Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (42 page)

‘No! Do they really? How odd! My fantasy would be that they’d offer me something nice to eat and a good night’s sleep instead.’

Conrad looked down at his hands and reapplied the cloth to his fingernails. ‘Is one permitted to ask about Sebastian Lenoir in this context?’

‘You mean did I have a rape fantasy? Good God, no! I hated it. I told you before, I did it because I wanted to dance the best
parts.’ When Conrad didn’t say anything but continued to scrub away at his cuticles, I said, ‘Don’t you believe me? Was it
so
shocking and immoral?’

‘Not at all. I merely wished to be sure. Ambition is much healthier than a complex of inferiority. And what is morality when reduced to its essence but the avoidance of the infliction of pain on others? You gave Sebastian no pain.’ He smiled. ‘On the contrary. It was tenacious of you. And tenacity is perhaps the quality most valuable in life.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I’d like to believe it. Then everyone would have a chance of success, regardless of brains or talent or luck.’

‘Of course those things will have a bearing, but they can be nothing without perseverance.’

‘In that case the Singing Swan ought to be a triumph.’

Tenacity and perseverance had certainly been much in evidence there. Jode was the spearhead of activity. In seven days he had whitewashed the walls of the restaurant, kitchen and lavatory and cleaned the ovens and gas rings until they dazzled. Dimpsie had worked hard, too, making new tablecloths out of a roll of green-and-white gingham she had found in the back room of the craft shop. I had scrubbed the furniture. Even Nan was keen to be a waitress now that Dimpsie had made her a pretty dress to wear by remodelling an old one of mine.

‘I hope it will be. Have another cake.’

‘I’d adore one but I’m trying to get back into peak condition.’ I saw a mocking look in his eye that told me he was going to ask what for, so I said quickly, ‘It’s just because I feel better when I’m really fit. What are you doing with the trowel?’

‘I am making places to hold earth to plant the ferns.’

‘Aren’t you going to get a gardener?’

‘Are you offering yourself?’

‘Oh, no! I don’t know anything about it. But I wouldn’t have
thought you’d like to do that sort of thing, that’s all. Nothing to do with birds of paradise. Just that I thought you were too intellectual.’

‘There you are mistaken. The study of botany requires brain. I am interested in the propagation of ferns. They reproduce by spores instead of by seed. When the spore germinates it produces leaf-like structures called prothallii containing both male and female sexual organs …’

Conrad gave me a three-minute lecture on the life cycle of the hardy fern and I listened gratefully. Not that I expected to do much fern propagation in the near future, but I thought it was nice of him to bother.

‘How interesting,’ I said when he seemed to pause. ‘And how do the ferns know this is what they’re meant to do? What makes things want to reproduce themselves?’

‘To put it simply, it is a genetic instruction. Every living cell contains genetic material – we call it DNA …’

I listened attentively but I had to admit that genetic encoding was probably one of those things, like the workings of the internal combustion engine, that would never stick in my brain however many times it was explained to me.

‘… the difficulty comes when we try to ascertain how species evolve, given that it would be necessary for one complete breeding pair to take the step simultaneously.’ Conrad looked hard at me. I assumed what I hoped was an expression not often called for on the stage, one of terrific mental acuity. ‘However, that would be at the risk of boring you.’

‘Oh, no! I’m not in the least bored.’ This was true. I had been thoroughly enjoying the explanation. I liked being in the hermit’s cell, listening to Conrad’s voice while new words and concepts swirled in my brain like melting snowflakes.

‘Besides enjoying to do things for myself,’ Conrad concluded, ‘I shall not employ a gardener because I find I am even poorer than I thought. It seems that Uncle Charles forgot to take account of the vagaries of the weather. Not only the tornado
in the Mid-West but the severe drought in Australia has affected our investments adversely.’

‘I
am
sorry.’

Conrad waved his hands, dismissing my concern. ‘Markets are bound to fluctuate, otherwise there would be no profits. If we are careful for the next year or so we shall see a recovery. For myself I enjoy some lean living now and then. There are disadvantages to being a rich man, you know.’

‘I can’t think of any. Except, I suppose people want to borrow money from you all the time.’

‘There is that. But Uncle Charles taught me from the beginning to insist that every request, however small, is expressed in writing and submitted to the Trust’s solicitor. That puts off a great many would-be borrowers. No, what is worse for the rich man is that one is obliged constantly to doubt oneself. A prince can never know if his pronouncements are wise or his sketches accomplished. People fawn over a rich man as they do over rank. Unless one is a great fool one must constantly ask oneself, “What do I amount to apart from my rank or my fortune?” It is of vital importance to discover and it is easier to do so when one faces the buffets of life as does the poor man. But Fritz will be desolated if we have to give up the Bentley.’

And his desolation will be nothing to Isobel’s, I thought but naturally did not say. ‘You won’t have to sell Hindleep?’ The idea struck me as extremely disagreeable.

‘Not yet. But I have ordered the builders to cease work. And I have cancelled the installation of the telephone.’

‘I suppose that’s inconvenient, but I think it’s part of Hindleep’s charm that it’s cut off from the world. How lucky that you’ve finished the kitchen and the bathrooms and there’s hot water and electricity. You’ll be quite comfortable, anyway.’

‘It is, as you say, lucky.’ Conrad shot me a quick glance then gave his attention to cleaning the mortar from the trowel. ‘What are you reading now?’ I had told Conrad some time ago about my programme of self-education and he was inclined
to be critical of the hundred books on the list as being too dry for the autodidact, as he called me. I hoped it was not something insulting.

‘I only got as far as page two hundred and fifty with
Ulysses
. Yesterday I began
The Faerie Queene
by Edmund Spenser. I think I might get on better with that. What do you think “pricking on the plain” means? Why are you laughing? Is it something obscene?’

‘No, no. It means riding, spurring his horse. But I laugh because that is the first line of the first canto and it is such a very long poem. Poor Marigold, it is as though you are a kitten trying to bring down a gazelle.’ I was not offended by this patronizing comment. There was no point in getting huffy with Conrad because he so obviously meant his criticisms for one’s own good. Besides, I acknowledged that the simile was apt. ‘Why do you not read something that you could enjoy easily, like a modern novel?’

‘I’ve so much catching up to do, that’s the trouble. Intellectually, I mean.’

‘Intellectual powers would seem to be superfluous for intimidating other women, which according to you will be your role as the future Mrs Preston.’

‘It isn’t for them. It’s for me.’ I put my elbow on the table and leaned my chin on my hand. ‘What on earth am I going to think about while I’m judging jams?’ Then I remembered that, not many minutes ago, I had stubbornly rejected the suggestion that my new life might have elements of tedium.

The moment the words were out of my mouth Conrad seized on them as I had known he would. ‘And yet you persist in saying that you make this sacrifice willingly and happily. Were I Rafe, I should be seriously worried that I might not be able to atone.’

‘That would be awful. But I really don’t think Rafe’s going to feel burdened by a millstone of gratitude because he has no idea what I’m giving up to marry him. He isn’t at all interested in ballet.’

‘In this case, don’t you think there may be grounds for incompatibility?’

The church clock struck half past the hour. I sprang up. ‘I must go. Thank you so much for the coffee and the heavenly doughnuts.’

Conrad murmured, as if talking to himself, ‘
Was hat es, daß
es so hoch aufspringt, mein Hertz?
’
*

‘What did you say?’

‘I say you must hurry or you will be late.’

‘Anyone would think you
wanted
that ruffian to seduce your mother,’ said Rafe in a tone that was almost angry as we sped towards Carlisle to see a performance of
Separate Tables
by Terence Rattigan. ‘By getting them both involved in that squalid little café you’re practically throwing them into each other’s arms.’

‘It’s much less squalid now,’ I said pacifically. ‘Honestly, it looks quite inviting. We’ve taken down the neon sign that said EATS AND TREATS and Jode’s painted a beautiful new one. He’s very artistic in a neat sort of way. Being interested in the visual arts is something he and Dimpsie have got in common and it’s so nice for her.’

I did not say that the other thing Jode and Dimpsie had in common was a consuming appetite for sex at all hours and in all places. When duties to the café, the craft shop and Harrison Ford permitted, they took themselves off to any nook or cranny that offered and bolted themselves in, to emerge later with red faces and tousled hair. No one could have objected to this. They were discreet about their departures and refrained from public displays of affection. Apart from the occasional strangled moan they were as quiet as mice.

‘And that nephew of Mrs Peevis’s is a bad lot,’ Rafe continued
as though he hadn’t heard me. ‘He’s been up before the bench for receiving electrical goods. It was a first offence so he got off with a fine, but I thought he was a nasty piece of work.’

I couldn’t disagree with him. Dale had an ingratiating manner, but the bold lechery in his eyes made me dislike being alone with him in the kitchen. He spent much more time with ‘Auntie Edna’ these days, dropping in at the Singing Swan at all hours to persuade her to increase the size of her flutters on the gee-gees, now the place was in a fair way to becoming a tidy little earner. If you disregarded his greasy hair, which he was always combing over the teacups, and a nose covered with blackheads, Dale had the looks of a second-rate film star in a third-rate gangster movie. He spread a roguish smirk over his oily countenance whenever he spoke to Nan, who responded with sniffs, flounces and tart remarks to show him she could not be taken in by men’s wiles. But her large grey eyes followed him everywhere and it must have been as obvious to him as it was to me that she was far from indifferent.

‘I don’t like him but I can’t help him being Mrs Peevis’s nephew.’

‘Why won’t you let me make you an allowance?’ Rafe put his foot on the accelerator and I closed my eyes to shut out the headlights of cars and lorries that rushed pell-mell towards us. ‘I must confess I find your refusal hurtful.’

‘Do you? I’m so sorry. I had no intention of hurting you. It’s the very last thing I want to do.’

‘Can’t you see that it seems like a rejection? As though you can’t bear to be under any kind of obligation to me. People who love each other ought to exchange sympathy and counsel and every sort of good fortune, spiritual and material, without even thinking about it. A marriage is a repository for the common good of the two people involved. I
want
to look after you, to give you everything I have in the world. And I hope you want to look after me. Because if not—’

‘Oh Rafe. Of
course
I do.’ I put my hand on his knee to
reassure him. ‘Really, you shouldn’t see it as a rejection. It’s just that I’m so conscious of how much you’ve already given me, you and Evelyn, and I seem to have so little to give in return.’

‘I wish I could make you see that what you give me is far above pounds, shillings and pence. Beauty, tenderness, companionship, someone to love wholly and openly and honestly … I can look the world in the face as long as I have you beside me. Let me take care of you now, as I mean to do for the rest of our lives.’

I always found Rafe’s rare moments of demonstrativeness tremendously touching. ‘Of course I will if that’s what you really want.’

‘Thank you, darling.’ He took his hand from the wheel to clasp mine. I bit my tongue to stop myself yelling at him to put both hands on the steering wheel. ‘I’ll get on to Armstrong in the morning.’ Armstrong was his bank manager. ‘To be frank I’m hugely relieved. I’ve hated the idea of you skivvying at that ghastly place with those awful people. Working at the surgery’s a different matter. The family connection makes that perfectly respectable. But if I’m allowed to express a preference, I’d like you to tell your father to find someone else as soon as possible.’

I had not perfectly understood that an agreement to give up work was a constituent part of accepting the allowance. Actually, there was much to be said in favour of resigning from my job at the surgery. My relationship with my father had deteriorated to the point where we spoke only when we absolutely had to, not always managing to prevent some exchanges of the hissing and spitting kind. Though the patients and Nurses Bunker and Keppel seemed to find our spats exciting, it was probably not good for the efficiency of the place.

Working at the Singing Swan, however, was fun. I was going to miss the challenges and the sense of achievement, even if it came from something as mundane as defrosting the freezer. The bottom six inches of ices and snowfrutes had thawed so often they had formed multicoloured layers like the geological cross
section of the Continental crust in my school atlas. But Rafe could not object to me visiting my mother at the Singing Swan, so long as I abstained from menial tasks unbecoming to the future mistress of Shottestone. He was not buying me outright for his sole use. Immediately I was ashamed of this rebellious thought, which seemed petty and ungrateful.

‘All right, I’ll tell him. But I’ll have to stay until they find another receptionist.’

‘Of course.’

Rafe squeezed my hand, then let it go. Keeping my eyes closed, I began to breathe more easily now I could imagine those strong brown fingers firmly on the wheel at ten to two as Mr Lugg, my driving instructor, had demonstrated a few hours earlier. I heard Rafe humming as he often did when he was pleased about something.

‘Some talk of Alexander an-nd some of He-
er
-
cu-u
-
les
,’ he sang.

I was sorry to have given him pain, and for a while I felt quite cheered by the idea of marriage as an investment of good things from which we both could draw strength and inspiration. Then I started wondering again about my own contribution to this nuptial fund. Beauty? Though others raved about the colour of my hair I didn’t particularly like it, and I always thought myself too small and thin to be beautiful … but anyway, whatever pretension I might have to good looks, they could not last. Tenderness and companionship: I hoped I would be adequate to the task. It occurred to me that so far all I had put into the conjugal pool was a willingness to give things up.

‘Of Hector and Lysander an-nd such great m-en a-s these
.’

Satisfaction radiated from him. He had got what he wanted. The Prestons almost invariably triumphed. They practised a kind of tyranny through benevolence that left the tyrannized feeling grateful, even as they bent their necks beneath the yoke … I accused myself of disloyalty and reminded myself how much I owed them. Only a few days ago Evelyn had given me a set of
garden tools for my own use. They had wooden handles and shining stainless-steel blades and prongs. Evelyn said they were the very best sort and would last me all my life. She had cut short my thanks with, ‘If it isn’t raining on Saturday we’ll get going on the tulip border. You can be here by ten, can’t you, darling? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you exactly what to do …’

‘How did the driving lesson go?’

‘Oh,’ I felt a stab of guilt because Rafe was paying for my lessons, ‘not awfully well, I’m afraid. I ran into the back of a caravan. Luckily no one was injured. And Mr Lugg says the driving school’s insurance will pay for the new bumper. After that Mr Lugg said he didn’t think I’d be much cop, as he put it, after the shock, so he drove me home. It wasn’t a very good beginning.’

‘Poor sweet.’ Rafe patted my knee kindly. ‘All that matters is that you weren’t hurt.’ Here were the dividends from that investment of mutual sympathy. ‘Caravans provoke dangerous driving – either they’re ridiculously slow or so fast they get blown over.’

‘This one was parked. I don’t think I’m ever going to be much cop. I simply can’t persuade myself not to shut my eyes whenever I see something alarming. Perhaps I might learn to ride a bicycle, or even better a tricycle—’

‘Don’t be silly, darling. You don’t want to be a figure of fun. You’ll conquer your fear with a little practice, I promise you.’

I was thankful he was not annoyed. In fact he was the soul of sweet reasonableness for the rest of the evening. Until we got home, that is.

In the theatre he took my – Bobbie’s – coat to the cloakroom, bought me a programme and steered me to my seat with a firm grip on my arm. Perhaps he thought I might miss my footing and somersault over the edge of the grand tier into the stalls below. When the lights went down for the first act I felt a terrible pang of regret that I was not on stage myself, but soon managed to lose myself in the drama which was about the
loneliness of the human condition. In the interval we went to the crush bar which was appropriately packed. Somehow Rafe managed to procure champagne and an ice for me while everyone else was complaining about the queues; he found a table near an open window so we were cooled by a refreshing breeze. Gracefully he acknowledged the greetings of people he knew, which seemed to be almost everybody. I encountered speculative glances wherever I looked and knew myself to be an object of curiosity. I shook hands and thanked for compliments, laughed at witticisms and accepted invitations. It was a relief to be ushered back to my seat by Rafe before he departed for the lavatory.

I entertained myself in his absence by looking at the audience. I recognized Lady Pruefoy’s helmet of white hair in the box to the right of the proscenium arch. In the left-hand box I was surprised to see Conrad and Fritz, with Isobel sitting between them. Fritz was looking down into the empty orchestra pit and Conrad was reading his programme. Isobel put her hand on Conrad’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He replied briefly and resumed his reading. Isobel gave a petulant shake of her shoulders and slumped in her chair, pouting. I saw that she was unhappy and that Conrad was the cause.

I wondered what could be wrong. Conrad was not unkind to her, in public anyway. He was not assiduous with his attentions like Rafe, but neither was he neglectful. He was a good host, providing food, wine, music, warmth, comfort, even breakfast, all of a high order. He did these things with a detached, almost negligent air, but he noticed if your cup was empty or you were cold or in need of a handkerchief. He could be critical, and sometimes harsh, but surely Isobel was a match for him? When he was in a certain mood those black eyes teased maliciously. They seemed to ask to be amused, at your expense if necessary, but Isobel would hate a compliant husband. On the other hand she was used to being petted. In the old days she had always had a string of suitors who submitted humbly
to her caprices and hung on her every word. Conrad never showed the least inclination to do this. Sometimes he was cool to the point of indifference. Usually he was unromantically cheerful.

Isobel’s expression grew sulkier. Conrad closed his programme, folded his arms and ran his eyes over the auditorium in a bored sort of way. With his extraordinary physical beauty he made the rest of the men in the audience look colourless and uninteresting. I hoped he would notice me but he seemed to look everywhere but in my direction … suddenly I knew with absolute certainty that Conrad and Isobel must be prevented from marrying. They would not make each other happy.

The strength of this conviction made my heart race and a most uncomfortable sick feeling gripped my internal organs, as though I had eaten something that disagreed with me. Rafe was the only person who had any influence with Isobel. I must make him see as a matter of urgency that their engagement was a mistake. Just as he came back to his seat, the lights went down and the curtain rose. Throughout the second act, though I registered the comedy and the poignancy of the play, the disturbing undercurrent of anxiety remained. We stayed in our seats for the next interval as I was incapable of eating or drinking another mouthful.

‘Isobel and Conrad and Fritz are here.’ I pointed to the box.

‘Oh yes. Isobel said they were getting tickets. She asked if we wanted to join them but a box only holds four and as Conrad insists on taking Fritz everywhere … anyway, I’d much rather just be with you, darling.’

I was touched by the warm look that accompanied this remark. Rafe was an angel and I ought to be ready to give up anything and everything to make him happy.

‘Besides,’ he went on to say, rather spoiling it, ‘it would have meant having supper at the Castle and there might have been awkwardness about who was picking up the tab. It’s an expensive place, but on the other hand I’ve no wish to be Conrad’s
pensioner.’ While he was talking, Rafe acknowledged waves and salutations from other members of the audience.

‘I suppose everyone’s here because there isn’t really much to do in the evening in the country,’ I suggested. ‘Apart from dinner parties and you can’t have those very often for fear of getting fed up with the same old people. Perhaps we ought to join a spiritualist society or a Zen poetry group so we could get to know a different sort.’

Rafe assumed the expression he reserved for my more absurd remarks, one eyebrow raised and the other drawn down, nostrils arched. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting an evening spent in my company would be so dull you’d rather spend it with a bunch of crackpots speaking in tongues and wearing hand-knitted underclothes? Surely you’ve had enough of the Bohemian way of life? From what I saw of Sebastian Lenoir he didn’t look like the sort of man who would make a girl happy for very long. Charming, of course, but I’d have said an absolute bastard.’

He looked at me very directly then, without smiling, and I read in his eyes a question.

I dropped my eyes under his gaze and fidgeted with the battered red plush on the arm of my seat. ‘Rafe, I’m worried about Isobel. I’m not sure she’s going to be happy married to Conrad.’