‘I’ve backed Rupert Campbell-Black’s horse, Penscombe Pride,’ said Lysander. ‘That bay in the dark blue rug, doesn’t he look well? He won both the Rutminster and the Cotchester Gold Cups last year.’
‘Even I know that,’ said Marigold.
‘He’s favourite, but he’s carrying so much weight.’
Next moment Jack flew out of the basket he now shared with Patch and went into a frenzy of yapping as Hermione Harefield swept in.
‘What’s the point of electric gates,’ muttered Marigold, ‘when Mrs Brimscombe lets in the horrors?’
Hermione was fortunate to have looks that needed little maintenance. Her strong, glossy, dark brown curls fell naturally into shape. Her big eyes the colour of After Eights were fringed with thick lashes that never needed mascara. No spot nor red vein ever marred a complexion as smooth and creamy as Carnation Milk. Her splendid bosom soared above an enviously slim waist and she never wore trousers, because they would have emphasized a rather large bottom and hidden long, charmingly curved legs. She could easily have passed for the much admired younger sister of Michelangelo’s David, but in Hermione’s case, beauty was only rhinocerous-hide deep.
Embracing Marigold regally, she said: ‘How are you, how are you?’ in her deep, thrillingly rich voice, and presented her with a tape of herself singing sea shanties, including ‘Blow the wind southerly’. She then insisted on pressing the mute button of the television, and playing the tape fortissimo, while recounting details of her wildly successful tour.
‘Such love, such love, one could feel it reaching out to one,’ cried Hermione. ‘But it’s a responsibility to be so beloved. I must take my voice increasingly into the open air and bring music to the people. So I’ve decided to do Hyde Park and Wembley this summer.
‘But when I felt Paradise beneath my feet and little Cosmo rushed across the lawn crying, “Mummy, Mummy”, I knew that here was the real world.’ She smiled at Lysander, who, having risen when she came in, was now back with his feet on the table, listening to her non-stop flow with his mouth open.
Finally Marigold butted in: ‘Hermione, may I introduce Lysander Hawkley, my personal exercise trainer.’
‘But you never take any exercise,’ said Hermione in disbelief, which turned to disapproval when Marigold despatched Lysander to get a bottle of wine and some Perrier for herself.
‘You shouldn’t encourage workmen to watch television and drink in the middle of the afternoon, Marigold. What’s he doing here?’
‘Mending my heart.’
But Hermione wasn’t listening. ‘I need to get in touch with Larry. I’m recording Dido next week, and I want to know who’s singing Aeneas and which recording studio’s been booked.’
‘Ay haven’t a clue,’ snapped Marigold. ‘Ring Nikki’s new apartment. You’ll find Larry in bed there.’
‘Don’t be bitter, Marigold, it’s so ageing,’ chided Hermione, who loathed her friends having marriage problems because it gave them an excuse to talk about themselves rather than her.
‘I refuse to take sides,’ she went on. ‘I’m sure poor Larry’s as confused as you are.’
‘And sells millions of your records,’ said Marigold furiously.
‘Oh Marigold, you silly billy,’ sighed Hermione, looking at Marigold properly for the first time. ‘You’ve dyed your hair.’
‘I thought I needed a change.’
Hermione put her head on one side. ‘Well, if you like it that’s the main thing, and I’ve never seen you in jeans before. We are jazzing ourselves up.’
With a trembling hand Marigold reached for a Silk Cut. Hermione, who had a singer’s pathological horror of smoking, was about to reproach her when she was distracted by the tape reaching ‘Blow the wind southerly’.
‘This is my favourite, I never thought anyone could sing “Blow” as well as Kathleen Ferrier, but the American critics say my version is better.’
‘Oh, look,’ sighed Lysander, pausing in the doorway, his arms full of bottles and glasses, and nodding at an incredibly handsome man talking to a sardonic-looking jockey in blue-and-green colours. ‘That’s Rupert Campbell-Black. Isn’t he handsome? And seriously cool? And that’s Bluey Charteris who rides for him — lucky sod.’
Lysander was about to turn up the sound when the cameras switched to the latest odds. Penscombe Pride’s were shortening.
‘I was lucky to get that bet on early. God, I want to meet Rupert.’
Hermione refused a drink, but said pointedly that she’d like some tea, because she hadn’t had any lunch.
‘You’re out of luck,’ said Lysander. ‘Marigold’s on a diet.’
Hermione turned to Marigold. ‘I thought you were looking awfully tired.’
‘She looks great!’ Lysander smiled amiably at Hermione. ‘I’m afraid the only thing in the fridge is some smoked salmon.’
‘For our supper,’ said Marigold.
‘I’ll have that,’ said Hermione, and such was the force of her personality that she was just polishing off the lot, washed down by Earl Grey and honey, when Jack and Patch went into another frenzy of barking.
This time it was Rannaldini’s young wife, Kitty. Clutching a bunch of freesias and a red-spotted tin, she blushed when she saw not only Marigold but also Hermione, her husband’s mistress, plus an incredibly good-looking young man. Perhaps he was Hermione’s latest.
Launching into a flurry of ‘how are yous’, Hermione embraced Kitty graciously, then embarrassed her by saying teasingly: ‘Both sides, Kitty,’ and holding out her other cheek to be kissed after Kitty had ducked away.
Marigold, who, since Larry’s departure, had suffered from chronic lapse of memory, suddenly blocked on Lysander’s surname and merely introduced him and Kitty by their Christian names.
Heavens, he’s gorgeous, thought Kitty, he must be some young actor who’s making a pop record; such a sweet sleepy smile.
‘Very pleased to meet you, Ly-sunder,’ she stammered, then turning to Marigold, ‘you look wonderful. I love your ’air, and you’re so lovely and slim.’
‘I have been tryin” said Marigold gratefully.
‘Well, you probably won’t want that,’ said Kitty going even redder, as Marigold opened the red-spotted tin which contained a huge dark chocolate cake.
‘Oh yum,’ sighed Marigold. ‘Oh, Kitty, you are kaind, but I truly mustn’t. Lysander can, though.’
‘And so can I,’ said Hermione. ‘I never have to diet.’
Having helped herself to a vast slice, Hermione rewound the tape to play ‘Blow the wind southerly’, which was blotted out by Lysander’s howl of joy as Penscombe Pride won by a length.
‘Yippee!’ He hugged Marigold in ecstasy. ‘I’ve won two fucking grand. I can buy you a gold exercise bike now.’
Looking very bootfaced, Hermione picked up a new biography of Placido Domingo, turning to the index for reference to herself.
‘I must go,’ said Kitty. ‘I didn’t mean to butt in when you’d got company, Marigold.’
‘You must have a drink to celebrate,’ said Lysander, letting Marigold go.
‘I’ll have a small sweet sherry then,’ said Kitty. ‘Rannaldini don’t approve, but I can’t drink it dry.’
‘I’ll have some more Perrier please, darling.’ Marigold handed Lysander her glass.
‘Clever to ’ave a win like that,’ said Kitty, ‘I’m afraid I’m terrified of ’orses. I’d ’ave walked over ’ere this afternoon, but Rannaldini’s turned The Prince of Darkness — he’s a big black fing with ’uge teef — out in Long Meadow, so I came by car.’
‘I know The Prince of Darkness. Bloody good horse, came second in the Whitbread,’ said Lysander.