The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

incredulously, ‘You want to speak to Kitty? You’ve rung up to wish her happy birthday? Omigod.’ Even Natasha was horrified. ‘Is it today? I’ll put her on.’

Everyone exchanged shocked glances, but no-one looked blacker than Rannaldini or redder than Kitty as she picked up the telephone.

‘’Allo, Wolfie. Well done with your Hay levels. We was so proud. It’s ever so kind of you to remember. Well, I got a postal order from Mum, and a nice card.’

Flora’s eyes filled with tears. Poor Kitty, and poor Wolfie, whom she’d treated so dreadfully. She was about to snatch the telephone from Kitty and ask him how he was, when Kitty said: ‘Cheerio, Wolfie. We all miss you. Come back soon.’ She put down the receiver to a chorus of, ‘You should have told us. Shame on you, Rannaldini!’

‘Happy birthday to you,’ sang Flora’s sweet, clear, piercing voice and everyone joined in, with Hermione’s voice soaring above everyone else’s, just to prove she should have been picked for Leonora.

‘Many happies, Brickie.’ As the singing ended, Guy hugged Kitty. ‘I can’t tell you how much we’re all looking forward to tea.’

‘You better come and organize it,’ said Rannaldini, stalking off towards the house.

As Kitty panted after him, Lysander noticed a dark red stain on the back of her shorts. Snatching up Natasha’s long scarlet cardigan, he sprinted after them. Where the hell were his dogs? Ferdie was useless at keeping an eye on them.

Entering through the french windows of the summer parlour, he heard Rannaldini saying in a chilling voice: ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’

‘I’m ever so sorry, Rannaldini. I didn’t want no fuss.’

‘It’s your job to remember birthdays. How dare you show me up as a sheet in front of all those peoples? You’ll pay for eet.’

‘Ahem.’ Lysander joined them in the hall. ‘You mustn’t get cold.’ And, putting Natasha’s cardigan round Kitty’s shoulders so it completely covered the bloodstain, he did up the top three buttons. He was just pondering how he could warn her that she’d got the curse without her dying of mortification when an even more piercing scream made them all jump out of their skins, and Mrs Brimscombe rushed in.

‘It’s Mrs Kitty’s tea,’ she screeched. ‘Come quickly.’

Joined by the rest of the guests, swarming into the dining room in greedy expectation, they were greeted by a scene of total devastation.

Jack was on the table, paws in the smoked-salmon quiche, cocktail sausages hanging like fangs from his mouth. Dinsdale stood with his forepaws up on a chair, owlishly looking round like an old man disturbed in his club, a large chocolate Swiss roll drooping from his lips like a cigar. Plates of sandwiches and cakes had been upended all over the floor, and a great jug of milk dripped its last into a huge white puddle on the floor, beside which Maggie was languidly licking the last of the whipped cream out of Kitty’s strawberry flan.

There was a terrible pause, then over the pandemonium, Rannaldini’s voice could be heard saying: ‘I shall be leaving in five minutes, Keety. There’s a button needs sewing on my tailcoat.’

40

‘Compared with Rannaldini’s green and pleasant oasis, this place is like the Sahara,’ grumbled Georgie as she sat on the terrace with Ferdie and Lysander the following evening, drinking Pimm’s and surveying her parched garden.

All the little trees she and Guy had planted were dying. The only things that thrived were the wild oats growing outside the kitchen window which had turned as claret coloured as an old club roue’s face.

‘Why was Kitty crying so much?’ she went on. ‘She’s such a trouper I was convinced she’d magic up Stroganoff and lemon meringue pie for twenty out of the freezer. I never dreamt she’d go to pieces.’

‘She thought she was pregnant and found she’d got the curse.’ Lysander put down the Racing Post. ‘She’s desperate to have a baby.’

‘If she had Rannaldini’s child,’ said Ferdie, ‘it would give her some financial hold on him.’

‘She’s not like that,’ said Lysander quickly. ‘She just adores children and wants one of her own. Then she wouldn’t be lonely in that great Dracula barracks. I’d be scared shitless living there alone.’

‘I’d be more frightened when Rannaldini was at home,’ said Georgie with a shiver.

‘She confessed he doesn’t sleep with her very often.’

‘You did get a lot out of her,’ said Georgie, amazed.

‘So you’ll take her on?’ asked Ferdie, suddenly business-like.

Lysander gazed moodily at the gold coin of the setting sun on the dark horizon. It was as though Ferdie was putting a pound in the slot.

‘OK. But only to annoy Rannaldini.’

‘Improving her appearance is the most important thing,’ said Ferdie briskly. ‘We’ve got to de-prude her. Burn those terrible clothes and get the weight off. Mind you, I’m one to talk!’ He squeezed the huge roll of fat above his agonizingly tight waistband. ‘Sales of chocolate have rocketed since the recession.’

He was feeling guilty about skiving from the office, but at least he’d confirmed his suspicions that both Larry and Guy were desperately strapped for cash. Neither had bought a single round when the remains of the tennis party had retreated to The Pearly Gates last night. There was no point in Marigold and Georgie having quixotic and extravagant schemes for salvaging Kitty’s marriage if there wasn’t any money. Fortunately Georgie had received a large overseas royalty cheque that morning. She’d planned to give half to Guy, but after yesterday’s pursuit of Rachel, she wrote a cheque to Ferdie instead, retaining Lysander’s services for herself and Kitty until Christmas.

‘Let’s go and see Kitty,’ said Ferdie, draining his Pimm’s.

They found her in the garden talking to Mr Brimscombe. Her eyes were still red, but she greeted them cheerfully.

‘Mr B. and I’ve been chasing a cow out of the vegetable garden. Must of stuffed hisself. Fank goodness Rannaldini’s away.’

‘How did it escape?’ asked Georgie. ‘I thought your husband’s fences were everything-proof.’

‘Must have come over the cattle grid,’ said Mr Brimscombe. ‘I’ve seen cows do it. They get so hungry, they stand sideways on the edge of the grid, then they lies down, and roll their legs over, and wriggle till their feets touch t’other side. Then they stands up and off they goes.’

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ said Kitty in delight.

‘Reassuring, too,’ said Georgie drily. ‘Means you can get out of anything, if you want to enough. Done much damage?’

‘Only a few footprints on the lawn and a lot of veggies,’ said Kitty. ‘But ’Arvest Festival comes up before Rannaldini’s back, so we can blame that.’

Waving Mr Brimscombe goodnight, Kitty led them into the kitchen, where she had been making bramble jelly and listening to the tape of Miss Saigon.

‘Heavenly smell.’ Georgie gave the scummy dark crimson mixture a stir.

‘I’ll give you a jar,’ said Kitty, ‘and fank you for the lovely bouquet, Ferdie. I got a lovely azalea from Guy as well.’

We even send separate presents these days, thought Georgie wearily.

‘And fank you for Miss Saigon, Lysander. I’ve been playing it all day.’

‘What else did you get?’ asked Georgie.

Kitty giggled. ‘A solar-powered calculator from Rachel, and a jumper from Hermione. It’s got a pattern wiv sheep round the bottom, which make my bottom look ’uger than ever.’

‘Typical,’ said Georgie. ‘And what did Rannaldini give you other than a thick ear?’

Kitty blushed. ‘Nuffink, but he’s been filming all day.’