God, he’s cool, thought Harriet in admiration. I could never behave like that if I suddenly had to face Simon.
Noel took her drink from Cory, running a caressing finger along his hand as she did so, and then wandered round the room moving ornaments and straightening pictures.
‘When did this fire start smoking?’ she asked Cory, kicking a log with a blond suede shoe.
At that moment, Kit wandered in, wearing obscenely tight strawberry pink trousers.
For a moment Noel stiffened. She hadn’t bargained on Kit.
‘Whatever are you doing here?’ she said, trying to keep the hostility out of her voice.
Kit stared at her insolently for a minute, then yawned so hard that Harriet thought he was going to dislocate his jaw.
‘I’m visiting my brother Cory — your husband, if you remember. And laying siege to this steaming girl,’ he said, putting an arm round Harriet’s shoulders and kissing her on the cheek. ‘But you’ve put that bloody bow back on again,’ he added.
And once again he pulled off the ribbon that tied back Harriet’s hair, letting it spill in a dark cloud over her shoulders. Leaving her scarlet with confusion, he turned and smiled at Ronnie Acland.
‘We haven’t met,’ he said amiably, ‘but I gather you’re going to be Mr Noel Balfour Number Two. Or is it Three? I can never keep track.’
Harriet escaped to the kitchen to find Mrs Bottomley red-faced over the duck.
‘Whew, it’s tense in there,’ she said. ‘Do you think I have to have lunch with them?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bottomley. ‘Mr E’ll expect you to keep an eye on the children. She’s very hot on manners, Mrs E.’
‘Oh God,’ said Harriet. ‘By the way, I put some more salt in the soup.’
‘So did I,’ said Mrs Bottomley.
Lunch for Harriet was a nightmare. Beneath the idle chatter, the tinkle of glasses, the exclamations of pleasure over the food, the ultra-civilized behaviour, lay the jungle.
She was amazed that these people could act as though nothing was the matter, that they could discuss friends, swap gossip, with such apparent amicability.
Noel never stopped talking — the rich, husky voice flowing on and on, about Paris and parties given in her honour and the film she’d been shooting in Africa, and what the man at Cartier’s had said about the ring Ronnie had bought her.
Kit, having downed three large dry Martinis on an empty stomach before lunch, was thoroughly enjoying himself.
‘Marvellous soup,’ he said to Harriet. ‘I always think there are two things a woman should do instinctively. And one of them’s cooking!’
Noel took a mouthful and immediately asked for a glass of water.
‘That’s a soup spoon, not a trowel,’ she said sharply to Chattie. ‘Why do my children always eat as though they were gardening? I suppose it’s the influence of television.’
‘What a clever woman you’d have been, Noel, if you’d have been to University,’ said Kit.
‘I hear you hunt a lot,’ said Ronnie hastily to Cory, before Noel could think up a crushing reply.
Her beautiful tawny eyes had taken on a dangerous smouldering look, which increased as Ronnie and Cory got into a discussion about different packs. She obviously didn’t like to be out of the limelight for a second. When the duck arrived, she took a mouthful and this time immediately asked for the salt and then rained pepper down onto her plate.
Next moment a diversion was caused by the arrival of Sevenoaks, straight from the stream at the bottom of the garden. He greeted Harriet rapturously and then bounded up to Noel. She drew away from him in horror.
‘Where did that dreadful beast come from? Look at the mess he’s making on the carpet.’
‘It’s Harriet’s dog,’ said Cory.
‘He needs a bath,’ snapped Noel.
‘He needs a psychiatrist,’ said Cory.
‘Is there any orange salad?’ Noel asked Harriet, after Sevenoaks had been forcibly removed.
‘Quit upstaging, Noel!’ said Kit sharply.
Noel glared at him, pushed the food to the side of her plate and lit a cigarette.
‘Did I tell you I spent a week in Israel last month?’ she said to Cory. ‘I’ve never seen anything like the wild flowers around the Sea of Galilee. And I actually saw the place they fed the five thousand.’
‘If you’d spurned your fish and loaves the way you’ve treated Harriet’s much more miraculous duck you’d have been excommunicated, darling,’ said Kit.
‘It’s a pity you’re not staying longer, Mummy. You won’t see Daddy riding in the point-to-point,’ said Chattie.
Noel turned her tawny eyes on Cory.
‘But, darling, that’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘You’re racing again, after all this time! Might you win?’
Cory shook his head. ‘Not a chance. She’s only a baby, and it’s her first race.’
Noel’s eyes lit up. ‘Do you remember that race you won the day we got home from our honeymoon? Goodness, how excited we were, and how we celebrated.’
‘And what appalling hangovers we had the next day,’ said Cory dryly.
‘Harriet had a hangover this morning,’ said Chattie. ‘And she always does when Daddy takes her out, too.’
Noel’s face hardened. She looked from Cory to Harriet.
‘Come on, Cory, open another bottle,’ said Kit. ‘The drink’s flowing like concrete.’
‘What was that marvellous Beaujolais we had when we dined with Jackie Onassis, the night the Aga Khan was there?’ Noel asked Ronnie.
‘Pick up those names, darling,’ drawled Kit, ‘you’re not impressing anyone.’
Noel flushed angrily. Ronnie turned to Chattie. ‘And what are you going to do when you grow up?’ he asked.
Chattie beamed at him. ‘I’m not going to get married,’ she said. ‘I might make a habit of it, like Mummy.’
Kit and Ronnie shouted with laughter. Even Cory grinned.
‘Ronnie’s a fine one to laugh,’ said Noel angrily. ‘He’s had three wives already!’
‘His own or other people’s?’ said Kit.
Harriet felt depression descending on her. She got up to remove the plates and bring in the pudding. Kit followed her into the kitchen.
‘Marvellous party,’ he said.
Harriet said nothing.
‘Oh, darling, relax, enjoy it. Noel’s putting on a command performance.’
‘And what about Cory?’ said Harriet savagely, clattering plates into the sink.
‘You mustn’t ever forget that Cory’s a writer,’ said Kit. ‘It’s all grist to his mill. This entire lunch will appear in a screen play one day.’
Back in the dining room, Ronnie Acland was doing his best to keep the conversation going.
‘How’s the latest script?’ he asked Cory.
‘It’s not,’ said Cory.
‘I enjoyed your last book,’ said Kit, refilling everyone’s glasses. ‘I came across it in a girlfriend’s bedroom, and stayed up all afternoon reading it.’
Cory smiled.
‘Harriet makes bloody lovely puddings,’ said Chattie dreamily, making rivers of cream in her chocolate mousse. ‘If you’re going to marry Ronnie, Mummy, why can’t Daddy marry Harriet?’
There was a frozen pause, then Kit began to laugh. Harriet knocked her wine glass over.
Cory calmly dipped his napkin in the water jug and started sponging the red stain.
‘I don’t know where you’re intending to stay tonight,’ he said to Ronnie Acland, ‘but a very good hotel’s just opened at Bolton Abbey,’ and launched into a dissertation on its merits.
Suddenly, there was a faint wail from upstairs.
‘Oh, there’s William crying,’ said Harriet thankfully, leaping to her feet.
Upstairs, Harriet pressed her burning face against the bedroom window. How could Chattie have said that! In front of Noel, too!