‘You should get up,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be another scorcher.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nine o’clock. We should get cracking. They’ll probably all get here around ten-thirty, eleven. The Mobyns are leaving at ten.’ He looked at himself in the mirror and made a few imaginary shots.
Those bloody Mobyns again, thought Caroline, and gave Patrick a distrustful look.
Stephen and Annie arrived in Bindon at exactly ten-thirty. The roads out of Silchester had, contrary to Stephen’s predictions, proved remarkably clear, and even the children had chosen their ice-lollies at the service station with a brisk efficiency.
‘I hope we’re not too early,’ said Annie, as the car pulled into the tarmac drive of The White House. ‘Are there any other cars here yet?’ They all peered out of the windows. A sprinkler was playing on the semicircular lawn in front of the house, swinging round to douse the immaculate shrubs bordering the drive; then swinging back to play on the central flower-bed. As it changed direction, a spray of drops landed on the car, and the children shrieked with laughter.
‘There’s a car,’ said Nicola, pointing to the very shiny navy-blue Mercedes which was parked at a skewed angle in front of the house.
‘That’s Caroline’s,’ said Annie. ‘We must be the first. Well, they did say to arrive between ten and eleven.’
‘Can we go under the sprinklers?’ said Nicola. Annie glanced at Stephen.
‘I’m not really sure . . .’
‘Why shouldn’t they?’ he said, in a slightly defensive voice. ‘They won’t do any harm.’
‘OK then, but make sure . . .’ Annie tailed off as Nicola and Toby slithered out of the car. Toby ran cleanly towards the lawn, a little brown body in blue shorts and T-shirt. Nicola hurried along beside him, her right foot trailing slightly with an expedient awkwardness. She always forgot about using both feet when she was in a hurry. Once under the spray, they seemed unsure what to do; eventually they began to splash each other rather ineffectually.
Stephen sighed.
‘This is what Nicola needs more of,’ he said. ‘Fresh air, exercise . . .’ Annie bit back the retort that she already got plenty of exercise and looked sidelong at Stephen. He was frowning disconsolately; staring through the window at the impressive façade of The White House. He had been moody all morning; disparagingly plucking the threadbare strings of his racquet during breakfast, snapping at Toby when he knocked over the milk.
Annie was pretty sure the trouble was his work. He had stopped coming back from the library overflowing with ideas and enthusiasm; whenever she tried to question him about it he became defensive and cut her short with some sarcastic rejoinder. So different from the way he’d been when his research was just a hobby; when there was no pressure on him to produce anything tangible. She longed for him to open up to her and share his worries – but then she wasn’t sure he’d even admitted them to himself.
‘Here we go,’ said Stephen. Annie looked up and followed his gaze. Emerging from round the side of the house, a portly figure in expensive-looking tennis gear, was Patrick.
‘Perhaps we’d better get out of the car,’ said Annie, trying to inject a note of humour into the atmosphere. Stephen gave a reluctant half-grin and opened the door.
Patrick had seen them and was waving his racquet at them with an expansive grin. He approached the car, calling something incomprehensible.
‘Hello, Patrick!’ called Annie.
‘Is the car all right here?’ said Stephen, as Patrick approached.
‘Absolutely fine,’ said Patrick. ‘Unless . . .’ They all involuntarily turned to look at it – a dusty old Vauxhall, with the paintwork scratched where Stephen had once backed it into a gate. ‘Unless you want to put it under the trees,’ he said. ‘It’ll get a bit hot in the sun.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Annie. Stephen got back into the car and began to manoeuvre it onto the patch of grass under the trees.
‘Come and have a drink!’ said Patrick, putting his arm round Annie’s shoulders.
‘Oh yes, I . . .’ She turned towards the children, still capering on the lawn.
‘They’ll come when they’re ready,’ he said, following her thoughts. ‘I know Caroline’s looking forward to seeing you.’
‘You’re very persuasive,’ said Annie, laughing. He felt warm through his shirt and he smelt of expensive aftershave. As they passed Caroline’s car she trailed her fingers admiringly over its smooth surface.
‘Isn’t that lovely?’ she said.
‘It’s a pretty little machine,’ agreed Patrick. ‘Bought it last year for Caroline’s birthday.’
‘Oh yes, I remember. Lucky thing!’
‘Try telling her that. She’s after something more racy now.’
‘What, like a Porsche?’ said Annie, impressed.
‘Ssh! Don’t mention the P-word. I’m trying to get her to stick with this one.’ As they rounded the corner of the house, Annie gave a backward glance to the Mercedes, gleaming expensively in the sunshine.
‘You must be doing well,’ she said. Patrick shrugged.
‘It hasn’t been a bad couple of years. I’ve been keeping my end up somehow. Just going with the flow. You know how it is.’
‘Not really,’ said Annie, honestly. ‘There isn’t much of a flow in Seymour Road.’ Patrick laughed.
‘Don’t knock Seymour Road! I have fond memories of that street.’
‘Do you?’
‘Don’t look so surprised. In fact, Georgina was saying only yesterday how much she wished we still lived there.’ He gave Annie a rueful look and she laughed.
‘Typical children! Never grateful!’
‘That’s what I said.’
They came out at the back of the house, and Caroline looked up from the terrace, where she was pouring out drinks for two people Annie didn’t recognize. She was looking very brown, thought Annie, looking down at her own pale legs with a slight twinge.
‘Annie!’ shouted Caroline. ‘Just in time for some Pimm’s!’ She sploshed a rather dark amber liquid into a long glass held by the strange woman, who giggled affectedly.
‘Now, now,’ said the man. ‘Can’t have you getting tipsy before you play, Valerie.’
‘Why the hell not?’ enquired Caroline, filling the man’s glass. Valerie giggled again.
‘Hello all,’ said Patrick. ‘Annie, meet Don Roper and his daughter Valerie.’
‘How do you do?’ said Don, winking at Annie. He was a stocky, cheerful-looking man, with a rather large face and eager eyes.
‘Hello!’ carolled Valerie. She seemed slightly younger than Annie – perhaps around thirty – and had the same large face as her father, but to less pleasant effect. Her skin was pale and dead-looking and her hazel eyes had a rather flat sheen.
‘What can I get you?’ said Patrick, gesturing expansively to the glass drinks trolley.
‘Pimm’s would be lovely,’ said Annie. ‘But if I could have it a little weaker than that . . .’ Caroline poured out nearly a glassful of the dark liquid and added a splash of lemonade.
‘Have some mint,’ she said, poking about in the top of the jug. ‘And a couple of strawberries.’
Annie sat down on a steamer chair, took a sip of Pimm’s and waited for the kick of alcohol to hit her stomach. The sun was hot on her face and she wished she had brought some sunglasses. Looking surreptitiously at the others’ clothes, she realized she was certainly going to have to avail herself of Caroline’s offer of an outfit. Valerie was nattily attired in Slazenger, while Don’s shorts looked so crisp as to be almost uncomfortable. And Caroline was looking her usual glamorous self, in a pale-pink sleeveless tennis top and matching pleated skirt. Her thick, blond, highlighted hair was in a bouncy pony-tail and she was wearing a white towelling wristband on each arm.
Stephen came striding around the corner of the house, carrying Toby on his shoulders.
‘Hi, everyone,’ he said.
‘What a swe
et little boy!’ cried Valerie.
‘Have some Pimm’s,’ said Patrick. ‘Have you met Don and Valerie?’
‘How do you do?’ said Stephen. ‘I’m Stephen Fairweather.’
‘And who’s this?’ said Valerie archly at Toby. Toby buried his face in his father’s neck.
‘Our son, Toby,’ said Annie.
‘What a gorgeous creature,’ said Valerie, ‘I do love children.’
Nicola followed round the corner, with a drenched T-shirt and gleaming spectacles. Her right leg dragged slightly as she went, and she was panting.
‘The sprinkler’s brilliant!’ she said. ‘It’s better than going swimming.’
‘You look as if you have been swimming!’ said Caroline, smiling warmly at Nicola. ‘Does Georgina know you’re here? She can’t wait to see you.’ Nicola flushed slightly with pleasure.
‘I haven’t seen her,’ she said.
‘She must be in her room,’ said Caroline. ‘Do you want to go and find her? Or do you want to cool down and have a Coke?’
‘I think I’ll go and find her,’ said Nicola, looking with alarm at the smart chairs and strangers on the terrace.
‘You know where her room is. Take Toby, too, if you like.’
‘Yes, go on, Tobes,’ said Stephen. ‘Go and annoy the big ones.’ He grinned at Nicola.
As Nicola hurried off, Toby in tow, Valerie turned to Annie with a mixture of horror and sympathy on her face.
‘Oh dear, poor little girl,’ she said. She had a high, rather flutey voice. ‘It must be so difficult for you.’
‘Not really,’ said Annie.
‘She must be a very loving creature,’ continued Valerie. ‘I read in an article that children with disabilities are often the most rewarding.’
Annie and Stephen glanced at each other.
‘But your little boy,’ she continued, ‘he’s quite normal, is he? I must say, he looks a charming child.’ Nicola proceeded timidly along the long, cool corridors of The White House, trying to remember which door was Georgina’s. She kept a firm grip on Toby; Georgina’s house was full of things, balanced on pedestals and shelves, which she recognized as both expensive and easily broken. She vaguely supposed that was why Caroline and Patrick hadn’t had any more children after Georgina. Everyone knew Georgina was neat and tidy and never dropped things or ran into them; but if they’d had someone clumsy like her, or Toby, who never kept still . . . They passed a little table laden with Lladro china ornaments and she shuddered to think of them all lying broken on the floor; knocked off by a sweeping arm movement or one of Toby’s tennis balls.
Eventually she thought she’d found the right door and knocked timidly.
‘Come in!’
Georgina was sitting at her desk by the window, and she looked up, her face bright, as they entered.
‘Brilliant! You’re here!’ she said. ‘Why are you all wet?’
‘We went under the sprinklers,’ said Nicola, a little shamefacedly.
‘I do that sometimes,’ said Georgina, kindly. ‘Do you want a drink of water?’
‘Yes please,’ said Nicola, watching mesmerized as Georgina went to a large transparent water dispenser in the corner of her room.
‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ said Georgina. ‘Mummy got it for me because I’m always coming out for drinks of water at night. The water in my bathroom is yuck.’
She returned to her desk and lifted up a sheet of paper covered with writing.
‘I’ve got a plan sorted out for what we’re going to do!’
‘Can’t we go and see Arabia?’ said Nicola.
‘Of course,’ said Georgina. ‘But we need something for this afternoon.’ Nicola took a sip of water. It was cool, clean and delicious. She looked at Georgina and waited.
‘I’ve decided we’re going to do a play,’ said Georgina. ‘We can make one up. Isn’t it a brilliant idea? We can rehearse today and do the performance tomorrow. We can have costumes and everything. What do you think?’ Her bright blue eyes fixed on Nicola determinedly, and Nicola stared back with respect.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘That sounds brilliant.’
Annie and Caroline, passing Georgina’s door on the way to Caroline’s bedroom, heard her issuing instructions in clear tones.
‘Bossy little cow,’ said Caroline, rolling her eyes. ‘Thinks she’s in some bloody Angela Brazil novel.’
‘It’s a shame they aren’t outside, it’s such nice weather,’ said Annie.
‘You’re right!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘I never think of things like that.’ She pushed open Georgina’s door. All three children looked up.
‘You should all go outside,’ said Caroline. ‘You’ll never get brown in here.’
Caroline’s walk-in wardrobe was nearly the size of the boxroom at 18 Seymour Road. Annie watched, trying unsuccessfully to remain nonchalant as Caroline tossed tennis shirts, skirts, T-shirts and shorts onto the bed in a heap of sugary pastels. Some were plain, some discreetly trimmed, others a riot of abstract pattern. She surreptitiously eyed the logos, despising her heart for beating faster as she recognized not only well-known sporting labels – Ellesse, Tacchini, Lacoste – but also the more universally coveted insignias that no-one could be unaware of these days. Gucci. Yves Saint Laurent. Chanel. Her gaze fixed on a plain white T-shirt with two interlocking Cs. How much must that have cost?
‘I don’t know what kind of thing you like,’ Caroline was saying. ‘Try them all on, if you like.’
‘I don’t know where to start,’ said Annie. ‘I didn’t know you were so keen on tennis.’ Caroline looked surprised.
‘I’m not, really. We go to the country club over at Henchley – and you need proper tennis stuff for that. Not only whites, thank God. I mean, you need a really good tan to be able to wear white.’
Annie, who had been about to pick out a white sleeveless tennis top, changed her mind.
‘What do you think?’ she said helplessly. Caroline looked at her consideringly, and Annie involuntarily glanced down at her legs – pale and short, though not flabby. Rather like the rest of her. She had the sort of English complexion that veered from deathly white to embarrassingly pink, and she tended to leave the rest of her body to its own devices.
‘Apricot,’ said Caroline decisively.
Stephen was onto his second glass of Pimm’s. He stretched out his legs in the sunshine and wondered how he would ever summon up the energy to play tennis. Patrick had appeared with a large chart labelled ‘The White House Tennis Tournament’ and was busy explaining it to Don. Valerie was awkwardly picking out pieces of fruit from her drink and popping them into her mouth. Her hazel eyes met Stephen’s and she giggled.
‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘I really think . . .’ She petered off, and gazed down into her drink again. There was a pause, during which Stephen gave an inward sigh. It would be too rude to ignore her.
‘Do you live in the village?’ he said conversationally. Valerie started, and looked up at him. Her forehead was moist, and a few strands of her shaggy brown hair had stuck to it.
‘Ooh no!’ she laughed, as though he had said something preposterous. ‘No, I live in London. But Dad lives here, just along the road, and Patrick phoned him up and asked whether I’d be home this weekend.’
‘Lucky that you were,’ said Stephen.
‘Not really lucky,’ said Valerie. ‘When Dad told me about the party, I took Friday off work to come down. I did a bit of shopping, too, spending all my salary at once!’ She giggled loudly.
‘So you came down specially?’ Stephen was surprised.
‘Well, I do enjoy the tennis, and meeting new people. I play at a club in London, which is very good, and there are social events every so often, you know, discos and parties, karaoke evenings sometimes . . .’ Stephen nodded in slight bemusement. ‘But then, no-one talks very much at a disco,’ she carried on, ‘and I’m never quite sure what to wear.’ She abruptly stopped speaking, and Stephen found himself quite floored for an answer.
* * *
Annie couldn’t believe how attractive she felt wearing Caroline’s apricot-coloured polo shirt and pleated skirt. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, and smelt the deliriously flowery scent that Caroline had insisted she try.
‘And you must have a go with this moisturizer,’ said Caroline. ‘It stops wrinkles and helps you go brown quicker.’ She brandished a silver pot at Annie. ‘Put it on all over.’
‘I should say no,’ said Annie. ‘That looks extremely expensive.’
‘Forty quid,’ said Caroline. ‘But it’s worth it. And Patrick earns enough.’
‘He must be doing really well,’ said Annie, temporarily closing off her conscience in order to smear forty-pound cream all over her legs.
‘I think they all are at his company,’ said Caroline. ‘People are buying investment plans like there’s no tomorrow. God knows how they can afford them. Especially at the moment. But his bonuses have been incredible.’
‘What does he get bonuses for?’ said Annie. ‘Sorry, I’m incredibly ignorant.’
‘They give him a target and if he reaches it he gets a sodding great bonus. All of this’ – Caroline gestured vaguely out of the window – ‘is from bonuses.’ Annie began to apply the cream to her face.
‘It’s not fair!’ she said. ‘They should give teachers bonuses for getting kids through exams! Or give Stephen a bonus for finishing his thesis.’
‘They should bloody well give me a bonus for putting up with Patrick’s moods,’ retorted Caroline. ‘If he thinks he’s going to miss a target he gets really edgy. Drives me crackers.’ She sighed, and picked up a tennis skirt still in its embossed cellophane wrapper. It was pale blue and white striped, with a gold logo in the corner.
‘I’d forgotten all about this one,’ she said, in surprise. ‘I must wear it some time.’
When Annie and Caroline got outside again, they found Patrick anxiously looking at his watch.
‘I wanted to kick off at eleven,’ he complained, ‘but the Mobyns aren’t here yet.’