Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (54 page)

‘I don’t like the look of that cloud.’ Evelyn glared at it through the drawing-room window. ‘I must be a complete fool to even
con
template giving a garden party in England.’

‘If it makes you think more kindly of Canada, I’ll be glad of a little rain,’ said Rex, slipping an arm round her waist.

‘Don’t do that while I’m trying to make these delphiniums stand up … my darling,’ Evelyn added to make up for her cross tone. ‘I
do
like Canada. At least I think it’s very beautiful but I’m just not sure about living so far from civilization.’ Rex gave a shout of laughter. Evelyn frowned. ‘What’s funny about that? After last night, surely you can see how important it is to be within reach of people of culture and taste.
Dear
Marigold!’ She sent me an approving look, though I was making rather a hash of arranging some roses in a bowl. ‘Who’d have believed you’d grow up to be a world-famous ballerina!’

‘Not yet,’ I murmured.

The morning papers had contained three more or less favourable reviews. Golly’s music had met with unreserved enthusiasm. The critics talked of ‘mythic power’, ‘uncompromising modernity’, ‘transcendental melodies’, and so on. One reviewer complained of the complexity of the plot, another of some ragged chorus work. Two queried whether the odd behaviour of one
of the corps de ballet, who seemed to be frequently lost in the mist, was intentional. This was Lizzie’s stand-in, of course. When leaping up to kick the whale bone she had done an accidental backward roly-poly, which made the audience hoot with laughter. After that, every time she made a mistake there was a ripple of appreciative amusement. One critic opined that she brought a welcome dimension of humour to what might otherwise have been a uniformly dark tale. They had all written kind things about me, which I had savoured and committed to memory. But only one person’s opinion really counted.

In recent weeks Didelot had been here, there and everywhere. I had read his reviews from Tokyo, Stuttgart, New York and Shanghai with sympathetic anguish for the castigated clumsy turns, weak arabesques, facial contortions, uneven corps line. His few words of praise glowed like fireflies in the dark. Whenever I thought of the Monday edition of the
Sentinel
I felt a buzz of sick terror.

‘You’ll be as famous as Margot Fonteyn,’ said Evelyn, who knew as much about ballet as I did about gardening. ‘I’m quite sure of it.’

I smiled my thanks for her endorsement while accidentally knocking a few more petals off a beautiful rose called
Comte
de Chambord
. When I had protested that I was hopeless at arranging flowers she had said, ‘Nonsense! Even an idiot can arrange a mass of the same thing.’

Rex had laughed very much at that. He seemed to find everything she said wonderfully entertaining, which boded well for their future. Whenever she asked him what was so amusing, he said something like, ‘You are, my darling. Not just funny but absolutely splendid.’

‘Are you really thinking of going to live in Canada?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ said Rex

‘No,’ said Evelyn. ‘I shall never leave poor Kingsley. I know he’s behaving most unreasonably at the moment,’ she went on as we remained tactfully silent. ‘But if he
should
come to
his senses, I should never forgive myself if I were not by his side.’

Only that morning, when Evelyn had gone into the library to give instructions to Miss Strangward about not allowing the dogs upstairs and certainly not letting them sleep in Kingsley’s bed, Kingsley had screamed and hidden behind the sofa. He had bawled for Nanny Sparkle to come and save him from the wicked witch. I heard Miss Strangward tell Evelyn, not I thought without some satisfaction, that it would be better if she kept away.

Evelyn had come out of the library with a face of wrath but Rex had said, ‘Darling, it’s just that you represent everything precious that he’s lost, poor man, and there’s a part of his brain that doesn’t like to be reminded of it.’

Evelyn had been a little mollified. Besides, she and Rex were patently so happy in each other’s company that nothing upset her for long. They had flown home specially for the first night of
Ilina and the Scarlet Riband
, and when they had come backstage afterwards I had taken her on one side and told her I knew she was my benefactor and that it would be impossible for me adequately to express my undying gratitude.

‘It was naughty of Isobel to tell you.’ Evelyn had looked pleased. ‘But, darling, I don’t want thanks. I’ve had my reward in watching you tonight. You were wonderful.’

Evelyn had been infected by first-night excitement and told everyone who would listen that Golly and I were among her most intimate friends. Golly, like the kind-hearted old thing she was, had responded cordially to Evelyn’s unprecedented enthusiasm. Sebastian, who was trailing a weary looking Cynthia Kay behind him, had greeted Evelyn with charming gallantry. Thrilled to find herself rubbing shoulders with artists who might well be in the vanguard of a new movement, Evelyn had invited the entire cast to Shottestone for a celebration garden party.

She was not the only loyal friend to attend the first night. I had felt a hand on my arm and turned to see a lovely face framed by softly waving fair hair.

‘
Bobbie!
Oh, how marvellous! I’d no idea you were coming!’ Bobbie, who was responsible for my coming home and to whom therefore I owed all the good things that had happened to me since returning to Northumberland, embraced me as closely as she could, given that her stomach was rounded by several months’ pregnancy.

‘I read about the opera in the
Irish Times
, so of course I had to come to see you. And you were
wonderful!
You reduced me to tears and I try so hard not to cry at the moment because it upsets Finn.’

‘Is he here?’

Bobbie pointed to a tall man with greying hair and a square jaw who was hemmed into a crowd nearby. He looked in our direction and waved to us. We waved back.

‘Bobbie! Your baby’s going to be so handsome! He looks divine!’

‘He is divine. I saw him brush away a tear at the end too. Darling, I’m so proud of you! I want to cry all over again with happiness. I was worried about you, you know. In your last letter you sounded just a little troubled. Is Rafe here?’

‘That’s him over there, talking to the conductor. But I’m not going to marry him.’

Bobbie clutched my arm. ‘I’m so glad!’ This was quite a different reaction from the one I had come to expect. ‘No man who really loved you would want you to give up dancing for him. Remember that, if you meet someone else. It’ll be a useful diagnostic aid.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Heavens! We must go. The plane for Dublin leaves in an hour. Promise you’ll come and stay in November after we close Curraghcourt to the public? That’s if you can stand babies. Constance, my sister-in-law, has a three-week-old daughter and I’ll have had mine by then.’

‘I adore babies. I’d love to come.’

‘Excellent. You can meet Finn properly then.’ She embraced me again. ‘Bye, darling. I must just go and kiss Dimpsie and then we’ll dash. Take good care of yourself.’

‘Bobbie! What about your coat!’ But it was too late. She was pushing her way through the crowd towards her husband. I saw him encircle her protectively with his arm and then Rafe blocked my view of them. He and Isobel had flown down from Scotland that afternoon, but such had been the euphoria as paper cups of champagne were passed around and everyone assured everyone else that they had surpassed themselves in virtuosity that he and I had barely exchanged a word. He had kissed me passionately on the mouth, but as all the men present including Sebastian (no doubt intending to make Cynthia Kay jealous) had done the same, and half the women too, I was not made unduly anxious by this. But when Rafe said, with an affectionate squeeze, that he was looking forward to getting me to himself at Shottestone that night I became worried.

‘Don’t be silly, Marigold.’ Evelyn overheard my protestations. ‘It’s Sunday tomorrow; there’s no performance and you can travel back in comfort with us.’ She added sotto voce, ‘And you will be able to help me get everything ready for the party.’

Of course I could refuse Evelyn nothing, though I had hoped to go to Hindleep with Orlando and Fritz. And Conrad, too of course, if he had been able to catch a plane from New York in time to see
Ilina and the Scarlet Riband
. I had looked for him in the fevered throng but there had been no sign of the elegant figure and the sharp black eyes. Orlando and Fritz had rushed off together the moment the curtain fell, so I could not ask them if Conrad had been there.

I had been driven away by Rafe in the family Daimler, with Evelyn in the front passenger seat and Isobel sitting in the back with me. The relief of the first night being over, combined with too much alcohol and the smooth motion of the big car as it swooshed round corners and down hills, made me irresistibly sleepy, and I dozed during the journey. I woke briefly when we stopped for Isobel to be sick … heard her say something about having eaten chicken in mayonnaise on the flight from Edinburgh … fell again into a dream in which I was trying to
play
Akratcheak
but my shoes seemed to be nailed to the floor. I heard Isobel say, ‘She’s kicking the back of your seat but I think she’s asleep’ and Rafe say, ‘Never mind, poor little thing, it doesn’t matter. Don’t wake her …’ Then we were at Shottestone and Evelyn was helping me up the stairs.

‘I’ll sleep in my make-up,’ I murmured.

‘You will not. You’ll get spots. And lipstick all over the pillowcases.’

I might have been a child again. The next thing I knew it was morning. Over breakfast no other subject of conversation seemed possible but the triumph of
Ilina and the Scarlet Riband
and the forthcoming party. In a moment of exhilaration, Evelyn had invited the orchestra, the stage crew and the theatre staff as well. We calculated there would be between ninety to a hundred people.

Rafe was in charge of drinks. Isobel’s task was to deadhead the one hundred and fifty roses. Dimpsie was to help Mrs Capstick with the food. Evelyn railed against the ingratitude of her two daily helps, who had chosen to attend to their families rather than slave on the seventh day for an extra five pounds. The local butcher had been bribed with large sums to provide three baked hams. Rex had appointed himself chief vacuumer and, when everything was ready, attended to each fallen rose petal and crumb of dirt that had been trodden into the carpets by the helpers.

‘Rex is so marvellously considerate,’ Evelyn confided in me. ‘Poor Kingsley never once considered how dust is got up. I’m sure he thought I had only to wave a wand and the house would be clean.’ As she could not tell Rex how to turn the vacuum cleaner on, nor where any of the power points were, it seemed that Kingsley was not far off the mark.

‘Evelyn’s a phenomenon,’ said Rex a little later. ‘So bright, so elegant, so discriminating. I adore her way of looking at the world. Single-minded, even self-centred, you might say, but boy, does she deliver! And how much pleasure she gives us all!’

I could only agree.

Jode was to organize parking for those who had elected to drive themselves. Far from objecting to this lowly task, he seemed to enjoy pacing out the minimum space into which a car could fit, putting up tape barriers to keep them in line, raking the gravel drive to a perfect smoothness and pinning arrows to fences and gates to direct people into the field. For the other guests, Evelyn had organized buses. I had been appointed Evelyn’s liaison officer and pencil carrier. I trotted after her all day long, marvelling at her energy. Rebukes for my dreaminess and inefficiency had continually to be bitten back as she remembered in time that I was her most successful creation to date.

By half-past seven every glass had been polished, every limp bloom beheaded, every nut devilled, every asparagus spear rolled in brown bread and every egg stuffed. On the kitchen table, besides the hams, were four large chicken millefeuille and several bowls of strawberries in Muscat syrup. Mrs Capstick’s ankles had ballooned but she was triumphant.

We gathered in the drawing room in our best clothes, charged with the adrenalin that sustains a party-giver before the party becomes a reality. Consonant with our mood, the sky was very bright, almost yellow, and dark clouds outlined in gold hovered in the distance. It was hot and stuffy. Once I thought I heard a rumble of thunder. We exchanged opinions about the likelihood of rain for perhaps the fiftieth time, and again we agreed that if push came to shove everyone would just have to be asked indoors. Spendlove was sent to get out the drugget used on these occasions to protect the Aubusson from plebeian feet.

‘What’s the collective noun for guests?’ asked Rafe, who seemed more cheerful than I had seen him for ages. We had been too busy for anything like a proper conversation, so his good humour had nothing to do with me. ‘A gossip?’

‘A thirst of guests,’ suggested Rex.

‘A gush of guests,’ said Isobel, who was still pale. When I had taken her a mug of tea in the garden earlier, she had emerged
from the rose bushes, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. ‘A plague on all chickens everywhere,’ she had said. ‘Or was it the mayonnaise, I wonder?’

‘A bus-full of guests,’ I said, hearing the crunch of gravel. ‘And here they come.’

Not only the guests but the rain came too, fortunately only in intermittent showers. This had no effect on the mood of the revellers, the rigours of their profession having inured them to much greater discomfort than a gentle wetting. They knocked back sparkling wine – champagne had been vetoed by Evelyn who said they would not be able to tell the difference – and devoured Mrs Capstick’s delicious food as fast as Dimpsie, Spendlove and I brought them out. When it rained, they partied in the conservatory, the stables, the summerhouse, the swimming-pool changing room, the temple and the grotto. When the sun came out they danced to the music of a jazz band called the Heavenly Bodies, the best Evelyn had been able to find at such short notice. The Bodies were five pensioners with white hair and paunches but, according to those who knew about jazz, they swung. People were drunk on wine, success, the beauty of their surroundings, the scent of roses. As a celebration it was a smash-hit.