Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (3 page)

A series of girls rode around the ring, each one criticized sharply by Delia, until Rachel came in on her neat little pony. She walked, trotted and cantered, and then joined the others waiting hopefully to be called up by the judges.

“Oh look,” Delia burst out excitedly, “they’re calling her up! Oh, wonderful Muffet, he’s standing
beautifully
! She’s got a third; isn’t that brilliant!”

We all clapped enthusiastically as the three winners did their lap of honor, clutching their rosettes. Delia promptly disappeared, presumably to congratulate her friend, and the rest of us settled down to watch the next event.

“It’s the hunter mare up to fifteen hands,” Thea said, consulting her program, “with own foal at foot. I love this one; the foals are so enchanting! Oh look, isn’t that Jo with the chestnut and that lovely little foal? I didn’t know they were still breeding horses.”

“Just one or two, but not to sell on,” I said. “Jo couldn’t bear to give up altogether.”

We watched Jo’s slim figure, elegant in the black jacket and formal gear, so unlike her usual everyday self, and we applauded vigorously when she won her class.

When that was over Rosemary got to her feet. “I must go and walk about a bit. I’m getting stiff. Straw bales weren’t meant for the over-sixties. Are you coming, Sheila?”

I looked at Thea inquiringly.

“You go,” she said. “I’d rather like to see the jumping, and I’m sure Alice would too. We’ll see you for lunch.”

Rosemary looked at her watch as we moved away. “Just time for a quick prowl round the stalls; then we’ll go for a drink.”

I fell victim to a rather nice leather handbag and a new Barbour waterproof hat. Rosemary bought a tweed waistcoat for herself and a cap for Jack (“I always have to take him back a fairing,” she said, “though he doesn’t deserve it because he never comes himself”), and we made our way through the crowds to the Members’ Tent. Although it was still early, the place was quite full. I found a table while Rosemary got the drinks.

“Nice to sit in a proper chair,” Rosemary said as she poured the tonic into her glass, “even if it is a bit wobbly. And thank goodness they still have real glasses in here and not those awful plastic things. Now then, who’s here?”

Greetings were exchanged with various people and news was shouted across from other tables, against the background roar of conversation.

“Have you ever noticed,” I said, “how the canvas walls of the tent seem to magnify the noise? I suppose they act as a sort of sounding board.”

“I know. I really couldn’t hear properly what Dick Fraser was telling me. Did he really say that Elaine has gone off to Inverness with
Malcolm Hartman
?”

“I think so, though I must say it does seem unlikely! Oh look, there’s Charlie. Do wave to him to come and sit here.”

Charlie Hamilton, looking rather worn and leaning heavily on his stick, made his way towards us.

“Great heavens, what a crush!” he said as he sat down gratefully. “I always forget how crowded everywhere is.”

“I’ll get some drinks,” I said. “Whiskey for you, Charlie?”

When I got back, Rosemary was saying how glad we were that Jo had won her class, and how splendid she looked.

Charlie smiled. “The old girl still turns out pretty well,” he said, “and we’re very pleased with Starlight. She’s come on beautifully, and that’s a really nice little foal she dropped.”

“I’m so glad you haven’t given up breeding altogether,” I said.

“Well, it creates a bit more interest for Jo,” Charlie said, “and I like to see the young ones about.” He turned to Rosemary. “Your Delia’s coming along well.”

“She’s mad keen,” Rosemary said, “and, of course, she’s longing for her own pony. I expect she’ll wear Jilly and Roger down. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to hold out!”

“I think I might know of a loan pony,” Charlie said. “I’ll make some inquiries. . . .”

He broke off as he spotted two people coming in. “Oh, there’s Esther and Simon. Is there room for them to join us?”

Esther Nicholson is Jo’s sister, but totally unlike her in every way. Where Jo is tall and elegant, Esther is short and plump; where Jo is cool and witty, Esther is fidgety and never stops talking. Jo went away and made a brilliant career for herself; Esther stayed at home and, after a brief spell as a receptionist, married Gordon Nicholson, the dentist she worked for. Simon is their son, and more like his aunt (whom he’s devoted to) than either of his parents. He’s an accountant and looks after the books at the stables.

“Hello,” Rosemary said. “Lovely to see you. Pull up a couple of chairs, Simon. There’s plenty of room here.”

“Well,” Esther said, flopping down into a chair and arranging a collection of plastic bags round her feet, “I’ve never known it so crowded. You can hardly get into some of the trade tents. I’m sure the girl in the produce tent didn’t pack that honeycomb properly; she was so busy.” She bent down and rummaged in one of the bags. “No, it seems to be all right, but it’s in the bag with the smoked-trout pâté and the wild-boar sausages, and you wouldn’t want honey all over
those
, now would you? Simon, I’ll have a gin and tonic if you can get to the bar.”

“How about everyone else?” Simon asked.

Rosemary and I shook our heads, and Charlie said, “I’ll wait till lunch, thanks all the same.”

“It gets worse every year,” Esther went on. “I don’t think I’ll come again. It’s not what it was—not like the old days. It’s getting too commercial—and not a proper band, just taped music and all those motor bikes doing acrobatics or whatever it is they do. Anyway, it’s nice to see you both. How have you been keeping? I saw Jilly just now, Rosemary. She had her arm in a sling. Has she broken it? And I didn’t expect to see Michael here, Sheila. I thought lawyers never took a day off—too busy making money!” She laughed. “Did you see Jo and that horse of hers? She really is getting too old for all that, Charlie. I don’t know why you let her do it.”

Knowing Esther of old, none of us felt it necessary to answer what were obviously rhetorical questions. Fortunately, Simon came back with the drinks, so she was obliged to stop talking while she drank her gin and tonic.

“Well,
you’ve
taken a day off,” Rosemary said to Simon, smiling. Simon used to work for Jack’s firm of accountants when he first started out and Rosemary has always had a soft spot for him. We both feel sorry for him having to cope with Esther. Gordon has more or less given up and, at home at least, has gone into a kind of monosyllabic retreat, giving all his energies to outside activities like the Rotarians and the local council.

“I usually take a week of my leave around now,” he said. “I’m going to spend a few days in London.”

“Theaters and galleries?” I asked.

“This and that,” Simon said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Oh, Simon’s not a one for museums and all that,” Esther broke in. “We used to take him to all sorts of things when he was little. Do you remember, Simon, when we used to stay with Aunt Mavis?” She turned to me. “She’s Gordon’s older sister, married a consultant—orthopedics, always pays well!—and they have a house in Richmond, huge great place; must be worth a fortune now. No,” she went on, “Simon never took any interest in that kind of thing. Vicky, now, she loved it all, but then she’s always been the clever one.” Vicky is Simon’s sister and their mother’s favorite. “She got a first, you know, at Oxford—such a pity she never did anything
with
it, going into the BBC like that.”

“But she’s done awfully well,” Rosemary said. “She’s a producer now, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Esther said, “but only
radio
.”

Vicky is very ambitious and simply couldn’t wait to go away to London, without the slightest qualm about leaving Simon to bear the brunt of things at home. I do feel sorry for him. He’s so good with both his parents and doesn’t really have much of a life—just work and home and doing things around the stables. I know he likes being there with Jo and Charlie, so I suppose that’s something. He did have a nice girlfriend, Julie Phillips, the daughter of one of the partners of his firm, but her job took her away to London and long-distance relationships never seem to work. That was more than a year ago and, as far as I know, he hasn’t found anyone since. I did wonder, though, when he said he was going to London, whether he was going to see her.

Jo came in then and we all congratulated her on her first prize.

“Yes, I’m really pleased with Starlight,” she said. “I think she’s going to be something special. Freddy Barnet—he’s one of the judges—he said that she’s really first class. You know him, Charlie; we met him at the Bath and West last year. Oh, thank you, Simon.” She turned and smiled at him as he handed her a drink. “Just what I needed! Liz is seeing to Starlight—we have to stay on for the President’s Cup—but I must go and take over when I’ve had some lunch. I couldn’t eat anything first thing—too nervous.”

“Like a first night?” Rosemary suggested.

“Oh, worse, though that was always bad enough. But even for quite a small show it’s worse because it’s the horse as well, not just you.”

The mention of lunch reminded me that I had to go and find my family, so I got up.

“I’d better come too,” Rosemary said, “and drag Jilly and the children away from those horses and get some food into them!”

After lunch I wandered around for a bit, but quite soon I began to feel tired and was glad when Thea said, “I think Alice has had enough. Do you feel like coming away now?”

When I got home and had fed the animals (if I’ve been out all day their reproach takes the form of constant and repeated demands for food), I went upstairs to look for my old tweed hacking jacket, which I had promised to give to Thea now that she’d started riding again. It was many years since I’d worn it and I finally ran it to earth at the back of the cupboard in the spare room. It really is amazing the things one comes across if you’re a hoarder like me. I found garments I’d had before Michael was born. Needless to say I couldn’t get into any of them. I left them in a pile on the bed so that I’d be obliged to pack them all up for the charity shop. I suppose they’re fashionable again by now—retro, I think the term is.

I tried on the hacking jacket and found that, amazingly, it still fitted me, and for one mad moment I thought perhaps I might start riding again, but common sense prevailed and I decided I really must have it cleaned before handing it on to Thea. I noted with resignation that Foss had curled up and was resolutely asleep among the clothes on the bed, and went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea.

 

A few days later I took the newly cleaned jacket round to Thea and asked her how she’d been getting on at the stables.

“The first few times were agony afterwards,” she said. “All those muscles I haven’t used for years! But it’s fine now. Except that everything I learned now seems to be out of date.”

“How could it be?” I asked.

“You know how it was
so
important to use your knees to control your horse? Well, it isn’t now.”

“Good heavens!”

“No, now it seems you have to use the whole of your lower leg. Well, you can imagine how difficult
that
is. I mean, all your instincts are to do things the way you always have.”

“How awful.”

“I think I’m getting the hang of it now. I’ve been out a couple of times with Liz, who tactfully reminded me, and once with Jo, who yelled at me when I forgot!”

I laughed. “At least Alice will be learning properly from scratch. Has she had any lessons yet?”

“Yes, a couple. On a leading rein, of course, though Jo, who’s taking a real interest in her, thinks it won’t be long before she can go on her own in the ring. Oh, I must show you something.” She went away and came back with some very small jodhpurs and a pair of boots. “There! Aren’t they gorgeous! I know it was silly of me, but she’s so keen and was longing for the proper gear. Michael says I’m mad and we ought to wait and see how she gets on, but I was in that shop in Porlock where they have all the riding stuff and I couldn’t resist!”

“Well,” I said, “we won’t have to worry now about what to give her for birthdays and Christmas.”

“As long as it’s not her own pony. Though I’ve no doubt Jo will have thoughts about that too!”

“How was Jo; is she all right? I thought she looked really tired at the show. I know she’d just been showing her horse and all that, but, just for a moment she really looked her age.”

“No, she seemed all right when I saw her. She was a bit—well, I don’t know quite what—not put out exactly, but disconcerted, I suppose. She’d heard from Vicky, who’s making a radio program and wants to tape an interview with her.”

“And?”

“I gather it’s to be about the theater—past actors and so forth. Well, you know how Jo never likes talking about all that.”

“No, I sometimes think she regrets her time as an actress and doesn’t want to be reminded about it. I remember Anthea once asked her to give a talk about her life in the theater at Brunswick Lodge and Jo was really quite rude to her. Anthea was absolutely amazed, because you know how amiable Jo always is. But she shut Anthea up, and that takes a lot of doing!”

“Oh well, perhaps she’ll put Vicky off.”

“I don’t know about that. From what I remember, Vicky can be just as persistent as Anthea, and she does have the advantage of being Jo’s niece. It will be interesting to see if she can pull it off.”

Chapter Three

“Do you feel like coming with me to collect some chickens?” Thea asked me when she rang.

“Chickens?”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to keep them, ever since I was a child, so, when I saw an advert for a chicken house in the
Free Press
, I thought why not!”

“Well, good for you. What does Michael think about it?”

“Since he knows
he
won’t have to do anything about the actual hens, he’s all for it. Anyway, he’s installed the chicken house and put up a wire-netting pen, so I’m all set. I’m starting off with twelve to see how it goes.”