Helen, very frosty from being called ‘Taggie’ and having her bottom pinched by Rupert’s father, with some intelligent conversation. Helen, who was now nose to nose on the sofa talking to Kevin about Nepalese folk music, winced in anticipation of the inevitable upheaval as Rupert swept in followed by Xavier and his usual pack of dogs.
Seeing Rupert’s bootfaced expression Kevin tried to humour him.
‘This little chap’s new,’ he said, pointing to an adorably floppy black labrador puppy with hooded tobacco- brown eyes and vast paws, who was romping with Rupert’s lurcher, Nimrod.
‘He’s mine,’ said Xav, joining both dogs on the floor. ‘Daddy gave him to me for Christmas. He’s called Bogota.’
‘You never stop nagging me to find Xav a black friend, Kevin,’ drawled Rupert. ‘And now I have.’
‘I didn’t mean-’ began Kev, his Adam’s apple wobbling furiously.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Helen in outrage. ‘Why must you trivialize everything, Rupert? One simply cannot underestimate the importance of ethnic origins.’
‘Why aren’t you living in America then?’ snapped Rupert.
‘Rupert,’ said Taggie appalled, which gave Rupert the excuse he needed.
‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ he said and, gathering up Xav, stalked out of the house.
Running after him, but failing to catch him, Taggie returned to the drawing-room.
‘It’s so sad,’ Helen was saying to Kev, ‘that Rupert hasn’t got any easier over the years.’ Then, turning to Taggie, said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t cope with scenes like that, I’m going to lie down.’
There should have been eleven for dinner, five women and six men. As well as Lysander and Kitty, Taggie had invited Lysander’s father, David Hawkley, who, as a handsome widower and a headmaster, would have been perfect for Helen, but unable to face an English winter he had pushed off to Mykenos. Tab’s boyfriend, Damian, whom she tolerated as second best to Lysander, had taken umbrage, after being called a leftie yobbo by Rupert once too often, and ducked out as well. Then, after a mysterious telephone call this morning, Rupert’s father Eddie had asked if he could bring a woman friend, which meant they were two women extra.
Pre-dinner drinks were scheduled for seven-thirty. By seven o’clock Taggie had reached screaming pitch. The geese were sizzling enticingly, the Christmas pudding bubbling, the red cabbage, the celery puree, the creme de marron were warming gently in the left of the Aga and the potatoes cut round and as small as olives only needed frying very fast in clarified butter at the last moment.’
Bianca, however, had been given a maddening Christmas present — a cordless toy telephone which rang when she pressed a button and which everyone, particularly an increasingly jumpy Helen, kept mistaking for the real thing.
In addition, Taggie had been driven crackers all afternoon listening to the chatter of Mrs Bodkin, Rupert’s ancient housekeeper, who was more hindrance than help, and refereeing fights beween dogs and children. These had culminated in a screaming fit from Bianca, because a bored Nimrod had chewed the feet off Kevin’s Colombian doll. This had resulted in Taggie shouting at Bianca and dispatching a disapproving Mrs Bodkin to take her up to bed.
And Rupert wasn’t even here to write out the place names for her; it would be so humiliating if she spelt them all wrong in front of Helen. She couldn’t ask Marcus as he’d gone off to collect Flora, who, to Helen’s irritation, he had invited for moral support.
Taggie was panicking; she hadn’t even changed when there was a knock and a plump, smiling face came round the door.
‘Oh Kitty,’ said Taggie and burst into tears.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Kitty dumped brandy butter, winter fruit salad, apple sauce and mince pies down on the kitchen table.
‘Everything,’ sobbed Taggie. ‘Tab’s in a screaming strop. Rupert’s pushed off to the pub and I don’t think he’ll ever speak to me again for giving Ann-Marie Christmas week off and asking Helen to stay. And she’s been just awful. She hasn’t lifted a finger and can’t stop looking at everything and saying, “New picture, new carpet, new sofa,” and it’s years since she b-b-buggered off and Rupert and Lysander have worked so hard and done so well in the last two years, we’re entitled to have something new.’
Kitty patted Taggie’s heaving shoulders; she’d never seen her friend in such a state.
‘I’m sorry,’ sniffed Taggie. ‘And I’ve been vile to poor darling Bianca, and I haven’t said hallo to you, Arthur, are you having a nice Christmas?’
Arthur nodded. A blond, beaming bruiser just two and a quarter and capable of causing considerable havoc, he was clutching a toy trumpet. Having wriggled out of his blue duffle-coat, he was only interested in finding his hero, Xavier.
‘Xavier’s not back yet, darling,’ said Taggie. ‘He’s pushed off with his rotten father.’
‘Go and change,’ said Kitty soothingly. ‘Lysander’s gone to the pub to get some drink. He’ll bring Rupert back. I’ll take care of everything.’
‘If you could keep an eye on the goose and feed the dogs, and put out a bowl of puppy food for Xav’s puppy when he gets back. You do look nice,’ Taggie admired Kitty’s blue wool dress.
‘It’s a bit ’ot,’ admitted Kitty, ‘Lysander gave it to me. I’m ashamed we’ve had such a lovely day. Arfur and I didn’t get up till lunch-time and Lysander came back to bed after he and Rupert had done the ’orses, and you’ve been slaving away.’
Wearily Taggie climbed the stairs to Bianca’s bedroom where there was no lack of ethnic reminders. The yellow walls were covered with posters of Colombian countryside, sweeps of orchids, giant water-lilies and the lake where El Dorado’s gold was hidden which looked like a green yolk in a jagged grey eggshell of rock.
Bianca was never angry for long. Now, wearing new red pyjamas covered in reindeer, her dark curls tied on top of her head to keep them dry in the bath, she was bending over a doll’s pram putting her new footless doll to bed.
‘No, you tut up, Rosie,’ she was saying sternly, ‘I’ve been working my ass off all day for you.’
Giving a gasp of horrified laughter, Taggie gathered up Bianca and covered her with kisses.
‘Oh my angel, I’m sorry I swore at you. I love you so much.’
With her pale coffee-coloured skin flushed from the bath, her big black eyes and her loving smile, Bianca was the most beautiful child in the world, and had the sweetest nature, although spoilt rotten by everyone.
‘Mummy tired, mummy crying,’ said Bianca, then reaching over she pressed her new telephone.
‘Hallo,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid Rupert can’t take your call at the moment.’
Taggie giggled.
‘God knows what he’s up to,’ she took Bianca’s hand. ‘Come and talk to me while I get ready.’
But going into her bedroom, Taggie gave another utterly uncharacteristic howl of rage. Half her wardrobe had been pulled off its hangers and dropped on the floor, or on top of Nimrod, who was stretched out on the bed. He now raised a purple see-through shirt with his waving tail. Taggie’s tights drawer had been ransacked and the only sheer black pair filched. The pale pink camisole top Rupert had given her for Christmas had vanished, as well as her new pale amethyst satin blazer.
Charging into the bathroom she found her make-up box upended, and shampoo, eye-drops, hair dryer and God knows what else, missing.
‘Tabitha,’ she screamed up the stairs, ‘how fucking dare you?’
‘Anything the matter?’ Helen appeared out of the bedroom opposite.
Just your bloody daughter, Taggie wanted to shout.
But, clenching her fists, she managed to control herself. ‘Sorry, I was yelling at one of the dogs.’
There was a pause. Helen was wearing long black velvet with a scooped neckline showing off jutting collar bones. Deciding to look tragic rather than stunning, she had left off her jewellery except Malise’s regimental brooch.
‘What a lovely dress,’ said Taggie dutifully.
‘It’s hanging off me,’ quavered Helen, ‘I’ve lost over a stone since Malise died.’
Shutting the door firmly behind her, she went on, ‘And I don’t have enough shoes to let Rupert’s damn dogs eat them. I suppose he’s not back. No? He was always disappearing like this when I was married to him.’
Going towards the stairs she jumped as the telephone rang.
‘Hallo,’ piped up Bianca. ‘Is that Tabiffa? How fucking, fucking dare you.’
Taggie had no time to do more than wash, tie back her lank hair and put on a peacock-blue dress covered
