Harriet (12 page)

    The greeting was amicable enough, but Harriet could tell that the two men hated each other.

    ‘I’ve just met your charming little - er - friend. I congratulate you, Cory. Such a comfort on these long winter nights.’

    Cory gave a cigarette to Harriet, selected one himself and lit them both before he replied, ‘You always did have your mind below your navel, Charles.’

    Charles Mander started to laugh again. ‘It reminds me of that song we used to sing in the nursery. How does it go? Something about "God bless Nanny, and make her good". I must say, I wouldn’t mind making Nanny myself.’

    There was a frozen pause.

    ‘If I were a gentleman, Charles,’ said Cory, in a voice that sent shivers down Harriet’s spine, ‘I’d knock you down. But it would only give you the satisfaction of being a public martyr.’

    He turned, deliberately looking at a fat blonde woman lurching towards them.

    ‘Your wife’s drunk again,’ he added quietly.

Cory and Harriet didn’t speak until they were nearly home. Gone was the easy cameraderie of the past few weeks.

    Then Cory said, ‘I’m sorry about Charles Mander. There’s no point in beating about the bush. He used to be a lover of Noel’s, probably still is, so he can never resist bitching me up. I imagine you heard the same sort of remark as you came out of the kitchen.’

Harriet nodded.

‘What did they say?’

    Harriet’s tongue seemed to be tied in knots. ‘They said William was your child.’

    ‘Charming,’ said Cory. ‘The hunting season’s been so frightful they’re very short on gossip. Doesn’t bother me. But I should never have exposed you to that snake pit. I should have realized how vulnerable you are.’

    ‘It was so lovely,’ she muttered. ‘Everything’s spoilt now.’

    ‘It needn’t be,’ he said as he turned the car into the drive.

    Once inside, he followed her up to her room. Outside the door, she paused and stammered out her thanks for taking her to the party.

    ‘I enjoyed taking you,’ he said and, putting out a hand, smoothed back a loose strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. ‘I was watching you this evening. You had that lost wistful look of the moon when it suddenly appears during the day. I must say I’ve been wondering about you myself lately.’

    Harriet looked up, startled. Cory’s face was in shadow. Then suddenly they both jumped, as unmistakably down the passage came the sound of Sevenoaks drinking noisily out of the lavatory. The tension was broken. Harriet went off into peels of laughter.

    ‘The enemy of promise,’ said Cory. ‘Go to bed little one, and don’t worry.’

    Harriet went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. What had Cory meant that he’d been wondering about her lately? It seemed her relationship with him was something so fragile, a candle that she had to protect with both hands because everyone was trying to blow it out.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

    SHE felt staggeringly untogether in the morning. She had a blinding headache. It was as much as she could do to feed William. Chattie, recognizing weakness, started playing up.

    ‘We’re going to the meet with Daddy,’ she said. ‘Can I wear my party dress?’

    ‘No, you can’t,’ said Harriet. ‘Well my red velvet dress then?’

    ‘Trousers are much warmer.’

    ‘I don’t want to wear trousers. I’m not a boy.’

    ‘Oh Chattie, please,’ she said in despair.

    ‘You’ll wear them and bloody well like it,’ said Cory, coming in tying a stock, his long legs encased in boots and tight white breeches.

    Chattie tried a different approach.

    ‘Can I have a two-wheeler with stabilizers?’ she said. ‘Only if you do what Harriet tells you. How do you feel?’ he said to her.

    ‘Frightful.’

    ‘So do I,’ said Cory. ‘God knows what Arabella gave us to drink. Some fruity little paint stripper, I should imagine. One could almost hear the enamel dropping off one’s teeth.’

    ‘Why do you go on wearing a dinner jacket, Daddy,’ said Chattie, ‘if it always makes you feel sick in the morning?’

    Harriet suspected he’d gone on drinking long after she’d gone to bed.

    ‘Can Harriet come to the meet with us?’ said Jonah. ‘Oh please yes,’ said Chattie.

    ‘It’s too much of a hassle with William and things,’ said Harriet.

    Cory, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, was filling up a hip-flask with brandy.

    ‘You can leave William with Mrs Bottomley,’ he said. ‘Do you good to get some fresh air. There’s a button missing from my coat. Can you sew it on?’

    ‘Are you taking Python?’ said Harriet.

    ‘Yes,’ said Cory. ‘As a second horse. I’d like to see how she makes out.’

    The horses went to the meet by box. Cory drove Harriet, Jonah, Chattie and the dogs by car.

    The mist had rolled back from the hills to reveal a beautiful mild day. The ivy was putting out shining pale leaves; young nettles were thrusting through the green spring grass. Catkins shook in the breeze, the bracken burned the same rusty red as the curling leaves that still clung to the oak trees. The wet roads glittered and the stone walls gave off an almost incandescent whiteness in the sunlight.

    ‘
I’m hot,’ said Chattie. ‘I could have worn my party dress.’

‘
Chattie I’ve told you a hundred times,’ said Harriet. ‘No you didn’t, you only told me twice.’

    ‘
Don’t be rude,’ said Cory.

There was a pause.

‘
It’s raining, it’s pouring,’ sang Chattie. ‘The old man’s snoring. He went to bed and bumped his head, and couldn’t get up in the morning. The doctor came and flushed the chain and out flew an aeroplane.’

Both children collapsed in giggles.

‘
The doctor came and flushed,’ sang Chattie.

    ‘
Shut up,’ said Cory.

‘Ouch. Sevenoaks is treading on me.’

‘Can we stop for some sweets? There’s an absolutely brilliant sweet shop in Gargrave,’ said Jonah.

Gradually they caught up with riders hacking to the meet. Soon there was a steady stream of cars and horse boxes. Cory parked on the side of the road.

‘You can bring Tadpole,’ he said, locking Sevenoaks in
the car. ‘I’m not risking that delinquent getting loose.’

‘We must give him a bit of window,’ said Harriet, winding it down.

    Cory went off to find his horse box. Harriet took Chattie and Jonah and walked along to the village where the meet was being held. Little grey cottages lined a triangular village green. A stream choked it’s way through pussy willows and hazel trees. The churchyard was full of daffodils in bud.

    Riders everywhere were gossiping and saddling up. There was a marvellous smell of trodden grass and hot, sweating horses. Anxious whinnyings came from the horse boxes. Hunt terriers yapped from the backs of cars.

    There was Arabella looking considerably the worse for wear, Harriet was glad to notice, impatiently slapping her boots with her whip and looking round for her horse. And there was Billy Bentley, looking far more glamorous than he had last night, in a red coat, his long mousy hair curling under his black velvet cap, sitting on a huge dapple grey which was already leaping about as though the ground was red hot under its feet. Next to him, taking a swig out of his hip-flask, eyeing the girls, supervising the unboxing of a magnificent chestnut in a dark green rug, was Charles Mander.

    Harriet tried to slide past them, but she had not counted on Chattie, who rushed up and said,

    ‘Hullo, Charles.’

    He turned. ‘Hullo Chattie,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

    ‘Fine,’ said Chattie. ‘Why don’t you come and see us any more? He always used to come and bring us presents when Mummy lived with us,’ she added to Harriet.

    ‘Hullo, pretty Nanny,’ said Charles.

    Harriet tried to look straight through him, but only managed to look sulky.

    ‘I’m five now,’ said Chattie. ‘I used to be four.’

    ‘I used to be four too,’ said Charles.

    ‘My daddy’s twenty-one,’ said Chattie.

    ‘I wish my children put out propaganda like that,’ said Charles, laughing.

    ‘I’m getting a two-wheeler soon with stabilizers,’ said Chattie.

    ‘I could do with some stabilizers myself,’ said Charles.

    He walked over to Harriet, the dissipated gin-soaked blue eyes looking almost gentle.

    ‘Look, I’ve got rather a hazy recollection of what happened last night, but I’ve a feeling I bitched you up. I’m sorry. I can never resist taking the mickey out of Cory. He’s so damn supercilious.’

    ‘He is my boss,’ said Harriet.

    ‘Thank Christ he’s not mine, but I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’

    Harriet stared at him, not knowing what to say.

    She was rescued by a voice behind her saying, ‘Hullo Harriet.’ It was the haw haw tones of Billy Bentley. She was flattered he remembered her. ‘You disappeared very fast last night,’ he said. ‘Saw Charles chatting you up and then you bolted. Can’t say I blame you. Enough to put anyone orf.’

    He brayed with laughter. He should just sit on his horse and look glamorous, thought Harriet.

    ‘I suppose I better get mounted,’ said Charles. ‘We’re friends now, are we?’ he added to Harriet.

    ‘Yes, as long as you’re not foul to Mr. Erskine,’ she said.

    He shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s old history. Perhaps you’d have dinner with me one evening, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

    ‘I say, hands orf, Charles,’ said Billy Bentley. ‘You’re married. Leave the field free for us single blokes.’

    His horse suddenly bucked and lashed out warningly at a nearby chestnut.

    ‘This bugger’s had too much corn,’ he said. ‘I wish we could get going.’

    Charles Mander settled himself on to his horse. An earnest-looking grey-haired woman sidled up to him and pressed an anti-fox-hunting pamphlet into his hand.

    ‘Thank you so much,’ he said to her politely and, getting out his lighter, set fire to it and dropped it flaming at her feet. She jumped away and disappeared, shaking her fist; into the crowd.

    ‘Bloody hunt saboteurs,’ he said, riding off towards the pub. ‘I’m going to get my flask topped up.’

    Billy Bentley hung about, looking down at Harriet, trying to control his restless horse.

    ‘Going to the hunt ball?’ he asked.

    ‘No I’m not.’

    ‘Going away?’

    ‘No, I’m just not going.’

    ‘What a shame,’ said Billy, suddenly turning pink. ‘I say, I liked talking to you last night. Wonder if you’d come out one evening?’

    ‘I’d love to, but it’s a bit difficult,’ said Harriet, turning pink too. ‘I’ve got this baby, my own I mean, not Jonah or Chattie.’

    ‘Doesn’t matter a scrap,’ said Billy. ‘Bring the little chap with you if you like. Still got our old nanny at home; got nothing to do; love to look after him.’

    Harriet was touched and wanted to tell him so, but next moment the whipper-in arrived with the hounds, who looked curiously naked without collars, tails waving frantically.

    ‘They haven’t been fed for two days,’ said an anti-fox-hunting youth who was waving a poster saying, ‘Hounds off our wild life’.

    Grooms were sweeping rugs off sweating, shuddering horses; riders were mounting and jogging off in a noisy glittering cavalcade, with a yelp of voices and a jingle of bits.

    Cory rode up on Python, black coat gleaming, eyes popping, letting out snorts of hysterical excitement at all the activity around her.

    ‘I’ll ring you this evening,’ said Billy. ‘Morning, Cory. That’s new, very nice too.’

    ‘Kit found her in Ireland,’ said Cory. ‘Had a couple of days on her with the Kildare.’

    ‘Up to his weight, was she?’ said Billy. ‘Bloody good. Put her in for the point-to-point, will you?’

    ‘I thought I might.’

    ‘Cory darling!’ It was Elizabeth Pemberton, wearing rather too much make-up, but looking stunning in a black coat, and the tightest white breeches. She caught sight of Harriet and nodded to her dismissively.

    ‘You are coming with us on Friday, aren’t you?’ she said to Cory.

    There was a pause, his eyes flickered towards Harriet, then away.

    ‘Yes I’d like to,’ he said.

    ‘I think we’ll be about twenty-four for dinner,’ she said. Big bloody deal, thought Harriet.

    The Master was blowing his horn up the road. Next moment Arabella rolled up on a thoroughly over-excited bay, which barged round, nearly sending Harriet and the children for six.

    As the hunt rode down into the valley, the pigeons rose like smoke from the newly ploughed fields.

    ‘Let’s follow them,’ said Harriet.

    But when they got back to the car, she gave a gasp of horror. The back seat was empty; Sevenoaks had gone; he must have wriggled out of the window. She had terrifying visions of him chasing sheep, running under the horses’ feet, or getting on to the motorway.

    ‘We must look for him,’ she said, getting into the car and
driving off in the direction of the hunt, which had disappeared into the wood. Then followed a desperately frustrating half-hour bucketing along the narrow country lanes, having to pull into sideroads every time an oncoming car approached, nearly crashing several times because she was so busy scouring the fields for Sevenoaks.

The hunt were having an equally frustrating time; hounds were not picking up any scent. Riders stood around on the edge of the wood, fidgeting. Then suddenly an old bitch hound gave tongue, and the chorus of hounds swelled, and the whole hillside was echoing. Pa pa pa pa went the m ancholy, plaintive note of the horn, and the next moment the hunt came spilling across the road. There was a clash as stirrups hit each other, a snorting of horses, and they were jumping over the wall on the opposite side of the road. From the top of the bill Harriet watched them streaming across the field. There was Cory blown like a beech leaf in his red coat, standing up in his stirrups now to see what was on the other side of a large wall. The next moment Python had cleared it by inches. Hounds were splaying out by a small wood at the bottom of the valley, then suddenly they turned and came thundering back in Harriet’s direction.

‘There’s the fox,’ screamed Chattie, and gave the most ear-splitting view halloo.

Ten seconds later the hounds came flowing past her. Suddenly in the middle Harriet recognized a
familiar
figure, dirty grey, pink tongue hanging out, galloping joyously.

‘Oh look, there’s Sevenoaks,’ screamed the children.

‘Come here,’ bellowed Harriet.

For a second he looked in her direction and gave her a naughty, flickering, rolling look, then trundled on in the centre of the pack which swept in a liver, black and white wave over the hill.

All the pent-up emotion of the last twenty-four hours welled up in Harriet. She sat down on the bank and laughed until she cried.

Her elation was shortlived. The hunt was soon miles away. She must get back to William. She drove home feeling depressed - not merely because of the day’s catastrophic developments. She tried to analyse why, as she gotthe children a late lunch, and fed William. Perhaps I’m just tired, she thought.

‘
I just landed on one of your hotels, and you didn’t even
notice,’ said Jonah.

‘Oh God, how much do you owe me?’ said Harriet.

‘Ł1,000,’ said Jonah. ‘It was jolly honest of me to tell you.’

‘Jolly honest,’ answered Harriet, wishing he hadn’t.

‘Here’s Ł1,000,’ said Jonah. ‘Now we can go on for another half-hour.’

Harriet was dying for him to beat her. Worried about Sevenoaks, she was finding it impossible to concentrate. There was no way she could win now; she wanted to get the game over as quickly as possible.

Fortunately Sammy arrived at that moment, bringing Georgie and Timothy, the Pembertons’ elder child, who was a friend of Jonah’s, so all four children disappeared to the attic.

Sammy and Harriet went back into the nursery where William was rolling around on the rug.

‘How was Arabella’s party last night?’ said Sammy.

Harriet gave her an expurgated edition of what had hap- pened.

‘It was hideously embarrassing, but Cory was so sweet
about it afterwards.’

‘I think Charles Mander’s rather attractive,’ said Sammy.

‘He’s reputed to beat his wife. He’s known round here as Rotation of Riding Crops.’ She shrieked with laughter. ‘Fancy old Arabella shoving you off to do the washing up.’