Jilly Cooper - Prudence

‘You’re here! Already! You must have blown a gasket on the motorway.’

Pendle looked rather ostentatiously at his watch.

‘It’s already eleven o’clock,’ he said.

‘God, is it that late? I am sorry.’ He turned to me.

‘This is my brother Jack,’ said Pendle.

Jack Mulholland was outstandingly good-looking and already going to seed. He had terrific bags under his eyes and was beginning to put on weight under the chin. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had those blue, sexy bloodshot eyes that looked as if he’d been swimming under water too long; and he knew how to use them. He looked into my face for a minute, then very slowly ran his eyes over my body, then back to my face again, as though he had to memorize every detail. A smile spread over his face. ‘At least 1,000 ships. But then you always had excellent taste, Pen.’

I squirmed with embarrassment and pleasure.

‘Where’s Maggie?’ said Rose.

‘Re-doing her face.’

‘Darling, do get us drink,’ said Rose.

Jack filled up our glasses, and poured two more for Rose and himself.

Pendle raised his eyebrows. ‘Pru’s not a great drinker.’

‘Don’t be a spoilsport,’ said Rose. ‘Well, here’s to you, darlings, and a happy weekend.’

‘That was bloody good, you getting Bobby Canfield off,’ said Jack. ‘Everyone’s talking about it round here.’

‘Mrs Braddock’s started a scrapbook of your cuttings,’ said Rose.

I took a sip of my drink and nearly choked. Through streaming eyes I caught Jack laughing at me. He is attractive, I thought. The moment he comes into the room the temperature goes up. At that moment a girl came in, and the temperature shot even higher. She was everything fashion magazines say you shouldn’t be. Her brilliant red hair looked as though it had been cut with garden shears. She wore so much eyeliner her eyes slanted into her ears, and she was falling out of a dress two sizes too small for her and jacked-in at the waist with a green leather belt.

But she was gorgeous. Any man confronted with that glowing vitality would want to tear those terrible clothes off her and tumble her into bed.

She stood in the doorway staring at Pendle. All of a sudden the room became very still. The colour drained out of Pendle’s face.

‘Hello, Maggie.’ His voice was curiously dry. ‘You look well. This is Pru.’

She turned and smiled at me. Her eyes were like headlights. I wanted to blink.

‘How odd,’ she said slowly. ‘She looks rather like me.’

I blushed. I looked like a ghost beside this buxom radiant creature.

‘Not odd at all,’ said Jack with a slightly twisted smile. ‘Mulhollands always go for redheads.’

Maggie sat on the arm of Pendle’s chair.

‘Get me a drink, Jack,’ she said, and, as Jack went over to the drinks tray, added quite audibly, ‘You shouldn’t have stayed away so long, Pen.’

Something funny was going on, but I was too tired to work it out. The brandy was sending me to sleep. I hardly listened as they swapped family gossip. I was only conscious that, beneath the superficial banter, there was an underlying tension. It was Jack who noticed I was falling off my chair.

‘Poor little Pru’s half dead. For goodness’ sake take her up to her room, Pen.’

I staggered to my feet. ‘Don’t bother, I can easily find my own way.’

‘Will you be all right?’ said Pendle.

‘Of course she won’t,’ said Jack, leaping up and taking my arm. ‘Come on, lovie, say goodnight to everyone.’

It was arctic in the hall.

‘You go on up,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll try and dig you out a hot-water bottle.’

After a few false starts, I found my room. I hardly had the energy to undress and take off my make-up.

I laughed as I remembered Jane’s instructions about folding my clothes up neatly. That lot downstairs wouldn’t care if I strewed them all over the landing. By the time Jack came upstairs, I was sitting in bed in my new black nightdress.

‘I’m afraid I’ve drawn a blank on the hot-water bottle,’ he said. ‘Will you be warm enough?’ he added, standing by the bed and looking down at me.

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I was coming out in goose pimples, but it wasn’t because of the cold.

‘You look very fit for human consumption,’ he said, examining my back. ‘You’re still brown.’

‘It’s always the bits that don’t show that last longest,’ I said slowly.

Jack Mulholland undoubtedly had a way with women, like some people have with animals. He made them relax. Before I realized it, he’d put a warm hand on my bare back and, bending down, kissed me slowly on the mouth.

After a moment he broke off, but his hand was still caressing its way down my back. Goodness, he’s lethal, I thought. Get a grip on yourself, Prudence. He’s the sort of man who’ll stop at nothing.

‘Wow,’ said Jack dreamily. ‘You’re gorgeous,’ and he was about to kiss me again when a familiar voice said, ‘Everything all right?’

I pulled away from Jack as though I’d been stung.

Pendle stood in the doorway. His face was as enigmatic as ever. That’s done it, I thought. I wonder how long he’s been standing there.

Jack laughed. He didn’t seem remotely embarrassed.

‘Oh dear, I’ve lapsed again,’ he said. ‘I’d better ring up Redheads Anonymous.’

I was woken next morning by rain like machine-gun fire on the roof and Coleridge and Wordsworth lying on my feet. The curtain let in long fingers of light across the ceiling. I looked at my watch. It was eleven o’clock.

I had a bath and dressed. No one was about downstairs. I went into the drawing-room. Last night’s jetsam of glasses, cigarette ends and coffee was still lying about.

I pulled back the musty, dark blue, velvet curtains and caught my breath at the desolation of the scene before me. Down below in the valley was a huge, black lake, and all around like dark, sleeping beasts lay the mountains, their peaks shrouded in mist.

The garden was a wilderness of tangled shrubbery. Lichen crawled over the paved terrace — and I’d never seen such rain, sweeping in great curtains across the lake, stripping the last leaves from the trees, flattening the blackened dahlias. There was no colour except where the beech trees still smouldered among the dark pines.

This is Pendle’s country, I thought, country that would put winter into anyone’s soul. Oh God, I did hope he wasn’t upset about Jack kissing me last night.

Remembering Jane’s advice about helping in the house, I gathered up the glasses and cups, found the kitchen and washed them up — not so easy as there was no washing-up liquid.

Where on earth was everyone? I was dying for some coffee. Suddenly I heard a noise and, poking my head out of the kitchen door, saw a tall man with a black and grey flecked crew cut wearing a college scarf and a tweed jacket tiptoeing towards the front door, carrying his shoes. I couldn’t see his face. The next moment he’d opened the door and shot out closing it very quietly behind him. He must be one of Rose’s boyfriends. I went back to the drawing-room and had another look at that terrifying view.

‘Drinking it all in?’ said a voice. It was Maggie, in a dressing-gown. She didn’t look so ravishing this morning, deathly pale with her mascara smudged underneath her eyes.

‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’ she asked. ‘Jack’s gone over to the mill with Pendle and I’ve run out.’ I got a packet out of my bag and handed it to her. She lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.

‘God, I needed this. We rather overdid the boozing last night.’

‘What a fantastic view this is,’ I said.