her eye on so many men in her time, I’m surprised she hasn’t developed the most awful squint. Everyone’s laying bets whether Cory’ll divorce her or not.’
‘I think I’d better go and look after the baby,’ said Harriet, feeling suddenly that she shouldn’t be discussing her employer.
‘Don’t go,’ said Kit. ‘Are you as sexy as your voice is? What do you look like?’
‘Scrawny and sallow-skinned,’ said Harriet.
‘Just my type,’ said Kit. ‘I’ve a portrait to paint up North next month. I’ll come over and case the joint. Don’t go shacking up with any of the local gentry before I arrive.’
Bitter, bitter, sweet, thought Harriet afterwards. Bitter because, in his gaiety, panache and directness of approach, he reminded her so much of Simon; sweet because, even over the telephone, it was nice to be chatted up once more.
Later still that night, Ambrose the cat decided to have her kittens at the bottom of the huge four-poster quadruple bed in Cory and Noel’s bedroom. At six o’clock in the morning, having finally installed her, tired but contented, in clean straw in the kitchen with five kittens, Harriet finally fell into bed.
It seemed only a few minutes later that she was woken up by Chattie’s voice telling her very smugly it was half past nine.
‘Oh, my god!’ said Harriet, leaping out of bed. ‘And it would be Mrs Bottomley’s day off.’
Frenziedly pulling on her clothes, not even bothering to wash, she rushed downstairs, fed Chattie and Jonah bread and marmalade, packed Jonah’s suitcase for the week, put William bawling and unfed into the car in his carry cot, and set off to drop the children at school.
It had frozen the night before and the road was like a skating rink. Harriet tried hard to concentrate on driving, but was distracted by Jonah fiddling with the door handle. The next moment, his hand slipped and the door swung open, nearly taking him with it. Narrowly missing an oncoming car, Harriet pulled him back, locked the door and gave him a ringing slap on his bare leg.
‘Don’t ever do that again!’ she shouted.
Jonah said nothing, gazing in front of him, colour slowly draining out of his cheeks, as the red finger marks grew on his thigh.
Chattie, of course, was delighted. ‘Naughty, naughty Jonah,’ she chanted.
‘Shut up, Chattie!’ snapped Harriet, turning the car into Jonah’s school gates.
Jonah grabbed his small suitcase and jumped out of the car.
‘Goodbye, darling,’ said Harriet her anger evaporating. ‘Pick you up on Friday evening.’
Jonah was white with rage.
‘Don’t call me darling!’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘I hate you! I
On the verge of tears, Harriet dropped Chattie off at her school. William was bellowing his lungs out with hunger all the way home.
‘William! Please!’ she said, her voice rising in desperation. ‘It won’t be long.’
While she was heating up milk for a bottle she very hurriedly washed some of William’s clothes and put them into the spin dryer.
Suddenly the telephone rang. William redoubled his howls. At the same moment, the milk boiled over and as she rushed to retrieve it, she realized she’d forgotten to put a bucket underneath the spin dryer.
‘Oh, my God!’ she screamed hysterically, as soapy water belched forth round her feet. ‘Oh, shut up! Shut up, William!’
‘You appear to be in some difficulty,’ said a dry voice behind her. Aghast, she swung round. Standing in the doorway stood Cory Erskine.
His reactions were incredibly quick. In a second, as Harriet gaped at him, he had turned off the spin dryer and removed the milk from the boil.
‘There’s enough milk left for one bottle,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the telephone.’
Oh, God, thought Harriet wretchedly, I’ve really done it now. He couldn’t have come back at a worse moment!
‘It’s Jonah ringing,’ said Cory. ‘He wants you.’
‘Where’s he ringing from?’
‘From a call box. Take it upstairs. When he’s through, tell him it might be diplomatic if he went back to school. Give the baby to me. I’ll feed him.’
Jonah had rung up to apologize. His voice sounded high and strained. ‘I just rang to say I don’t want you to go away. I won’t complain to my father about you, and I’m s-sorry, Harriet.’
She felt a great lump in her throat.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely of you to ring. I’m sorry, too.’
Returning to the kitchen, she found William had fallen asleep halfway through his bottle, his mouth open, his long lashes sweeping down over his cheeks.
‘He’s a beautiful child,’ said Cory, handing him back to her. ‘What was Jonah on about?’
‘We had a row this morning. He was apologizing.’
Cory grunted. ‘That child’s got far better manners than either of his parents. Wonder where he gets them from. How’s Chattie?’
‘Fine, in tearing spirits. I’m so sorry you had such an awful homecoming,’ said Harriet. ‘I’m afraid we all overslept, and things got a bit chaotic. Would you like some breakfast?’
Cory shook his head. ‘I’m going to follow William’s example and get some sleep. I’ve been driving all night.’
He looked absolutely played out — deathly pale, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot and heavily shadowed.
An appalling thought struck Harriet. ‘Oh, you can’t go to bed yet. Ambrose had her kittens last night in your bed and I haven’t changed the sheets!’
He must loathe coming back here, she thought, as she made up the huge double bed in the room he had once shared with Noel Balfour. It was such an ultra-feminine room. Everything stagily erotic — the thick, white carpets, the rose-strewn wallpaper, the huge canopied four-poster, the pink frills frothing round the dressing table — must remind him so poignantly of her.
But if Cory minded, he gave no indication. ‘It’s going to snow,’ he said, gazing out of the window.
As Harriet put on the pillow cases, pink from her exertions, she realized he was watching her, and was suddenly conscious that she hadn’t even had time to wash her face that morning, and was wearing an old red sweater, drastically shrunk in the wash.
‘You look better,’ he said. ‘You’ve put on weight.’
‘Mrs Bottomley keeps feeding me up on suet puddings,’ said Harriet, blushing.
Cory surfaced about seven, and came into the kitchen, Chattie hanging on one hand, a large glass of whisky in the other. Chattie was also clutching a six-foot tiger balloon.
‘Look what Daddy brought me,’ she said. She turned to Cory. ‘Harriet overslept this morning and made me late for band, so I had to play the triangle instead of the tangerine.’
‘Tambourine,’ said Cory. ‘And don’t sneak.’
Chattie ran to the window.
‘Look how deep the snow is! Can’t I stay up for supper?’
‘No,’ said Cory. ‘You can show me Ambrose’s kittens, and then you’re going to bed.’
‘How are you getting on at school?’ he went on. ‘Have you got a best friend yet?’
‘Everyone wants to be my best friend,’ said Chattie. ‘But they’ve got to learn to share me.’
At that moment Mrs Bottomley walked in from her day off, weighed down with carrier bags, her maroon wool coat and felt hat trimmed with a bird’s body covered in snowflakes.
‘Mr Cory,’ she squawked. ‘You ’ave given me a turn; you should ’ave warned us. If I’d known, I’d ’ave opened up the front room. Still it’s
And he really was nice to
‘Mustn’t grumble,’ said Mrs Bottomley. ‘Having Harriet here’s made a difference. Saves me a lot of work, ’aving a young pair of legs running about the house.’
