Megan. And Pattie. She’s very nice.’
‘Please, do come, Charles,’ said Sandy.
Charles looked at them both, Dickon more cheerful and
talkative than he’d been for weeks, Sandy clearly anxious
for his moral support, contemplated yet another lonely
Saturday, alone with his remorse over Louise and memories
of Anna, and agreed rather reluctantly that he would. ‘But
I’ll come under my own steam. Then I won’t cramp your
style if I want to leave early.’
‘We won’t,’ said Dickon. ‘We never want to leave there,
do we, Daddy?’
‘Octavia going?’ said Charles casually.
‘Oh — yes. With the children. But not Tom,’ said Sandy.
‘I see.’
They looked at each other and smiled briefly: two self
contained men, unable to say much of what they would
like, and especially about the sad, dreadful ghost so
uncompromisingly part of both their lives, for whom they
each felt so responsible. It said much for both of them that
they were still able to feel such affection for one another.
Neither of them noticed that Dickon had left the room
rather suddenly.
Marianne would not have gone to the party, having no
connection whatever with Battles House, but it so happened
that she and Nico were going to look at a house near
Bath that very day — not really the coincidence it appeared,
as she said to Octavia, they spent their entire weekends in the West Country at the moment looking at houses — and when Octavia heard about it, she said why didn’t they drop
in at the party for a cup of tea or something.
‘Melanie was saying only the other day how much she’d
like to see you again, and Gabriel, you know, my - well,
my friend, the Socialist MP, will be there, and I’d just love
to set Nico on him.’
Marianne said they just might come, if the day went well
and the house was nice; if it wasn’t, Nico would be in such
a bad temper she wouldn’t want him set on anyone.
Octavia said she couldn’t imagine Nico in a bad temper and
left it at that.
Marianne was sweetly, serenely surprised by the ease with
which she had resumed her relationship with Nico. Or
rather embarked on a new one: easier, unshadowed by guilt
or remorse. What she felt for Nico bore no relation to what
she had felt for Felix; but it was no less valuable, it lacked
nothing in quality. It seemed sad to her at times, even
shocking, that only Felix’s death could have enabled her
properly to love Nico; but that was what had happened and
she was intensely and happily grateful for it. Grateful, too,
that in his pragmatic way, he seemed to have no problem
with it either; did not appear to feel second best, second
choice. She had tried to explain that was anyway not how
she saw him, that his place in her life was simply different
from what it had been before, that she herself was different
now.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘I understand. I’m extraordinarily
well adjusted. As you must agree.’
Marianne said she did agree.
Zoe put her head round the door. ‘Have a good day, Mum.
Give my love to Nico.’
‘I will.’
‘He’s so cool. You ought to marry him, you know.’
‘Zoe,’ said Marianne, ‘I don’t think I want to marry
anyone. Ever. Not even Nico.’ It was true, in spite of her
happiness she shied away from the thought of real commitment. It was much too soon; it felt disloyal.
“Course you do. You’ll be all alone here, soon. I’ll be in
Oz, Marc back at Harvard, Rom’ll be going away to do her
A-levels, then you’ll be sorry.’
‘That’s no reason to marry someone. Just to avoid a bit of
loneliness,’ said Marianne briskly.
‘It’s a very good reason, I think,’ said Zoe”, ‘specially if
the person’s handsome and nice. And rich. I think you’re
mad, Mum, I really do. Well, see you tonight.’
‘See you tonight,’ said Marianne.
Nico arrived, in high spirits. ‘I’ve bought a picnic from
Fortnum’s — I thought it would make a change. We can eat
in the garden of the house. Look: isn’t it lovely?’
It was indeed stunning; Queen Anne, a small, perfect
jewel, set in what she could see, even if the agent’s blurb
had not informed her of the fact, were the most glorious
grounds, the gardens landscaped by a pupil of Capability
Brown, and even a small lake.
‘Imagine yourself mistress of that, my darling. How can
you refuse?’
Marianne said nothing, just smiled nervously.
Octavia was late, driving too fast, as usual, down the M4.
Minty was asleep, the twins arguing about who had seen the wood first the first day they had gone there. It was naughty of her to be late; Pattie was relying on her to make
a little speech. She knew why she was late; she hadn’t got
up early enough. Or rather, she had got up early enough, of
course, had the whole day planned with clockwork
precision: a careful countdown planned backwards from ten
thirty when they had to leave. This being Saturday
morning, and the traffic undoubtedly bad. But then as she’d
stood sleepily by the bathroom mirror, looking at herself,
thinking her hair needed cutting, Tom had appeared
behind her, smiling at her in it, the slightly lopsided, rueful
smile that meant — well, that meant she was probably going
to have to go back to bed. That she was definitely going to have to go back to bed. A few months earlier, she wouldn’t have done, would have clung stubbornly to her schedule;
now, falling just slightly painfully back into love, easing into
her just slightly less controlled and controlling self, she
could see what she must do. What she wanted to do,
indeed; and had proceeded to do it. Very enthusiastically.
And rather slowly and sweetly. And now she was an hour
late. It was terrible. So unlike her. But then: all other things
being equal, did it really matter? She caught sight of herself
in the rearview mirror as she checked for the police; she
was still tanned, she looked relaxed and well. No, it didn’t.
It just didn’t matter.
Megan was worried about Dickon. He didn’t seem quite
himself. She knew he’d had a horrid time, but he was very
quiet, rather jumpy, seemed less pleased to see her than
she’d expected, and clinging to his father’s side, instead of
rushing over to her, clambering on to her lap in her
wheelchair. She’d twice tried to find out if there was
anything the matter, and both times he’d hurried off as if he
was frightened of something. Oh, well. Maybe he was
feeling shy with all the extra people here. He’d probably
come out of himself later, as Mrs Johnston would say. She
decided to stop worrying about him, and just enjoy herself.
She hadn’t been to many parties.
The party seemed to be going well. Pattie looked across her
garden — Sandy had actually come early enough to strim the
grass round the flowerbeds, something she never got around
to usually — thinking how lovely it looked, how nice to see
it full of people, resolving to entertain more in future.
There was no excuse not to, really, now that Megan was
older; it was just always so difficult to do it on your own, to
see to things like pouring the wine and working out the
table plan when you also had to make the last-minute
preparations to the food and serve it up. That was why it
was so marvellous having Sandy here; he was moving round
constantly topping up people’s glasses — topping them up
rather too often, perhaps, the wine was going to run out at this rate, she wasn’t used to calculating these things and
people seemed to drink more than she remembered.
‘Hallo,’ he said, smiling at her, waving the bottle he was
holding. ‘Can I give you a little more?’
‘Oh — no, thank you. Sandy — is Dickon all right? He
seems very quiet.’
‘He’s fine, aren’t you, old chap?’ said Sandy, looking
down at Dickon, who had reappeared and was clinging on
to his hand. ‘Just a bit tired, I expect. He said he felt sick in
the car coming over.’
‘Well, hopefully he’ll feel better later. Sandy, I think we
might be in danger of running out of wine. I wonder if we
ought to get a bit more in, if you’d mind popping down to
the off-licence.’
‘I’ll pop’ to the shed,’ he said, ‘how’s that? I hope you
don’t mind, but I brought a case of white and a case of red
with me, put them in there. Forgot to mention it in the
excitement of doing the strimming. The white’s in a chill
bin, shouldn’t be too bad.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she said, blushing. ‘I feel
embarrassed now, you must let me—’
‘I wouldn’t let you do anything, if you mean pay for it.
It’s my business, remember? The mark-up’s outrageous.
Whole lot cost me less than a couple of beers.’
Pattie felt sure that wasn’t quite true, but decided it
would be bad form to pursue the matter. ‘Thank you very
much. You’re so kind,’ she said. And then something came
over her, probably too much of the wine, and she reached
up and kissed Sandy gently on the cheek. He blushed, stood
back quickly, tried to smile at her. Oh, God, she thought,
horrified, now I’ve embarrassed him. He’s obviously still in
love with his wife, and he’ll think I’m after him, like all
those single women.
‘Excuse me,’ she said quickly and turned away, saw Meg
Browning and hurried in her direction. She felt near to
tears; the day for her quite ruined.
‘It’s the Angel Gabriel. Hi!’ It was Melanie; looking
marvellous, he thought, in a kind of long floating dress, and
what looked like half a ton of silver jewellery round her
neck and on her wrists, her wild hair held back from her
face with a scarlet bandana.
‘Hallo,’ he said, ‘how are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you,’ she said, with her wide
grin. And then added under her breath, ‘Have you ever see
so many dreadful people?’
Gabriel said he had, many times, and told her she must
lead a very sheltered life.
‘But if we go over there, to the garden shed, there’s a
vast store of wine I’ve just discovered, and we can sit
quietly and work our way through it. I’ll grab a few of
those sausages. Food’s very good.’
‘You could have fooled me,’ said Melanie.
‘Yes, well, we don’t all spend our days at the Ritz. You
should try a few nights on the rubber chicken circuit. I’ll
take you to a couple if you like.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Melanie with a shudder.
‘Well?’ said Nico. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s heavenly,’ said Marianne. ‘Quite heavenly.’
‘Good. I’m glad you like it. Not too big, you don’t feel?’
‘Well…’
‘Six bedrooms. Lot for one chap, I suppose.’
‘Well - yes.’
‘Still. That brings me to a certain matter. Marianne …’
Marianne felt a rush of pure panic. ‘Nico—’
Octavia had made a very good speech, celebrating what she
called ‘the deliverance of a little bit of England’, paying
charming tribute to Megan, Pattie, and Sandy, ‘who clearly
knows more about bats than most of us would ever think to
ask.’
Everyone clapped. Gabriel went over to congratulate
her. ‘If you ever think of going into politics, Mrs Fleming,
I’ll be delighted to sponsor you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I wore my hat specially for you, look.’
Octavia smiled at him. ‘It looks much better here,’ she
said. ‘You look much better here altogether. You didn’t suit
Barbados. One of my many mistakes.’
‘Not at all. I was an ungrateful swine. Anyway, you look
great. Really very, very well.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Octavia, ‘I know what that means, what
it always means, people saying that.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means I’ve put on weight. Oh, God.’
“Well, it suits you,’ said Gabriel, ‘if you have. You look
terrific. Doesn’t she, Melanie?’
‘All right, I suppose,’ said Melanie, grinning. ‘Yes, of
course she does. Why don’t you come and join us, Octavia?
We’re having our own little party, over there by the
potting shed. Away from all the do-gooders. We’ve got our
own hoard of food and everything.’
‘No thanks,’ said Octavia, ‘I must stop eating immediately.
I thought my trousers felt a bit tight this morning.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake shut up,’ said Melanie. ‘There are
other sizes in the world beside ten, you know. Here, have a
sausage roll. They’re magic. Go on, Fleming. Let yourself
go just for once.’
Octavia reached for a sausage roll and bit into it. ‘I’m
learning to,’ she said very seriously. ‘I think.’
‘Hallo, Dickon,’ said Poppy.
‘Hallo,’ said Dickon. He looked at her rather uncertainly,
not returning her smile.
‘It’s nice to see you.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said, still not smiling. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’
‘Want to play cricket?’
‘No. Not now.’
He turned his back on her and walked away. Poppy hesitated, then ran after him, grabbed his hand. ‘Dickon, what’s the matter?’