Harriet (13 page)

‘She’d be quite attractive,’ mused Harriet, ‘if she didn’t push so hard.’

‘Must be getting desperate. I wonder how old she is.

About thirty I should think. I hope I die before I’m thirty. It sounds so old.’

‘Forty must be worse,’ said Harriet. ‘Mrs. Bottomley must
be over fifty.’

They brooded silently over this horror.

‘Cory’s thirty-four,’ said Sammy. ‘It doesn’t seem too bad
for a man; but, just think; when you were born he was four-
teen, getting all clammy-handed and heavy breathing oves girls at parties.’

Harriet thought she’d rather not.

‘Elizabeth and Michael didn’t have much fun last night
either,’ said Sammy. ‘There weren’t any alkaseltzers in the house. We’d run out, but Michael came down in the night and had sixteen junior aspirins.’

    ‘
What’s happening on Friday?’ said Harriet.

‘The Hunt Ball,’ said Sammy. ‘Everyone gets absolutely
smashed and blows hunting horns, and rushes upstairs and fornicates in cordoned-off bedrooms.’

She picked up a cushion and peered round it at William, making him go off into fits of giggles.

Harriet was sorting out a pile of washing.

‘Who else is going in Elizabeth’s party?’ she asked cas
ually.

Sammy looked at her slyly. ‘You mean who’s she asked for Cory?’

Harriet went pink.

‘I just wondered if any of the people I met last night are
going to be there.’

‘She’s invited another of her glamorous, neurotic, divorced
girlfriends called Melanie Brooks for Co
ry. I saw the letter Elizabeth wrote her:

‘
Darling Melanie, So pleased you can make it. Try and catch an earlier train, as it’s a bit of a rush on Friday night and you want to look your best because I’ve lined up a
gorgeous man for you, a disconsolate husband whose wife’s just left him, but very fascinating." ‘

Harriet winced.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sammy. ‘She’s ancient. At least thirty,
and her legs are awful.’

‘But those’ll be covered by a long dress at a ball,’ said Harriet gloomily.

The telephone rang. To Harriet’s surprise it was Billy Bentley.

‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘Have you finished already?’

‘My horse went lame; not badly; he’ll be all right after a
few days’ rest.’

‘Did you have a good day?’

‘
Slightly chaotic actually. The Hunt saboteurs fed in an enormous black and grey dog which completely disrupted the pack. They ran right across the motorway - no one was hurt, thank God - and ended up in a council estate, cornering a ginger cat in an outside lavatory.’

    ‘
Oh goodness! Is the cat all right?’

‘Got away, thank God,’ said Billy. ‘Or it’d be all over the
papers.’

‘And the big grey and black dog?’

‘Well we whipped it out of the pack and Cory very kindly
took care of it. He gave a man on the council estate a fiver to bring it back to your house. He’s going to hold it as hostage until the Antis claim it. It’s completely wild.’

Harriet thought she would explode trying not to laugh.

‘After that we had a terrific run. Look, are you doing anything on Friday?’

‘No, at least I don’t think so. My night off.’

‘Like to come out?’

‘All right.’ Damn it, if Cory was going to go gallivanting
with gorgeous divorcées, she wasn’t going to get in his way. ‘It’s the Hunt Ball. You won’t mind that, will you?’ said Billy.

‘Oh,’ Harriet gave a yelp of alarm.

‘
We’ll eat at home first. I’ll come and pick you up about
eight.’

‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’

‘You’d look smashing in nothing,’ he brayed nervously.

‘
See you Friday and bring William. Nanny’s looking for-
ward to seeing him.’

Harriet replaced the receiver very slowly.

‘You lucky, lucky thing,’ said Sammy.

‘I’m sure Cory won’t like it. He’ll think I’m trying to
cramp his style,’ said Harriet. ‘But Billy was so sweet about William.’

‘Oh they’re used to illegits in that family. Billy’s sister’s
had two at least. Half of their ancestors have been born on the wrong side of the duvet. Now throw that photograph of Simon away,’ she went on, ‘and make a fresh start. Billy’s lovely and stinking rich, and faint heart never won fair chinless wonder.’

    ‘
I’ve got nothing to wear,’ said Harriet.

‘I’ve got just the thing,’ said Sammy. ‘A fantastically Iong
slinky or
ange dress I bought last year, in the hope that I might lose weight and get into it. I didn’t, but it would look sensational on you.’

The noises above became wilder.

‘I’d better go and turn the hot water up,’ said Harriet.
‘Cory’ll go spare if he doesn’t get a decent bath when he gets home.’

    She couldn’t bring herself to tell Cory she was going to the Hunt Ball. She washed and starched his dress shirt and brought the red tail coat with grey facings back from the cleaners and tried on Sammy’s orange dress which became her absurdly well. But as the day grew nearer she put off telling him, because he was too abstracted to bother, or because he was in such a good mood and she didn’t want to spoil it, or in a bad mood which she didn’t want to make any worse.

On the pretext of buying Chattie tights, she went into Skipton and found a flame-coloured boa to cover up some of the lack of dress. She failed, on the other hand, to find a bra to wear under it.

‘Go without,’ said Sammy. ‘Live a little.’

‘I’ll fall out when I dance - if anyone
asks
me to.’

She spent the day of the ball surreptitiously getting herself ready, as she knew with putting the children to bed there wouldn’t be much time later. She painted her
nails
and washed her hair, and put on a headscarf so it dried smooth. She was peeling chips for the children’s tea when Cory came into the kitchen, carrying a couple of shirts.

‘Don’t do any more work, Daddy,’ said Chattie, seizing
his h
and.

He opened the washing-machine door and was just about to throw the shirts in, when instead he drew out an old bunch of daffodils:

‘Planning to wash these?’

‘Oh dear, I’m getting so vague. I meant to put them down
the waste disposal,’ said Harriet.

‘I suppose you also mean to put those chips down the
waste disposal
and the peelings into the pan?’ he said. ‘And why are you wearing a headscarf? Are you feeling all right?’

‘Fine. Do you want a cup of tea?’ said Harriet nervously.
‘I want something stronger,’ said Co
ry, pouring himself a large whisky.

‘You ought to eat something,’ said Harriet.

‘I know, but I’ll be eating again in an hour or two.’
He cut a slice of pork from the joint, covered it in chili pickle, put it between two slices of bread
and settled down with the evening paper. His eating habits drove her to despair.

Chattie scrambled on to his knee.

‘Are you going out tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘To the Ball? Will you take me?’

‘No.’

‘
Are you going to dance with Harriet?’ she went on, ignoring Harriet’s agonized signals. ‘She’s going to wear an orange dress which shows all her bosoms.’

    ‘
Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Cory.

‘She is,’ said Chattie. ‘Sammy lent it to her.’

He turned to Harriet.

‘Is this true?’ he said sharply.

She nodded, blushing, grating cheese so frenziedly over the cauliflower that she cut one of her fingers.

‘Who’s taking you?’

‘Billy Bentley,’ she said, sucking her finger.

‘Didn’t know you knew him.’

‘
I met him at Arabella’s party, and at the meet.’

    ‘I see. Who’s looking after William and the children?’

    ‘Well it is my night off, and Mrs. Bottomley said she’d baby sit, but if that’s difficult Billy says their old Nanny can look after William.’

    ‘
Billy seems to have displayed more initiative than usual,’ said Cory. ‘Where are you having dinner?’

‘With his parents.’

‘You’ll be poisoned before you get to the ball. They’ve got
the worst cook in the West Riding.’

And he
stalked
out of the room, leaving the
half
-eaten pork sandwich and the glass of whisky. Harriet wondered if she should go after him and apologize. But what was there to apologize for, except she hadn’t told him? It was entirely up to her what she did on her evenings off. Perhaps he didn’t like downstairs mixing with his upstairs friends. Oh, why had she agreed to go?

She was getting ready, sitting in front of her looking glass, just wearing a pair of pants, when there was a knock on the door. She grabbed a towel; it was Cory. His dark hair sleeked down, wearing his red tail coat with the grey facings and black trousers.

‘You do look nice,’ she stammered. Privately she thought
he looked stunning.

Cory shrugged. ‘I’ll have champagne poured over it before the night’s out. Can you cut the nails on my right hand?’

As she bent over his hand, her hair in Carmen rollers tied up with a scarf, keeping the towel up with her elbows, her hand shook so much, she was frightened she’d cut him.

‘
You can leave William here,’ he said. ‘I’ve cleared it with Mrs. Bottomley.’

    ‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’

    ‘Been monopolizing you too much myself lately. Do you good to get out.’

    ‘
Yes,’ she said, trying to sound more enthusiastic.

He glanced round the room. ‘The light’s terrible in here. Go and make up in Noel’s room. I must go. I’m invited for eight. If any of the young bloods start pestering you, give me a shout.’

The mirrors in Noel’s room showed her from every angle. It’s like a Hollywood set, she thought, all those pink roses and ruffles. It’s a mistress’s room not a wife’s, and quite wrong expecting Cory to sleep in it, like putting a wolfhound in a diamante studded collar and a tartan coat. And how extraordinary to have so many photographs of oneself looking down from the
walls:
Noel sunbathing topless, Noel receiving a screen award, Noel arriving at a premičre smothered in ermine, Noel laughing, with Chattie, Jonah and Tadpole gazing up adoringly. That one hurt Harriet most of all. Trust Tadpole to suck up, she thought. Sevenoaks would be more discriminating.

    She gazed in the mirror. She looked small and defenceless. She’d been rubbing olive oil into her eyelashes for at least a week now, and they, didn’t seem any longer. If only she could be a thousandth as beautiful as Noel tonight. The orange dress slithered over her head - it really was low; she took out the rollers and brushed her hair until it shone and stood back, for once pleased with her appearance.

    She took the hair out of her brush, opened the window and threw it out; it promptly blew back again. Time was running out. Hastily she loaded up her evening bag, breaking her comb to get it inside. Pinching some of Noel’s loose powder to fill the little gold compact her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday she wondered when she would ever see them again. Her sudden overwhelming wave of homesickness was only interrupted by the door bell.

    CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DINNER was much less alarming than she expected. Billy’s parents were friendly in a bluff horsey sort of way, and even though there were twenty for dinner - mostly hunting types - they were much less glamorous and bitchy than the people at Arabella’s party. There was only one really pretty woman there, a Mrs. Willoughby who had red hair and sparkling green eyes like a little cat.

    Harriet sat between the joint-master and Billy’s Uncle Bertie, who squeezed her thigh absent-mindedly and flirted with her in a gentle way.

The food, as Cory predicted, was disgusting. Fortunately a Jack Russell with beseeching eyes sat under the table and wolfed all her fish. The second course, Coq au Vin, was full of soot and quite inedible. Harriet toyed with hers for a bit then, when a maid came round with a large bowl full of bones, thankfully threw her chicken pieces in too. It was only when the maid moved on to Billy’s Uncle Bertie on Harriet’s right, who immediately picked up Harriet’s bits and put them on his plate, that she realized with horror that the maid was handing round second helpings.

She also put up another black after dinner when the women were drinking coffee. ‘Have you lived here long?’ she said to Billy’s mother, during a pause.

‘Well quite a long time,’ said Mrs. Bentley.

‘About five hundred years,’ whispered Mrs. Willoughby,
out of the corner of her mouth.

    Fortunately the wine had been orbiting the table pretty fast at dinner and everyone laughed.

Nice car, thought Harriet, as Billy’s Ferrari roared along the narrow roads. She snuggled down under the fur rug. Perhaps it was its coating of dog hairs that made it so warm.

‘Do you ride?’ said Billy.