Jilly Cooper - Prudence

The conversation dwindled. I slept fitfully, and wondered if it would be worth letting my head slip on to Pendle’s shoulder, but thought better of it. As a few stars made a tentative appearance, I speculated about Pendle’s brothers — Jack, the reformed rake whom everyone liked; Ace, whom no one was good enough to marry.

A slim white moon slipped between the stars. We were now driving over cobbled streets. When we stopped for petrol, a blast of icy wind came through the door.

‘Not far now,’ said Pendle. ‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ The hills began to grow into mountains. I’ve always been frightened by mountains, and I suddenly shivered as I wondered what I really knew about the silent, withdrawn man beside me. I put on some scent to give me confidence. Beside the road, there was a gleam of silver.

‘That’s Grasmere,’ he said. A few minutes later, he swung off the road up a winding drive.

The headlights showed heavy undergrowth, and brambles hanging in festoons on either side.

‘Here we are,’ he said, hooting his horn.

I could only see that the house was large and hung with creepers. As we opened the car doors a black labrador and a large English setter came bounding out, wagging their tails and barking amiably. The front door opened and we were flooded in a stream of light. I was quaking with nerves as I saw an old woman standing in the doorway. She had an apron on. Pendle’s mother. I walked forward smiling.

‘Hello, Mr Pendle,’ she wheezed. Obviously not Pendle’s mother.

‘Hello, Mrs Braddock,’ said Pendle.

‘It’s good to see you back, after so long. Come into the warm.’

Mrs Mulholland must be a cold customer, I thought, not to come rushing out to welcome him. I knew what my mother was like whenever I came home. I followed Mrs Braddock into the hall, which was huge and baronial and covered in faded crimson wallpaper.

‘I’ll just help Mr Pendle with the cases,’ she said.

A moment later, Pendle followed me. He looked furious — a muscle was twitching in his cheek.

‘I’m afraid my family aren’t here. They’ve gone to a party in Ambleside. So we’d better eat now. I’ll show you your room. I expect you’d like a wash.’

I’d been so steamed up to meet his mother, it was a terrible anti-climax. I followed him upstairs, along a dark, winding passage to my room.

‘I’m sorry. It’s frightfully cold in here,’ he said, drawing the curtains and turning up the central heating. If only he had taken me in his arms then and there everything might have been all right.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘I’ll just clean up and come down.’

On closer inspection, I found it wasn’t at all lovely. None of the drawers had been cleaned out: there was only one broken coat-hanger — and even I, who never noticed dust, couldn’t miss the thick coating on the dressing table. I couldn’t imagine my mother having anyone to stay and not giving them flowers. The only compensation was the large double bed. I was strangely chilled by that room. However I re-did my face and calmed my wild curls abit.

In the dining-room I found places had been laid for Pendle and me at opposite ends of a long table. Mrs Braddock served us watery soup. It’s incredibly difficult to drink soup quietly in a huge empty room, and then we had stale game pie, and cold potatoes which stuck in my throat. Luckily, Pendle opened a bottle of wine.

‘Mrs Braddock’s been with us for years. Her husband looks after the garden and the stables. I don’t know who else would put up with my mother.’

The two dogs sat on either side of me, drooling at the mouth. Then the setter put a large speckled paw on my knee.

‘They’re lovely,’ I said. ‘What are they called?’

‘Wordsworth and Coleridge,’ said Pendle. ‘Coleridge is the setter. I don’t expect anyone’s remembered to feed them.’

I was relieved when he picked up both his and my game pie, gave one to each dog and then lit the inevitable cigarette. The wine was stealing down me, and I began to perk up.

We had coffee in the drawing-room, which was also huge and shabby and full of beautiful things. A bowl of dahlias which had seen better days were shedding their petals on the smeared table. On one wall there was a large square of much lighter red wallpaper, where a picture must have recently hung.

‘Oh God,’ said Pendle, ‘my mother must have flogged the Romney. Ace will do his nut.’

I huddled by the fire, clutching Coleridge for warmth. A fat orange cat was asleep on the sofa.

‘Her name’s Antonia Fraser,’ said Pendle ruefully. ‘Have some brandy.’

‘I oughtn’t to,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to be tight the first time I meet your mother.’

‘Well, I’m going to,’ he said, ‘so you might as well.’ I noticed his hand was shaking as he poured out two glasses. He was so jumpy, he was making me more and more nervous. I was just about to examine the photographs on the desk when I heard voices and doors slamming.

‘Here they are,’ said Pendle. He’d gone as white as a sheet. We went into the hall. The front door was thrown open. A very beautiful woman stood in the doorway. She was as slim as a blade.

‘Darlings,’ she cried, rushing towards us. ‘How awful you must think us. We didn’t think you’d be here for hours.’

Jack’s wife? Pendle’s sister?

‘This is my mother,’ said Pendle.

My jaw clanged like a visor.

‘But you can’t be!’ I said. ‘You’re too young.’

Fatuous remark, but she was delighted.

‘This is Pru,’ said Pendle.

‘You must call me Rose,’ she said taking my hand. ‘Oh, look. Naughty Coleridge has moulted all over you.’

She probably hadn’t altered her style of dressing for twenty years, but she was bang in fashion now, with rippling blonde waves, round eyes and a tiny scarlet mouth. She’d have set them by the ears in the King’s Road too, in that marvellous fifties crêpe-de-Chine dress. I felt absurdly self-conscious in my twinset and tweeds.

She didn’t look so young in the drawing-room, but she quickly switched off the overhead light and put on two side lights.

‘How are you, Pen, darling? You look tired. Have you been overworking? Such a good party — Maggie and Jack are still there.’

‘I thought I heard voices outside,’ said Pendle.

Rose looked sheepish. ‘James Copeland dropped me off.’

‘Linn’s James Copeland?’

Rose nodded.

‘Oh God,’ said Pendle. ‘Is he after you, too?’

‘Well, a bit. Too embarrassing really. My daughter Linn gets so cross when her young men run after me,’ she added to me.

I stared at her, fascinated. I’d never known a mother like this — skipping around in raver kit, pinching her daughter’s boyfriends.

‘Do get Primrose and me a drink, darling,’ she said to Pendle.

‘Her name’s Prudence,’ said Pendle acidly. ‘And she’s got a drink. When’s Ace coming back?’

Rose turned her eyes to the ceiling.

‘Oh, don’t remind me — the day after tomorrow. No, don’t glare at me like that, Pen. You know I’m fond of Ace. But he makes me feel so hopeless and he’s bound to nag about money.’

‘How is money?’

‘Oh, disastrous as ever. Look how shabby everything is.’ She picked at a piece of cotton wool oozing out of the yellow sofa. ‘Jack and Maggie’s house is costing the earth.’

Another car drew up outside, more doors slammed and we heard voices in the hall. Pendle’s face was expressionless, but once again that muscle was twitching in his cheek.

‘Don’t spend all night,’ said an irritable male voice. The door was pushed open and a man walked in. His face creased into an incredulous smile.