Wild Grapes

by Elizabeth Aston

  “At least she washed it for you,” Zoe pointed out.

  “Talking of washing, how about your face?” retorted Fergus, with good reason; Zoe’s face was liberally smeared with Dead Sea mud.

  “Dead Sea Mud?” Fergus picked up the tube. “Sounds disgusting. Why not Heartset mud, or Cornish sludge?”

  “It works,” said Zoe. “So I don’t mind where it comes from.”

  “I’ll drive you to the Hall this evening and then come back for Zoe,” Fergus said to Sybil. “No point in taking two cars.”

  “That’s assuming we’ll all come back together,” said Sybil.

  Fergus looked surprised. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’re planning to do a Cinders and creep away on the stroke of midnight; I don’t believe it.”

  Sybil was amused at the thought of playing Cinderella, “At my age, really, Fergus!” but said that she would be glad of a lift. “Mind the wine at dinner, though,” she warned. “I don’t want to end up in a ditch in my best dress.”

  Byron was luckier than Fergus, as his shirt had been ironed by Nadia. Not that she wouldn’t cheerfully have left it to him, but she knew quite well that he never managed to iron without burning himself or scorching whatever he was attacking.

  “Which is extremely feeble,” she told him. “If you can manage a power drill, you should be able to iron.”

  “Well, I’ll try,” he offered.

  “No,” she said. “We can’t afford a new dress shirt if you burn it. But when we are straight here, I’ll find some old things and you can practise until you don’t burn yourself or the clothes. Because if I’m busy with the shop, then you’ll have to iron for yourself or go crumpled.”

  Byron knew which he’d opt for.

  By mid-afternoon, Heartsease Hall was teeming. Guests were arriving, to be met and escorted to their rooms by a calm and elegant Guy, if they were lucky, or a hot and cursing Esme if they weren’t. Prim was doing the rounds of the flowers with a water spray; Jarvis was in seventh heaven driving various cars to their allotted places.

  Wilf had left the pub in the tender care of Madge and a gormless young man who was learning the trade and was serving tea in the drawing-room. There, Julia was enthusiastically greeting such of her guests as wished to take tea; Julia loved a gathering.

  Victor was outside with his brothers, whom he more or less liked, his two eldest sons, whom he disliked intensely, and sundry hangers-on who had been rounded up to help with the final firework arrangements.

  In the Great Hall, the table was already laid for dinner. The huge table had been extended to its full length, and the gleaming surface reflected the seventeenth-century silver candelabra, the eighteenth-century French glasses and the massive Victorian cutlery, which Guy had been polishing on and off for days. Prim had done the flowers, in a dozen silver vessels dating from Elizabethan times. Very classy, thought Guy, storing the idea up for his future hotel.

  Harry, who could look down into the Hall from the squint in his room, thought it all looked very festive. He turned round as someone came into his room.

  “Look, Aimee, all in your honour.”

  Aimee looked, and approved, taking it all as her due. But she was troubled. “Harry,” she said, “I’ve heard a whisper that you’re planning to marry Gina. It isn’t true, is it?”

  Harry’s face darkened. “Now, where did you hear that?”

  “Never mind,” said Aimee. “You mustn’t do it. You’ll fall in love, properly, not an infatuation for a pretty boy, and then what will happen?”

  “Divorce is easy these days,” said Harry, guarded and flippant now.

  “Victor wouldn’t let you have the house in that case.”

  Harry put his arm round Aimee’s waist and gave her a brotherly kiss. “A chaste kiss,” he mocked her. “That must come as a surprise.”

  “Be serious, Harry, for once.”

  “I am,” said Harry. “Leave me be, Aimee. I know what I’m doing.” He gestured down into the Hall. “Do you remember that terrific dinner Pa gave for those Russians, when I put a whoopee cushion on a chair?”

  Aimee smiled, but shook her head. “I know I’m right,” she said. “You will fall in love, just like that, and then what will you do?”

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” said Harry. “And I don’t suppose it ever will.”

  Aimee gave a languid sigh. “I don’t have time to argue, Harry, but you are quite, quite wrong.”

  Harry’s mind was on other matters. “Are you planning to spend hours in the bathroom?” he asked. “Because, if so, let me go in first,” said Harry.

  “Too late, too late,” said his sister, flitting out of the room.

  Experienced Heartsease guests all knew about the shortage of bathrooms, and they went up to dress in a bulge, long before less-knowing people had even thought about it. The remaining and uninformed guests looked a bit startled, but were held captive in the drawing-room by Julia’s enthralling description of a hysterectomy she had done yesterday, with interesting complications.

  Others, with weaker stomachs and nervous dispositions, had slipped outside. There they found a mass of round supper tables being set up on the terrace, while Esme stood by, wired noisily into Radio 3 via her Walkman, with armfuls of thick white damask cloths.

  “We won’t need those pegs,” she bellowed to Guy, who winced, and carried on with his counting. “It’s been a real scorcher today, and I reckon it’ll stay warm and no wind until dawn.”

  Guy took the tablecloths from her, with an exasperated look. “Please can you check the flares, make sure they are all properly fixed. We don’t want any accidents.”

  “Sure,” said Esme in her amiable way, and then emitted an ear-piercing yell at some guests who had wandered that way. “Jude! And Petra! How you doing?”

  Guy stood appalled as Esme clapped the unfortunates on the back. Esme saw his expression and made a placatory gesture at him. “It’s okay, Guy, calm down. These are old friends of mine, from Ozzie.”

  Rich friends, thought Guy, with a swift appraisal of their clothes. He shuddered. What a mistake to have someone like Esme working for you, you never knew where you were with people like that. He made a mental note to avoid all au pairs and house helpers from the Antipodes when he had his hotel, and went on with his methodical and immaculate laying on of the white cloths.

  A hired minion was summoned, instructed in how and where to place the flowers and candles which were lined up on the wall, ready to go on the tables.

  “I’d have done that for you, Guy,” Esme said, having finished a top-speed flare check. “Aren’t they dinky?”

  “Carry on,” Guy said to the helper. And to Esme, “I think it’s time you got into your clothes for this evening.”

  “Okay, boss,” said Esme, unsubdued, as she headed off in the direction of her friend Mona’s cottage.

  “Where are you going?” Guy called after her, outraged. “Your room is the other way.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve fixed to get dressed in Mona’s place,” said Esme. “My stuff’s all there, and I can use her bathroom.”

  Which she did, sharing a bath and some happy moments with Mona before she emerged half an hour later, clad in a man’s dinner suit. “I’m not wearing a black dress and pinny, not for anyone. Besides, you’d have to get it specially made, and I’d look like something off a horror show.” She had wrapped a Parisian waiter’s apron round her waist, and looked very dashing, except for her feet which were large and bony in a pair of her usual flip-flops.

  “No,” said Guy faintly, when he saw her. “Proper shoes, please.”

  “No way,” said Esme. “You leave me be, Guy. This lot will all be so pissed in about five minutes with all that wine you’re going to give them that they wouldn’t notice if I was wearing a bloody bin liner.”

  Lori hadn’t expected so many of her guests to know each other. Alwyn was down first, looking slightly dishevelled in a tail suit which had fitted him rather better when he had been an undergraduate tha
n it did now. Then Fergus arrived, with Zoe looking so spectacularly lovely that Gareth drew his stomach in at least an inch, and stopped talking TV plans to Alwyn for a whole minute.

  Alwyn extricated himself from Gareth and greeted Fergus and Zoe. If his eyes wandered rather over Zoe’s cleavage, his conversation was polite enough, as he asked about Gina.

  Hell, thought Zoe.

  Lori had sharp ears. “Gina?” she asked.

  “My research assistant,” said Alwyn. “Former research assistant, I should say,” he added, with a thin smile at Gareth. “Of course, I have a team of them now. She shared a house with, let me see, Fergus, isn’t it? Yes, and Zoe. I hope Gina got back to the States satisfactorily.”

  “Yes,” said Fergus blandly.

  Lori’s keen look faded; a Gina in the States was of no interest.

  I’ll have to get hold of him and shut him up, Fergus said to himself. It might take some doing, blast the man with his academic mind and total lack of imagination or humanity.

  The knocker sounded and there was a hubbub in the hall as Byron and Nadia came through the door at the same moment that Serge Zandermann and his companion came down the stairs.

  Zoe greeted Byron and Nadia with enthusiasm, and wondered why Fergus was looking at the other guest with such a lack of enthusiasm. “Do you know him?” she whispered. “He looks very familiar, somehow.”

  “Gina’s father,” said Fergus under his breath. “Now, how much does he know about all this?”

  Zoe danced up to him and introduced herself, and then said a very polite how-do-you-do to the rather dazzling brunette who stood beside him. What an exotic couple for an English country house, Zoe thought. And Nadia, too. Lori and Gareth and Alwyn looked quite dull by comparison.

  The brunette was clearly admiring Fergus, and Serge, too, was expressing his admiration. “This is Scottish evening wear, I know,” he said. “Well, don’t you make the rest of us look dull.”

  “Not you,” said Zoe. “Such a lovely jacket.”

  The dark steely blue velvet jacket with a thick silk bow-tie in cloudy blues might not be standard formal wear for an English dance, but Serge looked terrific, Zoe thought.

  They stood talking in a little huddle, as people do.

  “Another lovely day.”

  “Do you work in Oxford as well?”

  Sotto voce: “Serge, Gina worked for the man in glasses, but he doesn’t know she’s still in England.”

  Full volume: “The trouble that girl is causing me right now.”

  “Which girl?”

  “Oh, my daughter. Fergus knows her a little, from when she was visiting over here.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  “Are you here on business, Mr Zandermann?”

  “Indirectly. Mr Victor Cordovan is purchasing a painting of mine.”

  “You deal in pictures?”

  “No, no, I paint them.”

  Whispered: “Fergus, did you catch the woman’s name? The one who’s with Serge?”

  “No, but it wasn’t an English name. Ask her.”

  “I can’t.”

  The other guests came into the room with a rustle of silk and taffeta. One couple were both architects who knew Byron well and they fell into immediate shop with him. The wife of the other one was an old Oxford friend of Zoe; she was a linguist who had often worked in London with Nadia.

  “Such a small world,” said Lori with a bright smile as she led them into the dining room. “You never know who you’re going to bump into in the most unexpected places.”

  “I have a feeling tonight is going to prove her point all too well,” Fergus muttered to Zoe as he helped her into her seat before going round to introduce himself with great aplomb to Melissa’s bear, who was his partner for dinner.

  CHAPTER 25

  Heartsease Hall was en fête. A sprinkling of people were wandering over towards the sax band, which was mooching out a genteel tune or two for starters. The disco was still virtually empty; some undemanding numbers throbbed into the heavily swagged pavilion.

  Smoke from the dozens of flares drifted up in the warm, still light, evening air.

  Victor and Julia were greeting guests. Julia looked magnificent in a classically draped gown in thick flame-coloured silk; Victor was tremendous in tails enlivened with a wonderful brocade cummerbund. Of course, no one really noticed what Victor was wearing, you were just overwhelmed by his vital presence and striking looks.

  “Wow,” said Zoe, as Fergus introduced her. Victor was all smiles and attention, Julia looked very disapproving.

  “We’re so very sorry that Charlotte wasn’t able to come,” she said to Fergus.

  “But what a charming replacement,” said Victor, looking as though he would like to gobble Zoe up. Fergus hastily moved her on.

  “What a divine man,” said Zoe. “How come Gina’s been living in close proximity to that and never mentioned him?”

  “Perhaps Gina didn’t find him so stunning,” said Fergus repressively.

  Zoe gave him a mischievous look. “Think again, Fergus. No woman with a working set of hormones could fail to find your Victor interesting.”

  “Gina’s not like that,” said Fergus with dignity. He hooked two glasses off a tray carried by a passing waiter. “This will cool your ardent thoughts,” he said, handing one to Zoe. “And I need it, I hardly touched a drop during dinner; why do I always end up driving?”

  “You’ll have to drive back from here,” Zoe reminded him.

  “Not necessarily,” said Fergus. “I can always leave the car here, a walk will do you good after what I can see is going to be an evening of excess. In any case, the night is young, plenty of time for my head to clear.”

  “Let’s find Gina,” said Zoe. “She may not know that her father’s here and we ought to warn her.”

  “There she is,” said Fergus. “In a red dress.”

  “Doesn’t it suit her?” said Zoe.

  “I suppose so,” said Fergus grudgingly. “Who’s that she’s talking to?”

  “Let’s find out,” suggested Zoe, a gleam in her eye. “He looks rather delicious.”

  “Smoothie,” said Fergus disparagingly, as they made their way down into the sunken garden, moving slowly among the throng of guests.

  As daylight faded, the by-now lively scene was illuminated by the flares and by the first light from an enormous, heavy, full moon, which hung presently just above the horizon.

  “Magical moon,” said Serge, greeting Gina with a kiss. “Sorry about the passport, have you sorted it out with the embassy yet?”

  “It’s all in hand,” said Gina. Which was true, if not in the way that Serge meant. She should tell him she was going to get married; must tell him, before Harry announced his engagement to the world at large. This he planned to do after midnight, he had told her, when Aimee cut her cake and the moon was high and everybody was feeling a little mad.

  There was plenty of time, she didn’t want to get involved in explanations and exclamations and congratulations just now.

  “Where’s Victor?” said Serge. “We missed him when we arrived, I want to say hello and introduce Cucki.”

  “Cucki?” said Gina.

  “She’s over there,” said Serge, gesturing to where Cucki stood with several admirers appreciating her noticeable bosom. “Swiss friend of mine, you’ll like her.”

  I won’t, Gina said to herself, and she didn’t.

  “Fergus does, though,” Zoe’ whispered in her ear. “Couldn’t take his eyes off her during dinner.”

  “Off one bit of her,” said Gina. “Very obvious, displaying your charms like that.”

  “She has to flaunt something,” said Zoe. “And your father hasn’t brought her along because he admires her sense of humour.”

  “He didn’t need to bring anyone,” said Gina crossly. “In fact, I don’t know why he’s here.”

  “Now, now,” said Zoe. “Just because he’s your dad doesn’t mean he’s signed up for a life of
single-blessedness, does it?”

  Gina had to admit that her father was hardly likely to live a celibate life. “Just the same, I don’t like her, and I’m surprised that Fergus does. I would have thought he would have noticed the lack of anything other than what’s on show.”

  “It took him a long time to realize that Charlotte had no sense of humour,” pointed out Zoe.

  “Come over here,” said Gina, guiding Zoe over to a bench behind a large stone urn. “Now, I want to hear all about Charlotte and why she isn’t here. All I know is from overhearing Julia’s outbreak of tut-tuttery when Fergus rang to say he was bringing you instead. Fergus is looking quite different, positively relaxed, so I want to hear every last detail.”

  “Well,” began Zoe. “It was like this...”

  “I know Mr Victor Cordovan,” Cucki informed Serge. “He comes often to Switzerland and then he takes me out to dinner. He wants to go to bed with me,” she added in matter-of-fact tones.

  “Ah,” said Serge. This could be complicated.

  “Also, he invited me to England, I think for this party, only I knew I would be with you, so I said no, thank you. I think perhaps he may not be very pleased.”

  “Ah,” said Serge again, as at that very moment Victor came down the stone steps and caught sight of Miss Voesli.

  He zoomed in on her, holding her hands, kissing her forcefully on both cheeks. “My dear, what a surprise, you could come after all, why didn’t you let me know?” Victor was eating Cucki up with glowing eyes. “Where are you staying? There would be a room here at the house for you, if we’d known.”

  “I think you know Serge?” said Cucki demurely. “An old friend of mine.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, Victor,” said Serge. “The card said, ‘and partner’, so I asked Cucki to come with me. We’re being put up at Heartwell House, all arranged very kindly by your efficient Nicky.”

  Victor drew his dark brows together; in an instant, the joviality and affability had vanished from his face.