The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

‘Symbolic of the times,’ said Georgie bleakly and, when Joy Hillary looked blank, ‘Men can’t resist sowing them.’

‘No-one sowed them,’ said Joy patiently. ‘The field behind us has been sprayed for twenty years, but we’ve still got wild oats.’

‘At least it’s better than that ghastly rape,’ said her husband Percival, coming over on the pretext of introducing himself, but actually to cut a huge slice out of Kitty’s utterly delectable chocolate cake. Alas, he was just about to plunge in the knife when Dinsdale lifted his big mournful face on to the table, and sucked in the entire cake.

Georgie burst out laughing. Then, seeing their horrified deprived faces: ‘I better absent myself from the scene of the crime and go and congratulate Kitty.’

Even in her current state of self-absorption, Georgie was appalled by Kitty’s appearance. She’d put on weight and her reddened eyes gazed into space as she filled cup after cup from a huge brown teapot. She was always quiet when Rannaldini was around, but she seemed to have lost all her warmth and her interest in other people. She didn’t even smile over the story of Dinsdale’s pilfering the chocolate cake and when Georgie ducked under the table to stand beside her and thank her for letting Flora spend so much time at Valhalla, Kitty said nothing, just lowered her eyes.

‘You OK, Kitty? You’re shaking.’

‘I’m fine.’

How could she tell Georgie that her daughter was having a raging affaire with Rannaldini? A month ago, when poor Wolfie had sobbed all night like the Paradise Lad, Kitty had steeled herself to tell Rannaldini that he shouldn’t pinch his son’s girlfriend, particularly when she was thirty years his junior and still an impressionable child. Whereupon Rannaldini had launched into one of his petrifying tirades, screaming that Wolfie was an insanely jealous, paranoid fantasist who had to make up stories to justify Flora falling out of love with him and how dare Kitty virtually accuse him of child molesting.

He had punished her ever since by withdrawing all affection and Kitty was nearly at breaking-point. Almost worst of all, she had previously hero-worshipped Flora for sticking up for her so often, but in the end Flora had not just taken her part but her husband from her as well.

And now Kitty had spilt tea all over the snow-white tablecloth because Rannaldini and Flora were approaching. Flora, in fact, was starving. Georgie didn’t feed her family much and it was a long time since breakfast.

‘Hi, Kitty,’ she said in delight. ‘How are you?’

‘OK.’ Kitty spilled even more tea.

‘Here, let me take that, Brickie.’ Guy seized the teapot as though it was a large fractious baby Kitty couldn’t quiet. ‘I’ll fill the cups. You chat to Flora.’

‘I’ll just get more ’ot water.’ Frantically, Kitty seized a big silver jug. ‘’Ave a sandwich.’ She shoved a plate at Flora.

‘Oh yum, I’m so hungry,’ cried Flora, then found that suddenly she wasn’t, because fat, hopeless, red-eyed defeated Kitty looked absolutely wretched and couldn’t even meet her eyes.

She knows about us, thought Flora in horror. And Kitty had been so sweet to her. But as she felt Rannaldini just behind her, surreptitiously caressing the bare sweating insides of her thighs, such was her longing, she couldn’t stop herself pressing back against him.

‘Rannaldini’s little wife’s done so well,’ said Joy Hillary, taking a third piece of walnut cake. ‘We must utilize her properly at the fete. Perhaps we should take her off bric-a-brac and put her in charge of teas.’

As Kitty bolted down the dark passages to the kitchen, Lysander, leaning nonchalantly on a suit of armour, blocked her path.

‘D’you remember me? We met at Marigold’s and at the Rock Star party. Here, let me take that jug. Stunning tea. I’ve stuffed myself so much I won’t be able to bat. My mother hated doing cricket teas. She never produced more than a bought cake and curling Marmite sandwiches.’

He found it a relief to mention Pippa, even in a faintly derogatory fashion, and to find that it didn’t hurt so much.

Kitty raised her eyes. The terribly strong spectacles magnified the inflamed lids and the red-threaded eyes grotesquely. God, she looked unhappy.

‘Marigold told me about your muvver,’ she stammered. ‘She was so young. You must miss her somefink awful.’

Lysander, who often picked up vibes others missed, had noticed Rannaldini touching up Georgie’s sexy- looking daughter. What chance did Kitty have? Rannaldini was a shit, after all, he decided, as he carried the jug of boiling water back to the hall.

Natasha, who couldn’t imagine what Lysander could have to say to her boring stepmother, charged up with Ferdie, whom Lysander introduced to Kitty. Ferdie and Kitty might do rather well together, decided Lysander. Before they had time to find out, Guy had butted in with a plate of sliced rainbow cake.

‘You must eat something yourself, Brickie.’

‘Why d’you call her that?’ asked Natasha.

‘Because she’s an absolute brick,’ said Guy warmly.

‘How many bricks are there in a tower of strength?’ asked Georgie, earning herself a dirty look from Guy as she joined the group.

‘We’ll be eating this stuff for weeks,’ Rannaldini told his wife as he glared at the still-loaded tables. People were lighting cigarettes and drifting back to the pitch. ‘You’ve over-catered as usual, Kitty.’

‘It’ll all go,’ snapped Lysander. ‘I’ll come and help you wash up, Kitty. It’s nice and cool in here.’

‘Lysander,’ called out Marigold, ‘you were going to bowl to the boys.’

‘You’re bloody not,’ hissed Ferdie. ‘You’re being paid to rattle Guy. Stick to Georgie.’

But as soon as Lysander had sat down beside Georgie on a bench under a chestnut tree, the Archangel Mike ordered him to pad up and open the batting. Instantly his seat was taken by Larry whom Georgie had been avoiding all afternoon.

‘How’s the album coming on?’

‘OK.’

‘Guy said it was going really well and you might deliver early.’

‘Pigs might fly,’ snapped Georgie.

‘My guess is that things are rough at the gallery,’ said Larry, ‘and you should help out by finishing as soon as possible. Guy’s always looked after you in the past, Georgie.’

‘It’s a conspiracy. I’m being forced to rush things,’ cried Georgie hysterically. ‘Guy put you up to this over dinner.’

‘Guy cancelled,’ announced Larry. ‘He had too much on.’

Georgie started to shake. In a sentence Larry had chucked her into the pits.

‘You’re psyching yourself into this block,’ he went on bullyingly. ‘All we want is something warm, sincere and happy, that kids and older folk can relate to. Just like “Rock Star”.’

‘I wrote “Rock Star” when I was happy,’ hissed Georgie. ‘How can I be warm, loving and sincere when my heart’s breaking and my world’s fallen apart?’

Taking the field, Guy noticed Georgie leaping up and sending a deck-chair flying as she stumbled away from Larry. Christ, he hoped Larry hadn’t mentioned his cancelling dinner. He should have warned him, but, as a bishop’s son, he found it tacky saying: ‘Could you possibly tell Georgie it was you who ducked out?’

‘Could you possibly donate half a dozen signed copies of Rock Star to the fete as prizes?’ Joy Hillary met Georgie head on.

‘No, I fucking can’t,’ screamed Georgie. ‘Contrary to what you might think, I don’t get my own albums free and I don’t get the full whack every time a record is sold. Remind me to ask your husband to hand over the entire church collection to the Musicians’ Benevolent Society next Christmas. Oh look, Lysander’s batting. Excuse me.’ And she walked off, leaving Joy unjoyfully mouthing.

Guy’s lied to me yet again, thought Georgie. What’s the point of finishing an album to appease their joint bank manager when he won’t give Julia up. Sod Angel’s Reach, she’d rather live in a council flat with Lysander.

It was a second before she registered that the field had changed over and Guy was bowling, holding the ball