The Larton Chronicles
Page 24
"I knew you wouldn't mind. What was wrong with the dinner then?" he inquired.
"Never mind that," said Robert heavily. "I suppose Bunty was the young woman who has left her boot-marks all over that cupboard door. Mike, how could you ever imagine I would not mind having your bloodthirsty friends in my kitchen - you know how I feel about them. And they have cleared us out of food and drink for six months!"
Michael put down his mug. "Now look, Rob, this is as much my home as yours. All they did was eat some food, drink some wine - that can be replaced. To hear you go on I invited Attila the Hun and his hordes in for a snack! I'm entitled to entertain my friends, you don't have to meet them. God knows, the mood you've been in lately, no-one would want to meet you."
This, as he should have known, if he cared, was hardly a conciliatory thing to say.
After listening for a few moments to Robert expressing himself on the subject of his friends, his activities, his bank statement, etc., etc., Michael got up, said a few rude Irish words and departed towards the stables. Then the phone rang.
Robert picked it up, still seething. After a few moments Mr Halliwell deduced that this was not a good time and remarked that he would ring back when Mr March was in a more reasonable frame of mind. Mr March, yelling down the phone, realised he had been cut off.
From the smell of Jeyes Fluid and sounds of brushing drifting from the stable yard it was apparent that Michael was giving everything its good weekly clean down. On reflection, Robert could think of several more bones of contention and made his way there. He found Michael wellingtoned and happily whistling away as he sloshed water everywhere. The stalls were empty, their occupants kicking up their heels in the paddock.
"I hadn't finished," said Robert aggressively. Michael glanced at him thoughtfully and continued brushing.
Robert then restarted his monologue (part two). He had just made a couple of really telling remarks when Michael picked up the bucket in which he had just been washing his brush and threw the contents over him.
"Give it a rest, Rob," he said wearily.
Robert stared at him open-mouthed - mercifully it had been shut when he had been drenched - but a bucket of cold water containing a high percentage of Jeyes Fluid laced with a load of liquid yuck from the stable was enough to stop even him. He thought for a mad moment of a frontal assault but as Michael's stance was saying 'go on, make my day', he dismissed the thought and retired to the house, squelching. By the time he had showered three times, washed his hair twice and put everything in soak, then had a steadying cup of coffee, he was ready to return to the stables and read Michael the riot act.
However, all he found was the horses back in their stalls and Jos peacefully putting up hay-nets and settling them down.
"Afternoon, Mr March," he said. "Thought I'd get the rugs on - starting to get colder now, isn't it? Anything you want me to do in the garden?" Jos also doubled as Robert's jobbing gardener.
I'll see to Mike later, Robert decided, and began to discuss the vegetable garden.
Later, Michael not having reappeared for dinner, he checked the garage - no, his car was still there.
So he is over at the farm or more likely propping up the bar in the Brewers. Blast him! Can't be on the night boat to Dublin, his wallet's still on the table, so that's something. Probably hoping I'm calming down ... and I'm not!
The Earl of Bourton, entering the lounge bar of the Brewers, spotted his brother-in-law seated at a table gazing sadly at an empty glass. Pausing only to order a couple of whiskies at the bar, he made his way over to him.
"Hello, Mike," he said cheerily. "Thought you'd be at home having dinner at this hour."
Michael looked at him. "What about you, then?" he asked.
"Difficult," said Jack. "Need to give the old girl time to calm down. She's just had the bill from the garage. Told her just because Peter's horse kicked the panel in, no reason to send him the bill."
"She disagreed," said Michael. "Won't the insurance cover it?"
"Not again," said Jack gloomily, "or bang goes my no-claims bonus. Had words with Robert, have you? You didn't miss much after you left - only Tony breaking his arm again."
"He should go bionic," said Michael. "I wouldn't worry about Ag, she's probably on the phone now to Clarissa telling her to get the cash out of him. Never could control that daft horse properly."
"It's not only that," said Jack mournfully. "She has this seminar on 'how to make your stately home less of a millstone and more of an asset'." He ran through the list of ladies there; it seemed Agnes had bagged almost everyone of note in Gloucestershire and even further north.
"Agnes says we must do something with the recession - even the riding school isn't doing well," he finished gloomily.
"You're never thinking of opening to the public!" said Michael. "There isn't anything to see."
Jack tried to look offended, then honesty triumphed. "Not a lot, no," he agreed.
"Portrait gallery full of badly painted people you wouldn't want to meet on a dark night. Not even had an exciting history, the house ..."
"Who says so?" said Michael ordering another round and, after going through his pockets, asking Len to put it on the slate.
"All the history books," said Jack. "Even the family ghost is unreliable."
"I didn't know you had one," said Michael with interest.
"Um," said Jack. "Phantom coach, supposed to appear as the old earl dies. Only made it right twice in three hundred years."
"Sounds like the train service," said Michael and giggled. "Falling standards, that's what it is." He went on, "Well, what about poor Lady Gwendoline, who ran her unfaithful lover through then drowned herself and her baby in the moat."
"What moat?" asked Jack, surprised.
"You had it filled in for the sake of the children," said Michael happily.
"Did I?" said Jack. "Her spirit walks, does it?"
"Of course," said Michael. "Two more doubles, please, Len - deep thinking needed here."
The landlord sighed and made another note.
"What you need," said Michael, "is a good scandal - that will pack 'em in. Remember when Daphne Montpleasant ran off with that MFH? Cyril said they came pouring out to see his place - he was really thankful to The Sun; got quite cross when they stopped running it. Best thing that happened to him last year."
"Frightful woman," agreed Jack. "The only scandal round here is you and Rob - and that won't bring 'em to my house. Besides, you know what Rob would be like ..."
"True," said Michael sadly. "Isn't the same at all. Couldn't you get Agnes to run away with Colonel Heaton?"
"Do you mind," said Jack. "No good anyway - Alice wouldn't let him go."
Some time elapsed as they worked out even more improbable scenarios to raise money, then the landlord remarked - after putting even more on his lordship's slate - that he really ought to be closing, and should he ring Mr March?
"No," said Michael. "If Rob has locked me out, I'll just bounce a few stones off the tin roof of the shed - that will get him down."
"No!" said Jack. "You'd better come home with me. I don't want to read in the Larton Gazette about an 'orrible murder' after Rob takes an axe to you. You can tell me all about Lady Gwendoline's restless spirit on the way home."
Apart from the van's tendency to reverse suddenly without warning, which led to the sad demise of a harmless conifer in its tub - the landlord calmly putting the cost of a replacement on his lordship's slate - the journey back to the Hall was uneventful, apart from Jack failing to notice the lodge gates were shut. Mercifully he was driving at a reduced speed.
* * * * *
"Robert, is that you?" Agnes inquired next morning.
"No," said Robert, shortly. "Who else would be answering the bloody phone here at this hour?"
"I thought you might be worried with Michael not getting home last night," Agnes explained.
"No," said Robert, "and you can tell him I'm not putting up bail either. Damaged, is he
?"
"Only by me," said Agnes. "They arrived home at about 2 a.m., very tight, after colliding with the lodge gates. Apparently Jack did not notice they were shut. Mrs Jackson has complained bitterly to me at being woken by two drunken hooligans in the early hours. Sadly they were unhurt; the van needs some repair. Then they started prowling round the house. Making plans, Jack said. He could not remember what for, exactly. Then he knocked over a suit of armour that has stood on that landing for a hundred and forty-five years. He said he had not seen it before. It sounded like five hundred saucepans all clattering down the stairs together. Woke the entire household. I got up to find Michael hanging on the bannisters half senseless laughing, while Jack was yelling at him to stop and be quiet as he picked up pieces of plate armour. I hauled over and gave Michael a lovely black eye. I know just what my guests thought and it will be all over Gloucestershire by now. What do you want me to do with Michael - short of murder? Jack said you might not want him back. He is moaning 'Never again' in the gunroom. Michael is eating a large breakfast in the kitchen. I hope he chokes on it."
"Ah ..." said Robert. "Just hang on to him a while. I have things I want to do here and he will get in the way."
"Doesn't he always," said Agnes, with feeling.
Robert sat pondering a while. As he saw it there was only one thing to do - he was going to leave Michael. That would bring him to his senses; show him that he, Robert, was not going to put up with his antics any longer. Then, when Michael was in a properly repentant mood, he would return - yes - to a chastened and more considerate companion (he hurriedly quashed any doubts about this unlikely transformation), and he needed, too, to get that blasted book finished. It had gone on far too long and the constant interruptions here hadn't helped.
He reached for the phone before he could change his mind.
Mr Halliwell listened with a strong feeling of incredulity as Mr March expressed his passionate desire to leave the rural solitude of Gloucestershire for the sparkle and glamour of the Great City. He won't find it in Montague Place, he thought to himself.
"Well," said Mr Halliwell, "there is the flat at Montague Place. We have placed writers there in the past; very convenient for the British Museum Reading Room. But are you sure you want to come to London?"
Mr March insisted he did, so they concluded the arrangements. Mr Halliwell informed his secretary that Mr March would call for the flat keys and should be treated with caution.
"I don't think he will like it there," she said. "Edgar claimed it was haunted."
"It would take a very brave spirit to haunt Mr March," said Mr Halliwell, wondering for a moment what Edgar could be 'on' now. "Now, I must be off or poor Muriel will think I have forgotten all about Paris ..."
* * * * *
On his return, two days later, he found Mr March seated in his outer office.
"Ah, Mr March, the flat is satisfactory then?"
"No," said Robert, "it's cheerless. I'm surprised that geyser hasn't killed anyone yet; the view is lousy. But it is convenient for the British Museum. And there is a very obscene ode stuck inside the wardrobe door ... doesn't scan well, either."
"You are at liberty to remove it," said Mr Halliwell. "Edgar, I expect. He always has problems with scansion."
"I've been having strange phone calls, too," Robert went on. "Really weird ..."
"That too," said Mr Halliwell obscurely. "I should just be rude to them. You are here to tell me chapter six is finished?" he asked hopefully.
"No," said Robert, "and neither is chapter five. I came for my mail. Should have been some by now."
"Perhaps they are unaware of your new address?" Mr Halliwell suggested.
"I left a note," said Robert. "It said plainly that I could be reached through my agent in case of any crisis."
"Of course," said Mr Halliwell. "Well, it's obvious no crisis has occurred."
For some reason Mr March looked even more irritated at this cheering thought.
* * * * *
"He is still away then," said Agnes, looking about the kitchen at Larton. "This place always looks like a Household Cavalry doss-house when Robert isn't here."
She sat down, after first removing a stirrup iron, brush and dismantled bridle from the chair, and surveyed her brother with irritation. "You might have shaved today," she remarked.
Michael, busily polishing a saddle, looked up. "Not for you," he said. "If you are staying, make me a couple of sandwiches."
The Countess of Bourton got up, found the bread knife, looked at it in a thoughtful manner for a moment, then made them two large sandwiches each and opened two cans of Guinness.
"He's working on the book," said Michael. "Has to go to the Brit. Mus. all the time. He will be loathing it up there - he'll be back. Halliwell keeps me in touch. Rob's hoping I'll see the light - mend my ways and all that. I'm waiting for him to break down and write me for his spare underwear. He didn't take any and he's too mean to go out and buy more."
"Poor Robert!" said Agnes. "A gentleman would parcel some up and send it to him."
"Never!" said Michael. "I'll teach him to leave me twelve-page letters listing my sins - no sense of humour, Rob, at times."
Agnes sighed. "As it happens," she said, "I have to go up to London to get Toby's school uniform - I'll deliver them. I would have liked Jack to go with me but you know how he is. I said to him Amelia Fitzsimmons' husband wouldn't dream of letting her go to London alone. He just said, 'I'm not surprised, she's a very stupid woman.'"
"She is," said Michael. "All right, I can't stand the idea of him standing around waiting for his smalls to dry. But it was your idea."
"Yes," said Agnes, "I won't compromise your stand. Bloody idiot."
* * * * *
Agnes looked critically round the small cramped London flat. "I can't see how people can bear to live in places like this," she remarked.
"A lot of us have no choice," said Robert. "Not everyone lives in Jacobean mansions."
"With dry rot and death-watch beetle everywhere," said Agnes, "and you don't have to live here either. Anyway, here is a change of underwear and some spare shirts. Michael refused to tell me your favourites so I made a guess. Well, hello Amos, I didn't see you crouched there on the windowsill."
Amos raised a face tinged with despair and mewed piteously.
"Poor lamb," said Agnes. "Stuck here with only the filthy dome of the British Museum to look at - no wonder he is miserable. His fur has gone all limp."
"How did you find me?" asked Robert. "I'm supposed to be at a secret address!"
"Oh, quite easily," said Agnes. "I just went round to your publisher and dropped a few names. He is a fearful snob, isn't he? Mentioned dear old Boko, my Godfather, and being at school with dear Diana Shrewsbury and Rosemary Sligo."
"You didn't!" said Robert. "I bet you've never set eyes on either of them."
"Of course I have," said Agnes. "We were all in the san together with mumps at my first boarding-school. And the last - Pa's luck with the gee-gees ran out as usual. On State occasions we nod our coronets to each other still."
"I didn't know you had a coronet," said Robert, diverted.
"It spends most of its time in the bank," said Agnes, "so Jack can't sell it to buy some damned horse. Now, what are you doing this afternoon, Rob?"
"Why?" asked Robert warily.
"I need an escort to afternoon tea - I thought Brown's would be rather nice. You look as though you could do with a bite of good food too - you're looking very peaky, Rob."
"I'm always looking peaky," said Robert. "Now look here, Agnes ... Oh, why not. You did bring my underwear and if I don't get out of here for five minutes I'll start twitching like Amos. I suppose all the well-connected will be there sipping delicately ..."
Agnes looked round Brown's appreciatively. "Pleasant to find everything so unchanged," she remarked.
"Except the prices," said Robert, wincing as he consulted the menu. "I imagine you expect me to pay for this treat."
"All right," said Robert, "go mad, order what you like. Lots of weathered faces here ..."
"It's the Fatstock Show at Olympia," said Agnes. "Mr Stebbins was going to be here, and that awful man from Lower Gretton."
"Oh," said Robert vaguely. He looked about then zeroed in on a dark-haired burly man at a far table. Michael in his best going-to-town suit was engaged in serious conversation with a stunning young blonde. Agnes, noticing his concentration, looked over.
"Good heavens," she said, "what a coincidence. I wonder what they are doing here."
"Who," asked Robert, his eyes flashing green, "is that woman with Mike?"
"That's Rosemary Sligo's daughter, Venus," said Agnes. "What a coincidence when I was just talking about her. They have a place in Galway. I wonder why she is over here."
"You never told me Mike knew her," said Robert. "Go on, tell me they met in their perambulators."
"Of course not," said Agnes. "She is young enough to be his daughter. They might be over here buying horses - her father is permanently glued to one. A frightful person. They seem to have noticed us."
Venus indeed seemed somewhat excited; Michael was merely looking amused.
"It's all right," said Agnes. "She won't rush over until we have eaten. Rosemary was very strict on manners with her bunch."
Robert decided he could put off throttling Michael till after he had eaten the superlative afternoon tea being laid before him. His appetite seemed to have been stimulated by the sight of his companion squiring a blonde in a public place. Agnes watched with approval as he demolished his tea with extra cream on the fruit fool.
"Coffee?" she inquired.