with red poppies, which Rupert loathed but which was the only uncreased thing in her wardrobe.
‘Have a drink,’ she said going into the drawing-room.
‘Oh, champagne,’ sighed Helen, ‘I wish I could afford it at home.’
She was obviously bored with Kitty who, encased in her blue wool, was getting pinker by the minute.
How could Rannaldini have married and been upset by the departure of such a frump? wondered Helen.
Everyone, except Helen, was cheered up by the arrival of Flora who was wearing a grey silk shirt tucked into black velvet knickerbockers. Her red hair, tied back with a black bow, had all the shine and bounce that Helen’s had lost. She was also weighed down with presents: a Body Shop basket for Helen; Beethoven sonatas played by his hero Pablo Gonzales for Marcus; a tape called ‘Let’s Ride to Music’ for Rupert — ‘I thought your father would at least know “The Galloping Major”; and a long clinging silver-grey silk jersey cardigan for Taggie.
‘Oh bliss,’ cried Taggie overjoyed.
‘Marcus said your eyes were silver-grey.’
‘I’ll put it on straightaway. Marcus, darling, can you open another bottle?’
‘Isn’t this room gorgeous?’ Flora looked round, then seeing Helen looking broody and sensing her despair, Flora delved into her carrier bag.
‘I forgot. Boris sent you this, Mrs Gordon.’
‘How very dear of Boris.’
‘It was dear,’ said Flora, ‘cost most of Boris’s last advance from the BBC and it’s the first present he’s ever wrapped up. “I cannot cope with this chello tape,” he kept saying.’
‘Open it, Mum,’ urged Marcus, but Helen had put it on a side-table.
‘Where’s Grandpapa?’ asked Marcus.
‘Gone to collect his mystery guest,’ giggled Kitty. ‘It’s like
‘That’s probably them,’ said Helen, as the dogs barked, but soon the barks turned to wimpers of excitement as Lysander weaved in, beautiful in a dinner-jacket and already drunk.
Having kissed Kitty in delight, hugged Flora, who was an old friend, clapped an arm round Marcus’s shoulder and shaken Helen’s hand, he proceeded to tell them what a wonderful time he and Rupert had had in the pub, and how much Xav had won on the fruit machine.
Lysander was a beautiful rider and his sympathy with horses had contributed hugely to Rupert’s successful transition to the flat.
‘Marcus says you’ve done brilliantly,’ Flora told him.
‘I did brilliantly at Christmas,’ giggled Lysander, ‘look what Arthur gave me.’ Raising a leg to show off luminous Father Christmas socks, he nearly fell over.
How could Kitty have left Rannaldini for such a silly boy? thought Helen in amazement.
Lysander nearly fell over again when Taggie walked. in wearing her new silver cardigan. Like Penscombe streams in the winter sunshine, it glittered so radiantly on her long slim body that no-one noticed her lank hair or her laddered tights.
A second later she was followed by Xav storming in on a new motorized tractor, followed by Bogota and Nimrod, fighting noisily over a chewstik shoe. Xav had a glossy pudding-basin hair-cut these days. His eyes were speculative, arrogant and almost straight. He had been so happy since he moved to Penscombe that he had acquired all the confidence of a young rajah.
‘Where’s your father?’ asked Taggie through gritted teeth.
‘Changing,’ said Xavier.
‘He’s changed.’ Rupert sauntered in doing up his cuff-links, and headed straight for Taggie who ducked her head when he tried to kiss her.
‘You’re an absolute shite,’ she hissed.
‘I am a shite in wining armour.’
‘It is not funny. There are masses of bottles to open and no-one’s done the seating plan.’
‘Good, I can sit next to you, you are so beautiful.’
‘And you are so drunk and late.’
Rupert tried to pull himself together. ‘Go and open the red wine,’ he ordered Marcus. ‘And get some logs. We haven’t met.’ He nodded at Flora, then seeing Kitty, now scarlet in her blue dress, said, ‘Evening, Mrs Hawkley, you’re well rugged up.’
Kitty was terrified of Rupert and he, in turn, didn’t see the point of her at all, but she kept Lysander on the rails and got him up in the morning, even if she did look like boiled bacon.
‘Did you bring me a present?’ Xav asked Flora.
‘I certainly did, but you’ve got to share it with Arthur and Bianca,’ said Flora, handing him a large box of chocolate willies, which triggered off screams of laughter and excitement.
Only Helen looked disapproving. Typical Flora. What with his ex-wife and his cast-off, she was reminded of Rannaldini at every turn. And now Tabitha had stalked in, ravishing in Taggie’s pink camisole top and amethyst blazer, a purple mini round her groin, clean blond hair flopping over her angry blue eyes and flawless skin.
‘Lovely jacket,’ murmured Flora enviously.
‘That’s Taggie’s,’ snapped Rupert.
‘So?’ Tabitha glared at her father.
‘I lent it to her,’ mumbled Taggie. Oh, why was she so wet? Unable to face a showdown she fled to the kitchen where Marcus was opening bottles of
‘You are an angel,’ sighed Taggie.
At least the little potatoes were a perfect golden brown as she topped them with chopped parsley. The smell of truffle-flavoured goose was too much for the dogs who formed a slavering crescent round Taggie as she edged them out of the oven.
‘You’re so lucky to be able to escape to the kitchen.’ It was Helen’s shrill voice again. ‘You shouldn’t be humping logs, Marcus. Hi, Mrs Bodkin,’ Helen embraced her old housekeeper. ‘Surely you’re not working on Christmas Day. We used to get village girls in in the old days.’
You are definitely going to get this boiling fat in your face in a minute, vowed Taggie. It was twenty-past eight, everything would be ruined if Eddie didn’t show up soon.
‘Can’t wait to see my father’s latest bimbo.’ Rupert refilled everyone’s glasses.
Then, over more barking, a deep voice cried; ‘Coo-ee, everyone, we’re here.’
‘Oh no.’ Flora looked at Marcus in horror.
The next moment, Eddie, wearing a dinner-jacket green with age, and leering like Old Steptoe, walked in with Hermione, who was wrapped in a cranberry-red wool cloak with an ermine-lined hood looking as deeply silly as she did stunning.
‘So caring of you to include me in your festivities,’ she said, advancing on a flabbergasted Rupert with outstretched hands.
‘I didn’t know you knew my father.’
‘Eddie and I are old friends,’ said Hermione with a roguish twinkle. ‘Other dear friends begged me to sing at their Christmas Eve soiree, it was so late when I got to bed and the Christmas Day flights are so hopeless, Eddie persuaded me to fly out tomorrow.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Rupert.
‘To Rannaldini’s, where else? My partner Bobby and little Cosmo are already out there. Rannaldini’s taken a Bohemian castle for the festive season, he likes to have all his children and ex-wives around him.’
‘Not all,’ said Lysander, putting an arm round Kitty.
‘Oh, there you are, Kitty,’ Hermione ignored Lysander. ‘What’s happened to my
Sliding out of her red cloak and a red-and-white Hermes scarf, she handed them to Eddie.
‘Put them in the hall, dear, and bring in my gifts.’
She was looking wonderful in boned red velvet with a bell skirt which showed off her comparatively small waist and pretty legs. A huge ruby pendant glowed above her big breasts.
