‘You thought I was going to top myself. I’ve been shooting partridge with Rupert. I was cleaning my gun. Look.’ He held up his oily hands.
‘Oh, gosh,’ said Daisy appalled. ‘How stupid of me!’
‘Anyway, you can’t commit suicide with a twelve bore, although they’re always doing it in books. Look.’ He picked up the gun, and held it to his temples, ‘One’s arms simply aren’t long enough to pull the trigger.’
Daisy had gone absolutely scarlet.
‘I was just worried, with the telephone off the hook and all.’
‘I’m quite OK,’ said Ricky, slotting the gun back in its case, ‘and I would like to come to supper.’
‘You would?’ Daisy’s jaw dropped. All they had in the house was six eggs for scrambling and the remains of Ethel’s heart. As if reading her thoughts, Ricky said, ‘Better still, we’ll go out.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Daisy, appalled. ‘I didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t dream of foisting myself on you. And the children . . .’
‘Are quite capable of looking after themselves. I got my licence back last week, so it’s a treat to drive someone.’
‘I’m not dressed.’
‘Nor am I.’ He was wearing faded olive-green cords, a check shirt and a dark brown jersey.
Daisy would so like to have got tarted up, but at least her hair was newly washed that morning and her teeth were clean. But Perdita would never forgive her for going out with Ricky.
‘I’ll just wash,’ he said, ‘and you can ring home.’
Daisy was desperately relieved to get Violet, who was wildly encouraging. ‘Go for it, Mum, he’s gorgeous. Got yourself a decent date at last.’
Ricky took her to a French restaurant in Rutminster with low beams, scrubbed pine tables, sawdust on the floor, rooms leading one into another and mulberry red walls covered with hunting prints. The head waiter, enchanted to see Ricky after three years’ absence, kissed him on both cheeks, enquired after his elbow, and found him a quiet corner.
Daisy was mildly encouraged that Ricky deliberately sat on her right, on his non-scar side. He ordered her a large vodka and orange and Perrier for himself. At first the pauses were dreadfully long.
‘D’you miss not drinking very much?’
He nodded. ‘I’m lousy at small talk, and it helped.’
‘Couldn’t you just drink occasionally when you need it – like at parties?’
‘Once I start I can’t stop – like Kinta.’ He uncrossed a pair of knives.
‘I suppose you feel it’s a way of making sure it never happens again.’ She flushed as red as the mulberry walls. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t remind you.’
Ricky broke up a piece of brown bread, but didn’t eat it.
‘Does it get better?’ asked Daisy.
‘Not much.’
The flame from a scarlet candle lit up the stubble darkening his chin and the even blacker rings under his eyes.
Oh, Christ, that’s torn it, thought Daisy.
‘Are you ready to order, Meester France-Lynch?’ asked the head waiter. ‘The
‘I’ll have that,’ said Ricky, then turned to Daisy.
Oh help, she thought. One of the things that had driven Hamish crackers was her inability to make up her mind.
‘No hurry,’ said Ricky. ‘Give us a few more minutes.’
‘I’d like mushrooms
‘And to follow,
‘Partridge,’ explained Ricky. ‘They do them very well here.’
Daisy nodded hastily. ‘I’d like that.’ Anything not to irritate.
‘And don’t overcook them,’ said Ricky. ‘And we’ll have a bottle of the Number Fourteen.’
‘I’ll be plastered,’ said Daisy, aghast.
‘No-one could accuse me of being a half-b-b-bottle man,’ said Ricky. ‘What was your husband like?’
‘Very half-bottle, very noble-looking, very serious. He thought I was too silly for words, but he made it possible for me to keep Perdita, so I’ll always be grateful.’
‘You miss him?’
‘I miss all the things he did – like policies and banks and keeping the children in order. And I miss having a pair of arms round me. It’s like being a house without a roof.’
She was boiling. She’d have to take off her thick blue jersey soon, and she couldn’t remember how many buttons had come off the shirt underneath, and it was sleeveless, and she hadn’t shaved her armpits since Philippa asked her to supper last week.
‘It’s such a pity,’ she gabbled on, ‘one can’t go out and buy a new husband or wife the next day, like you do with puppies or kittens. I’m sure it’d be much easier to help one get over things.’
‘I don’t want a new wife,’ said Ricky flatly.
‘No,’ said Daisy humbly, thinking of poor Perdita. ‘I can see that. Chessie was so beautiful. I’ve seen pictures.’
‘Better in the flesh. Her colouring was so p-p-perfect. It was my fault I neglected her. I was foul-tempered and arrogant and polo-mad. I never had any money to buy her the things she wanted.’
She had you, Daisy wanted to say. It was no good, she’d have to take her jersey off. Horrors, two middle buttons were missing to show an ancient grey bra. Hastily she breathed in and clamped her arms to her sides to hide the stubble. Then, seeing Ricky looking at her in amazement, said quickly, ‘Bart Alderton sounds hell.’
‘He’s a sadist,’ said Ricky as the waiter arrived with their first course. ‘That’s why I must get her back.’
And while the black mussel shells rose in the spare plate, like cars on a scrap heap, he told Daisy about Chessie’s last taunt.
‘But that’s wonderful,’ said Daisy, ‘so romantic. You can win the Gold Cup and the Westchester, and go to ten like the labours of Hercules. I’d rather do that than kill the Hydra. You must do it.’
Ricky passed Daisy a mussel. ‘They’re very good. I will if Dancer has anything to do with it. Now they’ve lifted the ban on my going abroad, I’m off to Argentina next month to squander his millions on some really good ponies.’
‘Perdita adored Dancer,’ said Daisy. ‘These mushrooms are bliss. In fact, the whole thing is a real treat.’ She took a huge gulp of wine.
‘How is she?’ asked Ricky casually.
‘Suffering from massive withdrawal symptoms. She misses you – all,’ she added hastily.
‘I miss her,’ said Ricky. ‘She’s a menace, but she makes me laugh.’
‘I wish she occasionally made us laugh at home,’ sighed Daisy.
‘Giving you a hard time, is she?’ Ricky filled up Daisy’s glass.
It was not in Daisy’s nature to bitch, but faced with Ricky’s almost clinical detachment, everything came pouring out – Perdita’s endless tantrums, her impossible demands, her spite to the other children.
‘I haven’t got many wits, but I’m at the end of them. That was lovely.’ She handed her plate to the waiter. ‘Hamish going affected her dreadfully. They fought the whole time, but underneath she was frantic for his love and approval.’
‘Who was her father?’
‘It’s so shaming,’ whispered Daisy.
‘Can’t be that bad.’
She was saved by the waiter shimmying up with the partridges, making a great show of how pink they were inside, pointing out the foie gras stuffing, the celeriac puree and the exquisitely dark and glistening Madeira sauce. But the moment he left Ricky returned to the attack.
‘So, what happened?’
Being Daisy, she blurted it all out. ‘I should have told Perdita years ago, but I’m such a drip I funked it.’
