Breaking and Entering (24 page)

He glanced at the grey-stone farmhouse they were approaching on the right. Its roof was furred with moss, and dilapidated outbuildings clustered closely round it, like nervous hangers-on seeking reassurance. It seemed quite untouched by the frenetic twentieth century; a self-sufficient bastion constructed in an earlier age which stressed hardiness, endurance.

‘Oh, look!' Pippa shouted. ‘A Shetland pony! The smallest one I've ever seen.'

‘Where?' Penny swivelled round in her seat.

‘In that field beside the farm. And there's a goat as well – no, two! Stop, Daddy, quick! Can I go and see them?'

Daniel stopped, so amazed by Pippa's eager shout that he scrambled out of the car with as much alacrity as she did. They all three stood by the fence, he and Penny exchanging delighted glances over Pippa's head, while she sweet-talked the animals, trying to cajole them to move nearer. The goats only looked up briefly and gave a baleful stare, but the pony seemed more friendly, trotted over inquisitively and blew warm velvet breath on Pippa's outstretched hand. They marvelled at its size. It was hardly bigger than a large Alsatian, yet perfectly in proportion, with a flowing mane and tail. Its piebald coat looked polished, its belly tautly swollen, like a stuffed toy stitched too tight; its ears flicking back and forth as if responding to the endearments.

‘Oh, isn't he gorgeous! Can we give him an apple?'

‘I don't see why not.' Daniel found it difficult to keep his own voice nonchalant, so immense was his relief. This was the old Pippa – enthusiastic, spirited. She had dashed back to raid the fruit box, and was now holding out an apple on her palm. The pony crunched it greedily, showing well-worn yellow teeth.

‘He's getting on a bit,' said Daniel. ‘A fair old age, I'd guess.'

‘But he looks so tiny – just a foal.'

‘No, he's fully grown all right. They've got one like that as a mascot in the Horse Guards – Toby, I think he's called. Funnily enough, I saw his photo in the
Guardian
just a week or two ago. He was standing beside the biggest horse in the troop, and the pair of them looked like completely different species. Talk about Little and Large!'

‘I wonder what this one's called?' Pippa glanced around her, as if searching for the owner. She looked galvanized, dynamic: released at last from her straitjacket of sullen, brooding silence.

‘There's a sign over there saying “Bed and Breakfast”,' Daniel pointed out. ‘Which probably means they do teas as well. How about stopping for a bun or something, then you could find out.'

‘Oh, yes!'

Penny looked more dubious. ‘Well, we mustn't be long. That guy I spoke to on the phone said we could have trouble finding the camp. There aren't any signposts – not even the name of a village. We don't want to arrive too late. I don't fancy struggling with guy-ropes in the middle of the night.'

‘But it's only four o' clock, Mum, and it doesn't get dark for ages. Come on, you two.' She took her parents by the arm and steered them towards the farmhouse. ‘
I'll
pay for tea, so long as you don't eat too much!'

Daniel and Penny caught each other's eyes again. This was resurrection on a grand scale.

The door was opened by a short and stocky woman in an apron. Her eyes were washy blue; her ruddy face crinkled into tiny lines, as if it had cracked in the firing and was hot and brittle still. She greeted them with an anxious smile, which deepened the pattern of cracks, revealed china-smooth false teeth. ‘If you've come to buy eggs,' she flurried, ‘I'm afraid the hens aren't laying.'

‘No,' Penny interrupted. ‘We were just wondering if we could have some tea.'

‘Oh, that's no trouble. Come on in. When I heard the bell, I thought it was the vet. Or the man come to mend the boiler. I don't get much trade, to tell the truth. I'm rather off the beaten track. But I'm sure I can rustle up a pot of tea and something to go with it.'

They followed her into a gloomy hallway which smelt of old wet dog, and along into a parlour overstuffed with heavy dark-oak furniture. Photographs were everywhere – brightly coloured snapshots of family groups, or children riding ponies, interspersed with faded sepia studies of stiff Victorian couples, or men with waxed moustaches posing with their gun-dogs. Nothing was too clean; a film of dust veneered the dresser, and a large irregular stain obscured some of the red squiggles on the carpet.

‘Make yourselves at home in here, and I'll go and put the kettle on.'

‘Excuse me,' Pippa asked before she could depart, ‘but is that your Shetland pony in the field?'

The woman's face brightened at the prospect of a chat. ‘Yes, Hannibal. He's twenty-three years old. We rescued him from a circus when he was barely more than a foal. My children used to ride him, but …'

They were treated to the saga, which encompassed three more ponies (two decrepit and one dead); two daughters and a son (all married and moved north); a husband (passed away last year); a pair of Nubian goats (kept for milk and cheese); half a dozen cats (to exterminate the mice); and the whole protracted chronicle finally trundled up to the present with the collie's seven puppies, born a fortnight ago.

‘Puppies!' Pippa exclaimed, breaking into the monologue. ‘Could I see them, d'you think?'

‘'Course you can.' She swept out to the kitchen, ushering Pippa in front of her and still prattling as she went.

Penny raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Gosh! She does go on. D' you think her husband died of ear-strain?'

‘No – overwork, more likely. I can't say I envy the poor chap.

Even cleaning out our one disgusting hamster seems to take for ever.'

‘I doubt if they do much cleaning here. It looks as if …'

‘Shh!' he warned. ‘She's coming back.'

‘I've brought you some Welsh currant cake – bara brith, we call it.'

The woman set down a chunk of leathery-looking cake, badly burnt on top. ‘I'll just go and make the tea. You try the cake and tell me if you like it.'

‘Well,' said Daniel, once she'd disappeared again, ‘Fergus said we ought to take Pippa to a farm, and here we are knee-deep in goats and ponies.' He helped himself to a slice of cake, discarded the burnt currants, then sat back with it contentedly.

‘Yes, but Fergus's farm would have roses round the door and hot scones dripping butter. This stuff's terribly stale. It's probably as old as Hannibal!'

Daniel laughed. ‘Okay, the cake's not up to much, but I must admit I like the place. At least it's genuine. Those chocolate-box cottages are usually horribly bogus, full of horse brasses and potpourri.'

‘They'd need more than pot pourri to douse the smell of dog. D'you think she notices?'

‘I doubt it. People never think their dogs smell.'

Penny flicked a crumb from her mouth. ‘Well, I only hope Pippa doesn't catch something. Those cats are probably covered in fleas.'

‘You're beginning to sound worse than me.'

‘I suppose we're growing like each other. I always had loads of animals before I married you, but now I'm getting all worked up about a few common or garden cat-fleas.'

He leaned forward and kissed her neck. ‘Don't grow
too
like me, darling. I rather like the differences.' He slipped his hand inside her dress, cupped her heavy breast. He had been tantalizingly aware of those breasts during a good part of the journey, especially as she wasn't wearing a bra. If Pippa hadn't been around, he would have touched them long ago. The sun had been working on him like a powerful aphrodisiac, rousing all his senses, so that now he was aching to make love to her. He knew she would respond. He could feel her nipples already taut as he gently kneaded them with his thumb.

They sprang away from each other at the sound of footsteps tap-tapping down the passage, the chink of cups and saucers on a tray.

‘I've made it nice and strong.' The woman put the tray down, unloaded a brown teapot muffled in a cosy, and some unpretentious crockery, plain white and rather thick. ‘Your daughter didn't want tea – she's too busy with the dogs. She's not a great talker, is she – I could see that straight away. I managed to coax her name out of her, but not much more than that. Still, she's happy enough with the puppies. I said she could feed the two smallest. They have to be bottle-fed, you see – their mother isn't producing enough milk. It's a help for me, to tell the truth, to have another pair of willing hands. I'm up to my eyes at the moment, trying to cope on my own. In fact, I told her if she stayed till six, she could help me milk the goats.'

‘Six!' Penny clattered a cup on to its saucer. ‘I'm afraid that really is too late.'

‘Well, she'll be ever so disappointed. She's got a way with animals – believe me, I can tell. My granddaughter's the same. And they're alike in others ways, you know – both pale and on the skinny side – though Rhiannon's hair is nothing like as red, more a darkish auburn. Look at me! I'm rattling on, and I've clean forgotten the sugar.'

‘I have to say,' said Daniel, once the door had closed behind her, ‘I like the thought of Pippa as a goat-girl. D'you really think it's not on?'

‘I don't see how we can fit it in. I mean, if we stay that long, we'll never make the camp in time. It's an awfully narrow road, so we can't go very fast. And we haven't even got directions – or only very vague ones.'

‘We could always go tomorrow, though. After all, nobody's expecting us, so there isn't any rush. And it does seem rather unfair to drag the poor child away when she's obviously in her element.' Daniel fiddled with the crumbs on his plate, arranging them in a circle. He was uncomfortably aware that he wasn't acting solely out of paternal solicitude. Of course he wanted Pippa to be happy, but he also relished the prospect of retiring early and making love to Penny in a decent double bed, rather than flogging on for miles and miles into the wildest part of Wales, and then fumbling around exhausted in a tent.

‘You mean, stay the night here and set off in the morning?'

‘Why not? The sign said Bed and Breakfast, and it's bound to be dirt cheap.'

‘I can hardly wait. Porridge with sour goat's milk, and a few fleas thrown in for free!'

‘No, seriously, would you object?'

Penny put her cup down, tried another morsel of the cake. ‘I don't see how I
can
object when you and Pippa are obviously so keen.'

‘So you'll let me go and tell her we can stay?'

‘Okay, if you insist.' Her smile changed to a grimace as she sipped her sugarless tea. ‘Be an angel and bring the sugar back with you. I've got a strong suspicion Mrs Whatsit's forgotten it again. I expect she's either communing with her goats or doing a King Alfred and burning another cake!'

He got up from his chair, leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, let his lips glide slowly towards her throat. ‘You never know,' he whispered. ‘Fleas or no, we might even enjoy ourselves tonight!'

‘Winnipeg,' said Penny.

‘What?'

‘Winnipeg rebound.'

Daniel smiled and shrugged. Penny's sleep-talking often became more abstruse when they were away on holiday. He kissed her, in the hope that she'd wake up, but she only murmured something indecipherable and turned over on her back. He had been awake at least an hour himself, savouring the unaccustomed luxury of having nothing else to do but watch the shy unhurried dawn filter through the curtains. The bed, though ancient, had proved supremely comfortable, and they hadn't had to share it with a single flea or bed-bug. He lay with his arms behind his head, listening to the country sounds: the bleat of lambs, the clanking of a milk-churn, the passionate soprano of a thrush. He was getting more like Fergus by the minute – contented in his rosy cot, with no grudge against the world.

Of course he was aware of the real reason for his euphoria: he had surpassed himself last night – surprised himself as well, to tell the truth. Since the fiasco on their wedding anniversary, every attempt at love-making had been embarrassingly brief. He was so nervous about losing his erection that he hadn't dared spin things out, but simply come in a matter of minutes, reverting to his gauche bachelor days in Paris. That bungling greenhorn should never have emerged again after seven years of marriage, but in the last frustrating weeks he appeared to have taken over from the more controlled proficient husband.

But last night had broken the spell. It was like a second honeymoon – no, better: there hadn't been the stresses of a wedding, coupled with jet-lag and a cold. (Did other men go down with heavy head-colds on their wedding day?) They had retired at an absurdly early hour, after ploughing dutifully through Mrs Gwynfryn Evans's rissoles and rice pudding, and had spent from nine o'clock to midnight christening the astonished bed. Penny had suggested a new fantasy: they were staying at the Paris Ritz, in the most palatial suite; two jet-setters in matching sealskin coats who had just flown in from Hollywood for a première, followed by a ball. And – miraculously – he had lasted, right on to the last waltz. He felt enormously relieved, not only because he had gratified her, but because it proved there was nothing physically amiss. He had been beginning to suspect that he was suffering from some debility which might gradually get worse, and had even viewed it as a punishment for his affair. It would be an ironical but appropriate form of justice to lose one's sexual powers as a penalty for abusing them. Yet all he'd needed, in fact, was to escape from the pressures of work, and from his constant trepidation about bumping into Juliet. The risk was actually quite small: she lived in Hampstead and worked in Camden Town, whereas both his home and his office were safely south of the river. But he still dreaded a chance meeting in some cinema or restaurant, and deliberately kept his distance from the whole area of the London Library (where they'd met originally, both in search of the same book).