Fantails (22 page)

“How about a little drink together to show there’s no ill feeling?” he suggested presently. “Just nice time for it before the next race.”

“Not just yet, thanks, Solly,” Sherry answered. Solly looked at Logie. “How about the little lady, eh?”

“It’s very kind of you, but I don’t think I want a drink yet, either.”

“Well, I’m heading for a double whisky. Be seeing you later! Coming, Zara?”

It seemed to Logie that for the fraction of a second his wife hesitated before saying languidly, “No, I don’t think so. I’ll be waiting on the stand.”

“A little drink would do you good,” he said, and though the words were friendly there was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at Zara that made Logie suddenly sorry for the other girl as she answered expressionlessly, “Just as you like.”

Sherry said quickly, “Just a second. You’ll be passing Crail on your way home. Why not drop in and have a cocktail with us?”

Again that momentary hesitation before Zara said, “Shall we, Solly?”

“Thanks a lot. Be very nice. So long till then.”

Watching them moving through the crowd, the burly short-necked man with his swaggering gait and his bride, half a head taller, slender and patrician, Logie murmured, half to Sherry, half to herself, “Beauty and the Beast!”

He gave a short laugh. ‘That how Solly strikes you?”

“Well, he isn’t awfully attractive on first acquaintance. Perhaps he’s nicer when one gets to know him better.” (But I rather hope I shan’t! she thought.)

“I doubt it. Sorry I let you in for him. Well, better collect a few people to come along this evening, I suppose, make a party of it.” So saying he hailed an attractive dark girl who was sitting on her shooting-stick studying her race card. “Margaret! Nice to see you! Come and have a drink at Crail on your way home?”

Margaret replied that she would love to, and might she bring a friend who was staying with her? During the next three races and between them Sherry asked various people to “drop in on us for drinks after the races,” until a number had accepted.

“Mind if we miss the last race, darling?” he asked Logie.

“No. I’m quite ready to go now. Better to leave a party while it’s still being fun!”

“How right you are! You know a lot for such an infant.”

“Infant, indeed! As any woman is at least ten years older in wisdom than a man of the same age, I’d have you know that I am two years older than you are.”

“And in experience no age at all.” _

“Have it your own way, Methuselah!” she mocked him gaily, and they bickered amicably till the car was reached. Logie was silent until Harrawick was left behind. Then she said “Tell me about the Hinterzhagens.”

“He’s a South African multi-millionaire. A diamond king, as you may have guessed from Zara’s clip.”

“What—that colossal diamond spray? But those weren’t
real?
”

“Indeed they were.”

“My goodness! But you know, I think diamonds that size are a mistake. No one who didn’t know her husband was a diamond millionaire would imagine for a moment they were anything but paste! How does he come to live in this part of the world? He doesn’t fit into the picture at all.”

“He doesn’t, does he? He bought Heighworth Castle just after the war. No one quite knows why—probably he had a deep-rooted ambition to become an English country gentleman, that being about the hardest task he could have set himself. Quite obviously he thought his money bags would open every door in Yorkshire. Then he found out his mistake. Had a pretty thin time of it. So he took to hunting. Got himself a couple of good-looking animals with about as much spirit between them as a pair of slugs. A newborn baby could have stayed on ’em. They look well, though, and he turns up at meets togged up to the nines. Scraped acquaintance with a few of us like that. Gave vast subscriptions to the local hunts and every war memorial and charity for miles around. In common decency, people couldn’t go on ignoring such a benefactor, even if the motives for his generosity weren’t above suspicion.”

“So he’s been accepted here?”

“More or less, yes.”

“And Zara? Did she live here too, before her marriage?”

“Yes. She’s the only daughter of Lord Alderbeck. One of the oldest baronies in the country, but hasn’t got a bean. The family place is let to a girls’ school and the family live in one of the lodges—thanks to a gambling grandfather and two lots of crippling death duties within five years. Lady Alderbeck died years ago and Alderbeck spends all his time in local antiquarian research. Charming old boy, but hopelessly impractical regarding everything but that. Zara grew up knowing she’d have to fend for herself if she wanted a fair share of this world’s goods.”

“And so she married Solly. What a sad story! The wedding must have caused a lot of gossip, didn’t it?”

Sherry made no answer for a moment. He was staring at the road. She wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard? Then he said, “Gossip? I suppose it must. I wouldn’t know. I was away. It happened very suddenly.”

“Otherwise I don’t suppose she’d ever have been able to go through with it. Oh, what a tragedy—that lovely girl!”

“Do you admire her?”

“Admire her? I should think I do! I think she’s exquisite. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her! Don’t you?”

“As a man, yes, enormously. As a human being, not at all.”

Logie was amazed. “How extraordinary ... or do you mean because her character doesn’t match her looks?”

“It matches her expression.” Irritably he exclaimed, “Oh, forget it! There are pleasanter things to think about than the Hinterzhagens!”

Logie did not speak for several miles. “I’ve been sulking. I do think you might have noticed!” she said at last.

Sherry burst out laughing. “How beastly of me to spoil all your fun!—Sorry I snapped your head off. Being engaged doesn’t agree with me. High time we were married.”

“Well, we will be, soon.”

“Five weeks and six days! Call that soon?”

She laid her cheek a moment against his sleeve. “Darling, I do love you so!”

‘Then go on loving me.”

As soon as they were back at Crail he vanished for consultation with Mary over supplies of gin and sherry, which were running low. Mrs. Mackintosh, hearing guests would be arriving any moment, set to work to make a batch of little savoury biscuits flavoured with cheese and celery salt. Logie went upstairs. Presently, when she had combed her hair and was ready for the fray, she knocked gently on Vee’s door. Vee was awake, and glad to see her. “Yes, I’m a lot better. I’ll get up to-morrow. Tell me about everything!” she commanded. “Who did you meet? Did you see any amusing clothes?”

“We joined the Sawdons and some friends of theirs for lunch,” Logie was beginning, when she heard a car coming along the drive. “I’d better go down. Sherry has asked a lot of people to drop in for cocktails. When they’ve gone we’ll both come up and tell you all about it.”

“How maddening that I’m in bed! But it’s no use—I know from past experience that if I struggle up now I’ll pay for it to-morrow. Who’s coming?”

“The Sawdons and their friends—I don’t know what their names are, except Tom and Linda.”

“Oh, Tom and Linda Harringfield.”

“And a girl called Margaret who lives at Sotterley.” “Margaret Kemp.”

“And the Hinterzhagens—”

Logie was astonished by the effect on Vee of mentioning the last name. Starting up on her elbows, she exclaimed, “The
Hinterzhagens?
Sherry must be mad! How could he ask those people to this house—and to meet you! It’s unthinkable!”

Logie was amazed that Vee, who was a woman of the world and modern in her outlook, should indulge in an outburst of old-fashioned snobbery. Solly Hinterzhagen was undoubtedly a flashy bounder, yet it seemed hard that on that account he should be condemned to social ostracism, and Zara with him. Then, remembering that as they left the course she had caught a glimpse of Solly, flushed and glassy-eyed, making his somewhat unsteady way towards the stand, she thought she understood. He must have a reputation for doing himself too well; probably Vee knew that he was likely to arrive here somewhat the worse for wear. Loyally she backed up Sherry. “Honestly, I don’t mind a bit! If it’s a little embarrassing, it can’t be helped. Far worse for poor Zara than for me.”

It was Vee’s turn to look astonished. “Well—that’s one way of looking at it. And now I come to think of it, probably a sensible way, too.” Logie had reached the door when she called after her, “Sherry’s a very lucky man, my dear!”

Logie went pink with pleasure. “How
nice
of you to tell me so! I’ll try to make it true,” she said, and fled.

The Sawdons and the Harringfields were already in the drawing-room with Sherry, and a few moments later a whole batch of guests arrived together. Logie found herself playing hostess to a cheerful crowd, mildly tired after the day’s racing, but in good spirits. At the tops of their voices they were soon comparing notes—

“My dear, I put my shirt and pants and everything I’ve got on Zircon, down to my last sock suspender, and now I haven’t a rag to my back!”

“Susan backed April Fool because her birthday’s on the first of April. We all pulled her leg like anything when we saw him in the paddock—a
most
unprepossessing animal. And then he simply romped home.”

“Yes—won by three lengths. Give me an omen every time. I got five dead certs from a trainer and not one of them ran better than fourth.”

They were all old friends and neighbours, and though they were as pleasant as could be to Logie, it was only natural that she should feel herself not one of them, especially when they talked of people and things unknown to her, of Tommy’s new hunter, Mary’s tiresome mother-in-law, the Beldons’ efforts to let Beldon Hall as a youth hostel. It was beginning to be something of an effort to keep an interested expression on her face when suddenly the voices faltered, then one by one died into silence. Everyone was looking at the door. Logie, looking too, saw Zara, and behind her Solly. Zara had one hand poised on her hip, her head held high, and in her long, cold eyes a curious expression. Was it defiance? Bravado?

Sherry went to meet them, carrying a tray of drinks. Cheerfully he called, “Enter the bride and bridegroom! What may I give you, Zara? Sherry or a cocktail of my own concoction? Solly, would you rather have a whisky?”

Logie joined them with a friendly welcome. “Do have one of Mrs. Mackintosh’s little biscuits. They’re delicious!”

Zara said coolly, “No, thanks,” and looked away. Solly took two, and put one whole into his mouth, giving a great display of gold teeth. Logie, a trifle daunted by their silence, said, “I don’t suppose there’s any need to introduce you—probably you know everyone who’s here far better than I do.”

“Only too well!” said Zara. “All the old familiar faces seem to have rallied round.”

Sherry brought Solly’s whisky. Coals to Newcastle, Logie realised, as Solly took it in a shaky hand. “Thanksh a lot, ole boy.”

Sherry slipped an arm round Logie’s shoulders. She was embarrassed and surprised, for as a rule he was completely undemonstrative except when they were alone together. “Darling, you must be tired. Do come and sit down. Perch here on the arm of this chair—then you won’t be swallowed up.” He drew her gently to a chair with wide arms near the centre of the room. She hesitated—but after all, the Hinterzhagens did know everyone, Zara had said so; having given them drinks and cigarettes there was surely no need to do more about them for the moment?

Babel had broken out again, but something in the atmosphere had subtly altered. No sooner had she sat herself on the arm of the chair than first one, then another, then a group gathered about her, making much of her, doing all they could to show their friendliness and that they liked her, asking questions, giving invitations, offering advice and help. Did she like Yorkshire? Were the servants going to stay on here or go South with Vee? Was she used to country life? Sherry must bring her here to lunch and there to dinner and somewhere else to spend the night. She had a younger sister? Good! She must bring Jane when she came to stay, to spend the day with Vivienne, go to the cinema with Anne, ride with Betty and Bill. They were all looking forward to having her at Crail.

Confused and happy, she could hear Sherry, behind her, saying proudly, “Logie’s going to organise a food production drive at Crail! Vegetables in the greenhouses. Jersey cows. Wants to go in for poultry in a big way and do the work herself ... Logie likes Light Sussex best ... Logie says we ought to keep a few geese to graze the orchard ... I expect I’ll find a middle white sharing my dressing-room one of these days, and a flotilla of Aylesburys in the bath!”

Someone murmured, ‘That’s the spirit!”

“If only everybody pulled their weight like that...”

‘Tell her I’ll give her a setting of the best mammoth bronzes in the North Riding if she thinks of going in for turkeys.”

A thin girl everybody seemed to like, a few years older than herself, said, “You and I must get together. I go in for Rhodes and Wyandottes, and I’m starting goats now, Anglo-Nubians.”

Logie glowed in the warmth of their liking and approval. She would be happy among the downright friendly people of the North. Her cup was full when Rajah, sniffing disapprovingly among the unfamiliar calves, found her and laid his broad head on her knee, accepting her as his own.

People began to say they must be going, and she rose. As the room began to empty she saw, dismayed and guilty, that the Hinterzhagens were alone together near the door, Solly half asleep—or fuddled?—in a deep chair, Zara making a pretence of being engrossed in
Country Life.
Quickly she went up to Zara. “Do forgive me! I’m afraid I haven’t looked after you one little bit! I thought, as you knew everyone—” she bit back what she had been going to say, feeling that it might not be exactly tactful to stress the fact that people had not flocked to talk to them.

An enormous diamond gave out green and violet and orange shafts of light as Zara hid a yawn deliberately with long white fingers, crimson tipped. “Oh, don’t apologise!” she said disdainfully. “It’s been a lovely party.” Beneath her silky manner Logie sensed the smouldering fury, and was aghast and penitent. Solly, dishevelled and bleary, struggled to his feet and laid his fat hand in a proprietary fashion on his wife’s arm. “Time we were makin’ tracksh!” he said. Logie could sense the self-control she was exerting not to snatch her arm away. Sherry came up to them. “Going? Too bad! I’ve seen nothing of you!”

“And you won’t be seeing much in future,” Zara told him. “We’re selling Heighworth as soon as we can find a place in a more civilised part of the world—Ascot or Sunningdale.”