Very out of practice at driving, she had several near-misses on the motorway and her nerves weren’t helped by Perdita spending most of the journey with her hands over her eyes, as Daisy ground recalcitrant gears and proceeded in a succession of jerks down the High Streets of Oxfordshire villages.
Having thought about Drew Benedict rather too much in the last fortnight, Daisy was fascinated to see what Sukey was like. But, as she came down the steps of the beautiful russet Georgian house, first impressions were very depressing. Only five weeks after having a baby, Sukey’s figure was back to an enviable slimness. The perfect pink-and-white skin had no need of make-up. Her collar-length, mousey hair was drawn off her forehead. She wore a blue denim skirt on the knee and a striped shirt with the collar turned up. Noting the lack of creases, the air of calm efficiency, the brisk, high-pitched voice, Daisy thought gloomily that Sukey couldn’t be more different from her. If this was Drew’s type, she didn’t stand a chance. Then she felt desperately guilty. Who was she, who’d been crucified by Hamish’s departure, to hanker after someone else’s husband?
Escaping into the downstairs loo, which had photographs of Drew in various polo teams all over the walls, Daisy repaired her pink, shiny face. It was so hot outside that she had settled for an orange cheesecloth caftan, which she’d jacked in with a belt of linked gold hippos. The gathers over the bosom made her look as though she was the one breast-feeding. She wore brown sandals, and tried to arrange the cross-gartering over two scabs where she’d cut herself shaving. The telephone had rung just as she’d finished washing her hair, so it had dried all wild and was now held back with an orange-and-shocking-pink striped scarf, off which Ethel had chewed one of the corners. Gold-hooped earrings completed the picture. I look awful, thought Daisy, particularly as Perdita, who’d be expected to ride, looked absolutely ravishing in a dark blue shirt and white breeches.
Coming out of the loo, she found Drew, looking equally ravishing in a blue striped shirt rolled up to show very brown arms. He had that high-coloured English complexion, which looks so much better with a suntan.
He took her into the sitting room, which Daisy was comforted to see was absolute hell – far too much eau- de-Nil and yellow and ghastly paintings of polo matches interspersed with some excellent watercolours. Over the fireplace was a very glamorized portrait of Sukey in a pale blue ball dress and some very good sapphires. Over the desk was a portrait of Drew, probably painted in his late teens. He was wearing an open-necked shirt, and his blond hair flopped over his eyes, which were smiling with a lazy insolence.
‘Johnny Macklow?’ said Daisy, impressed.
Drew nodded. ‘Good girl. Only had one sitting, spent the whole time fending the old bugger off. Refused to go back for any more. My mother was furious. Vodka and orange, wasn’t it?’
‘Not too large,’ chided Sukey. ‘She’s got to talk sense to the Committee later.’
‘Need a stiff one to cope with that lot,’ said Drew.
Having handed the glass to Daisy, he turned to Perdita: ‘Like to come and see the yard?’
‘Lunch at one fifteen on the dot. Don’t be too long,’ ordered Sukey.
After they’d gone Sukey paced up and down sipping Evian water. Out of the window, Daisy admired the incredibly tidy garden. Not a weed dared to show its face. Beyond, a heat haze shimmered above the fields which sloped upwards to a wood which seemed about to explode in midgy darkness. On the piano was a picture of a baby in a silver frame.
‘He’s sweet,’ said Daisy.
‘Just beginning to smile,’ said Sukey, her voice softening.
‘And you’ve got your figure back so amazingly.’
‘Exercise and not drinking helps.’
‘It must,’ said Daisy guiltily, taking a huge gulp of her vodka and orange.
Sukey had reached the window in her pacing and was about to start on the return journey.
‘Look, I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I know Drew’s frite-fly keen for Perdita to get this scholarship.’
‘He’s been so kind,’ mumbled Daisy.
‘But the Committee are really rather stuffy.’ Sukey was like a comely steamroller. ‘I honestly think you ought to wear something more conventional. That orange dress would be lovely at a party, but it makes you look a bit arty and hippy. And you should wear tights.’
‘They all had holes,’ said Daisy, flushing.
‘Let’s just pop upstairs and see if we can find something more suitable.’
‘But you’re miles thinner than me.’
Before she knew it Daisy was upstairs in the tidiest bedroom she had ever seen. Even the few pots of make- up on the blue-flowered dressing table seemed to be standing to attention. The double bed was huge too. Lucky thing to be made love to by Drew on it, Daisy was appalled to find herself thinking.
‘When I was having Jamie, I had this lovely dress, which I hardly got out of,’ said Sukey, raking coat hangers along a brass bar. ‘Ah, here it is.’
Triumphantly she extracted a navy-blue cotton dress with a big white sailor collar, presumably to distract from the bulge.
‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ protested Daisy.
But, as if mesmerized, she found herself getting out of her orange caftan and darting almost minnow-like into the navy-blue dress, so ashamed was she of the greyness of her pants, which had practically detached themselves from the elastic.
‘It really isn’t me,’ she protested.
‘It is. You need the whole look,’ insisted Sukey bossily. ‘Here’s a pair of tights. They’ve even got a darn; the Committee’ll like that and these shoes will be perfect. I love flatties, don’t you? But a little heel’s better for this dress. They do fit well. And the earrings don’t really go, or the scarf. Just let me brush your hair back and put on this Alice band. There! Don’t you look charming? Neat but not gaudy.’
Daisy gazed at herself in the mirror. Her forehead was unnaturally white where her fringe had been drawn back. She suppressed a terrible desire to fold her arms and break into a hornpipe.
‘It’s truly not me.’
‘It’ll
There was a knock and a Filipino maid put a shiny dark head round the door.
‘It’s ready, is it, Conchita? We’ll be down in a sec. Can you tell Mr Benedict?’
Drew didn’t recognize Daisy when she crept in.
‘Where’s Daisy got to?’ he said, breaking off a grape.
‘Christ!’ said Perdita. ‘You’ve been Sloaned, Mum.’
‘Doesn’t she look nice?’ said Sukey.
‘She looks gross.’
Sukey’s lips tightened. Drew looked at Daisy incredulously, torn between rage and a desire to laugh. ‘But that’s your maternity dress,’ he added to Sukey.
‘And as my disgusting stepfather walked out two and a half years ago,’ pointed out Perdita, ‘the Committee are going to think it pretty odd that Mum’s got a bun in the oven.’
‘She doesn’t look at all pregnant,’ said Sukey.
‘She looks like Jolly Jack Tar,’ snapped Perdita. ‘Shiver your timbers, Mum.’
‘Shut up, Perdita.’ Fighting a fearful urge to burst into tears, Daisy giggled instead.
‘Daisy looked lovely before,’ said Sukey, plunging a knife into the yellow, red and green surface of the quiche, ‘but you know how stuffy Brigadier Canford and Major Ashton are.’
‘Charlie Canford’s such a DOM he’d have much preferred Daisy as she was,’ said Drew coldly.
No-one could have told from his face that he was absolutely livid with Sukey, but he didn’t want a row, which would upset Daisy and gee Perdita up before the interview.
Patting the chair beside him, he told Daisy, ‘If Perdita gets the scholarship, Sukey and I may well be going out to New Zealand at the same time to buy some ponies, so we can keep an eye on her.’
‘Not if you’re going to dress me in sailor suits,’ said Perdita, giving a bit of pastry to Drew’s slavering yellow Labrador.
‘I don’t think Perdita ought to have wine if she’s going to ride,’ said Sukey. ‘Would you like salad with or after, Daisy?’
Ignoring her, Drew filled up Perdita’s glass, then, seeing Daisy’s eyes had suddenly filled with tears, asked
