Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs

by Clayton, Victoria

  We sidled further along the narrowing ledge and entered a sort of cave behind the waterfall. The sun shone through the curtain of water, splitting it into the colours of the spectrum. From within two feet of the edge the cave was quite dry, with a floor of leaves and earth. I was surprised to see the remains of an iron bedstead in one corner.

  ‘I read about this place in Ratcliffe’s diary.’ Conrad looked about him with an air of satisfaction. ‘It took me some time to find it. Ratcliffe paid a local man to live here as a hermit. But people were so afraid of the precipitous approach that they refused to visit and the fun went out of it. Also in winter it must be damp and disagreeable.’

  To the left of the waterfall, the mouth of the cavern widened, affording a view of natural terraces on the hills across the valley where sheep ambled, tearing up mouthfuls of grass.

  ‘If this is paradise,’ I said, ‘then it more than lives up to reports.’

  ‘Goethe said all beauty is a manifestation of natural laws that we would otherwise be unconscious of. What do you think?’

  I found it flattering that Conrad always talked to me as though I might have ideas of my own worth listening to. Sebastian spoke to me as though I had the intelligence of a worm. Rafe treated me as someone delicately female who it was his privilege to humour and protect. Or should it be ‘whom’?

  ‘Well,’ I said, plucking up courage, ‘if beauty is really a manifestation of natural laws, then we all ought to admire the same things, shouldn’t we? And we obviously don’t.’

  Conrad gave me one of his piercing looks until I felt my seriously underused brain had been cauterized in its darkest recesses.

  ‘Lucky old hermit!’ I said, feeling quite uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

  ‘The post had its disadvantages. Ratcliffe insisted he learned his poetry by rote so that he could recite it to visitors. And he was not a very good poet. You are shivering.’

  He took off his coat and handed it to me.

  ‘Oh, but then you’ll be cold—’

  ‘Put it on. I kept horses as a boy and I know that they must have rugs after exercise.’

  I did as I was told. A moss-cushioned rock made a soft seat. We had to raise our voices to be heard above the cataract but otherwise I was as comfortable as in a drawing room. In my present circumstances I felt I could have been completely happy as the hermit, even taking the poetry into account.

  Conrad remained standing, turning his back to me to stare out across the valley. For some time we were silent. This gave me time to wonder if I had been wise to take him so much into my confidence about Sebastian. He was Isobel’s lover and would be bound to tell her my misdeeds. And she would tell Rafe. It would sound much worse from a third party …

  ‘Why don’t you try Rafe with the truth?’ asked Conrad abruptly.

  ‘I can’t. He’s so honourable. He wouldn’t understand that one might want something so badly, a good thing, that you’d be prepared to do anything – perhaps nothing wrong exactly but not particularly edifying – to get it.’

  ‘You don’t think you may be exaggerating the high tone of his principles?’ Conrad twitched his lips. ‘He is but a man.’

  ‘You’re laughing at me again. I admit Rafe’s always been my hero, ever since I was a girl.’

  ‘And now you are an old lady you want to keep him on the pedestal, a plaster saint.’

  ‘You think I’m an idiot.’

  ‘No. I think you are romantic. You like to live in a fairy tale and Rafe is to rescue you from the evil enchanter. But who is your von Rothbart? Not Sebastian, surely? I do not believe he is evil. Merely an opportunist.’

  ‘You don’t know how sadistic he can be. I know that sounds melodramatic but you haven’t seen the side of him he shows to the girls he … he’s interested in.’

  ‘He has never attempted to make love to me, certainly.’

  ‘He would if he thought he could get something out of you by it.’

  ‘In my experience, one’s best protection against the manipulation of others is to be transparent in all one’s dealings. Open and honest always, even if other people may dislike it.’

  I had to admit Conrad practised what he preached. He was polite to Evelyn’s friends but made no attempt to earn their good opinion. He had told the archdeacon that he distrusted all religions and never went to church. He had informed Lord Dunderave that, in his opinion, anyone who gave funds to a political party should be automatically excluded from receiving a peerage. And he was not gallant. The wife of Kingsley’s agent, trying to flirt with him, had asked him to guess how old she was. He had said forty-five without a second’s hesitation. As this was two years older than her actual age, or so she claimed, she had gone away looking cross. Perhaps it was this refusal to dissemble that had made me feel he could be trusted … that I might ask him to help me.

  I thought about injecting some transparency into my dealings with the world. But if I had refused to make love with Sebastian he would have blighted my career. If I now told Rafe the truth about Sebastian he would be grieved, disappointed, perhaps disgusted. He would most probably end our engagement and withdraw into depression. I would have to go back to London and try to climb ballet’s greasy pole again. Dimpsie would turn to drink. I would be fiancé-less, jobless, guilt-ridden and broke. Would my gleaming integrity be sufficient compensation? On the whole I thought not.

  I sighed and looked down at my hands, filthy from crawling through the tunnel. ‘I can’t pretend to be anything other than cowardly and deceitful.’

  ‘There is no need to put on sackcloth and ashes. You are not a hardened voluptuary. Merely someone who has spent so much of her life in a world of make-believe that she cannot always separate the dreams from the reality.’

  ‘Can one live without caring what other people think?’

  ‘One ought to try.’

  ‘I don’t know that I’m strong enough for that.’

  ‘Then make yourself strong enough.’

  ‘Is it just a matter of wanting?’

  ‘Of course. Nothing determines your character but you yourself. Not fate, not inheritance, not circumstances. If you apply the self-discipline that enables you to be an accomplished dancer to your conduct, you will be strong.’

  ‘But it isn’t as straightforward as that. Rafe’s been ill. Depressed. He had a dreadful experience in a tank in Northern Ireland—’

  ‘Isobel told me about it.’ Conrad took from his pocket a notebook and pencil and wrote something on the first page. ‘I think I shall plant ferns here. Most will enjoy this damp shade. The Athyrium felix-femina group to begin with. She and her brother are devoted.’

  ‘Oh, yes. She feels as strongly as I do that everything that can be done must be done to help him recover. I don’t mean to sound conceited but he says I’ve helped him … perhaps he needs to believe that I’m better than I am. Wouldn’t it be selfish of me to salve my own conscience at the expense of his happiness?’

  ‘Hm. One can always put a favourable interpretation on one’s own doings. Also the Polystichums and the Cyrtomiums.’ He was writing busily. ‘I wonder about the Woodwardia fimbriata? I think I remember that it dislikes lime.’

  I took off his coat and stood up. ‘What time is it?’

  He looked at his watch. ‘A quarter after eight.’

  ‘I’d better go. Surgery begins at nine.’

  He continued to write. ‘Can you get back to the path by yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’ I laid his coat on the mossy rock where I had been sitting. ‘Thank you. I hope I haven’t bored you with my problems …’

  ‘Do not delay and make yourself late. Goodbye. Dryopteris. Asplenium …’

  ‘Goodbye.’ I smiled but he did not look up.

  28

  ‘God knows why I agreed to go,’ Rafe grumbled as he turned the car onto the road that led up to Hindleep. The woods were mere shadows now, unfriendly; a nothing colour like deep water. ‘I’m really too tired to be sociable. My fellow magistra
tes were determined to hang, draw and quarter every grandmother up for shoplifting.’

  ‘You don’t mean – not really?’

  ‘Of course not. Sometimes, Marigold, I wonder if you live in the real world.’

  ‘Sorry. That was stupid of me. I wasn’t thinking properly … it’s just that I get so tense on this bit of road …’

  ‘Oh darling, I’m a brute to snap at you when you’re so patient and sweet. Don’t take any notice of me. I’m just cross. The traffic coming out of Carlisle was appalling and there was a hold-up on the A69. It took me an hour and a half to get home. And this rain hasn’t helped.’ During the afternoon dark clouds had destroyed the beautiful day and it had rained for the last two hours. ‘The last thing I wanted was to get behind the wheel again. But it’s sheer refreshment to see you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I hoped he would continue to feel the same way after we reached Hindleep. Arriving home at lunchtime, I had found a blue envelope lying on the mat, addressed to me in an elegant, upright script.

  Come to supper this evening. We have the rudiments of a kitchen now and Fritz can work miracles. Rafe will be invited also. Sebastian will be there but there is no cause for alarm. Conrad.

  Though I dreaded seeing Sebastian again, it had not occurred to me to refuse Conrad’s invitation.

  ‘I must have been crazy to accept,’ said Rafe. ‘No doubt it’s catching. But Isobel said in her note that she’d never forgive me if I didn’t show. She’s been up there all afternoon and we’re to bring her home.’

  This made me even less enthusiastic about the evening’s entertainment. I knew from some rather cool looks Isobel had given me at last night’s party that I was out of favour.

  ‘Goodness knows what she does at Hindleep,’ Rafe continued. ‘He doesn’t consult her about the restorations as far as I know. He’s impossibly autocratic. The last person I’d have thought she’d want to marry. I fear he’s going to be the husband from hell.’

  ‘Perhaps Isobel doesn’t want to be involved with the decorating. Does she like that sort of thing?’

  ‘Don’t all women? Don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I love it. Even on a shoestring. I wish you’d seen my flat. Luckily there were always lots of theatrical props going begging. Our bathroom was absolutely horrible, no window and white tiles like a morgue, so I stuck pink, red and yellow taffeta flowers from the flower girl’s stall in Nocturne all over the walls and painted the bath yellow. Then I took up the hideous lino and did the floor in pink and yellow stripes. It looked quite good in a bold, Matisse kind of way.’

  ‘It sounds … extraordinary. I hope you’ll like living at Shottestone.’ I heard doubt in his voice.

  ‘Of course I will. You know I’ve always loved being there.’

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t lend itself to flowers on walls and stripey floors.’

  ‘You needn’t worry. I shouldn’t dream of changing a thing.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ I heard relief replace the doubt. ‘Shottestone isn’t a museum. Things will need replacing from time to time.’

  ‘I shall certainly ask your permission first.’

  ‘Perhaps that would be as well. Marigold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that fellow Lenoir going to be there this evening?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I know I’ve no right – yet – to sound like a jealous husband but I didn’t like the way he kissed you on the mouth like that. And the business about your engagement … Was it a joke, in very poor taste, or were you and he – Christ! Look out, you fool!’

  Two headlights shone in our faces and there was a squeal of tyres as Rafe pulled hard to the left to avoid the lorry that came round the bend in the middle of the road. There was a grating sound as we scraped against the rock of the hillside.

  ‘Bloody idiot! I’ve a good mind to go after him … except there isn’t anywhere to turn round. Damn! That’ll be another hundred pounds at the garage. And the inconvenience. Last time they lent me a three-wheeled van. I looked perfectly ridiculous turning up at the magistrates’ court in it …’ With increased wrath, ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s hysteria … I was so frightened … I hope there isn’t much damage.’

  Rafe drove the rest of the way to Hindleep in a silence which I did not dare to break. I had prepared a speech that afternoon, in the intervals between taking greasy plates mounded with chips and red cabbage to depressed-looking customers. I had so phrased the speech that it was essentially truthful without, I hoped, making me sound like … what was Conrad’s expression? A hardened voluptuary. But it was not easy to deliver it to an already hostile audience. When we drove into the courtyard I began in a rush, ‘Rafe, I need to talk you. I’ve been an awful fool though I never meant …’ but he had already jumped out. I saw him by the light of the headlamps, which turned the rain to slanting gold threads, bending down to examine the wing, his face taut with annoyance.

  Someone opened the door beside me. ‘What fettle, Marigold? I have the umbrella. Come in quick before ze rain wettens you.’

  Fritz and I ran up the steps into the house. The hall was looking marvellous now, the panelling restored, the windows repaired, an old Persian rug on the polished flags, a fire burning in the hearth. Something large stood in one corner beneath a tarpaulin.

  ‘Is it another piano?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a piano. I was at the moment of unrappening ven I hear you come. I shall undo so you haf a lovely surprise.’

  He started to unfasten the buckles that held the tarpaulin in place. The object beneath ended in a long point like a prow.

  ‘I know! It’s a boat. For sailing on the lake!’

  ‘Wrong!’ Fritz laughed with pleasure. ‘You vill never guess.’

  He was right. I never would have. Fritz drew away the tarpaulin.

  ‘A sleigh!’ I stepped back to admire it properly. ‘How perfectly beautiful!’

  It was about ten feet long and made of a bright silver metal, perhaps polished steel. The prow, or whatever the front section was called, had been moulded into the head and neck of a swan.

  ‘Conrad buy it from a sale in New York. But it is Russian. Wonderful, eh? Or I must say canny.’

  ‘I don’t know if that quite describes it.’

  ‘I go to fetch him.’

  While Fritz was looking for Conrad, I admired his most recent acquisition. Two glass lanterns, prettily ornamented with garlands of silver ivy leaves were projected on brackets each side of the swan’s neck. The seat behind was deeply buttoned in blue velvet.

  ‘Oh, it’s divine!’ Isobel had come into the hall. ‘What a shame we have to ride about in dreary old cars.’

  She was wearing a white wool dress with a red patent-leather belt, which emphasized her small waist and curvaceous bottom and red patent high-heeled shoes. Her wardrobe must be enormous by now since she never wore the same thing twice.

  ‘Hello, Isobel. You look jolly nice.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She smiled but I was not altogether convinced. ‘So do you. Original, I must say. Been at the dressing-up box again?’

  ‘Yes, I have actually.’ My knee-length skirt was made of white pleated organza with sleeves of the same stuff. Both were trimmed with crimson ribbons. The bodice was crimson too, decorated in curlicues of gold braid. ‘Do you really like it? It’s a costume from Daphnis and Chloë. It’s coming apart at the seams which is why they got rid of it. But it’s one of my favourites.’

  ‘All you need is a tinsel crown and a fairy wand.’

  ‘Good evening, Marigold.’ Conrad had come to inspect the sleigh. He wore a black jacket, a pleated lawn shirt and a paisley bow tie. And trousers too, of course. You would never have mistaken Conrad for an Englishman, but no one could have accused him of ostentation. Perhaps discreetly prosperous would best describe his style. Rafe’s everyday clothes were well worn without actually being in holes, usually green or brown. Actually, I rarely noticed wha
t Rafe was wearing, but he always looked distinguished without making any concessions to fashion, which he probably thought vulgar.

  I stroked the swan’s neck. It was as cold as the snow it had once skimmed over. ‘Has it really spent its youth dashing over frozen wastes somewhere utterly glamorous like the Urals?’

  ‘I know nothing of its provenance,’ Conrad said, ‘except there is a label behind the seat which says “Made in Moscow”. I bought it on an impulse. No one else seemed to want it.’

  ‘Not many people would have anywhere to put it,’ said Isobel. ‘Can you see it cheek by jowl with a hostess trolley or a cocktail cabinet?’

  ‘Are you going to buy a horse to pull it?’ I asked Conrad.

  He shook his head. ‘A horse requires a stable and a groom and regular exercising. And we have no field to graze it.’

  This was disappointing. I had imagined spanking along snowy lanes, buried to my ears in fur rugs, listening to the tinkling of harness bells and the swish of the runners on ice.

  ‘You could use it as a toboggan to go down the hill,’ suggested Isobel.

  ‘I fear only as far as the first bend. There is no method of steering it.’

  Rafe came in, his shoulders dark with rain, his golden curls flattened over his forehead.

  ‘The wing and the door will have to be resprayed. It’s the outside of enough.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Isobel kissed him. ‘You’re looking terribly grumpy.’

  ‘Some lunatic came down the hill much too fast and shoved me into the cliff, that’s all. A bloody great juggernaut, careering round the bend as though it was the Monte Carlo rally.’

  ‘That will be the lorry that delivered this.’ Conrad indicated the sleigh. ‘As he was careering on my instructions, you must let me pay for the damage.’

  Rafe flushed. ‘Thank you, but no.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ said Isobel. ‘It’ll be a fleabite to Conrad and you know you’re always complaining about making ends meet.’

  Rafe looked incensed but, before he could answer, Sebastian strolled into the hall. Though I had known he would be there, actually seeing him at Hindleep gave me a shock and I felt my hair stand on end – just the roots, fortunately.