The Tennis Party (7 page)

The trouble was, people like the Chances had no idea of graduating slowly towards friendship – they seemed to treat every chance acquaintance as familiarly as they did each other. Cressida shrank from the kisses, jokes, references and banter which surrounded this kind of event. Caroline, in particular, was the kind of woman who would soon assume an intimacy that
Cressida was far from sharing; who would quiz her on intimate subjects and then perhaps even refer to them in front of strangers. It was safer, Cressida thought, to keep one’s distance right from the start, before things got out of hand.

She recalled a woman whom she’d met once on holiday, staying in a friend’s apartment at Menton. The woman had been amiable enough as a beach companion; they had lent each other sun cream, magazines and books. But her conversation had gradually turned to areas which Cressida rarely discussed with anybody, let alone a stranger. She had become more and more persistent, first laughing at Cressida, then becoming offended, and calling Cressida a stuck-up cow. It had been even worse when it transpired that the woman was quite a friend of George Wallace, whose apartment Cressida was staying in.

She frowned uncomfortably at the memory and began to change into her tennis dress. She felt upset by Charles’ determined affection for the Chances, and not just because they were not her sort of people. It was also because the Chances – together with just about everyone else here, probably – belonged to that time of Charles’ life that Cressida preferred not to think about; the period before he had met her, when he had been living in Seymour Road with that woman
(Cressida never articulated Ella’s name, even in her thoughts). Of course, everyone could see now that she would have been all wrong for him. But Cressida still felt sometimes that the Seymour Road crowd thought it a shame that he’d left her. There had certainly been a bad atmosphere among them at the wedding.

They’d managed to avoid seeing any of them since then, apart from the odd chance meeting in Silchester – and Cressida had thought that would be the end of it. But then, after months of silence, the invitation had appeared from Patrick and Caroline, warmly pressing them to come and play tennis.

She finished buttoning up her tennis dress, carefully brushed her hair with her Mason Pearson brush and looked in the mirror. Her legs were carefully waxed, her hair well cut and her face discreetly made up. But it did not occur to Cressida to stare at herself gloatingly or try to imagine the appearance she would make on the court. She turned round briefly to check that her dress was straight at the back. Then she turned her attention to the letters still lying on the bed. Perhaps she should go through them. That would please Charles. He always complained that she never opened a letter unless she recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

But a shout from outside distracted her. She went to the window and saw Charles looking up. He was
grinning broadly and looked as though he’d been running.

‘Come on, Cress!’ he shouted. ‘It’s lovely out here!’ Cressida smiled in slight relief. He wasn’t angry any more.

‘All right!’ she called. ‘I’m coming!’ And without giving the letters another thought, she hurried out of the room.

When they arrived at the tennis court, they found Annie and Stephen knocking up. Caroline was lying in a deck-chair, smoking a cigarette and applauding; Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

‘We’re a bit out of condition, I’m afraid,’ said Stephen.

‘Speak for yourself,’ retorted Annie as they came off court. She kissed Charles. ‘It’s super to see you!’ she said.

‘Hello, Cressida,’ said Stephen. ‘How are you?’

‘What a lovely name!’ piped up Valerie. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Is it from a book?’ Cressida gave her a look of astonishment.

‘Charles, Cressida,’ said Stephen, hiding a smile, ‘meet Don and Valerie Roper.’

‘How do you do?’ said Cressida.

‘Don lives in our village,’ called Caroline from the deck-chair, her voice husky with cigarette smoke.
The thought seemed to tickle her, and she started laughing rather drunkenly.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Don, nodding at Charles.

‘Don and Valerie have just thrashed us,’ said Caroline. ‘It was a thrilling match, ending on a foot-fault.’

‘Ooh!’ said Valerie, then blushed as everyone looked at her.

Caroline had swivelled round in her chair to look at Cressida.

‘I love your dress,’ she announced. ‘Where did you get it?’ Cressida forced herself to smile at Caroline.

‘I had it made for me,’ she said.

‘I might have known,’ said Caroline, in slightly mocking tones. ‘There you are, Annie, you think I’ve got a good wardrobe, but I’ve never had anything made for me. I bet that cost a packet, didn’t it?’ Cressida’s hand tightened round her racquet, and she laughed lightly.

‘Go on, how much? Two hundred? Three hundred?’

‘Really?’ said Annie. ‘Would it be that much?’

‘Might be more,’ said Caroline. ‘Or might be less. Depends if a designer makes it or your granny makes it!’ she cackled with laughter again. ‘Actually,’ she added, ‘I don’t think I’d like to have my things made
for me. I mean, the whole point of buying clothes is going and trying them on in the shop.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘When I was young,’ she said, ‘I used to spend my entire Saturday going round Biba and Mary Quant, trying on clothes. It was great. You just stripped off what you were wearing and tried everything on in the shop. Once I walked right out of Biba wearing a brand-new outfit!’

‘But that’s shop lifting!’ said Valerie, in a shocked voice.

‘No it isn’t,’ said Caroline scathingly. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. I just forgot what I was wearing when I went in.’

Charles had turned to Annie. ‘I’ve just seen Nicola trotting round the paddock on Georgina’s pony. She was doing very well.’

‘She’s talked about nothing else for the last few days,’ said Annie, smiling. ‘She simply adores coming here. And Georgina’s very good with her.’

‘So I noticed,’ said Charles. ‘There’s a lot to that young lady.’

‘Are they still in the paddock?’ asked Annie. ‘I might go and have a look.’

Charles shook his head.

‘They were just finishing,’ he said. ‘Georgina was beginning to organize them all into some game or other. Including our two,’ he added to Cressida,
‘and Martina, believe it or not. That’s our nanny,’ he explained. ‘Georgina seems to have her well under control.’

‘What on earth are they all doing?’ said Annie. ‘They’re a bit of a mixed bag to be playing together.’ Charles shrugged.

‘I don’t want to know. Let them get on with it.’ He looked up and gave a smile of surprise. ‘At last! Patrick, where have you been?’ He went forward and grasped Patrick warmly by the hand.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you arrived,’ said Patrick. ‘Ah, Cressida, there you are.’ As he went to kiss her, his eyes fell on Caroline’s grinning face and he looked away. ‘Right, who’s on next?’

‘Annie and Stephen,’ said Don. ‘Against Charles and Cressida, as a matter of fact.’

‘Splendid,’ said Charles. ‘Come on, Cress, let’s go and warm up.’

The Mobyns made an elegant couple on court, both well-schooled in the strokes, agile and deft. Cressida began hitting some practice serves, and Don turned to Valerie.

‘I can see we’ve some competition here,’ he said. ‘Look at the way her serve spins away from the forehand. You’ll have to be careful with that.’ Valerie was staring, awe-struck, at Cressida.

‘She’s really good,’ she said.

‘His serve is harder, but probably easier to return. More straightforward,’ continued Don.

‘She looks a bit like Princess Diana,’ said Valerie. Stephen raised his eyebrows at Annie.

‘Well, you never know,’ he said conversationally. ‘She might be related to her.’

‘Ooh! really?’ Valerie swung round.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Annie firmly, glaring at Stephen. But he was not to be put off.

‘Her mother was the Honourable something,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Or was it Lady something? Very smart, anyway, I know that much. And I’m sure I’ve heard something about a royal connection.’ He nodded wisely at Valerie, who was staring at him, agog.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I must say . . .’

‘Valerie,’ interrupted Don, ‘watch the way Cressida guards the net. She’ll be difficult to pass. Look, her eye never leaves the ball.’

Annie and Stephen joined the court and began to knock up with Charles and Cressida. Both Charles and Cressida considerately modified their games slightly as they realized the standard of the Fairweathers. But even so, every second ball Stephen hit seemed to go in the net. Annie was slightly better, but as Charles gave her a few practice volleys, she turned and looked at Stephen in dismay.

‘He hits it so hard!’ she wailed. ‘I’ll never get any of these!’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s the playing that counts.’

‘Yes, but what if you can’t play?’

Caroline was watching Cressida critically.

‘She thinks she’s in bloody Wimbledon or something,’ she said disparagingly.

‘Who, Annie?’ said Patrick in mock surprise. ‘I wouldn’t have said so.’

‘Very funny,’ said Caroline. ‘Just look at her,’ she persisted, watching as Cressida neatly put away a backhand volley. ‘Thinks she’s a bloody pro.’

‘She’s got a nice technique,’ said Patrick. ‘We could all learn from her.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Georgina? She should watch a bit of this.’

‘Christ knows,’ said Caroline. ‘She said she’d be ballgirl. That didn’t last long.’

‘The play’s
The Three Little Pigs
,’ said Georgina firmly. ‘The reason is, we all know the story, and the little ones can be the pigs.’ She looked at the twins. ‘Can you be pigs?’

‘The pigs are the most important people,’ objected Nicola.

‘No they’re not,’ said Georgina. ‘The wolf is more important than the pigs.’

‘Who’s the wolf?’

‘I am.’

Nicola felt a familiar crushing sense of disappointment come over her. It was to be the same here as it was everywhere. She looked down, nursing her bad hand, and remembered countless nativity plays, school concerts, speech days; endless conversations held over her head by people who thought she couldn’t understand: ‘
That little Fairweather girl – we’re going to have to put her at the back
’; ‘
Poor little thing, we’ll have to take her out of the dancing
’; ‘
She really can’t manage – can we find her something else to do?
’

‘But the most important of all’, continued Georgina, ‘is the man who sells the straw and the twigs and the bricks to the three little pigs.’

‘What?’ Nicola was confused. She didn’t even remember that there was a man. ‘Is he in the Ladybird book?’

‘I can’t remember,’ admitted Georgina. ‘But he must have been there. They didn’t just find the straw and things on the road, did they? And if they hadn’t bought such stupid stuff to build their houses with, the wolf wouldn’t have got them. Would he?’ She looked impressively at Nicola.

‘Except the bricks,’ said Nicola, who had a logical mind.

‘Except the bricks,’ agreed Georgina.

Nicola was beginning to feel a faint ray of hope. But such rays were deceptive, she knew from experience. She put her head down again.

‘Aren’t you going to ask who’s the man who sells the straw and twigs to the little pigs?’ demanded Georgina.

‘Who’s the man who sells the straw?’ mumbled Nicola. There was a silence, and she cautiously looked up. Georgina was grinning at her.

‘You, stupid! It’s you, of course!’ Nicola started to smile, and instead broke into laughter; loud laughter, that emptied her lungs of breath and filled her face with colour. Instinctively, Georgina leaned over and gave her a hug. Martina, who had sat silently watching all of this, suddenly appeared overcome by emotion and looked away.

‘Look at her,’ said Georgina. ‘She’s crying. Soppy.’ She began to giggle, and Nicola, strung up, began to join in almost hysterically. Toby, who had wandered off, came back and started laughing companionably with them, whereupon Martina harrumphed crossly and got up.

‘You can’t go!’ said Georgina. ‘You’ve got to look after the twins.’

‘Perhaps she should be in the play,’ said Nicola reasonably. ‘She could be mother pig.’

‘All right,’ said Georgina. ‘Martina!’ she called. ‘Will you be a mother pig?’

Martina glared at Georgina, muttered something in German, picked up the twins and stalked off towards the house.

‘I don’t think she understood,’ said Georgina, beginning to laugh. ‘I think she thought I was
calling
her a mother pig.’ The three children fell on their backs in the sun in fits of giggles.

‘Mother pig!’ gasped Nicola, fuelling fresh paroxysms of mirth.

When she couldn’t laugh any more, she lay still, giving the odd gurgle, staring up at the sky and smelling the mixture of grass, earth, and the scent of Arabia on her clothes.

‘I’m really glad we’re staying the night,’ she said lazily. ‘I wish we lived here all the time.’ Then she wished she hadn’t said it. Georgina would think she was soppy. She stole a look at her. Georgina was lying flat on her back, staring straight up at the sky. Slowly she turned and looked at Nicola with fierce blue eyes.

‘So do I,’ she said.

Chapter Four

Lunch was served on the terrace. Mrs Finch, Caroline’s daily, had appeared towards the end of the match and called uncompromisingly from the top of the path, ‘Mrs Chance, I’m here.’

‘Oh hello, Mrs Finch,’ shouted Caroline, turning towards her and causing Cressida to lose concentration and hit her first serve in the net. ‘Can you dole out the lunch? You know where it all is. And then perhaps tidy up a bit.’ Cressida was waiting patiently to serve. ‘Sorry about this,’ called Caroline cheerfully. ‘All right, Mrs Finch?’

‘Yes, Mrs Chance.’

So this was Mrs Finch, thought Annie, glancing up from the court. Not the apple-cheeked retainer that Annie had imagined whenever Caroline had referred to her, but a thin, determined-looking woman in her mid-thirties, with dyed-red, curly hair. She had the local accent, but her voice was sharp and strident;
she and Caroline had obviously failed to get a cosy employer-employee relationship going.