The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

trying to warm dirndl-skirted bottoms in front of a desperately anaemic fire.

‘This is the local stud I told you about,’ Rachel whispered.

Already dominating the group was Guy. Still high on his television success as St Joseph, he had received stacks of fan mail and been the subject of an Independent profile comparing the ways Joseph took Mary away privily and Guy the Rock Star had stood by Georgie.

‘You made so many statements in Nativity Green,’ said one of Rachel’s friends, displaying armpit hair that was a positive fire hazard as she reached for her glass. ‘I liked the bit when you calmly changed Baby Jesus’s nappy during the shepherd’s visit.’

Guy smiled in acknowledgement, then, turning to Lysander, towards whom he now felt quite well disposed since he had proof he wasn’t after Georgie: ‘How was skiing?’

‘Lovely.’

‘Don’t you feel guilty,’ reproved another London friend, ‘about the way skiing disrupts the ecological balance.’

‘I didn’t know it did,’ said Lysander, longing to spit out his first mouthful of fruit cup.

‘Skiers hurtling down the mountains trigger off avalanches and disturb the wildlife,’ he was told earnestly. ‘Not to mention deforestation.’

Deforestation! With a stab of anguish Lysander remembered giggling over Kitty’s shaved bush. He hated all these long, pale supercilious faces for not being round, pink and smiling like hers.

‘Have some blotting paper,’ interrupted Rachel, handing round sausage rolls.

‘Thanks.’ Lysander broke one in half, giving it to Jack.

‘Are you sure they don’t contain meat?’ asked a London friend nervously.

Jack promptly confirmed this by spitting his all over the carpet.

‘Excuse me,’ said Lysander, ‘I must go and talk to Meredith,’ who, with his airborne curls and merry blue eyes, seemed the nearest thing to Kitty in the room.

‘Hallo, baby boy,’ said Meredith.

‘I go to parties to dance and get wasted,’ sighed Lysander. ‘What the hell’s in this drink?’

‘Most of Rachel’s Body Shop concoctions I should think. Certainly no booze.’

‘Christ, I wondered why I was getting lower.’

‘Hallo, you sweet thing.’ Meredith stroked Jack’s rough white head but the little dog could hardly wag his tail.

‘He’s pissed off. To him parties mean chops, chicken and sausages, proper human food. He’ll eat Rachel’s cat in a minute.’

‘I’m sorry about Maggie. Poor old you.’

Lysander nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘How’s Arthur?’

‘I took him over to Rupert Campbell-Black’s yard this afternoon.’

‘Did you now? What’s it like?’

‘Seriously impressive: swimming-baths, solarium, computers, a resident blood analyst and such terrific horses. I actually patted Penscombe Pride. God, what a beautiful horse, but he’s really small. Rupert’s going to try and sort Arthur out.’

‘Lucky Arthur,’ sighed Meredith. ‘Rupert’s to die for and dye for.’ He patted his blond curls in the mirror.

‘He can be quite fierce,’ said Lysander.

‘Oh, I love that. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.’

‘Taggie, Rupert’s wife, was really sweet. She made Arthur a bowl of coffee to make him feel at home, but he still sulked dreadfully when I left. I don’t think I’m very good at making anything happy,’ he added dolefully.

‘Mrs Rannaldini looked pretty cheerful in Today,’ said Meredith, noticing the way Lysander’s bloodshot eyes kept darting towards the door.

‘She is coming this evening, isn’t she?’

‘Well, Hermione and Bob have just arrived,’ said Meredith. ‘And Madam wouldn’t grace a grisly jaunt like this unless she was expecting Maestro.’

‘Christ, it’s cold,’ said Lysander. ‘No wonder Rachel doesn’t bother with a deep freeze.’

‘Here are the lovers,’ said Meredith as a battered Marigold and Larry entered hand in hand. ‘Go anywhere for a free drink these days. All the same it’s sad to see the FOR SALE sign outside Paradise Grange. Your friend Ferdie’s got his board up already. Whoever buys it can’t not want to redecorate it. I better get in there early and give Ferdie a ring.’

Lysander couldn’t bear to talk about Ferdie either. He missed him dreadfully and was trying to screw up courage to ring him and apologize. Oh God, here was Hermione.

‘Hallo, Mary,’ said Guy, turning from the admiring circle of London friends to waylay her.

‘Hallo, Joseph,’ said Hermione skittishly, ‘I’ve just been talking to the Independent about Me and My Cat.’

‘What a coincidence,’ laughed Guy. ‘I’ve just done a long interview with the Guardian on Me and My Work Station.’

‘I am going to leave Guy,’ hissed Georgie to Marigold. ‘He’s been so uppity since the play. Look at him being drooled over by all those dreary friends of Rachel’s.’

‘Well, he is charming,’ protested Marigold. ‘How’s Flora?’

‘Desperately low. Oh, Marigold, I made a New Year’s resolution to look after her and make my marriage better and I’d broken it by Christmas Eve when Guy insisted a little unsigned Victorian love note on his desk had come from some picture framers.’

‘I made a New Year’s resolution not to maind about not havin’ any money,’ sighed Marigold, ‘but the boys have decided they rather like boarding-school. And every taime I see the FOR SALE sign swinging outside Paradise Grange, Ay burst into tears.’

‘I can’t think why you’re making such a fuss, Marigold.’ Hermione, who was still wearing Rannaldini’s mink Christmas present and quite oblivious of the glares of Rachel’s Green friends, barged between them.

‘You were always telling me how blissfully happy you and Larry were when you were poor. It’s far worse for me having to renegotiate all my contracts. Larry might have warned us he was going bankrupt.’

‘If you and Rannaldini hadn’t screwed such vast advances out of him, never maind the jets and the ten-star hotels, it maight never have happened,’ said Marigold furiously.

‘Oh, don’t over-react,’ sighed Hermione. Then, turning to Georgie, ‘I must tell you what a wonderful man Guy is, so caring and supportive.’

‘He was certainly supporting your bum pretty often in the video of the nativity play,’ snarled Georgie.

A hot apple punch-up was avoided by Rachel staggering in with a huge casserole dish. All the husbands except Guy, who was too frightened of Georgie, leapt to her assistance.

Bob got there first. ‘Looks good. What is it?’

‘Organic oat risotto,’ said Rachel, ‘with artichokes and haricot beans. Take a plate, Meredith.’

‘I’m OK at the moment,’ replied Meredith who was blue with cold. ‘When it’s a toss-up,’ he murmured to Lysander, ‘between dying of hypothermia and farting like a drayhorse all night, I choose the former. Shall I get some more logs, Rachel?’

‘I’m as warm as toast,’ said Hermione smugly. ‘I’ve got my thermals on and I had a nice hot bath before I came out.’

‘Baths are a waste of water,’ snapped Rachel, piling food on to plates, ‘you should have a shower, or share the bath water with someone.’

‘I’d share a bath with you any time, Rachie,’ joked Guy, getting a black look from Georgie. ‘You’ve got a terrific crowd here.’

‘Oh, people are so bored with cooking over Christmas they’ll go anywhere for a free meal,’ said Hermone airily.

Fascinated by Lysander’s beauty a London friend edged forward to stroke Jack.

‘I suppose you use him for digging out foxes.’

‘No, only for fouling footpaths and children’s playgrounds,’ said Meredith. ‘Cheer up, it may never happen, Lysander.’