Leila's Uncle Charles was a big man in several ways, but wherever he was invited and took along his middle-aged mistress, he invariably introduced her as his housekeeper. Leila, feminist rebel over this if nothing else, had once questioned what she considered a slight. Janey, subject of the disagreement, was forthright about it. âHousekeep is what I do. Wife I'm not. And what we get up to in the bedroom is between him and me.'
She was a totally honest woman, or as near as dammit. She had a flat, rectangular face, with a straight nose and high, straight brows set precisely at right angles to it. The parchment-pale flesh over her cheeks fitted tightly to the bony infrastructure so that her lips often drew apart, making her look slightly aghast; which she never was. Her manner was always calmly pragmatic, and Leila was very fond of her.
They arrived for lunch half an hour early which irritated Aidan although, knowing Charles, he should have expected it. âTell me what I can do to help,' Janey offered.
âSit down, relax and stop fussing, woman,' Charles growled. âWhere are your kids, Aidan? Backpacking to Taiwan or prostrate over exams?'
âEdward's in the States, fixing himself up with some research into Artificial Intelligence. Chloe's staying with her grandmother in Nice.'
If Aidan had hoped to dazzle the older man he was disappointed.
âSo Eddie's into robotics, eh? Great future in that. Especially in astronavigation. Gone to Houston, I suppose.'
Leila darted him a glance. His response was too instant and informed. She guessed Eddie had been writing to Charles. Which could indicate he was short of money again.
(And Charles not even a blood relative, although both children preferred to ignore that shortcoming.)
âWe thought you might like to look over the house,' she suggested, âwhile I finish getting lunch.'
Charles sat on over his drink, digging himself out for the guided tour with Aidan just minutes before the hot meal was ready for serving.
âAnd the wicked old thing knows exactly what he's doing,' Janey remarked confidently, sitting on the kitchen table and swinging her legs like a teenager. âAs in Alice, “He only does it to annoy/ Because he knows it teases.” I do think you've got yourself a lovely house here, Leila.'
âIt will be, I think, but there's a lot to be done. I'm glad Aidan decided against living in London. I just hope the commuting doesn't get him down.'
âA grand new job, a grand new house, with both the kids growing up and away. This will be a quite different lifestyle for you both. So what are your plans?'
Leila straightened after transferring the roast beef from cooker shelf to cork mat and paused a moment, hands in oven gloves on her hips. âDo you know, Janey, I've no idea. Aidan will be pretty involved with the university, of course.'
âDamn Aidan's plans; what about your own? You must get yourself a life, Leila. It's more than time.'
âWell, I have the shop. I'm really grateful to Uncle Charles for setting me up with that.'
Janey grimaced. âIt wasn't what I'd hoped he would pick on, but you know Charles: two years ago the lease was up for grabs and property hereabouts gets more valuable every year. He felt it was too good to pass up. But running a shop doesn't exactly stretch you, does it?'
Leila smiled. âIt's a bit like that fully-stocked doll's-house he gave me when I was ten.'
âAnd you should have been five. It wouldn't have happened if I'd been around then, my dear.'
Leila laughed. âYou certainly know how to work on him.'
âI don't manipulate, Leila. I simply tell him what I'd prefer. Like that dress account he opened for me. I really didn't need it, so once I'd explained he cancelled it and gave me carte blanche at the bookshop instead. Much more sensible. I'm sorry I can't take you for a new swish outfit again, but do let me have a list of what you fancy reading.'
By now Janey had slid off the table, seized some tongs and was arranging roast potatoes for her in a ceramic dish. âThese are crisped perfectly, Leila. Oh, I do enjoy eating what someone else has cooked.'
Leila reached out and hugged her. This plain-faced little woman dressed as a middle-aged flowerchild was one of the most comfortable people she knew.
At lunch Janey left the men to do the talking, only piping up during the dessert with a question to Leila about picking up her studies again. It had the effect of halting the others' conversation.
âI should hardly think she'd want to do that,' Aidan decided.
âShe needn't do it at your college. Why not the Open University?'
âYes,' Charles agreed wickedly. âIf she keeps it dark you won't lose face, old man. How about it, Leila? I was sorry you never went on to get your degree. Whatever happened to your early thirst for history?'
The truth was it had got crowded out. Her special fascination was with pre-colonial Africa, and she'd hoped to spend a few years out there in research. Aidan and marriage had put paid to that.
âMaybe it wasn't all that pressing,' she offered. âI hadn't actually fixed my options for if I graduated.'
âNot if: when,' her uncle said staunchly.
âA piece of paper!' Aidan cried scornfully. âOne advantage of passing through the entire academic process is learning that degrees and diplomas aren't worth the paper they're printed on. But of course you must acquire them to dare point out the fact.'
As Janey mumbled into her plate Leila thought she caught â â¦pissing from a great height.'
When they had consigned the china and cutlery to the dishwasher the two women rejoined the men who had decided on a local stroll. âWe'll see what your new neighbourhood's like,' said Charles benignly.
âBeech woods and farmland in that direction,' Aidan offered at the foot of the drive, squire-like and waving a fancy walking-stick. âThe village is over to your right. Though village or town, we haven't quite decided yet. Anyway there are shops and dwellings, pubs and churches, bus and train stations. That sort of thing. Leila tells me there's even a Tuesday market.'
By common consent they turned left where the road began to twist and narrow, descending between over-arching beech trees.
âDeer? You really get wild deer?' Janey cried in delight, pointing to the roadside warning.
Leila nodded. âNow and again. They don't gallop about as the sign shows. A lone one will just stalk across the road, very dignified and snooty. That's why motorists need to cut speed. Let's go through that gate and strike off into the woods, then we can work back in a circle.'
The roundabout route took a good hour and a half, including a twenty-minute lounge on the sunbaked grass of a large clearing. Then they climbed steeply between silver birches and oaks to a wicket gate in a barbed wire fence. Beyond it were signs of a community presence. An asphalt path, shaded to one side by an avenue of tall lime trees, opened on the other to a sports field where a cricket match was in progress.
âBless my soul!' declared Charles as a fielder came streaking towards their boundary, hands cupped for a catch. âSurely that's a â¦'
âA woman,' Janey completed. âThey've picked a mixed team. I wonder how well she bats.'
âWe'll never know. According to the scoreboard this is the second side in.'
They strolled around two sides of the field to bring them close to a tiny pavilion. About twenty relatives and friends were sprawled in deck chairs or on the grass to cheer on what were clearly scratch teams kitted out in a wide variety of whites. On folding tables among the spectators were scattered the remains of a picnic lunch.
The scoreboard, a clumsy, wheeled affair with slots for figured cards was being managed by a plump girl rising on tiptoes to record the runs. âNineteen required to win,' she shouted and the little crowd ad libbed with cheers or groans.
âTheess,' said a tall, rangy young man in a battered panama, carefully placing tongue between teeth to achieve the unnatural Anglo-Saxon double consonant, âees a crehzy ghem.'
Leila smiled at him. He had a long, droll, sad-clown face with a hint of crescent-moon to the profile. When he was older, she imagined, nose-tip and chin would grow closer, with the wide, loopy grin trapped in between. A humorous Mr Punch with an Inspector Clouseau accent, almost too Gallic to be true.
He rolled his eyes at the newcomers, waving an arm towards the field. âCan sohmwohn explehn to me pleess ow it works? I think per'aps there are some roools about the weather. But today it as not rhenned and so the ghem goes on forever.'
âIt just feels like that, Pascal,' said the plump girl briskly, and as a shout went up from the field, âOh Lord, was that a four or a six?'
Flat-bellied, in baggy cream flannels of ancient vintage stopping two inches short of his ankles, and topped by an immaculate white silk shirt, the Frenchman must surely be dressed for play. âHow many did you make?' Leila enquired of him.
âDo not ask. I just âit at the ball when I see eet and I nearly knock out the uhmpire.'
âHe got forty-seven,' said the plump girl kindly. âHe went in as number five and he may have saved their day.'
But he hadn't. As they watched, his team's score rose bravely by singles and a couple of fours until with a howl from the watchers the heroic schoolboy batsman was run out.
Their last man stomped in. He must have been eighty but he squared his shoulders, hit out low and took a single, leaving the other batsman to lose the match with an easy catch to square leg.
âSo who is playing?' Charles demanded amid the applause and cheerful commiserations.
âAcrefield Way,' said the plump girl. âWe have this match every year in June, and a return one in September. One side of the road plays the other; the odds against the evens.'
âAnd which has won?'
âWe did,' she said, total partisan. âEvens, of course.' Stumps were being drawn as batsmen and fielders came streaming back to surround them.
Charles was grinning as he poked Aidan in the ribs. âGo on, admit to everyone that Acrefield's where you live. Next year we'll see you out there with your pads strapped on, showing what a Blue can do.'
âYou know I detest all sports,' Aidan muttered. âAnd anyway our house has a name, not a number.'
âYou really are -' the plump girl asked, âthe new folks at Knollhurst?'
âYes,' Leila admitted happily. âAnd now we can meet our neighbours.'
âWohnderfoool,' said Pascal, savouring the word. âYou leeve on the sehm side of the road as myself. Welcohm to the loozairs.'
They were toasted with flat lager, plied with leftover sausage rolls and the offer of sandwiches drily curling under the scorching sun.
âA true village community,' boomed Charles, enjoying Aidan's embarrassment at being surrounded by locals he'd had every intention of staying aloof from.
âLook, we have to get back. I've things to do,' Aidan reminded Leila tetchily.
Charles beamed back at him. âIf you must. I think I'll stay on for a bit; circulate and get to meet folks, don't y'know. So thanks for a great lunch, and we'll pick you both up Tuesday at eleven on the dot. Best bibs and tuckers, eh? Cheerio then.'
âTuesday,' Leila agreed, kissed them both warmly and followed in her husband's wake. Tuesday would be fun. Tuesday meant the thrill of Ascot, and forecasts promised that the good weather would continue unbroken.
Â
“Swish” was what the fashion-blind Janey had called the expensive suit. Three years old now, it was still Leila's favourite, folded away in tissue paper between the rare special occasions when she graced it. And now, with the invitation to Ascot, already she'd be wearing it twice in four days.
Its pale shade was the same “apricot creme” that filled the hand-made Belgian chocolates at the shop. The jacket was long and beneath it the short, floaty skirt's handkerchief points drew attention to slim legs and delicate matching sandals.
The fine straw hat, however, was new this year, wide-brimmed and translucent. A classic: nothing idiotic or eye-catching.
Anyway it was Janey who would turn heads, with her strange assembly of charity shop cast-offs. One sure bet was that she and her outfit would later feature in some glossy colour magazine, falsely attributed to one of the famous way-out designers.
Owning one leg of a horse that was running in the three o'clock, Charles was persona grata in the saddling enclosure, chatting almost knowledgeably with jockey and trainer. Although the syndicate's newest member he was the only
one present that day. The chestnut gelding, satin-coated and inclined to prance, was drawn number four.