Country Plot (25 page)

‘All right, then,' said Xander, ‘we'll call it Edith Pilaf.'

‘I have to ask,' Jenna said. ‘Why Edith?'

‘Because it's so delicious and nutritious we'll have no regrets.'

‘I think you must be very drunk.' Jenna smiled at him. ‘Delicious and nutritious?'

‘If I were drunk I couldn't say it,' he pointed out.

‘Mrs Phillips said a good one today. “Double damask dinner napkins.”'

‘That
is
a good one. “Double danask danner nipkins.”'

It just got sillier, as they drank the Rhone and ate the delicious Edith and thought of ever more difficult tongue-twisters, right up to and including the fiendish ‘Amidst the mists and sharpest frosts . . .' Jenna's sides ached with laughing. Xander seemed to have abandoned every last shred of dignity.

The dogs dozed and twitched in the warmth of the fire, darkness fell and the rain stopped. The food was finished, Kitty put some more music on, and a quieter mood came over them. They listened and talked comfortably like the oldest of old friends. It was an evening so undemandingly pleasant it was almost blissful – like being back home, Jenna thought.

‘It reminds me of when I was a child,' she said aloud at one point. ‘With Olly and Harriet, playing ludo on the floor for hours and hours. It was my favourite game when I was about six. I used to think it was the greatest treat there was, playing ludo with my brothers and sisters.'

‘My parents sadly didn't provide me with any of those,' Xander said. She looked at him quickly, but he hadn't said it bitterly, and indeed he was smiling and relaxed.

‘I sometimes think,' she said carefully, ‘that it's a mistake to have too happy a childhood. Nothing else in life ever matches up to it, so it's all downhill after that. You grow up, you all scatter, and suddenly you haven't got a family any more. What do you do then?'

Xander considered the question seriously, looking into the ruby glow of the last of his wine, held up against the firelight. ‘Make a new one,' he said at last.

Oddly, after such a pleasurable evening, Jenna didn't sleep well. She had disjointed, uncomfortable dreams, and kept jerking awake as if she had been called, and being unable to remember just for a moment where she was. She fell into a heavy sleep at last just before dawn, when the first birds began their chorus, and woke finally to find it was after nine o'clock.

The first image that came to her waking mind as she sat up, yawning, was of Xander, so disarmingly different and approachable in his borrowed slobs and unruly hair. It gave her such a tug, somewhere deep inside her, that she drove it out briskly, jumped out of bed and dashed for the shower. Why, at some point under the streaming water (
Xander dripping wet from the rain – oh, stop it!
), she should have decided that she
would
go out with Harry that evening, she couldn't afterwards determine. Probably it had nothing to do with the strange and beguiling evening she had just spent. She had probably been moving towards that conclusion anyway.

To her surprise, she didn't get the immediate warm endorsement she had come to expect from Kitty when she ran it past her. In fact, for an instant, Kitty's face actually fell, though she hoicked up the smile immediately and said, ‘Of course – you don't need to ask my permission!'

‘But you didn't look pleased about it,' Jenna pursued. ‘What's wrong? If you don't want me to go out in the evenings I won't go. Really, it's not that important.'

Kitty looked alarmed. ‘Goodness, I don't need a babysitter. What
are
you thinking – that I asked you here to take care of me in my dotage?'

‘No, but we have enjoyed chatting in the evening over dinner—'

‘Yes, I love your company, but I'm quite used to being on my own, and I wouldn't dream of interfering in your social life.'

‘Well, then, what was it? You looked as if you didn't like the idea.'

‘Oh, it isn't that. Well, if you insist, it's just that he has a bit of a reputation as a tearaway. But that could just be unkind gossip. And you're a grown woman – you can take care of yourself.'

‘I can. But we're just going for a meal, that's all. I shan't get into any trouble.' She looked seriously at Kitty, wondering what else might be troubling her. ‘And I shan't get my heart broken,' she added. ‘Remember, it already is. That's the best defence – I'm completely immunized against charm at the moment!'

The residue of doubt disappeared from Kitty's face. ‘I hope you have a lovely time. I really mean it.'

‘Thank you,' Jenna said. She reflected afterwards that it seemed to have been fear for her heart rather than her body or reputation that had bothered Kitty, and wondered why. Was it something to do with Xander, who had rebounded disastrously from Stephanie to Caroline? Was she afraid Jenna might rebound into the same family? The pleasing thought came to her that if she did, she'd end up as Xander's sister, ha ha. Now wouldn't that please the Ice Queen!

‘Hey, Red!' said Harry. ‘I was afraid you weren't going to call.'

‘Oh, you shouldn't say that. It makes it sound as if you didn't have complete faith in your irresistibility,' said Jenna.

‘Well, I didn't mean it, of course. I knew you
would
call – couldn't help yourself. I was just flattering you by suggesting you had a choice.'

‘We could play that game all night. Is the offer of dinner still on?'

‘I've already booked the table,' he said. ‘That's how confident I was.'

‘You have to
book
? For Congolese food?'

‘I told you, this place is cutting edge. For this week and next week, anyway. Who know what will be hot after that? Hey baby, the Success Express is leaving the station – you gotta jump on board!'

‘It sounds exhausting.'

‘We could eat in at my place instead,' he said sinuously.

‘No, thank you. I've been warned you have a reputation.'

‘That's very hurtful,' he said in wounded tones; and then, in curious ones: ‘Reputation for what?'

‘Vanity, vanity! All I heard was that you were a tearaway, whatever that is.'

‘Oh, that's just the car,' he said. ‘I'm relieved. I was afraid people actually did know what I was up to.'

‘And what
are
you up to?'

‘Well, I'm not going to tell you just for the asking, am I? Forewarned would be forearmed. Talk sense, Red! Shall I pick you up at seven thirty? Best bib and tucker?'

‘Fine. See you then.'

Oliver phoned around six o'clock. ‘I'm off to Delhi tomorrow morning, so I thought I'd check in on you before I go.'

‘How long this time?'

‘Six weeks. And that ought to be the end of it – I hope, anyway. I certainly don't want to be out there in the middle of summer.'

‘Do you know where next?'

‘Well, there are talks of the Arctic circle, but I imagine that has to wait until the ice re-forms next winter. In the meantime, I might even get a home posting for a few months, which would be heaven.'

‘Really?'

‘Sit in an office doing paperwork and drinking coffee, like normal people? Are you kidding me?'

‘
Chacun à son gout
. Dream that dream, boy.'

‘So anyway, for the next few weeks, at least, I'll be leaving it to Sybil to keep an eye on you. How are you, baby sis? You're sounding quite bright.'

‘I'm fine. Moments of gloom and despair, but there's so much to think about here, interesting things and interesting people. It keeps me from brooding.'

‘Excellent. At the risk of introducing a topic for brooding, yon Patrick still keeps phoning.'

‘Really?' Jenna felt a quickening of gratification.

‘Every day. Syb's getting almost sympathetic to him, though she won't tell him anything, of course. But she says the poor bloke's falling apart. He's desperate to see you.'

‘I'm glad. I really want him to suffer.'

‘Do you? I'll take that as a healthy sign. You don't want us to pass on your address, then?'

‘God, no! He's probably only wanting to get Charlotte's watch back, anyway.'

‘According to Sybil, Charlotte's history and he wants you back.'

‘Are you trying to get me back with him?'

‘Don't be daft. I can't advise you either way. I'm just telling you the situation so you can make informed choices. You won't be staying in Holtby for ever.'

‘No,' she said, with a pang of sadness at the thought. Whatever the situation down here, it was at least simpler than her life in London, where she'd have a home and job to find, as well as ‘getting back on the horse' – made more difficult when it was metropolitan types like Patrick you had to cope with. Maybe she could marry a simple ploughman and stay here for ever – living in a damp two-room cottage like Xander's, no doubt, she added derisively. Love among the haystacks. ‘Hey,' she said cheerfully, ‘I've got a date!'

‘Good for you,' said Oliver. ‘Is he nice?'

‘Amusing,' she said.

‘It's good to keep your hand in,' he said approvingly. ‘Just don't go falling for the simple life, will you? It's never as simple as it seems on the surface.'

‘How do you always know what I'm thinking? I do love you, Olly. I miss you.'

‘I haven't gone yet. And don't forget the real reason you're down there – to find a way for Kitty to make a living from the house. On the subject of which – Sybil tells me to say “weddings” to you. Apparently rich people will pay huge sums to hold their weddings in stately homes, which I gather Holtby almost is.'

‘Stately enough – and yes, I had thought of weddings. It's on my list with the other ideas – though there are problems involved with wedding hosting.'

‘There must be problems involved with any of the ideas.'

‘Yes, you're right. But don't worry, I'm working on it. Just got a bit of research to do, and then I'll be ready to make my presentation. I have to have all my ducks in a row, so that Xander can't shoot them all down.'

‘I thought ducks in a row was exactly what people did shoot down. And why would Xander? He's the godson, Alexander, I take it?'

‘Because he's a stuffed shirt. Only he's sometimes not as stuffy as others,' she added, remembering the moment in The Hart in Hand when he looked down at her, and the fact that he wanted to take her riding again. And last night . . . She shook herself. ‘But he's bound to be stuffy about any idea I have for Kitty. He seems to suspect me of some devious purpose concerning her.'

‘No wonder you say it's keeping you occupied. But don't get sucked in, will you, Jen? These people have their own lives, and you're not part of them.'

‘I know,' Jenna said, though it made her feel sad to realize it.

Thursday evening was cool and rather damp, and Jenna was glad that Harry arrived with the roof of the car up.

‘You're wearing That Dress!' he exclaimed as she came out to him.

‘You said best bib and tucker. This is all I have.'

‘I want to be buried with That Dress,' he said reverently. ‘You look gorgeous.'

‘Thank you,' she said. It was nice to be appreciated. ‘You get the full warpaint tonight. I pulled my punches at the dinner party.'

‘Probably wise. Poor old Brian Longhurst has a dicky heart.'

They didn't talk much on the drive in to Belminster. He drove fast, and the engine was noisy, and she was not a good passenger. She spent the journey holding on to the sides of her seat and working the invisible pedals in her footwell at every bend and corner. But despite driving at a mad speed, like all country people, he handled the car skilfully and they had no near misses.

The town seemed lively, with crowds of young people wandering along the streets and going in and out of pubs and coffee shops. Mazo's was down the end of Mill Street, where there were a number of restaurants. It had a purple fascia with the name scrawled in dull gold, and the windows were obscured with wooden bead curtains over unbleached cotton blinds, so you couldn't see anything until you went in. Jenna expected it to be empty – she couldn't believe there were that many people in Belminster interested in cutting-edge cuisine – but when they opened the door, the dimly-lit interior, throbbing with African music, was heaving. A waiter came to meet them with a refusal in his eyes, until Harry gave his name, and then he beamed and led them to a barely adequate table for two in a crowded corner.

‘If this is popularity . . .!' she shouted to him as they squeezed into their seats.

‘Great, isn't it?' he shouted back, his eyes shining. The decor was simple: plain, square, pale wood tables and chairs, aubergine coloured walls with primitive paintings in black and white, and small downlighters in the black-painted ceiling, which entirely failed to give the impression of stars twinkling in the vast night sky of Africa. They had taken the last table, and at every other there were couples and groups of the well-to-do leaning forward and conversing in eager bellows against the music.

The waiter brought them menus and apparently asked what they wanted to drink, though she couldn't hear what he said. ‘Red wine OK?' Harry asked her, and she nodded. ‘Yeah, baby!' he said, when the waiter had gone. ‘Now let's score some totally ethnic food.' She couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

The menu was not extensive and the food was entirely unfamiliar to her. ‘The kossa kossa is a speciality,' he said helpfully. The menu said they were
giant spicy shrimps
.

‘So nice they named it twice?' she hazarded.

‘How about one kossa kossa and one fumbwa to start, and we share?'
Yam leaves cooked in peanut paste and smoked salted fish
, said the menu.