Scandalous Risks (14 page)

IX

When we arrived at Heathrow airport on the following afternoon we found Dido lying in wait for us. Aysgarth was pounced on, pawed and peppered with tearful kisses — ‘Disgusting!’ muttered Primrose. ‘What a way to behave in public!’ — and I had to try not to look as if I had unexpectedly encountered a full complement of the Spanish Inquisition. Even though I had no doubt that he had engineered their separate holidays in order to preserve his sanity, I hardly welcomed the reminder that he was legally yoked to a doting gorgon. · After Dido had flicked away her tears with a flap of her lace handkerchief, she found time td say brightly: ‘How pale you are, Primrose! Such a pity there’s no sun in the Hebrides,’ and to me she added: ‘I’m so glad you didn’t die of boredom, but my dear, you look extremely liverish — you should take a strong dose of salts as soon as you get home.’

A chauffeur-driven limousine was waiting outside the terminal; Dido liked to make extravagant gestures with her private income. After Aysgarth had been whisked away, Eddie, Primrose and I rattled off in a bone-shaking bus to the long term car-park. Depression crawled across my consciousness like a tarantula on the march. As I drove out of London all I could think was: that bloody Dido.

However in Starbridge I recovered my equilibrium, and by the time Primrose and I had dined off baked beans and Spam followed by tinned Ambrosia rice pudding, I had realised that since there was no hope of my passion being reciprocated it hardly mattered that Aysgarth had a wife. My destiny was to burn with unrequited love, and with a sigh of ecstasy I once more consigned myself to the flames.

We had returned on a Thursday, just over a week after our departure. The next morning I waited till Primrose had gone to work and then I strolled up Canonry Drive to Choristers’ Green. The Chantry was wedged between a handsome Georgian house, formerly the Choir School but now a museum, and a dainty, early Victorian cottage; one of the best features of the Close was that its houses were all different and yet in their diversity they achieved a satisfying harmony. Studying the Chantry with care I noted that the curtains were still drawn across one of the bedroom windows. I moved on.

Five minutes later in Mitre Street I visited Boots, where I bought a few essential items such as toothpaste, and consulted a very well-informed girl at the cosmetics counter about eye make-up. Various experiments followed as I confirmed my suspicion that mere mascara was not enough to produce the glamour to which I now aspired, but eventually I emerged transformed and retired to a tea-shop called The Copper Kettle where I drank coffee and read the
Daily
Mail.
More time passed. Then I padded back to the Close and once more eyed the Chantry. The bedroom curtains were now drawn back. For another minute I prowled around Choristers’ Green in an agony of indecision, but at last I marched up to the Chantry and rang the bell.

‘Is Miss Markhampton at home?’ I said when the housekeeper opened the door. ‘I’m Miss Flaxton.’

‘
Flaxton?
’
cried a disembodied voice in the distance.

‘Hi, Marina – it’s Venetia! Any chance of saying "Welcome to Starbridge" or are you in the bath?’

‘No, in shock! My God, Vinnie, what on earth are you doing in this gorgeous dump?’ said Marina Markhampton, appearing at the top of the stairs in a white silk dressing-gown which looked as if it had been personally hand-stitched by Dior, and glided down to meet me as if I were one of her oldest friends.

SIX

‘"It’s love that makes the world go round." That’s what all Christians have always said.’

JOHN A. T. ROBINSON

Suffragan Bishop of Woolwich 1959-1969

Writing about
Honest to God
in the

Sunday Mirror, 7th
April 1963

I

She was shorter than I was, about five foot four, and had thick, smooth, natural blonde hair which cascaded to her shoulders as gracefully as if it had been arranged a minute earlier by some genius of a hairdresser. Beneath their heavy lids her eyes were a lazy, limpid blue. The cats-about-town used to say that her bone structure was reminiscent of a prize sheep, but in fact like many beautiful women her face was striking in its originality. She wore no make-up but looked radiant. If I had been feeling less nervous I might well have succumbed to the jealousy exhibited by all the cats-about-town.

‘Let’s have some coffee,’ she said after we had chatted about nothing for a couple of minutes. ‘Take a pew while I snap my fingers at the slave.’

Still marvelling at my unexpectedly warm reception I sank gratefully on to the drawing-room sofa.

‘It really is heavenly to see a familiar face,’ said Marina, wandering back into the room with a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘Everyone in the Close appears to be either nine or ninety or simply impossible. Where are all the amusing people of our age?’

‘In London, I suppose.’ I accepted a biscuit. ‘Which reminds me, Marina –’

‘You want to know why I’m here, making sure the house- keeper doesn’t sidle off to Blackpool amidst a salvo of bursting pipes. Well, it just so happened that I was being absolutely
persecuted
in London by two men at once, and the last straw came when my boss tried to play the "Moonlight" sonata all over my left thigh.’

‘How hackneyed.’

‘Exactly what I thought. I was doing some temporary work — nothing strenuous, just answering the phone and pouring the champagne in one of those little art galleries in St James’s — and after the sonata I thought hell, I’ve simply got to claw my way out of this
seething
sexual cesspit, I’ll house-sit for Granny, gaze at the Cathedral and think pure thoughts about eternal life — but I’ve now reached the stage where quite frankly eternal life is wearing a bit thin, so I’ve decided to give an Orgy to resurrect this dump from the dead.’

‘Give a what?’

‘An Orgy — with a capital O. Wouldn’t it be madly way-out to dance semi-nude on the Cathedral lawn in the moonlight? Even better than last year during a May ball up at Cambridge when I wound up punting semi-nude on the Cam ... But how frightful, I’m talking all about my boring old self — how are
you?
’

‘
Also in flight from the cesspits of London. I’ve just been on holiday in the Hebrides.’

‘The Hebrides?’ said Marina intrigued as the housekeeper arrived with coffee. ‘How original! What inspired you to go there?’

‘The Dean invited me. He’d been lent the Starmouths’ hunting-lodge, and —’

‘Oh yes, you’re in cahoots with the Aysgarths, aren’t you? I went out with James Aysgarth a couple of times in London when I was a deb — he’s rather a dear but not terribly bright and I do like something with a high IQ. Norman Aysgarth’s super but he’s guarded night and day by Cynthia the Siren — who’s actually quite fun when there are no men around —’

‘I suppose the Aysgarth closest to you in age is Sandy. His IQ’s high enough —’

‘
Yes, but he’s got no sex appeal. However the best Aysgarth, the
crème de la crème
of the Aysgarths, the Aysgarth I’m simply passionate about is —’

‘Christian,’ I said. ‘Welcome to the club. How do you get on with his wife?’

‘
Oh, I’m passionate about Katie too! In fact I was just deciding that they’ve simply got to be the guests of honour at my Orgy. And I shall invite Perry Palmer and Robert Welbeck and Katie’s brother Simon — oh, and super old Norman too, I must have Norman because he’s so like Christian, and that means Cynthia the Siren will have to come, but that’s okay, I don’t mind Cynthia. I shan’t invite Sandy, though, because he’s dull, and I shan’t invite James because I’m not having anyone from the Guards. I’ve just about had it with all those Guardsmen trying to rape me in corners whenever they’re not trying to rape each other.’

‘
One must draw the line somewhere.’

‘
Exactly. And I’m not inviting any floozies either — except Cynthia, and Cynthia’ll be fine so long as no one tries to rape Norman — and no one will because my friends Holly and Emma-Louise are both so stylish, so absolutely trustworthy, and I do think it’s important, don’t you, to have girlfriends you can
trust.
I don’t know what I’d do without Holly and Emma-Louise to soothe me whenever I’ve been pounced on by some wild-eyed Romeo — which reminds me, I’m going to invite Michael Ashworth, the Bishop’s son. He’s a real pouncer de luxe, but he deserves an invitation because of his first-class sex appeal.’

‘How about Charley?’

‘That ghastly prig? No fear!’

‘By the way, is it true that Michael got kicked out of medical school for pouncing?’

‘My dear, no nurse escaped.’

‘You mean he actually —’

‘— broke every bed in sight. One of Emma-Louise’s dearest friends is a nurse, and she told Emma-Louise —’

A long session of gossip followed.

‘
You don’t happen to know why Charley Ashworth ran away from home when he was eighteen, do you?’ I was tempted to ask eventually, much impressed by Marina’s wide-ranging knowledge of our acquaintances.

‘He inherited three thousand theology books from Granny’s pal, dear old Bishop Jardine, and the shock sent him temporarily round the bend.’

‘But seriously, Marina —’

‘Oh, I expect it was just a fit of adolescent pique. I know heaps of people who ran away from home for a weekend just to underline the fact that they were no longer in rompers. I did it myself as a matter of fact — flew off to Rome to see a performance of
Aida
in the Baths of Caracalla, cadged a lift on Banger Marsden’s private plane ... Do you know Banger?’

‘Not exactly —’

‘He was on his way to Naples, but after he’d dropped me off in Rome I linked up with Holly’s brother — queer as a coot, absolutely safe — and off we toddled to Aida.’

‘But what on earth did your parents think?’

‘Oh, my father doesn’t think at all — he gave all that up years ago. And my mother just said:
"Darling!" in
despair as usual and began to paint another picture. Parents needn’t be difficult, you know. It’s all a matter of being kind but firm.’

‘Every time I try to be firm with my father he roars like a lion!’

‘How exhausting! No wonder you’ve left London, although I must say, I do think you’d find Rome more amusing than Starbridge. You’re obviously rather soignée nowadays, the sort of person who’s been around.’

‘Well, by the
time
one’s twenty-six, I suppose one
has
seen more or less everything —’

‘Oh, of course!’ She gazed at me with respect. ‘Yes, I can see that I completely misjudged you in the past — I thought you were a churchy bluestocking like Primrose Aysgarth, the sort of person who’s hopelessly square, yet now you’re obviously a real trendsetter — imagine going to the Hebrides instead of to the boring old Riviera! I suppose the Hebrides will be the next "in" place.’

‘The beaches were, I have to admit, quite stunning —’

‘I bet. I say, I
am
glad you’ve wafted into my life just at the very moment when I need the assistance of someone really cool and with-it! Will you help me organise my Orgy?’

‘Love to. Thanks.’

‘Where are you hanging out?’

‘At the Deanery, but as a matter of fact, Marina, I’ve just had a brainstorm: there isn’t enough room in Primrose’s pad to swing a cat, so —’ I took a deep breath ‘— is it at all possible — and of course you must be quite honest and say no straight away if the idea appals you —’

‘If I’m on my own a day longer in this place I’ll go crazy. How soon can you move in?’

I wanted to shout ‘Whoopee!’
in
triumph but instead I said carelessly, as befitted the coolest of trendsetters: ‘Today?’ and produced what I hoped was a grateful but sophisticated smile.

II

‘In my opinion,’ said Marina some hours later, ‘the best parties are the ones attended by a carefully-picked handful of people, most of whom are known to one another. Those débutante balls with a cast of thousands were too dreary for words, weren’t they?’

‘Absolutely the bottom.’ I had rejoined her at four o’clock that afternoon after making a quick trip to Flaxton Pauncefoot to deposit my laundry and pick up some clean clothes. We were now drinking Earl Grey tea and nibbling slices of that delicious walnut cake from Fuller’s. In between nibbles Marina chewed the end of her pencil as she contemplated her notepad and meditated on her guest list.

‘I want to have between eight and twelve of my favourite people — my basic coterie — plus between four to six outsiders — the wild-cards, as it were, in the pack,’ she was saying, ‘but accommodation could be a problem. We can’t have too many bodies stacked up here or the slave might have hysterics and phone Granny in Monte Carlo.’

‘I’m sure we could devise a passable sardine arrangement for the girls. Then the Aysgarth crowd can cram themselves into the Deanery, and if Michael Ashworth comes that opens up the beds at the South Canonry —’

‘The Bishop might have apoplexy at the thought of condoning an orgy.’

‘Well, of course we promote this to the older generation as just supper for a few friends with music afterwards.’

‘Oh, I see you know all the right moves!’ said Marina. ‘Okay, assuming we neutralise Anti-Sex Ashworth, I think we’ve solved the accommodation problem —’

‘If we’re exploiting the beds at the South Canonry I don’t see how you can invite Michael and not that prig Charley.’

‘Easy. Michael’s in London but Charley will be in Cambridge by the time we give the Orgy, and Cambridge is so far away, almost in
terra incognita,
isn’t it practically in the North Sea? No, we can’t possibly ask anyone to trek down here from Cambridge — although ... I say, I tell you who I’d like to invite! I was introduced to him last year during that May ball when I wound up punting semi-nude on the Cam. He’s reading
divinity —
of all subjects! — and he’s not good-looking, all glasses and bones and mousey hair, but there’s something about him which is absolutely mesmerising —’

‘Does he by any chance tell fortunes?’

‘
Does he tell fortunes! I
’
ll
say he does. "The Church is in your future," he says, holding my hand so hard I nearly pass out. "I see you moving in the shadow of a great cathedral!’

‘You’re making this up, Marina!’

‘No, I swear it — as soon as Granny asked me to house-sit, I remembered Nicky Darrow’s prophecy! Listen, we simply must get hold of him — do you know if the new term’s started up at Cambridge? Maybe he’s still at home with the Holy One.’

‘The
who?
’

Nicky’s father’s a holy hermit who lives in a wood and eats nothing but Communion wafers. He’s about a hundred years old and very wise, like the Delphic Oracle, and people come from all over England to see him, but very few make it into the holy presence because he’s guarded day and night by his disciples, a savage band of Anglo-Catholic monks who —’

‘Marina, this couldn’t come within a hundred light-years of being true!’

‘My dear, it’s
gospel.
Old Mr Darrow — or is it "Father" Darrow — or is it possibly even "Saint" Darrow —’

‘No, that’s too much, I balk at sainthood —’

‘Well, saint or no saint he’s in tune with the music of the spheres and has a hotline to God. Honestly! No kidding!’

‘Talking of God,’ I said, glancing at my watch and scrambling to my feet, ‘it’s time I popped over to the Cathedral for evensong.’

‘Heavens above, Vinnie, you’re not religious, are you?’

‘Oh no!’ I said. ‘But I like to pay my respects to God every now and then as a safety measure. After all, since the non-existence of God can’t be scientifically proved, it seems only sensible to allow for the fact that He could be around.’ And leaving her boggling at my canny behaviour, I glided across Choristers’ Green towards the Cathedral.