40 Love Page 5

  ‘I hope you’ve got everything you need,’ said Caroline. ‘If you want a Jacuzzi, just press the controls on the wall.’

  ‘Very kind,’ murmured Cressida chillingly.

  ‘Right,’ said Caroline. ‘Well, see you downstairs.’ The door closed, and Charles and Cressida looked at each other. Cressida touched the bedcover gingerly.

  ‘Satin,’ she said. She felt underneath. ‘Satin sheets, too. Ghastly. I shan’t be able to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Charles. ‘Satin sheets might be rather fun. And a Jacuzzi!’

  Cressida sighed and dropped her bag on the floor with an air of forbearance. ‘I’d better check that the children are all right.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ began Charles, but she disappeared out of the room. He dumped his bag on the bed and began to change swiftly into his tennis clothes.

  By the time Cressida returned he was ready.

  ‘They’ve got cotton sheets, thank God,’ she said. ‘Decorated with My Little Pony, needless to say.’

  ‘Priceless!’ said Charles. ‘I must go and have a look. Is Martina all right?’

  ‘She thinks it’s all lovely,’ said Cressida. ‘She’s got a blue, shiny quilt edged with polyester lace.’ Charles grinned. Martina, their nanny, had spent her childhood in a cosy little box outside Bonn, and had not taken well to life in the Mobyns’ house. She had trailed around miserably all winter clad in leg warmers and fingerless gloves, and there had been a memorable scene once when she had got unsuspectingly into a bath full of icy cold water. It had transpired that in Germany—or at least Martina’s Germany—the plumbing never went wrong.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Cressida added, brandishing a sheaf of letters at Charles. ‘She picked up the post on the way out and forgot to give it to us.’ Charles grimaced.

  ‘I thought the idea of going away for the weekend was to get away from all of that.’

  ‘This is hardly “away for the weekend,”’ said Cressida crushingly. ‘It’s not exactly like going down to the Blakes’, is it?’

  The Blakes lived in a mansion in Devon and were having a house party that weekend. Cressida had tried to persuade Charles to agree to chucking the tennis party and going to Devon instead, but he had proved immovable. They had almost had a serious row about it. Now he looked at her wearily.

  ‘For God’s sake, Cressida, we’ve been to the Blakes’ house a million times. But we’ve never come here. These are my friends, you know.’

  ‘I know they are,’ said Cressida.

  ‘It would be nice,’ continued Charles, ‘if I could feel they were your friends too.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think that’s very likely somehow,’ said Cressida. He looked at her furiously.

  ‘Why not? Why can’t you at least try?’

  ‘Oh Charles, honestly! What on earth have we got in common?’

  ‘You’ve got me in common,’ said Charles. ‘Shouldn’t that be enough?’ He picked up his racquet. ‘I’m going outside. It’s too hot in here.’

  Outside, in the corridor, he saw Martina and the twins emerging from their bedroom.

  ‘Hello there!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Everything is fine,’ said Martina. ‘This is a very nice house. So big, so beautiful…’ She gestured admiringly.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose it is in its own way,’ said Charles. ‘All right, boys?’ He looked down at the twins. ‘Oh no!’ They had sidled over to an alcove by the window. Ben was about to put a glass elephant in his mouth and James was tugging at a pale curtain with chocolate-covered fingers.

  ‘Mrs Chance, she gave the boys chocolate biscuits,’ said Martina apologetically, pulling James’ hands away and wiping them with a tissue. ‘I tried to tell her that Mrs Mobyn did not like it, but she wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Charles, removing the elephant from Ben’s grasp. Ben’s face crumpled, and he held his hands up entreatingly to his father. ‘No, Ben. It’s dangerous. Let’s get these horrors outside.’

  ‘Mrs Chance said we should go and look at the horse,’ said Martina doubtfully.

  ‘Grand idea,’ said Charles. ‘Do you want to see a horse, Ben?’ Ben made a grab for the elephant again.

  ‘See the horsey?’ said Charles encouragingly, putting the elephant carefully back on its display table and carrying Ben off down the corridor. ‘See the horsey?’

  ‘Horsey,’ echoed Martina, picking up James. ‘We go to see the horsey.’

  * * *

  ‘She’s not a horsey,’ said Georgina cuttingly. ‘She’s a pony.’

  ‘Of course she is,’ agreed Charles hurriedly. They had arrived at the paddock to find Georgina leading Arabia round the perimeter while Nicola sat astride, clutching the reins awkwardly and beaming with pleasure. Toby sat peacefully on the fence watching, a placid little boy with a sunny smile. When she saw them, Georgina turned round and brought Arabia up to the fence.

  ‘Isn’t she gorgeous!’ she said proudly. She buried her face in the pony’s mane. ‘You’re so beautiful!’ she murmured.

  ‘Georgina’s teaching me to ride,’ said Nicola. ‘I can walk.’

  ‘Very good!’ applauded Charles. He held Ben up to see.

  ‘Look, Ben! Look at the lovely hor … er pony!’

  Martina was cowering behind, staring distrustfully at Arabia.

  ‘Bring James nearer so he can see,’ said Charles. He turned round. ‘What’s wrong, Martina? Don’t you like horses?’ Martina stepped forward nervously a pace or two, then retreated as Arabia threw up her head and whinnied. Ben looked up at Charles, his eyes huge with astonishment.

  ‘Come on,’ said Georgina impatiently. ‘Let’s go round again, and trot this time. You’d better put a hat on.’

  Charles watched compassionately as Nicola fumbled with the chin strap of the hard hat. Her poor right hand struggled to keep up with the left, and she grunted several times in frustration as the webbing slipped out of its buckle. Georgina watched without expression, neither hurrying Nicola nor offering assistance. Martina gave an initial exclamation as she saw Nicola’s jerky hand moving uncertainly up to her chin—but, after a look from Charles, kept quiet.

  ‘Right,’ said Georgina, when Nicola had eventually succeeded. ‘Let’s go.’ She pulled gently on Arabia’s reins, turned round, and began to walk around the paddock, gradually increasing her pace to a run.

  ‘Hold on!’ she shouted at Nicola. ‘Go up and down when she starts trotting!’

  It was an unexpectedly moving sight. Georgina’s hair streamed behind her in the sunlight as she jogged round the paddock; meanwhile, Nicola bounced up and down with a mixture of delight and terror on her face. Charles stole a look at the faces of the twins. They were both staring enraptured at the scene.

  Eventually Georgina led Arabia back up to the fence.

  ‘Do you want a go, Toby? You can’t go on your own, but you could sit in front of me,’ she said. Toby giggled and shook his head.

  ‘I suppose these two are too small,’ said Charles, gesturing to the twins.

  ‘Yes, they are a bit,’ said Georgina. ‘They probably couldn’t even sit on a pony without falling off.’

  ‘I’d love them to learn to ride,’ said Charles. ‘Perhaps when they’re a bit older.’

  ‘You wouldn’t need to buy two ponies,’ said Georgina. ‘If they stay the same size they could always share one.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Charles. ‘Ponies are very expensive creatures.’

  ‘So what?’ said Georgina disconcertingly. ‘You must be able to afford it now you’re so rich.’

  * * *

  As Cressida unpacked her clothes, carefully shaking out the creases as she had been taught at school, a frown furrowed her brow. Charles was angry with her for being rude about his friends—and perhaps she had been a bit blunt—but what was she supposed to say? Surely he could see that she could never become friendly with that jumped-up salesman and his tarty wife?

  It d
id not occur to Cressida that her own father had been, in his own way, a salesman himself. Owners of large factories were not, in her mind, at all the same thing as vulgar men like Patrick, who, she noticed, hadn’t even bothered to come and greet his guests. Besides, it was her mother, the aristocratic Antonia Astley, with whom Cressida identified most strongly. Her mother had always avoided becoming friendly with the wives of her husband’s colleagues. ‘Think of yourself as a precious present,’ she had once said to Cressida, ‘not to be squandered on whoever happens across you first.’ She had, of course, been talking about sex, Cressida now realized—but it was actually a useful principle for friendships in general.

  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 which 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 which 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.’