‘Damn shame Mulholland isn’t alive,’ he muttered. ‘Never have let a pansy like that in here. Nor would young Ace for that matter. When’s he coming home?’
‘Some time tomorrow,’ I said.
‘About time too. Place has gone to rack and ruin since he left. Best of the bunch, you know. Oh Jack’s got charm, but he can’t really carry his corn, and as for that Pendle, chilly fella; always seems to have given too many pints of blood.’
I knew I ought to defend Pendle, but the Admiral seemed about to have a coronary over Copeland as it was.
‘Never have allowed a pansy like that in here,’ he muttered again.
‘He’s writing a book about Africa,’ I said.
‘Never bin there. Don’t want to. Full of blackamores. Can’t trust these writer chappies. Just read a biography of Monty. Fella made out he was a homo, damned cheek.’
I tried to distract him with small talk, but it was like trying to amuse a dog tied up outside the supermarket, waiting for its mistress to come out.
Vatman, his bald patch glistening with sweat now, paused in his fishtails and
‘Where on earth did Rose dig him up?’ she said in a horrified whisper.
I left her and the Admiral to it, and went and stood by Pendle.
‘
‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ said Pendle with a slightly twisted smile.
‘Surprisingly, yes,’ I said. Oh
Vatman, who was really getting uncorked now, was trying to cut in on Copeland and Rose.
‘May I personally congratulate the lovely lady of the house on her pate,’ he said, ‘and request the pleasure of a dance?’
‘In a minute, Arnold,’ cried Rose merrily.
Vatman helped himself to more pate, washed down by several other people’s drinks. Pendle and I watched him fascinated. Suddenly there was a gasp of horror behind us. It was Maggie; she had turned green.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Pendle.
‘Do you recognize the pate bowl?’ she said faintly.
‘It’s nearly empty,’ I said.
‘It belongs to Coleridge and Wordsworth. I forgot to put it down for them. Ramsbum’s downed an entire tin of Chappie.’
We all looked at each other in horror, then collapsed in uncontrollable giggles.
‘I’d better whisk it away,’ said Maggie, wiping her eyes, ‘before Ramsbum starts lifting his leg.’
‘Gimme gimme what I cry for,’ sang Professor Copeland in a pleasant baritone, foxtrotting past with Rose.
‘You know you’ve got the kind of kisses that I’d die for,’ sang Rose, smiling up at him.
The Admiral went purple.
God, the poor Admiral, I thought. It’s all too much like follow-my-leader. The absent Linn after Copeland, the Admiral after Rose, Jack after me, me after Pendle, Pendle, I dreaded, after Maggie, and Maggie, I imagined, after Ace when he arrived.
I’d had too much to drink. ‘Everyone’s in love with the wrong people in this house,’ I said to Pendle.
He looked at me sharply. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
But before I had time to answer, Jack came over and asked me to dance. I wasn’t very steady on my feet, but as it was old-fashioned music I was entitled to cling on to him.
‘Did you have a meaningful duologue with the Professor?’ he asked.
‘He’s ghastly,’ I said. ‘The Admiral think’s he’s a pouf. Do you?’
‘No, dear,’ said Jack, putting on a camp voice, ‘but he helps out if they’re busy.’
It wasn’t all that funny, but I fell about laughing. Jack’s arms tightened round me. ‘Christ, you’re pretty.’
When the record ended, Maggie got up and put on a Rod Stewart record.
And then she started to dance by herself. The way she slid into the rhythm was unbelievable — jungle, sensual. I quickly looked at Pendle, but his face was turned towards her. He was incredibly still.
‘Come on, Pen,’ she said softly. ‘Come and dance with me.’
In one fluid movement, he got up. He’d never danced with me, but with Maggie he was inspired. I’ve never seen anything so provocative as the way they moved their hips. Pendle’s face was completely deadpan. Undulating there, he looked once again as pale and slim and dangerous as a cobra. I was reminded of the way he had behaved in court.
The rest of us were mesmerized. Only Rose and Copeland continued to resolve noisily in one corner.
Jack lit a cigarette and handed it to me, and then lit one for himself. ‘I’m afraid we’ve just witnessed a chemical reaction,’ he said flatly. ‘Come and look at the moon.’ He took my arm and led me into the hall, where Vatman was on the telephone. ‘But Monica I shall be home shortly,’ he was saying, ‘but there is a lot of paperwork to go through.’
Jack took me into the dining-room. He didn’t bother to switch on the light. There was no moon outside. It was hidden by pale, luminous clouds scurrying across the sky. The rain had stopped, and the lake gleamed white in the valley.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Jack. ‘I love this place, even if it is falling to pieces. Maggie hates it. I often feel if I packed in the works and got a job in London, she’d be happier.’
‘She’s very beautiful,’ I said dully.
‘Pendle’s just wanted her for a long time.’ At last it was out in the open. I stood very still.
‘But she doesn’t want him?’
‘Doesn’t she?’ Jack drew on his cigarette, ‘I don’t know. She certainly wants him to go on wanting her, which comes to the same thing. He ought to live with her for six months; that would cure him.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ I said miserably. ‘Why did he bring me up here?’
‘I guess he heard rumours that Maggie and I were having trouble — probably from my mother, who loves stirring things. He knows my weakness for redheads, particularly beautiful ones, and brought you up here as bait. The one thing that drives Maggie mad is my chasing after other women.’
‘Then you think Pendle doesn’t give a damn for me?’ I tried to stop my voice trembling.
‘I think you’ve been dealt a marked card, darling. Whether he likes you or not is immaterial. The only thing he wants is to get Maggie back and he’s waited a long time to get her. Beneath that rock-hard exterior there’s a heart of stone.’ Oh dear, he might have been Rodney talking. ‘I’m telling you this because I like you — very much — and I want you to get out before you get in too deep.’
I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks at the futility of the last few months.
‘I’ve made you cry. I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m sorry for you, too. Can I borrow your handkerchief please?’ It was silk and smelt of expensive aftershave. I blew my nose noisily.
‘I got it all wrong,’ I said. ‘I thought he was serious because he didn’t make a pass at me. People usually do, you see.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Jack, and took me very gently in his arms.
It’s strange how unhappiness sparks off a mood of frantic sensuality. Jack was just a handsome man, kissing me because I was miserable. But as I felt those powerful shoulders and the thick hair beneath my fingers, and breathed in his expensive cologne, he suddenly seemed like a God. I kissed him back as though he were the last man on earth.
‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Wow!’ and he kissed me again. We were so engrossed we never heard the door open. Suddenly we were flooded in light. We swung round blinking. Jack kept his arms round my shoulders. Towering in the doorway, looking faintly amused, was a man I instantly recognized from his photograph as Ace Mulholland.
‘Everyone’s playing General Post as usual,’ he said. ‘Now I really know I’m home.’ Jack gave a shout of delight and bounded forward.
‘Ace! My God! How marvellous. We were expecting you tomorrow.’
