The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous

65

They all trooped off to admire Rannaldini’s new helicopter. As Kitty went wearily into the house, Lassie danced towards her, striped body weaving and snaking, black-rimmed eyes full of love, peeing on the flagstones in her delight.

I can’t leave her, thought Kitty.

Not even pausing to wipe up the puddle, she ran down the dark passage. Outside Rannaldini’s boot room Lassie had chewed up what Kitty first thought was a twig. Then she realized it was the baton Toscanini had given Rannaldini on his death bed.

‘It’ll be your deaff bed, Lassie, if we don’t get out of here.’

Gathering up the puppy in panic and rushing into the kitchen, she found Miss Bates still looking dreadfully embarrassed.

‘Mrs Rannaldini, there’s something I must tell you. Then I’ll get you all tea.’

‘You’ve looked after Rannaldini and me so well,’ stammered Kitty, terrified of any delay, ‘we’re so griteful. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

‘No!’ Miss Bates was so insistent that in the end Kitty sat her down at the kitchen table.

‘Mrs Rannaldini,’ said Miss Bates, frantically rotating the gold bracelet on her slender wrist. ‘I have to tell you that while you were fast asleep in bed, knocked out by one of Mr Rannaldini’s sleeping pills, I went to bed with Mr Rannaldini.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I’m desperately sorry, he’s just so attractive.’

For a minute Kitty looked at Miss Bates incredulously, then she burst out laughing.

‘Is that all? For an ’orrible moment I fort you was going to ‘and in your notice. Promise to stay and look after ’im.’

In the utility room Kitty found an ancient cat basket and, wiping it down, shut a quaking Lassie inside, who was convinced she was going to the vet.

‘Bong, bong, bong, tong, tong, ongong, ongong, this is the flight call of the female Rannaldini.’ Shrieking with helpless laughter, Kitty raced across the lawn, past the glowering maze and turned left to the stables. As the garage was next to Rannaldini’s helicopter pad she couldn’t steal off unobserved by car. The only answer was the kindest horse in the yard.

‘Bong, bong, bong, tong, tong. Nuffink venture nuffink win.’ She was already shaking with nerves worse than Lassie, she must try and keep her courage up.

But as she ran into the yard she gasped with horror. She’d forgotten that all the horses had been turned out except The Prince of Darkness who glowered out of his box as sinister as his name, evil eyes rolling as he scraped and gnawed at his half-door.

He’ll go for me if I try and put a bridle on him, thought Kitty, almost fainting with terror, then froze as the door of the groom’s cottage opened. But instead of Clive, Janice the head groom emerged.

Janice was very fond of Kitty; she might not shop at Valentino like Cecilia, but she always saw that the grooms were paid on the nail.

‘You do look poorly. You shouldn’t be up,’ she said, noticing Kitty’s violent shakes and her face grey and glistening with sweat.

‘Could you please tack up The Prince?’ stammered Kitty, kicking Lassie’s cat basket behind the mounting block. ‘Rannaldini wants to ride him.’

‘At this hour?’ Janice looked at her watch.

‘He’s got friends over.’

‘And he wants to show off,’ Janice sniffed. ‘And I was just off to get the other horses in. What was that?’ She paused at a piteous whine from Lassie.

‘Nuffink, ’spect it’s a bird. We was at Slimbridge today,’ said Kitty desperately.

‘More like one of the Rottweilers got stuck in somewhere.’ Janice glanced round the yard.

‘Please tack up The Prince.’ Kitty tried to disguise her panic.

The wait seemed interminable, particularly as she had to keep up a tuneless singing to drown Lassie’s increasingly aggrieved whining, but at last Janice put her head over the half-door.

‘God, he’s a dangerous bugger. Where d’you want him taken?’

‘Leave him for a sec. Rannaldini fort he left his silver-topped whip in the tack room,’ said Kitty.

She would rot in hell for such awful lies.

‘I’ll look,’ said Janice.

Kitty was nearly frantic with terror.

‘Please God take care of us,’ she prayed.

Taking a huge breath she unbolted The Prince’s door and just grabbed his reins as he shot out like an Exocet. Not giving herself time to have doubts, she gathered up Lassie’s basket, clambered on to the mounting block and somehow scrambled astride the vast black back which was pitching like a top deck in a force ten gale. With a manic clatter The Prince tore out of the yard, down the rough track in search of his friends. At least he couldn’t savage her if she was on his back. Alarmed by Janice’s screams to come back, however, he broke into a gallop.

‘Oooh, it’s worse than the big dipper,’ moaned Kitty, twining her fingers in the thick mane, as trees, bushes and telegraph poles flashed by. All this jolting must be bad for the baby, but far, far worse, Kitty gave a sob, if it had ended up a bloody mangled foetus on the abortionist’s table. The thought made her cling on even tighter.

Oh, heavens, she suddenly remembered she was hurtling towards the West Gate which was chained and bolted. If she had to get off The Prince to undo it she’d never get on again. Thundering towards a clearing on her left she loosened her grip on the mane to tug the near-side rein. Miraculously the big horse cornered at Rutminster Cup speed into a woodland ride.

‘Oh, good boy, Prince, please keep straight,’ begged Kitty. If he carted her under the branches, she’d had it.

The wind was lifting her hair, tugging at her grey cardigan and her old grey check skirt. To right and left on the woodland floor, bluebells battled to push through the dog mercury, little primroses were stifled by brambles and pale-faced anemones were being drowned like bathers in a rising sea of garlic, which gave off pungent wafts of aioli as it was pounded by The Prince’s flying feet.

They had reached open fields now. Again Kitty knew she was finished if The Prince’s stable-mates came pounding down to join him. But ahead like the Berlin Wall lay the River Fleet and freedom.

‘Go on, Prince,’ yelled Kitty as they slithered down the bank.

Only baulking for a second, the brave black horse plunged into the swirling brown water. A terrified whine reminded Kitty that if she slid off or let go of the cat basket Lassie was as good as drowned.

‘Our farver which art in ’eaven,’ cried Kitty, ‘’allowed by thy name.’

For a nightmarish few seconds The Prince was out of his depth, swimming boldly, battling with the cross-currents, then he was lurching up the other side.

‘Oh, fank you, good old boy,’ cried Kitty.

It was as though Magpie Cottage was pulling them towards it. Staying on going up hill was much easier. The south side of Paradise was far less advanced. The trees brushing the clouds were still bare. They were tearing past great banks of blackthorn that looked as though they’d been dipped in flour, and there was poor Rachel’s cottage.

An’ flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, thought Kitty.

But the present was more important. Glancing back, fearful of seeing Rannaldini’s helicopter rising like a malignant hornet, Kitty wondered how much longer she could cling on. Then, like the heavenly city, she saw the Paradise Road which passed Magpie Cottage. Again untwining her aching fingers from The Prince’s mane she tugged the offside rein and the horse swung to the right.

‘I can ride,’ called out Kitty in ecstasy.

But nothing prepared her for galloping along tarmac at a breakneck speed. What happened if they met a car? She ducked to avoid a low-hanging sycamore branch. Having lost both her shoes, she felt she was about to lose her teeth.

As she tried to swing left up Lysander’s track, she and The Prince parted company. The lures of Paradise were too strong for him and he kept on going. Kitty landed gently amid the white violets on the verge. All her life she would associate their sweet smell with relief that she wasn’t hurt and even greater relief when she opened the cat basket, and Lassie jumped out, pirouetting in glee, raking her mistress’s legs with her striped paws.

‘Quick, quick, my lamb.’ Urging them both on, Kitty panted up the lane, oblivious of the sharp stones ripping her soaked tights.

Then she gave a cry of despair. The curtains were drawn. Three days’ milk hadn’t been taken in. The FOR SALE sign shivered despondently in the chilly wind. Heart crashing, gasping frantically for breath, she raced up the path and pounded on the door. No answer. She pounded again. Nothing. Perhaps Lysander was in bed cheering up some sad beautiful girl whose husband was about to become jealous.

‘Oh, Lassie, what will become of us?’ wept Kitty.

In answer came a shrill outraged yap. Pushing open the door Kitty tripped over a mountain of post, LYSANDER HAWKLEY, OWNER OF ARTHUR, ENGLAND, was written on one of the top envelopes. Jack, who from his caked brown nose had been rabbiting, greeted her in noisy ecstasy. He then discovered Lassie timidly hovering on the threshold, strutted round her on poker legs, sniffing and assessing. Realizing she was female he started to twitch his stumpy tail, then ran into the sitting room barking importantly.

Lysander sat slumped on the old blue corduroy sofa staring hopelessly into space, oblivious of a wildly exciting photo-finish on the television. There was a quarter of an inch of stubble on his haggard cheeks and black, black half-circles beneath his eyes. His Donald Duck jersey was inside out and he was wearing odd socks.

‘Lysander.’ Kitty could hardly get the word out.

He looked round dully, then started incredulously.

‘Lysander, it’s me,’ she whispered, shakily holding her hands out. ‘Over the ’ills and far away, she danced with Piglin’ Bland.’

As though struggling from the bottom of the sea Lysander staggered to his feet.

‘Are you a mirage or a miracle?’ he mumbled.

‘I’m me. I love you,’ sobbed Kitty. ‘I’m sorry to barge in. I can’t live wiv Rannaldini no longer.’

Lysander’s stubbly jaw dropped, his bloodshot eyes opened wider and wider as he gazed at her. Then a great smile split his face and he gave a great whoop of joy and, vaulting over the sofa, fell into her arms kissing all the life out of her — but only for a few seconds because they were both so gasping and breathless they had to come up for air.

For an enraptured moment Lysander touched Kitty’s windswept hair, and ran his hands wonderingly over her pale frozen little face to prove he wasn’t dreaming.

‘I thought I’d never see you again,’ his voice broke. Then, reluctant to let her go for even a second, he dragged the hefty bishop’s chair across the room and shoved it against the front door.

‘We’re not letting Rannaldini in here.’ He collapsed into the chair, pulling Kitty onto his knee.

‘You escaped. Oh, Kitty darling, you really escaped. You are brave.’ Kissing her between sentences, he said, ‘I got you an engagement ring just in case. It’s in a case actually.’ He giggled helplessly and, leaning back, scrabbled amid the chaos of the desk drawer and produced a little crimson leather box containing an enormous diamond.

‘It’s a bit flash but diamonds are for ever. Who said that? Shakespeare?’

They were both shaking so much it took a long time for him to slide the ring on to her finger.

‘It’s ’eavenly,’ breathed Kitty, ‘ow, Lysander you shouldn’t, I mean it must’ve cost—’

‘Hush.’ Lysander put his lips on her forehead. ‘Georgie gave me back the diamond necklace I gave her to get the clasp fixed so I flogged it. You and me are what matters. How the hell did you break out of Valhalla?’

‘I rode The Prince of Darkness,’ said Kitty proudly.

‘You what?’ said Lysander, utterly aghast. ‘Oh, Kitty, you couldn’t have. You’re so frightened of horses, and I’d be petrified of riding him.’

‘I was more frightened of not getting to you,’ confessed Kitty.

‘But you’re soaking.’ Lysander suddenly took in her dripping skirt and her ripped tights. ‘Oh my God, you didn’t come over the river? You could have been drowned. You did that for me. Oh, Kitty darling, you’re so brave, I can’t believe it. Where’s The Prince now?’

‘Dunno,’ Kitty shrugged. ‘Pushed off to Paradise. He needed some fun. Probably öpenin’ an account at The Apple Tree, or havin’ a sherry at The Pearly Gates, or wiv any luck wrecking Percy’s garden.’

‘Kitty!’ said Lysander in awe, ‘I never thought you were capable of such irresponsibility. Oh, I love you.’

Tipping her head back he buried his mouth in hers, kissing her more and more passionately; and his stubble lacerating her cheeks was the sweetest pain she’d ever felt.

‘I can’t believe this is happening to me. Let’s go to bed. I just desperately need to prove you’re real.’ Dazedly he started to undo her grey cardigan.

But Kitty couldn’t give in to joy just yet.

‘There’s somefink I’ve got to tell you.’

Taking in her lack of suitcases, Lysander began to tremble. ‘You only came for a few minutes.’ He grasped her hands until she winced. ‘You’re going back. I can’t handle it, honestly I can’t.’

‘It’s not that. I don’t want to trap you, but I’m expecting a baby.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Lysander’s face was flooded with relief and happiness. ‘That’s fantastic. I’ll take care of both of you. I love babies. Doesn’t matter if it’s Rannaldini’s. If we bring it up, it’ll be ours.’

Kitty was frantically wiping her eyes.

‘It’s yours,’ she whispered.

‘Mine?’ said Lysander incredulously. ‘How can you tell?’

‘Rannaldini’s ’ad a vasectomy, so it can only be yours.’

Lysander gazed at her, gradually absorbing the enormity of the truth, horrified disapproval battling with overriding pleasure and pride.

‘My baby! God, that’s great, but that bastard Rannaldini letting you think you couldn’t have kids. Christ, the bastard. I’ll give him an Iraqi manicure, then I’ll kill him. D’you mean it’s really my child, I mean, our child?’

As he took her hands kissing each finger, she could feel his tears.

‘You could have lost it,’ he said in a choked voice. ‘You might have had a fall on the road, like Mum. Oh, thank God you’re safe.’

‘It was nuffink. I wasn’t frightened once we got going because you was at the end of it.’

‘You mustn’t cry.’ Lysander reached for his handkerchief and dried both their eyes. Then he said slowly, ‘It’s our baby, God, I feel fantastic. Shall we ring Dad? No, let’s open a bottle first.’

He was so desperately thin that Kitty couldn’t wait to feed him up with jam roly-poly and treacle pudding.

‘I can work right up until the birf,’ she said, not wanting him to feel pressured financially, ‘and afterwards I can take up typing.’

‘You will not.’ Lysander stuck out his chest. ‘I’ve got a proper job starting on Monday, working for Rupert, breaking and schooling horses for him. He thought it was too much hassle me keeping the weight down so he’s going to try me on eventing or even show-jumping.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Kitty overjoyed. ‘I’ll forgive ’im for being so ’orrible.’

‘He’s been wonderful. He’s actually taken Tiny back to live with Pridie, because both of them were missing Arthur so much. He and Taggie have gone to Bogotá for six weeks to get a black baby. No, I’m not sure that’s right — anyway Dizzy’s going on holiday so Danny and I are in charge of the yard. I was shit-scared, but now I’ve got you I can do anything.’

‘You always could,’ said Kitty proudly.

‘And Rupert’s lent me a cottage. It’s really sweet, but only because you’re going to live in it. Oh, do look.’

Following his gaze Kitty saw that Lassie and Jack had curled up in the dog basket together and Jack was busy licking Lassie’s eyes and nose.

‘Jack shall have Jill.’

‘Naught shall go ill,’ Kitty’s voice broke again.

‘He’ll need a step ladder when she reaches her full size,’ said Lysander.

‘An’ I’ll need a social ladder marryin’ you,’ giggled Kitty.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he said furiously. ‘You’re so good and so far above me, Kitty. I really will be the man who made husbands jealous now, because every man in the world’s going to die of envy because I’ve got you.’ He kissed her small squashed nose. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.’

Then suddenly his flawless brow wrinkled.

‘I can’t figure it out. Basically twenty minutes ago I was going to shoot myself. Now I’m the happiest man in the world and I’m going to be a father.’

When the Tarzan howls had finally subsided, Kitty said timidly: ‘I fort if it was a little girl we could call her Pippa after your mum.’

For a few seconds Lysander couldn’t speak, then he said: ‘She’d have loved that. And if he’s a boy we’ll call him Arthur.’

THE END