The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous (64 page)

    'Oh Kitty, Kitty, talk about coq-up au vin!' Nearly in tears, Lysander greeted her with a candle and was just thinking how sweet she looked despite the awful beige dress, when the wind blew the candle out. They had just groped their way to the fuse box when the telephone rang.

    'I'll get it,' said Lysander, knocking over a stool. 'It's bound to be Natasha.'

    'I'm desperately sorry, I can't make it,' Kitty could hear him saying. 'Basically I've got the flu. Honestly, I'm best on my own. I'm really infectious. I'll just crash out with a dozen Anadin Extra. See you in a bit.'

    'You are awful,' said Kitty, who had found some matches and was pushing in plugs.

    As the lights came on, she saw Lysander was once more pouring with sweat and shaking. Thinking it was probably delayed shock, she tucked him up in bed once more.

    'I'll make it up to you, Kitty, I'll take you to Miss Saigon, I know a bloke who can get tickets.' And he drifted off to sleep, but spent most of the night crying out for his mother.

    Staggering down the following afternoon, he felt woolly legged, drained, but normal. It was as though the devil had left his body. The cottage was unrecognizable. Kitty had unblocked the sink and cleaned everything. As Jack had been muddy after his tunnelling, she had even given him a bath, and was drying him in front of a glowing crackling fire, as she chatted to Arthur who was peering in through the window. A delicious smell of shepherd's pie reminded Lysander he hadn't eaten for two days.

    'Oh, you angel. God, it looks wonderful and smells even better.' Lysander hugged her. 'I don't know how to thank you, but please don't get too thin.'

    'Chance'd be a fine ring,' said Kitty, blushing.

    Putting his fork down after a second helping, Lysander said, 'What shall we do this afternoon?'

    'I thought you was ill,' chided Kitty.

    'I'm too ill to do anything I don't want to do, if you know what I mean.'

    It was the first time he'd giggled since he'd come back from Australia, and it was such a lovely sound that Kitty giggled, too.

    'I've got to go back to Valhalla,' she sighed. 'Rannaldini's bound to 'ave rung and I've got so much to do, and I promised Rachel I'd pick up her kids from school and keep them overnight. Poor fing's got to go to London to see her solicitor.'

    As she waited outside the school playground, Kitty was overwhelmed with tiredness. She'd have to spend the evening wrapping up the dozens of overseas presents to be despatched before the last day for posting. She could have done without Rachel's children. For someone always banging on about the wickedness of nannies and not bringing up one's own kids, Rachel was remarkably adept at palming her own off on other people.'Kitty, Kitty.' Masha emerged from the coloured stream of children flowing out of the gates. 'We learnt about the olden days today. You know when Jesus was alive and you were a little girl.'

    'Lo, Kitty,' said Vanya. 'Is it OK if Cosmo comes to tea as well?'

    Sighing, Kitty agreed. Rachel's children had speedily sussed out little Cosmo's advantages as a companion. There was no way he'd put up with health foods or building castles out of loo rolls.

    'Mummy says we've got to practise our carol for the nativity play,' said Masha, as she and Vanya got into the back.

    'I hate music.' Little Cosmo clapped his hands over his ears, as he jumped into the front. 'All I hear in my house is fucking music.'

    Over increasing clamour, Kitty drove wearily back to Valhalla to pick up some cash to get some supper that Cosmo would approve of. But as she came out of the house, Lysander's Ferrari stormed up the drive, and he jumped out clutching an armful of Super Macs and chips, a video of Pretty Woman and a huge round tin of toffees.

    'Here you are,' he said chucking the tin at the children. 'Have some Quality Street time, and if you're good you can play football with Jack in the chapel.'

    They all adored Pretty Woman. Lysander alternately roared with laughter, wiped his eyes, or said, 'Bastard, bastard, how dare he treat her like that?' But by the end he liked Richard Gere very much indeed.

    'Pretty Woman's rather like Mummy,' said Masha. It was unfortunate for Rachel that on his way home to Magpie Cottage after the children had been tucked up in bed, Lysander saw a light ahead in Jasmine Cottage. Crawling past, because of a car casually parked outside, he saw a couple in a clinch in the doorway. Then the man ran down the steps. Turning, blowing a kiss to the woman, he was spotlit for a second in Lysander's headlights. It was a triumphantly smirking Rannaldini.

    Having dropped off the three children at school the following morning, Kitty set out for Tesco's. As she staggered out half an hour later, pushing two groaning trolleys of food for supper after the nativity play which she was going to cook and freeze that day, she suddenly saw that a big pot of yoghurt was leaking. Leaning forward to remove it, she took her hand from the right-hand trolley which veered off with a mind of its own. Gathering speed it rolled down a small slope and, narrowly missing an ancient pensioner with a string bag, went slap into a dark green Porsche, scraping it down one side, then toppling over with a sickening crash of broken glass.

    'Oh, God,' screamed Kitty, surveying the debris of pastry cases and cracked eggs, floating in a disgusting goo of double cream, yoghurt, Hellmann's, whisky and red wine. 'It's not fair, it's not bloody fair.'

    It took her ages to clear up the chaos. Then she put a note on the Porsche's windscreen: 'Dear Driver, I'm ever so sorry about your car. I will pay all damage. Could you write to me at Valhalla, Paradise? Yours truly, Kitty Rannaldini.'

    That's all my running-away money and more, she was thinking despairingly, when the note was whipped away.

    'Car looks much better that way. Gives it character,' said a voice.

    Springing round, Kitty saw Lysander. 'Mrs Brimscombe said you were here,' he said, opening the door of the Porsche for her.

    That's not your car,' stammered Kitty.

    'Garage lent it to me,' said Lysander. 'Ferrari's got engine trouble. Honestly, it couldn't matter less.'

    He was feeling very virtuous. Finding Georgie's paying-in book under the bed at Magpie Cottage, he'd written her a cheque for fifty thousand, the sum she'd paid him overall for his services, and despatched it to her bank. He thus cancelled any debt between them.

    'Look what I've got!' He waved two tickets for Miss Saigon. 'You and I are going on a seriously good jaunt.''I can't. Rannaldini came 'ome unexpectedly last night, and buzzed off this morning to LA, leaving me so much more to do. Anyway,' she sighed, 'I'm married. I don't fink I should.'

    'Pretend you're going Christmas shopping.'

    They took the train to Paddington. The restaurant car attendant was so taken with Lysander that he ran them up some bullshots.

    'They're heavenly,' said Kitty, taking a great gulp. 'What's in them?'

    'Oh, clear soup and tomato juice,' said Lysander, conveniently forgetting the huge tots of vodka and sherry. 'Have another.'

    'Oh, yes please. I've never travelled first class before."

    Kitty gazed in ecstasy at the silver foam of blackthorn dividing the frozen fields and the furry white-antlered branches of the trees tossing a glittering yellow sun as it bowled along with the train. What was the point of life where she was always rushing and never had time to look at beautiful things? She didn't even worry when they bumped into the vicar's wife as they got off the train.

    Lysander took her straight to Harrods.

    'I'm going to buy you a dress,' he said as he went down the rails pulling out clothes and being gazed at by Way-In shop assistants, not over-busy because of the recession.

    He finally chose one in dark grey-green wool, which matched Kitty's eyes and showed off her bosom and now so-much-slimmer waist, but which had a flowing skirt which disguised her still plump hips.

    'Lovely,' he said, looking at her in delight. 'Like ivy clinging to a beautiful statue.'

    The dress was followed by black tights and flat, black pumps.

    'You're never to wear those flesh-coloured horrors again. Now we better buy something to keep you warm.' And ignoring her cries of protest, he chose her a blanket coat in a rainbow riot of colours, three pairs of leggings and two huge, sloppy jerseys.

    Whisking her past the baby-wear department: 'You don't want to look at them only

    depress you. It'll happen one day, I promise,' he bore her off to the toy department to admire huge stuffed donkeys, giraffes, tigers, lions, gorillas and teddy bears.

    They always remind me of a dogs' home,' said Lysander. 'I used to try not to catch their eyes when Mum brought me here as a child. We ought to go to Battersea and get you a puppy to protect you at Valhalla.'

    Instead, when she was looking at computer games to keep Cosmo quiet at Christmas, he bought her a vast fluffy life-size collie with a shiny black plastic nose.

    'Here's Lassie, to guard you.'

    'Oh, Lysander,' Kitty was overjoyed, 'you shouldn't 'ave, but I love her.'

    'In a place that won't let us feel,

    in a life where nothing seems real,' sang Miss Saigon as they passed the record department. Next minute they were brought up short by Rannaldini's cold unsmiling face, looking out from a montage of his record sleeves, as the haunting strains of the first movement of Mahler's Fourth with its jangling sleigh-bells swept through the store.

    Turning right, they saw huge blow-ups of Cecilia and Hermione as Donna Anna and Donna Elvira and even a cardboard cut-out of Georgie clutching a rock.

    Tucking hell,' said Lysander in outrage, and before reality could reassert itself, he dragged Kitty off to lunch at San Lorenzo.

    Here her calm, sweet unmade-up face and full body were in total contrast to the slender, painted beauties around them, who all seemed to be wearing scarlet and crimson suits, lots of rouge, red lipstick and red nails, and seemed never to draw breath. They were obviously fascinated to see an utterly stunning man with such a nondescript girl.

    They're all so beautiful, thought Kitty.She's so peaceful, thought Lysander protectively, like a leveret, or a female mallard.

    He also noticed, as her face, used to Rannaldini's cold house, grew pink in the warm room that her spots had gone.

    'I do hope Joy Hillary tells Rannaldini she saw us on the train,' he said, 'and makes him seriously jealous.'

    With a start, Kitty remembered they were only here because Lysander was being paid by Georgie and Marigold to glam her up. How very kind, she thought humbly, of him to make everything such fun.

    'It's driving me crazy.' A blonde paused at their table on the way out. 'What part in EastEnders do you play?' she asked Kitty.

    But later when the helicopter landed on the stage of the Coliseum, she forgot everything except Miss Saigon, as she and Lysander cried their eyes out and went through a whole box of Kleenex and a box of Belgian chocolates.

    'That was the best ring I've ever seen,' she said, as they had supper together afterwards in a Fulham wine bar. 'I fink this is the nicest day I've ever had.'

    She's so sweet to take out, thought Lysander.

    'I wish you weren't so terrified of horses, then we could ride together.'

    'I'm not frightened of Arfur,' said Kitty, tucking into her cottage cheese salad. 'But the way he drinks coffee, and snores wiv one eye open, and gets hisself dirty, he's not really an 'orse, he's more of a 'uman.'

    'I think that's the nicest compliment Arthur's ever been paid,' said Lysander gravely. 'Thank you, Kitty.'

    They talked so long and drank so many cups of coffee, Kitty suddenly realized they'd missed the last train.

    'We'll go back to my old pad,' said Lysander. 'I've still got a key. Ferdie's away this evening. It's all right,' he added, seeing the look of panic on Kitty's face, 'you're quite safe with me and there are two bedrooms.'

    I'm chaperoned by my own plainness, thought Kitty sadly. No-one looking like me could cause talk.

    'No-one will see us,' said Lysander as the taxi turned into Fountain Street. But as he rushed in to switch off the burglar alarm, the gays opposite parted their damask curtains and started waving frantically.

    'What a lovely little 'ouse,' said Kitty, thinking how easy-it would be to keep a place like this nice, 'and you could put camellias in tubs in the little patio at the back.'

    Lysander put Kitty in Ferdie's room with the big bay window looking over the street. She could see the gays peering in as she drew the curtains. Lysander had found her a glamorous cream silk nightdress left behind by one of his girlfriends. It slithered over her like a skin. If only she could take on the beauty of its original owner.

    All the same, she thought, as she set Ferdie's alarm clock for six-thirty and snuggled down in bed with the toy Lassie stiff-legged beside her, it had been the nicest day of her life. Lysander had made her feel like one of the romantic heroines she so loved reading about, not a drag, nor a dog, nor even a brick. With a guilty start, as she was falling asleep, she realized she'd forgotten to say her prayers. Perhaps for once God would forgive her if she did it lying down.

    'Please God, bring Lysander happiness and find him a nice girl who'll look after him and not take advantage of his sweet nature.'

    Unused to London traffic crashing along the end of the street, Lysander woke at six, and was horrified to hear Ferdie coming in from a night on the tiles. Not wanting to get shouted at and still half-asleep, he pulled the duvet over his head, hoping the trouble would go away. He heard Ferdie's bedroom door open, then after a long pause while he waited for an explosion, it shut again. Relieved, Lysander went back to sleep.

    A couple of hours later, aware that they were supposed to get an early train back, he staggered downstairs, nursing his hangover, expecting to find Ferdie furious at having to sleep on the sofa, probably frozen stiff from not having a duvet. But to his horror there was no-one there; thecushions of the sofa were still smugly plumped up. Ferdie must have gone to work. But, opening the sitting-room curtains, Lysander saw the red Ferrari, which he'd bloody earned for Ferdie, and Ferdie's black brogues were sitting on the kitchen table, together with the Ferrari's car keys.

    Lysander was appalled. Kitty was an innocent girl in his care. How terrible if Ferdie, in his new slimline sexual awareness, had come home tanked up and taken advantage. He remembered how he'd caught them half-dressed and giggling together over the weigh-in at Valhalla. Ferdie had always liked Kitty. In a fury, Lysander pinched one of Ferdie's Marlboros and put the kettle on. His worst fears were confirmed when his old flatmate came down in a towel, showing off a still suntanned and increasingly svelte torso and smirking worse than Rannaldini emerging from Jasmine Cottage.

    'Black and no sugar for me,' said Ferdie, getting a carton of unsweetened grapefruit juice out of the fridge. 'I've got a terrific job coming up for you in Brazil in a couple of weeks.'

    Lysander refused to admit how furious he felt.

    Kitty was not the kind of person one got jealous about. He was even more irritated at the relief which overwhelmed him when Kitty rushed downstairs ten minutes later.

    'I feel shockin'. Poor Ferdie 'ad to sleep in the armchair in his room, an' he must have turned off his alarm clock, because we've really overslept.'

    When they finally got back to Valhalla around midday, she found the tape on the answering machine exhausted by increasingly outraged calls from Rannaldini.

    'Where zee fuck are you, Keety? Ring me at the Beverley Wilshire the eenstant you get in. Zee next time you rush off to your mother's, leave a number.'

    Even thousands of miles away, he terrorizes her, thought Lysander angrily, watching the frantically fluttering pages as Kitty fumbled through the Los Angeles telephone directory. Then she stopped, remembering it would be 2 a.m. in LA and Rannaldini would be asleep or more likely coiled round some female musician.

    The last message on the machine, however, made Lysander forget everything. The voice was clipped, light, drawling and decidedly amused: 'This is Rupert Campbell-Black ringing from Venturer Television for Rannaldini. We gather you're doing a nativity play at Valhalla. We were wondering if we could come and film and put it out on Christmas Eve?'

    Lysander gave a Tarzan howl of joy. 'At last Rupert will have a chance to meet Arthur.' Paradise was thrown into a complete tizz. Suddenly, at the prospect of millions of viewers and Rupert Campbell-Black in the audience, what Hermione airily described as 'Making sweet sacred music together for the delight of a few friends' had become a Steven Spielberg spectacular. Rannaldini, who'd always been insanely jealous of Rupert's success both with money and women, was driven to a frenzy of rivalry. The rows were pyrotechnic.

    'You cannot put hanging baskets outside the Inn in the middle of winter. Bethlehem's not competing for the Best-Kept Village,' screamed Meredith who, in charge of sets, was now dragging the manger an exciting shade of raspberry pink.

    'Well, your stable's more like the braidle suite at the Ritz,' screamed back Marigold who'd been unusually ratty of late.

    'This play is supposed to be topical. With a recession on, Mary and Joseph would have been able to get into any hotel they chose,' snapped Meredith, twitching the pink damask curtains flanking the stable window into place. 'But we're not having those,' he went on, tugging down a washing-line and four towelling nappies Rachel had strung across the set. 'Baby Jesus has only just been born in this scene. There's no way he'd have got through four nappies.' 'Put those back,' shouted Rachel furiously. 'We've got a chance to tell millions of viewers, perhaps twelve million if it's networked, that disposable nappies take five hundred years to biodegrade, whereas cotton towelling ones can be-'

    'Oh, shut up,' screamed Marigold and Meredith in unison.

    Kitty, who as usual had to do everything, had retreated to the kitchen to retype, on recycled paper, Georgie's script which everyone kept changing.

    Ten minutes later Lysander rushed in hidden inside the front half of the donkey with Jack and Maggie hanging, furiously growing, on the uninhabited back half.

    'Oh Kitty, Kitty,' he cried despairingly from his furry depths, 'the vicar and Meredith and Natasha all want to play my back half. I don't want to be groped by any of them.'

    Wrenching off the donkey's head he fumbled for a cigarette. Even scarlet with indignation, his hair all ruffled, he looked adorable.

    'Don't worry.' Kitty handed him a lump of sugar on the flat palm of her hand as he had taught her. 'Rannaldini's due back tonight and he'll change everyfink.'

    'Oh dear.' Lysander's face fell. 'Then it won't be nearly such fun.'

    There had also been furious spats over the casting, with all the Paradise ladies angling for the coveted role of the Virgin Mary in order to wow Rupert Campbell-Black. Hermione got the part -natch

    and

    insisted on four changes of blue silk robe and a becoming gold halo designed by David Shilling. In the only moment during the entire production when Hermione was in agreement with Rachel, they decided Mary must be seen to breast-feed the doll which had been flown down from Harrods with the Christmas caviar, to play Baby Jesus.

    'Trust the old tart to grab any chance to flash those great tits in public,' grumbled Meredith.

    Rannaldini had turned down the suggested role of Herod and was leaving the conducting of the orchestra (hand-picked members of the London Met) to Bob. Instead, he insisted on riding in on the viciously volatile Prince of Darkness as the First of the Three Kings.He had co-opted Rachel, because of her long legs and because she looked disturbingly sexy with a cork moustache and beard, to play the Second King, but had vetoed Rachel's suggestion that she should hand over a free-range turkey instead of frankincense. Lysander was able temporarily to forgive Rannaldini who, having cast Marigold, also because of her great legs, as the Third King, then because of Marigold's nervous disposition, had signed up Arthur to play her horse.

    Guy, who had a fine bass voice and a lifetime of singing loudly in the church choirs, was cast as St Joseph, which gave him a legitimate excuse to grow a beard and no longer use plastic razors, which took even longer than nappies to biodegrade.

    At Hermione's suggestion, the script had been rewritten to portray Joseph as 'deeply in love with his young wife' and now included several long clinches under the mistletoe and Guy's repeatedly professed delight at being present at the birth.

    'Why don't you have a bonk and make it really authentic?' snapped Georgie, who was playing the chief shepherd and was fed up with her script being messed about. If Guy was absolutely not Hermione's type, as Hermione had told Georgie after the church fete, she was concealing her prejudice extremely well.

    Larry, who'd been cast in the key role as the innkeeper, kept cutting rehearsals due to the 'pressure of work' which explained Marigold's increasing twitchiness.

    The casting of the vicar reduced Meredith to more hysterics.

    'You can't let that fat queen play Gabriel. Give Lysander the part. He's got the angel's face.'

    'Lysander's tone-deaf and he really can't act,' said Georgie kindly.

    'Then he can play one of your shepherds,' said Hermione pointedly. 'He and you are such friends.'

    'Not any more,' spat Lysander, glaring at Georgie.

    It was at this point that he was demoted to the front legs of the donkey. Lysander, in fact, was feeling as though his life had been churned up like a ploughed field. After the things Georgie had said about his mother, he couldn't bear to be in the same room with her, but he was desperate for Rupert to meet Arthur and increasingly felt the need to protect Kitty from everyone.

    As Kitty had predicted, Rannaldini breezed in that evening, completely rewrote the script, re-arranged the music and, taking one look at the furry ox and the donkey, whose front legs were doing a soft-shoe shuffle at the time, replaced them with real animals to give the play authenticity. By the following day there were also live sheep. Maggie, Jack and Dinsdale had got parts as sheepdogs and even Tabloid was enrolled to guard the Inn. At Rachel's prompting, chickens and a fearsome turkey were freely ranging the set.

    'Are we staging St Francis of Assisi as well?' grumbled Meredith as he trod in a cowpat.

    Sacked as the front of the donkey, Lysander was relegated to turning Rachel's pages when she played the piano for early rehearsals. But he was so distracted by the sight of Kitty in the green dress he'd bought her that he totally ignored Rachel's repeated nods and was demoted to shifting scenery. Bob admired the green dress, too. 'Kitty's getting prettier,' he observed. 'Where?' said Natasha, who was fed up with her tiny part in the angelic choir.

    Suddenly Georgie realized that Kitty hadn't got a part. 'I'll write you in as the innkeeper's wife.' 'Kitty's forte is being a back-room girl,' said Hermione firmly. 'Who else could play the innkeeper's wife? Natasha's too young and pretty.'

    'What about Mother Courage?' suggested Georgie. 'she

    so longs to get on telly.'

    'Certainly not,' Hermione was shocked. 'Let's keep it simple. Just our set. We don't need an innkeeper'wife. Your daily can sit in the audience, because the crew are bound to cut to them some time during the play. I hope Rupert Campbell-Black's been invited to stay on for supper after the performance,' she added to Bob.

    'Rupert won't be able to refuse once he sees Brickie's spread,' said Guy, smiling warmly at Kitty.

    'Lully, lully, breast is best, lully, lully, baby rest,' sang Hermione, flashing a blue-veined boob at her sleeping Harrods doll.

    'I still think Kitty should be in it,' said Georgie stubbornly.

    'Kitty is needed at home,' hissed Rannaldini, who was trying on a totally anachronistic purple velvet doublet. 'Theengs are getting very slack 'ere. There are lights on everywhere, plants go unwatered.' He pressed the earth of a huge ficus. 'The second post hasn't even been opened and I hardly think my study is the right place for a roll of lavatory paper.'

    Lysander's face tightened with anger. 'As you talk so much shit, sir, I would have thought it was very appropriate.'

    Rannaldini looked at Lysander in amazement as though the manger had spoken.

    'Particularly white lavatory paper,' he went on. 'I told you not to buy white any more, Keety. You know bleach pollutes the rivers.'

    Hearing Rachel-speak coming straight out of his mouth, everyone exchanged uneasy glances. Kitty had gone puce with mortification.

    'I'm sorry, Rannaldini,' she stammered. 'Don't apologize. Do better next time,' said Rannaldini chillingly.

    'And you still haven't sewn up my robes where the ox trod on them,' grumbled Hermione.