‘Your son-in-law’s got a schoolmistress,’ said Seth idly. ‘Very keen on her, doesn’t notice her teeth any more. Poor Carrie.’
‘You didn’t think about poor Martin,’ said Etta tartly.
‘I try not to. A great warrior destroyed by sexual desire,’ repeated Seth wickedly. ‘“The triple pillar of the world transform’d into a strumpet’s fool”. Do you think Valent’s been destroyed by Bonny?’
Etta struggled out of a sunken cherry-red armchair, which needed re-upholstering, and banged a log to shake out any woodlice before putting it on the fire.
‘Course not, Bonny’s not a strumpet, and no one pushes Valent around. He recovered the cockpit as an office. According to Trixie his voice was “rattling thunder” when he chewed out Corinna for being foul about Pauline, and he hasn’t allowed Bonny to chop suey his house. He allowed Wilkie to stay against her wishes.’
‘Macho man,’ mocked Seth, kicking back another log which was scattering sparks. ‘D’you fancy him?’
‘I like him enormously,’ said Etta firmly.
In fact she liked Valent so much, she was always thinking of ways to repay him. On a flying visit to Willowwood, Valent had found his cockpit so sweetly scented with her indoor bulbs, he’d taken a couple of bowls back to his house in London. And he’d so liked a big bowl of African violets she’d nurtured for him, he was thinking of using the glowing purple of the flowers and the dusty green of the leaves as his colours when Furious raced.
Glancing out of the window when he arrived one evening, he was surprised to see the lawn of Badger’s Court covered in snow. Only when he stepped outside did he discover they were great sweeps of snowdrops, their little heads hanging and nodding like Etta’s.
Fed up with Seth spouting poetry all the time, particularly to Bonny, Valent had devoured Etta’s anthology, hoping to find lines to quote himself. But his voice coach had made him self-conscious about his Yorkshire accent. He must remember to rhyme ‘one’ with ‘fun’, not ‘gone’.
‘Shall I compare thee to a Soomer’s day.
Thou art more luvely and more temperate.’
‘How do I luv thee? Let me count the ways.’
He hated Bonny mocking him.
Ringing Etta, he was livid when Seth, sounding drunk, picked up the telephone.
‘Etta’s been absolutely marvellous helping me learn my lines. She’s so good at being Cleopatra. Do you want a word?’
As it was only to say he’d liked Etta’s poetry book, her hyacinths and her snowdrops, Valent snapped he wouldn’t interrupt her, he’d ring another time.
‘Give her my love.’
Etta, who’d heaved herself out of the cherry-red armchair, hand out to take the cordless, fell back in disappointment.
‘Said he’d ring again,’ said Seth.
Later, to wind Bonny up, Seth told her about Valent calling Etta. Bonny was further irritated that Seth wouldn’t let her hear his lines. He hated her correcting him all the time, suggesting poncy interpretations.
Romy was even more irritated.
‘Why don’t you let me hear your lines?’ she demanded, trapping Seth with her bicycle as he came out of the village shop.
‘You’re much too distracting,’ murmured Seth, ‘I’d want to do other things.’
‘Oh Seth.’ Then Romy’s voice hardened. ‘I hope you’re not taking that bottle round to Mother-in-law, she drinks quite enough as it is.’
The mega jaunt to Stratford grew. Valent insisted the minibus leave an hour early so that, to please Etta, they could drop in on a snowdrop garden on the way.
‘How can I wear the same thing to traipse through the woods, go to the races, to the theatre and on to a party?’ grumbled Painswick.
‘When I was young there was a thing called a dress’n’jacket,’ reflected Etta, ‘which looked like a coat and skirt until you took off the jacket and discovered a sleeveless dress, but I don’t think my wrinkled little arms are up to it.’
She longed to stay in her Ugg boots all day, but didn’t want the suede to get ruined if it were muddy at Warwick.
Seth and Corinna were travelling direct to Stratford separately, and Bonny also decided to miss the races and join everyone later at the theatre.
‘So she can swan in looking a million dollars,’ stormed Trixie, appalled at how much she was longing to see Seth again.
Everyone else was surprised how much they enjoyed the snow-drops, which drifted for miles round a ruined abbey and along a mysterious darkly flowing stream.
‘I can joost imagine the Lady of Shalott floating past,’ said Valent, showing off his new literary knowledge.
‘Yes, and so many different kinds of snowdrop,’ cried Etta.
‘The common garden snowdrop
Galanthus nivalis
of course predominates,’ said Debbie importantly.
‘As a symbol of hope in a long winter,’ said Painswick.
Pocock, not to be outdone in the poetry stakes, cleared his throat:
‘The snowdrop, in purest white array,
First rears her head on Candlemas day.’
When the others looked at him in amazement, Painswick said, ‘Who wrote that, Harry?’
‘It’s an old Larkshire rhyme.’
‘Harry now,’ whispered Alan, making a thumbs-up to Etta, ‘watch that space.’
‘When’s Candlemas?’ asked Etta quickly, to stop herself laughing.
‘Feb the third,’ said Niall, ‘the day Mary presented Jesus at the temple, so it’s a day of purity.’
‘Like we’re going to have today,’ said Alan.
‘Was it a sort of christening? I suppose Bump will be christened at Toby Jug’s family church.’
‘You’re like a brilliant guidebook, that’s lovely to know,’ Etta put her arm through Niall’s. ‘Isn’t it beautiful here?’
‘Not enough splashes of colour for Debbie,’ said Alan.
Debbie’s lips tightened, then she laughed: ‘And you don’t know much about purity, young man.’
‘Touché.’ Alan winked at Tilda.
‘You oughta see the snowdrops Etta’s planted at Badger’s Court,’ said Valent. Dropping to his knees, he tucked in a trouser leg which had escaped from Etta’s boot, and she found herself trembling as she felt his hands on her leg. She was so happy they were all getting on, like in the early days.
‘I don’t want to leave here.’
‘We can always come back next year,’ said Valent.
‘Chop chop,’ shouted the Major from the minibus, who couldn’t wait to get to Stratford and see Corinna in all her glory. ‘We’ll miss the first race.’
He and Alban had been discussing Lester Bolton’s defiant plans for a moat to encircle Primrose Mansions.
‘He’s intending to divert the Willowwood stream,’ said the Major, ‘so we’ll lose out on water, and also to divert Harvey-Holden’s stream into it, so if we have a lot of rain it’ll flood the village.’
‘We need moat control,’ said Alban, braying with laughter.
In the bus, Debbie sidled up to Valent, who was reading
Antony and Cleopatra,
and said that Normie had given her the Iron Man for Xmas.
‘Changed my life. Irons shirts better than I do. Normie often wears three shirts a day if he has a lunch and an evening function. Sheets and duvet covers are done in a trice, when the family come to visit.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Valent, looking as though he really was.
Alban sighed. He was lucky if he was allowed a clean shirt every two days and a bath twice a week.
Woody was opening bottles.
‘We must pace ourselves,’ said Painswick, accepting a paper cup of white and handing it on to Pocock. ‘I’ll have half of that.’
‘I hope the going’s not too heavy for Wilkie,’ said Joey, checking his mobile. ‘Says it’s soft in places but yielding.’
‘Just like you,’ whispered Alan to Tilda.
‘Get on with you.’ Tilda nudged him in the ribs, spilling wine all over the notebook in which he was trying to write about Mrs Wilkinson. She didn’t seem at all upset that Shagger and Toby were shooting and would only make the theatre.
Valent took a can of beer and another anthology and wandered up the bus.
‘Good poem for you here, Alban,’ he said.
‘Lord Lilac thought it rather rotten
That Shakespeare should be quite forgotten,
And therefore got on a committee
With several chaps out of the city.’
‘Good God,’ exclaimed Alban. ‘Who wrote that?’
‘Chesterton in nineteen thirty-three. Nothing changes.’
‘Brilliant. Let’s have a government inquiry into whether Shakespeare is remembered enough.’ Alban adored Valent.
Only Trixie seemed in low spirits as she gazed constantly at her mobile, waiting for messages, snapping at Etta and even Valent when they asked if she was OK.
The general high spirits increased at Warwick where Mrs Wilkinson proceeded to demonstrate that Cheltenham hadn’t been a flash in the pan, trundling through torrential rain and a sea of mud to win her novice chase by six lengths. After monkeyish antics at the start in the next race, Furious then carted Rafiq, once again picking off all the other runners and winning by a length.
Count Romeo, despite loathing rain, kept his handsome face dry and mud-free in his red blinkers and came a close second. History Painting won the big race of the afternoon, completing a dazzling day for Throstledown. Marius’s euphoria was intensified when Olivia, passing him on the way to the winners enclosure, smiled and said, ‘Congratulations.’
This triggered off a blazing row between Olivia and Shade, who later, bumping into Amber, asked her when she was going to have dinner with him.
‘When you put me up on one of your horses.’
‘It’s a deal,’ purred Shade. ‘A ride for a ride. Call me.’
The only sad note was that one of Harvey-Holden’s mares, House Price, had a dreadful fall. They had to leave without hearing what had happened to her.
So off the syndicate set to Stratford, half cut and in manic mood. Having finished reading
Antony and Cleopatra,
Valent sat at the back with his BlackBerry, reflecting that emails were easier to deal with than females. Had Bonny thrown a hissy fit over the visit to the snowdrop garden to give herself an excuse to duck out of the races and slope off to somewhere else in the Stratford area? Corinna always insisted on sleeping for a couple of hours before a performance, which would free up Seth.
Valent used enough private detectives to spy on other companies, but refused to let them loose on Bonny because he felt it was dishonourable and he didn’t want to get hurt.
Down the bus, Niall, amid the laughter and the chink of glasses, was wrestling with tomorrow’s sermon, based on the contemporary relevance of miracles. The gospel for the day included the miracle of Jesus calming the winds and waves when a storm threatened to overturn the boat which was carrying him and his terrified disciples.
‘Why are ye fearful?’ Jesus had then demanded. ‘Oh ye of little faith.’
Since the gloriously golden Woody had graced his life, Niall believed in miracles, but there was no way to calm the storm if their love affair became public. Tonight he must lay off the drink, as it always took the brake off his inhibitions.
The rain was rattling the bus windows like Wilkie’s hooves and ebony clouds blotted out any sunset glow as they arrived at the appropriately named Tempest Inn, which was mock-Tudor with low beams and rooms named after characters in the play. The first night party would be held later in the Prospero Suite. Etta found herself in ‘Miranda’, an embarrassingly lovely room with pale lilac walls, a huge four-poster and a charming watercolour above the fireplace showing Ferdinand and Miranda declaring their love:
‘Here’s my hand.’
‘And mine with my heart in’t.’
Etta was so thrilled about Wilkie and Furious’s wins and buoyed up by champagne, she refused to worry about how she was going to pay for it.
Miss Painswick was in ‘Trinculo’ next door and the Major and Debbie in ‘Gonzalo, an honest old counsellor’, beyond that. Seth and Corinna, who’d already gone to the theatre, were in ‘Ferdinand’ beyond that.
‘We’re in “Stephano”,’ said Toby, coming out into the corridor. ‘Who was he?’
‘A drunken butler,’ said Alan, ‘which figures. Go and get us a drink.’
‘Our bed isn’t nearly as big as Etta’s,’ grumbled Phoebe, ‘and there are two of us. Shall we see if she’ll swap?’
‘The vicar’s in “Ariel”,’ said Miss Painswick.
‘Who was an irritating little fairy, which figures too,’ said Shagger bitchily.
‘Watch it,’ hissed Woody.
‘Where the bee sucks/There suck I,’ sang Alan.
Bonny was in ‘Caliban’.
‘Two monsters together,’ said Trixie bitterly.
Etta for once was delighted by her appearance in a slinky black skirt and a beautiful white frilled shirt given her by Trixie and Dora for Christmas. She had drenched herself in 24 Faubourg, another Christmas present, which darling Tommy and Rafiq must have bankrupted themselves to give her.
She wished they could have come to the party instead of having to drive the horses home. At least the journey seemed shorter when you had winners on board, and she was so pleased that the two of them appeared to be growing closer.