‘In fact not, I’m definitely not,’ I said with some relief, and only a little regret at the thought of the glittering occasion I knew I would be missing. It was being held at Mulverton Hall, Sam’s place. Even more reason to waltz in with Luke, a bit of me had thought. I realized I’d felt ridiculously betrayed on discovering he’d been married to Hope. Had wanted to trump him. Why was that? And naturally everyone in the area was keen to go to the ball this year, being held as it was, not in the usual soggy marquee in a field at the kennels with a sticky dance floor and overflowing portaloos, but at the local manor, which no one had been inside for years. Oh yes, even the most fervent anti-blood-sport types would be there: never underestimate the snoop factor. There was talk of a vast black and white hall with a gallery and sweeping staircase – Mrs Briggs knew someone who cleaned – and there Sam would be, at the foot of it, handsome in black tie, with Chad and Hope too. The three of them in an eternal triangle. I wondered how much Hope enjoyed that? Sam shooting her haunted looks? No, that was uncharitable. I didn’t know the woman. It probably tore her apart. Not as much as it did Sam, though. I gave myself a little inward shake. Other people’s lives. Get on with your own, Poppy.
‘I take it you’re not going either?’ I asked Peggy, wrapping my dressing gown firmly round my legs. It wasn’t really her thing. Peggy had an aversion to establishment socials, preferring instead her usual corner at the Rose and Crown, where she played backgammon with her cronies.
‘Yes, I thought I would, actually. Tom was sent a double ticket. I might go with him.’
I was astonished. ‘Really? Golly. Square it with Angie first, don’t you think?’
‘No, I didn’t think I would,’ she said calmly, draining her glass. ‘Tom quite wants the surprise element.’
‘Right,’ I said, boggling. Quite bold of Tom to show his face, and even more bold of Peggy to accompany him. ‘That’s very much Angie’s fiefdom,’ I told her nervously. ‘She’ll be queen bee, top table.’
Peggy shrugged. ‘As Tom was for years. And all his friends will be there and he hasn’t seen them for ages. His girls will be going too, don’t forget. They’d love to see him. I’ve talked to Clarissa about it.’
‘Have you? Isn’t she away at school?’
‘Yes, but I’ve got her mobile number. She thinks it’s a good idea.’ She gave me a steady, impenetrable look I couldn’t fathom. ‘Anyway, we’ll see. Haven’t decided yet. Night, Poppy.’ She got briskly to her feet and blew me a kiss. Peggy didn’t do embraces. Didn’t go in for much bodily contact at all, come to think of it. ‘And well done you.’ She smiled down at me. ‘Good decision. Cleaning that oven.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Peggy left the same way she’d arrived, via the back door. I got to my feet and stood in the open doorway, watching her go down the garden path, from where she’d disappear through the gate, then into the field and around to the front. Suddenly it occurred to me that she might not have run into Tom in town. She might have arranged to meet him, to talk to him. Persuade him to come to the ball, knowing he’d been sent a ticket. For Angie’s sake. She might, in fact, be working some sort of magic. Now that Tatiana had gone, and now that Angie appeared to be softening slightly, was less bitter. Now that both husband and wife had had time apart to think, she might be judging the time was right. Because Peggy was like that. A good judge. Or … was I endowing her with powers she didn’t have? Perceptions that were beyond her? I didn’t think so somehow. Odd, wasn’t it, how some people had that sage-like quality. Did it come with age, I wondered? Or had it always been there? As Peggy’s mauve velvet coat disappeared in a flurry through the garden gate it reminded me of something. I couldn’t think what. Ah yes, an illustration in one of Clemmie’s books. Merlin.
I stood in the open doorway a long time after she’d gone. The ewes grazed quietly now without Shameless, and I loved the way the enormous chestnut tree spread its boughs over them. In summer the huge dark leaves hung like a protective swirling skirt and although they were almost bare now, the branches still seemed to offer shelter. The late climbing rose by the door brushed my cheek, its scent redolent of warmer days, and drizzle dampened my face. In the certain knowledge that my fringe was beyond redemption, I let it fall: let it frizz. I realized, with a start, that I was quite content. Was, in fact, relishing being alone. I smiled up at the chestnut tree and was about to go inside when, suddenly, the French windows next door flew open. Frankie shot her head round.
‘Oh, thank God you’re there. I thought I heard you. We need you right now, Poppy. Jennie has gone completely mental. Can I come in?’
Before I could reply she’d leaped the little wall that divided our gardens and nipped inside my kitchen anyway. From her own house I could hear the sound of voices raised in anger. Then an outraged scream, shouting, and the sound of things being thrown. Something smashed against our party wall. I jumped, clutching Frankie’s wrist.
‘Jesus. What’s going on?’
