Jilly Cooper - Prudence

‘You looked miserable all evening. I was watching you.’

‘I hope you learnt something,’ I snapped, shifting my legs irritably. Next moment Pendle’s photograph had fluttered down on to the floor. Ace picked it up and looked at it for a minute.

‘I see. Have you been talking to Jimmy?’

‘Yes,’ I said tonelessly. What did a thumping lie matter now? ‘Seeing him brought the whole Pendle thing back.’

‘You’ve had a long day. One doesn’t get over these things all at once, and they always seem worse when you’re tired.’

I felt my chin trembling. It was the onset of tears again. Ace put his hand out, but I flinched away. If he touched me, I knew I was lost.

‘Don’t. I can’t bear it.’

He sighed, took my book from me and switched off the bedroom lamp. ‘Try and get some sleep.’

I heard his bedroom door open and shut. My body seemed to burn as I tossed and turned. I must forget about him. I must stop imagining all the things he and Berenice would be doing in a minute. I wondered if he’d removed Elizabeth’s picture before he got to work. Large tears rolled out of the corners of my eyes. The night seemed to go on and on. One thing could be said in favour of falling in love with Ace, it was going to make dying a whole lot of fun.

When I woke next morning, I could see dirty flakes of snow falling outside the window. I had only half-drawn the curtains. The snow was coming down sideways now, slanting to the left. If I stared at it long enough, I felt giddy. I closed my eyes, but knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep again. Gradually I pieced together yesterday’s events and groaned. Really they ought to find a Pre-Marriage Guidance Council for people like me. Pendle was due in two days. Perhaps if it kept on snowing the roads would get blocked up and he’d never arrive.

There was a knock on the door and Mrs Braddock came in with a red nose and a breakfast tray, followed by Coleridge, the kitten swinging on his back legs.

‘Lovely weather,’ said Mrs Braddock. ‘The snow came over my ankles when I opened the back door. Someone will have to shovel it away, but it won’t be me.’

‘You shouldn’t have bothered,’ I said, wriggling into a sitting position. ‘I was going to come down.’

‘Mr Ace insisted. He said you’re to eat it all, as you didn’t touch your dinner last night, and to remember your medicine.’

‘You are kind,’ I said, valiantly trying to work up some enthusiasm for bacon and eggs. ‘Is he having breakfast?’

‘Gone down to mill with Mr Jack. Mr Batten’s left. He’s a nice gentleman, and she’s up already, poking around the kitchen, giving orders, asking questions.’

‘Who?’ I said.

Mrs Braddock was suddenly a picture of outraged dignity.

‘Berenice or whatever she calls herself. Waited until Mr Ace had gone, then down she came poking into my larder, saying we were all poisoning ourselves with chemicals, and threw all my packets of cake mix in the dustbin. I’ve cooked for this family for thirty years, hardly a day of sickness. Never known such a healthy lot.’

‘Nor have I. They must have constitutions like oxen to survive all that booze.’

‘She’s even given me a shopping list,’ puffed Mrs Braddock. ‘Where can I find soya beans and brown rice and courgettes and bran in the village in the middle of winter?’

I giggled. ‘Get Mr Braddock to make her up a bran mash down at the stables.’

‘Well I must get back to my kitchen. The washing machine’s acting very strange and Miss Maggie left the Professor’s hat in the hall and Antonia Fraser slept on it last night and squashed it flat as a pancake.’

‘The cat sat on the ’at,’ I said, feeling slightly better. I got up, gave the bacon and eggs to Coleridge, who already had long trails of saliva hanging from either side of his mouth, and waved at Lucasta who was building a snowman in the garden.

In the drawing-room I found Berenice looking like something out of Country Life, wearing an olive green cashmere twinset, a brown tweed skirt, beautiful casual shoes with stacked heels, and listening to Vivaldi. She was obviously being thwarted in her attempts to spend a morning en famille.

‘Doesn’t anyone ever get up here? That poor old woman who’s quite past it is having to do everything. I’ve never seen anything like the dirt in this house, dog hair everywhere, and I’ve just spent half an hour cleaning the john.’

‘The what? Oh, the loo,’ I said.

She took a bottle of brown tablets out of her bag. ‘Here are the multi-vitamin tablets I promised you. I’d take four if I were you, three times a day.’

‘Gosh thanks,’ I said, feeling perhaps I’d misjudged her.

‘Are you into yoga, Prudence?’ she said, flexing her neck gracefully. ‘Whenever I get tense, I sit down and meditate. I’ve got a book on the subject. I’ll lend it to you. I’m sure it would help you get it together with Pendle.’

Interfering old busybody. I wondered how much Ace had told her.

Now she was walking around the room examining everything.

‘This room could be so charming if only someone bothered. In my apartment in New York I’ve gone back to natural fibres and earthy colours. I mean, environment is terrifically important to one’s inner serenity.’

She’d have that red wallpaper out in a flash. I wondered, if I really tried, if I could ever be as beautiful as she was and decided not. Standing by the window, with her glowing suntan, and the snowy mountains behind, she was rather like a winter sports poster. Perhaps Mrs Braddock would come in yodelling and bearing Gluwein.

‘What does Rose-Mary do all day, apart from squandering Ivan’s inheritance?’ asked Berenice.

‘Well, it’s a good question. She’s got lots of friends, plays bridge, looks beautiful, and — er — has fun.’

‘And Margaret? She’s really out of shape; her derrière follows her upstairs.’

‘Well, the same really,’ I said lamely, ‘but she seems to have less fun.’

‘I got very negative vibes from her last night. I guess she and Jack aren’t getting it together. I must have a good rap with her later, about redefining the parameters of their relationship.’

She got up and turned Vivaldi over to the flip side.

‘This is the only record that hasn’t got scratches.’

‘I don’t expect anyone’s ever played it,’ I said. ‘I suppose we’d better start thinking about Lucasta’s party.’

‘I’m an expert on kids’ parties,’ said Berenice smugly. ‘Last summer I gave an all night party for my son Che. He’s the same age as Lucasta, but super intelligent.’

‘How on earth did you keep them all amused all that time?’

‘Oh we didn’t bother with games. I provided a running buffet, soya bean canapés, carrot cake and my lentil loaf, and the kids wrote their own scenario as the party went along.’

At that moment Lucasta barged in, emitting Tarzan howls and leaving the door open.

‘Will you come and see my snowman?’ she said, kneeling down by the fire and holding her hands to the flames. ‘D’you think the lake’s going to freeze over? Can I have a biscuit?’

‘ May I have a biscuit,’ corrected Berenice with a charming smile. ‘A raw carrot would be much better for you.’

‘I’m not a donkey. Are you coming, Pru?’

‘Is your Mummy up yet?’ said Berenice, ignoring her rudeness.

‘She’s not my Mummy,’ hissed Lucasta. ‘She’s my father’s wife.’

Almost on cue Maggie came through the door. She shot a venomous look at Lucasta but didn’t say anything. She looked very pale.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.