Harnessing Peacocks (28 page)

Rory stacked cups and saucers on the tray, put the kettle on, found the scones, dropped one, found cream and strawberry jam. ‘Alison won’t let Mungo go,’ he said to Rufus who, thin streams of greedy saliva swinging from the corners of his mouth, ate gratefully. ‘What’s more,’ Rory told the dog as he made the tea and carried the tray out to the garden, ‘if I smell right, something has happened to Alison to make her value Mungo.’

Rory put the tray on the garden table by Louisa, who looked up at him with an amused expression. She was savouring the undeclared peace between Mungo and Alison and looking forward to her next conversation with Bernard. She would describe the unlikely development of comradeship between her nephews. She would suggest that Mungo, much as he loved Hebe, was also attached to his wife, and lay odds on Hebe losing a customer. As she poured tea and passed cups she assessed Alison’s appearance, new hair-do, make-up, clothes. She saluted Alison’s nerve. Summoned back from an elopement by her mother-in-law Alison should by rights be embarrassed, apprehensive, apologetic, uncertain. She was none of these things. She was eating her tea and describing her visit to Santa Barbara with animation, entrancing both her husband and Rory. She was not, Louisa noted, giving many details of her hosts while she described the house, its setting, its furnishing, its pool. Watching Mungo, Louisa counted several occasions when pertinent questions came close to expression but each time Alison, dolloping cream and jam on to her scones, switched the talk to topics nearer home, rounding off bravely with the question, ‘Shall we drive down and meet the boys, darling, as I suggested? It would be nice to see Jennifer and Julian. And it will save the boys that dreary journey they so hate.’

‘I never heard them object to it.’ Briefly Mungo reverted to the argumentative mood he used to counter Alison’s bossiness.

‘Love! They have to change trains at Exeter. It would be fun to meet them. Why don’t you come with us, Rory?’ She doubted whether Mungo had been serious in suggesting Rory.

Rory, meeting her eyes, recognised an appeal. She was really much prettier than he remembered. He said, ‘I should love to.’

‘You can make an early start,’ Louisa chipped in. ‘Come and help me make up a bed, Alison. You must have an early night to get over your jet lag.’

Alison sprang to her feet.

‘Mungo stayed last night with Rory,’ said Louisa, looking at Mungo. ‘Would it be all right if you stayed one more night with him? It would save me the bother of making up another bed.’ Without waiting for an answer Louisa led Alison into the house. ‘You can tell him anything you may want to when you are less tired,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ said Alison, sensing an ally.

‘What is she separating us for?’ Mungo turned angrily to Rory.

‘I imagine the idea is to get you—er—get you reunited.’ Rory began to laugh. ‘They don’t know how we—er—how—’

‘We spent last night.’ Mungo finished Rory’s sentence for him. ‘I don’t particularly want you on this drive to Cornwall,’ he said with chill.

‘But I am coming,’ said Rory with unusual determination. ‘I—er—want to—’ He did not say that, remembering the number of Hebe’s car, he had realised that her number plate was Cornish. ‘I want to have a snoop round Penzance. Nice antique shops,’ he added by way of excuse.

‘If Louisa is mean about beds I shall stay in an hotel,’ said Mungo, who was growing suspicious. ‘There’s a plot of some kind between these women.’

‘Then stay with me and we can—er—can—er—’

‘Stick together.’ Mungo finished the sentence automatically. ‘Alison is full of bounce,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘Very full of bounce.’

‘Perhaps she found you—er—found you bouncy when you came back from the—er—Syndicate.’

‘Oh, God!’ said Mungo. ‘Do you think Alison knows?’

‘It’s probable.’ Rory handed the last of the scones to Rufus. ‘Do you—er—want to sleep with her tonight?’

‘I had not planned to,’ said Mungo stuffily.

‘Gosh.’ Rory began stacking the tea things on to the tray. ‘You had better plan something of the sort. Better be—er—spontaneous,’ he advised.

Mungo restrained his longing to kick Rory, to thump Louisa, to assault Alison, all spontaneous reactions. He even refrained from ringing up and insulting his mother. Hebe, he thought, never brought out the worst in him.

Back in Rory’s house Mungo felt exasperation. He looked at Rory’s possessions with loathing. The absence of vulgarity maddened him. Good silver, lovely glass, enviable pictures, a collection of good books. The whole set-up would appeal to Hebe. Rory was watching as he glared round.

‘What’s—er—wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ said Mungo sulkily. ‘That’s your trouble.’

‘I put my evil spirit into the hats,’ Rory said. ‘You wouldn’t find anything in the shop that would suit—er—Alison. Have a look.’ Hebe had the only suitable hat for a beautiful woman, he thought. ‘I made a good one for Louisa,’ he said.

‘Louisa.’ Mungo stood undecided. Rory watched him. ‘Louisa is manipulating me.’

‘Yes—er—she is.’ Rory tried not to laugh.

‘She is keeping me apart from Alison.’

‘Yes—er—’

‘Why?’

Rory shrugged. ‘To let her rest?’ he suggested.

‘I am going back.’ Mungo turned on his heel and left the house. Rory listened to Mungo’s car drive away, then went to bed and lay plotting how to find Hebe’s car and Hebe in Cornwall, quite a large county.

Mungo let himself into Louisa’s house and stilled the dogs. He went upstairs. A light showed under the spare room door. He walked in. Alison lay in the bed, her pale marmalade hair framing her face, dark blue eyes startled.

‘Mungo,’ she chirped.

‘Shut up.’ Mungo was undressing. He felt domineering, masculine, randy.

‘Mungo!’ Alison exclaimed again in a whisper.

Mungo got into the narrow bed. ‘Move over.’

‘I can’t, I’ll fall out. What do you want?’

‘To fuck you.’

‘Don’t use that word. You know I cannot bear—’

‘Oh, shut up,’ Mungo grunted. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Presently Mungo, holding Alison, said, ‘We don’t do this enough.’ And Alison began to laugh in a way she had not laughed for a long time, so that he said, ‘That’s right, my love, one should laugh. Now I shall make love to you.’

Alison bit back the question ‘Who else have you laughed with?’ and whispered ‘I’m glad I came back.’ Mungo fell asleep taking up more than his fair share of the single bed. So far, so good, thought Alison, enduring the discomfort. Perhaps I can wean him away from whoever it is who laughs. Could it be that cook? She tried to remember what the girl looked like.

Sitting between Mungo and Rory as they drove the next day, Alison felt a sense of levity usually alien to her nature. When Rory, sensing her high spirits, ventured to suggest, ‘Tell us—um—er—tell us about your hosts, these—er—friends of yours—’

‘Yes, do,’ said Mungo, driving the car. ‘What do Eli and Patsy do when they are at home? Come on, tell.’

‘What time does the helicopter arrive?’ Alison feebly tried to deflect the attack.

‘Alison!’ Rory protested. ‘Come on.’

‘What was this
ménage a trois
like?’ Mungo met Alison’s eyes in the driving mirror. ‘This troika.’

‘All right.’ Alison took a deep breath. She tensed her shoulders, gritted her teeth.

‘Go on,’ said Rory and put his hand over hers which were clenched in her lap.

‘Bed,’ said Alison in a rather high voice, ‘with him first. Then Patsy came and watched. I did not like that. Then she got in on the other side of me. I think it was what’s called and orgy.’

‘Go on,’ said Mungo, scowling at the road ahead. ‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ Alison’s voice rose higher, ‘I enjoyed it with him, it was different, a change—’

‘A nice change,’ said Rory in an unwarrantably plump voice.

‘Well, it was. If it had been only Eli I might still be there.’

‘Oh,’ said Mungo, his face clouding, but Alison was back in Santa Barbara. ‘He was far worse than you, Mungo.’ She did not notice her husband’s eyebrows rise. ‘He used words I have never heard. Your language pales. That put me off a little.’

‘Only a little.’ Rory’s voice betrayed no feeling.

‘But Patsy did not like it. She did not like the Eli and me combination.’

‘Fancy that,’ said Rory under his breath. ‘So what happened?’ he asked, for he could see, glancing at Mungo’s profile, that Mungo could not or would not ask.

‘What happened,’ said Alison, the words coming in a rush, ‘what happened was that Eli suggested he and I should take a trip to New Mexico without Patsy. I said, “Fine, I’d like that.” Patsy was getting on my nerves, alternately pawing me and being nasty to Eli. I got packed and as I was coming down to the car I heard a scuffle on the stairs. She had torn all the buttons off his shirt and was tearing at his trousers. Then,’ Alison gasped, ‘then she went down and bit him in the leg.’

‘Oh’ said Mungo. ‘Gosh! How shocking.’

‘Ah,’ said Rory. ‘Then what—er—what—’

‘I got into Eli’s car and drove myself to the airport. I had talked to your mother, as you know. I had lied, of course. I had no intention then of coming home.’

‘You lied to us,’ said Mungo.

Alison’s voice was tired. ‘Of course I lied. Your mother was so obvious. Eli has not got AIDS but your mother can’t manage without me.’

‘Nor can I,’ Mungo blurted, red in the face.

Rory noticed that both Mungo and Alison were close to tears. ‘I have never seen man bitten by woman,’ he said. Then they were laughing with the unstoppable hilarity usually confined to adolescents.

C
RAMMING HER SPECTACLES ON
to her nose, Hebe ran to her car, started the engine and roared down the street, swinging dangerously into the traffic as she joined the main road. The agony since Louisa had given her the message, the anxiety she felt for Amy, the resentment engendered by her grandparents, the cumulative distress waiting for news of Silas combined to feed the panic which had begun in Amy’s house. She forced the maximum speed from the engine, nipping perilously through the traffic, so tense she almost forgot to breathe. Jim, following, flinched at the risks she took, hoped she would not lunatically crash, that he would not have to carry a corpse to the hospital, be harbinger of woe to Silas.

Hebe travelled into the country out of sight. Jim caught up with the car by the telephone kiosk, its door swinging open, engine running, saw Hebe racing across the fields towards Bernard’s house.

He parked his car and ran back to Hebe’s car, shut the door, pocketed the keys and started running after her. Twice he saw her leap at a bank and scramble over. Once she fell, but was quickly up and running. As he ran Jim muttered to himself, ‘This time, this time, this time.’ Hurdling the last bank into Bernard’s garden he collided with Feathers, stumbled, fell, swore. Feathers made haste to greet, snuffling at Jim’s face, delighted to find it within reach.

‘Bugger off.’ Jim pushed the dog away. ‘Out of the way, damn you.’ He was on all fours in the wet grass.

Bernard stood over him. ‘Hurt yourself?’

‘No.’ Jim staggered to his feet. ‘Out of the way,’ he said to Feathers.

‘Stop,’ said Bernard, as Jim turned towards the cottage. He caught Jim’s arm and Jim swung round nearly knocking the old man down.

‘Why?’ Jim cried furiously. ‘Why?’

‘They have to be alone.’ Bernard held Jim by the sleeve. ‘We are going out.’

‘I have to see her,’ panted Jim. ‘I’ve got to.’

‘Presently,’ said Bernard. ‘You and I are going to the cinema. Go home,’ he said to Feathers. ‘It doesn’t matter you being here. Come along,’ he said, ‘we must go out so that Silas can talk to his mother.’

‘I have to see that girl,’ Jim shouted.

‘Not now. She has to be alone with him, it’s important.’

‘It’s important that I see her,’ Jim insisted.

‘Only to you.’

Jim stared at the old man, deflated. ‘I had not thought of that.’

Bernard, old and shrunken, looked up at Jim. He said, ‘She won’t run away.’

‘I have her car keys.’

‘We will put them back in her car.’ He led Jim towards the road. ‘Did she recognise you?’

‘I don’t think so. When I went to her house she was talking on the telephone. I told her Silas was with you and she rushed off. I don’t think she noticed me, just registered the message.’

They walked slowly. Jim helped Bernard over the banks. ‘This is not a suitable progress for a man of my age,’ Bernard remarked, ‘but we shall sit in the cinema and be warm and dry.’

‘Why the cinema?’ Jim was rebellious.

‘It is dark.’ Bernard spoke stoically. They had nearly reached Jim’s car. ‘I can sit and mourn.’

‘Mourn what?’ Jim was ill-tempered.

‘You seem to forget,’ Bernard got into Jim’s car and began tying himself in with the safety belt, ‘that you went twice to the town. First you saw Amy dead and forgot to tell Hebe her boy is safe. I sent you back. Going to the cinema does not mean I am not shaken by Amy’s death.’

‘Are you? Why?’ Unwillingly Jim started the car.

‘Once we were in love. Very agreeable it was, too.’

Jim found nothing to say, his mind on Hebe.

‘If we find a movie which is a weepy I can pretend I am moved by that.’

‘Yes.’ Jim began to pay attention.

‘We were in the Hotel d’Angleterre. It ended badly,’ said Bernard. ‘Long ago in Paris.’

‘Why?’ asked Jim.

‘She discovered I was sleeping with Louisa. Why do women always expect this one-at-a-time business? It makes no sense. That is what upset her most.’ In old age Bernard refused the memory of Amy’s pregnancy.

‘All these years,’ said Jim, momentarily forgetting his own troubles. ‘All these years I have never known you visit her.’

‘We were not on speaking terms,’ said Bernard. ‘Latterly, since she befriended Hebe and I got to know the girl, I tried to make it up. Louisa and I have remained close. Amy was bitter. There was nothing doing.’

‘Perhaps she had reason to be bitter.’ Jim had never considered his old friend a particularly nice character.

‘Hebe has no need of you,’ said Bernard nastily, confirming Jim in his view. ‘She is even more capable than Amy of managing on her own.’ Then, as Jim did not respond, he said, ‘It’s the mode for women to live alone these days. You must have noticed, even you.’