Needles and Pearls (28 page)

Maxine comes out of one of the side doors and takes me round to Grace.

‘She’s in the garden. Isn’t the weather great? It’s like being in the South of France. I bet you’re taking your kids to the beach every day, aren’t you?’

‘Pretty much. Actually, we’re having a birthday picnic on the beach this Sunday. From around six, if you fancy it.’

‘Can I let you know?’

‘Of course.’

‘Maybe Bruno and I could come, if that would be okay. I think Grace will probably be busy.’

‘I’d love that.’

‘At least you won’t have press abseiling down the cliffs trying to get shots of Jean-Luc’

‘Oh, right. He’s here then?’

‘Oh yes, he’s definitely here.’

The kitchen garden is helpfully surrounded by an old wall that shields people from long lenses. It’s immaculate, with beds of flowers and vegetables mixed in with fruit canes, and what look like bunches of fledgling grapes hanging down from the vines over the huge wooden table. I’ve got no idea how many gardeners work here. They’ve got a contract with some big firm, I think, but there must be hordes of them to keep it looking this stunning.

Lily’s having a lovely time in her paddling pool under a cream-linen awning, with Meg sprinkling water onto her from a baby watering can. Grace is lounging on a wooden steamer chair with cream cushions, wearing jeans and a tiny white T-shirt.

‘Water or juice, Jo?’

‘Water, thanks, Grace.’

‘We’re learning to ride for the film, so we’ve got horses in the stables now. Very
Country Life,
don’t you think?’

‘Very.’

Maxine hands me a glass of water, and nods towards the gate at the far end of the garden, where a vision in a billowing white shirt and jodhpurs is walking towards us. Dear God, I’m glad I’m sitting down. He’s absolutely gorgeous. And he’s even managing to look good in jodhpurs, which isn’t easy.

‘Did Sartre do a lot of horse riding then?’

‘Sorry?’

He’s getting nearer. Good God, if Jean-Paul Sartre had looked like that we’d all be existentialists.

Maxine smiles.

‘No, Jean-Luc’s doing Professor Emelius Browne in
Bedknobs,
Jo. They’re looking for a big American name for Sartre.’

‘Oh, right. I don’t remember them riding horses in
Bedknobs and Broomsticks.’

Grace smiles, one of her Diva smiles.

‘They didn’t. But there’s all sorts of new stuff in the script. And trust me, when you see him on a horse you’ll be glad there is.’

Maxine pours Jean-Luc a glass of water, as he leans down and kisses Grace on the cheek, and brushes a curl of hair from her face.

‘Good ride, darling?’

‘Yes, but it is so hot, I must change. I think I will swim. Do you need anything?’

His accent is divine. Do you need anyzing? Oh yes, I think we probably do.

‘No thanks. I might join you later. Ask Sam for anything you want.’

He kisses her again and wanders back across the path towards the house.

Maxine sighs, which makes Grace laugh.

‘The read-throughs have been great so far, brilliant for chemistry, Angela Lansbury, eat your heart out. Although they’re getting him a voice coach so he’ll probably end up sounding like bloody Hugh Grant.’

Maxine’s collecting up plates and putting them on a tray.

‘Somehow I don’t think that’s going to matter.’

‘Probably not. Is she getting fed up, Meg?’

Lily is busy throwing plastic boats out of her paddling pool.

‘A bit. Shall I take her in now?’

‘Please. And Max, ask Sam to bring us out some more juice, and ice, would you?’

‘Sure.’

Sam arrives with a jug of juice, and a plate of fruit.

‘Thanks, Sam. Is he in the pool?’

‘Yes. And he wants a coffee. Shall I go for decaff?’

‘Please.’

He smiles, and walks back towards the house.

‘I’m cutting down on his caffeine, slows him down; otherwise it’s just too exhausting. So, what do you think of the garden?’

‘It’s fabulous. You’re a very lucky woman.’

‘Lucky? I worked bloody hard for all of this.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I was joking. Jesus, why doesn’t anyone ever think I’m joking? Although getting them to cast Jean-Luc was lucky, I’ll admit that. Stroke of genius, actually.’

‘So is he French, in the film, I mean?’

‘Kind of. He’s more heroic than in the old version, ex-Army, half-French, evacuated from Dunkirk. And then I meet him and he forgets all about the Resistance.’

‘I bet.’

‘We start shooting in a couple of weeks. Has Maxine given you the dates?’

‘Yes. I’m really looking forward to it.’

‘They want me to knit, in the film. Did she say? So we’ve said you’ll come up with something suitably wartime. They all knitted socks, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, or balaclavas. My gran’s got loads of vintage patterns. I’ll bring some over if you like.’

‘Sure. They’ll pay you, for research. Max has already sorted it.’

‘Really? That would be great, if you’re sure.’

‘Talk to Max, she’s got the details. Fuck, who’s that?’

The phone is ringing on the table.

‘Fine, put him through. Hi, Ed … because I don’t want to. I’m having a quiet English summer. If I wanted to be in fucking LA, that’s where I’d be. Okay, but bring them down here. Sam can do a lunch or something.’

She puts the phone down.

‘They’re up to serious money now.’

‘What for?’

‘A picture of me and Jean-Luc. Triple if we’re shagging. Bastards. Ed’s on the case, so we’ll do a dinner in London, or Paris maybe. Max is sorting it out now.’

‘Don’t you mind?’

‘Part of the job, darling.’

‘I suppose so, but –’

‘There’s no but. It’s the job – you do it, or you don’t. But you can’t whine about it. You can sue them if they cross the line, but the rest of it is how you earn your money.’

‘Cross the line?’

‘If they go after your family.’

‘Right.’

‘I finished Lily’s cardigan, by the way, the wrapover one, and she loves it. I thought I’d make her another one, in that olive green you were showing me. Was that cashmere?’

‘Cashmere and silk.’

‘Okay, and I want to make something for Max, for her birthday. There’s a cardigan in that book you left me that’s perfect for her. I’ve marked the page – tell me the colours and you can get that for me as well. I want to customise it, though – the sleeves are awful … Fuck, it’s hot out here. Let’s go in.’

‘When’s her birthday? I’d like to get her something too.’

‘Next month sometime, but don’t knit her anything. I want mine to be the star gift.’

‘Of course.’

She smiles.

‘You could get her a jigsaw. She loves them.’

‘Really?’

‘When Sam and I want to annoy her we hide a couple of pieces. It drives her crazy. She’s quite obsessional; has to be, doing her job. She’s always putting things in straight lines, and rearranging flowers. If you ever need another assistant in your shop, go for someone who’s bossy and likes everything neat.’

‘I’ve already got one of those, thanks. I don’t think I could handle two.’

‘Do you fancy a swim?’

‘No, thanks. I haven’t brought my costume.’

And even if I had I’d pay serious money rather than appear in front of her and Jean-Luc wearing it.

‘Sure?’

‘Yes, but thanks.’

‘Pick up the book before you go, and call me about the colours. Thanks, Jo. Lovely to see you.’ She heads towards the pool.

I’m looking through Gran’s collection of vintage knitting patterns on Saturday, waiting for her to arrive to look after the boys so I can go into the shop for Olivia’s first knitting group. There seem to be lots of wartime patterns for balaclavas and gloves, and a rather fetching child’s vest with matching body belt, presumably for keeping your pocket money safe. Gran says wool was rationed for ages, and used to come in skeins rather than balls, so we’ll have to get that right for the film, and she remembers making Aran socks for sailors as well as scarves and gloves, and she and Betty knitted themselves swimming costumes, only they tended to sag rather dramatically the minute you got in the sea, which must have been a worry. Only since most of the beach was covered in barbed wire, with the Home Guard marching up and down and shouting at anyone who tried to have a paddle, it probably didn’t really matter how baggy your costume went.

Lots of the pattern booklets seem to have been given out free when you bought the wool, although there are some baby-clothes ones which cost 3d, and a few American ones for glamorous dresses and jumpers; since wool wasn’t rationed there the colours are much more varied, and I’m rather drawn to a bed jacket with ruffles. I wonder what the boys would say if I appeared at the breakfast table wearing a jacket with white lace frills over my nightie: nothing terribly polite, probably. I think the perfect choice for Grace in the film will be air-force blue wool for a scarf, or maybe a balaclava.

I’m sorting out a few possible colours when Gran arrives, with a cake for tea.

‘You look tired, pet. I’ll just go and say hello to the boys, shall I? Put the kettle on.’

I’m feeling completely knackered, actually: I didn’t sleep very well due to a combination of the baby twirling about for half the night, and a rather rude dream involving Jean-Luc, who somehow morphed into Nick at a crucial moment, which had me waking up with quite a start, and then staring into the darkness for ages having a panic attack about exactly how I’m going to do everything. And then just as I got back to sleep Jack came in all shaky because he’d had his dream where he can’t find me and he’s in a boat that’s slowly sinking. He hasn’t had it for months, but I think Gran going on about the baby’s room yesterday unsettled him.

Reg arrives while we’re drinking our tea, with some wallpaper samples: Gran’s sent him to B & Q with strict instructions to bring back a nice range of colours and patterns. Oh God.

‘We need to get a move on, pet. You want everything sorted before the baby arrives.’

‘Yes, but we’ve got until October. There’s no need to worry about it right now.’

‘I’ve got one of those mobile things, by the way. I meant to tell you.’

‘I thought you used Reg’s.’

She tuts.

‘For over the cot. It plays a tune, with little rabbits. It’s ever so sweet, isn’t it, Reg?’

He nods. Actually, I think he’s quietly excited too.

‘Amazing what they can do now. You just press a button and it plays a tune, and Martin says he’ll help me with the
floor. Messy job that, but he’s got a sander so it won’t take us long. We thought we’d sand and then seal it, and then we thought a white wax, soften them down a bit, if you’re sure you don’t want a carpet?’

‘That sounds lovely, Reg, but –’

Gran puts her cup down.

‘And Tina from the hairdresser’s was telling me about those baby showering things they have now, so she’s organising one with Elsie. They were thinking about one of your Thursday nights. Isn’t that nice? Only I think they want to surprise you, but I know what you’re like with surprises so I thought I’d better warn you.’

Right, so that’s floorboards, painting and wallpapering, and a surprise baby shower: nice and low-key then, just how I want it.

‘I don’t want a fuss, Gran – it only makes me nervous.’

‘No pet, what’ll make you nervous is when you come to your senses in a few weeks’ time and realise you’ve got nothing ready.’

‘I’ve knitted a blanket.’

‘I know, pet, and it’s lovely.’

‘I’m not in denial or anything, Gran, but I’ve done this before, you know, and they never go in their cots for the first few weeks anyway. All you really need is a Moses basket and a car seat.’

She looks stricken.

‘Car seat. I never thought of that.’

‘Gran, it’ll be fine. Please. I’d love it if you want to do the room, but it’ll be okay if we haven’t got every single thing ready.’

Reg puts his arm on Gran’s shoulder.

‘She’s probably right, Mary.’

‘And Gran?’

‘Yes, pet?’

‘If you could help me sort out the boys’ rooms too, particularly Jack’s, maybe we could do a bit of painting for them as well so they don’t feel left out.’

‘That’s a lovely idea.’

She’s off, getting the boys in.

‘Me and your mum and your Grandad Reg are talking about painting your bedrooms. What colours would you like?’

Jack looks worried.

‘I don’t know. Mum, what colour should I have?’

‘What about blue and silver like Marco’s?’

‘Yes, please. Can I have moons and stars on my ceiling too?’

Gran nods.

‘And before you start, madam, you’re not climbing up any ladders.’

‘All right, Gran.’

Archie’s hopping.

‘And I can have
Superheroes,
can’t I, Mum? Or sharks. I quite like sharks.’

Shark wallpaper. How relaxing.

Reg is making a list. Me and my big mouth.

Olivia’s tidying upstairs and putting out glasses when I get to the shop.

‘Everyone’s bringing a drink.’

Oh God, maybe Elsie was right.

‘We couldn’t decide on water or Cokes and stuff, so everyone’s bringing their own. Are there any more spare needles?’