Catherine Alliott - A Rural Affair

I followed Janice down the passage and up the uncarpeted back stairs with the children. Our feet clattered on the bare wood. Clemmie was wide awake and chatting animatedly, thoroughly enjoying her role as house guest. Her brother was also warming to the task, singing, literally, for his supper, bellowing ‘Baa-baa Black Sheep’ at the top of his voice, swaying to the rhythm in my arms. The party was on as far as they were concerned, and I realized, with a sinking heart, that I’d never get them to sleep now. I might just as well not have come. Janice, though, was a hit, even with Archie, who’s very fussy. When we got to the bedroom she sat on the bed and pointed to the faded frieze of farmyard animals around the walls, asking Archie what they said. It occurred to me that this really was a nursery, albeit an old one.

‘Was this Sam’s?’ I asked, surprised, over Archie’s deafening ‘MOO!’

‘Good boy!’ she told him. She turned to me. ‘It was once, and the tenants didn’t use this room so they didn’t bother decorating. Didn’t decorate much at all, in fact, as you’ll see. Well, it wasn’t theirs, was it? Not worth the investment. And Sam won’t get round to it, what with the roof falling in and other things to worry about. Now then, young man,’ she fussed over Archie, popping him in between sheets. He instantly popped out of them, roaring with laughter. My son was having the time of his life.

‘And have you worked here for years?’ I persisted. Shut up a minute, Archie. I sat beside Janice on the bed. ‘Did you work for Sam’s parents too?’ Any detail, however small, would help.

‘Thirty years in all,’ she said, tickling Archie’s neck. He squealed like a piglet, tucking his chin in. ‘And when my Stan was alive we were housekeeper and gardener for his folks. Lovely, they were. Well, she died young, didn’t she? Cancer, it was. And he didn’t make old bones; died of a broken heart, I always said. We lived in the cottage, Stan and me. But that’s long been sold, what with death duties and that. I live in the village now. I worked for the tenants too, nice people they were. Just cleaning and a bit of silver; well, they had au pairs, didn’t they? And they were in London, mostly. That’s all I do for Sam now, a bit of cleaning, because of course I’m in his office by day, doing the typing. Taught myself, I did, a while back, when he needed more help there than he did here. Only four days, mind. Fridays I’m here to keep on top of things. Can’t be everywhere at once, can I? But I keep the place nice. General dogsbody, that’s me.’ She grinned as Archie embraced her neck warmly. ‘Well, he’d be lost otherwise, and there’s no one else. Time was, we had gardeners and grooms and a girl from the village and what have you, but not any more.’ I noticed the wall behind her head was riddled with cracks, the carpet, worn beneath our feet. Times were clearly tougher.

‘And he’s easy to work for?’

She broke off from blowing in Archie’s ear to turn. She raised her chin and gave me a level stare. ‘There isn’t a better man.’

There was something decidedly eighteenth-century about this remark, and since I’d just seen him looking impossibly handsome downstairs in something resembling a doublet and hose, it didn’t help my equilibrium. Why couldn’t she have kept to the Regency rhetoric but said he was a cad? A bounder? I felt something I’d been determinedly stiffening inside collapse a bit.

‘So, were you here when he got married?’ I persisted nosily. ‘To Hope?’

‘I was.’ This, more shortly.

‘And – and so it must be odd for him, don’t you think? Having her back here, with her new husband?’ I blushed at my inquisitiveness.

She looked at me appraisingly. ‘I don’t know how he does it. But he’s that fond of Chad, who’s a nice boy, and that upset for him too. That’s why they’re here, I’m sure.’

This didn’t make much sense to me, but as I was trying to figure it out and formulate another question, which obviously couldn’t quite take the form of ‘And is he still in love with her?’ Janice got to her feet. She was leading me to the door too. Quite forcefully, really; taking me by the arm and telling me to go off and have a good time and she’d sort out the kiddies. She thought a game of I-spy and then a story? And perhaps some hot milk? Clemmie and Archie, looking as if it was Christmas and not at all sorry to see the back of their mother, who would have put the lights out more instantly, agreed, bouncing in their beds, shiny-eyed.

Down the stairs I went in my old black, thoughtful; then along the passage, following the noise to the front of the house. The front hall, of course, was the entrance we should have arrived at, and as I turned the corner under an arch, it was everything I’d imagined.

A grand sweeping staircase curled majestically down to a black and white limestone hall, two marble pillars supported a gallery at one end, and haughty-looking ancestors frowned darkly from the walls. It was heaving with people, so much so that some of them were halfway up the stairs. All seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, talking at the top of their voices, shrieking to one another as they knocked back the champagne. Many I knew, but so deceptively attractive were they looking, in silks, velvets and sparkling jewels, the men dapper in black tie, that now and again I had to take a second look just to confirm. I took it all in for a moment, ridiculously pleased to be here. Then I cast around for Dad. We were obviously late and there seemed to be a general move towards the dining room for supper. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to drift in there alone. My eyes darted about. Instead of my father, though, I found Jennie, who, shimmering in her grey silk, dark curls professionally swept back in soft waves from her face, was hastening towards me from the foot of the stairs. As she muscled through the scrum, her eyes were wide in consternation.

‘I thought you weren’t coming!’

‘No, I wasn’t, but then Dad had a spare ticket and I thought: oh, what the heck. You’ll never believe it, Jennie, the children are upstairs with the housekeeper. Dad swung it, naturally. How Mortimer is that!’

Ordinarily this would amuse her hugely, but it didn’t for some reason. Her eyes flitted nervously about. ‘There’s Angie. Come on, let’s go and say hi.’

Rather purposefully and with quite a grip on my arm, she turned me about and made to lead me across the crowded room. Indeed, so forcefully and with so much steel, something made me turn and glance over my shoulder: my left one.

Luke was in the stairwell, with his back to me. One hand above his head was hanging on to the banisters, the other was on his hip. He was leaning in, talking confidentially to someone. I craned my neck. To Saintly Sue. I shook Jennie off. Watched. Body language is fascinating and this was compelling. The way he was arched over her, whispering in her ear: the way she threw back her head and laughed, cheeks flushed. She was in a midnight-blue off-the-shoulder dress, showing a great deal of bosom and looking far from saintly. Suddenly, over his shoulder, she saw me. She looked surprised, but then a triumphant look flitted across her face. A moment later Luke turned to follow her eyes. He startled visibly. I walked across.

‘Hi, Luke. Hello, Sue.’

‘Oh, um, hi, Poppy.’ Luke nervously smoothed back his mop of blond hair and straightened up. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘Oh, really? Why not?’

‘Well, I – didn’t think it was …’

‘Oh, it’s very much my thing. Thank you for the flowers, by the way. Sorry I couldn’t make supper at your place the other night. I hope you found someone to take my place? Eat all those delicious prawns?’