Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (38 page)

‘No, don’t!’ I said.

Marcia Dane walked across the road in front of us. She waved to my father to attract his attention and he waved back.

‘Put your foot down and run her over,’ said Isobel with unexpected savagery. ‘We’ll go to court and say you couldn’t help it.’

For a moment I quite hoped he would and was ashamed of myself immediately afterwards.

‘Apart from not wanting to spend the rest of my life in prison after you’d made a muff of it on the witness stand, I can’t see that it would do much good,’ Rafe said somewhat grimly.

‘Oh, I know what you mean. Tom’s the most disgraceful
womanizer,’ said Isobel as we drove on, leaving them both behind. ‘But it doesn’t mean anything. He’s just amusing himself.’

‘It’s not very amusing for my mother,’ I said more sharply than I’d intended.

Isobel turned round to stare at me, her eyeballs flashing as we passed beneath the street lamps. ‘But he’s always gone back to her, hasn’t he? I think she’s lucky. Think how awful to be stuck with someone who comes home every night without fail to his slippers and television. No uncertainty, no excitement, no agony of jealousy, no thrilling reconciliation.’

‘What rubbish you talk sometimes,’ said Rafe. ‘Marigold?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve just had a good idea. You must learn to drive. It’ll cure you of your car phobia. Anyway, you can’t live in the country and not be able to get about.’

Suddenly the brandy felt like a pool of poison in my stomach.

‘I’ll teach you myself,’ he continued. ‘When we were in Northern Ireland I taught a fellow officer to drive who was so terrified every time we passed a civilian he had to keep winding down the window to be sick. He was used to the protection of being in a tank.’

A hand crept through the gap between the front seats and took hold of mine. ‘Poor Marigold!’ Isobel said. ‘You haven’t made it sound exactly enticing.’

‘Nonsense! Once she gets the hang of it she’ll love it.’

‘When I said straight across at the next roundabout I didn’t mean literally!’ Rafe dropped his head into his hands. Buster, who was sitting on the back seat sucking one of my old gloves, began to bark when he heard emotion in his master’s voice.

‘Sorry.’ I fought back tears of fright and humiliation.

‘I meant you to go
round
the roundabout and continue in the same direction!’ Rafe spoke slowly and angrily as though talking to a particularly obtuse and uncooperative child. ‘Honestly, Marigold! Sometimes I wonder … I’d better take over and try and reverse us off the bloody thing.’

He got out of the car and came round to the driver’s side. I was so nervous by this stage that, as I sprang out, I left a shoe lodged between the pedals and put my stockinged foot up to the anklebone in the wet earth that had recently been planted with pansies.

Rafe squeezed behind the wheel and moved back the seat. ‘Get in,’ he said with unlover-like terseness.

I squelched round to the other side. Rafe put the car into reverse gear and revved gently. Nothing happened. He swore and pressed the accelerator more violently. The roar of the engine made Buster yelp hysterically. The car lurched suddenly then stopped and seemed to sink. I looked over my shoulder. Clods of mud were slithering down the rear windscreen.

I could hardly blame Rafe for being impatient with me. Who could have imagined that driving a car was so difficult? Each time he told me to change gear I became panic-stricken and forgot to steer. We had already been in collision with the stone pier of a bridge and I had begged to be allowed to return home. This had occurred early on, just after we turned out of the drive of Dumbola Lodge and when Rafe still had his temper in check.

By the time we had reached the outskirts of Gaythwaite, I was shaking so much that my hands and feet were scarcely able to obey the confused demands I made of them. The dreadful sound the car made when I had put the car into reverse instead of fourth, like a thousand fingernails being scraped down hundreds of blackboards, made Buster howl and me scream. Going downhill I had mistaken the accelerator for the brake and we had rushed headlong towards the beck. By wrenching the steering wheel to the left and pulling on the handbrake, Rafe managed to stop us shooting over the edge. When the roundabout came in sight, what remained of my wits had deserted me altogether.

‘I’ll have to get out and push,’ Rafe snarled. ‘Be quiet, Buster, for God’s sake! Change places again, Marigold, and, when I tell you, put it into gear and press down the accelerator
very
slowly.’

I tottered round again on legs that trembled and got back behind the wheel. A gang of boys, who had stopped by the side of the road to watch, broke into piercing wolf-whistles.

‘Ready?’ Rafe shouted, leaning forward with his hands on the bonnet. ‘Now
concentrate
. Foot on the clutch … reverse gear … clutch up slowly … accelerate … what? … oh, for heaven’s
sake!
the pedal on the
right
… e-e-ow!’ As the car leaped forward he flung himself sideways and vanished from sight.

‘And just what d’you think you’re playing at?’ A face appeared at the open window. Buster darted forward like a striking cobra, seized the peak of the cap surmounting the face and snatched it from his head. ‘
Here!
Give me that!’ cried the policeman
indignantly. I risked a perfectly good hand trying to wrest the cap from Buster who was savaging it on the back seat in a paroxysm of excitement. ‘That there cap is public property, Miss, and if you can’t control that animal I’ll have to ask you to accompany me … Mr Preston! Are you all right, sir?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Robson.’ Rafe stood up, breathing hard. ‘Buster!
Drop
, sir!’ Buster let go of the cap as though it had been red-hot and sank his head on his paws. It was the first time he had obeyed a command, but now was not the moment to be jubilant. I picked up the cap, and handed it, somewhat the worse for teeth-marks and saliva, back to its owner. ‘Sorry about all this,’ said Rafe. ‘I’m afraid we’ve made rather a mess of the flowerbeds. Naturally, I’ll pay for the damage. And for your cap, of course. It might be quicker if I have a word with the relevant people. No need for you to concern yourself. If you wouldn’t mind just giving us a shove …?’

The policeman frowned. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask the young lady to step out of the car, sir.’

By the time I had been breathalysed and we had had our licences and insurance papers examined, an interested crowd had gathered. While PC Robson made copious notes on the incident, six of the fittest spectators lifted the car back onto the road. Rafe drove us back to Dumbola Lodge in a silence I dared not break for fear of bursting into tears. A battered Land Rover was parked outside the front door.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Rafe.

‘It’s Jode O’Shaunessy. He comes to help Dimpsie in the garden.’

‘The tinker?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want to see him. I had to turn him off our land last year for unblocking earths the hunt had stopped.’

‘He’s awfully fond of animals. Besides, it’s a mean thing to do, blocking up their escape. It doesn’t give the poor things any sort of chance at all.’

‘Mean or not, there’s a tradition among landowners that we support the suppression of vermin.’

‘Why are foxes vermin?’ All the pent-up emotion of the last hideous hour threatened to burst out and I could not prevent my voice from wobbling. ‘Why aren’t people vermin, for that matter? We do far more harm with our wars and pollution and tortures and horrors than a poor innocent fox that just tries to keep alive in the only way it knows how …’ A tear trickled down my face.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He turned the car round and started back down the drive. ‘We’ll go to Shottestone for tea.’

‘I don’t
want
any tea!’

‘Well, I do! For heaven’s sake, if anyone has a right to be annoyed …’ He broke off.

All the way to Shottestone, I stared unseeingly at a landscape blurred by tears as I tried to compose a speech of freezing politeness that would sever our relationship for ever. I was angry and sad and indignant and apologetic all at once. I was furious with him but at the same time I was broken-hearted … Dimpsie and Evelyn would be so disappointed … perhaps even Rafe when he had cooled down … when I thought of all the plans that had been made for the wedding I felt sick with guilt … Madame Merle, a French woman of terrifying chic, had already made the calico toile for my wedding dress … but our marriage would be a disaster, we thought differently about everything that was important … I loved him despite everything …

As we turned into the drive of Shottestone Manor, I tried to compose myself for the soul-shattering speech. Dear house! How beautiful it looked, with its gables and mullioned windows of weathered stone framed by clipped yew hedges. But Shottestone was Evelyn’s, and I could never be anything but an inadequate understudy.

I felt a little better when I saw the Bentley parked outside the front door. We would have to wait until Conrad and Fritz
had gone before opening hostilities. Perhaps, after all, tea would be a good thing to bolster our strengths before the parting of the ways. I leapt out before Rafe had time to open my door and dashed into the house ahead of him. I saw in the hall mirror a distraught face with staring eyes and untidy hair. I combed the latter through with my fingers and fumbled in my bag for a lipstick.

‘Hello, you two.’ Isobel came into the hall, carrying a teapot. ‘You’re in luck. Mrs Capstick’s made a cherry cake. You’d better tell her two more cups.’

‘Where’s Spendlove?’ asked Rafe.

‘He’s looking after Daddy. He thinks he’s taking part in the Royal Tournament. He’s got Spendlove assembling an imaginary gun carriage on the nursery sofa. Conrad and Fritz are here.’

‘So I saw,’ said Rafe. ‘All right, I’ll go and tell her.’

He stalked off in the direction of the kitchen.

‘How did the driving go?’ asked Isobel, then, without waiting for an answer, ‘We went antiquing yesterday. Conrad’s bought some wonderful bits of porcelain. Come and see.’

‘Ought he? I mean, if he’s lost all his money, should he be buying things?’

‘Don’t be silly. A few thousand here and there isn’t going to make any difference.’

Accustomed all my life to counting pence, I was impressed by this prodigality.

Conrad and Fritz stood up as I came in. The morning room looked at its most welcoming with a good fire burning, vases of white and purple double tulips on the desk and a scrumptious-looking cake covered with pink icing on the tray. I kissed Fritz on both cheeks. I would have kissed Conrad but the stool and the tea things were between us so we shook hands instead. They had been in London for the last two weeks so there had been no meetings in the woods.

‘Thank you so much for supper the other day,’ I said. I had
written a note of thanks immediately after it but it had seemed an inadequate expression of my profound gratitude.

Conrad bowed and said solemnly, ‘Thank you for your letter.’

‘Yes,’ said Isobel before I could reply, ‘it was an interesting evening. But afterwards I thought how
odd
it was that you and Sebastian hardly spoke to each other.’ Isobel’s face was a mask of innocence. ‘After all, you worked together for all those years. You must know each other pretty well. So I came to the conclusion that there was some smouldering tension between you and the only reason I could think of was that you must have been lovers when you were both in London. Am I right?’

If Conrad had not been standing there I should have denied this categorically, but I was reluctant to expose myself to him as a barefaced liar.

‘You were going to show me what you bought yesterday,’ I said, with what I knew at once to be an unsuccessful attempt to look and sound unruffled.

Isobel smiled as though satisfied. She allowed a speaking silence to fall before saying, ‘Conrad, do show Marigold that basket.’

Conrad unwrapped one of the packages to reveal an exquisite porcelain basket about ten inches long, which stood on a flower-encrusted stand beneath a lid decorated with twigs and petals and leaves.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Isobel took it from him and held it out so I could examine it in detail. Each join in the piercing was marked by a small flower.

‘It’s fabulous!’ I enthused. ‘Oh, the joy of
things
when people are so difficult.’

‘I do agree,’ said Isobel, ‘but what made you say that? Have you and Rafe had a row?’

I blushed up to my forehead.

Rafe came in and put two cups on the tray. With a face like thunder he shook hands with the two men, then sat in the chair furthest from the fire and began to flick through the pages of
Country
Life
. A miasma of rage seemed to shimmer round him. Conrad and Fritz exchanged glances.

Isobel raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been doing this afternoon but it seems to have involved a good roll in the mud. Rafe, if Mummy sees you sitting on her silk cushions in those filthy trousers, you’re for it. And Marigold, your foot’s black! Have you been potholing?’

Rafe scowled. ‘Actually I’ve been teaching Marigold how to drive. But it seems that
some
people are constitutionally unsuited to be in charge of anything mechanical.’

I caught Conrad’s eye. He gave me his unwinking stare but then his forehead puckered and his eyebrows lifted in the middle. I shook my head discreetly. I was certain that if he laughed Rafe would be very angry indeed. Conrad went to the window, turning his back to the room to look out at the garden.

‘But how did you get so muddy?’ Isobel persisted. ‘Did you stop for a picnic?’

‘Marigold tried to drive over a roundabout.’ Rafe’s tone was clipped. ‘And of course we got stuck and I had to get out and … Well, I’m glad you think it’s so funny.’ He glared angrily at Conrad’s back as he let out a strangulated sound poorly disguised as a cough.

‘Oh, darling!’ Isobel giggled. ‘You must admit … a roundabout …’

‘Vat is it?’ demanded Fritz. ‘Marigold drives ze car
on
ze roundabout?
Das
Rondell
?’ He gave a hoot of laughter, then put his hand over his mouth.

I looked apologetically at Rafe. To my relief the stern set of his features softened. He smiled reluctantly, then started to laugh himself. Once he’d begun, he laughed harder than anyone. I expect it was the release of nervous tension.

‘Oh … oh … oh!’ cried Rafe, crossing his arms to hold his sides with tears in his eyes, ‘and who should happen to come up just as I was flat on the ground but Police Constable Robson who I’d ticked off the other day for muddling his evidence in
court. It’ll be all over the county in hours. I shall never live it down. And Buster … his cap … Oh dear! ha, ha, ha!’

I was not at all offended to be laughed at. In fact it was decidedly pleasant after having been the object of Rafe’s angry contempt. The more everyone laughed, the more I enjoyed the joke. I began to feel I had done something quite clever and original.

‘You all seem in remarkably good spirits.’ Evelyn brought in a blast of cold air from the hall. She was wearing a well-cut suit of chartreuse bouclé and a mink scarf. I would never achieve such elegance even if I devoted my whole life to the attempt. ‘If you’d had
my
afternoon, you wouldn’t be laughing. Two hours at the municipal pool – they call it a leisure centre these days but it still smells of lavatories – watching a lot of unattractive children doing something perfectly ridiculous called synchronized swimming. It seems to consist of getting into a ring, sticking one leg in the air and sinking beneath the surface. If they did it once they did it a
hun
dred times. As entertainment it was only just preferable to having sand rubbed in one’s eyes. Marigold darling, ring for Spendlove, will you? I should like some tea … o-o-o-oh!’

I had been standing between Evelyn and the stool. As I moved towards the bell pull she let out a sound between a groan and a gasp, expressive of inordinate desire.

‘It
can’t
be! A First Period Dr Wall Worcester chestnut basket! Oh, let me look at it!’