Jilly Cooper - Harriet

Oh God, thought Harriet, I mustn’t be a spoilsport.

The Black Tulip was even worse than the Loose Box. Harriet found her smile getting stiffer and stiffer as she toyed with an avocado pear.

‘First I cut out all carbohydrates,’ said the little fat German.

Opposite them Sammy and the handsome German couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were both getting tighter and tighter. Harriet wondered who the hell was going to drive her home.

‘Then I gave up bread and potatoes,’ said the fat German.

He must have been huge before he lost all that weight, thought Harriet, as she rode round the dance floor on his stomach. She suddenly longed to be home with Cory and William and the children. What would happen if William woke up? Mrs Bottomley slept like the dead. Cory’d go spare if he had to get up and feed him. She wondered how long he’d taken to get rid of Woman’s Monthly .

‘A new penny for your thoughts, Samantha,’ said the handsome German.

‘They’re worth a bloody sight more than that,’ said Sammy.

They all laughed immoderately.

‘I also cut out all puddings and cakes,’ said the fat German.

‘I get no kick from champagne,’ sang the lead singer. ‘Pure alcohol gives me no thrill at all.’

You can say that again, thought Harriet.

Sammy was leaning forward, the fat little German gazing hungrily at her bosom.

‘Shall we go for a drive on the moor?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Harriet, violently. ‘You all can,’ she added. ‘But could you drop me off first?’

‘We’re all going back to Heinrich’s hotel for a little drink,’ said Sammy, getting rather unsteadily to her feet.

‘I must get back in case William wakes,’ said Harriet desperately.

After some argument, Sammy relented. ‘We’ll get you a cab,’ she said. ‘Claus can pay. The only one going at this hour is driven by the local undertaker.’

Harriet felt as cheerful as a corpse, as she bowled home under a starless sky. She couldn’t stop crying; she had no sex appeal any more, the world was coming to an end, she’d never find a father for William.

As she put the key at the door, Sevenoaks, who usually slept through everything, let out a series of deep baritone barks, then, realizing it was her, started to sing with delight at the top of his voice, searching round for something to bring her.

‘Oh please, Sevenoaks, lower your voice,’ she pleaded.

But as she crept upstairs, Cory came out of the bathroom with a towel round his waist, his black hair wet from the bath, his skin still yellow-brown from last summer.

‘Did Woman’s Monthly stay for hours?’ she said.

‘Hours,’ said Cory, ‘I had to throw them out. It must have been pre-menstrual tension I was suffering from before they arrived.’

Harriet was feeling too depressed to even giggle.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said.

Sevenoaks sauntered into Cory’s room and heaved himself up onto Cory’s bed.

‘Get him off,’ snapped Cory. ‘That dog’s got to go. He’s been whining ever since you went out. Where have you been anyway?’ he said in a gentler tone, noticing her red-rimmed eyes.

‘To the Loose Box, with Sammy. We met some Germans, one was quite good-looking, the other one was awful. The good-looking one fancied Sammy, so did the awful one, but he had to put up with me. I tried to get out and find some people of my own age, but I don’t think they liked me very much.’ And with a sob she fled to her room.

When she turned down the counterpane and got into bed, she found her electric blanket switched on, and a note pinned to the pillow.

‘Dear Harriet,’ it said.

‘Doesn’t matter what He says, we think you’re smashing, and so does he really, love from Tadpole, Ambrose (Miss) and Sevenoaks.’

Harriet gave a gurgle of laughter. Suddenly the whole evening didn’t seem to matter very much any more. She lay in bed and thought about Cory. She felt like a child joining up numbers to discover what a picture was; she felt she hadn’t managed to join up any of Cory’s numbers at all.

Harriet was ironing in the kitchen when a car drew up.

‘Come on, let’s hide,’ whispered Chattie. ‘It’s awful old Arabella. She only turns up when Daddy’s at home.’

‘We can’t,’ protested Harriet, watching a tall girl get out of the car. ‘She’s seen us.’

‘Anyone at home?’ came a debutante quack from the hall.

The girl who strode into the kitchen was in her late twenties, very handsome, high complexioned, athletically built, with flicked-up light brown hair drawn back from her forehead.

‘Hullo, Chattie,’ she said breezily. ‘How are you?’ But before Chattie could answer she turned to Harriet. ‘And you must be the new nanny. I’m Arabella Ryder-Ross. Cory’s spoken about me, I expect.’ But before Harriet could answer the girl turned to William, who was aimlessly beating the side of his chair with a wooden spoon.

‘What a darling baba. Not another of Noel’s castoffs?’

‘No, he’s mine,’ said Harriet.

‘Oh?’ said Arabella. It was strange how someone could get four syllables out of that word.

‘Doesn’t your husband mind you taking a job?’

‘I’m not married.’

‘Oh, how amazingly brave of you.’ Arabella paused and looked at William again. ‘I must say Cory’s a saint, the lame ducks he takes under his wing.’

‘One, two, four, five. Bugger it. I’ve left out three,’ said Chattie, who was counting Ambrose’s kittens.

Harriet tried not to giggle. Arabella looked appalled.

‘Chattie, don’t use language like that. Run along and play. I want to talk to Nanny.’

‘She’s not called Nanny, she’s Harriet, and I don’t want to play, thank you,’ said Chattie. Then a foxy expression came over the child’s face. ‘Would you like a sweetie, Arabella?’

‘Aren’t you going to offer Nanny one?’

‘It’s my last,’ said Chattie. ‘And I want you to have it.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Chattie,’ said Arabella, popping the sweet into her mouth. ‘I get on so well with children,’ she added to Harriet. ‘People are always saying I’d make a wonderful mother.’

At that moment Cory wandered in and Arabella flushed an unbecoming shade of puce.

‘Hullo, Arabella,’ he said. ‘You look very brown.’

‘It fades so quickly. You should have seen me last week. I’ve just got back from St Moritz, or I’d have been over before. We’re having a little party next Friday.’

Cory frowned. ‘I think something’s happening.’

‘Well, we’ll have it on Saturday then.’

How could she be so unsubtle? thought Harriet.

‘No, Friday’s all right,’ said Cory. ‘I’ve just remembered. It’s Harriet’s birthday. It’ll do her good to meet some new people. Yes, we’d like to come.’

Harriet didn’t dare look at Arabella’s face.

‘Did you like that sweet, Arabella?’ said Chattie.

‘Yes thank you, darling.’

Chattie gave a naughty giggle.

‘Tadpole didn’t. He spat it out three times.’

Harriet scolded Chattie when Arabella had gone, but the child shrugged her shoulders.

‘I hate her, and Mummy says she’s after Daddy. I hope she doesn’t get him,’ she added gloomily. ‘She never gives us presents; she says we’re spoilt.’

‘She’s got a point there,’ said Harriet.

‘She’s just told Daddy he ought to give you the push, because we’re so naughty,’ said Chattie, picking up one of the kittens. ‘But he told her to shut up, and we’d never been better looked after. Goodness, Harriet, you’ve gone all pink in the face.’