lines of her pre-nuptial fantasies, she loved him for it. She was able to respond to his enthusiasm with an unfeigned enthusiasm of her own. To her delight, she discovered that he was a bit rusty on the history of the family itself. Here was her task! She saw herself lovingly cataloguing the furniture and pictures, entertaining ancient aunts and writing up memoirs of long, hot Edwardian summers at Broughton, bringing down and cleaning forgotten pictures in the attics of some particularly amusing ancestor. She was interested in both history and gossip — what could be better qualifications? It is true that the sex did not improve dramatically and the format never varied but once Charles was less nervous with her it did at least take a bit longer. Altogether, as they boarded the aeroplane for Madrid, the first leg of their journey to Mallorca, Edith and Charles were able to stare into each other's eyes in a deliberate imitation of two people who were as 'happy as newly-weds'.
EIGHT
At Palma, where they surged out of the ticket hall surrounded by what looked and sounded like the entire supporters' club of Wolverhampton Wanderers, they were hailed by a wrinkled cockney with a face like beaten leather and red nylon shorts. He was, he explained, Eric's 'driver' and had come to take them to the villa. Charles was slightly put out at not being met in person — Edith would learn that like many apparently easy-going grandees his insecurity manifested itself if he ever felt that he was being treated like an 'ordinary person' despite his often saying that this was exactly what he wanted. She, herself, was simply glad to be out of the airport and in a car and gradually her relief transmitted itself to him. In the end he forgave the Chases for staying at home: the drive consisted of two and a half hours of dry scrub and shanties as they crossed the centre of the island. Edith had never visited Mallorca before and had not known what to expect. But she realised on looking out of the car window that the images in her mind had consisted of various combinations of Monte Carlo and Blackpool, not the scratch farming and dust of the plains of Salamanca. As they approached Calaratjada, however, the huge concrete hotels of her imaginings began to materialise together with the crowds — mainly respectable but with the hovering hint of kiss- me-quick hats — and all the sights and smells of the Beach Holiday made their familiar and comforting appearance.
The villa itself was a large, white, modern affair constructed around a kind of hill/courtyard, with vast tiled terraces looking out across the bay. There was a private jetty, which was apparently more for swimming than for tethering boats, and meant that there was no need for the villa's inhabitants to use the crowded, sandy beach that launched the tourist swimmers into the sea from a point a few hundred yards to the left of their position. Across the water, the smart houses of the Mallorcin could be glimpsed through their modest curtaining of trees and beyond there was the wide, blue ocean. Edith and Charles stood admiring the view, as a pin-figure far below them on the jetty waved and started to run up the steps. A few minutes later Caroline appeared. They were kissed and congratulated and, in turn, they admired the villa.
'Isn't it fabulous? It belongs to some client of Eric's so we've got a frightfully good rate. It's far cheaper than the one we had last year and it's twice the size. Needless to say, we're being used as an absolute boarding-house all summer long.'
Charles frowned slightly. 'I thought it was just going to be us this week.'
'I know. So did I. But then Peter rang because this was the only week he could do. And Jane and Henry suddenly said they could come after all. And then one of Eric's business people appeared with his wife.' Caroline momentarily wrinkled her nose. 'Apparently Eric had asked them and forgotten all about it. Wasn't it frightful? Anyway, they're here now and they seem to have forgiven us.'
'You mean they're all here now? This week?'
'This minute. They're coming up to change for dinner even as we speak. Has anyone shown you your room? You've got the best one so you mustn't grumble.'
Charles threw himself on the bed in what Edith could only describe as a 'pet'. 'Christ! I don't know why we didn't just go to Trafalgar Square and set up a tent.'
Edith lay down next to him. 'Oh, darling, it doesn't matter. I'm sure everyone just does what they want anyway. We'll be able to push off by ourselves.' Actually she was feeling rather guilty as when Caroline was speaking she, Edith, suddenly realised that she was rather relieved to discover it wasn't just going to be the four of them after all. From what she knew of him she didn't like Eric much, Caroline she found rather intimidating and she had to admit that she was feeling just the teeniest bit talked-out with Charles. 'It'll be much easier later when we've done more together,' she said to herself but it was with a faintly sinking feeling that she realised she could already predict what his opinion would be on more or less any given topic. As a sort of private game with herself, she had begun to introduce odd items into the conversation, like psycho synthesis or the Dalai Lama, in the hope of catching herself out and being surprised by something he said. So far she hadn't dropped a point.
They met the rest of the party when they assembled that evening on the top terrace. Edith had been nervous of Caroline during the courting months for the simple reason that Caroline was a good deal more intelligent than Charles, and Edith was half afraid that she would try to put him, if not off her, at least on his guard. This may well have been true but Caroline, snobbish and egocentric as she was, was not essentially bad-hearted. Now that Edith was her sister-in-law she was determined to get on with her and she was equally determined that Charles, of whom she was extremely, if rather parentally, fond, should have a happy stay. All this Edith saw in the genuine smiles and the slightly touching arrangements of festive nibbles and champagne on ice as they walked across the sitting room and out through the glass doors to join the others. All the women wore expensive cocktail, rather than evening, frocks and all the men were in open-necked shirts. They looked oddly mismatched, like a bad hand in Happy Families. Jane Cumnor was the most over-dressed in strapless black moire, but she held no threat any more for Edith who was quite content in off-the-shoulder cotton. Since they had last met properly she had breached Jane's citadel and Edith was anyway the prettier woman. Their relationship had subtly altered overnight, a fact of which Jane was quite as aware as Edith. She sidled over to plant a lipsticky kiss on the cheek of the bride. Henry lumbered across and pushed his face against hers. In his brightly coloured summer clothes he resembled a nineteenth-century bathing-machine. Edith wondered if his shirt might suddenly open to reveal a timorous swimmer in stripes. Caroline raised her glass:
'Welcome to the family.'
'Yes,' said Eric, who was standing behind the others nearer the edge of the terrace. 'Well done, Edith.'
The others noticed but ignored his tone and raised their glasses to the name, making the salutation sound more normal.
Edith smiled and she and Charles drank their thanks and everyone sat down.
The moonlit sea glittered behind their heads as they sprawled and chattered on their cushioned wicker, champagne in their hands, the women in their
