‘Of course,’ lied Ricky.
‘God, it’s a brilliant likeness.’ She looked down at the portrait again. ‘Let me have it.’
‘I can’t.’
Chessie’s face hardened. ‘You owe it to me.’
‘I know.’ Ricky had gone yellow, almost parsnip-coloured. ‘But it was a present.’
‘Who painted it? Perhaps he could do a copy for me?’
‘It’s a her – Daisy Macleod, Perdita’s mother.’
‘Ah.’ Chessie put the painting down on the piano as though it had suddenly dropped ten thousand pounds in value. ‘I’ve met her, very blowzy . . . the
‘She’s sweet,’ said Ricky coldly.
Chessie’s eyebrows vanished beneath her fringe.
‘How did she get such a good likeness?’
‘She found a photograph tucked in an old polo book.’
Chessie went to the drinks’ tray, wiped the dust out of the inside of a glass with her sleeve and sloshed in a lot of vodka and very little tonic.
‘Did Daisy, Daisy, do all those drawings of the horses in the kitchen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Making herself very much at home,’ said Chessie, downing half her drink.
‘Shut up,’ said Ricky, losing his temper. ‘You know it’s only you I love.’
‘Well, hold me then.’
Reeling with desire, his heart pounding like a cannon Ricky breathed in the Diorissimo she’d sprayed in her hair, noticed the sweat beading the faint down of blonde hairs on her upper lip. Like a man returning to a once familiar house who half-remembers where the light switches are, he fumbled for one of her hardened nipples, then stretched his hand over the wonderful springiness surrounding it.
‘Oh, my d-d-darling.’
Next moment they both jumped out of their quivering skins as the door burst open and in barged Eddie Macleod.
‘Oh, there you are, Ricky. Sorry to bother you, but we couldn’t get through on the telephone. Ethel had five puppies at five o’clock this morning, three black and two brindle, all with curly tails, so Mum thinks Little Chef must be the father, not Decorum. Would you like to come and see them, and can I get Mum’s sketch book from her studio? Ethel’s such a good mother, she’s licked them all clean, and she’s awfully proud. We buried the afterbirth and . . .’
‘Who’s that?’ said Chessie when Ricky finally managed to evict Eddie.
‘Perdita’s brother.’
‘And Mum – Daisy, Daisy has a studio here?’
‘The attic room,’ said Ricky evenly. ‘No-one was using it.’
‘And she uses your library too? Making herself very much at home.’
Ricky glared at Chessie: ‘It’s my house. Stop being a bitch.’
‘I thought Ethel was the bitch. Are you going to be godfather to those puppies?’
Chessie looked through the window at the house-martins catching insects and at the stable cat pretending to sleep on the warm gravel, waiting for birds to swoop down and attack the peas and raspberries no-one had had time to pick.
‘I just wondered,’ she said softly, ‘if you were sucking up to Daisy as a prospective mother-in-law.’
‘Don’t be fatuous,’ exploded Ricky. He had forgotten Chessie’s relentless nit-picking jealousy. ‘Daisy needed somewhere to paint. Snow Cottage is minute. It must have been like playing polo on a tennis court.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Examining her reflection in the Queen’s Cup, which, having been won only six weeks ago, was still quite shiny, Chessie licked her finger, wiped away a smudge of mascara and smiled – the adorable child again.
‘Why don’t we go out for a discreet lunch? We could go to L’Aperitif. I haven’t been there since we split up.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t? Monday’s your day off.’
Ricky gritted his teeth. ‘I’ve got to take Violet out to lunch.’
‘And who’s Violet?’ Chessie’s fingers were drumming on the top of the piano.
‘Daisy’s daughter. She passed her driving test first go last week and I said I’d take her out to lunch.’
‘Cancel it,’ ordered Chessie.
‘I promised. Her boyfriend chucked her after all that stuff in
‘Jesus,’ screamed Chessie. ‘Surely us getting it together is more important.’
‘Daisy was very good to me,’ said Ricky carefully. ‘When I was stupid with misery over losing you she listened. She’s a friend. We can have dinner this evening. I’ll have got rid of Dancer and the twins by then.’
His face was as dead-pan as ever, but there was no denying the longing and conciliation in his voice. Chessie, however, was miffed.
‘I can’t. Bart’s only gone to Dusseldorf for the day. He’s coming back tonight.’
‘And we can’t rock the Bart.’
‘Shut up. I’m the one who makes jokes round here.’
Ricky felt an appalling weariness.
‘Let’s get one thing clear. I love you, only you. But I’ve survived without you for six years, Christ knows how, and I’m not prepared for half-measures. You’ve got to leave B-b-bart and come back for good.’
‘How do I know it’s for my own good? It wasn’t before. We need to get to know each other again.’
Seeing that Ricky’d left the telephone off, she slammed it back on its hook as she charged out of the house, then drove off in such a cloud of dust that the stable cat jumped up from the gravel and Wayne ducked back inside his box.
Slumped in despair against the wall, Ricky reached out to answer the telephone.
It was Violet, whispering ecstatically.
‘Oh, Ricky, Julian’s just turned up. He says he’s so sorry about everything. D’you mind terribly if we have lunch another day?’
Washing up last night’s supper and today’s breakfast in cold water, because Violet had pinched all the hot, Daisy thought gloomily of the mountain of clothes to be ironed and the children’s trunks which she still hadn’t tackled and which festered in their rooms full of dirty clothes and, probably in Eddie’s case, ancient tuck. She felt absolutely wiped out because she’d been up all night acting as Ethel’s midwife. But she knew she’d perk up in an instant, just as Violet had, if Drew rang. He hadn’t been in touch for weeks.
She was jolted with hope as the doorbell went. Shaking her hair loose from its elastic band, she opened the door and was astounded to see Chessie.
‘Hi!’ That wicked sleepy smile was as menacing as it was irresistible. ‘I loathe droppers-in myself, but I didn’t have your telephone number.’
Conscious of her blood-stained shirt, her straining jeans and her shiny face, Daisy said: ‘Come in.’
After Chessie’d showed absolutely no interest in the puppies and Daisy’d opened her last bottle of wine which she was saving for Drew, they went into the garden taking up opposite ends of a peeling bench which Daisy was always meaning to paint.
‘I’ve come for two reasons, three really,’ said Chessie. ‘I want to thank you for looking after Ricky. He says you’ve been wonderful.’
‘Really?’ Daisy perked up.
‘Wonderful. I don’t think he’s ever had a platonic woman friend before.’
Daisy unperked.
‘You must have got so bored with him banging on and on about me,’ went on Chessie.
Daisy got up and broke off a columbine that was bending double a pale blue delphinium.
‘Ricky’s not boring. He loves you, but he never bangs on.’
‘Does about polo.’ Chessie pulled off a piece of paint. ‘Anyway I feel I owe you. I’ve got very fond of Perdita
