreciate that it must sound snobbish and old-fashioned, particularly to someone who’s led the sort of glamorous Bohemian life you have, but I do think it would be inappropriate for you to work as a waitress.’
Rafe drew up outside the house. I wondered what I ought to say. It made it ten times more difficult that what might turn out to be our first row had to be conducted before a third party. When I did speak I was unable to prevent a little note of rebellion from creeping into my voice. ‘What am I expected to do with my time then? How must the future Mrs Preston conduct herself?’
‘Like Mummy, of course,’ said Isobel. ‘You must arrange flowers and order meals and do good to those less fortunate. You must read the latest novels, naturally, and go to art exhibitions in London, and the occasional opera and play, but you mustn’t be boringly intellectual. You’re allowed to soil your hands with gardening and dogs. And horses if you like them—’
‘Isobel, stop it,’ commanded Rafe. ‘You’re deliberately trying to make mischief. I’m perfectly aware that times have changed and that Marigold’s an independent liberated woman and I thoroughly respect that. I take it for granted that she’s going to want to do something else besides be my wife.’
My spirits rose dramatically on hearing this. ‘Oh Rafe,’ I leaned forward to put my hand on his shoulder, but found Isobel’s already in situ, so I confined the expression of my gratitude to saying, ‘I’m so glad you understand.’
‘I’m not a Victorian patriarch. I don’t want you to be sitting twiddling your thumbs until I come home. I know you’d be restless and … bored. There are plenty of things you could do. Join the board of one of the local theatres, for example. You’d enjoy raising funds to keep it going and giving parties for the actors and directors at Shottestone. Evelyn was talking the other day about having the amphitheatre restored. You could organize a little local culture. Open-air plays and operas – a mini Glyndebourne, even. And you might start a scheme to foster young acting or dancing talent. Scholarships and bursaries, that sort of thing. I imagine that would be very rewarding.’
The rush of hope evaporated. For one crazy moment I had thought he was going to say I could spend all week dancing in London and come back to Northumberland for weekends and breaks between tours. Raising funds for theatres, for other people to act and sing and dance in them! That would be like setting food just out of reach of a prisoner in chains.
Buster began to whine reproachfully as I removed him from my knee. ‘I’d better go in.’
‘I’ll telephone you tomorrow.’ I could hear tension in his voice. ‘Give my love to Dimpsie.’
‘And mine,’ said Isobel.
I sprang out of the car. ‘Bye.’ I waved through the window at them as Rafe was winding it down, and sprinted to the porch. Since we had been engaged we had always kissed each other goodbye, but the disagreeable feeling that a quarrel was brewing deterred me. I thought Rafe looked crestfallen as he drove away and my conscience pricked me unpleasantly. The moon-face of the longcase clock was on the wane. It looked depressed.
‘Hello, sweetie-pie.’ Dimpsie was in the kitchen, up a ladder with a paintbrush. ‘Had a lovely time? I’m getting rid of the vegetable stencils. Evelyn said they looked like the scribblings of a psychopath. She used to do quite a bit of prison visiting. I’ve decided to paint stripes on the walls and ceiling, like a tent in the Arabian desert. Can’t you picture it?’
She waved the brush.
‘It’s difficult when the kitchen’s so cold.’ I took a paper hanky from my sleeve and started to rub blobs of paint from the table and the floor. ‘I think the Aga’s gone out again.’
‘Oh, no! Damn! And we’re out of firelighters. I forgot to riddle the bloody thing. I was so busy painting I didn’t notice.’ She began to descend the ladder. ‘I am sorry, poppet …’
‘Never mind. You carry on. I’ll light it.’ While I was on my knees stuffing paper and candle ends and what turned out to be the last of the coal into the furnace part, I was turning over in my mind the conversation we had had in the car. Was I being selfish and incon
siderate? Ought I to do what Rafe wanted, despite disagreeing with his notion of what was suitable for a Preston-by-marriage?
‘I’ve had the most interesting afternoon,’ said Dimpsie. ‘I went to see the O’Shaunessys. Nan wasn’t there, only Jode and the baby. I took some more things from the shop which he seemed pleased with. I fed the baby and changed him while Jode made tea and he told me how worried he was that Nan takes no interest in the child. Then we chatted about this and that and I just happened to mention I was planning to start a new vegetable garden because the one we’ve got’s in too much shade and nothing does well there. He said the ground near the caravan is too stony for vegetables so he’s going to dig a new plot here and twice a week he’ll pop over to look after it in return for being able to grow stuff for himself. Isn’t that a great scheme?’
‘Terrific!’ I had no faith in Dimpsie’s vegetable plots, since after the first few weeks everything became hopelessly overgrown and got clubfoot or whatever it is that carrots get. But I was delighted that her enthusiasm for projects had returned. ‘I don’t suppose we’ve got anything for supper?’
‘Oh!’ Dimpsie looked guilty. ‘I meant to go and get something on credit from Armstrong’s but I forgot.’
I toasted the last crusts of bread and we scraped out the marmite and marmalade jars and made cocoa with hot water and some powdered milk which refused to dissolve properly. Siggy had a rusty tin of corned beef which he seemed to relish. I didn’t mind the short commons too much, having eaten a large slice of cake. And besides, I had put on weight since breaking my ankle and I was determined to get properly fit again, even though my dancing career was over.
‘Just think, darling,’ said Dimpsie, ‘when you’ve married Rafe you’ll have Mrs Capstick’s gorgeous food every day.’ She put down her piece of toast and looked at me solemnly. ‘There isn’t a minute that goes by without my thanking God for your marriage. You’ll be so happy. And so shall I, having you always near by. I was dreading the loneliness. I can admit that now, can’t I, without sounding like a selfish clinging mother? You and Rafe falling in love has given me the strength to face life again.’
I slept badly that night. When the sky began to pale I decided I would have to tell Mrs Peevis that I could not take the job after all. I dozed off again feeling relieved that a decision had been taken, only to be shaken awake what felt like seconds later by my mother.
‘Rafe’s on the telephone. He must have spent all night thinking about you. Isn’t it romantic!’
I went slowly downstairs.
‘Good morning, darling.’ Rafe sounded in good spirits. ‘You sound sleepy. Have I woken you?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Eight o’clock. Horribly early. But I’ve been going over and over our conversation last night. About you being a waitress at the Singing Swan. And I realized when I had time to think that my attitude must seem to you inexcusably reactionary and snobbish. I can’t bear there to be any disagreement between us. Will you forgive me, darling? I think your determination to support yourself and Dimpsie is admirable. Take the job with my blessing.’
‘Oh! Rafe!’ I felt an overwhelming gratitude. ‘I was dreading telling poor Mrs Peevis. She was so pleased when I said I’d do it. Thank you!’
‘You needn’t thank me, darling. You’re the one that’s going to have aching feet. I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I just hated to think we were on bad terms.’
‘I’m glad you did. I was unhappy about it too.’
‘What about dinner this evening? We could go to the Castle in Carlisle.’
‘That would be fun.’
‘I love you, Marigold.’
‘Oh, good. I love you, too.’
24
I heard the telephone trilling in its maidenly way as I let myself in through the front door.
‘Hello, Marigold. I can’t speak for long. I’m in the call box on the corner of Maxwell and I’ve only got three fifty-pee coins. How’s the foot?’
‘Lizzie! It’s fantastic to hear you. A bit stiff still but it’s heaven to have got rid of that bloody old cast.’ I manoeuvred the telephone so I could sit down in my father’s armchair. Siggy jumped on to my knee. Since my father had left, Siggy had been allowed the run of the house and had been marginally better tempered. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘We’ve started rehearsals for The Prince of the Pagodas.’
‘Who’s going to dance Belle Rose?’
‘Sebastian’s ex, Sylvia Starkey. She’ll make a complete muff of it, if you ask me. She’s technically competent, but has about as much sweet simplicity as Carabosse.’
Carabosse is the bad fairy in The Sleeping Beauty. I tried not to be glad that Lizzie thought Sylvia would be hopeless. This would be the lowest, meanest, vilest kind of dog-in-the manger-ishness since I had no chance of dancing it myself. Nonetheless, I did feel an unpleasant little dart of envy.
‘I honestly think Sebastian’s losing his grip,’ Lizzie continued. ‘The trouble is, the Russian tour’s been cancelled because of some diplomatic row, and both Freddy and Alex are off for at least six weeks with injuries. Have I told you about Mariana? Her knee operation revealed extensive osteoarthritis so her career’s finished.’
‘No! How terrible!’ I was really sorry. ‘She can’t be much more than thirty.’
‘Twenty-nine. Very bad luck, isn’t it? And gossip has it that the man who was going to sponsor The Prince of the Pagodas dropped dead with a heart attack before he could sign on the dotted line. Certainly Sebastian’s face is as black as thunder the whole time. I wouldn’t be in Cynthia Kay’s knickers for anything.’
‘Who’s Cynthia Kay?’
‘Oh, haven’t I told you about her? She’s just joined the corps. Quite pretty and as hard as nails. Sebastian’s screwing her but she’s nowhere near good enough yet for any principal roles.’
I remembered what it was like to be in bed with Sebastian and felt sick. In this case envy didn’t come into it. Nothing, not even the offer of star billing with the best company in the world, would have persuaded me to let him lay a finger on me again. I hated myself for having let him treat me with such contempt. ‘Any news of Miko?’
A short pause. ‘I don’t suppose for a minute it’s true, but I heard a rumour that he’s talking to a Russian … Valentina something-or-other … who’s just defected.’
‘Oh.’ I understood that it was all signed and sealed, but Lizzie was trying to break it to me gently. It could not possibly matter to me in my present circumstances, yet I felt a tremor of envy, which I tried at once to quell. ‘What are you dancing?’
‘Need you ask? Back row as usual and lucky to be there. I made a dog’s breakfast mess of this morning’s rehearsal.’ Lizzie was exaggerating, of course. She was a pretty good dancer and to the untrained eye her performance would probably have looked ravishing, but we were talking about standards of perfection here. ‘I don’t even want to think about it,’ Lizzie continued. ‘Entertain me with your doings.’
‘Well … last week I started a new job as waitress in the village café. I work from two until six. The customers are mostly polite and nice and leave good tips. Yesterday a man tucked a whole pound under a saucer. Sadly his wife saw him do it and filched it back. A substantial tea chez the Singing Swan was supposed to be one of the perks of the job, but now I know what state the kitchen’s in I can’t face a thing. I have to smuggle in apples to keep up my strength.’
‘That bad?’
‘The chip fat looks like molasses but doesn’t smell as nice. Luckily the chips are always served with a slosh of glue-like gravy, so no one notices what an odd colour they are.’
‘Chips and gravy? How peculiar.’
‘It’s a north-country thing. Mrs Peevis is a lamb but she hates cooking and she’s in pain all the time from her hips. The only thing she enjoys is betting on horses. She has a nephew called Dale who drives into Hexham every morning so she can have her flutter on the gee-gees, as he calls it
. She wins small amounts occasionally and that makes her happy. But I know for a fact that she bets ten pounds every day, so no wonder the café isn’t doing well if she’s regularly losing fifty pounds a week. How are you getting on at Maxwell Street?’
‘Okay. Nancy and Sorel had a bawling match one night so Sorel’s moved out and we’ve got a lumberjack in her room.’
‘A lumberjack?’
‘Officially he’s a forester but I don’t know the difference. Sylvia Starkey’s looking for a new pad and Nancy and I thought we couldn’t stand living with her so we didn’t let on to the company and put an advertisement in the evening paper instead and Nils answered it. He’s Swedish. He wanted somewhere to stay in London while he spends time with his girlfriend who’s a chartered accountant in the city. He’s very clean and tidy, awfully good natured and knows nothing whatsoever about dancing. The perfect flatmate. How’re you getting on with Rafe? Is he still being cool and brotherly?’
‘No-o-o …’ I hesitated.
‘You can’t be so mean as not to tell me?’
‘Well, we made love and … I’m going to marry him.’
A scream from the other end of the line. ‘Marigold! You’re joking!’
‘I’m perfectly serious. Evelyn’s giving a drinks party next week to celebrate our engagement.’
‘It’s just that in your letter you said Rafe hadn’t so much as patted your cheek. Was it the sudden release of a torrent of passion that had been dammed up for years?’
‘Not exactly. We just sort of suddenly realized … I have to confess it feels a bit unreal.’
‘How deliciously romantic! Please, please ask me to the wedding!’
‘I was hoping you’d be a bridesmaid.’
‘Duckie, of course I will! Oh, I’m so excited! A good old-fashioned wedding! How many bridesmaids are you having altogether?’
‘Four little ones plus you and Isobel.’
‘Crikey! It does sound smart! Have you thought yet what our dresses’ll be like?’
‘Evelyn thinks palest blue duchess satin with garlands of green and white flowers.’
Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs Page 31
