Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs (30 page)

‘The prince was unbelievably pathetic,’ said Isobel. ‘Why didn’t he just elope with the girl of his dreams and save her all that misery?’

‘Perhaps he had a care for his inheritance,’ said Conrad.

‘Oh, pooh! I despise that sort of caring.’

I had the impression that Isobel intended something particular by this remark, perhaps that Conrad ought to marry her at once. I had spent some time watching him while we were listening to the story. He had been sitting with one leg crossed over the other in the only chair, which had a high back, not unlike a throne. He reminded me of the painting of the sultan on the cover of my copy of
The Arabian Nights
. I remembered that the sultan, convinced of women’s falsehood and inconstancy, had decreed that he would take each wife for one night only and have them strangled at daybreak. Conrad might be nearly as difficult to please. As he looked at Isobel, there was a suspicion of a smile curving his lips.

‘But it might have been that the peasant girl was anticipating a crown and a dress spun from gold and the prince did not wish to disappoint her. Not all women are as unworldly as you, my dear Isobel.’

Isobel affected to laugh but I thought, by the way she withdrew from the conversation, that the thrust might have gone home.

‘That’s it!’ Golly, who had remained pensive, one finger pressed against her brow, sat up. ‘That’s the story for my new opera. A tale of supernatural romance with supernatural elements and yet with universal themes. The triumph of the eternal verities, truth, virtue …
The Ring and the Fish
. Or
The Fish and
the Ring
… better.’

‘You don’t think the title confusingly like another quite famous operatic cycle?’ suggested Conrad.

‘Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought of that. All right, I’ll make up something.
The Cake and the Fish
.’

‘That will never do. It will come to be known as
The Fishcake
. And does it not present a difficulty to have an opera in which the female lead is dumb?’

Golly frowned. ‘Hm. I admit that is a slight … This needs thinking about.’ For a moment her face was screwed up in thought, then her eye fell on me. ‘I know! I’ll write some truly ravishing music for the dumb heroine to dance to. It’ll be an opera ballet with hints of the baroque and the rococo, in delicate homage to Rameau and the early eighteenth century. But at the same time it will be searingly, uncompromisingly modern and original. There will be a chorus
and
a corps de ballet, leaping about the stage in a menacing way with swords and things … yes, I like the idea of a sword dance.’ She stood up and snapped her fingers, which woke Buster who had only just gone to sleep, lulled by bits of cake fed him surreptitiously by Fritz. ‘Pencil! And paper. I must jot down a few ideas!’

‘In the library,’ said Conrad. ‘You will find all you need on my desk. But please not to get my documents in a mess.’

Golly strode away, her eyes ablaze with inspiration.

‘Buster, quiet! Lie down!’ said Rafe. ‘So that’s genius. A great work created from an improbable nursery tale. In years to come we’ll be able to tell people that we were present at
its conception.’ He spoke pleasantly but I suspected he thought it ridiculous.

‘Remember what Goethe said,’ said Conrad.

We all, Rafe included, looked blank.

‘I translate roughly. In music the dignity of art finds supreme expression. There is no subject matter to be discounted.’

I was interested in this idea. ‘You mean it doesn’t matter how dull or silly something is, because music always ennobles it?’

‘Exactly so.’ Conrad stood up abruptly and went to the piano. I wondered if he was annoyed with Rafe for failing to appreciate his old friend. He began to play. The music began as something charming and pretty, then went into a minor key and became hauntingly sad, then finally thunderous and angry. I thought how marvellous for Isobel to be married to someone who played so wonderfully, but she wasn’t listening. Instead she was telling Rafe about her trip to London. I overheard phrases such as ‘ten floors up and its own lift’ and ‘a little cul-de-sac off Bond Street.’

Fritz offered me another slice of cake.

‘No thank you, I’m full to bursting.’ I pressed my hands to my stomach in demonstration.

‘What the
hell
…?’ Isobel was staring at me, at my hands in particular, with an expression of bewilderment that changed rapidly to distress.

I saw that the diamond had twisted on my finger so that it faced outwards and flashed in the light from the fire.

The corners of her mouth stretched in a grimace of rage and she clenched her fists. She looked at Rafe. ‘You … you’ve gone ahead … without telling me—’

‘Isobel!’ Rafe looked alarmed. ‘Don’t be an idiot … Buster, if you don’t stop barking this minute I shall take you back to the car!’

‘Have … you … asked … her … to marry you?’ she demanded with terrific emphasis.

‘Yes. I have.’ Rafe’s expression became stern. ‘And, luckily for me, Marigold has said yes.’

‘Of
course
she said yes.’

Her scorn wounded and angered me. It had been by no means a foregone conclusion that I would jump at her brother’s offer of marriage. In fact, if I had consulted only my own interests … I felt a lump in my throat.

Fritz picked up the tray and moved quickly to the door. ‘Not to be excited, good folks. I go to fetch drinks.’

‘Isobel! Don’t say another word!’ Rafe said with tremendous warning in his voice.

She jumped up, her eyes filled with tears. ‘You … you …
fool!
’

Then she fled, first towards the door that led to the hall, but Fritz and the tray were in her way. She dashed towards the library but remembered that it was occupied by Golly. She actually stamped her foot with temper before flinging open one of the doors that led on to the balcony and running out to stand by the parapet, her head bowed, her shoulders heaving.

‘I’m so sorry, darling.’ Rafe stood up and came over to press his hand on my shoulder. ‘You mustn’t mind … you know Isobel’s rages … it’ll be over in an instant. I’d better go and see—’

But it wasn’t over in an instant. I watched them for what felt like an age through the glass – Rafe had closed the French windows behind him – as the two of them talked and gesticulated in dumbshow against the backdrop of hills and the rapidly darkening sky. I became aware that Conrad was playing something so familiar that for a moment or two it seemed like a tune tripping along in my head, just a background to my thoughts. Then I recognized Odile’s pas de deux with the prince from the third act of
Swan Lake
. I looked at Conrad. He was looking straight back at me, his expression cold, even hostile. I felt utterly wretched.

Isobel and Rafe came in, her face woeful, his troubled. She rushed over to me at once and I stood up in case I needed to defend myself.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her expression was contrite. ‘It was a shock. I hadn’t expected it so soon.’ Her mouth trembled like a child’s. ‘There isn’t anyone I’d rather …’ She drew her breath in suddenly like a sob. ‘You’ll be good to him, won’t you?’

However trivial the cause of her pain might seem to me, it was real to her, and my anger began to dissolve.

‘As good as I know how.’ I smiled. ‘We probably won’t get married for ages, not till long after you. And your wedding’s bound to be a much more magnificent affair. It’ll eclipse ours by miles.’

‘Oh, as to that …’ She put her arm round my waist and gave me a squeeze. ‘You’re an angel to forgive me.’

‘Telephone, Conrad.’ Golly dashed out of the library, waving a notebook. ‘Presto pronto. I must get hold of my librettist. There’s not a moment to lose. I’ve sketched out the main themes but I mustn’t run ahead too fast. He can be the most tiresomely uncooperative fellow but quite brilliant – where did you say the telephone was?’

‘I didn’t.’ Conrad brought the phrase to an end, closed the lid and got up. ‘There isn’t one.’

‘But my dear boy! You can’t mean it?’

‘They have to blast through rock to make channels for water pipes and telephone and electricity cables. It cannot be done in a moment.’

‘Yes, I see that, but all the same … the inconvenience … Thank you, Conrad, for a delightful … I must find a telephone at once … Goodbye, darlings.’ She kissed her fingers to each of us in turn and rushed out. Seconds later I heard through the open door the roar of an engine being revved and driven off at speed. Remembering the bridge, I shuddered inwardly.

‘Drinks!’ Fritz had brought in a tray of glasses. ‘And the calming pills, Conrad, you remember you must them take because the good doctor says.
Verdammt!
There is wind in the house!’ He went out to close the front door.

Isobel looked puzzled. ‘I didn’t know you took pills, Conrad?’

Conrad raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah, well. We do not yet know everything there is to know about each other.’ He took from his pocket a little red box, extracted a blue pill the size of a five-pence piece and swallowed it as easily as if it had been a crumb.

Isobel was looking at Rafe. He lifted his eyebrows fractionally. She gave the tiniest shrug of her shoulders.

I examined Conrad’s face suspiciously. I was standing closer to him than the others. The pill had gone down without the slightest movement of his throat. Our eyes met. He must have read the question in mine, for in less time than it took me to draw breath he had swallowed the pillbox too. He uncurled his fingers and spread his palm flat afterwards to show that his hand was empty, so I knew it had been a trick.

‘I think,’ said Conrad, ‘I would like some fresh air. And perhaps a little walk.’

He opened the French windows, walked out onto the balcony and jumped up onto the parapet.

‘Conrad!’ cried Isobel. ‘Be careful!’

He stretched out his arms like a tightrope-walker and ran along the narrow ledge.

‘He’s mad!’ exclaimed Rafe. ‘It must be a three-or four-hundred-foot drop! He could be killed!’

‘Someone get him in!’ cried Isobel.

Fear made us impotent. We watched with half-stifled gasps and groans as he swayed forwards, backwards and forwards again. Someone – it might have been me – screamed on a rising note like a kettle coming up to the boil as Conrad flung up his hands, leaped high into the air and plummeted feet first into starlit space.

‘It was a thoroughly childish and irresponsible thing to do,’ said Rafe as the car wound down the mountainside. ‘It could have had serious consequences.’

Isobel giggled. ‘I think it was funny.’

‘But you were distraught!’

‘Yes, but only for a minute or so. Don’t make such a fuss about it.’ Isobel was in the passenger seat beside him. She leaned across to rest her hand on his shoulder. ‘It hasn’t done me any lasting harm.’

‘Shock is bad for people. You might have fainted. Or even had a heart attack.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling. I’m twenty-three and fit as a fiddle. I admit the hairs stood up on my scalp and I did feel the most terrific desire to shriek, but it probably did wonders for my circulation.’

I wondered what it had done for mine. I was fairly certain I
had
screamed when Conrad had jumped off the balcony, but after that my muscles had turned to wood and I had been unable to move so much as an eyelash. Isobel had moaned and hidden her face against Rafe’s chest within the circle of his comforting arms. Fritz had run out onto the balcony to look over the parapet, followed by Buster who had caught the general mood
of agitation and was thrilled to be able to bark uncensored at the rising moon. I had no idea how long we stood motionless in a state of horrified disbelief before a voice behind us said, ‘There is no reason to be distressed. I have, as you see, returned to you without injury.’

‘Conrad!’ Isobel had lifted her head from Rafe’s jersey. Her face was white, her eyes glazed. ‘What the …? I don’t understand …’ She had taken a step towards him and staggered a little. Rafe had caught her arm. ‘It’s all right.
I’m
all right.’ She had smiled tremulously. ‘You
beast!
It was another trick, wasn’t it? How did you do that? Don’t tell me you grew wings and flew!’

Conrad lifted his eyebrows and bit his lip, as though forced to conceal a laugh. ‘Well, unfortunately, that I am unable to do. I am truly sorry if I frightened you unpleasantly. I was unable to resist.’

‘You scared us out of our wits!’ Rafe did not try to disguise his anger. ‘You might have had some thought for my sister—’

Isobel put up her hand to stop him. ‘Never mind, darling. I’m perfectly all right. Don’t make a scene.’ She turned a bright face to her fiancé. ‘Now, Conrad, it was bad of you but delightfully in character. I insist on knowing how you did it.’

‘As always in cases of illusion, it is the simplicity of the solution that baffles the audience. On the floor beneath, leading from the kitchen, is a platform that has been cut from the mountainside. It is a mere three or four metres below the balcony and a little larger. I jumped down to it and then let myself in.’ He spread his hands, his expression mock-serious. ‘It was ridiculously easy but,’ he laughed suddenly, ‘the effect must have been dramatic.’

‘How wicked you are!’ Isobel linked her arm through his and smiled up into his face.

‘It was insane!’ Rafe was still furious. ‘You might have missed in the dark. Or broken your leg!’

‘Oh, no.’ Conrad smiled. ‘When I was a boy I ran away from
home and joined a circus. I admit it showed a sad lack of originality. I was only part of the troupe for eight weeks before my uncle found me, but during that time I learned to walk the tightrope and how to fall without hurting myself.’

‘Shall I fetch more champagne?’ Fritz had come in from the balcony and was smiling round at us. Clearly he had been in on the joke.

‘Thank you. No.’ Rafe could not bring himself to smile. ‘We ought to be getting back. My mother is expecting us for dinner. Besides, I need a clear head for that road. Buster! Stop that at once!’

Buster had taken advantage of our inattention to finish off the cake. We had said our goodbyes in an atmosphere of awkwardness.

‘You may be fit now,’ said Rafe as he negotiated the steepest bend where the car seemed to stand almost on its nose, ‘but what sort of state will you be in in a few years’ time if he’s going to make a habit of dangerous practical jokes?’ When Isobel did not reply he went on, ‘I still think it was a crazy thing to do. I’m not at all sure you ought to marry him. He needs to see a doctor.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ Isobel said crossly. ‘He just likes to make things exciting, that’s all. Imagine if you’ve grown up being able to have whatever you wanted – and with complete freedom, most of the time. He saw more of the servants than his uncle.’

‘Plenty of Englishmen were brought up like that. But it didn’t make them madmen.’

‘I don’t know. What about all our famous aristocratic eccentrics? What about our grandfather, come to that? He always preferred cows to people. And he left his watch and chain to Ruddigore, his favourite bull.’

Rafe gave a short laugh. ‘So he did. I’d forgotten that.’

‘Besides, apparently Conrad
is
seeing a doctor. The pills, remember?’

‘If that’s supposed to be reassuring, I’m afraid it fails
completely. And, quite apart from these fits of what I’d call mania and you’d call making things exciting, Conrad doesn’t seem to be particularly devoted. Perhaps it comes from always being able to get his own way. He’s become solipsistic.’

‘What does that mean?’

I had been wondering this myself. We had reached the bottom of the mountain and I was able to breathe freely again. I had been too frightened to speak and they seemed to have forgotten my existence.

‘It means that you only believe in yourself, in your own experience, as being real. Of course we’ve no grounds for being certain that the universe is anything other than a figment of our imagination, but most of us assume that we’re not the only person with thoughts and feelings.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Isobel slowly. ‘Actually I think he’s extraordinarily decent.’

‘Really? What’s he said or done to make you say that?’

But Isobel remained silent.

‘I rather like the idea that it’s all in one’s imagination,’ I piped up from the back. ‘Then you wouldn’t need to feel guilty.’

‘I thought you’d fallen asleep,’ said Rafe. ‘I can’t believe you’ve ever done anything to feel guilty about.’

It was my turn to be silent. I shifted about to relieve the pressure from Buster’s bony haunches. He was sitting on my knee, breathing honey and almonds into my face.

‘You’ll stay for dinner this evening?’ Rafe said over his shoulder.

‘Thanks, but I think I’d better get back.’

‘What on earth have you got to get back for?’ asked Isobel.

‘I ought to get an early night. I start a new job tomorrow.’

‘You mean you’ve given up working at the surgery?’ asked Rafe. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I’m carrying on with that. But being the practice receptionist is just in return for being allowed to live at home.’

‘You mean you aren’t getting a salary?’ Rafe sounded shocked. ‘I don’t want to criticize your father, but is that quite fair?’

‘Perhaps not but there’s nothing I can do about it. And we’ve got to eat. Evelyn’s eggs have been a lifesaver, but Dimpsie and I’ll be getting scurvy soon if we don’t have some fruit and vegetables, so I’ve taken a job as a waitress at the Singing Swan starting tomorrow afternoon. Mrs Peevis is a nice old thing, and desperate for help as her hips are playing her up. She’s on the list for replacements for both but there’s a nine-month wait till she can have even one done. I’m going to get one pound fifty an hour and tea thrown in—’

‘I had no idea you and Dimpsie were so hard up,’ interrupted Rafe. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have thought. We’ll make you an allowance from the estate. There’s no need for you to be a skivvy, Marigold. Why didn’t you say?’

‘Don’t be an ass, Rafe,’ said Isobel. ‘You can’t expect Marigold to say she’ll marry you and in the next breath ask you for money. A girl has pride about such things. Conrad just sent me a chequebook without saying a word.’

‘Oh, did he?’ Rafe sounded intensely annoyed. ‘Well, he’s clearly more practised in such things.’ He changed down as we turned into the drive of Dumbola Lodge and made the engine roar in sympathy with his feelings. ‘Anyway, Marigold, I’ll open a separate account for you tomorrow and you should be able to draw on it in three or four days’ time. Until then—’

‘That’s enormously kind and generous of you.’ I leaned forward in my eagerness and smelled the cologne he always wore that made me think of the only time we had been to bed together. ‘But I don’t in the least mind being a skivvy and I couldn’t possibly accept your money until …’ I wanted to say not until we were married, but I still felt awkward about making a bald statement of fact in front of Isobel. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

‘I insist.’

‘And I insist on refusing. But thank you anyway.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re going to be my wife. Naturally I’ve an interest in seeing you don’t starve.’

‘Now I’ve got my leg back there’s no possibility of my starving.
I’ve already told Mrs Peevis I’m taking the job. She was so relieved she almost cried. Last year the Singing Swan made a loss and if she can’t bring it round this year she’ll have to close down. She won’t be able get another job at her age—’

‘Yes, well, I’m sorry for her but there’s no need for you to sacrifice yourself. That’s what the welfare state is for.’

‘It isn’t a sacrifice. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been horribly boring not doing anything.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve been bored.’ Rafe sounded slightly offended, though it could hardly have been his fault. ‘If you like you can come round with me and visit the farmers. And we can go shopping in Newcastle whenever you want to. There’s a reasonable play coming on soon, I’m told.’

‘That would be lovely. But I need a challenge. It’s what I’ve always been used to. Hard work. I hate being idle.’

‘What Rafe really means,’ Isobel sounded amused, ‘is that he doesn’t think it’s seemly for the future Mrs Preston to be seen by her tenants and inferiors trundling about the local caff in a cap and apron.’

‘I don’t believe that’s got anything to do with it. Has it, Rafe?’

Rafe thought for a moment before saying, ‘I quite appreciate that it must sound snobbish and old-fashioned, particularly to someone who’s led the sort of glamorous Bohemian life you have, but I
do
think it would be inappropriate for you to work as a waitress.’

Rafe drew up outside the house. I wondered what I ought to say. It made it ten times more difficult that what might turn out to be our first row had to be conducted before a third party. When I did speak I was unable to prevent a little note of rebellion from creeping into my voice. ‘What am I expected to do with my time then? How must the future Mrs Preston conduct herself?’

‘Like Mummy, of course,’ said Isobel. ‘You must arrange flowers and order meals and do good to those less fortunate. You must read the latest novels, naturally, and go to art exhibitions in
London, and the occasional opera and play, but you mustn’t be boringly intellectual. You’re allowed to soil your hands with gardening and dogs. And horses if you like them—’

‘Isobel, stop it,’ commanded Rafe. ‘You’re deliberately trying to make mischief. I’m perfectly aware that times have changed and that Marigold’s an independent liberated woman and I thoroughly respect that. I take it for granted that she’s going to want to do something else besides be my wife.’

My spirits rose dramatically on hearing this. ‘Oh Rafe,’ I leaned forward to put my hand on his shoulder, but found Isobel’s already in situ, so I confined the expression of my gratitude to saying, ‘I’m
so
glad you understand.’

‘I’m not a Victorian patriarch. I don’t want you to be sitting twiddling your thumbs until I come home. I know you’d be restless and … bored. There are plenty of things you could do. Join the board of one of the local theatres, for example. You’d enjoy raising funds to keep it going and giving parties for the actors and directors at Shottestone. Evelyn was talking the other day about having the amphitheatre restored. You could organize a little local culture. Open-air plays and operas – a mini Glyndebourne, even. And you might start a scheme to foster young acting or dancing talent. Scholarships and bursaries, that sort of thing. I imagine that would be very rewarding.’

The rush of hope evaporated. For one crazy moment I had thought he was going to say I could spend all week dancing in London and come back to Northumberland for weekends and breaks between tours. Raising funds for theatres, for other people to act and sing and dance in them! That would be like setting food just out of reach of a prisoner in chains.

Buster began to whine reproachfully as I removed him from my knee. ‘I’d better go in.’

‘I’ll telephone you tomorrow.’ I could hear tension in his voice. ‘Give my love to Dimpsie.’

‘And mine,’ said Isobel.

I sprang out of the car. ‘Bye.’ I waved through the window
at them as Rafe was winding it down, and sprinted to the porch. Since we had been engaged we had always kissed each other goodbye, but the disagreeable feeling that a quarrel was brewing deterred me. I thought Rafe looked crestfallen as he drove away and my conscience pricked me unpleasantly. The moon-face of the longcase clock was on the wane. It looked depressed.

‘Hello, sweetie-pie.’ Dimpsie was in the kitchen, up a ladder with a paintbrush. ‘Had a lovely time? I’m getting rid of the vegetable stencils. Evelyn said they looked like the scribblings of a psychopath. She used to do quite a bit of prison visiting. I’ve decided to paint stripes on the walls and ceiling, like a tent in the Arabian desert. Can’t you picture it?’

She waved the brush.

‘It’s difficult when the kitchen’s so cold.’ I took a paper hanky from my sleeve and started to rub blobs of paint from the table and the floor. ‘I think the Aga’s gone out again.’

‘Oh, no! Damn! And we’re out of firelighters. I forgot to riddle the bloody thing. I was so busy painting I didn’t notice.’ She began to descend the ladder. ‘I
am
sorry, poppet …’

‘Never mind. You carry on. I’ll light it.’ While I was on my knees stuffing paper and candle ends and what turned out to be the last of the coal into the furnace part, I was turning over in my mind the conversation we had had in the car. Was I being selfish and inconsiderate? Ought I to do what Rafe wanted, despite disagreeing with his notion of what was suitable for a Preston-by-marriage?