‘Chance’d be a fine fing,’ said Kitty, blushing.
Putting his fork down after a second helping, Lysander said, ‘What shall we do this afternoon?’
‘I thought you was ill,’ chided Kitty.
‘I’m too ill to do anything I don’t want to do, if you know what I mean.’
It was the first time he’d giggled since he’d come back from Australia, and it was such a lovely sound that Kitty giggled, too.
‘I’ve got to go back to Valhalla,’ she sighed. ‘Rannaldini’s bound to ’ave rung and I’ve got so much to do, and I promised Rachel I’d pick up her kids from school and keep them overnight. Poor fing’s got to go to London to see her solicitor.’
As she waited outside the school playground, Kitty was overwhelmed with tiredness. She’d have to spend the evening wrapping up the dozens of overseas presents to be despatched before the last day for posting. She could have done without Rachel’s children. For someone always banging on about the wickedness of nannies and not bringing up one’s own kids, Rachel was remarkably adept at palming her own off on other people.
‘Kitty, Kitty.’ Masha emerged from the coloured stream of children flowing out of the gates. ‘We learnt about the olden days today. You know when Jesus was alive and you were a little girl.’
‘Lo, Kitty,’ said Vanya. ‘Is it OK if Cosmo comes to tea as well?’
Sighing, Kitty agreed. Rachel’s children had speedily sussed out little Cosmo’s advantages as a companion. There was no way he’d put up with health foods or building castles out of 100 rolls.
‘Mummy says we’ve got to practise our carol for the nativity play,’ said Masha, as she and Vanya got into the back.
‘I hate music.’ Little Cosmo clapped his hands over his ears, as he jumped into the front. ‘All I hear in my house is fucking music.’
Over increasing clamour, Kitty drove wearily back to Valhalla to pick up some cash to get some supper that Cosmo would approve of. But as she came out of the house, Lysander’s Ferrari stormed up the drive, and he jumped out clutching an armful of Super Macs and chips, a video of Pretty Woman and a huge round tin of toffees.
‘Here you are,’ he said chucking the tin at the children. ‘Have some Quality Street time, and if you’re good you can play football with Jack in the chapel.’
They all adored Pretty Woman. Lysander alternately roared with laughter, wiped his eyes, or said, ‘Bastard, bastard, how dare he treat her like that?’ But by the end he liked Richard Gere very much indeed.
‘Pretty Woman’s rather like Mummy,’ said Masha.
It was unfortunate for Rachel that on his way home to Magpie Cottage after the children had been tucked up in bed, Lysander saw a light ahead in Jasmine Cottage. Crawling past, because of a car casually parked outside, he saw a couple in a clinch in the doorway. Then the man ran down the steps. Turning, blowing a kiss to the woman, he was spotlit for a second in Lysander’s headlights. It was a triumphantly smirking Rannaldini.
Having dropped off the three children at school the following morning, Kitty set out for Tesco’s. As she staggered out half an hour later, pushing two groaning trolleys of food for supper after the nativity play which she was going to cook and freeze that day, she suddenly saw that a big pot of yoghurt was leaking. Leaning forward to remove it, she took her hand from the right-hand trolley which veered off with a mind of its own. Gathering speed it rolled down a small slope and, narrowly missing an ancient pensioner with a string bag, went slap into a dark green Porsche, scraping it down one side, then toppling over with a sickening crash of broken glass.
‘Oh, God,’ screamed Kitty, surveying the debris of pastry cases and cracked eggs, floating in a disgusting goo of double cream, yoghurt, Hellmann’s, whisky and red wine. ‘It’s not fair, it’s not bloody fair.’
It took her ages to clear up the chaos. Then she put a note on the Porsche’s windscreen: ‘Dear Driver, I’m ever so sorry about your car. I will pay all damage. Could you write to me at Valhalla, Paradise? Yours truly, Kitty Rannaldini.’
That’s all my running-away money and more, she was thinking despairingly, when the note was whipped away.
‘Car looks much better that way. Gives it character,’ said a voice.
Springing round, Kitty saw Lysander. ‘Mrs Brimscombe said you were here,’ he said, opening the door of the Porsche for her.
‘That’s not your car,’ stammered Kitty.
‘Garage lent it to me,’ said Lysander. ‘Ferrari’s got engine trouble. Honestly, it couldn’t matter less.’
He was feeling very virtuous. Finding Georgie’s paying-in book under the bed at Magpie Cottage, he’d written her a cheque for fifty thousand, the sum she’d paid him overall for his services, and despatched it to her bank. He thus cancelled any debt between them.
‘Look what I’ve got!’ He waved two tickets for Miss Saigon. ‘You and I are going on a seriously good jaunt.’
‘I can’t. Rannaldini came ’ome unexpectedly last night, and buzzed off this morning to LA, leaving me so much more to do. Anyway,’ she sighed, ‘I’m married. I don’t fink I should.’
‘Pretend you’re going Christmas shopping.’
They took the train to Paddington. The restaurant car attendant was so taken with Lysander that he ran them up some bullshots.
‘They’re heavenly,’ said Kitty, taking a great gulp. ‘What’s in them?’
‘Oh, clear soup and tomato juice,’ said Lysander, conveniently forgetting the huge tots of vodka and sherry. ‘Have another.’
‘Oh, yes please. I’ve never travelled first class before.’
Kitty gazed in ecstasy at the silver foam of blackthorn dividing the frozen fields and the furry white-antlered branches of the trees tossing a glittering yellow sun as it bowled along with the train. What was the point of life where she was always rushing and never had time to look at beautiful things? She didn’t even worry when they bumped into the vicar’s wife as they got off the train.
Lysander took her straight to Harrods.
‘I’m going to buy you a dress,’ he said as he went down the rails pulling out clothes and being gazed at by Way-In shop assistants, not over-busy because of the recession.
He finally chose one in dark grey-green wool, which matched Kitty’s eyes and showed off her bosom and now so-much-slimmer waist, but which had a flowing skirt which disguised her still plump hips.
‘Lovely,’ he said, looking at her in delight. ‘Like ivy clinging to a beautiful statue.’
The dress was followed by black tights and flat, black pumps.
‘You’re never to wear those flesh-coloured horrors again. Now we better buy something to keep you warm.’ And ignoring her cries of protest, he chose her a blanket coat in a rainbow riot of colours, three pairs of leggings and two huge, sloppy jerseys.
Whisking her past the baby-wear department: ‘You don’t want to look at them — only depress you. It’ll happen one day, I promise,’ he bore her off to the toy department to admire huge stuffed donkeys, giraffes, tigers, lions, gorillas and teddy bears.
‘They always remind me of a dogs’ home,’ said Lysander. ‘I used to try not to catch their eyes when Mum brought me here as a child. We ought to go to Battersea and get you a puppy to protect you at Valhalla.’
Instead, when she was looking at computer games to keep Cosmo quiet at Christmas, he bought her a vast fluffy life-size collie with a shiny black plastic nose.
‘Here’s Lassie, to guard you.’
‘Oh, Lysander,’ Kitty was overjoyed, ‘you shouldn’t ’ave, but I love her.’