Jilly Cooper - Polo

‘Mummy!’ called Violet. ‘You were getting Granny some lemon. Mummy was looking out of the window,’ she explained to her grandmother and Hamish. ‘She finds things so beautiful sometimes she forgets what she’s doing.’

Hamish’s and Biddy’s eyes met.

‘I must get that creeper cut back, it’s ruining the brickwork,’ said Hamish.

‘I got seventy-five Christmas cards,’ Biddy was boasting as Daisy came back having scraped the mould off a wizened slice of lemon. ‘I’d prefer it black,’ Biddy said pointedly.

‘Can’t you remember anything?’ snapped Hamish, glaring at Daisy.

‘As long as it’s wet and warm,’ said Biddy with a martyred sigh. ‘I was saying I got seventy-five Christmas cards. So many people wrote saying such nice things about your father, Hamish, I brought them with me.’

‘We didn’t get many this year,’ said Hamish petulantly. ‘Daisy was so late in sending out the change of address cards.’

As Daisy was clearing away the tea things and Biddy had been poured a wee glass of sherry, Hamish suddenly went to the gramophone and put on a record that had just reached Number One in the charts.

‘I must just play you this lovely record, Mother.’

It was some choirboy singing a poignant solo beginning, ‘If onlee your Christmas could be my Christmas,’ and going on to expound on the loneliness of being separated from loved ones during the festive season.

‘But you don’t like pop music, Daddy,’ said Violet in amazement.

‘I know, but I heard it on the car radio and fell in love with it. It’s great isn’t it, Mother?’

‘Very moving,’ said Biddy. ‘I love the sound of choirboys’ voices.’

At that moment Perdita walked in. Still flushed from hunting, still in her white shirt, tie, breeches and boots, she looked utterly ravishing. Surely Biddy will concede that, thought Daisy.

‘Hello, Granny,’ said Perdita guardedly, making no attempt to kiss her grandmother.

‘You’ve shot up,’ said Biddy accusingly. ‘I hear your father’s bought you a pony. I hope you realize what a lucky girl you are.’

‘She’s lovely,’ agreed Perdita. ‘What’s for supper, Mum? I’m starving.’

Going to the drinks tray, she poured herself a large vodka and tonic.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ thundered Hamish.

‘Mum always lets me.’

Biddy’s dog’s-bum mouth puckered up even more disapprovingly.

‘How’s your new school?’

‘Horrific.’

‘And have you decided what you’re going to do when you grow up?’

Perdita smiled. ‘I’m going to get divorced.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m going to marry a mega-rich businessman, catch him cheating on me, and take him to the cleaners. Mum, I truly am going to need a trailer. The meets after Christmas are too far away to hack to.’

Biddy’s and Hamish’s simultaneous explosions were diverted by the doorbell. Thankful to escape from the fray, Daisy fled to answer it.

‘Oh, the little duck,’ they could hear her saying from the hall. ‘Violet darling, I’m sorry you had to have her before Christmas, but here’s your present.’

The next moment an English setter puppy had padded happily and confidently into the drawing room. She had a black patch over one eye like Nelson, black ears, a lean speckled body like a baby seal, and a tail which hadn’t unfurled its feathers, but which shook her whole body every time she wagged it.

‘Oh, Mummy,’ gasped Violet as the puppy joyfully licked her bright pink face. ‘She’s the loveliest thing in the world. I can’t believe it. Is she really mine? Oh, I love her.’

‘And who is going to look after her when Violet goes back to school?’ said Hamish furiously.

‘I am,’ said Daisy. ‘Then I won’t be lonely when you’re away so much. I’ve had a lot of dropped telephone calls this week, which I’m sure must be burglars checking up – a large dog’s a terrific deterrent.’

It was hard to tell who looked more disapproving, when having rushed round in excitement, and tried to snatch Biddy’s knitting, the puppy peed on the rug in front of the fire.

‘That rug was a wedding present from the McGaragles,’ thundered Hamish.

‘I’ll get a cloth,’ said Violet. ‘Oh, thank you, Mum, she’s the best present I’ve ever had.’

By the time Ethel, as the puppy was now called, had rampaged round the house, chased Gainsborough up the tree with subsequent loss of glass balls, peed again twice, had a bowl of scrambled egg, and fallen asleep on a cushion by the Aga, Daisy had managed to get supper ready.

It was the first time they had eaten in the dark green dining room with the big window looking over the valley and the red berries of the holly tucked behind every picture gleaming in the candlelight. Daisy had taken a lot of trouble to make coq au vin and a meringue and ice-cream pudding with raspberry purée. Hamish wasn’t going to have a public row with Daisy about the puppy; instead he pointedly ignored her, making no comment about the food and telling his mother at great length about the new film he was making on Robert Burns.

‘I’ve got no airpetite since your father passed away, but I must keep my strength up,’ said Biddy, piling a Matterhorn of mashed potato on to her plate. She had always been the most demonstrative leaver, always taking too much so she could leave a lot. Worst of all, she ate terribly slowly. Violet, who longed to play with the puppy, and Perdita and Eddie, who wanted to watch television, were nearly going crazy and only waited because they wanted some pudding.

Perdita lit a cigarette.

‘Put it out,’ thundered Hamish.

Perdita pretended to snore. Eddie got the giggles. Violet went bright crimson trying not to giggle. Daisy had to rush out of the room to get the pudding.

‘It’s absolutely yummy,’ said Violet, accepting a second helping.

‘Can we have it instead of Christmas pudding?’ asked Eddie.

Biddy Macleod said nothing. She wanted to leave it, but she was too greedy.

‘You must be tired, Mother,’ said Hamish. ‘Early bed with a hotty, I think.’

Biddy, who loved it when her son was masterful, admitted she was a little weary. ‘But before I turn in, I’d love to see your road haulage film again.’

‘But International Velvet ’s on,’ protested Perdita.

‘You can watch it in your bedrooms,’ said Hamish heavily.

‘But we can’t tape it,’ wailed Eddie, ‘and my television shows snow storms on all four channels.’

‘Mine’s broken,’ said Perdita.

‘If your mother occasionally saw fit to get anything mended,’ said Hamish nastily, ‘you wouldn’t be in this predicament. For once you are not going to do everything you want.’

Biddy smiled at Violet. ‘Would you kindly make me a cup of Horlicks? I brought my own jar. It’s on the hall table. I didn’t think you’d have any here, although Hamish used to love a drink of Horlicks.’

Ignoring Perdita, who was looking at her with horror, a cold, blank stare coming straight off the North Pole, Biddy added, ‘And if you’re coming up, Eddie, there’s no waste-paper basket in the guest room, nor toilet paper in the guest bathroom.’

‘Where is Ethel going to sleep?’ said Daisy, as she wearily finished clearing up.

‘In my room,’ said Violet, who was gently teasing the diving, biting Ethel with an old slipper.

‘She is not ,’ thundered Hamish, who had just dispatched Biddy to bed. ‘I am not having this house reduced to a urinal. How could you introduce a puppy at Christmas?’ he added to Daisy. ‘All the dog charities say it’s the worst time. She will sleep in the stables.’

Because he doted on Violet, he relented enough to allow Ethel to sleep in the kitchen with a ticking clock wrapped in a towel to simulate her mother’s heartbeat.