The Complete Pratt (152 page)

Cousin Hilda looked embarrassed, even coy.

‘I thought I might try a glass of champagne,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wondered what it’s like.’

Henry looked at her in astonishment.

‘Tha’s given me some worries, Henry Pratt,’ she said. ‘Tha’s done some right foolish things.’ She sniffed. ‘Today tha’s not doing a foolish thing.’ She went pink. ‘I always said it. I said it to poor Mr O’Reilly. “Henry and Hilary go together like two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” “Oh, you’re right there,” he said. I can’t do the accent.
“You’re
not wrong there.”’ Cousin Hilda went
very
pink and raised her glass. ‘I believe the word is “Cheers”.’ She took a cautious sip of her champagne, rolled it round her tongue, swallowed it, and nodded. ‘Well, I don’t know what all the fuss is about, to say it’s supposed to be so special,’ she said, ‘but I’d not say it were unpalatable.’

Howard Lewthwaite joined them and said, ‘Oh, Henry. If only you two hadn’t wasted so many years.’

‘I can’t look at it like that,’ said Henry. ‘I love your daughter dearly, and this time I will make her happy, but Diana was a lovely person and I can’t call that a waste of time. Do you know Cousin Hilda? Cousin Hilda, Howard Lewthwaite, Hilary’s father.’

‘How do you do? Nice to meet you,’ said Howard Lewthwaite.

‘We met last time your daughter married my … married Henry,’ said Cousin Hilda.

Henry moved on, making a beeline for Nigel Clinton, who was now managing director of a relatively new publishing house, Clinton and Burngreave.

‘I think she’ll start writing again before long,’ he said.

‘Do you really want that?’ said Nigel Clinton, who’d lost most of his hair, thus looking more intellectual but less handsome.

‘Oh yes,’ said Henry. ‘I want the complete Hilary Pratt this time.’

He moved on and took Hilary’s arm, and they moved through the crowd at the bar of the flock-wallpapered provincial restaurant like royalty at a garden party.

‘Where are you going to live?’ asked Ben Watkinson’s wife Cynthia, who had once been shy and petite.

‘We’ve bought a little terrace house in the best part of Rawlaston,’ said Henry.

‘I didn’t know there
was
a best part of Rawlaston,’ said Cynthia.

‘How many tennis players of either sex have won all four grand slams in a calendar year?’ asked Ben.

‘Do shut up, Ben,’ said Cynthia.

‘Where are you going for your second honeymoon?’ asked Ginny Fenwick, blushing.

‘Even at purely social events it’s the press asking all the questions,’ said Henry.

‘Force of habit,’ said Ben Watkinson.

‘Genuine interest,’ said Ginny.

‘Answer the question,’ said Colin Edgeley. ‘Where
is
the bonking marathon to be held?’

‘Colin!’ said Glenda, who looked pale and exhausted.

‘Please, Colin!’ said Henry, looking at Hilary anxiously.

‘We aren’t going anywhere,’ said Hilary. ‘We’re going home. My father’s going on our honeymoon.’

The journalists gawped.

‘We’re so excited about setting up home again,’ said Hilary. ‘We can’t afford much, but to us it’s a palace, because it’s ours. Daddy’s coming to live with us, but we’d like to be on our own at first, so he’s going to Majorca for a fortnight. He’s tickled pink, and we’ll have a lovely fortnight on our own.’

‘Bonking like rabbits,’ said Jack, passing by.

Jack could get away with such things. Nobody ever took offence at Jack. Henry and Hilary grinned, and Hilary said, ‘Well, I can hope,’ and Henry said, ‘I’m not a young man any more,’ in a mock-elderly voice, and as they walked on Henry looked at Hilary with such love that he thought for an awful moment that he was going to faint as he’d fainted on seeing Kate for the first time, and Kate, almost twenty-six now, passionately radical, with no make-up and a long shapeless sack of a dress but lovely because it suited her, said, ‘I’m
so
happy for you both. This is the best day of my life,’ and Camilla nodded her agreement with tears in her eyes, and Giuseppe said, ‘She weeping a little bit. She mostly a wonderful girl,’ and Camilla laughed and said, ‘I hope you mean, “She’s a most wonderful girl”,’ and Giuseppe laughed and said, ‘Oh yes. I am magnified by my mistake,’ and Camilla said, ‘mortified,’ and Giuseppe said, ‘Oh yes,’ and laughed again.

Count Your Blessings announced that luncheon was ready, and they all took their places at the long table under the huge lurid photograph of the eponymous edifice.

Count Your Blessings had told Henry that there would be
magnificent
food, ‘not from the menu. Menu is standard Indian restaurant. Real Indian food.’ There were chats and doshis and all kinds of bhagia, and spicy dumplings and whole marinated trout and quail, and beautiful stuffed marrow and delicately stuffed ladies’ fingers and banana methi and coconut rice and lemon rice and lovely breads. Cousin Hilda tried the food cautiously, and said, ‘Well, it’s not tasteless. I’ll give it that.’ Kate’s boyfriend Adam ate with his fingers. ‘I hope nobody minds,’ he said, ‘but I like to eat as the common people do.’ None of them minded, but the waiters giggled.

Howard Lewthwaite, sitting beside Henry, turned to him and said, ‘I asked Hilda out.’

‘You did what??’

‘For a meal. For companionship. I said to her, “Just for companionship. No hanky panky.” She went pink and said, “Mr Lewthwaite! I should hope there wouldn’t be.” I said, “Well, come on, then,” and she said something strange. She said, “Mr Lewthwaite, you’re fifty years too late.”’

‘That isn’t strange,’ said Henry. ‘That’s poignant.’

Henry and Hilary kept touching each other under the table, wine and beer and lassi flowed, and it was all the most tremendous success.

Peter Matheson leant across and said, ‘Is it really true you’re working as a waiter, Henry?’

‘Yes, Peter,’ said Henry. ‘At the Post House.’

‘Good God!’

‘And proud of it. An honourable profession. Only the British think it’s demeaning to wait on your fellow men.’

‘Really hard work, though, badly paid and rarely appreciated,’ said Joe Enwright.

‘Rather like teaching,’ said Henry.

‘Touché,’ said Joe Enwright with feeling.

‘I tried going back to the market garden,’ said Henry. ‘I just couldn’t face it.’

‘Have some raita. It’s delicious,’ said Nigel Clinton.

‘I can’t even eat them,’ said Henry. ‘Forty-nine years old,
receding
hair line, expanding stomach line, doesn’t know anything except cucumbers, absolutely fed up with cucumbers, Hilary’s got herself a real prize catch.’

‘I think I have,’ said Hilary lovingly.

‘I wonder how much these people send back to India,’ said Martin Hammond.

‘Lots,’ said Howard Lewthwaite. ‘They’re wonderfully non-materialistic.’

‘Unlike the Thurmarsh Socialists,’ said Peter Matheson.

‘Oh shut up about politics, Peter,’ said Olivia.

Henry stood up.

Silence fell slowly.

‘This is not a formal wedding,’ he said. ‘We aren’t having speeches.’

‘Hooray!’ shouted Jack.

‘But I would like to call on my best man, Martin Hammond, who I believe has some telegrams.’

Martin Hammond stood up.

‘I know you’re supposed to make jokes at weddings,’ he said, ‘but I can’t make jokes, so I won’t.’

‘Hooray!’ shouted Jack.

‘Henry and I met when we were four. We joined the Paradise Lane Gang. We thought we were right little tearaways too. Tearaways? We were boy scouts compared to today’s lot. Law and order? Now there is a joke. Oops, sorry, I promised not to be political.’

‘Quite right, too,’ said Peter Matheson.

‘Shut up, Peter,’ hissed Olivia Matheson.

‘We had our well-publicised disagreements over the 1979 election,’ continued Martin. ‘But it was all taken in good part, and we remained friends, as witnessed by my having the honour to be best man today. Politicians always speak too much …’

‘Hear hear,’ said Olivia Matheson.

‘Shut up, Olivia,’ hissed Peter Matheson.

‘So I’ll get straight on with my main job, the reading of the
telegrams
,’ continued Martin. ‘This one’s from Switzerland: “We wish you happiness for the rest of your days – Diana and Gunter.”’

There was a murmur of approval. Camilla’s eyes filled with tears and Giuseppe held her hand.

‘That is very nice,’ said Martin. ‘An ex-wife saying that. That is highly delightful. The next one is from Suffolk: “We wish we were with you – Auntie Doris and Uncle Miles.” That’s nice. And one from London: “Many congratulations – James and Celia.”’

‘Diana’s parents. Very nice,’ said Henry.

‘Oh, and here’s one from Thurmarsh,’ said Martin Hammond. ‘“Congratulations. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do. That leaves you quite a lot – Ted and Helen.”’

Ginny Fenwick gave a loud derisive snort, and everyone looked at her, and she blushed.

‘Ah!’ said Martin. ‘Now this is definitely a case of last, but not least, because this one has come all the way from Peru.’

‘It’ll be from our daughter,’ said Olivia Matheson. ‘She’s a nun.’

‘Let the man speak, dear,’ said Peter Matheson.

‘I’m sorry to have to disappoint you,’ said Martin, ‘but somehow I don’t think this one’s from a nun. It says, “Get stuck in – Anna.”’

There was laughter. Cousin Hilda frowned. Olivia Matheson looked embarrassed. Peter Matheson gave a smile so fixed that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

‘That concludes the telegrams,’ said Martin. He sat down, and there was applause.

Henry stood up.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I find I must say a few words. First, a huge thank-you to the staff of the Taj Mahal for the wonderful food and service.’

Everybody clapped and cheered. Count Your Blessings couldn’t have smiled more widely if Petula Clark herself had walked in.

‘In a minute I’m going to propose just one toast,’ said Henry. ‘To absent friends. Before I do, I’d like to mention four absent friends briefly. My Auntie Doris, who can’t be here due to illness, and her companion, Miles Cricklewood, who can’t be here because he’s looking after Auntie Doris. I’ve known them both all my … well,
I
’ve known Auntie Doris all my life and Miles ever since he came on the scene. I do wish they could have been here. Also, our friend Anna Matheson, who is a nun in Peru – yes, that telegram was from her and as you’ll have gathered she’s no ordinary nun, she’s a worker nun, a nun of the world. Last, but definitely not least, my step-son, Benedict. He’s an unhappy soul, a lost soul. I just wish he’d come back and give us another chance. We might not fail him so badly next time. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming, and I give you the toast of “absent friends”.’

They all said ‘absent friends’ fervently, and then they drank, and then they applauded Henry heartily.

Soon the guests began to leave.

First to go was Howard Lewthwaite. He had to catch the plane for his honeymoon. He left to a chorus of good wishes.

Next were Sam and Greta. ‘Lovely do. Hope you’re incredibly happy,’ said Sam. ‘Sorry to rush off, but I’ve an idea and I’ve got to work on it.’ ‘He’s always like this when he feels a soup coming on,’ said Greta in her charming Danish accent.

Lampo and Denzil kissed Hilary but, in deference to being in Yorkshire, they only shook hands with Henry. Denzil said, ‘This is a great day. Lampo cried,’ and Lampo said, ‘You cried too,’ and Denzil said, ‘I’m allowed to be sentimental. I’m old,’ and Lampo said, ‘You are, aren’t you? What am I doing living with a disgusting old man?’ Henry smiled. He’d suddenly realised that there had never been the slightest risk that Lampo and Denzil, for all their quarrelling, would ever split up.

Ginny kissed Henry and Hilary and blushed, Joe and Molly Enwright invited them to dinner, Colin Edgeley said, ‘Keep in touch, kid. You’re my mate,’ Paul said, ‘Don’t forget we have the secret of eternal youth,’ Nigel Clinton said, ‘Get her writing,’ Cousin Hilda said, ‘If my gentlemen could see me today! Indian food! Whatever next? Thank you, and I wish you so much happiness this time,’ and they gazed at her in astonishment; Jack said, ‘I’m very pissed. Sorry. But I’m right chuffed. It’s grand to have you two together again’; Olivia Matheson stumbled and fell, and Peter Matheson said, ‘She’s never ever done that before’;
Giuseppe
said, ‘You very happy, I make your step-daughter very delirious’; and Kate just shook her head and cried.

Last to leave were Ben Watkinson and Cynthia. Ben had never known how to leave a room except by saying, ‘Well, I’m off to give the wife one.’ He couldn’t say that when she was there, so it was Cynthia who said, ‘Come on, Ben. We’re outstaying our welcome,’ at which neither Henry nor Hilary demurred.

The happy couple got into their hired car and were driven to their new home.

The house wasn’t large, it wasn’t luxurious, it wasn’t beautiful, but it was theirs, and they had a lovely, gentle fortnight, getting to remember each other’s rhythms, exploring each other’s bodies, finding happiness. Howard, meanwhile, enjoyed their honeymoon, the concept of which had really amused him, and he sent a card saying, ‘You’re having a wonderful time. Wish I was here.’