Ace came in with a glass.
I gulped it down, then choked.
‘You’ve poisoned me,’ I croaked.
For a second I thought I was going to explode. Then suddenly it was a horror film in reverse. The terrified creature being torn apart by Dracula’s teeth was transformed into the radiant bride again. Suddenly I was all right. I shook my head three times. It didn’t even hurt.
‘Very clever,’ I muttered.
Ace regarded me thoughtfully; then, waiting until Mrs Braddock had stumped off to collect some more glasses, said, ‘Do you always drink as much as this?’
I looked him straight in the eyes. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’ve been corrupted by your family.’
He sighed. ‘I was afraid you had.’
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Still asleep. Before you came down, I discovered a man from the tax office stretched out in the broom cupboard.’
I giggled. ‘He had a heavenly time last night.’
‘Well he wasn’t feeling so hot this morning, but was coherent enough before he left to give me a few details about the financial set-up here. I’ll have to have a session with my step-mother later.’
‘Oh dear. Can’t you wait till tomorrow? I don’t imagine she’ll be quite up to it today. I thought you’d sleep in too.’
‘I haven’t got used to the time yet.’
Coleridge wandered in, gazed at me with lustrous brown eyes, then put a large speckled paw on my knee.
‘If he tells you he hasn’t had a mouthful since yesterday, he’s lying,’ said Ace. ‘I’ve just fed him.’
‘He’s terribly nice,’ I said, scratching him behind the ears. ‘Where’s Wordsworth?’
‘Buggered off somewhere, probably after a bitch in the village.’
‘You haven’t possibly got a cigarette, have you,’ I said. ‘I left mine upstairs.’
‘No,’ said Ace, ‘You’d do better with some fresh air. D’you want to come and look around outside?’
‘All right,’ I said. After all it
Ace got me one of Rose’s old sheepskin coats from behind the door, picked up a large parcel on the dresser and we went out of the back door.
The most radiant morning greeted us. The air was as soft as primroses. The sun had broken through. Everything in the drenched garden sparkled. Deep puddles reflected a sky as blue as the Angel Islington in Monopoly.
We walked through the kitchen garden, past overgrown gooseberry bushes, blue and green cabbages, full of fat rain drops, and ancient fruit trees, the ground beneath them covered with rotting yellow apples that no one had bothered to pick. Along the fence the remnants of former shrubberies were thickly choked with weeds. There was a lovely smell of wet earth and mouldering vegetation. A robin perched on a spade, thrusting out its orange breast in the sunshine.
At the top of the garden, we went through a rusty iron gate into open fields. At the end of the fields, beyond a belt of dark pine trees, a huge mountain reared up, covered in rocks, khaki grass, and bracken so red it looked as though it had been dipped in henna. Coleridge charged on ahead, snorting down rabbit holes, his plumy tail going all the time. It was very quiet; all you could hear was the occasional mournful bleat of a sheep, and the full roar of hundreds of little becks coming off the mountain.
‘How much of the land is yours?’ I said.
‘About twenty thousand acres,’ said Ace. ‘Most of it is let to local farmers. It stretches to beyond the village over there.’
He pointed to a clump of little grey houses in the distance. The smoke was going straight up from the chimneys, the sun caught the gold lichened roofs, and the blue dress of a woman who was hanging out washing.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ I breathed. ‘Aren’t you glad to be back?’
‘Not sure yet. Haven’t been here long enough.’
Suddenly I decided I rather liked him. Then he started grilling me, and I decided I didn’t. It was just like being interviewed for a job. How long had I known Pendle? Where did my family live? What did my father do? How many brothers and sisters had I got? Why hadn’t I gone to university? How long had I been in my present job?
‘Two years,’ I said defiantly — that should show him I’d got staying power. ‘If you’ve got a good job, you hang on to it at the moment. Everyone’s nervous. The advertisers are still pulling back. The bosses spend more time worrying about cashflow than producing ads.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I work for the creative director — and doesn’t he create sometimes!’
Ace was like Pendle, he didn’t laugh at my jokes either. In need of light relief I kicked a toadstool, and then did a handstand. Coleridge had reached a little stream, and was splashing up it, snapping at the waterfalls.
‘He’s what they call a “watter” dog round here,’ said Ace. ‘When he gets home, he’ll rush upstairs, and dry off in someone’s bed. You’d better keep your door locked.’
I told him about Pendle’s rape case.
‘Yeah, he did well. I got the cuttings in the States.’
Even abroad he kept tabs on them.
Then he started quizzing me about the English political scene, which was totally disastrous. I couldn’t even remember who was Minister of Labour, let alone Shadow Chancellor, and I’d never known what the balance of payments was anyway.
‘I’m not interested in politics,’ I said crossly. ‘They’re always changing. Can’t we have a commercial break? I really don’t care about the State of the Nation at this hour of the morning.’
The dark searching eyes held mine for a minute.
‘Do you ever?’ he said dismissively.
‘Not if I can help it. You should try Professor Copeland if you want serious conversation,’ I snapped, and did a couple of cartwheels, which didn’t do my head any good either.
We had come full circle now. The house was visible over the hill. We passed a thick clump of silver birches, and reached the stables, and whatever state of delapidation the rest of the house had fallen into, you couldn’t fault them. Everything had been newly painted a glossy duck-egg blue, the yard was swept, and the horses in the boxes were in magnificent condition. And one felt that never in the past two years had they ever been anything else. There was also no doubt about the incredulous delight on old Mr Braddock’s face when he saw Ace who handed him the parcel he was carrying. He was too shy to open his present in front of us, but stumped off bowlegged to leave it in the tackroom, and then took us on a tour of the horses.
‘This is new,’ said Ace, stopping in front of a handsome chestnut, looking balefully out of her box, and pawing at the straw.
‘Mr Jack bought her for young Mrs Mulholland last summer,’ said Mr Braddock. ‘Jumps anything you can see the sky over, but she doesn’t get enough exercise.’
We went out to the paddock to look at the ponies. A plump blue roan came bustling up to us, whickering through her nostrils, nudging at Ace with her roman nose.
‘This is Bluebell,’ he said, pulling gently at her ears. ‘She taught us all to ride. God knows how old she is now.’
I was just bending down to pick her some grass, when a pair of hands grabbed me round the waist. I let out a piercing shriek and leapt forward. Bluebell tossed up her head and cantered away.
‘What the bloody hell?’ snapped Ace.
It was Jack, his hair lifting in the breeze, wearing a dark blue sweater, and ludicrously tight jeans. Even a hangover couldn’t dim his beauty.
‘Hullo, my darlings,’ he said. ‘You’re up revoltingly early. Aren’t you pleased with the horses?’ he added to Ace. ‘They’re all in good nick, aren’t they?’
Ace nodded. ‘Makes a nice change from everything else.’
