Cooper Jilly: Emily

Knocking back tranquillizers like Smarties, I decided to disregard Finn’s advice and get up. When I finally made it downstairs, I found a noisy and drunken lunch had just finished. The debris of wine glasses, napkins and cigar butts still lay on the dining-room table. Buster was bustling about organizing his pigeon shoot. I went into the kitchen and opened a tin of Pedigree Chum for Walter. Then wandered into the drawing-room where I found Alexei well entrenched, chewing on a large cigar, drinking port and reading a book called The Grouse in Health and in Disease .

‘Ah, my enchanting daughter-in-law,’ he said, getting to his feet and kissing my hand with a flourish. Oh God, I hoped my fingers didn’t smell of Pedigree Chum. ‘Come and sit down,’ he patted a rather small space on the sofa beside him, ‘and tell me about yourself.’

Predictably I couldn’t think of anything to say, but Alexei had obviously had enough to drink for it not to matter a scrap.

‘Coco tells me you lost a baby recently — I am so sorry — you must have been very disappointed. You must have another one — as soon as you’re strong again. You and Rory would have beautiful children.’ It was not a subject I cared to dwell on.

‘Do you have lots of children yourself?’ I said.

‘Yes, I think so, several that I know about and several that I probably don’t, but none, I think, as talented as Rory. I have been looking at his paintings this morning. I am proud of my new son, he is a very good-looking boy, I think.’

‘Yes, he is,’ I said wistfully.

‘And not unlike me, I think,’ said Alexei with satisfaction. He got up. ‘I must go and change for the shooting.’

‘But it’ll be dark in a couple of hours,’ I said.

‘We wait till dusk and catch the pigeons as they come home to roost,’ he said.

‘Poor things,’ I said. ‘Where’s Rory?’

‘Gone to fetch his gun. Hamish is coming too.’ Suddenly, in spite of the centrally heated fug of the house, I felt icy cold. I didn’t like the idea of that cast of characters going shooting.

Alexei went up to change. I turned on the television and watched a steeplechase. It all looked so bright green and innocent one couldn’t really believe those horses falling at the fences were really hurting themselves.

A few minutes later, Rory arrived with Walter Scott. ‘Who told you to get up?’ he asked angrily. ‘You look frightful.’

‘I thought I might come and watch you all shooting,’ I said.

‘Absolutely not,’ snapped Rory. ‘You’re supposed to rest — according to your doctor. Go back upstairs at once.’

At that moment Buster walked in, looking ludicrously like a French tart in rubber thigh boots and an extraordinary hat with a veil.

‘Time’s getting on, Rory,’ he said, ‘we ought to take up our positions at least an hour before dusk.’

‘Is he getting married to Alexei already?’ I said.

Rory laughed: ‘It’s supposed to stop the pigeons seeing his face when they fly over — a pity he doesn’t wear it all the time. Come on,’ he whistled to Walter Scott.

‘Rory,’ I said. He turned in the doorway. ‘Be careful,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s all gun and no fear.’

I met Coco coming down the stairs.

‘’Ullo bébé, how are you, I am fed up. I ’ope the presence of Alexei would make Buster jealous, and spend less time on his horrible bloody sports, but it only makes ’im worse. I like to have a good sleep in the afternoon, but what is the point if there is no-one to sleep with you? So Marcelle and I decided to go over to the mainland. You will be all right, mon ange ?’

‘Of course,’ I said.

I tried to sleep but I was in much too uptight a state. I heard voices outside and crept to the window to see them go off. Poor Hamish looked iller than ever. Alexei was laughing at some joke of Buster’s. Walter Scott, who was thoroughly over-excited by the whole proceedings, suddenly decided to mount Hamish’s red setter bitch. Hamish went mad and rushed over and started kicking Walter in the ribs in a frenzy. Walter started howling and Rory turned on Hamish in fury. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Hamish went absolutely spare with rage. I could see the white of his knuckles as his hands clenched on his gun. Then Buster came over and said something and they all set off, their boots ringing on the drive.

They crossed the burn and took the narrow, winding path up to the pine woods. I thought of the pigeons coming home after a long day to face the music: tomorrow they would be strung up as corpses in the larder, their destination pigeon pie.

I took more tranquillizers and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I tried to read, Coco had left some magazines by the bed. I read my horoscope, which was lousy. Rory’s horoscope said he was going to have a good week for romance, blast him, but should be careful of unforeseen danger towards the weekend. I should never have let him go shooting.

An explosion of guns in the distance made me jump nervously. Then I heard a crunch of wheels on the gravel and looked out of the window again. It was Marina, Miss Machiavelli herself. She parked her blue car in front of the house and switched off the engine, then combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on more scent — the conniving bitch. God, how I hated her.

She got out of the car, fragile in a huge sheepskin coat and brown boots, her red hair streaming in the breeze, and set off down the track the guns had taken.

No wonder Rory had been so insistent about my staying in bed and keeping out of his way. Drawn by some terrible fascination to see what they were getting up to, I got up, put on an old sheepskin coat of Coco’s and set off after her.

The guns popped in the distance, like some far-off firework party. It was getting dark, the fir trees beetled darkly, a rabbit scuttled over the dead leaves, frightening the life out of me. The sweat was rising on my forehead, my breath coming in great gasps. I ran on, ducking to avoid overhanging branches. There was the ADDERS — PLEASE KEEP OUT sign Buster had put up to frighten off tourists. I could hear voices now; the colour was going out of the woods; in the distance the sea was darkening to gun metal.

Suddenly I rounded a corner and, to my relief, saw Buster’s gamekeeper, then Marina’s red hair, and the guns strung out in a ring; Buster still wearing that ludicrous veil, Alexei next to him, then Rory, then Hamish, with Marina standing between them, but slightly behind. She was lighting one cigarette from another. I hoped they wouldn’t see me, then I stepped on a twig and she and Rory looked round. He looked absolutely furious. Buster smiled at me, waving and indicating to me to stay quiet. Walter Scott sat beside Rory, quivering with excitement, trying to look grown up. Marina tiptoed back and stood beside me. On closer inspection she didn’t look so hot, her skin pale and mottled, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. Even so, there was plenty of the old dash about her.

‘I thought you were at death’s door,’ she said. ‘It’s been quite exciting, Alexei has already tried to shoot a couple of sheep and nearly killed Hamish — I wish he’d tried harder.’

‘What are they waiting for?’ I asked.

‘The pigeons,’ she said, ‘they’re late back. I had the most cataclysmic row with Hamish last night,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I ended up throwing most of the silver at him. We started at four o’clock in the morning and went on till just before he came out. This is half-time, I ought to be sucking oranges and thinking what to do in the second half. He said I behaved atrociously last night,’ she went on, her eyes glittering wildly, ‘and that he absolutely refuses to divorce me. Has Rory spoken to you?’ she said, suddenly tense.