A Rural Affair (43 page)

When Archie’s eyes closed I laid him down; went back downstairs to the kitchen and rang Angie’s land line. But as it rang
and rang, and just as I was about to try her mobile, a funny thing happened. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I wanted her reassurances,
didn’t want to hear her falling over herself to assure me that I’d taken it the wrong way. I didn’t want any damage limitation,
because, it occurred to me, I didn’t particularly want a reason to believe. Would be very happy without one. In fact it seemed
to me it might even be a relief. It was quite an epiphany.

I quietly replaced the receiver. The phone sat on the dresser, which was antique pine and rather old hat in these days of
space-age designer kitchens, but I still liked it. Still liked the blue and white Asiatic Pheasant plates that ranged across
it, a collection I’d made over the years, piece by piece. What I didn’t like, I realized, was the toby jug that sat in the
middle of the top shelf. Phil had bought it on a trip to Yorkshire years ago: an ugly old man, his belly the swell of the
jug. He’d placed it there, in pole position, and since everything else on the dresser had been chosen by me, I hadn’t had
the heart to protest; so it had stayed. It had been there so long I’d almost forgotten it was there, or that I disliked it.
Which was how things took root, wasn’t it? Accommodated out of a sense of duty, one becomes accustomed to them, and thus a
permanence is achieved. I reached up for the jug, took it to the kitchen bin and dropped it in. The bin was empty, so it smashed,
rather satisfyingly, on the bottom. Then I went back to the dresser and picked up the phone.

He’d have gone to some trouble, I knew: buying ingredients, concocting something really rather delicious, poring over cookery
books – perhaps casting around for advice, ringing his sister even. Still, it couldn’t be helped. And better now than later.
Because later, who’s to say I’d have the nerve? Who’s to say I wouldn’t paper over this crack, as I’d papered over many others
in my time? Have it explained away as a nothing, when I knew, in my heart, it was a something?

He answered breezily; a little harassed perhaps, not relishing the phone ringing in the middle of his culinary devotions.

‘Hello?’

The walls of my throat had closed up a little. ‘Hi, Luke, it’s Poppy.’

‘Poppy, hi! You just caught me shelling the prawns. To tell you the truth I had no idea they came with their coats on; had
to consult Delia on how to disrobe them. Slippery little devils, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, I suppose. Although actually you can buy them already shelled. Um, Luke, I’m terribly sorry, I’m not going to be able
to make it tonight.’

There was a silence. When his voice came, he sounded crestfallen. ‘Oh no, what a shame. Why not?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not feeling too good.’

‘Really? Oh dear, what’s wrong?’ He was doing his best to hide his disappointment and sound concerned, but his voice had an
edge to it.

‘I’m not sure. Sorry, Luke.’

My brevity wrong-footed him. There was a silence. Then he rallied. ‘Oh well, never mind. I expect I can freeze it. Sure you
won’t change your mind?’

‘Quite sure, thanks.’ I realized I needed to get off the phone now. Before I said something I regretted. I realized I was
furious.

‘Let’s get together soon, eh? I’ll ring you when you’re feeling better.’

‘I’m sure I’ll see you around.’

Luke wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Very astute, in fact, and he recognized the finality in that. Recognized too that I wasn’t
even inventing a malaise – complaining of a tummy upset, a headache, saying a child was ill – and I wondered, for a brief
moment, if he knew the real reason I was cancelling. No. How could he? But as we said goodbye, he did sound slightly shaken.

I, however, felt completely bloody marvellous. I was fizzing with fury but, boy, it felt terrific. I bustled around my kitchen
like a whirling dervish, sweeping toys from the floor in armfuls, rescuing a Lego man from the vegetable basket, flinging
yesterday’s paper in the recycling bin, wiping down surfaces, getting behind things I’d never got behind before. Then I seized
the mop and gave my terracotta tiles the sloshing of their life. And once the superficiality had been achieved, I went for
the profound. Thus Peggy found me, five minutes later, on my hands and knees, giving my Aga a jolly good seeing-to, wiping
down the front for all I was worth: Jif in one hand, a new and very brutal Brillo Pad in the other.

‘Oh, hi, Peggy.’ I sat back on my heels. Gave her a dazzling smile.

‘Oh – I thought I was late,’ she said breathlessly, coming in on a blast of cold air in her mauve velvet coat. She shut the
back door behind her. ‘How come you’re not dressed?’

‘I’m not going,’ I told her, opening the door of the cooler oven and disappearing with a wire brush. ‘Decided against it.’

‘Right,’ she said faintly. She was still out of breath and took a moment to watch me, bewildered. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘My oven needs cleaning,’ I told her, brushing furiously.

‘Oh.’

After a second I sensed her sitting down at the table behind me. Heard the click of a lighter. Smelled smoke.

‘And that’s reasonably crucial, is it? On a Friday night? A clean oven?’

‘Reasonably.’

‘Nothing else detaining you?’

I sat back again. Turned. ‘Oh well, since you ask, there’s
also the very real prospect that Angie told Luke that Phil had left me a lot of money. I have an idea he wasn’t that interested
in me per se, but rather in my inheritance. In fact I believe he was initially keen on Saintly Sue, but changed his tune when
he heard I was an heiress. Or as good as it gets in these parts. The Jackie Onassis of the Chilterns,’ I snorted. ‘I’ve put
him off. I’m not going, Peggy. I can’t afford to make another mistake, you see.’

I felt her thoughtful presence behind me as I resumed my scrubbing. She didn’t gainsay what I’d just told her, didn’t rush
to pour scorn: for Peggy was a proper person. A grown-up. I went for the really caked-on bits on the oven floor which ordinarily
I didn’t attempt, just left to carbonize or whatever they eventually did. I’d pull the fridge out in a moment, I decided,
clean behind it, which I hadn’t done for months. Years, even. Defrost the freezer. Oh yes, it was the day of reckoning.

After a moment Peggy spoke.

‘Perhaps Angie thought by giving him a little nudge, it would help you both on your way? You know what she’s like. Very well
meaning, if a little misguided. I do know she told him you were gorgeous, and he made a face and said, “Two kids.” Maybe that’s
when she mentioned the money.’

I crouched back on my heels. Stared into the cast-iron cavern. I knew Peggy was deliberately enlightening me. Giving it to
me straight. Not allowing me to be under any illusions. I could visualize the sort of face he would have pulled too. A couple
of weeks ago, I realized, this might have brought tears of self-pity to my eyes; might have had me reaching for some pills.
It was nice to know I was better. Nevertheless I kept my eyes firmly on the oven wall at the back. After a bit, I turned.

‘Something wasn’t right, Peggy. The rather abrupt change of gear. I was supposed to trek to London to meet him for lunch,
then all at once he changed it to dinner at the King’s Head. I thought: why so ritzy? And at my convenience? I had the feeling
there was something strategic about the whole thing. And he was great fun and everything, we had a laugh, but when we got
onto the subject of him starting his own business, he suddenly clammed up. Changed the subject when I asked about capital.
He kept complimenting me too, really randomly, like he was ticking boxes. I couldn’t work out why, from being rather blasé,
he’d suddenly got so terribly keen. I should have smelled a rat. Knocked it on the head much earlier.’ I regarded her squarely.
‘Why do I attract them, Peggy? Rats? Is there something wrong with me? Why do I pick men like Phil and Luke? Or are they not
rats at all? Is that actually what men are like? Is there, in fact, nothing wrong with Phil having a mistress for years as
long as no one finds out and no one gets hurt, or with Luke cosying up to me because I might be just what he needs to start
a new business? Is that the way of the world? Am I being difficult? You said earlier the thought of these men is always much
nicer than the reality. D’you really believe that’s true?’

Peggy tipped ash into the palm of her hand, considering. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said carefully. ‘I was being flippant. And neither
are you being difficult. The fact is you picked a couple of duds.’

‘Or they picked me. Saw me coming. Thought: ah yes, Poppy, she’ll do. She’s malleable, biddable – rich even, now. If only
I were lovable.’

‘Poppy,’ she admonished gently.

I grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’m in no danger of breaking down about it. Luckily I’m livid and, actually, very calm.
I shall never marry again, Peggy, never.’ I said it dispassionately. Knew it to be true. I got to my feet and I threw my Brillo
Pad in the sink. Then I turned back to her. ‘Why is it I’m surrounded by lovely women, fabulous girlfriends, have always had
such terrific luck in that department, but never, ever with a man? Why is that, Peggy?’

‘Because you’re not looking in the right places,’ she said briskly. She poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle Angie
had left on the table, and one for me too. I sat down beside her and gratefully took the glass she offered. ‘You go around
looking in bargain basements and then you panic-buy. You riffled around in the sales and found Phil, and then when he’d gone,
you went as far as the church across the road, found a thirty-five-year-old organist with a failing business lurking in the
shadows and thought: he’ll do. Literally the first single man you met. And why is he single? At thirty-five? Why isn’t he
married?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You let all your friends tell you he’s perfect because they want you packaged off and happy, and you don’t stop to wonder
if
you
think he’s perfect. You wouldn’t buy a new winter coat like that, Poppy; why on earth a man? The trouble is, you aim too
low. You’ve no confidence. And if you aim low, you get low. You get a loser. And you are more than worthy of a winner. There
are plenty of them out there too. I should know, I married one.’

‘Roger.’

She didn’t talk about him much. Barely at all, so I never did either. Angie probed occasionally, but got nowhere. But she
did once say that the fifteen years she’d been married to him had been the happiest of her life. He’d died of testicular cancer
at forty-five; no children.

‘Yes, Roger. And because of him, because he was such a find –’ Her eyes shone suddenly. ‘Oh, Poppy, if only you’d met him.
Such fun. So alive. And such a safe pair of hands too. Because of him, I won’t marry again. No one will ever match up. Oh,
I know I play it for laughs and flirt with all the eligible old bachelors, but that’s all it is. A laugh. I haven’t been with
another man since Roger died.’

I tried to hide my surprise. He’d been dead a long time.

‘But you’ll meet someone,’ she urged. ‘You’re young, you may even marry again, but Poppy, never, ever settle for anything
less than perfect.’ She eyed me steadily over the rim of her glass. ‘A good marriage is the best thing in the world, but a
bad one is the very worst. If a racing certainty doesn’t come along – and it might not – stick to your own company.’ She smiled.
Touched my glass with hers. ‘We’ll be merry widows together. Deal?’

I smiled. ‘Deal.’ I felt my anger subside and something like relief flood through my veins. To be like Peggy. To end up like
Peggy, who I’d always admired, would not be so bad. Would be pretty terrific, actually.

‘And there are some nice men out there,’ she mused. ‘Jennie’s Dan, for instance, albeit in short pants.’

‘Yes, Dan’s lovely,’ I agreed.

‘Angie’s Tom too.’

We regarded each other guiltily. We both liked Tom, even though he had behaved very badly. But then, Angie probably wasn’t
the easiest woman to live with. There were two sides to that story, as there often are.

‘Did I tell you I saw him the other day?’ she said casually.

‘No, you didn’t. Where?’

‘I ran into him in town. Had a drink with him.’

‘Really?’ I was intrigued. ‘Does Angie know?’

‘No, she doesn’t, and don’t tell her.’ She sipped her wine. ‘Apparently she rang him.’

‘Yes, she did, and he didn’t return her call. She’s devastated.’

Peggy didn’t say anything for a moment, then: ‘Angie’s either devastated or thrilled to bits. Cast down or euphoric. Never
anything in between. That can be quite exhausting. Tom knows he behaved like an arse but sometimes … ’ She hesitated. ‘Well,
sometimes we all need some space. Just to get things into perspective.’

I snorted with derision. ‘Space. That sounds horribly like psychotwaddle to me, like some garbage some counsellor’s told him.
And I wouldn’t call a middle-aged man running off with a twenty-six-year-old groom and leaving his wife and children perspective.
Last drop?’

‘Why not,’ she said, looking at me with interest as I poured. Normally I agreed with most things she said. Was easily persuaded.
But my nerve endings were still quite exposed from the last ten minutes, and much as I liked charming, good-looking Tom and
had had some riotous evenings in his company, I wasn’t prepared to make too many excuses for him.

‘Are you going to that?’ Peggy asked, changing the subject. She nodded across at the dresser where, amongst the blue and white
plates, I propped the occasional invitation. I followed her eyes to a stiff white card embossed with an elaborate italic script.

‘Oh. No, I doubt it.’

It was a ticket to the hunt ball, which had been dropped through my door. By Mark, I assumed. ‘Compliments of the hunt’ had
been scrawled on a slip of paper inside the envelope. But then, I had made quite a large donation to the hunt.
A handsome cheque, which I’d popped through his door earlier. And Mark had rung me, overwhelmed.

‘We can refurbish the kennels, Poppy, keep all the staff. I was going to have to let the kennel girl go. It’s so generous.
I don’t know what to say.’