In the dining-room I found places had been laid for Pendle and me at opposite ends of a long table. Mrs Braddock served us watery soup. It’s incredibly difficult to drink soup quietly in a huge empty room, and then we had stale game pie, and cold potatoes which stuck in my throat. Luckily, Pendle opened a bottle of wine.
‘Mrs Braddock’s been with us for years. Her husband looks after the garden and the stables. I don’t know who else would put up with my mother.’
The two dogs sat on either side of me, drooling at the mouth. Then the setter put a large speckled paw on my knee.
‘They’re lovely,’ I said. ‘What are they called?’
‘Wordsworth and Coleridge,’ said Pendle. ‘Coleridge is the setter. I don’t expect anyone’s remembered to feed them.’
I was relieved when he picked up both his and my game pie, gave one to each dog and then lit the inevitable cigarette. The wine was stealing down me, and I began to perk up.
We had coffee in the drawing-room, which was also huge and shabby and full of beautiful things. A bowl of dahlias which had seen better days were shedding their petals on the smeared table. On one wall there was a large square of much lighter red wallpaper, where a picture must have recently hung.
‘Oh God,’ said Pendle, ‘my mother must have flogged the Romney. Ace will do his nut.’
I huddled by the fire, clutching Coleridge for warmth. A fat orange cat was asleep on the sofa.
‘Her name’s Antonia Fraser,’ said Pendle ruefully. ‘Have some brandy.’
‘I oughtn’t to,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be tight the first time I meet your mother.’
‘Well, I’m going to,’ he said, ‘so you might as well.’ I noticed his hand was shaking as he poured out two glasses. He was so jumpy, he was making me more and more nervous. I was just about to examine the photographs on the desk when I heard voices and doors slamming.
‘Here they are,’ said Pendle. He’d gone as white as a sheet. We went into the hall. The front door was thrown open. A very beautiful woman stood in the doorway. She was as slim as a blade.
‘Darlings,’ she cried, rushing towards us. ‘How awful you must think us. We didn’t think you’d be here for hours.’
Jack’s wife? Pendle’s sister?
‘This is my mother,’ said Pendle.
My jaw clanged like a visor.
‘But you can’t be!’ I said. ‘You’re too young.’
Fatuous remark, but she was delighted.
‘This is Pru,’ said Pendle.
‘You must call me Rose,’ she said taking my hand. ‘Oh, look. Naughty Coleridge has moulted all over you.’
She probably hadn’t altered her style of dressing for twenty years, but she was bang in fashion now, with rippling blonde waves, round eyes and a tiny scarlet mouth. She’d have set them by the ears in the King’s Road too, in that marvellous fifties crêpe-de-Chine dress. I felt absurdly self-conscious in my twinset and tweeds.
She didn’t look so young in the drawing-room, but she quickly switched off the overhead light and put on two side lights.
‘How are you, Pen, darling? You look tired. Have you been overworking? Such a good party — Maggie and Jack are still there.’
‘I thought I heard voices outside,’ said Pendle.
Rose looked sheepish. ‘James Copeland dropped me off.’
‘Linn’s James Copeland?’
Rose nodded.
‘Oh God,’ said Pendle. ‘Is he after you, too?’
‘Well, a bit. Too embarrassing really. My daughter Linn gets so cross when her young men run after me,’ she added to me.
I stared at her, fascinated. I’d never known a mother like this — skipping around in raver kit, pinching her daughter’s boyfriends.
‘Do get Primrose and me a drink, darling,’ she said to Pendle.
‘Her name’s Prudence,’ said Pendle acidly. ‘And she’s got a drink. When’s Ace coming back?’
Rose turned her eyes to the ceiling.
‘Oh, don’t remind me — the day after tomorrow. No, don’t glare at me like that, Pen. You know I’m fond of Ace. But he makes me feel so hopeless and he’s bound to nag about money.’
‘How is money?’
‘Oh, disastrous as ever. Look how shabby everything is.’ She picked at a piece of cotton wool oozing out of the yellow sofa. ‘Jack and Maggie’s house is costing the earth.’
Another car drew up outside, more doors slammed and we heard voices in the hall. Pendle’s face was expressionless, but once again that muscle was twitching in his cheek.
‘Don’t spend all night,’ said an irritable male voice. The door was pushed open and a man walked in. His face creased into an incredulous smile.
‘You’re here! Already! You must have blown a gasket on the motorway.’
Pendle looked rather ostentatiously at his watch.
‘It’s already eleven o’clock,’ he said.
‘God, is it that late? I
am
sorry.’ He turned to me.
‘This is my brother Jack,’ said Pendle.
Jack Mulholland was outstandingly good-looking and already going to seed. He had terrific bags under his eyes and was beginning to put on weight under the chin. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had those blue, sexy bloodshot eyes that looked as if he’d been swimming under water too long; and he knew how to use them. He looked into my face for a minute, then very slowly ran his eyes over my body, then back to my face again, as though he had to memorize every detail. A smile spread over his face. ‘At least 1,000 ships. But then you always had excellent taste, Pen.’
I squirmed with embarrassment and pleasure.
‘Where’s Maggie?’ said Rose.
‘Re-doing her face.’
‘Darling, do get us drink,’ said Rose.
Jack filled up our glasses, and poured two more for Rose and himself.
Pendle raised his eyebrows. ‘Pru’s not a great drinker.’
‘Don’t be a spoilsport,’ said Rose. ‘Well, here’s to you, darlings, and a happy weekend.’
‘That was bloody good, you getting Bobby Canfield off,’ said Jack. ‘Everyone’s talking about it round here.’
‘Mrs Braddock’s started a scrapbook of your cuttings,’ said Rose.
I took a sip of my drink and nearly choked. Through streaming eyes I caught Jack laughing at me. He
is
attractive, I thought. The moment he comes into the room the temperature goes up. At that moment a girl came in, and the temperature shot even higher. She was everything fashion magazines say you shouldn’t be. Her brilliant red hair looked as though it had been cut with garden shears. She wore so much eyeliner her eyes slanted into her ears, and she was falling out of a dress two sizes too small for her and jacked-in at the waist with a green leather belt.
But she was gorgeous. Any man confronted with that glowing vitality would want to tear those terrible clothes off her and tumble her into bed.
She stood in the doorway staring at Pendle. All of a sudden the room became very still. The colour drained out of Pendle’s face.
‘Hello, Maggie.’ His voice was curiously dry. ‘You look well. This is Pru.’
She turned and smiled at me. Her eyes were like headlights. I wanted to blink.
‘How odd,’ she said slowly. ‘She looks rather like me.’
I blushed. I looked like a ghost beside this buxom radiant creature.
‘Not odd at all,’ said Jack with a slightly twisted smile. ‘Mulhollands always go for redheads.’
Maggie sat on the arm of Pendle’s chair.
‘Get me a drink, Jack,’ she said, and, as Jack went over to the drinks tray, added quite audibly, ‘You shouldn’t have stayed away so long, Pen.’
Something funny was going on, but I was too tired to work it out. The brandy was sending me to sleep. I hardly listened as they swapped family gossip. I was only conscious that, beneath the superficial banter, there was an underlying tension. It was Jack who noticed I was falling off my chair.
‘Poor little Pru’s half dead. For goodness’ sake take her up to her room, Pen.’
I staggered to my feet. ‘Don’t bother, I can easily find my own way.’
‘Will you be all right?’ said Pendle.
‘Of course she won’t,’ said Jack, leaping up and taking my arm. ‘Come on, lovie, say goodnight to everyone.’
It was arctic in the hall.
‘You go on up,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll try and dig you out a hot-water bottle.’
After a few false starts, I found my room. I hardly had the energy to undress and take off my make-up.
I laughed as I remembered Jane’s instructions about folding my clothes up neatly. That lot downstairs wouldn’t care if I strewed them all over the landing. By the time Jack came upstairs, I was sitting in bed in my new black nightdress.
‘I’m afraid I’ve drawn a blank on the hot-water bottle,’ he said. ‘Will you be warm enough?’ he added, standing by the bed and looking down at me.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I was coming out in goose pimples, but it wasn’t because of the cold.
‘You look very fit for human consumption,’ he said, examining my back. ‘You’re still brown.’
‘It’s always the bits that don’t show that last longest,’ I said slowly.
Jack Mulholland undoubtedly had a way with women, like some people have with animals. He made them relax. Before I realized it, he’d put a warm hand on my bare back and, bending down, kissed me slowly on the mouth.
After a moment he broke off, but his hand was still caressing its way down my back. Goodness, he’s lethal, I thought. Get a grip on yourself, Prudence. He’s the sort of man who’ll stop at nothing.
‘Wow,’ said Jack dreamily. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ and he was about to kiss me again when a familiar voice said, ‘Everything all right?’
I pulled away from Jack as though I’d been stung.
Pendle stood in the doorway. His face was as enigmatic as ever. That’s done it, I thought. I wonder how long he’s been standing there.
Jack laughed. He didn’t seem remotely embarrassed.
‘Oh dear, I’ve lapsed again,’ he said. ‘I’d better ring up Redheads Anonymous.’
Chapter Five
I was woken next morning by rain like machine-gun fire on the roof and Coleridge and Wordsworth lying on my feet. The curtain let in long fingers of light across the ceiling. I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock.
I had a bath and dressed. No one was about downstairs. I went into the drawing-room. Last night’s jetsam of glasses, cigarette ends and coffee was still lying about.
I pulled back the musty, dark blue, velvet curtains and caught my breath at the desolation of the scene before me. Down below in the valley was a huge, black lake, and all around like dark, sleeping beasts lay the mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist.
The garden was a wilderness of tangled shrubbery. Lichen crawled over the paved terrace — and I’d never seen such rain, sweeping in great curtains across the lake, stripping the last leaves from the trees, flattening the blackened dahlias. There was no colour except where the beech trees still smouldered among the dark pines.
This is Pendle’s country, I thought, country that would put winter into anyone’s soul. Oh God, I did hope he wasn’t upset about Jack kissing me last night.
Remembering Jane’s advice about helping in the house, I gathered up the glasses and cups, found the kitchen and washed them up — not so easy as there was no washing-up liquid.
Where on earth was everyone? I was dying for some coffee. Suddenly I heard a noise and, poking my head out of the kitchen door, saw a tall man with a black and grey flecked crew cut wearing a college scarf and a tweed jacket tiptoeing towards the front door, carrying his shoes. I couldn’t see his face. The next moment he’d opened the door and shot out closing it very quietly behind him. He must be one of Rose’s boyfriends. I went back to the drawing-room and had another look at that terrifying view.
‘Drinking it all in?’ said a voice. It was Maggie, in a dressing-gown. She didn’t look so ravishing this morning, deathly pale with her mascara smudged underneath her eyes.
‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’ she asked. ‘Jack’s gone over to the mill with Pendle and I’ve run out.’ I got a packet out of my bag and handed it to her. She lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.
‘God, I needed this. We rather overdid the boozing last night.’
‘What a fantastic view this is,’ I said.
Maggie shrugged her shoulders. ‘It gives me the creeps, particularly on days like this. I want to go back to London, but Jack’s so keen on the mill, I suppose we’re stuck here for good.’
I asked her if I could make a cup of coffee.
‘Oh, hell, it’s Mrs Braddock’s day off, so everything goes to pot. Tomorrow she’s got to blitz the house from top to toe. Ace is coming home. He’ll be appalled at the state of the place.’
She looked round, grimacing at the sticky rings left by glasses all over the furniture, the peeling paint, the dead flowers.
‘That’s the odd thing about my mother-in-law,’ she went on, ‘as long as she can have stunning clothes and pay her bridge debts, she doesn’t mind if the house falls to bits.’
We went into the kitchen. Antonia Fraser jumped off a chair and started weaving between my legs, mewing for food. I found some bacon and eggs.
‘Shall I make you some?’ I asked.
Maggie shuddered. ‘I never touch breakfast. Anyway, I’m getting disgustingly fat. I’ve put on a stone since I married Jack — boredom, I suppose.’
‘Where’s Pendle’s mother?’ I asked, putting rashers into the frying pan.
‘Rose? She never surfaces before lunchtime.’
‘Pendle said she was formidable,’ I said, ‘so I imagined she’d be all tweeds and corrugated hair.’
Maggie laughed. ‘She’s stunning, isn’t she? Gosh, that bacon smells good. While you’re making it, you might as well cook some for me.’
I made some coffee and dished the bacon and eggs on to two plates and we took them into the drawing-room.
‘How long have you been married?’ I asked.
‘About two years. It seems ages longer.’ She turned her headlight eyes on me. ‘Did you know I was going to marry Pendle before I met Jack?’