‘She’s invited another of her glamorous, neurotic, divorced girlfriends called Melanie Brooks for Cory. I saw the letter Elizabeth wrote her: ‘“Darling Melanie, So pleased you can make it. Try and catch an earlier train, as it’s a bit of a rush on Friday night and you want to look your best because I’ve lined up a gorgeous man for you, a disconsolate husband whose wife’s just left him, but very fascinating.”’
Harriet winced.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Sammy. ‘She’s ancient. At least thirty, and her legs are awful.’
‘But those’ll be covered by a long dress at a ball,’ said Harriet gloomily.
The telephone rang. To Harriet’s surprise it was Billy Bentley.
‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘Have you finished already?’
‘My horse went lame; not badly; he’ll be all right after a few days’ rest.’
‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Slightly chaotic actually. The Hunt saboteurs fed in an enormous black and grey dog which completely disrupted the pack. They ran right across the motorway — no-one was hurt, thank God — and ended up in a council estate, cornering a ginger cat in an outside lavatory.’
‘Oh goodness! Is the cat all right?’
‘Got away, thank God,’ said Billy. ‘Or it’d be all over the papers.’
‘And the big grey and black dog?’
‘Well we whipped it out of the pack and Cory very kindly took care of it. He gave a man on the council estate a fiver to bring it back to your house. He’s going to hold it as hostage until the Antis claim it. It’s completely wild.’
Harriet thought she would explode trying not to laugh.
‘After that we had a terrific run. Look, are you doing anything on Friday?’
‘No, at least I don’t think so. My night off.’
‘Like to come out?’
‘All right.’ Damn it, if Cory was going to go gallivanting with gorgeous divorcées, she wasn’t going to get in his way.
‘It’s the Hunt Ball. You won’t mind that, will you?’ said Billy.
‘Oh,’ Harriet gave a yelp of alarm.
‘We’ll eat at home first. I’ll come and pick you up about eight.’
‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’
‘You’d look smashing in nothing,’ he brayed nervously. ‘See you Friday and bring William. Nanny’s looking forward to seeing him.’
Harriet replaced the receiver very slowly.
‘You lucky, lucky thing,’ said Sammy.
‘I’m sure Cory won’t like it. He’ll think I’m trying to cramp his style,’ said Harriet. ‘But Billy was so sweet about William.’
‘Oh they’re used to illegits in that family. Billy’s sister’s had two at least. Half of their ancestors have been born on the wrong side of the duvet. Now throw that photograph of Simon away,’ she went on, ‘and make a fresh start. Billy’s lovely and stinking rich, and faint heart never won fair chinless wonder.’
‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ said Harriet.
‘I’ve got just the thing,’ said Sammy. ‘A fantastically long slinky orange dress I bought last year, in the hope that I might lose weight and get into it. I didn’t, but it would look sensational on you.’
The noises above became wilder.
‘I’d better go and turn the hot water up,’ said Harriet. ‘Cory’ll go spare if he doesn’t get a decent bath when he gets home.’
She couldn’t bring herself to tell Cory she was going to the Hunt Ball. She washed and starched his dress shirt and brought the red tail coat with grey facings back from the cleaners and tried on Sammy’s orange dress which became her absurdly well. But as the day grew nearer she put off telling him, because he was too abstracted to bother, or because he was in such a good mood and she didn’t want to spoil it, or in a bad mood which she didn’t want to make any worse.
On the pretext of buying Chattie tights, she went into Skipton and found a flame-coloured boa to cover up some of the lack of dress. She failed, on the other hand, to find a bra to wear under it.
‘Go without,’ said Sammy. ‘Live a little.’
‘I’ll fall out when I dance — if anyone asks me to.’
She spent the day of the ball surreptitiously getting herself ready, as she knew with putting the children to bed there wouldn’t be much time later. She painted her nails and washed her hair, and put on a headscarf so it dried smooth. She was peeling chips for the children’s tea when Cory came into the kitchen, carrying a couple of shirts.
‘Don’t do any more work, Daddy,’ said Chattie, seizing his hand.
He opened the washing-machine door and was just about to throw the shirts in, when instead he drew out an old bunch of daffodils: ‘Planning to wash these?’
‘Oh dear, I’m getting so vague. I meant to put them down the waste disposal,’ said Harriet.
‘I suppose you also mean to put those chips down the waste disposal and the peelings into the pan?’ he said. ‘And why are you wearing a headscarf? Are you feeling all right?’
‘Fine. Do you want a cup of tea?’ said Harriet nervously.
‘I want something stronger,’ said Cory, pouring himself a large whisky.
‘You ought to eat something,’ said Harriet.
‘I know, but I’ll be eating again in an hour or two.’ He cut a slice of pork from the joint, covered it in chili pickle, put it between two slices of bread and settled down with the evening paper. His eating habits drove her to despair.
Chattie scrambled onto his knee.
‘Are you going out tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘To the Ball? Will you take me?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to dance with Harriet?’ she went on, ignoring Harriet’s agonized signals. ‘She’s going to wear an orange dress which shows all her bosoms.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ said Cory.
‘She is,’ said Chattie. ‘Sammy lent it to her.’
He turned to Harriet.
‘Is this true?’ he said sharply.
She nodded, blushing, grating cheese so frenziedly over the cauliflower that she cut one of her fingers.
‘Who’s taking you?’
‘Billy Bentley,’ she said, sucking her finger.
‘Didn’t know you knew him.’
‘I met him at Arabella’s party, and at the meet.’
‘I see. Who’s looking after William and the children?’
‘Well it is my night off, and Mrs Bottomley said she’d babysit, but if that’s difficult Billy says their old nanny can look after William.’
‘Billy seems to have displayed more initiative than usual,’ said Cory. ‘Where are you having dinner?’
‘With his parents.’
‘You’ll be poisoned before you get to the ball. They’ve got the worst cook in the West Riding.’
And he stalked out of the room, leaving the half-eaten pork sandwich and the glass of whisky. Harriet wondered if she should go after him and apologize. But what was there to apologize for, except she hadn’t told him? It was entirely up to her what she did on her evenings off. Perhaps he didn’t like downstairs mixing with his upstairs friends. Oh, why had she agreed to go?
She was getting ready, sitting in front of her looking glass, just wearing a pair of pants, when there was a knock on the door. She grabbed a towel; it was Cory. His dark hair sleeked down, wearing his red tail coat with the grey facings and black trousers.
‘You do look nice,’ she stammered. Privately she thought he looked stunning.
Cory shrugged. ‘I’ll have champagne poured over it before the night’s out. Can you cut the nails on my right hand?’
As she bent over his hand, her hair in Carmen rollers tied up with a scarf, keeping the towel up with her elbows, her hand shook so much, she was frightened she’d cut him.
‘You can leave William here,’ he said. ‘I’ve cleared it with Mrs Bottomley.’