The Complete Pratt (147 page)

‘Fine,’ said Henry. ‘We’ve split up.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Auntie Doris. ‘That is sad. Do you really like my hair?’

‘Well, I think it’s very nice, but I think next time you ought to have it done by the hairdresser.’

‘So do I. I think I’ve made a right mess of it, to be honest, but Teddy says it’s fine. He tells lies, you know. Maybe his mind’s going.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I remember now. Of course you split up with Hilary. I meant Diana. How’s Diana?’

‘Fine,’ said Henry. ‘I’ve split up with her too.’

‘Naughty boy. You really are a naughty boy. Is Ollie going to open up tonight or do I need to?’

‘Ollie’ll do it,’ said Uncle Teddy, bringing the tea things. ‘Leave it all to Ollie.’

When Henry and Uncle Teddy went for their usual walk, past the green that led to the church, past the fairy-tale cottages, and round the corner to gaze over the bridge onto the little reed-shivering river, Henry said, ‘I don’t want to criticise, I think you do brilliantly, but don’t you think it’d be better to correct her when she’s wrong, tell her she isn’t at the White Hart any more? Otherwise she’ll spend all weekend thinking she is.’

‘It doesn’t work like that. She’ll have forgotten all about the White Hart when we get back,’ said Uncle Teddy.

‘I mean I agree about Peru.’

‘She’ll forget how long it’s been since you’ve last been. If she says, “We haven’t seen Henry lately,” I’ll say, “Yes, we have. We saw him last month.”’

‘Will you let me know if she … if anything … well, you know. Obviously I’ll fly back.’

‘I will. Oh, Henry, I just hope I don’t go first.’

They had a very pleasant weekend. Uncle Teddy warmed up some meals which proved highly palatable when washed down with smuggled wine and brandy. They played two games of Scrabble. Auntie Doris won them both.

As he was leaving, Henry couldn’t resist teasing Uncle Teddy just a bit.

‘Er … it may be quite a while before I get down again, Auntie Doris,’ he said.

Uncle Teddy glowered at him.

‘Oh dear, that’s a shame,’ said Auntie Doris.

‘It may be towards the end of next month.’

Uncle Teddy relaxed.

‘Oh well, that’s not too bad,’ said Auntie Doris.

It wasn’t the wittiest bit of fooling in the history of the world, but it was better than crying.

Henry was appalled, on arrival at Lampo and Denzil’s, to find that Tosser and Felicity had been invited.

‘Why?’ he said.

‘Two reasons,’ said Lampo. ‘One – we’re both so emotional. We’d cry buckets if we didn’t have that greedy ape here. Two – you’re angry with him still. Anger is so corrosive.’

‘We love you,’ said Denzil. ‘We want you to be at peace in Peru.’ He was in his early seventies now, but age suited him. He had turned into a distinguished old gentleman.

‘I hope you’ll come to visit,’ said Henry.

‘I couldn’t bear it,’ said Lampo. ‘If your behaviour in Siena was anything to go by. You’ll sit there, staring at the Andes in all their majesty, trying to work out how many street lights weren’t working in Thurmarsh last time you went through it.’

‘Of course we’ll come,’ said Denzil.

Tosser and Felicity were twenty minutes late.

‘I couldn’t find anywhere to park,’ said Tosser. ‘Sorry it had to be
mid
-week, but we have to spend every weekend in bloody Thurmarsh. I went into politics to make my name, not meet a lot of wretched little people with breathing problems and defective damp courses and dogs with diarrhoea. And I’ll be re-adopted there, and I’ll probably lose next time, and that’ll be the end of a glorious career, thanks to you.’

‘You might not have won,’ said Henry, ‘if you hadn’t got out of it – rather brilliantly for you – when I accused you of calling Thurmarsh a God-forsaken hole.’

‘I know,’ said Tosser. ‘I go over it time and again to try and work out where I went right.’

Over Denzil’s walnut and celery pâté, Felicity said, ‘We were sorry to hear about you and Diana.’

‘Yes, we were,’ said Tosser.

‘A difficult woman,’ said Henry. ‘Mental problems. Nigel knows.’

‘I never knew that,’ said Denzil. ‘She always seemed fine to us.’

‘
Hidden
mental problems,’ said Henry. ‘They’re the worst.’ He managed to convey to Denzil and Lampo that this was part of a game against Tosser. ‘Still, Nigel, you have your bible to comfort you.’

‘Bible?’ said Felicity. ‘Since when did you have a bible, Nigel?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ said Tosser. ‘I said in Thurmarsh that I’d bought a bible because my old one was so thumbed.’

‘I never believed that,’ said Henry. ‘What were you really doing in “World-Wide Religious Literature Inc.”?’

Tosser’s eyes met his across the table and he could see the hatred in them.

‘Canvassing, of course,’ said Tosser.

‘So why tell that whopper about the bible?’

‘To win votes.’

‘And in the end you won too many.’ Then Henry changed tack abruptly, hoping to catch Tosser off-balance. ‘Was it you who informed on me and Helen?’ he asked.

‘So what if it was?’

‘So it was! Who told you?’

‘The landlord. He’d spent fifteen years putting up with leftie jazz fans. He’d had enough.’

‘I think you may have done me a favour,’ said Henry. ‘You enabled me to present myself as human.’

‘I think I may have done.’

Suddenly baiting Tosser didn’t seem any fun at all. Henry felt humiliated by the hatred he’d seen in the man’s eyes. It was awful to hate, but it was even worse to be hated, because that was outside one’s control. He knew that Lampo and Denzil had been right to invite him. He no longer cared what Tosser had been doing in Derek Parsonage’s exotic brothel. If he couldn’t get the satisfaction he needed with Felicity, it was sad.

Denzil had made a beautiful, uncompromising
daube
of beef. It was altogether too uncompromising for Felicity, who struggled from the start. Henry thought of how most of the women in his life would have risen to the challenge of dining with four men. Felicity seemed overawed, and he felt sad for her and for Tosser.

He called Tosser Nigel several times, and praised Buckinghamshire, where Tosser now lived, in order to be nearer the M1 and Thurmarsh. He spoke of their early days at Dalton College, and how Tosser had seen off the bully J. C. R. Tubman-Edwards, and how he had worshipped Tosser for his athletic prowess. He made his peace, and Felicity was pleased and maybe one day the anger would depart from Tosser’s eyes.

Over the orange syllabub they talked of France and Italy and Felicity continued to perk up. She even had a second helping of syllabub. She said how lovely the house was with all its knick-knacks and ‘those divine biscuit tins’.

‘Worth quite a packet, I should think,’ said Tosser. ‘Quite shrewd investments.’

‘I don’t buy them as investments.’ Denzil was shocked. ‘I buy them because it’s fun.’

‘Maybe Henry’ll pick up some interesting biscuit tins in Peru,’ said Felicity.

‘Now there’s a thought,’ said Henry.

Tosser was saddened that none of them could see the true glory
of
art for investment’s sake, and quite soon he said they had to leave.

‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ said Felicity. ‘I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.’

When Tosser and Felicity had gone, Henry said, ‘Thank you. You were right.’

Henry had been delighted to receive a letter from Camilla, saying that she’d like to see him before he went to Peru, so for his very last day, he arranged a farewell lunch with her and Kate. It had to be lunch, because Kate was working every evening as stage manager at the Unicycle Theatre in Willesden.

They met in a pub in Soho and went on to an ornate and fairly expensive Italian restaurant round the corner.

Camilla had developed into quite an extrovert. Her face, which had once been so horsey, had filled out and become cheerfully sexy in a way that reminded him of Diana.

Kate’s pale, rather private beauty, illuminated when she smiled like a dark valley that is suddenly bathed in sunshine, reminded him painfully of Hilary. Now, when he was on the verge of departure, Henry realised how they had all said too little to each other over the years. Today, under what suddenly began to seem like the shadow of his absence, was a time for frank talk, no Anglo-Saxon evasions.

‘How’s your mother, Camilla?’ he asked, as he attempted to eat his spaghetti
alla vongole
with fork only.

‘Very well.’

‘Is there … er … anybody in her life?’

‘I rather think there is. I was awfully upset with you, you know, for a time.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

Camilla was having no trouble with her spaghetti, but Henry splattered sauce down his shirt front.

‘But I realise now that she was much happier with you than with Daddy. And that’s something to be thankful for, isn’t it?’

‘We were very happy for a while,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll never forget
those
happy years. Then it began to go wrong, very slowly. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. That awful snooker table business …’ His heart was pounding. His cheeks were red. He couldn’t meet their eyes. But at least he was talking about these things, which he’d never before mentioned to his children or step-children, ‘… was a symptom, not a cause.’

Camilla and Kate were both embarrassed, but Henry knew that they were pleased.

Over their main courses – Henry and Camilla had sea bass, Kate a vegetarian pasta – they talked about Camilla’s love life. There was somebody, a first-generation British Jamaican trumpeter called Leroy, and he was quite special, but not especially special.

‘Terrific,’ said Henry.

She was working in graphic design and drawing horses for fun.

‘They’re brilliant,’ said Kate. ‘Leroy says she’s better than Stubbs.’

‘She’s prettier than Stubbs, anyway,’ said Henry.

They laughed, and then they turned their attention to Kate.

She told Henry that she wanted to be a theatre director, and the job at the Unicycle, though poorly paid and very hard work, was part of the learning process.

‘There are so many arty-farty people who think they know what they’re doing,’ she said. ‘I want my work to be securely based. How’s Jack?’

They talked briefly about how lovely Jack was, and this led to Benedict and general gloom. Henry told them about the fruitless search for him.

‘Dad’s done nothing,’ said Camilla. ‘You know, knowing Ben, I bet Malaga was a smokescreen. I bet he was somewhere at the other end of Spain.’

‘Kate?’ said Henry. ‘We haven’t really finished with you.’

‘Oh Lord. That sounds ominous,’ said Kate, laughing defensively.

‘I’ve never really asked you about Edward. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to but I’d really like to know.’

‘He was so mixed up. So guilty about his good looks and his
privilege
and yet so ambitious for overnight success. When the chips were down the guilt all rolled away and he was just another ruthless upper-middle-class bastard. I loved him. I didn’t like him. I think you need to like as well as love. I ditched him.’

‘Well … right … gosh. So … er … is there anybody new?’

‘Semi. I’m semi-detached. He’s called Peter and we’ll see. If it develops I’ll write to you about him. Promise.’

Zabaglione
wasn’t on the menu, but they explained about Henry’s going to Peru, and the chef agreed to make it. That was what Henry liked about the Italians. They were so sentimental.

Over the
zabaglione
Henry at last jumped off the cliff. He broached the subject that he longed and yet dreaded to hear about.

‘And how …er … how is your mother, Kate? Have you seen her recently?’

‘I saw her in the summer. She’s all right. She still isn’t writing, though, and it’s such a shame.’

‘Oh dear. And … er … this feller that she’s got, what’s he like?’

‘What?’

‘Her feller. This
zabaglione
’s absolutely delicious. I wonder what the food’ll be like in Peru. What’s he like?’

‘What feller? She hasn’t got a feller.’

‘She hasn’t got a feller? She told me she had. She told me it was a very satisfactory relationship.’

‘You know Mum. She was trying to make you feel free to be happy with Diana. There’s never ever been anyone but you.’

Mixed emotions number 127 – disbelief, joy, horror, regret, pride, shame and frustration.

‘Oh my God,’ he said.

‘What? What, Dad?’

‘Why the hell … why the bloody ridiculous stupid ironic unbelievable miserable soddish hell … am I going to Peru for two years tomorrow?’

Apartado 823

Cajamarca

Peru

Nov 26th, 1981

Dear Hilary,

I know you’ll be surprised to get a letter from me after all this time, and above all from Peru! I arrived here last week, to head an overseas aid project to save the Peruvian economy single-handed by planting cucumbers all over the Andes! But the point of my writing is to tell you that on the night before I left, Kate told me that there was nobody else in your life, and never had been, and that you’d told me there was so that I’d feel free to be happy with Diana.