The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

forgeeve me, James, I must break the news to Kitty. That will be the best tonic.’

What a victory! He wanted to shout to the rooftops as he bounded upstairs. How dare that little Russian upstart challenge his throne. The best man had won — even if he had had to fax The Scorpion piece on Boris and Chloe anonymously to Graydon Gluckstein the moment it came off the press.

‘It’ll be a new ’eaven and a new earth, my kitten,’ he told her joyfully.

The early afternoon sun flooding his face made him look young and extraordinarily handsome.

‘We will leave our problems behind and start our marriage again. You will adore New York. It pulsates like an animal.’

Cecilia lives in New York, thought Kitty bleakly, and once she’s dumped this latest boyfriend she’ll want Rannaldini back and me as a dogsbody. And if I go to the States and want to come back Lassie will have to go into quarantine for six months. And Hermione will come and stay for ages and little Cosmo will break the place up. At least in England they live in their own house.

‘They are so delighted to ’ave me,’ Rannaldini was saying, ‘they ’ave already release the news worldwide. Next week we can fly over and look at ’ouses. Oh, sheet,’ as his mobile rang again. ‘Why can’t people leave us alone? ’Allo, ’allo.’

His face went utterly still, so instantly drained of colour and joy that for a second Kitty thought the job had been withdrawn. For a couple of minutes he listened, just interjecting the occasional ‘si’. Then he said: ‘It was good of you to let me know. We’ll talk later, ciao.’ He switched off the telephone.

Only then did the rage erupt, as he launched into a stream of Latin expletives.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kitty clung to a cringing Lassie.

‘The stupid, stupid beetch,’ screamed Rannaldini, ‘driving over a fucking cliff and we’ve only recorded the first two movements of the Emperor.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Rachel. She kill herself driving off the road.’

Kitty gave a moan. ‘Oh my God! Poor Rachel. ’Ow terrible. What ’appened? Did the brakes fail? It couldn’t have been suicide.’

Rannaldini shrugged. ‘She was found clutching a copy of The Scorpion. They’d run a piece about Boris going back to Chloe.’

‘Oh no, I can’t bear it. Oh, the poor li-el kids.’

‘Rachel left them with Gretel. Stupid, selfish beetch.’

‘Oh, poor Boris. Does he know?’

‘Ees in Eesrael,’ said Rannaldini contemptuously. ‘That was Bob. He’s trying to trace him.’

‘Oh, my God.’ Kitty’s face crumpled up with tears. ‘She was probably just distracted by the ’orrible article and drove off the road.’ Groping in her pocket for a handkerchief, she nearly pulled out Lysander’s letter. ‘She dropped me a line only this week sayin’ ’ow ’appy she and Boris was.’

Again the telephone went. The Telegraph, having been tipped off, was ringing to congratulate Rannaldini about New York and wanting a comment on Rachel’s death.

‘One of the most tragic losses to the music world,’ Kitty could hear him saying as he walked back to his study, ‘Rachel Grant had an individual talent which I personally…’

Guessing he would be tied up for some time, frantically brushing away the tears, Kitty took the note out of her cardigan pocket. It was full of crossings out. A demented Lysander had clearly struggled over it himself without any help from Ferdie or Rupert.

Darling kitty,

I wonnted to proove i cud do sumthing, well arthur and i allmost did. I havent got a big howse or a jetset life but i give you my hart wych feals as if its been trarnsplarnted withowt any annisetik. please wring i am dieing of missery. your luvving Lysander.

Kitty felt as though the jagged teeth of a steel trap had closed into her leg, holding her back. Darling sweet Lysander. How could she ever even respect, let alone love Rannaldini, after he’d been so monstrously insensitive about Rachel?

‘Mrs Rannaldini?’

Whatever was wrong with Miss Bates? She’d been so bossy and uppity yesterday, now she couldn’t meet Kitty’s eyes, as she handed her the second cordless telephone.

‘Mr Rannaldini’s still on the other line, it’s Natasha. She says it’s desperately urgent.’

‘’Allo,’ said Kitty, steeling herself for abuse.

‘Are you alone? Promise you won’t leave Papa.’ Natasha’s Italian-American accent was coming in gasps. ‘Wolfie won’t come back to Valhalla because Dad took Flora off him and I’m living with Ferdie now. Papa’ll be so lonely living on his own. I shouldn’t be telling you this — Papa’ll kill me. Promise you won’t tell him.’

‘I promise,’ said Kitty fearfully, ‘but be quick, he’ll be back in a second.’

‘Your baby isn’t Papa’s. It’s Lysander’s.’

‘How d’you know?’ whispered Kitty. ‘I slept with your dad the night before Lysander came out to France and the night I got back.’ She shuddered as she remembered Rannaldini’s ice-cold anger as he practically raped her. ‘I only slept wiv Lysander twice.’

‘Papa has had a vasectomy.’

‘He what? When?’

‘Just after he married you. He didn’t want any more children, what with seven of us and buckets of illegits. He was fed up with the expense and the hassle. But there’s a 28 per cent chance of reversing the operation, so you still could have babies together. Kitty, Kitty, are you still there?’

‘Yes — are you sure?’

‘Certain. He had the op in America. Not even James Benson knows.’

‘Oh my God.’ Kitty gave a sob.

‘You will go on being my friend even if you leave him,’ pleaded Natasha. ‘But try not to. He loves you in his funny way, and he needs you. You’re the best wife he’s ever had.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ mumbled Kitty, switching off the telephone and slumping back on the blue-and-yellow cushions, clutching Lassie, who stretched up, long pink tongue frantically trying to staunch her mistress’s tears. Outside, Rannaldini’s horses were lying down in a patch of sunlight close together to keep warm, folding up one after another like camels.

Kitty couldn’t stop crying as she remembered the way Rannaldini had complained so bitterly when she had all those horribly embarrassing and often painful tests — not to mention the devastating disappointment each time her period came. Now he was bullying her non-stop to have an abortion and all the time he’d made her bear the full guilt and humiliation of being the infertile one.

‘The stupid bitch drove off the road,’ she muttered, ‘an’ we’ve only recorded two movements. Oh, poor Rachel, oh dear God.’

Kitty had no idea how long she sat, her thoughts churning, but suddenly the door flew open and in bounced Hermione, smothered in leopard skin.

‘Come on, Brickie! We’re off to the bird sanctuary at Slimbridge. We’ve always vowed we’d go. Such a lovely day and what better way of celebrating Rannaldini’s wonderful new job.’

He must have rung to tell her straight away, thought Kitty dully.

‘You must wrap up warm.’

Marigold, following Hermione into the room, thought how really ill Kitty looked.

‘But what about Rachel?’ said Kitty bewildered.

‘It’s terrible. We’re all devastated,’ said Hermione briskly. ‘Bob was crying when he rang from London to tell me, but crying won’t bring her back. We’ll all have to rally round Boris and the children. Gretel’s being a tower of strength. Mind you, spare men are lucky, they get snapped up very fast.’

‘We can’t go on a jaunt,’ said Kitty in horror, ‘not when she’s just passed away.’

‘Rachel was mad about conservation,’ said Marigold gently. ‘It’s a sort of memorial to her if we go. Come on, Kitty, it’ll do you good.’