Pandora (51 page)

How could Emerald not have originated from such a wonderful place? How could she not have such a beautiful mother? Anthea, still aglow from Zac, fragile in her frilly white négligé, was appallingly gracious.

‘Thank you ver, ver, ver much for bringing up Charlene so caringly,’ she told Patience the moment they were alone. ‘Sir Raymond and I are so grateful. You’ve really done a great job.’

As if Emerald had been a book she’d returned to them without dropping it in the bath or turning down the pages, thought Patience savagely. Looking down at her feet, still in her driving shoes, she gave a moan.

‘Oh bugger, I’ve left my black high heels behind.’

Anthea, desperate to upstage (she’d never expected Ian and Patience to be – well, so grand), was most sympathetic.

‘I’d lend you a pair, Patience, but I’m only size three. I’ll phone our daughter-in-law, Hanna, she’s got big feet.’

Patience, catching sight of her boiled bacon face in the magnifying mirror, nearly wept. Visitor, a better host than Anthea, heaved himself onto Patience’s bed, wagging and eyeing the tin of shortbread on the bedside table.

‘Get down, Visitor,’ shrieked Anthea.

‘Oh, please let him stay,’ begged Patience.

Fortunately Anthea was distracted by the fearful news that Casey Andrews was in the area wanting to drop in. Jonathan, who’d just arrived, had grabbed the telephone.

‘Casey was on his way back from Cornwall being a Cornish painter,’ he informed Anthea. ‘I told him to bugger off.’

‘That wasn’t very wise,’ chided Anthea, then suddenly realized if she eloped with Zac she’d never have to suck up to loathsome Casey again.

Emerald was desperately embarrassed to see her mother’s big feet spilling over Hanna’s sling-backs, but even more so when Patience, on her way out to the terrace, paused to admire the drawing-room pictures, crying out in her ringing, raucous voice, ‘I so admire your courage, putting your children’s paintings on the walls.’

‘Mu-um,’ hissed Emerald, ‘these artists have paintings in the Tate.’

‘Painting’s such a lovely hobby’ – Patience had turned to Raymond – ‘I had a great-aunt who was awfully good at kittens.’

‘I may not know much about painting,’ muttered Ian Cartwright, firmly averting his eyes from a purple nude with a left breast slung round her shoulder, ‘but I know what I don’t like.’

‘I don’t, that’s the trouble,’ sighed Sophy. ‘I’m so easily influenced, I start liking anything anyone tells me is brilliant.’

Oh, please don’t let Daddy get onto the subject of elephant dung, prayed Emerald.

‘Goodness, that’s awfully life-like,’ battled on Patience, admiring Anthea’s portrait. ‘Your eyes really follow one around, don’t they?’

‘Telling one not to leave drink rings all over the furniture,’ said Jonathan, sauntering in looking romantically Byronic in a ruffled white shirt and tight black trousers.

‘You haven’t had time to shower,’ said Anthea accusingly.

‘No, but I’ve used up most of Dad’s Extract of Lime from the downstairs bog. Hi, darling.’ Jonathan kissed Sophy, then, hugging Patience: ‘How’s my favourite woman? Will you tie my tie for me? I have mixed the meanest, greenest cocktail just for you.

‘I expect you’d prefer whisky.’ Jonathan had turned to Ian. ‘We haven’t met, but I’m mad about your daughter Sophy, if only she’d taught me at school. You were Armoured, weren’t you? My father’s got some fantastic Ardizzones in the study, come and see them.’

For a second, as his arm was taken, Ian stiffened in resentment, then he seemed to melt in the warmth of Jonathan’s friendliness, particularly when he went on: ‘You
must
meet Aunt Lily. Her husband was a diplomat and she knows everyone,’ then, waving at a hovering Knightie: ‘Can you get Colonel Cartwright an enormous Bell’s, darling?’

Why is he all over my family and so bloody to me, thought Emerald. ‘I’m going up to change,’ she added to Patience.

‘I hope into someone considerably nicer,’ murmured Jonathan.

Jonathan was definitely Lord of Misrule, determined to enjoy himself and stir up trouble. His mean green cocktail soon had most of the guests plastered.

Just inside the french windows, a table buckled under a growing pile of presents. On the top, ticking away like a timebomb, labelled ‘To dearest Emerald. All my love, Raymond’, was a flat oblong parcel, which looked unnervingly similar in size to the Raphael.

After his trip to the lawyers yesterday, could Raymond be making Pandora over to Emerald? The Belvedons exchanged horrified glances. Anthea was furious. She wanted the Raphael left to her and to be the one to make extravagant gestures.

Sophy was feeling fatter and dowdier by the second. Emerald in her haste to leave London had not allowed her time to dry her hair, so it shot out in all directions. The only answer had been to put it up. I look like the school marm I am, Sophy thought dolefully. She felt even dowdier as a stunning platinum blonde with a drooping scarlet mouth and long, dark, heavily kohled eyes marched out onto the terrace. All in black, she wore a clinging, sleeveless see-through top, a groin level leather skirt, and knee-length high-heeled boots showing off long, slender thighs.

This must be Jupiter’s wife, Hanna, decided Sophy, about whom, Jonathan had said, Alizarin was quite understandably crazy.

‘Trust her to copy me and dye her hair blond,’ grumbled Dicky, ‘and I bet she doesn’t get chewed out by Mum.’

‘Dar-ling!’ Jonathan stopped discussing war artists with Ian, and shot across the terrace. ‘You look sensational.’

‘Good,’ said the blonde, kissing him on the mouth.

‘This is my sister, Sienna,’ Jonathan, wiping off scarlet lipstick, told an astounded Ian and Patience.

‘Hi,’ nodded Sienna. ‘Excuse us,’ then, dragging Jonathan down onto the lawn behind a sapphire rampart of delphiniums: ‘We’ve gotta talk.’

‘We sure have,’ agreed Jonathan. ‘Jupiter’s got a buyer for the Raphael, I heard him talking in the study. He’ll cop the lot and we’ll never see any of the cash. We must get it out of here.’

‘We’ve got to watch Zac even more.’ Sienna described the contents of Zac’s shirt drawer. ‘He and Si Greenbridge must be in cahoots. Si eats Old Masters for breakfast.’

‘Hannibal Collector,’ sighed Jonathan. ‘But that’s immaterial if Dad’s already handed the Raphael over to Madam for her birthday.’

Si Greenbridge stunned everyone by rolling up without his wife, Ginny. Anthea, envisaging herself as a bluebird of happiness in her new cerulean strapless with the tiny shrug, rushed inside to welcome him.

‘Si, Si, so delighted you could make it. Is Ginny freshening up?’

‘She’s not coming. She’s gone back to the States.’ Si glanced up the stairs. ‘Isn’t that a Henri Matisse?’

Ginny, in fact, had been the Mrs Greenbridge that Alizarin, when he was painting Sophy, had told the caller was being fucked by the window cleaner. The caller had been Si, who subsequently discovered his beautiful wife was not having her portrait painted by Jonathan, as she had claimed. Instead she was being boned by Pascal, the interior designer who, not as gay as he pretended, had long had designs on Ginny’s interior. Si, who didn’t like cheating wives, had put her and Pascal, both protesting bitterly, on the next plane.

‘Probably buried her in cement,’ whispered Sienna.

‘Si will be much easier to sell pictures to without Ginny insisting on everything matching the wallpaper,’ whispered back Jonathan.

A spare man, thought Anthea joyfully, and such a rich and macho one. Perhaps Si was a little too old for Emerald, but he’d definitely singled her out at the drinks party at the gallery. He was very sexy in a thuggish way, and if he bought Emerald a few nice things, it would make up for losing Zac.

‘Just so thrilled you could come, Si. You and Somerford Keynes, our finest critic, are the only outsiders in a special family gathering.’

More Brownie points for the Belvedons, thought an irritated David, swiftly goosing Anthea as he swept in with Geraldine and Rosemary. David’s dark brown tan, essential if one were going bald, was enhanced by a new cream dinner jacket made in the Far East on a recent very successful selling spree. He looked very dashing and Anthea told him so. David smirked. He had a cunning plan for later in the evening.

Emerald, as usual, was last down. Did she inherit her habitual desire to make an entrance from David? wondered Rosemary, as Emerald glided out onto the terrace as if from a different age. Lindka had really excelled herself this time, designing a ravishingly low-cut dress in viridian-and-white-striped taffeta with a ruched hobble skirt to show off Emerald’s snaky hips. Only a touch of blusher coloured her milk-white face, her smooth red lips were satin shiny, her dark hair was for once piled up to show off a snow-white neck, around which glittered the Belvedon emeralds, the same lovely green as her eyes.

Sienna and Aunt Lily gasped in horror. The emeralds had been in the family for generations. Jonathan whistled.

‘Happy birthday, darling, beautiful dress.’

‘Anthea gave it to me,’ said Emerald defensively.

‘Beautiful necklace. Present from Zac?’

‘I haven’t opened Zac’s present yet.’

Emerald knew she had never looked more seductive, but she felt suicidal because she no longer ignited any spark in Zac. He had made no attempt to lay her since the day of his return. He had not even slid his hands inside her dress when he did up her zip. He was just so detached. Turning away from horrible Jonathan, Emerald went slap into Jupiter, who terrified her even more – as though she’d chucked a cigarette into the bracken a few miles away and found the blaze had suddenly caught up with her. His eyes were so intense, his face twitching with desire and loathing.

‘We must talk about your show.’

‘Over lunch?’ murmured Emerald.

‘Depends.’ Breathing in sweet Violetta, Jupiter smoothed back a lock of her hair that had escaped from its pins. Christ, she was exquisite.

‘You’re not to monopolize your sister, Jupiter,’ said Anthea playfully. ‘I want her to meet Somerford. Charlene, our daughter, is very talented, Somerford. I’ll show you some of her heads later.’

Somerford was, for once, looking quite amiable. He was so thrilled he, and not Casey Andrews, had been asked and, having been excited by Zac at the silver wedding party, was glad he’d agreed to leave Keithie behind in the Goat in Boots to watch
Coronation Street
and get up to games of his own.

Leaving Emerald with Somerford, Anthea took Zac over to meet Si.

‘You know our daughter Charlene,’ she said proudly, ‘but not her partner, Zachary Ansteig.’

‘Mr Greenbridge.’ Zac clicked his heels and, smiling, held out his hand. Taking it, Si smiled back.

‘Zachary . . . no, we haven’t met.’

‘Did you hear that?’ hissed Sienna to Jonathan. ‘Pretending they don’t even know each other.’

‘Si’s an arms-dealer, probably provided Zac’s gun. Lily misheard and thinks he’s an art-dealer, therefore even more suspect,’ giggled Jonathan as he filled up Sienna’s glass. ‘Lily’s getting terribly pissed.’

‘So am I,’ said Sienna. ‘How could you match your killer cocktail to Emerald’s eyes?’

‘And her new necklace should be round here.’ Jonathan dropped a kiss on the nape of Sienna’s neck. ‘It soon will be, darling, believe you me.’

It was getting hotter, the garden scents more sweetly seductive, as honeysuckle, philadelphus and rose were joined by night-scented stock and trumpeting lily. There was not a breath of wind; pigeons cooed from the ebony shadows of huge olive-green trees so quiveringly still they seemed about to march on the house. Grenville shuddered at the prospect of an approaching storm. Little Diggory, who’d been licking clean Grenville’s eyes and nose like a fussy mother, suddenly barked joyfully.

Here he was at last. Sophy leant against a mossy urn for support as Alizarin, accompanied by a bouncing Visitor, came round the side of the house.

‘Here’s that big untalented brute,’ whispered fat Somerford, hastily employing Emerald as a human shield. ‘Can’t paint, can’t draw – anything except his dole money. I hope Si’s brought guards with him.’

Alizarin was wearing a ripped Prussian-blue smoking jacket, and a clean white shirt with the buttons done up all wrong. Taller even than Si and Raymond’s delphiniums, he towered over the party like Goya’s giant. He looked very pale, exhausted, furious and utterly gorgeous, thought Sophy, wishing some fascinating man was engaging her in sparkling conversation. At least Visitor remembered her and waddled over, rolling on his back, flashing his broken teeth, fat tail threshing like a windscreen wiper. Alizarin, having accepted a large glass of red rushed out to him by Knightie, smiled at Sophy and was about to join her when Zac grabbed him, frogmarching him off to meet Si.