Jilly Cooper - Harriet

‘I didn’t ask for anything to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry. Please take it away.’

‘You ought to have something, just to blot up the alcohol,’ she said brightly, putting the tray down amid a pile of papers.

Then she saw the expression on his face, and bolted out of the room before he could throw the tray at her. She and Tadpole shared the omelette.

‘It would have been wasted on him ,’ she said to Tadpole who chewed it up with great, greedy, crocodile jaws. At least she, Chattie and William were going out to tea, so they’d be out of Cory’s hair.

She was just getting ready when the telephone rang. Even running down the landing, clutching a protesting, half-dressed William, she couldn’t reach it before Cory. He came out of his study, looking bootfaced.

‘It’s Elizabeth Pemberton’s nanny,’ he said. ‘For you.’

Muttering apologies, Harriet fled downstairs to answer it.

‘We’ve got problems,’ said Sammy cheerfully. ‘Elizabeth says she’s got one of her ancient aunts whose just lost her husband coming over — at least that’s her story. I’ve never known anyone change the sheets and have a bath in the middle of the day for an ancient aunt. Anyway she wants us all out of the way. She thinks it would inhibit poor “Aunt Barbara” to have all the kids hanging around. Can we come over to you instead?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Harriet, wondering what the hell Cory would say.

Sammy arrived with Georgie, looking very done-up in a tight navy blue sweater, with Come and Get Me printed across her jacked-up bosom, drainpipe jeans, blue and yellow glove socks and impossibly high-heeled sandals.

‘I do like your walking shoes,’ said Harriet, giggling.

‘Elizabeth hates them,’ said Sammy. ‘They make holes in the parquet.’

She reeked of cheap scent.

‘It’s called Seduction ,’ she said. ‘Worn specially in Cory’s honour. Is he here?’ She looked round expectantly, patting her hair.

‘He’s working,’ said Harriet, ‘and not at his most sunny.’

‘Hungover up to his teeth, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Sammy. ‘Elizabeth said he was as high as a kite when he arrived last night.’

Tadpole shambled in, wagging his tail, and promptly goosed Sammy.

‘Good old Tadpole,’ she said patting him. ‘Never forgets a crutch.’

Chattie bore Georgie upstairs.

‘There’s a Shirley Temperature film on television,’ she said.

‘Well don’t disturb Daddy, whatever you do,’ said Harriet.

‘Do you mind if I bath William?’ said Harriet. ‘I didn’t get around to it earlier.’

‘Do you mind if I borrow a razor and shave my legs?’ said Sammy. ‘I’m going out with a new guy tonight, and one should always be prepared.’

‘This is a much nicer room than mine,’ said Sammy, lounging on Harriet’s yellow counterpane, painting her toe nails with Harriet’s nail polish. ‘Noel spent fortunes having it done up in the faint hope it might help her to keep a nanny longer than three weeks. Admittedly she threw all the pretty ones out because she was convinced they were after Cory.’

Her spikily mascara’d eyes softened as they lighted on William, splashing around in the water, chuckling with laughter, and waving his arms about.

‘Don’t you love him? Look at his lovely fat wrists,’ she said. ‘The folds always look as though they’ve got elastic bands on. I envy you really. I got knocked up last year, but it was too much hassle, so I got rid of it. You’re very brave to keep him. I wouldn’t have the courage.’

Harriet dripped water from a flannel onto William’s round belly.

‘The unmarried mothers’ home wasn’t much fun; all those films on VD and drugs, and having to sew for charity and go to church,’ she said. ‘And it was awful in hospital. All the fathers coming to see the mothers, holding their hands and admiring the babies. One girl had a lover and a husband rolling up at different times; both were convinced they were the father. No-one came to see me. But it was all worth it in the end.’

‘What was the father like — no good?’

Harriet swallowed. ‘That’s him by the bed,’ she said.

‘Crikey,’ said Sammy gaping at the photograph. ‘Wouldn’t kick him out of bed. Not surprised you fell for him.’ She looked at Harriet with new respect. Obviously there was more behind that uptight, rather shy exterior than met the eye. ‘Never mind, you’ve got Cory,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t mind sharing a house with him.’

‘And Mrs Bottomley,’ said Harriet.

Sammy grinned. ‘Can’t say I’d fancy a threesome with her.’

She started a second coat of polish.

‘I must say it’s nice being here again. I got quite friendly with their last but one nanny. She liked Cory but couldn’t stand Noel. Noel treated her like dirt, always trying to get her to bring up breakfast in bed, and lay out her clothes, and comb out her wigs for her. Can you believe it, she needed a nanny more than the children did. She’s a friend of Elizabeth’s,’ she went on, ‘or rather they both pretend to be, lots of kissing and darlings when they meet, and bitchy as hell behind each other’s backs. Elizabeth doesn’t need a nanny either. She just wants one for status, and to take the children off her hands when she wants to see one of her boyfriends. Honestly she’s had more pricks than a second-hand dart board.’

Harriet laughed, but felt the conversation was getting a bit indiscreet.

‘Are you going out with anyone nice tonight?’ she said.

‘Smashing! He’s a Finn. His firm have sent him over here to build a factory outside Leeds. He’s got a lovely accent and an island all of his own. I said I thought all Finns were very drunken and uncouth. He said Finns ain’t what they used to be. I thought that was quite witty.’

Harriet sprinkled William with talcum powder, trying not to feel envious. It was such a long time since she’d had a date. In the same magazine that she had read about sieving carrots and cabbage had been a piece on bringing up children. ‘All babies need the love of a father and a mother,’ it had said, ‘a background of security and a happy home.’

Oh dear, perhaps she ought to start looking for a father for William.

‘Where does one meet people round here?’ she said.

‘Darling,’ said Sammy. ‘On the other side of the valley is Wakeley, with discos and bright lights and rich industrialists with loads of bread just waiting to spend it on you and me. There’s even a singles bar just opened called the Loose Box. It’s always packed with the most dishy single guys, people who’ve come up North on conferences and who’ve got nothing to do in the evenings. I picked up my Finn there. I’ll take you there one evening next week.’

Harriet cuddled William, feeling his small solid weight against her left shoulder, his fat hands clutching her hair, thinking how gorgeous he smelt. The Loose Box sounded rather too advanced for her.

The telephone went.

‘I’ll take him,’ said Sammy, holding her arms out to William.

It was a Senora di Cuizano ringing from Rome. It was imperative to talk to Cory, she said. Harriet wasn’t risking it.

‘I’m afraid he’s awfully busy at the moment. Can he ring you back?’

The Senora sounded extremely put out. Perhaps she ought to tell Cory? Then she heard the front door bang. He’d probably gone out to get some cigarettes. She went into the kitchen to get tea. Sammy came down and sat in the rocking chair, hiding behind her hair, then peeping out making William crow with laughter.

Ten minutes later she heard the front door open; he must have just gone down to the stables.

‘I wonder what Chattie and Georgie are up to,’ said Sammy, making no attempt to move.