village.’
But Biddy Macleod had put on her spectacles.
‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘Now I know what you really feel about a defenceless old woman, Daisy. But I shall behave with dignity, I’m going to pack my suitcase.’
‘Oh, please,’ gabbled Daisy, utterly distraught. ‘It wasn’t meant to be a likeness. Look at Picasso; look at Francis Bacon.’
‘There’s no need to explain yourself, Daisy.’
‘At least have a cup of tea.’
‘I don’t want anything.’ Slowly Biddy went out of the room.
‘That was stirring it,’ Daisy shouted at Perdita.
‘I don’t care. With any luck, we’ve got shot of her.’
When Biddy came downstairs with her suitcases she insisted on waiting in the hall for Hamish as the wind whistled through the broken stained-glass window. She had a long wait. Hamish, desperately late, sucking extra strong mints, took in the situation at once, led his mother into the study and left the door ajar.
‘I feel so unwelcome,’ sobbed Biddy. ‘It’s not you or Violet or little Eddie, but Daisy and that wicked, wicked girl.’
Hamish persuaded her to stay on.
‘Now you see what I have to put up with, Mother,’ Daisy heard him saying. ‘Please don’t go. I need you.’
11
Hostilities had to be suspended the following night because they had been asked to a party in Eldercombe by a bearded psychiatrist called Lionel Mannering, and Philippa, his rapacious wife. Daisy dreaded parties. In the past Hamish had got so insanely jealous if she spoke to other men that she’d completely lost the art of chatting anyone up. She also had a raging sore throat, and was so cold and shivery that she put on a crimson and white striped dress (which she’d never worn because it was too low-cut) and put a crimson mohair polo neck over the top as a suck-up gesture because Biddy had once knitted it for her. Unable to wash her hair because Biddy and Hamish had hogged the hot water, she decided to put it up.
‘You look great, Mother,’ said Hamish, helping Biddy out of the icy wind into the front seat of the car.
Sepia clouds raced across a disdainful white moon. Sitting in the back, Daisy, who was beginning to feel really ill, felt sweat cascading down her sides and soaking her fringe.
It was a large, noisy party with all the women in taffetas, satins and beautiful silk shirts. There were also loads of good-looking men for Daisy to avoid. The moment Hamish entered the room, he was off, delighted to be with his peers, as he called them, telling everyone he was in television, dumping Biddy on the hostess’s mother, and chatting up all the Rutshire wives, who were delighted to have some new talent, and even more delighted when Hamish’s busty wife with the red, shiny face in the awful clothes was pointed out to them.
The lean, rapacious hostess whisked everyone round introducing them as if she were doing a grand chain in an eightsome reel. Daisy talked to a sweet girl who was giggling with nervous relief because she’d just got rid of her mother-in-law. ‘I’m going to get seriously drunk.’
‘I can’t. Mine’s over there,’ said Daisy regretfully.
‘There’s Basil Baddingham. Look at the colour of him – he must’ve been skiing or playing polo abroad,’ said the girl. ‘He’ll know the latest on Ricky.’ Then, as all the Rutshire wives converged, shrieking, on Bas: ‘He’s so wicked, he must have had every woman in the room.’
‘Not me,’ said Daisy, almost regretfully.
The girl laughed. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’
Daisy was comforted to see people’s eyes glazing over at Biddy’s monologue.
‘My son’s in television,’ held them for five minutes, until they discovered Hamish wasn’t producing
Daisy was so hot she thought she was going to faint. As Hamish was the other end of the room, she took off her crimson polo neck, which wiped off all her make-up and pulled the pins out of her hair, so it cascaded around her shoulders and splendid cleavage.
Bas, a connoisseur both of horse and female flesh, crossed the room. Hastily, Daisy slung the crimson polo neck round her shoulders, hiding her cleavage with the sleeves.
‘Shame to cover it up,’ said Bas, whose height gave him a good view. ‘You’re living in Brock House, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in the village, and I’ve met Perdita hunting. Christ, she’s pretty. Rupert and the twins and I are all drawing lots to take her out on her sixteenth birthday.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Daisy. ‘You’ll have to wait till next November.’
‘I like things on slow burn,’ said Bas idly. ‘I can see where Perdita gets her looks.’
‘Do you live near here?’ said Daisy hastily. He was so attractive, but it was difficult concentrating when little black spots seemed to be taking away half of his wickedly smiling face.
‘In Cotchester. I’ve got a wine bar. You must come and dine there one evening – er – when your husband’s away.’
It was definitely a come-on.
‘How’s Ricky France-Lynch?’ said Daisy, to change the subject.
Bas shook his head. ‘Fucking brave. I thought he’d top himself cooped up like that, and he’s already had three operations on his elbow.’
Daisy winced. ‘Will he be able to play again?’
Bas shrugged. ‘Won’t get much chance to find out if he’s convicted. The trial starts next month. I say, are you all right?’ He put a suntanned hand on Daisy’s forehead, then ran his fingers lingeringly down her cheek. ‘You’re absolutely baking. You ought to be in bed, preferably with me.’
As Daisy swayed, he pushed her gently down on the sofa. ‘Philippa,’ he yelled to his hostess, ‘have you got a thermometer?’
Turning round a couple of minutes later to check whether Biddy was all right, Hamish saw Daisy sitting on a sofa with a thermometer in her mouth, exposing her entire bosom to a tall, dark and very handsome man who was stroking her pulse. Hamish was across the room in a flash.
‘What’s going on?’ he said furiously.
‘
Through feverish, red-veined eyes Daisy looked beseechingly up at Hamish.
‘Why are you making a fuss, Daisy?’ asked Hamish coldly.
‘It’s no fuss,’ said Bas, whipping out the thermometer. ‘See for yourself, it’s nearly 104.’
‘You must take her home at once,’ insisted Philippa. ‘Poor darling, I expect you’re exhausted by Christmas and just moving in,’ then adding, as Biddy bustled up, ‘what a good thing you’ve got Mummy staying. You must keep her tucked up warm, Mummy, and not let her do a thing.’
Daisy didn’t dare look at Biddy.
‘See you when you’re better, darling,’ said Bas.
‘Do come back when you’ve dropped her and Mummy,’ Daisy heard Philippa say to Hamish.
Four days later, on New Year’s Eve, Daisy staggered up – only slightly comforted that she had lost seven pounds. Clutching on to the bedroom window, she could see Perdita stick and balling on the lawn in the fading light. She had used two of Eddie’s cricket stumps as goal posts. Now she was galloping flat out, then stopping, pirouetting Fresco round on her hocks, and shooting off in another direction, both their pony tails flying. On the last gallop, Fresco didn’t manage to stop and flat-footed all over the herbaceous border. Hamish would do his nut.
Jumping off, Perdita stuffed the pony with carrots, hugging her and covering her face with kisses. She’s never
