The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

‘She looks great!’ Lysander smiled amiably at Hermione. ‘I’m afraid the only thing in the fridge is some smoked salmon.’

‘For our supper,’ said Marigold.

‘I’ll have that,’ said Hermione, and such was the force of her personality that she was just polishing off the lot, washed down by Earl Grey and honey, when Jack and Patch went into another frenzy of barking.

This time it was Rannaldini’s young wife, Kitty. Clutching a bunch of freesias and a red-spotted tin, she blushed when she saw not only Marigold but also Hermione, her husband’s mistress, plus an incredibly good-looking young man. Perhaps he was Hermione’s latest.

Launching into a flurry of ‘how are yous’, Hermione embraced Kitty graciously, then embarrassed her by saying teasingly: ‘Both sides, Kitty,’ and holding out her other cheek to be kissed after Kitty had ducked away.

Marigold, who, since Larry’s departure, had suffered from chronic lapse of memory, suddenly blocked on Lysander’s surname and merely introduced him and Kitty by their Christian names.

Heavens, he’s gorgeous, thought Kitty, he must be some young actor who’s making a pop record; such a sweet sleepy smile.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Ly-sunder,’ she stammered, then turning to Marigold, ‘you look wonderful. I love your ’air, and you’re so lovely and slim.’

‘I have been tryin” said Marigold gratefully.

‘Well, you probably won’t want that,’ said Kitty going even redder, as Marigold opened the red-spotted tin which contained a huge dark chocolate cake.

‘Oh yum,’ sighed Marigold. ‘Oh, Kitty, you are kaind, but I truly mustn’t. Lysander can, though.’

‘And so can I,’ said Hermione. ‘I never have to diet.’

Having helped herself to a vast slice, Hermione rewound the tape to play ‘Blow the wind southerly’, which was blotted out by Lysander’s howl of joy as Penscombe Pride won by a length.

‘Yippee!’ He hugged Marigold in ecstasy. ‘I’ve won two fucking grand. I can buy you a gold exercise bike now.’

Looking very bootfaced, Hermione picked up a new biography of Placido Domingo, turning to the index for reference to herself.

‘I must go,’ said Kitty. ‘I didn’t mean to butt in when you’d got company, Marigold.’

‘You must have a drink to celebrate,’ said Lysander, letting Marigold go.

‘I’ll have a small sweet sherry then,’ said Kitty. ‘Rannaldini don’t approve, but I can’t drink it dry.’

‘I’ll have some more Perrier please, darling.’ Marigold handed Lysander her glass.

‘Clever to ’ave a win like that,’ said Kitty, ‘I’m afraid I’m terrified of ’orses. I’d ’ave walked over ’ere this afternoon, but Rannaldini’s turned The Prince of Darkness — he’s a big black fing with ’uge teef — out in Long Meadow, so I came by car.’

‘I know The Prince of Darkness. Bloody good horse, came second in the Whitbread,’ said Lysander.

‘E’s still got ’uge teef,’ sighed Kitty.

Lysander thought Kitty was as plain as Hermione was beautiful. She was probably younger than him, but she had a round pale face and eyes far too wide apart behind disfiguringly strong spectacles. Her fuzzy light brown hair was dragged off a rather spotty forehead into a bun. With her squashed snub nose and big generous mouth, the bottom lip of which she was nervously gnawing as she listened to Hermione, she resembled an apprehensive pug on the end of a chatterbox mistress.

A gold cross round her neck and a navy-blue polyester dress with a white collar gave her a prim look, but couldn’t disguise her heavy breasts and lack of waist. Plump legs were not flattered by flesh-coloured tights, nor by navy-blue high heels which thrust her forward like a plant desperately seeking the sunlight.

‘Cheers.’ She attacked her large glass of sherry. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come to tea, I mean supper, next week, Marigold?’

‘Love to,’ said Marigold. ‘As long as you don’t cook anything fattening. Can I bring Lysander? He’s just moved into a cottage at Eldercombe.’

‘That’s nice. Near Ricky France-Lynch,’ said Kitty. ‘His wife Daisy’s just ’ad the most gorgeous li-el boy,’ she added wistfully.

‘You’ll be next,’ said Marigold reassuringly.

‘Eavens, I ’ope so,’ said Kitty, who, unlike Marigold, made no attempt to disguise a strong cockney accent.

Hermione, having finished reading about herself in the Domingo biography, cut another massive piece of chocolate cake and asked: ‘Do you play an instrument, Ly-sarnder.’

‘Yarss,’ said Lysander gravely. ‘I learnt the piano at prep. school, but I only play with one hand because I was always fending off Mr Molesworth, the music master, with the other one.’

‘What a pity,’ said Hermione, ignoring Marigold’s laughter. ‘I’m recording Beethoven’s Cycle “To the distant beloved” on Monday. I need an accompanist to rehearse with. Such a beautiful work. D’you know it?’

Lysander shook his head. ‘Can’t imagine anyone bicycling to see a beloved round here, particularly a distant one. The hills are so steep. It’s bad enough jogging.’

For a second, Kitty’s face crumpled up into a smile, then she quickly asked Hermione how little Cosmo was.

‘Magic, magic,’ said Hermione warmly. ‘Which reminds me, Kitty. Do you know definitely when Rannaldini’s getting back? I’ve got to learn Amelia Boccanegra at top speed so I need him to work with me on the character and the vocal demands.’

‘I fink he’s coming back for Georgie Maguire’s launching party,’ said Kitty.

‘I’d forgotten we’d got to be subjected to that,’ grumbled Hermione. ‘One meets such awful people at pop- record launches.’

‘I expect Larry needs you and Rannaldini to raise the tone,’ said Marigold acidly.

‘I expect he does,’ agreed Hermione. ‘But I still don’t really like Georgie Maguire’s voice.’

‘I love it,’ said Lysander.

‘So do I,’ agreed Kitty defiantly, then, seeing Hermione’s glare, ‘I must go.’

‘I’ve got a great pile of contracts at home,’ said Hermione to punish her, ‘so perhaps you could pop over tomorrow and check them for me.’

So you don’t have to fork out for a lawyer, thought Marigold furiously.

As Lysander showed Kitty out, Hermione reproached Marigold for fraternizing with young men.

‘He’s probably G-A-Y, the way he was going on about Rupert Campbell-Black.’ Then patronizingly as she refilled her glass, ‘You’re not in your first youth, Marigold.’

‘I’m about to be into my first youth,’ muttered Marigold through clenched teeth.

‘Blow the wind southerly,’ sang Hermione on the tape.

‘Who was that girl?’ asked Lysander returning.

‘Didn’t you realize?’ said Marigold. ‘That’s Kitty Rannaldini.’

‘Rannaldini’s daughter?’ Lysander took a cigarette from Marigold’s pack.

‘No, his wife.’

‘His wife!’ said Lysander. ‘Bloody hell, I thought Rannaldini was into fantastic-looking women.’

Hermione had been about to reproach Lysander for smoking. Instead she bowed in acknowledgement of the implied compliment, then added sententiously: ‘Some people think she’s rather common, but I maintain Kitty Rannaldini is very much her own woman.’

‘Hardly be anyone else’s, looking like that,’ said Lysander. ‘He must have got her from Pug Rescue.’

‘That’s unkind.’ Hermione laughed heartily.

‘Kitty’s sweet,’ protested Marigold angrily. ‘She’s such a good listener — unlaike some — and so kaind you forget how plain she is.’

Outside the setting sun, like a great red air balloon, was turning the mist which had suddenly filled the valley the softest rose-pink. Having polished off another drink, Hermione, known locally as the Great White Hinter, asked if the Ferrari outside the door was Lysander’s and whether he could run her home.

‘I walked here, but it’s a bit chilly, and we singers are paranoid about getting colds. Goodbye, Marigold, don’t take everything quite so personally.’

Lysander returned ten minutes later to find Marigold gibbering with rage. Her fury at Hermione’s jibes and