Prudence

Chapter Eleven

After breakfast on Monday morning Lucasta wandered into my room, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘My tooth’s still there,’ she wailed. ‘The fairies forgot to come.’

‘Oh poor darling,’ I said, putting my arms round her.

‘And Daddy’s gone off to the office without even saying goodbye.’

She sobbed even louder. I suddenly realized how insecure she was, behind the precocity and apparent sophistication.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Ace appearing in the doorway.

‘The fairies forgot to come.’

‘They’re terribly busy at this time of year,’ he said, ‘helping Father Christmas sort out all the toys. Sometimes they turn up a bit late.’

‘Why don’t you try again tonight?’ I said.

‘Keep her here,’ Ace mouthed to me over Lucasta’s head.

‘That’s a nice nightie,’ I said.

Lucasta sniffed. ‘Can I have a sweet?’

‘It’s a bit early. Would Maggie let you?’

‘Oh Maggie doesn’t mind what I do,’ said Lucasta bitterly. ‘She likes me being naughty, then she can grumble to Daddy.’

She unwrapped the lemon sherbet, dropping the paper on the floor.

‘Shall I draw you a picture?’

‘Why don’t you do one for Maggie?’

‘I hate her.’

‘If you were nicer to her, she might be nicer to you,’ I said. ‘And Daddy’d be so pleased.’

‘Daddy doesn’t like her. He’s always shouting at her. What’s a “slut”, by the way?’

‘That’s enough, Lucasta,’ said Ace, coming back again. ‘For very special people, the fairies work overtime. Why don’t you go and have another look?’

‘All right then,’ said Lucasta, and scampered off.

‘Poor little sod,’ said Ace, ‘too much spoiling, too little attention. Look, I’m going into Manchester today. The BBC want to see me, and I’ve got to have dinner with the Granada people tonight. I thought I might as well kill two birds. Will you be all right?’

‘Of course I will,’ I said quickly. ‘Oh, do look at McGonagall.’

The kitten, having pounced on Ace’s shoe laces, frenziedly pedalling at them with all paws, suddenly shot up his trouser leg, leaving only a ginger tail sticking out.

‘The fairies have come, the fairies have come,’ screamed Lucasta, thundering down the passage. ‘They’ve left me 50p. I must go and show Granny.’

‘You make a lovely fairy,’ I said to Ace, after she’d gone.

‘Wish I could magic up some fairy gold to pay a few bills,’ said Ace. ‘Talk about walking into the valley of Debt.’

It was a relief to joke. I was still dismayed how much I disliked the thought of him going off all day.

‘If you don’t overdo things,’ he said as he was leaving, ‘I’ll drive you down to the sea tomorrow.’

‘Can I wash my hair?’ I said.

‘No, I’m not risking you catching cold.’

I got up for lunch, still feeling very shaky. I was appalled at my appearance in the mirror. I’d lost pounds, and my hair was hanging round my grey little face like damp seaweed. I couldn’t go out with Ace looking like this. I heard voices whispering outside.

‘You ask her,’ I could hear Rose saying.

‘No you ask her,’ said Maggie. ‘It sounds better coming from you. Anyway she seems to rather like children.’

I opened my door. They were in the passage dressed to go out. I felt so pale and drab beside them.

‘Darling,’ said Rose, ‘Mrs Braddock’s going to Bingo this afternoon. She’s been so grumpy recently, I thought she needed cheering up, and Maggie and I are going out to lunch in Ambleside, so we thought you wouldn’t mind looking after Lucasta.’

After lunch Lucasta and I walked down to the village shop to spend her 50p. It was a dull, cloudy day; the lake was as black as satin. Every tree was bare now — December naked. On the way home we walked through the churchyard, sucking humbugs and playing hide and seek behind the tombstones.

‘My Aunt Elizabeth’s buried over there,’ said Lucasta, pointing to a new white tombstone under a willow tree.

‘Elizabeth, beloved wife of Ivan Mulholland 1951–1975,’ I read. She’d been so young. Only a year older than me. On the grave somebody, probably Ace, had laid a bunch of freesias. Oh God, why did everything make me cry at the moment?

‘When you die, God lives you and turns you into a fairy,’ said Lucasta.

When we got home we made hot buttered toast in front of the fire and looked at family photographs.

‘There’s Mummy and Daddy’s wedding,’ said Lucasta.

I was surprised that Fay was so pretty. From Maggie’s descriptions, I’d expected her to be an old frump.

‘And there’s my christening. Wasn’t I a sweet little baby?’

It was a picture of Fay holding Lucasta in long white frilly robes, and Jack looking on fondly and proudly. I hoped Maggie didn’t look at these photographs very often. She’d be lacerated with jealousy.

The person I found myself looking at most was Elizabeth, with her cloud of dark hair, and her huge eyes. I noticed how besottedly she smiled up at Ace, and how handsome and young and carefree he’d looked in those days. What wouldn’t I give to make him look happy like that again?

Later Lucasta and I were watching television after supper when Rose arrived with Professor Copeland.

‘Ace won’t be back for hours,’ she whispered, coming into the study, ‘so we’re just going to have a little drink.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said.

‘That’d be kind, darling. James is terrified of catching your cold.’

Wearily I went upstairs. I still had cotton wool legs and felt absolutely knackered. I was appalled how much I was missing Ace. Suddenly I caught sight of my awful hair in the landing mirror. I’d never get him that way.

To a counterpoint of Lucasta’s chatter, I did my nails, plucked my eyebrows, shaved my legs, and had a bath.

‘I really think you ought to go to bed,’ I said feebly.

‘I’m not tired.’

To hell with Ace; I must wash my hair. I could dry it by the time he got back. Oh, the bliss as the dirt streamed out!

The only socket that fitted the plug of my hair-dryer was on the landing under the cuckoo clock. I sat in the passage on a carpet worn almost bare by generations of Mulholland children waiting for the cuckoo to come out. Lucasta wandered off to watch Starsky and Hutch. I’d only just started drying my hair when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked round and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it was Ace.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he snapped, ripping the plug out of the socket.

‘Sitting in a nightie with wet hair in howling draught,’ I muttered, and fled into my bedroom. Fortunately Mrs Braddock had lit the fire.

Ace picked up a towel and sat down in the blue velvet chair. ‘Come here,’ he said.

‘It’ll dry all fluffy,’ I grumbled. I thought he’d rub my head off.

‘Now finish it off.’

He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. I looked at him under my lashes, as I crouched by the fire. I saw that he was grinning.

‘You’re impossible,’ he said. ‘I only have to leave this place for half a day for complete anarchy to break out. Every light blazing, Lucasta watching the sort of television bound to give her nightmares, and my step-mother and the egregious Professor Copeland drinking gin in the drawing-room.’

‘Did you throw him out?’ I said.

‘Couldn’t be bothered. Rose was so upset last time. Thought I’d be nice to him for a change.’

The kitten emerged from under the bed and teetered towards him. He scooped it up on to his knee.

‘Did you have a nice dinner?’ I said.

‘Bloody boring.’

‘Who was there?’

He reeled off a string of stars.

‘You mustn’t be so blasé,’ I said. ‘I’d give anything to meet people like that.’

‘They’re no more exciting than the fishmonger or the postman once you get to know them.’

McGonagall was purring like a turbo jet engine, as Ace stroked its blond tummy. Lucky, lucky kitten, I thought involuntarily.

‘Will Granada offer you a job?’

‘Probably. But still don’t know if I want to settle in this country.’

He put the kitten down, and got up and felt my hair.

‘You’re dry,’ he said and, taking my hands, pulled me to my feet. I had an insane feeling he was going to kiss me, but he just said, ‘Into bed with you.’

‘Can I read?’ I said, as I snuggled down under the sheets.

‘I suppose so. Not for long.’

‘Are you going to bed?’ I said.

‘I thought I’d go downstairs and try and find out what makes Professor Copeland tick. Monumental egotism, I should think.’

‘You’re going to bury the hatchet?’ I said. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Bury it in his cranium more likely.’

For a minute he looked at me, frowning thoughtfully.

‘Funny, I missed you today.’

I felt myself going scarlet.

‘Goodness, that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.’

‘You haven’t given me much chance,’ he said, and was gone.

A fat lot of reading I did after that. He missed me, he actually said he’d missed me. OK. It was a millionth of what he’d ever felt for Elizabeth, but it was a start.

Next day, after a sleepless night, as I was getting ready to go out, Maggie wandered into my room.

‘God, I feel depressed,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you come out with us?’ I said, praying she wouldn’t accept.

She shook her head. ‘I thought I’d go into Manchester and buy a dress. Can you lend me a tenner?’

The next visitor was Lucasta, driving me spare while I was trying to do my face. Could I do her hair in a pony tail? Could she try on my ‘lip stick’? Could I do up the sleeve buttons on her shirt?

In a pathetic attempt to appear healthier, I slapped on suntan make-up, and a bright coral lipstick, but it made me look like an old tart, so I washed it off and settled for looking pale and interesting. With my wildly dishevelled curls which were quite out of control as a result of Ace’s drying methods, I looked a bit like Swinburne. Certainly I was raring to swop the lilies and languors of virtue for the roses and raptures of vice.

‘Why aren’t you wearing a bra?’ said Lucasta, as I pulled on a dark sweater and jeans.

‘Because the only bra I brought needs washing,’ I said untruthfully.

‘Can I come with you? I promise I won’t talk all the time.’

‘No you can’t,’ said Ace from the doorway. ‘Pru had to put up with quite enough of you yesterday.’

‘Pru’s not wearing a bra,’ announced Lucasta.

Rose lent me a pale suède coat with a fur lining and hood. ‘The forecast says the temperature’s going to drop and I don’t want you catching cold,’ she said, adding out of the corner of her mouth, ‘and do keep Ace away as long as possible.’

‘I’m sure Professor Copeland is already mewing outside Rose’s bedroom waiting to be let in,’ said Ace as we drove down the drive.

It was one of those days that seemed to have lingered over from summer. The air was gentle as silk, and everything was suffused in a golden glow.

We had lunch at a little seaside pub and ate shellfish and drank buckets of white wine.

Suddenly I found I was terribly shy with Ace. My conversation kept sticking, then coming out in great dollops like tomato ketchup.

‘This is what I call hard core prawn,’ I said, spiking a large piece of shell fish. ‘I must say it is heavenly to have a day out. Not that I don’t love all your family,’ I said hastily.

‘They drive me demented,’ said Ace.

‘You shouldn’t worry about them so much.’

‘I know, and I must stop telling them what to do. If they want to drink and fornicate themselves stupid, it’s no concern of mine.’

I giggled. ‘Let them fight their own battles. How did you get on with the Professor last night?’

‘Awful. He tried to relate to me.’

‘You’ve got enough relations round here as it is.’

Ace grinned. ‘He said he wanted to have an in-depth discussion on my piece on Venezuela, because he found so many parallels with his book on Africa.’

‘And he was off?’

‘Exactly. Three-quarters of an hour of absolute tripe on Botswana. I’m supposed to be trained to cut people off when they started waffling, but Jesus, Copeland had me beat. I don’t believe he’s written a word of that book either; it’s all talk.’

‘Poor Rose,’ I said, gouging bread along the grooves of my cocquille shell, soaking up the last traces of sauce, ‘she needs a nice millionaire in shining armour.’

‘She needs a kick up the arse,’ said Ace. ‘Any millionaire would be bled white in a matter of months. Solvency’s a question of attitude not income. She’s having a terrible effect on Maggie too. In a way they compete. Maggie sees Rose getting off with half Westmorland, and can’t see why she shouldn’t do the same. The sooner Jack gets her into that house the better.’

‘She ought to have a baby.’

‘Of course she should. Give her something to do.’

‘Have they been trying?’

‘They’re being extremely trying at the moment,’ said Ace. ‘I want to knock their heads together. D’you want some pudding?’

‘No thanks. Just coffee. If she had her own baby,’ I said, ‘she’d be less jealous of Lucasta.’

Ace filled up my glass.

‘You get on all right with Lucasta, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’m not her step-mother. She’s sweet, Lucasta, but she’s learnt to be diplomatic. She can beam at Jack with one eye, and freeze Maggie with the other — all at the same time. And although I think Jack’s lovely. .’

‘I gathered that, several times,’ said Ace.

‘Oh shut up,’ I said. ‘Not in that way. I know he’s your brother and all that, but he’s terribly insensitive towards Maggie. Always putting her down. I couldn’t cope with it.’

‘I hope to Christ they don’t break up,’ said Ace.

‘To lose one wife looks like misfortune,’ I said, ‘but to lose two looks like carelessness. It’s difficult to get anyone to take you seriously if you’ve got two marriages under your belt.’

‘You’re a perceptive child sometimes, aren’t you?’

‘Not about myself,’ I said, gouging crosses in the brown sugar.

There was a pause.

Ace shot me a speculative glance. ‘Pendle’s the one who worries me really. He’s heading for a crackup if he’s not careful.’

‘Ah Pendle,’ I said, tearing out the soft inside of my roll and kneading it into pellets. ‘He only went after me because I looked like Maggie, and he was trying to kick the habit.’

‘You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.’

Suddenly I found I did.

‘He took me back to his flat, and tried to pull me the first night we met. We’d been to a party. I was a bit tight, but when the crunch came he stopped in the middle. He simply couldn’t bring himself to.’

I felt my face going very hot, and took another slug at my wine.

‘It was awful, as though he really hated touching me, like a person making himself pick up toads. I think I knew it was no good for ages. But I’ve always been one to go on watering plants long after they’re dead. I knew I was living in a fool’s paradise.’

‘Better than no paradise at all,’ said Ace. ‘He must have given you a hard time. I’m sorry.’

‘Wasn’t much fun, but in a way it was such a nightmare during, that afterwards hasn’t been nearly so bad. Like the Red Queen pricking her finger — pain first, prick afterwards.’

‘Pricks don’t seem to have had much to do with it,’ said Ace. ‘I’m going to have a large brandy. Would you like one too?’

Later we wandered for miles along the shingle, the waves booming, the seagulls circling and complaining overhead. I suddenly looked at Ace — angular features softened, black hair slightly ruffled, suntan whipped up by the wind — and my stomach disappeared.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he said. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Oh,’ I stammered, ‘I was just thinking how nice it is, and how I don’t want to go back to work and my horrid old boss.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Quite old,’ I said without thinking. ‘He must be thirty,’ and then realized what I’d said. ‘I mean I only called him my old boss, like some people call their wives their old woman — when they’re not old, I mean.’

‘I see,’ said Ace dryly.

When we got back to the car, we looked out to sea for a minute. Please God, make him kiss me, I prayed. I’ll behave well for at least a year. God wasn’t listening. Ace lit a cigarette.

‘I came here with Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘not long before she died. It was a bitterly cold day. She used to feel the cold. I kept giving her pairs of gloves, but she always lost them. She had a whole drawer full of single gloves because she couldn’t bear to throw away anything I’d given her.’

I found my eyes filling with tears.

‘Does it still hurt — all the time?’

‘It gets better — then one has terrible jabs like a war wound. It’s pretty good hell being a “widower”.’ I could feel him carefully putting quotes around the word. ‘Depression makes you lousy company. When you meet old mates you’re reminded of previous times when you were together. You avoid happily married couples — you can’t stand the togetherness. And you can feel yourself projecting your bitterness and indifference on to everyone else. However sympathetic people are, there’s something humiliating about disaster. You always feel yourself being pitied or patronized.’

The dark eyes were brooding beneath the thick brows. What a splendidly strong face he had. He was not at all like the person I first thought — much more complicated and, though he didn’t realize it, much more vulnerable.

‘One feels guilty, too, about forgetting.’

‘But you can’t give up women for good,’ I said.

‘I don’t — it’s been two years now. Casual affairs are all right. But when you’ve had the sort of thing Elizabeth and I had casual affairs aren’t really enough. On the other hand one feels guilty about becoming totally committed to someone else.’

He threw his cigarette out of the window and started up the car. It had suddenly got much, much colder. An apricot sun was firing the pine trees as we drove home. Some Pole was playing Chopin Nocturnes on the car wireless. Suddenly a black and white bird flashed across the road; it was a magpie. One for sorrow, two for joy. I looked frantically round for its mate. I’d had enough unhappiness recently, but there was no sight of another one.

‘Not too tired?’ he said.

‘I feel marvellous.’

‘We’ll stop soon for a drink.’

An hour later I sat in a happy stupor, drinking a huge dry martini.

‘Thank you for a heavenly day,’ I said.

Ace smiled. ‘It’s not over yet. The food’s good here. Would you like to stop for dinner?’

‘Oh, yes please,’ I said.

‘I’ll go and ring home.’ I was expanding like a flower. But my daydreams were rudely interrupted.

‘Afraid we’ve had dinner here,’ he said. ‘A couple of mates have turned up unexpectedly at home — arrived just after we left, and been cooling their heels waiting ever since — so we’d better go back. We can all eat out locally. I told Jack to book a table.’

We drove as fast as possible along the narrow roads, headlamps lighting up stone walls hung with rusty bracken and fern. The wireless was playing Schubert’s C Minor Symphony, and as various sections of the orchestra stalked catlike through the second movement, I tried to fight off bitter disappointment. No cosy tête-à-tête now, just Mulhollands scrapping all through dinner, with two more of Ace’s friends clamouring for his attention, and no doubt having conversations about politics ten feet above my head. Ace suddenly seemed very uptight too. The lovely intimacy we’d built up during the day was disintegrating like an iced lolly at the end of its stick. It was all the fault of that bloody magpie.

‘Look,’ Ace said.

‘Are they…?’ I began. We both started speaking at exactly the same time.

‘No, you go on,’ we both said.

There was a pause.

‘Are they nice, your friends?’ I said.

‘You may know one of them — Jimmy Batten. He’s a barrister; knows Pendle, I think.’

‘Oh, I love him,’ I said, perking up. ‘He was prosecuting in Pendle’s rape case. Who’s the other bloke?’

‘It’s a girl,’ said Ace. ‘An American called Berenice de Courcy.’

‘Sounds familiar,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t she churn out best-sellers about raising one’s consciousness? She’s a big star in the States, isn’t she?’

‘That’s right,’ said Ace, slowing down to avoid a sheep.

‘And ravishingly beautiful — “I can support the movement and shave my legs” sort of thing?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Trust Jimmy Batten to have someone like that in tow. I thought he was married.’

‘Not very,’ said Ace, putting his foot on the accelerator.

I wanted to put on some make-up to compete with the formidable Berenice, but there was not much I could do careering along in the dark. I nearly gouged out my eye with my mascara wand, then slapped on the dregs of a bottle of Diorissimo and had done with it.