‘How about now.’
Marigold glanced at the clock in amazement. ‘But you’ll miss
‘Some things are more important.’
‘Oh Laysander, that’s the greatest compliment Ay’ve ever been paid. Why don’t we phone Mrs Brimscombe and ask her to record it?’
11
This and subsequent glorious couplings cheered Marigold up immensely, particularly when her two sons came home from prep school for the weekend, and fell almost more in love with Lysander than she had. Not only did he play endless billiards and darts with them, and took them to the amusement arcades in Rutminster and to the stables to mess around with Arthur and Tiny, but he also initiated them into the more dubious pleasures of poker, chemmy and betting.
Jason’s shriek of delight when he won ?120 on an each-way bet at Chepstow was only equalled by Mark’s quiet satisfaction that, by the end of the weekend, Lysander owed him ?5,225 at poker.
Marigold was wryly aware that Lysander was far nearer to the boys in age and behaviour than he was to her. But she was overjoyed to see her sons emerge from pale monosyllabic shell-shock, no doubt induced as much by two terms at an English prep school as by the collapse of their parents’ marriage. She was also gratified that whenever the boys were absorbed with anything, Lysander sloped out to the kitchen for a surreptitious, but no less passionate, embrace. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.
She had lost a further seven pounds a week later when she got a telephone call on her private line. Knowing it could only be Larry, she was only just stopped by Lysander from snatching up the receiver on the first ring. The warmth of his hand over hers gave her strength.
‘Make him wait ten rings, and play it cool.’
Larry was telephoning to say he’d be in the area that evening, could he drop in for a very quick drink. Marigold was thrown into total panic.
‘We’d better ask Ferdie’s advice on this one,’ said Lysander.
Ferdie, bored of not selling houses in London and wanting to suss out properties in Paradise, said he would be straight down to orchestrate the whole thing.
Larry Lockton was a bully with a mega-ego and no small talk, who was used to ordering around thousands at work. Having lost weight, found a decent dentist and coaxed his coarse black hair forward to hide a receding hairline, he had developed sex appeal late in life. Huge success at work and a decent tailor had accelerated the process. When addressing his social superiors, he talked with an orchard of plums in his mouth.
Landing the helicopter, he saw a blur of yellow and purple. What the hell was Marigold doing spoiling his perfect lawn with crocuses? It would take ten grand off the asking price. He must remember to remove his gold discs, the Picasso, the Stubbs and the framed Beethoven sonata, before Marigold got too grasping over the spoils. Letting himself in, Larry was surprised not to be welcomed by Marigold. Only Patch greeted him, and then with reservation. Larry meant fewer chewsticks and banishment from her mistress’s bed at night. Going into the kitchen, he found a table with pink candles laid for two, pink freesias and hyacinths everywhere and two bottles of Moet in the fridge.
Oh Christ, he hoped Marigold wasn’t planning to lure him into staying for dinner. Nikki was expecting him back. They were going to a party to meet Kiri Te Kanawa and Marigold’s attempted candle-lit lobster thermidor last month had ended in total hysterics and both lobsters being hurled at him. He’d better watch out for flying sauceboats.
He could hear noises overhead. Finding a navy-blue overcoat covered in dog hairs hanging over the banisters, Larry went slowly up to his former bedroom where he was shocked to discover his naked wife blow-drying her hair. Seeing him, she jumped only slightly, then languidly wrapped round herself a fluffy yellow towel which matched her eyes.
‘Larry! Ay didn’t hear you arrive. Let me finish my hair. You know it drays crinkly if Ay stop in the middle.’
Marigold then kept him waiting half an hour, giving him time to absorb all Lysander’s clutter of drying boots, breeches,
She also noticed how old he looked — compared with Lysander — and that, with hair long enough for a pony- tail, a new black moustache, bags under his eyes and designer stubble flecked with grey (all no doubt Nikki’s work), he looked seedy rather than sexy. He was also dressed uncharacteristically butchly in a studded leather jacket, and black jeans belted with a large silver buckle.
‘Where’s your motor bike?’ she said teasingly. ‘I thought you’d have got fat gobblin’ up all those poor little companies, but you seem to have lost even more weight. Have a glass of bubbly. Ay’m going to.’
It’s my fucking champagne, thought Larry, noticing that as she took the bottle out of the fridge, she replaced it with another, and that her hair was streaked very blond and her toenails had been newly painted scarlet. The towel was showing a great expanse of stunning, recently waxed, Duo-tanned legs. Marigold, in fact, was looking fantastic, as though she’d been restored and a picture light shone over her.
Larry then asked her if she’d mind coming to the party next week to launch Georgie Maguire’s new album,
‘I’ve brought the whole package.’ Larry threw the tape, the single and the album down on the kitchen table. The sleeve showed Georgie Maguire clinging wetly to a rock, with her head thrown back, eyes closed, nostrils flaring, long, drenched red hair snaking down her back. ‘I think it looks terrific.’
‘Hermione was barefoot on the sleeve of
Larry refused to rise. ‘Album’s going to be a massive hit. It’s storming up the American charts, so the party’ll be a celebration. Loads of names accepted already. Hermione and Rannaldini are coming.’
‘And presumably Nikki to add glamour,’ said Marigold sweetly.
‘She might look in,’ admitted Larry. ‘Should be a terrific bash.’
I’ll bash her, thought Marigold, narrowly missing Larry as the champagne cork flew out.
Larry adjusted his leather jacket, bought new that morning, wondering if it were over the top. He felt more at home in pin-stripe.
‘Pop in for half an hour,’ he said gruffly, ‘just to show Georgie there’s no hard feelings.’
‘Because she won’t sign another contract with you, if she has an inkling what an absolute shit you’ve been to me,’ said Marigold flaring up.
‘Chill out,’ said Larry, which irritated Marigold more than ever. ‘It’s in your interest. You’ll be able to screw far more maintenance out of me if Georgie signs that contract,’ he added heartily. ‘Besides it’s her first big break in twenty years. She wants her best friend there.’
Weighing up the options, Marigold let the towel slip a fraction.
‘And I’d like you to be there,’ Larry was shocked to hear himself saying.
‘All right, Ay’ll show,’ Marigold agreed flatly, ‘and tray and behave.’ Then, glancing at the kitchen clock, ‘I must get ready. Don’t hurry, finish your drink.’
Utterly thrown, expecting either abuse or pleading to stay, Larry drained his whisky, and was then even more flabbergasted when Marigold said: ‘Ay’ve decided Ay’ve been horribly selfish over the kids. One must be civilized for their sakes. And they must get to know Nikki, she’s so near them in age.’ Let Larry experience some of the same guilt she felt about cradle-snatching. ‘In fact, you can have them next weekend. I’m goin’ away.’
‘To your mother?’ asked Larry.
‘No, to Paris.’ Marigold smiled beautifully. ‘And Mummy would be decaydedly
