Jilly Cooper - Prudence

Maggie shrugged her shoulders. ‘It gives me the creeps, particularly on days like this. I want to go back to London, but Jack’s so keen on the mill, I suppose we’re stuck here for good.’

I asked her if I could make a cup of coffee.

‘Oh, hell, it’s Mrs Braddock’s day off, so everything goes to pot. Tomorrow she’s got to blitz the house from top to toe. Ace is coming home. He’ll be appalled at the state of the place.’

She looked round, grimacing at the sticky rings left by glasses all over the furniture, the peeling paint, the dead flowers.

‘That’s the odd thing about my mother-in-law,’ she went on, ‘as long as she can have stunning clothes and pay her bridge debts, she doesn’t mind if the house falls to bits.’

We went into the kitchen. Antonia Fraser jumped off a chair and started weaving between my legs, mewing for food. I found some bacon and eggs.

‘Shall I make you some?’ I asked.

Maggie shuddered. ‘I never touch breakfast. Anyway, I’m getting disgustingly fat. I’ve put on a stone since I married Jack — boredom, I suppose.’

‘Where’s Pendle’s mother?’ I asked, putting rashers into the frying pan.

‘Rose? She never surfaces before lunchtime.’

‘Pendle said she was formidable,’ I said, ‘so I imagined she’d be all tweeds and corrugated hair.’

Maggie laughed. ‘She’s stunning, isn’t she? Gosh, that bacon smells good. While you’re making it, you might as well cook some for me.’

I made some coffee and dished the bacon and eggs on to two plates and we took them into the drawing-room.

‘How long have you been married?’ I asked.

‘About two years. It seems ages longer.’ She turned her headlight eyes on me. ‘Did you know I was going to marry Pendle before I met Jack?’

Suddenly the room seemed to go dark. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said.

‘Yes. It was funny really. I came up for a holiday when I was only eighteen, and met Pendle and we had a most terrific affair, not just bed, but endless gazing into each other’s eyes, and walks in the moonlight, and passionate letters full of quotations. You know how good Pendle is at making things serious. I wanted to get married at once, but again, you know Pendle. He swore he loved me, but he thought we ought to wait six months so we could find somewhere proper to live.

‘And then Jack came home from South Africa. His first marriage was on the rocks by then. He was all brown and his hair was bleached almost white, and he seemed to be always laughing and pulling fivers out of his pocket. I came up to see Pendle for the weekend and fell in love with Jack, and we eloped.

‘Rose thought it hysterical, but everyone else was livid, particularly Ace. For the first month we holed-up in a little hotel in Ambleside, terrified that Pen would turn up with a hatchet. But, typical don’t-lose-your-cool Pendle, he sent us a nice letter and later even a wedding present. I was disappointed. I’ve always wanted to have men fighting over me. Then Ace’s wife was killed in a car crash so the limelight was directed off Jack and me. We all met up at the funeral. Then Ace took this job working for American television and Jack took over the mill.’

I felt sick. I couldn’t finish my breakfast. So this was the girl Pendle had loved, who had broken through that icy reserve. Knowing Pendle, he would never forgive her for jilting him and marrying Jack, but if he had forgiven her he must still love her. Why the hell had he brought me here?

‘Why is their step-brother called Ace?’ I asked, in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

‘He’s really Ivan. “Ace” stems from when they were children. Three boys and a girl, with Jack the youngest. Ace, King — Pendle, Queen — Linn, and Jack, you see. “Ace” stuck as a nickname.’

‘What’s he like?’

Maggie took one of the photographs down from the desk and handed it to me.

It was a face you would never forget — black-haired, beetle-browed, very deep-set eyes, high cheekbones like Pendle’s, a large aquiline nose, something slightly cruel about the mouth — a tough, haughty, uncompromising face, used to getting its own way.

‘I wouldn’t like to meet him on a dark night,’ I said lightly.

‘Oh, I would.’ A dreamy expression came over Maggie’s face. ‘You can’t help fancying Ace. He’s a cross between Mr Rochester and Darcy, but there’s a kind of gipsy passion about him like Heathcliff.’

‘Why is everybody so scared of him?’

Maggie took another of my cigarettes. ‘He holds the purse strings. Old Mr Mulholland realized what a spendthrift Rose was and left all the money to Ace. He’s generous, mind you, but nothing could be enough for Rose. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but he’s still wildly attractive.’

‘So’s Jack,’ I said quickly.

Maggie looked at me out of the corner of her eyes.

‘Oh, Jack has very taking ways, particularly with other people’s girlfriends, and a very good line in smooth talk, just like his mum. But we’re hell together, we rat all the time. Now if I were married to Ace it would be different. I wouldn’t dare behave horribly. I’ve always wanted a man I can honour and obey.’

She really shocked me.

‘Let’s go and get Rose up,’ she said. ‘She should have finished her exercises by now.’

I took Rose some coffee, and Maggie went on ahead carrying my cigarette. Rose’s bedroom, quite unlike the rest of the house, was enchanting. All pink silk and rosebuds. She was fully made-up, wearing a pink negligee and painting her nails.

‘Darlings, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s terrible to leave you on your own on your first day,’ she added to me, ‘but those wretched boys have rushed off to look at the mill. Jack’s like a little boy with a new toy.’

Maggie pulled a face behind her back.

‘They make the most lovely tweeds,’ said Rose. ‘Not quite my style but the Americans go wild about them. You’ll have to get Jack to give you a piece, and have it made up into a skirt when you get back to London.’

The telephone rang, and Maggie rushed off to answer it, but was back in a few seconds.

‘Some awful-sounding man for you, Rose,’ she said. Rose brightened, pinched one of my cigarettes and the matches and went out, carefully shutting the door behind her.

‘It’s that ghastly Copeland, Linn’s boyfriend,’ said Maggie, trying on one of Rose’s lipsticks and wiping it off on the counterpane. ‘He’s always hanging around. I once asked Jack what his childhood was like. He just said, “My mother was always in love.” ’

We couldn’t hear what Rose was saying, but her laugh rang out over and over again.

‘Copeland once told her she had a beautiful laugh,’ said Maggie sourly, ‘and she’s been behaving like a hyena ever since.’

‘Does she have lots of people after her?’ I asked.

‘Oh, millions,’ said Maggie. ‘Seems extraordinary, doesn’t it? She must be at least fifty; but I suppose she’s only a few years older than Bardot. I hope I have as much fun when I get to her age.’

‘What does Copeland do?’ I said.

‘Calls himself a writer, but we’ve never seen any evidence of it. He was attached to Manchester University, but he gave it up to write full time and pursue Rose.’

I wondered if he was the tall man I’d seen creeping out that morning. I examined Rose’s dressing-table. I’d never seen so many bottles. Her knowledge of make-up and skin care must be positively encyclopaedic. In the middle, tucked into a framed photograph of Jack, was a snapshot of a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

‘Who’s she,’ I asked Maggie.

‘Lucasta, Jack’s child from his first marriage,’ said Maggie.