I cannot believe this, thought Helen in mounting hysteria, Rannaldini’s ex-wife, his cast-off and now his mistress.
Having handed round CDs of her latest hit, ‘Santa of the Universe’, Hermione was now embracing Taggie before presenting her with a box of last year’s crystallized fruits and the salmon-pink gladioli, wrinkled in their Cellophane, which she’d been presented with the night before.
Barely acknowledging Flora, whom she detested, she turned joyfully on Helen.
‘How are you? How are you? We met many moons ago with Rannaldini at Bagley Hall.’
‘How is he?’ whispered Helen.
‘Oh, full of beans. He was telling me your late husband-’ Hermione bowed her dark head. ‘I’m so sorry, we won’t discuss it — wrote a wonderful book on the flute. I want you to have an advance copy of “Only for Lovers”.’
Helen looked down at the CD case which showed a smirking Rannaldini with his hands on Hermione’s bare shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, then leapt as the telephone rang. Rannaldini must have got the number from Hermione, but Rupert had already picked it up.
‘Cun I speak to Tubitha?’ he said acidly. ‘Can’t you ever find a boyfriend who speaks the Queen’s English?’
Snatching up the telephone, Tabitha flounced out.
Helen was looking round at the Turner of Cotchester Cathedral against a rain dark sky, at the Landseer of mastiffs and the Stubbs of two chestnut mares under an oak tree.
‘That’s new,’ she said, nodding beadily at the Lucian Freud of a whippet and a rather muscular nude.
‘It reminded me of Nimrod,’ Rupert smiled down at his lurcher, who was striped black and brown like a bull’s eye.
Having romped all day with his new friend Bogota, Nimrod was stretched out on the sofa, fawn belly speckled with mud, paws in the air, chewstik shoe in his mouth, gazing adoringly up at his master out of one shiny onyx eye.
‘What used to hang in its place?’ asked Helen perplexed.
‘The Ingres, I sold it.’
‘How could you?’ said Helen appalled.
‘I hate big dark lard-like women,’ said Rupert, glaring at Hermione, who bored with charming Eddie, came bounding towards him. Rupert was her real prey.
‘What happened to that Colombian lad you were thinking of adopting?’
‘He’s here,’ said Rupert, beckoning Xav.
Getting no reaction from the boy’s impassive, watchful face, Hermione cooed: ‘May I have one of your chocolates?’
As she helped herself, putting her red lips over the knob, Lysander got such giggles he had to hide behind the curtain.
‘I bet you don’t know what my name is,’ Hermione smiled winningly.
‘Yes I do,’ said Xav.
‘Bet you don’t.’
‘Yes I do. It’s Mrs Fat Bum.’
‘Rupert’s father’s brought a bumbo,’ murmured Flora, as a shaking Lysander disappeared again.
‘Dinner,’ announced Taggie.
All Taggie’s efforts to make the dining-room look pretty had paid off. The pale scarlet walls and ivy-green curtains were echoed by a centrepiece of snowdrops, holly and Christmas roses. The only lighting reflected in glass and silver came from the flickering fire, fifty white candles and the picture lights over the family portraits.
‘That was me,’ said Eddie, nodding at a handsome youth in uniform.
‘Oh, what a relief,’ Helen’s voice quavered. ‘You’ve changed nothing here.’
‘Except wives,’ said Rupert. That’ll teach her to be nicer to Taggie, he thought, as Helen brimmed and bit her lip.
Rupert, on the other hand, had taken a shine to Flora and, as there was no seating plan, put her on his left with Hermione as the lesser of three evils on his right, and Helen between her and Eddie, who was on Taggie’s right. Marcus, Tabitha, Lysander and Kitty could sort themselves out.
‘It’s perfect,’ he called out to Taggie as he cut into the goose, dropping the first slice into Nimrod’s waiting jaws.
‘That’s far too much for me,’ whimpered Helen as he handed her the first plate.
‘I’ll have it,’ said Hermione, piling on most of the little brown potatoes.
Having filled up glasses and handed round the vegetables, Marcus found himself sitting next to Kitty. She might have a face like boiled bacon, but she was so adorable and, having worked for Rannaldini, had lots of gossip about soloists, conductors and helpful agents.
She refused red wine, when he tried to fill up her glass, because she was having another baby.
‘Lysander’s coming to the ante-natal classes,’ she said proudly.
‘I love rolling around on the floor with a lot of women,’ yelled a jubilant Lysander down the table.
‘That goose was something else,’ sighed Flora, finally putting her knife and fork together.
‘Have some more,’ said Taggie.
‘Yes please,’ said Eddie.
Tabitha didn’t even bother to toy with a piece of goose as she read Dick Francis under the table.
Please give me Lysander, she prayed.
Please let Rannaldini call, prayed her mother.
‘I think we ought to drink to the cook,’ said Eddie, with his mouth full, ‘To Helen,’ he said, draining his glass.
Everyone, except Helen, howled with laughter.
‘I love you,’ mouthed Rupert down the table at Taggie.
‘I think we ought to drink to absent friends,’ Hermione smiled round, ‘Bobby and Cosmo.’
‘Abby,’ said Flora and Marcus.
‘And Malise,’ said Helen with a sob.
‘Of course,’ said Rupert, ‘Malise!’
After everyone drained their glasses there was an embarrassed pause.
‘And I think we ought to drink to absent fiends,’ said Flora, as Rupert filled her glass again. ‘To Rannaldini!’
SEVENTEEN
The flickering bright blue halo had retreated like a genie into the Christmas pudding.
Why doesn’t my father love me a millionth as much as that? thought Marcus wistfully. He was so frantic to practise he was beginning to twitch like a junkie. All the pieces he’d been learning seemed to be sliding away. Across the table his mother looked shell-shocked.
‘I cannot believe you are forty-four,’ Hermione was telling her. ‘I hope I’ll be as lovely as you when I reach your age.’
‘Which is in about two minutes,’ said Flora crossly.
‘Why don’t you take an evening class?’ urged Hermione. ‘There are courses for antique restoration, archery, ball-room dancing — you might find a new chap there. They’ve even got a class for understanding teenagers.’
