Pandora (54 page)

‘Well, first thing in the morning then.’

‘Righty ho. We’ll be up in a mo,’ chanted Jonathan, who’d just had another line, as he noticed Anthea and David emerging from the shadows.

‘Where’s Mummy?’ asked Sophy, her heels plunging into the dewy lawn as she panted up the hill after Emerald.

It was very dark in the yew corridors. A thick cloak of indigo clouds had smothered the stars. Hearing shrieks, the two sisters broke into a run.

On the big lawn, illuminated by lights from the house, they found their mother. She was cantering figures of eight, her burgundy taffeta tucked into her knickers, Hanna’s sling-backs kicked off, screaming with joy, pissed as a newt, with Dora cheering her on.

‘You’ve got him on the right leg again, Mrs Cartwright, brilliant, one more time,’ and Patience cantered a most biddable Loofah into the centre of the lawn again, and executed a perfect flying change, before setting off again towards Anthea’s latest splash of colour – a clump of red begonias. Despite her plump mottled thighs, big feet and crimson face, on a pony, Patience looked a goddess. Jonathan, Rosemary, Si, Lily, Dora and Sophy were yelling in approval. Emerald, however, was quivering with rage.

‘Mummy,’ she screamed, ‘for Christ’s sake get off.’

Patience immediately stopped. Loofah, who’d been behaving too well for too long, rolled his eyes and sat down. Slowly Patience slid down his back onto the grass.

‘So very sorry, got carried away, so long shince I’ve been on a horsh.’

‘Don’t listen to her, you were brilliant,’ hissed Dora as she grabbed Loofah. ‘You can borrow him to ride out any time.’

As a jumping jack went off, Loofah took off too, towing his young mistress towards the stables. Next moment, Jonathan’s mean green cocktail, mixed with three different wines and Anthea’s
haute cuisine
, took their toll. Heaving to the right, Patience was sick all over Anthea’s begonias.

‘Righty ho! We’ll throw up in a mo,’ cried Jonathan in ecstasy.

As the church clock struck midnight, the house went dark, the floodlighting was switched off, the flambeaux and candles doused and the first rocket soared into the ebony night, shaking gold and purple stars into the valley. Both guests and villagers lining the river bank cried out in wonder as this was followed by silver fountains, jade and rose-pink Roman candles and Catherine wheels, jerkily pirouetting like Van Gogh’s golden suns.

But between bursts of colour the garden was in darkness, making it impossible to keep track of comings and goings. Jonathan and Sienna had agreed he would trail Si while she followed Zac; but returning from the house, Sienna couldn’t find the bastard anywhere. She shouldn’t have drunk so bloody much at dinner. Racing in panic round the garden, stumbling down steps, tripping over paving stones, she found nymphs, unicorns, and cherubs, suddenly lit up, but no Zac. Running back to the house, in a blaze of royal blue light from yet another rocket, she found her father on the terrace trying to force a tranquillizer down a shuddering Grenville.

‘Come and help me, darling.’

‘Can’t stop,’ panted Sienna, hurtling through the french windows, the drawing room and up the stairs.

Galloping down the dark first-floor landing, she heard stealthy footsteps behind her and quickened her pace; they were getting closer, she stumbled up the next flight of stairs, then gave a scream as she collided with a solid wedge of muscle hurtling in the other direction. Winded for a second, she breathed in Raymond’s Extract of Lime, and as her tears were unleashed by alcohol and relief, she collapsed sobbing into the wedge’s arms.

‘Oh Johno, I’m so frightened, Zac’s given me the slip, I can’t find him anywhere.’

Drink and drugs had clearly robbed her brother of control. Next moment he was kissing her more passionately than ever before, one warm hand seeking out her bare breasts, the other diving under her leather mini straight between her trembling legs. And she was melting against him, drowning in ecstasy, as he pulled her into a nearby bedroom and slammed the door. They didn’t bother to strip off. Desire flickered between them like summer lightning, all the more thrilling because what they were doing was utterly forbidden. Dropping his trousers, tugging off her knickers, he threw her onto the bed, and was on top of her, kissing her face all over, whispering such tender endearments. Then she gave a gasp of joy, he was inside her, the rocket with the joyfully exploding stars invading her. She only wanted to surrender. It was all over in a couple of minutes.

But as the shuddering in her loins subsided, she realized in horror what she’d done. Once you let a deadly sin out of Pandora’s Box, you enjoyed it so much, you could never put it back again.

‘Oh Christ, Johno, we shouldn’t have.’

‘Yes, we should.’ Lovingly, slowly, he kissed her ringed eyelids, her studded nose and her lips.

‘I can’t help loving you,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’ve fought it so long.’

She’d always known he’d be an infinitely better lover than anyone else. But she hadn’t realized he was so lean and fit, nor so wonderfully constructed. Then she felt something metallic against her breast bone, and jumped at a deafening crash outside. As six of the biggest bangers exploded in a drum roll, a flicker of light crept through the curtains falling on a silver Star of David.

As though she’d swallowed a scorpion, Sienna gave a howl of pain.

‘You bastard, bastard, bastard, you took advantage of my being drunk.’ She was pounding Zac with her fists, slapping his face, then, giving a sob, she leapt to her feet. Falling over a chair and a pair of shoes, she fumbled for the door, and fled.

Jupiter, meanwhile, was on the terrace considering his next move. Fireworks bouncing off the low, dark clouds and the stream made the water and the gardens swim with colour. Deciding to check the house, suspicious like Sienna and Jonathan of Zac’s motives, he flicked on the light in Raymond’s study and found Emerald on the sofa crying with rage and despair over Patience’s appallingly embarrassing behaviour and Zac’s defection.

‘He doesn’t love me any more.’

Jupiter halted, his cold haughty face enigmatic.

‘You poor child.’

Closing the door quietly, he dimmed the overhead light and joined her on the sofa. Taking out a grey handkerchief (Hanna was better at flower painting than washing) he wiped away the mascara blackening her blanched cheeks.

‘Zac’s not worth it, he’s a shit.’

‘I’m in such a muddle, Jupiter.’

‘You don’t have to be.’

The comforting arm round her shoulders drew her closer, then tightened like a steel manacle. A moment later Jupiter’s lips crashed against hers, his tongue forcing open her mouth, then jabbing deeper and harder until she almost gagged, but was unable to cry out. Now he was ripping her beautiful dress from her shoulders, his free hand clawing at her breasts. Jupiter the beast, beneath the icy façade. Wriggling frantically, Emerald tried to scream and knee him in the groin, but her hobble skirt was too tight.

‘Shut up, you bloody tease,’ he snarled. ‘You’ve led me on for weeks. Don’t pretend you’re my sister, we all know you’re not.’

Still kissing her speechless, with terrifying madman’s strength he forced her back on the sofa. His hand had just burrowed up under her skirt, rigid fingers stabbing viciously between her legs, when the room was flooded with light and a head of piled-up blond hair decked with a merry blue butterfly came round the door. There was a long and dreadful pause, only interrupted by the hiss and mighty crackling of a giant squib.

‘Jupiter, oh Christ, oh no,’ moaned Hanna in horror and, slamming the door, she stumbled off into the night.

Poor Sophy, meanwhile, was trying to get a plastered Patience to bed: ‘I feel so sick,’ lurch, ‘I feel so sick.’

Dora came along to help.

‘I’m quite used to putting my brothers to bed,’ she said, taking Patience’s other arm. ‘Once we get her lying down, I’ll get a bowl.’

‘Where’s Dicky?’ asked Sophy.

‘He thought Mummy wouldn’t notice him watching
Basic Instinct
.’

What a disastrous evening, thought Sophy as Patience finally passed out. Tiptoeing out of the room, she and Dora heard desperate sobbing. Racing along the landing, they discovered Hanna in Alizarin’s arms.

‘Jupiter’s in love with Emerald,’ she was howling. ‘I’ve just caught them at it.’

Hanna was so desolate, Alizarin so clearly trying to control his fury. It was as if a raincloud were seeking refuge against a great dark, brooding volcano. Alizarin was stroking Hanna’s hair so tenderly.

‘You naughty man and woman,’ thundered Dora.

Alizarin glanced up. His sight was so bad . . . had he merely imagined the agony and horror on Sophy’s face?

I must escape from this evil place, thought Sophy as she stumbled past them down the stairs.

Geraldine and Somerford, who because of their immensely powerful positions in the art world were accustomed to deference, were furious to be abandoned in the garden to the untender mercies of one another. Both, however, had a fondness for rough trade.

‘Have you heard of a young Welsh artist called Trafford?’ asked Geraldine. ‘There’s a gritty realism about his oeuvre. One of my clients has not only just acquired his installation,
Cunterpane One
, but also his latest video,
Oh Nan
, which features a masturbating grandmother, as pivotal as it is challenging.’

‘I’d like to meet Trafford,’ said Somerford.

‘I’m not sure he’s entirely safe in restaurants or private houses,’ mused Geraldine.

‘Better meet in a pub then.’

As a swarm of gold tadpoles lit up the sky like antiaircraft fire, Raymond recognized his son Jonathan emerging from the shrubbery.

‘For God’s sake go and break up Geraldine and Somerford,’ he begged, ‘we can’t afford to antagonize either of them.’

‘I’m taking Lily home,’ called out Jonathan virtuously, ‘she’s even more hammered than Old Mother Cartwright. Break up those silly old tossers yourself, Dad.’

The fireworks were even more thrilling inside than out, thought Anthea as she quivered with anticipation up in the Blue Tower. She had been maddeningly delayed by Si, who’d wanted such a prolonged look at Raymond’s Cotman of Duncombe Park in the morning room, that she’d thought he might be about to jump on her. Instead, he finally grabbed a bottle of Krug and shot back into the garden. So now after a quick wash, Anthea awaited her lover. How many times in England was it hot enough to wear just a petticoat after midnight? Not wanting to dirty it, she had left her lovely new dress downstairs in her bedroom.

As David had done a bunk as usual, Si had asked Rosemary to wait for him in a little rose arbour while he collected a bottle of Krug from the house. Then they could watch the fireworks together. Rosemary was not the sort of woman who leapt into men’s arms when bats divebombed or bangs got too loud, so they talked about their lives.

Having nipped back to the Old Rectory, ostensibly to get some transparencies to show Si, David on his return lured Raymond into the library. The royal-blue curtains had not been drawn. The leather-bound battalions in the shelves always reminded him of his dreary, repressive youth, growing up in Sorley without a book and hardly a picture. As Raymond handed him a glass of Armagnac, he thought how tired his old boss looked. At seventy-five, it must be wearing to cope with seven kids, plus Anthea who was the most childish of them all.

‘I don’t want to worry you,’ he lied. ‘But I’m hearing disturbing rumours that you’ve got a looted Raphael hidden away. People are onto it.’

The red glow as Raymond pulled slightly faster on his cigar was upstaged by a huge scarlet and silver rocket lighting up the dark room.

‘Used to have one – sold it years ago.’

‘Well, that’s up to you. Know someone who’d take it off you for half a million.’

The green flare of the next Roman candle in no way toned down the carmine flush suffusing Raymond’s face.

‘Preposterous,’ he spluttered. ‘It’s worth— I mean any Raphael’s worth at least twenty times that. Insulting to think I’d harbour anything looted.’

David shrugged and helped himself to one of Raymond’s cigars.

‘Just warning you as a friend,’ he said blandly. ‘Once it’s on the internet or the Art Loss Register, picture’s dead in the water.’