A Rural Affair (48 page)

‘A pleasure to have you both here,’ he told Clemmie with a smile.

My daughter, a Mortimer through and through, extended her hand as she’d seen her grandfather do and said solemnly, ‘Clementine
Shilling.’

Sam took her hand, delighted, and we all laughed. I could have kissed her. ‘Good evening, Clementine. I hope you enjoy your
stay.’

‘You can call me Clemmie.’

After that it was easy, because, as Dad says, it always is if you oil the wheels with a sprinkle of humour and a dash of charm,
or lashings of it in his case. He and Sam spoke of point-to-points and hunter trials, as Sam got some more ice – what he’d
come in for, he explained, the caterers having stupidly not brought enough – which perhaps explained his thunderous face earlier,
but perhaps not. It had certainly cleared, though. And as he discovered he’d once bought a horse from Dad – years ago, as
most people had, a good one, thank the Lord – it cleared even more.

‘So, Poppy, how lovely,’ he turned to me, all smiles now. But I wondered whether an expensive education had cultivated the
sort of manners that can be terribly useful on occasion. ‘And see you in due course, I hope. It’s heaving out there, incidentally,
hope you don’t mind a crush, although I’m reliably informed it’s atmosphere.’ He gave me another brilliant beam. ‘Anyway,
must dash, people are standing around with warm drinks.’ And dash he did, with his industrial-sized bag
of ice. Looking divine, I thought, as I watched his broad dark-green back disappear.

I followed Janice down the passage and up the uncarpeted back stairs with the children. Our feet clattered on the bare wood.
Clemmie was wide awake and chatting animatedly, thoroughly enjoying her role as house guest. Her brother was also warming
to the task, singing, literally, for his supper, bellowing ‘Baa-baa Black Sheep’ at the top of his voice, swaying to the rhythm
in my arms. The party was on as far as they were concerned, and I realized, with a sinking heart, that I’d never get them
to sleep now. I might just as well not have come. Janice, though, was a hit, even with Archie, who’s very fussy. When we got
to the bedroom she sat on the bed and pointed to the faded frieze of farmyard animals around the walls, asking Archie what
they said. It occurred to me that this really was a nursery, albeit an old one.

‘Was this Sam’s?’ I asked, surprised, over Archie’s deafening ‘MOO!’

‘Good boy!’ she told him. She turned to me. ‘It was once, and the tenants didn’t use this room so they didn’t bother decorating.
Didn’t decorate much at all, in fact, as you’ll see. Well, it wasn’t theirs, was it? Not worth the investment. And Sam won’t
get round to it, what with the roof falling in and other things to worry about. Now then, young man,’ she fussed over Archie,
popping him in between sheets. He instantly popped out of them, roaring with laughter. My son was having the time of his life.

‘And have you worked here for years?’ I persisted. Shut up a minute, Archie. I sat beside Janice on the bed. ‘Did you work
for Sam’s parents too?’ Any detail, however small, would help.

‘Thirty years in all,’ she said, tickling Archie’s neck. He
squealed like a piglet, tucking his chin in. ‘And when my Stan was alive we were housekeeper and gardener for his folks. Lovely,
they were. Well, she died young, didn’t she? Cancer, it was. And he didn’t make old bones; died of a broken heart, I always
said. We lived in the cottage, Stan and me. But that’s long been sold, what with death duties and that. I live in the village
now. I worked for the tenants too, nice people they were. Just cleaning and a bit of silver; well, they had au pairs, didn’t
they? And they were in London, mostly. That’s all I do for Sam now, a bit of cleaning, because of course I’m in his office
by day, doing the typing. Taught myself, I did, a while back, when he needed more help there than he did here. Only four days,
mind. Fridays I’m here to keep on top of things. Can’t be everywhere at once, can I? But I keep the place nice. General dogsbody,
that’s me.’ She grinned as Archie embraced her neck warmly. ‘Well, he’d be lost otherwise, and there’s no one else. Time was,
we had gardeners and grooms and a girl from the village and what have you, but not any more.’ I noticed the wall behind her
head was riddled with cracks, the carpet, worn beneath our feet. Times were clearly tougher.

‘And he’s easy to work for?’

She broke off from blowing in Archie’s ear to turn. She raised her chin and gave me a level stare. ‘There isn’t a better man.’

There was something decidedly eighteenth-century about this remark, and since I’d just seen him looking impossibly handsome
downstairs in something resembling a doublet and hose, it didn’t help my equilibrium. Why couldn’t she have kept to the Regency
rhetoric but said he was a cad? A bounder? I felt something I’d been determinedly stiffening inside collapse a bit.

‘So, were you here when he got married?’ I persisted nosily. ‘To Hope?’

‘I was.’ This, more shortly.

‘And – and so it must be odd for him, don’t you think? Having her back here, with her new husband?’ I blushed at my inquisitiveness.

She looked at me appraisingly. ‘I don’t know how he does it. But he’s that fond of Chad, who’s a nice boy, and that upset
for him too. That’s why they’re here, I’m sure.’

This didn’t make much sense to me, but as I was trying to figure it out and formulate another question, which obviously couldn’t
quite take the form of ‘And is he still in love with her?’ Janice got to her feet. She was leading me to the door too. Quite
forcefully, really; taking me by the arm and telling me to go off and have a good time and she’d sort out the kiddies. She
thought a game of I-spy and then a story? And perhaps some hot milk? Clemmie and Archie, looking as if it was Christmas and
not at all sorry to see the back of their mother, who would have put the lights out more instantly, agreed, bouncing in their
beds, shiny-eyed.

Down the stairs I went in my old black, thoughtful; then along the passage, following the noise to the front of the house.
The front hall, of course, was the entrance we should have arrived at, and as I turned the corner under an arch, it was everything
I’d imagined.

A grand sweeping staircase curled majestically down to a black and white limestone hall, two marble pillars supported a gallery
at one end, and haughty-looking ancestors frowned darkly from the walls. It was heaving with people, so much so that some
of them were halfway up the stairs. All seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, talking at the top of their voices, shrieking
to one another as they knocked back
the champagne. Many I knew, but so deceptively attractive were they looking, in silks, velvets and sparkling jewels, the men
dapper in black tie, that now and again I had to take a second look just to confirm. I took it all in for a moment, ridiculously
pleased to be here. Then I cast around for Dad. We were obviously late and there seemed to be a general move towards the dining
room for supper. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to drift in there alone. My eyes darted about. Instead of my father, though,
I found Jennie, who, shimmering in her grey silk, dark curls professionally swept back in soft waves from her face, was hastening
towards me from the foot of the stairs. As she muscled through the scrum, her eyes were wide in consternation.

‘I thought you weren’t coming!’

‘No, I wasn’t, but then Dad had a spare ticket and I thought: oh, what the heck. You’ll never believe it, Jennie, the children
are upstairs with the housekeeper. Dad swung it, naturally. How Mortimer is that!’

Ordinarily this would amuse her hugely, but it didn’t for some reason. Her eyes flitted nervously about. ‘There’s Angie. Come
on, let’s go and say hi.’

Rather purposefully and with quite a grip on my arm, she turned me about and made to lead me across the crowded room. Indeed,
so forcefully and with so much steel, something made me turn and glance over my shoulder: my left one.

Luke was in the stairwell, with his back to me. One hand above his head was hanging on to the banisters, the other was on
his hip. He was leaning in, talking confidentially to someone. I craned my neck. To Saintly Sue. I shook Jennie off. Watched.
Body language is fascinating and this was compelling. The way he was arched over her, whispering in her
ear: the way she threw back her head and laughed, cheeks flushed. She was in a midnight-blue off-the-shoulder dress, showing
a great deal of bosom and looking far from saintly. Suddenly, over his shoulder, she saw me. She looked surprised, but then
a triumphant look flitted across her face. A moment later Luke turned to follow her eyes. He startled visibly. I walked across.

‘Hi, Luke. Hello, Sue.’

‘Oh, um, hi, Poppy.’ Luke nervously smoothed back his mop of blond hair and straightened up. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘Oh, really? Why not?’

‘Well, I – didn’t think it was …’

‘Oh, it’s very much my thing. Thank you for the flowers, by the way. Sorry I couldn’t make supper at your place the other
night. I hope you found someone to take my place? Eat all those delicious prawns?’

Sue looked taken aback. Ah, spot on. How interesting. And I’m not normally a bitch, but it felt surprisingly good. Then she
looked thunderous. Just so you know, Sue, I thought, bestowing a sweet smile on her. Then you can make your own mind up, can’t
you? But best to be informed, hm? I turned to Luke, who looked like a small boy caught with his hand in the sweetie tin –
either that or with his trousers down. Oddly, though, as I regarded him gazing sheepishly at the floor, I realized I wasn’t
about to follow through with another waspish remark. Wasn’t going to tear him off a strip. Principally because – and this
was quite comforting – I wasn’t inordinately distressed. In fact, I decided, there was something about his chutzpah I rather
admired. Perhaps because I wasn’t going to have to be too closely acquainted with it?
Could view it from a distance? It wasn’t going to be my problem.

I let him sweat a moment, then gave a wry smile. ‘
Bon chance
, Luke,’ I said quietly, realizing I meant it. His eyes came up immediately to meet mine: we communed silently a moment.

He grinned. ‘Yeah, you too, Poppy.’

I turned and walked away. My heart was pounding a bit, but I wasn’t too out of sorts. Although I wouldn’t mind finding someone
to talk to pretty quickly. Jennie seemed to have disappeared, but – oh good, Peggy was standing by the fireplace in her black
sequins. She was ostensibly talking to Sylvia, but actually watching this little scene unfold.

‘Sylvia was just telling me,’ she told me softly as I approached, ‘that the piano teacher is perhaps not all he appears.’

‘He said he’d teach my granddaughter, Araminta,’ Sylvia said heatedly. ‘It was my birthday present to her, and of course I
didn’t think to pin him down on a price. Well, my dear, I’ve just received a bill for a hundred and fifty pounds for three
lessons! Can you believe it!’

‘Yes, I can, actually,’ I murmured.

‘But fifty pounds a lesson! Who does he think he is, Elton John?’

‘Different sexual inclination,’ observed Peggy as Jennie approached, flustered. ‘And nowhere near as talented.’

‘Sorry, Poppy. Got that wrong,’ Jennie muttered.

‘Not to worry,’ I soothed. ‘Just a bit too much grey for my liking.’

‘Grey?’ Sylvia peered over her spectacles. ‘No, he doesn’t look grey. But he’s clearly a bit of a spiv. You stay away from
that one, Poppy. We don’t want you getting it disastrously wrong again, do we?’

I was left rather speechless at this. Was I so much public property? My affairs, my life, discussed so minutely, even at the
Old Rectory? Over breakfast and the Frank Cooper’s? Suddenly London and all its anonymity appealed. Clapham, perhaps, where
I’d spent many happy years. And surely the schools weren’t all a hotbed of underage sex with crack cocaine on every street
corner? As I sank into my champagne I found Dad at my elbow.

‘All right, love? Children settled?’

‘Yes, thanks, Dad.’

‘Glad you came, then?’ He puffed out his chest, pleased with himself. ‘And wasn’t our host big about it? Nice man, just had
a long chat,’ he turned to nod in Sam’s direction.

The hall was thinning out now as people filed into dinner and I saw him over by a tall window framed by ancient tapestry drapes,
talking to Hope. In much the same way as Luke had been talking to Saintly Sue. Intently; leaning over her, but not flirtatiously,
protectively. She was looking through her lashes at the floor, beautiful in a long white Grecian dress. She was blushing a
bit. He pressed his case gently. The body language of men in love. Which I’d now seen in stereo.

The wave of jealousy that surged through me rocked me. All at once I knew why I’d been so desperate to come here, what clambering
into a filthy lorry with wet hair and odd-coloured pop socks under my old dress had been about. Seeing Luke with Sue had made
me feel irritated. Seeing Sam with Hope made me feel desolate. And very, very alone. I’d kept Sam Hetherington at bay in my
mind; kept him in a little box which I opened only occasionally, when I knew I was in a strong frame of mind. I’d protected
myself from falling in
love with him. Now he was bursting out like a jack-in-a-box, making himself even more lovable as he exposed his vulnerability,
laid bare his soul across the room. Hope looked away as he spoke. I saw her swallow, her white neck lovely. Over by the door
into the dining room, I saw Chad, watching the scene. His eyes were haunted, terrible. My breath seemed laboured, but I turned
to my father.

‘Really glad, Dad.’

‘What, love?’

He’d forgotten his original question, so long had I been in answering.

‘I’m really glad I came. It’s about time I got a few things sorted out in my head.’

And with that, leaving my father looking slightly bemused, I took his arm, and swept him into the dining room for dinner.

A sea of round tables covered in white cloths and flower arrangements and surrounded by little gilt chairs had been squeezed
into the room, which, although large, was not built for feeding two hundred. A seating plan was pinned to a board at the door.
With the noise level rising dramatically, I scanned it and found my place. Naturally I was Mary Granger for the night, and
naturally I had a deaf octogenarian on one side, and Odd Bob on the other. He looked pleased as punch with his draw whilst
I thought: beam me up, Scotty.