Chapter Four
We were sitting in bed one afternoon after one of those heavy French lunches, when suddenly there was a pounding on the door.
‘Who the hell’s that?’ I asked.
‘A chambermaid gone berserk and unable to contain herself,’ said Rory, and shouted something very impolite in French.
The pounding went on.
‘Perhaps it’s the flics,’ said Rory, getting out of bed and putting on his trousers. Through a haze of alcohol, I looked at his tousled black hair and broad brown shoulders.
Swearing, he unlocked the door. A beautiful woman stood there.
‘Cherie,’ she cried ecstatically. ‘Bebe, I knew you were ’ere. The man on the desk was so discreet. He refuse to admit it.’ And flinging her arms round Rory’s neck, she kissed him on both cheeks.
‘I think you are ver’ unkind,’ she went on reproachfully in a strong French accent, ‘sloping off and getting married without a word to anyone. I mean, think of the wedding presents you missed.’
Rory looked half exasperated, half amused.
‘I’m afraid this is my mother,’ he said.
‘Oh gosh,’ I squeaked. ‘How fright… I mean, how lovely. How do you do?’
It was a fine way to meet one’s mother-in-law for the first time; sitting up in bed, wearing nothing but a crumpled sheet and a bright smile.
‘This is Emily,’ said Rory.
Rory’s mother rushed across the room and hugged me.
‘But you are so pretty,’ she said. ‘This pleases me very much. I keep telling Rory to find a nice wife and settle down. I know you will make ’im ’appy, and he will start behaving beautifully.’
‘I’ll try,’ I faltered.
She was stunning looking — lush, opulent, exotic, with huge dark blue eyes, hair dyed the most terrific shade of strawberry blonde, the most marvellous legs and lots of jewellery. It was easy to see from where Rory got his traffic-stopping looks.
One of her eyelids was made up with brilliant violet eyeshadow, the other smeared with emerald green.
‘I have just been to Dior for a fitting. I tried out their new make-up, it’s a very pretty shade of green, no?’
‘Where’s Buster?’ asked Rory.
‘Coming later,’ she said. ‘He’s having a drink with some friends.’
‘He’s lying,’ said Rory. ‘He couldn’t possibly have a friend.’
Rory’s mother giggled. ‘Now, cherie, you must not be naughty. Buster is my second ’usband,’ she explained to me. ‘Rory’s father, Hector, was my first.
‘When I marry Buster, Rory say to me, “You’re getting better at choosing husbands, maman, but not much.”’
Rory’s mother suddenly gave a shriek. ‘Ah!
Rory looked at her with intense irritation, then he laughed, picked up the telephone and gabbled away in French.
‘Ask ’im to send up some champagne,’ said Rory’s mother. ‘At least two bottles, I want to drink my new daughter-in-law’s health. You must call me Coco,’ she said.
I caught Rory’s eye and tried not to giggle. Everything was getting out of hand.
Later, when the champagne arrived, Rory said, ‘Why have you run out of money? Pa didn’t leave you badly off.’
‘Of course he didn’t, darling, it was just that we had to have central heating for the castle, or we’d have frozen to death.’
‘And a sauna bath, and a flagellation room?’ said Rory.
‘Of course, darling, Buster ’as been used to the best, and he’s been shooting four or five times a week and that all adds up. Everything’s in such a muddle, we can’t decide whether we want to spend the winter in Irasa.’ She turned to me. ‘I hope you’re going to like our island, cherie, those Highland winters can be very terrible, and it’s so boring seeing the same old people all the time, and all those sheep. That’s what Buster’s seeing his friend about.’
‘What?’ said Rory.
‘Buying this aeroplane. He thinks he can get it cheap. Then we can all escape to London, or Paris, or the Riviera when we feel like it.’
Rory raised his eyes to heaven.
‘He does need it, darling,’ said Coco, almost pleadingly.
‘Who told you we were here?’
‘Marina did. She telephoned me in Cannes to tell me the news.’
‘The bitch,’ said Rory.
‘Who’s Marina?’ I asked.
‘Marina Maclean,’ said Coco. ‘At least, she was. Now she’s Marina Buchanan. She’s just married Hamish Buchanan, who’s very rich and more than twice her age. She lives on the island too. I saw her just before we left, Rory. She didn’t look very happy. Sort of feverish; she’s spending a fortune on clothes and jewellery.’
‘That’s what comes of trying to marry one’s grandfather,’ said Rory unemotionally.
‘Hamish looks terrible too,’ said Coco. ‘He’s suddenly gone all hip, growing his hair, not eating meat, and dancing in the modern way — trying to keep up with Marina, I suppose. He looks twenty years older. Oh well, it’s no use wasting sympathy on Marina. She’s made her bed.’
‘And now she’s about to lie in someone else’s,’ said Rory.
‘Oh, look, here comes Buster.’
‘I should like to get dressed,’ I said plaintively.
‘Oh, nobody dresses for Buster,’ said Rory.
Buster Macpherson, when he arrived, turned out to be the kind of man my mother would have gone mad for. He had well-brushed blond hair and blue eyes that let out a perpetual sparkle. He looked like the hero in a boy’s comic. He showed a lot of film-star teeth.
He was absolutely not my type. He had none of Rory’s explosive feline grace, but he obviously exerted considerable fascination over Coco who, although she didn’t look a day over thirty-five, must have been nearing fifty, and a good ten years older than Buster.
‘Congratulations, you chaps,’ said Buster. He peered through the gloom at me under my sheet.
‘May I kiss the bride?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Rory. ‘You’d better watch Buster, he’s going through the change of life.’
Buster shot him an unfriendly look, helped himself to a large glass of champagne and sat down.
‘Ah, honeymoons, honeymoons,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Did you buy that aeroplane?’ asked Rory.
‘I think so,’ said Buster.
Coco gave a crow of delight.
‘Where are you going to land it?’ asked Rory. ‘In the High Street?’
‘No,’ said Coco. ‘We’ve got a little runway on the island now. I knew I had something to tell you, darling, Finn Maclean is back.’
Rory’s eyes narrowed.
‘The hell he is. What’s he poking his nose into now?’
‘He’s thrown up his smart Harley Street practice and come back to Irasa as Medical Officer overseeing all the islands,’ said Buster. ‘He’s persuaded the Scottish Medical Board to build him a cottage hospital in the old church
