going so well with Maggie, he could afford to be nice to me. On the other hand it was only Jack’s word against his. All that talk about Pendle and Maggie might easily be Jack’s method of prising me loose from Pendle!
In the drawing-room I was hailed like a long-lost sister. Conversation was very sticky with everyone trying to conceal the fact that they were half cut. All the guests had evaporated which only served to emphasize the chaos. A battalion of empty bottles stood on the table. Records out of their sleeves lay like a handful of loose change in the corner.
‘Pru, darling,’ said Rose, pronouncing her words very carefully. ‘This is Ace, twenty-four hours early, but no less welcome for that.’ Ace got to his feet and shook hands with me, giving no sign that he had already met me in less happy circumstances.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said, pointing to the big armchair, right away from Jack. Pendle sat on the arm. Maggie and Jack were holding hands on the sofa.
‘Why
are
you a day early?’ asked Jack.
‘The Venezuelan riots were crushed much quicker than anyone thought they would be. There was no point in hanging around, so I flew straight back.’
‘How long will you be here?’ asked Rose.
‘Hard to tell — perhaps indefinitely. The BBC have offered me a news programme.’
‘That would mean you’d be in England all the time?’ said Rose faintly.
‘Yes,’ said Ace, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Then I could keep an eye on you all, couldn’t I? How’s Lucasta?’ he said to Maggie and Jack.
‘Oh she’s absolutely gorgeous now,’ said Maggie enthusiastically. ‘We’ve got her next weekend, so you’ll be able to see her.’
She’d certainly changed her tune — not a trace of the wicked step-mother anymore.
‘Humbuggery is legal after ninety days at sea,’ I muttered.
I could now understand why they were all so wary of him. He was tall — easily the tallest of the three brothers — and even broader than Jack, and his skin was tanned to the colour of old leather. He’d grown a black moustache since the photograph was taken, which made him look not unlike a Venezuelan bandit himself, and he obviously hadn’t slept for days. But even exhausted, he was formidable. He was one of those tough, self-assured men who rove round the world in search of truth, always where the action is, watching wars begin and governments fall. Each time he opened his mouth, I expected the
Panorama
signature tune to strike up.
He had a rough, abrupt way of shooting out questions, then listening closely to the answers. I sat in a semi-comatose state as he asked Jack about the mill, Pendle about the Bar and Maggie about the new house — just as if he were conducting a series of short, sharp interviews. Each time Rose chipped in, he brushed her aside. Occasionally his eyes flickered over me. My turn would come later. I don’t like him, I decided. He’s a bully.
Rose picked petulantly at her nail polish for a few minutes, then announced she was off to bed. I went too. In the hall we found someone had left the telephone off the hook.
‘What a frightful waste of electricity,’ said Rose, putting it back.
This time when I got upstairs, I strewed my clothes all over the bedroom, and when I lay down the room went round and round.
Chapter Seven
I dreamt I was trapped by falling masonry, with the flames flickering towards me. I woke up pouring with sweat to find Coleridge lying heavily across my legs. After yesterday’s deluge, the waterfall outside the window was thundering on the rocks, which did nothing to alleviate my excruciating hangover. I lay for a bit trying to adjust to the pain. After all, people learnt to live with suffering, people with cancer, and Odette Churchill having her fingernails pulled out. Just relax into it, I told myself, clutching my head. I gave a low moan. It was no good, I got up and staggered down the passage to the bathroom, where I was confronted by
In the drawing-room I was hailed like a long-lost sister. Conversation was very sticky with everyone trying to conceal the fact that they were half cut. All the guests had evaporated which only served to emphasize the chaos. A battalion of empty bottles stood on the table. Records out of their sleeves lay like a handful of loose change in the corner.
‘Pru, darling,’ said Rose, pronouncing her words very carefully. ‘This is Ace, twenty-four hours early, but no less welcome for that.’ Ace got to his feet and shook hands with me, giving no sign that he had already met me in less happy circumstances.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said, pointing to the big armchair, right away from Jack. Pendle sat on the arm. Maggie and Jack were holding hands on the sofa.
‘Why
are
you a day early?’ asked Jack.
‘The Venezuelan riots were crushed much quicker than anyone thought they would be. There was no point in hanging around, so I flew straight back.’
‘How long will you be here?’ asked Rose.
‘Hard to tell — perhaps indefinitely. The BBC have offered me a news programme.’
‘That would mean you’d be in England all the time?’ said Rose faintly.
‘Yes,’ said Ace, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Then I could keep an eye on you all, couldn’t I? How’s Lucasta?’ he said to Maggie and Jack.
‘Oh she’s absolutely gorgeous now,’ said Maggie enthusiastically. ‘We’ve got her next weekend, so you’ll be able to see her.’
She’d certainly changed her tune — not a trace of the wicked step-mother anymore.
‘Humbuggery is legal after ninety days at sea,’ I muttered.
I could now understand why they were all so wary of him. He was tall — easily the tallest of the three brothers — and even broader than Jack, and his skin was tanned to the colour of old leather. He’d grown a black moustache since the photograph was taken, which made him look not unlike a Venezuelan bandit himself, and he obviously hadn’t slept for days. But even exhausted, he was formidable. He was one of those tough, self-assured men who rove round the world in search of truth, always where the action is, watching wars begin and governments fall. Each time he opened his mouth, I expected the
Panorama
signature tune to strike up.
He had a rough, abrupt way of shooting out questions, then listening closely to the answers. I sat in a semi-comatose state as he asked Jack about the mill, Pendle about the Bar and Maggie about the new house — just as if he were conducting a series of short, sharp interviews. Each time Rose chipped in, he brushed her aside. Occasionally his eyes flickered over me. My turn would come later. I don’t like him, I decided. He’s a bully.
Rose picked petulantly at her nail polish for a few minutes, then announced she was off to bed. I went too. In the hall we found someone had left the telephone off the hook.
‘What a frightful waste of electricity,’ said Rose, putting it back.
This time when I got upstairs, I strewed my clothes all over the bedroom, and when I lay down the room went round and round.
Chapter Seven
I dreamt I was trapped by falling masonry, with the flames flickering towards me. I woke up pouring with sweat to find Coleridge lying heavily across my legs. After yesterday’s deluge, the waterfall outside the window was thundering on the rocks, which did nothing to alleviate my excruciating hangover. I lay for a bit trying to adjust to the pain. After all, people learnt to live with suffering, people with cancer, and Odette Churchill having her fingernails pulled out. Just relax into it, I told myself, clutching my head. I gave a low moan. It was no good, I got up and staggered down the passage to the bathroom, where I was confronted by
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