The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (38 page)

On
Friday night, Mama set off for the weekend. ‘Look after the place, won’t you,
darlings?’ she asked us, immaculate in her green wool suit.

‘Yes,
Mama,’ we chorused.

But as
it happened, it wasn’t Magna that needed looking after. It was the person who
turned up who did.

Chapter16

THE INTRUDER

I
couldn’t sleep that night. I would like to be able to say that it was because I
was too worried about Inigo and Magna and Mama, but realty it was because I
couldn’t stop thinking about Rocky, Johnnie and Harry. Johnnie and Harry and
Rocky.

‘Rocky’s
not right for you, kid,’ said Johnnie, coming to me in my half-wakened state,
eyes full of concern but smiling all the same. ‘I’m the only man for you.’

‘Why do
I loathe Harry for what he did to me at the party? It was all part of the plan,
after all. I just feel so — so
used,
Johnnie. And what is it about Rocky
Dakota? I know he’s too old for me, but thinking of his face just turns me to
jelly.’

‘Hell,
kid, haven’t I been doing that for years?’

‘But he’s
real,
Johnnie. I’ve had real conversations with him, not make-believe
like we do.’

‘Make-believe?’

And so
it went on. I glanced at my clock at three in the morning and decided that as
Johnnie was only confusing me, I should try to immerse myself in Shakespeare.
Of course, what I actually did was pull
Good Housewife
out from under my
bed (not a great magazine for a girl like me but I liked their short stories
and they talked more about sex than the others) and settled back to read for
ten minutes. I was so captivated by the final instalment of a Joan Bawden
domestic drama that I didn’t hear the knocking until it was accompanied by the
sound of the door opening and Inigo’s skinny frame appeared in my room, pyjamas
buttoned up to his neck and glasses on, making him more John from Peter Pan
than Elvis Presley.

‘What
are you doing?’ he hissed.

‘Reading
a magazine,’ I answered in surprise. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Can’t
you hear it?’

‘What?’

‘The
noise downstairs!’

‘What
noise?’

‘Shhhh!’

‘I can’t
hear anything,’ I complained, but my heart began to hammer. Ghosts were one
thing, but intruders were quite another.

‘I
think it might be a burglar,’ said Inigo, confirming my fears. ‘I think I heard
footsteps in the hall.’

‘Footsteps!’
I bleated.

‘I’ll
have to go and find out.’ He pulled his cricket bat out from behind his back. ‘Lucky
I brought this home with me. I thought you could bowl to me tomorrow. I need to
get in some practice before the start of the season.’

‘How
can you think about cricket at a time like this!’ I demanded. Inigo was
unbelievable sometimes.

‘I was
just pointing out that it was lucky I had—”

‘Oh,
shut up! What happens if they’re armed?’ I jibbered.

‘Then
they will have to contend with my off drive,’ he said, swiping the air with his
bat.

‘Shall
I come too?’

‘You
stay back here. You’d probably get in my way.’

‘We
should have a code,’ I said quickly. ‘In case you get into real trouble.’

‘The
code will consist of me shouting “Help!” at the top of my voice. Then you can
call the police.’

‘Oughtn’t
we do that now?’

‘No.
Let me deal with them.’ Inigo was raring to go.

‘All
right. I’ll wait here,’ I said.

‘No,
come to the landing. That way you can look out for me from a safe distance. If
they give chase, run into the Wellington room and bolt the door.’

I
pulled on my dressing gown.

We crept downstairs to the
landing, barely daring to breathe, and Inigo signalled that I should stay where
I was while he went on to investigate. From our vantage point we could see that
a lamp in the hall had been knocked over. The bearskin rug growled up at us
threateningly. If I were a burglar, I wouldn’t be too happy to wind up in a
place like Magna, I thought. I gripped Inigo’s arm.

‘There!’
I whispered. ‘There’s a light coming from under the library door!’

‘I hope
they take Aunt Sarah’s painting.’

‘Oh, I
hope not!’ I said in alarm.

Inigo’s
face took on a determined look. ‘They aren’t very professional. I just heard
one of them knocking into something and saying “Ouch” like a girl. Right. I’m
going in,’ he said.

‘I’m
coming too!’ I whimpered, fear of being left alone outweighing the fear of what
Inigo and I were going to find. I would love to have seen us both that night,
as we stole down to the hall, Inigo’s cricket bat raised out before us, eyes
straining in the half-gloom. The hall was spooky at night, the familiar faces
in the portraits on the walls too knowing, the low windows dark with shadows
and secrets, the animal heads all breathing. We hovered outside the library.
Inigo pressed his ear to the door.

‘I can
hear pages being turned,’ he whispered incredulously. ‘Of all the cheek! Right,
that does it!’

‘No,
you—’

But he
had marched forward.

‘Right!
The game’s up! Hand over what you’ve taken and nothing more will be said of
this!’ he ordered, sounding jolly grown up. I quivered outside the door, heart
crashing, hands sweating—’

‘Good
God, put that thing down, will you?’

It was
a girl’s voice. An American voice. Slowly, I stuck my head round the door and
my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Sitting in Mama’s chair, a battered copy
of Philip Miller’s
Gardener’s and Botanist’s Dictionary
on her lap and
an overnight bag on the floor beside her, was Marina Hamilton. She was
beautifully dressed, as ever, but I noticed that her pert heels had trailed mud
into the room, her stockings were ripped and her skirt was crumpled. Fido lay
at her feet, and looked up at us as we came in with a sort of
what-on-earth-are-you-two-doing expression. Traitor, I thought, thinking,
irrationally, that Marina wasn’t the sort one would expect to be good with
dogs. But then, after this episode, I didn’t think that I would ever try to
predict anything about anyone ever again. I decided to stay out of her line of
vision for a moment. Inigo could find out what on earth she was doing.

‘What
on earth are you doing?’

Marina
stood up and wobbled slightly, her eyes wild and slightly crossed, and I
realised, with a rush of glee, that she was very drunk.

‘I’ve
come to see Harry,’ she said defiantly.

‘Harry?’

‘Yes!
Don’t pretend he’s not here! Where is he? Where is she?’

‘Who’s
she?’

‘Penelope,
of course!’

‘By
Penelope, I presume you mean my
sister
Penelope?’ It took a minute for
the meaning of these words to sink in. ‘Oh, you’re Penelope’s
brother?
Well!
I would
never
have guessed. Goodness, but you’re divine! You don’t have
your sister’s nose, do you?’ She stood up and crossed the room towards him,
catching her right foot on a rug and tripping slightly as she went. ‘It’s a
pretty uncommon way to meet, but it shurtainly is my pleasure.’ She grinned
broadly. Inigo, bewildered, shook her hand.

‘Who
are you?’ he demanded. ‘What are you doing breaking in like this? You know, I
could call the police—”

‘No.
Oh, no, please!’ Marina held her hand to her chest, her red lipstick quivering.
It was a sensational show, and from behind the door I was starting to enjoy
myself, in spite of everything.

‘Do you
have a cigarette?’ she asked Inigo huskily. He reached into the pocket of his
pyjamas and pulled out a packet. Stepping up to the fireplace, he flicked open
his lighter and lit it for her. ‘Oh, thank you so much. You are a sweet thing.’

I
decided it was about time I said something so I pushed myself out from behind
the door into the room.

‘Oh,
Penelope!’ Marina reeled and nearly fell over for the second time.

‘Hello,
Marina.’

‘You
know this girl?’ asked Inigo.

Marina
composed herself and wobbled up to me. With the sort of high class drama that
one would expect from an actress of her calibre, she reached out and touched my
cheek. Her hands were cold. ‘Heartbreaker,’ she said softly.

Inigo
coughed and she turned back to him.

‘Do I
see whisky on that tray?’ she asked.

Inigo
was already pouring her a double. ‘Water?’ he asked her.

‘No
thank you.’ She took a generous gulp of the stuff, then staggered back into
Mama’s chair. ‘Where is he? Where’s my love?’

‘Your
love?’ repeated Inigo, looking at me in bewildered irritation. Marina ignored
him.

‘Oh! My
poor darling shoes!’ she wailed, noticing the mud for the first time. She
pulled out a handkerchief and stretched down to try to wipe them clean but lost
her balance and fell off the chair and into a heap on the floor. ‘Gracious!’
she giggled. ‘I fell!’

Inigo
and I hauled her back up onto the chair. We could be here till dawn waiting for
an explanation, I thought.

‘I
think I’ll have a whisky, Inigo.’

He
poured us both a drink and poked at the fire and got it going a bit, so that
after five minutes we were sitting in relative comfort. I flopped onto the sofa
and wrapped an ancient travelling rug round my knees.

Despite
(or perhaps because of) her inebriated state, Marina’s hair looked magnificent.
She resembled a flame-haired version of Natalie Wood at the end of
Rebel Without
A Cause.
Her elegantly cut wide-legged trousers were soaked and muddy at
the bottom, but nothing could distract from the narrow curve of her tiny waist.
Her generous bosom spilled out of a low-cut red blouse that had come unbuttoned
to a degree verging on indecent, resulting in an overall effect that was,
naturally enough, pure sex. Unlike Charlotte, whose appeal came from her very
English brand of stylised chaos and breathless excitement, Marina was pure,
unapologetic Los Angeles swish, even after too much to drink and a night walk
on a muddy grass verge. Inigo gave me a look as if to say, well she’s your
friend! You ask the questions! I sensed that he was frustrated to have been
caught looking about twelve in his glasses and pyjamas, but then who dresses up
to confront intruders? Marina would, I supposed.

‘What
are you doing here, Marina?’ I asked sensibly. It seemed like the right place
to start, though I was fairly sure that I already knew the answer.

‘Haven’t
you heard the news?’

‘Eden
set to succeed Churchill?’ suggested Inigo. Marina giggled loudly.

‘You’re
a doll, aren’t you? No,
my
news, silly. It’s all off The wedding. George
and I. I’ve called it off. Off, off, off, off,
off
Don’t you just adore
the word “off”! So expressive. So
off’

‘Off?’
repeated Inigo, dumbly. I supposed I should stop imagining that I would get any
sense out of him now.

‘So I’ve
come to find Harry, to tell him that the whole engagement was an awful’ — she
pronounced it ‘are-full’ —’mistake.’

‘Harry?’
exclaimed Inigo.

Oh
help, here we go, I thought.

Marina
loaded her eyes and fixed me with her siren’s gaze. ‘I can’t bear it any more,’
she said.

‘What’s
all this?’ interrupted Inigo. Marina ignored him.

‘Harry
and Penelope! Penelope and Harry! Oh! Even your names sound romantic together!’
She started laughing again, but it was hollow, mirthless laughter that made me
a little afraid. She shook her head in wonder. ‘Who would have thought that I
could be jealous of someone like you.’

In her
defence, I don’t think that she meant this unkindly. It was, in fact, a
perfectly reasonable question and I half admired her for speaking it out loud.
She stood up again and started to pace the room, her feet creaking over the
library’s ancient floorboards. I sensed the ghost of Aunt Sarah looking on,
gripped.