It was a picture of Fay holding Lucasta in long white frilly robes, and Jack looking on fondly and proudly. I hoped Maggie didn’t look at these photographs very often. She’d be lacerated with jealousy.
The person I found myself looking at most was Elizabeth, with her cloud of dark hair, and her huge eyes. I noticed how besottedly she smiled up at Ace, and how handsome and young and carefree he’d looked in those days. What wouldn’t I give to make him look happy like that again?
Later Lucasta and I were watching television after supper when Rose arrived with Professor Copeland.
‘Ace won’t be back for hours,’ she whispered, coming into the study, ‘so we’re just going to have a little drink.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ I said.
‘That’d be kind, darling. James is terrified of catching your cold.’
Wearily I went upstairs. I still had cotton wool legs and felt absolutely knackered. I was appalled how much I was missing Ace. Suddenly I caught sight of my awful hair in the landing mirror. I’d never get him that way.
To a counterpoint of Lucasta’s chatter, I did my nails, plucked my eyebrows, shaved my legs, and had a bath.
‘I really think you ought to go to bed,’ I said feebly.
‘I’m not tired.’
To hell with Ace; I must wash my hair. I could dry it by the time he got back. Oh, the bliss as the dirt streamed out!
The only socket that fitted the plug of my hair-dryer was on the landing under the cuckoo clock. I sat in the passage on a carpet worn almost bare by generations of Mulholland children waiting for the cuckoo to come out. Lucasta wandered off to watch Starsky and Hutch. I’d only just started drying my hair when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked round and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw it was Ace.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he snapped, ripping the plug out of the socket.
‘Sitting in a nightie with wet hair in howling draught,’ I muttered, and fled into my bedroom. Fortunately Mrs Braddock had lit the fire.
Ace picked up a towel and sat down in the blue velvet chair. ‘Come here,’ he said.
‘It’ll dry all fluffy,’ I grumbled. I thought he’d rub my head off.
‘Now finish it off.’
He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. I looked at him under my lashes, as I crouched by the fire. I saw that he was grinning.
‘You’re impossible,’ he said. ‘I only have to leave this place for half a day for complete anarchy to break out. Every light blazing, Lucasta watching the sort of television bound to give her nightmares, and my step-mother and the egregious Professor Copeland drinking gin in the drawing-room.’
‘Did you throw him out?’ I said.
‘Couldn’t be bothered. Rose was so upset last time. Thought I’d be nice to him for a change.’
The kitten emerged from under the bed and teetered towards him. He scooped it up on to his knee.
‘Did you have a nice dinner?’ I said.
‘Bloody boring.’
‘Who was there?’
He reeled off a string of stars.
‘You mustn’t be so blasé,’ I said. ‘I’d give anything to meet people like that.’
‘They’re no more exciting than the fishmonger or the postman once you get to know them.’
McGonagall was purring like a turbo jet engine, as Ace stroked its blond tummy. Lucky, lucky kitten, I thought involuntarily.
‘Will Granada offer you a job?’
‘Probably. But still don’t know if I want to settle in this country.’
He put the kitten down, and got up and felt my hair.
‘You’re dry,’ he said and, taking my hands, pulled me to my feet. I had an insane feeling he was going to kiss me, but he just said, ‘Into bed with you.’
‘Can I read?’ I said, as I snuggled down under the sheets.
‘I suppose so. Not for long.’
‘Are you going to bed?’ I said.
‘I thought I’d go downstairs and try and find out what makes Professor Copeland tick. Monumental egotism, I should think.’
‘You’re going to bury the hatchet?’ I said. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Bury it in his cranium more likely.’
For a minute he looked at me, frowning thoughtfully.
‘Funny, I missed you today.’
I felt myself going scarlet.
‘Goodness, that’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said to me.’
‘You haven’t given me much chance,’ he said, and was gone.
A fat lot of reading I did after that. He missed me, he actually said he’d missed me. OK. It was a millionth of what he’d ever felt for Elizabeth, but it was a start.
Next day, after a sleepless night, as I was getting ready to go out, Maggie wandered into my room.
‘God, I feel depressed,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you come out with us?’ I said, praying she wouldn’t accept.
She shook her head. ‘I thought I’d go into Manchester and buy a dress. Can you lend me a tenner?’
The next visitor was Lucasta, driving me spare while I was trying to do my face. Could I do her hair in a pony tail? Could she try on my ‘lip stick’? Could I do up the sleeve buttons on her shirt?
In a pathetic attempt to appear healthier, I slapped on suntan make-up, and a bright coral lipstick, but it made me look like an old tart, so I washed it off and settled for looking pale and interesting. With my wildly dishevelled curls which were quite out of control as a result of Ace’s drying methods, I looked a bit like Swinburne. Certainly I was raring to swop the lilies and languors of virtue for the roses and raptures of vice.
‘Why aren’t you wearing a bra?’ said Lucasta, as I pulled on a dark sweater and jeans.
‘Because the only bra I brought needs washing,’ I said untruthfully.
‘Can I come with you? I promise I won’t talk all the time.’
‘No you can’t,’ said Ace from the doorway. ‘Pru had to put up with quite enough of you yesterday.’
‘Pru’s not wearing a bra,’ announced Lucasta.
Rose lent me a pale suède coat with a fur lining and hood. ‘The forecast says the temperature’s going to drop and I don’t want you catching cold,’ she said, adding out of the corner of her mouth, ‘and do keep Ace away as long as possible.’
‘I’m sure Professor Copeland is already mewing outside Rose’s bedroom waiting to be let in,’ said Ace as we drove down the drive.
It was one of those days that seemed to have lingered over from summer. The air was gentle as silk, and everything was suffused in a golden glow.
We had lunch at a little seaside pub and ate shellfish and drank buckets of white wine.
Suddenly I found I was terribly shy with Ace. My conversation kept sticking, then coming out in great dollops like tomato ketchup.
‘This is what I call hard core prawn,’ I said, spiking a large piece of shell fish. ‘I must say it is heavenly to have a day out. Not that I don’t love all your family,’ I said hastily.
‘They drive me demented,’ said Ace.
‘You shouldn’t worry about them so much.’
‘I know, and I must stop telling them what to do. If they want to drink and fornicate themselves stupid, it’s no concern of mine.’
I giggled. ‘Let them fight their own battles. How did you get on with the Professor last night?’
‘Awful. He tried to relate to me.’
‘You’ve got enough relations round here as it is.’
Ace grinned. ‘He said he wanted to have an in-depth discussion on my piece on Venezuela, because he found so many parallels with his book on Africa.’
‘And he was off?’
‘Exactly. Three-quarters of an hour of absolute tripe on Botswana. I’m supposed to be trained to cut people off when they started waffling, but Jesus, Copeland had me beat. I don’t believe he’s written a word of that book either; it’s all talk.’