Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (32 page)

‘What do you think?’ I came down the stairs at Dumbola Lodge and twirled about in the hall for my mother’s inspection.

‘You look terribly elegant. Rafe will love it.’

The dress was cream figured silk, with a piecrust frilled neck and a long row of tiny silk covered buttons down to the waist, in the style the princess of Wales had made so fashionable. It was quite unlike the things I usually wore, but I had chosen it with Evelyn’s taste in mind.

‘I hope so. I’ve never spent a hundred pounds on a dress before. Or on anything, come to that. I feel utterly decadent and I must say it’s a heavenly sensation. You really don’t think it was wrong to let him buy it for me?’

Of course this was a question to which there could be only one answer. Whatever she thought, Dimpsie would not have wanted to spoil my pleasure. I was reminded of my conversation with Conrad several days before. But surely we were all guilty of saying what we thought people would like to hear?

‘Of course not! He’s going to be your husband, for goodness’ sake!’

Rafe had said, ‘Really, darling, I insist. You must stop being so independent. Besides, some of my parents’ friends are dreadfully old fashioned. They wouldn’t be able to appreciate your
splendidly individual clothes. I admire your flair immensely, but you’ll probably feel more comfortable looking a little more … blending in. I don’t mean I want you to dress like a batty old dowager. Just fractionally more … ordinary. You don’t mind, do you? It’s as much to please Evelyn as anyone.’

I had said that I did not mind. This was not absolutely true but I dismissed a slight feeling of pique as being petty and selfish. And when Rafe had driven me to the superior dress shop in Newcastle where his mother had an account and gone off to find himself a fishing rod with the injunction to buy whatever I pleased, I had thoroughly enjoyed the luxury of shopping without the usual restraints on my purse. We had met for tea afterwards at the Beauchamp Arms. As I entered the hotel sitting room, he had folded his newspaper and stood up to greet me.

‘I’ve ordered China tea for you, darling, and chocolate cake. Is that all right? Come and sit near the fire.’

It was very pleasant. I had rejoiced that this good-looking, self-assured man, who gave the impression that he would be thoroughly at home anywhere from the Athenaeum to Crim Tartary, was mine. I had not allowed him to see my dress, wanting it to be a surprise. And there had been, I admit, a touch of pride that rebelled against the notion of needing his approval. He had said with a most charming smile that he did not doubt that I would make every man in the room deeply envious of him.

I pointed my toe so Dimpsie could admire my new black suede shoes with agonizingly high heels. It had been Dimpsie’s idea that I should pawn our silver forks to buy them. I was confident I would be able to redeem them fairly soon with the money I was earning at the Singing Swan.

‘Smashing!’ she said.

I tried to flex my feet but my toes were crammed into tight bundles. Madame would have gone into spasms had she seen them but, as it was on the cards that I was going to give up dancing for good, what did it matter? Dimpsie was wearing a black velvet dress that was nearly bald at the elbows, but it
made her skin look luminous and showed off the beauty of her large, kind eyes. ‘I wish you’d let me pop the spoons as well, so you could have had something new. Not that you don’t look jolly nice,’ I added.

Jode O’Shaunessy came into the hall. He was so tall that he seemed to shrink any room he was in. He had been digging the new vegetable plot all afternoon and after dark had been in the garage sharpening the blades of the lawnmower and oiling the shears. Harrison Ford O’Shaunessy was fast asleep in his box in the kitchen.

‘T’at’s done now. She’ll go a treat when t’e time comes te cut t’e grass … sure, but yor a fine-looking cailin!’

Despite the scars and the glare of his eyes beneath his cliff-like brow, Jode’s face looked almost soft as he beamed shyly at my mother. Two of our kitchen chairs had already broken under him, but his hands when he fed and changed the baby were gentle. Not that he often got the chance in our house, because the tiniest snuffle from Harrison Ford drew Dimpsie to his box as though she were attached to it by taut elastic. As I saw Dimpsie blush and look self-conscious, an idea came to me which at first I dismissed as absurd. But when I reviewed it I thought, why not? It might be just what she needed.

‘I’ll be goin’ then.’ Jode bobbed his head, knocking it against the brass lantern that hung from the ceiling, making the light swing wildly. ‘See ye tomorrow, Dimpsie.’

I became aware that the hall’s atmosphere was filled with a pulsing excitement created by somersaulting pheromones. The face of the moon on the longcase clock seemed to take on a prurient smirk.

‘If you’re sure that’s convenient.’

‘Aye. Ten o’clock.’

‘He’s taking me to see this couple he knows who are weavers and use only vegetable dyes,’ she explained after he’d gone with a crashing of the front door that made the house shake. ‘I thought they sounded like possible candidates for the craft shop.
It’s so kind of him to take the trouble. It’s not as though there’s anything in it for him.’

‘Terribly kind. Will you fasten my necklace for me?’ I leaned towards the hall mirror while Dimpsie fastened a little collar of diamonds and sapphires round my throat.

Evelyn had given them to me the day before. When I had protested that she had already given me far too much she said, ‘Don’t be silly, Marigold. These belong to the family not me. You’ll have to hand them on to your son’s wife in due course. Anyway, I prefer the pearls. Much more flattering for older skin.’ She had turned to stare at herself in the morning room looking glass. ‘I’m fifty-seven, but I think I could pass for fifty in a dim light, don’t you?’ Another question with only one answer.

‘Fifty, if a day.’

Evelyn had frowned.

‘Or forty-five really … thirty-nine? … You don’t think Isobel will want the sapphires?’

Evelyn had given a chilly little laugh. ‘Conrad will be able to buy her ten necklaces like these.’

I was sorry to observe an increasing coldness between Isobel and her mother. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that Evelyn seemed daily to be investing more enthusiasm into Rafe’s and my engagement.

Now Dimpsie kissed me. ‘I’m so proud of you, darling. Oh dear! I can still smell chip fat.’

‘Blast! I’ve shampooed my hair until I’m almost bald.’

Not possessing any scent myself, Dimpsie fetched hers, called El Souk. It was quite overpowering and made me think of the stuff you put down the lav, a disguising sort of smell, but it had to be an improvement on the chip pan. I dabbed it lavishly on every available centimetre of flesh. Then, while Dimpsie cleaned the earth from her fingernails, I combed the twigs from the back of her hair. When we were as lovely to behold as Nature and our wardrobes allowed, we got into her Mini and set off.

‘I hope we aren’t late,’ I said as we looked for a space to park, the drive being lined with large and expensive motors.

Dimpsie scrunched into reverse. ‘How far am I from the car behind? … oh, bugger! Never mind, that’s what bumpers are for.’

We tottered up to the house, leaning forward on heels that felt like stilts, our carefully arranged hair standing up like sails in the stiff breeze. Spendlove helped me out of my … Bobbie’s coat.

‘Happy days, Miss Marigold,’ he whispered and winked. This was a tiny comfort.

Evelyn came into the hall, looking striking in dark grey. The Preston pearls, three magnificent strands with an enormous side clasp of cabochon rubies and emeralds, were her only ornament. ‘Marigold!
Darl
ing! There you are! And
dear
Dimpsie.’ She embraced us both.

When we walked into the drawing room, the swell of well-bred voices subsided momentarily as guests craned their necks to examine the outsider who had crept past the favourites to steal the matrimonial jackpot from under their noses. It was a little like making one’s first entrance. I drew myself up as tall as I could and assumed my Odile smile, brilliant but with a hint of something snaky in it, just in case there were those present who had come to find fault.

‘You look lovely, darling.’ Evelyn took my arm. ‘Rafe was quite right to trust to your good taste.’

I did not like to be told quite so plainly that my appearance had been a matter for discussion between them.

‘Marigold.’ The archdeacon loomed up, looking flakier than ever, like a monument under snow. ‘My felicitations. I think as an old friend I may claim the privilege.’

He saluted my cheek with cold lips. Two meetings, during both of which he had been peevish and ungracious, hardly constituted a friendship of any kind, but as Odile I was prepared to be false and hypocritical. When Lady Pruefoy pressed her white moustache to my face I did not flinch.

‘I always knew how it would be,’ she lied without a blush. ‘I saw at once how taken with her he was,’ she assured a woman at her elbow, who kissed both my ears, though as far as I knew we were complete strangers.

There was much more of this sort of thing. Bunty came to murmur congratulations. She dabbed vaguely at my face with a smiling mouth but her eyes said she was in pain. Rafe, on the other side of the room, was enduring congratulatory embraces with a magnificent suavity. He looked as Alexander must have done after he’d given the Persians what-for: relaxed, charming and unassailable. As soon as he saw me he came over. He pecked my cheek decorously but his eyes were admiring. ‘Beautiful dress, darling. I knew you’d come up trumps.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Hello, Bunty.’

He gave her a perfunctory kiss. Bunty went red, except for the tip of her nose which remained white. I was sorry to be the inadvertent cause of her distress. She gave him a look blent of longing and sorrow and walked quickly away. Rafe made a face at me, as if to say that some people were rather hard going. It was clear to me that he had not the least idea of the love raging in Bunty’s breast. ‘This is pretty good hell, darling, but it can’t last more than a couple of hours. You really are looking the tops.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again.

A superior-looking woman slid between us. ‘How do you do?’ She looked at me with implacable eyes. ‘You must be Marigold. I’m Miranda Delaware. Hello, sweetie.’ She kissed Rafe, leaving a lipstick mark on his chin. She presented me with her shoulder. ‘Rafe, darling, I’ve got the Battersbys staying next weekend. They’re bringing his sister. You remember Ingrid? Tall and blonde and terrifyingly intelligent. Don’t pretend you don’t.’ She tapped his arm reprovingly and looked provocatively up at him through black spiky eyelashes. ‘You danced with her all evening. Anyway, I’m a man short for Sunday lunch. Would
you be an angel and come?’ She glanced at me. ‘You needn’t worry, my dear. Ingrid’s not the sort of woman men want to marry. Far too much competition for them, poor vain things. They always choose girls who’ll worship them with doglike devotion. And then they wonder why they’re bored.’ She gave a laugh that was not so much silvery as pinchbeck.

‘Actually, I think men find bitchy, competitive women fairly boring,’ I said coldly

‘Marigold, you haven’t met the Stitchcourts yet.’ Rafe took hold of my elbow and led me away, leaving Miranda Delaware, I hoped, with her composure a little ruffled. ‘That was unnecessarily sharp, darling,’ he said when we were out of earshot.

‘I don’t think it was. She meant me to understand that she thought I wasn’t good enough for you.’

‘No, no. She was just tactless, that’s all.’

‘Besides, it’s rude to ask someone to lunch in front of someone else you haven’t asked.’

‘Yes, very. And I shan’t accept. But it would have been better to ignore it.’

‘Not for me it wouldn’t. Why should she have all the fun?’

‘All right, don’t look so fierce. People are wondering what’s the matter.’ He smiled, whether for my benefit or to convince onlookers that we were not quarrelling I didn’t know. ‘Who’d have guessed you had such a temper, darling? I suppose it’s your red hair.’ He pinched my cheek. ‘It’s very sexy. I can’t wait to get you on my own.’

I could not exactly put my finger on why his remark about the colour of my hair made me feel even crosser. Possibly because it seemed to suggest that I was being irrational. But I owed it to Rafe and Evelyn not to spoil the party, so I answered Mrs Stitchcourt’s probing questions with smiling sweetness and listened to Mr Stitchcourt’s description of a horse he owned two legs of and the races it had nearly won with an expression of pleased interest.

I was glad to see Duncan Vardy, the Old Norse expert,
approaching, his large teeth gleaming, his spotted tie twisted under his ear.

‘Heigh-ho, Marigold! Splendid news about your engagement.’

‘Thank you. How are the Nornor?’

He looked pleased that I’d remembered. ‘The book’s getting on quite nicely. I’m writing about Aegir, the Norse god of the sea. He lived on the floor of the ocean with his wife and nine daughters, the billow maidens. Naturally fire was impracticable, so his house was lit by heaps of gold.’

Duncan was a true enthusiast and I liked listening to him. I drank another glass of champagne and felt cheerful again. When Isobel came over to us, I kissed her and said she looked like a magical creature of the forest. Her elfin haircut and her clinging leopard-print dress, with one long sleeve and one bare shoulder that reminded me of Tarzan, prompted the remark.

‘Really?’ she said coolly. ‘You look like a cross between Lady Di and a governess. Exactly what Mummy likes. How quickly you’re learning your part.’

Before I could decide how to respond, Duncan said with a nervous titter, ‘You both look
ravissantes
. I’ll get you some more champagne.’ He snatched my glass from my hand, though it was nowhere near empty, and scuttled off, the coward.

I decided to pretend unconcern. ‘Where’s Conrad?’

Isobel scowled. ‘He sent Fritz with a message to say he might not be able to come. Apparently he’s got an unexpected visitor. I told Fritz to tell him he
must
or I’d never forgive him and to bring the visitor if he couldn’t get rid of him. Can you imagine how everyone’ll be whispering behind their hands if he doesn’t show up?’