Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (17 page)

So I did, and Fritz listened and questioned and looked fascinated and for once I was a genuine social success, but only because Fritz was the most stimulating audience. I remembered just in time that I was supposed to be encouraging him to talk as well.

‘Do you know what “inspissated” means?’

‘I am sorry not. Vat is ze situation you find it, gracious miss?’

‘Do call me Marigold. It’s in the preface to a famous book called
Ulysses
by James Joyce. Inspissated obscurities.’

‘I know ze book, of course. But I haf it read only in German, I regret. It is remarkable for – excuse me, Conrad.’ Conrad broke off a conversation with Isobel to look at him enquiringly. ‘Marigold and I talk of James Joyce. How you say in English
der Bewußtseinsstrom?
’

‘Stream of consciousness,’ said Conrad.

‘Ah yes.’ Fritz scribbled this on a page in his notebook. ‘And vat means inspissated obscurities?’

Conrad drew his black brows together in thought. ‘In general inspissated means something that thickens. By process of evaporation, for example. Like salt crystals. In the context of James Joyce I take it to mean that the complexities and riddles of the novel pile up one upon another.’

The guests at our end of the table looked both alarmed and disgusted by the highbrow tone of our conversation, but Evelyn sanctioned it with a smile of approval. I was sorry that Rafe was sitting too far away to witness my triumph. The archdeacon was holding forth to Lady Pruefoy and did not see Isobel point to his water glass. Obediently the maid brought back the jug and filled it. Isobel tapped his arm. Bravely he gulped it down. Perhaps it would do his dandruff some good.

‘I say,’ Ronald paused in the rapid consumption of his chestnut ice, ‘that fellow of Isobel’s.’ He cast an unfriendly glance across the table at Conrad. ‘Can’t believe she really likes him. He’s a Jew, isn’t he? D’you think if the weather improves Isobel might like a day out next week picking up?’

‘I’m absolutely certain she’d hate it.’

I disliked Ronald too much to talk to him. I stole a look at Rafe who had Bunty as his neighbour. He said something to her which made her eyes light up with pleasure. I felt a pang of something suspiciously like jealousy shoot through the melange of soup, beef and ice in my stomach. Could it be … was I actually in love with him? My eyes wandered to Isobel and Conrad. He was listening as she talked earnestly. It was not difficult to see what had persuaded Isobel to agree to his proposal. By
comparison with the other men at the table, Conrad was as a pomegranate among potatoes. You cannot sustain large peasant populations with pomegranates, but Conrad’s mysterious and exotic air made the others seem stodgy and colourless.

And the mystery was more than a combination of foreign looks and an enigmatic gaze. What had he been doing on that train from Newcastle to Carlisle? Why had he kept his presence in the neighbourhood a secret from Isobel? I smiled as I thought of the surprise it must have given him to find a witness to his deceit turning up in the heart of the citadel he was set to conquer.

The savoury,
cornes de jambon
, was brought in, little cornucopias of golden pastry filled with finely chopped ham in a pale green sauce. I saw Evelyn beckon to the maid, point to her own and then Conrad’s water glass. Conrad sipped the water as calmly as though it were mother’s milk. The archdeacon was talking over Lady Pruefoy’s head to her other neighbour and did not notice. Heartlessly Isobel instructed the girl to fill his glass.

‘Well?’ demanded Lady Pruefoy of Evelyn as soon as we women – except Isobel, who had gone to the lavatory – were gathered in the drawing room. ‘What d’you think of him? I must say he’s not at all what I expected.’

‘I have to admit,’ Evelyn leaned over the tray to pour the coffee, ‘I’m agreeably surprised. He knows a great deal about furniture. And porcelain. He seems intelligent. Though I dislike the idea of my daughter marrying someone whose background is so different from her own, at least he is not a blockhead.’

‘He’s so very black in his looks, though,’ said Lady Pruefoy. ‘Not his skin, I don’t mean – that’s so sallow as to be positively unhealthy; perhaps it’s that nasty disease you rang to tell me of this morning – but his hair and eyes. You’d never guess he was European, would you? I suppose it’s the –’ she lowered her voice – ‘Jewish blood. Dear Evelyn, I feel for you,. One hardly wants one’s grandchildren to look like little gypsies.’

Lady Pruefoy had silver hair piled up into a cone, like a Norman helmet, only without the nose-piece, of course, and a snow-white
moustache. Some small allowance had to be made for the nastiness of her remarks, for she had spent a dull evening sitting between the archdeacon and a man who had lectured her about Common Market agricultural policies until her chin had sunk on to her brown velvet bosom and her eyes had rolled upwards.

Evelyn frowned. ‘Dark, yes, but handsome. And he has good teeth and bones.’

‘Teeth can be corrected. But one can do nothing about bad blood.’

Evelyn smiled. ‘Fortunately Isobel will move in international circles where racism is considered extremely provincial.’

I looked with interest at Lady Pruefoy to see how she was taking that. She inflated an already large bosom to say, ‘I wonder how a delicately nurtured girl like Isobel will like the society of greasy Greek shipping magnates and Sicilian mafioso.’

‘Mafiosi,’ said Evelyn, mimicking astonishment rather well. ‘But I forgot, dear Poppy, you have never learned Italian.’

Isobel returned just then, so that conversation was halted.

‘Evelyn’s so cosmopolitan.’ Bunty perched next to me on the sofa, her dress caught up on her large knees, exposing enormous feet in black suede court shoes that had seen better days. ‘I do so admire her.’

‘So do I,’ I said truthfully.

‘And Kingsley is such a sweet old man and Isobel is so … so original.’ Bunty’s already pink face darkened a shade and her eyes became dewy. ‘Rafe is … perfectly charming.’

‘Isn’t he?’

‘I know you and he are just like brother and sister. Evelyn’s told me how you came every day to play with her children and I do envy you.’ Bunty’s slightly bulging eyes grew wistful. ‘Being an only child the hols were awfully lonely. My pony, Raffles, was my best friend.’

‘Lucky you to have a pony!’ I gushed.

‘Yes. He was lovely – a bay with a blaze and white socks – but my relationship with Raffles wasn’t much of a preparation
for adult life.’ She laughed self-deprecatingly. There was something attractive about this gangling girl that had nothing to do with looks. Probably it was her honesty. ‘Often I find it quite difficult to talk to men. Usually I’m looking down on the tops of their heads, which doesn’t help. But Rafe’s so tall … and he’s so good at putting one at ease.’ She leaned a little closer and I saw the edge of a woollen vest above the neck of her dress. ‘We used to meet at tennis parties and sometimes he came to Lumbe Hall to shoot. You won’t tell him, will you?’ Bunty’s eyes were softly appealing. ‘I used to call him Prince Charming. Only to Raffles, of course. I’d shut my eyes and pretend I was waltzing with him in a beautiful dress … me wearing the dress, I mean … oh, it was all too silly. Promise you won’t tell?’

‘I promise.’

‘Oh, here they are.’ Bunty stood up as Rafe, with his arm through Kingsley’s, led the men into the drawing room. ‘Will you excuse me, Marigold? I promised Evelyn I’d help take round the cups.’

I watched her as she went to the tray. Several inches of yellowish petticoat hung down beneath the hem of her dress. Evelyn saw it too and frowned, instantly changing the frown for a smile of encouragement as Bunty looked up. Spendlove came in with a decanter of brandy and a soda-water siphon. The archdeacon tried to make him take it away, but Evelyn gave him an angry look and summoned it back. I felt almost sorry for the archdeacon. He did not seem to have had a moment’s relaxation all evening.

‘Hello,’ said a voice at my elbow. It was Kingsley. One of his shirt studs had popped, revealing a diamond-shaped section of chest, sparsely whiskered. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’ He plumped himself down on the sofa beside me. ‘Phew! It’s a relief to take the weight off my feet. I’m not as young as I was and these late nights don’t suit me.’ He put his face close to mine. His sagging lower eyelids and trembling lips were sad to see. An old soldier whose battles were all fought now, save the last
and most fearful battle of all. ‘But not past it, you know. I can still do it.’ He contorted his face into a satyric leer. ‘Oh, yes. The brave lad still stands to attention.’ He took hold of my hand and tried to guide it towards his crotch. ‘Out in Egypt it was hot – by gum, the beggars and the dirt and the flies made you sick to your stomach, but those dusky little girls were so beautiful, it gives me an ache in my belly to think of them. Your hair’s the colour of flames. I’d like to dive naked into them.’

‘There you are, Father.’ Rafe was leaning over us from behind the sofa. ‘Lord Dunderave wants to know if you’d like to take a rod in Scotland this August.’

‘Good God, no!’ Kingsley looked horrified. ‘Can’t stand the man. Tell him no, my boy.’

‘That won’t do, Father,’ Rafe’s voice was firm. ‘You must tell him yourself.’

‘Can’t think why Evelyn’s always inviting him,’ Kingsley protested as his son helped him up. ‘He’s bad-tempered and a rotten shot.’ Grumbling he walked off.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Rafe said as he drove me home an hour later. ‘Sexual disinhibition is a classic symptom of dementia, according to the specialist. Buster, be quiet! This morning I caught him trying to goose Mrs Capstick. She’s very loyal and said she quite understood that the master wasn’t himself. I hope you aren’t too shocked.’

‘Not at all. He’s never been anything but very kind to me.’

‘Bless you for that. If it gets any worse I suppose we’ll have to keep him within bounds somehow. Shut up, Buster! But you don’t want to hear all my family problems. I hope you didn’t have too bad a time with Ronald at dinner. He’s a bit of an ass.’

‘I expect he thought I was completely deranged.’

Buster was yelping directly into my right ear, making my head swim. I slipped my arm between the front seats and groped around in the back to stroke him. I found his paw. The minute I took hold of it he stopped barking so I hung on.

‘You and Fritz were getting on like a house on fire.’

‘He’s a darling. I did think Conrad was rather exciting, didn’t you?’

‘Exciting? That wouldn’t be the adjective I’d choose. After you women left the table he hardly said a word. I suppose to be fair, none of us had much to say. Dunderave and Crimple-Pratt started a row about the Common Market which set Father off about the Germans so I had to pretend we’d run out of port.’

We both laughed. The post mortems in the car going home were almost the most enjoyable parts of Shottestone dinners.

‘I could see you were having great success with Bunty.’

‘We were talking about horses.’

‘She looked as though she was enjoying herself.’

‘I hope so. But I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Don’t think me conceited – the thing is, Marigold, you’re so sweet and easy to talk to and I mustn’t abuse that – but my mother’s been trying to throw us, Bunty and me, together with marriage in mind. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Of course it’s impossible.’

‘Is it? Actually I think she’s unusually honest and nice.’

‘Do you? Well … yes, I suppose she is. But what man marries for niceness? She has as much sex appeal as dear old Nanny Sparkles.’ Nanny Sparkles had looked after two generations of Preston children and now lay beneath the snow in Gaythwaite churchyard. ‘I simply couldn’t go through with it.’

I was puzzled by the despondency of his tone. ‘Do many men marry to please their parents these days?’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Evelyn would want you to be happy.’

‘Yes. But she’s convinced she knows better than I do what would make me happy.’ The fierceness with which he said this surprised me. ‘Bunty’ll inherit a large estate. And Evelyn would be able to keep her under her thumb. She’d never be a threat to my mother’s supremacy.’

‘To be fair,’ I said, ‘I expect all mothers want their children to marry the sort of people who’ll fit in easily with their own circle. All mothers except mine, that is. Dimpsie would adore it if I married a flamenco dancer or the ringmaster of a travelling circus. That’s because she doesn’t have a social position to maintain. And she’s a romantic.’

‘I hope you won’t.’

‘Probably not. It would be so difficult to juggle careers – and I hate animals being kept in cages and made to perform.’

‘If you were married, would it be absolutely necessary for you to go on dancing?’

‘Oh yes. I’m horribly ambitious, you know.’

‘Is it quite impossible that you might ever love someone enough to give it up so you could be with them? I don’t know much about ballet but I suppose it involves hours of practice and world tours and so on. If – I admit it’s unlikely – your fancy happened to light on some poor fool who was obliged to live in the remoter regions of … let’s say, for argument’s sake, Northumberland, where his family had lived for generations – let’s imagine that because he’s the only son he feels it’s his duty to carry on the tradition – in those most improbable circumstances, might you contemplate sacrificing your career in order to rusticate in the wilderness with him?’

I grew hot suddenly and my heart drummed so violently that my ears squeaked. Rafe’s choice of words was light-hearted but his voice was serious. The porch light of Dumbola Lodge appeared up ahead and at the same moment the wheels started to spin on the icebound drive. I felt us slide backwards, felt the car tumble down, down, down into the black foaming waters below … we stopped. I opened my eyes and took my gloved fist, the one not holding Buster’s paw, out of my mouth. We had pulled up beside the front door.

‘Sorry, did that frighten you? I had to let the car roll back a bit to get the tyres to grip.’

I hoped I had not actually screamed. Before I could begin to
repair my dignity, the front door opened to reveal my father, muffled in overcoat and scarf, standing in a segment of light. He inched his way over the frozen ground and came to peer into the car.