towel and, for God’s sake, don’t smoke in bed. These old houses burn down very easily. You’d better take my knitting too.’
‘But I can’t knit,’ I protested.
‘That doesn’t matter. Just take it out of its bag from time to time and count a few stitches. It gives the right impression.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ I said nastily. ‘Where did it get you?’
‘The mothers adored me,’ she said airily. ‘It was the sons who went off me.’
Pendle picked me up at the office about five. He was wearing a dark grey sweater, which emphasized his pallor.
‘If we don’t hit heavy traffic,’ he said, putting my luggage in the boot, ‘we should be there by nine.’
He was smoking incessantly and seemed very much on edge. We didn’t talk much, then my tummy started rumbling. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
‘There’s a slab of chocolate in the back,’ he said. I found it and, as Pendle wasn’t hungry, wolfed the lot and then felt sick.
‘Before we get there,’ I said, licking my fingers, ‘can we sort your family out a bit?’
‘Pretty complicated,’ he said, ‘but I’ll try and explain. My father, as you know, is dead, and I’m the eldest. Then there’s my sister Linn, who has emotional problems and works in Manchester, so she probably won’t be there. Then there’s my younger brother Jack. He’s only twenty-eight but he’s already on his second marriage. He used to be a terrible rake, but he’s running the family firm now and seems to have settled down. With Jack you have to take the smooth with the smooth, but you’ll like him. Everyone does.’ There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.
‘What’s his wife like?’ I asked.
‘Maggie? Very young, very spoilt. I don’t think she’s very nice but, like Jack, you can’t help liking her. They’re staying with my mother until their house is built.’
‘So there’ll be your mother, Maggie and Jack,’ I said, ticking them off on my fingers.
‘And, to confuse you further, there might be Ace.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘My step-brother. My father was married before, but his wife died when Ace was a baby.’
‘Poor little boy. Who brought him up?’
‘My father wasn’t the sort to stay a widower long. He married my mother almost immediately, and we were all brought up together.’
‘Is he married too?’
‘Ace? He was — but his wife was killed in a car crash two years ago. She was driving to meet him at the airport. The roads were icy.’
‘Oh, how awful,’ I said.
‘Ghastly. Particularly as she was pregnant. He absolutely worshipped her. We all did. We never thought anyone would be good enough for Ace, but she was.’
Pendle had never sounded so enthusiastic about anyone.
‘What did he do after that?’
‘He was working for
The conversation dwindled. I slept fitfully, and wondered if it would be worth letting my head slip on to Pendle’s shoulder, but thought better of it. As a few stars made a tentative appearance, I speculated about Pendle’s brothers — Jack, the reformed rake whom everyone liked; Ace, whom no one was good enough to marry.
A slim white moon slipped between the stars. We were now driving over cobbled streets. When we stopped for petrol, a blast of icy wind came through the door.
‘Not far now,’ said Pendle. ‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ The hills began to grow into mountains. I’ve always been frightened by mountains, and I suddenly shivered as I wondered what I really knew about the silent, withdrawn man beside me. I put on some scent to give me confidence. Beside the road, there was a gleam of silver.
‘That’s Grasmere,’ he said. A few minutes later, he swung off the road up a winding drive.
The headlights showed heavy undergrowth, and brambles hanging in festoons on either side.
‘Here we are,’ he said, hooting his horn.
I could only see that the house was large and hung with creepers. As we opened the car doors a black labrador and a large English setter came bounding out, wagging their tails and barking amiably. The front door opened and we were flooded in a stream of light. I was quaking with nerves as I saw an old woman standing in the doorway. She had an apron on. Pendle’s mother. I walked forward smiling.
‘Hello, Mr Pendle,’ she wheezed. Obviously
‘Hello, Mrs Braddock,’ said Pendle.
‘It’s good to see you back, after so long. Come into the warm.’
Mrs Mulholland must be a cold customer, I thought, not to come rushing out to welcome him. I knew what my mother was like whenever I came home. I followed Mrs Braddock into the hall, which was huge and baronial and covered in faded crimson wallpaper.
‘I’ll just help Mr Pendle with the cases,’ she said.
A moment later, Pendle followed me. He looked furious — a muscle was twitching in his cheek.
‘I’m afraid my family aren’t here. They’ve gone to a party in Ambleside. So we’d better eat now. I’ll show you your room. I expect you’d like a wash.’
I’d been so steamed up to meet his mother, it was a terrible anti-climax. I followed him upstairs, along a dark, winding passage to my room.
‘I’m sorry. It’s frightfully cold in here,’ he said, drawing the curtains and turning up the central heating. If only he had taken me in his arms then and there everything might have been all right.
‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘I’ll just clean up and come down.’
On closer inspection, I found it wasn’t at all lovely. None of the drawers had been cleaned out: there was only one broken coat-hanger — and even I, who never noticed dust, couldn’t miss the thick coating on the dressing table. I couldn’t imagine my mother having anyone to stay and not giving them flowers. The only compensation was the large double bed. I was strangely chilled by that room. However I re-did my face and calmed my wild curls abit.
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.
