Prudence (7 page)

Against my will, my eyes went to Ricky Wetherby, and came away again at once. It was crucifixion.

Pendle paused again, and looked slowly round the court. ‘After this the diary becomes rather anatomical, and moves into the realms of fantasy as to what Miss Graham would like Mr Canfield to do to her in bed. I imagine the ladies and gentlemen of the Jury would find it less embarrassing to read for themselves.’

But the next moment Fiona had jumped down from the witness box and was crossing the well of the court towards Pendle, screaming abuse.

‘Bastard! Bastard! Give it back to me!’

I thought she was going to claw Pendle’s face, but Ricky was too quick for her. He was beside her in a flash, his handsome face stone-grey as a pavement.

‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted at Pendle, putting his arms round Fiona. ‘Say it’s not true, Fiona darling, for Christ’s sake, say you didn’t write it.’

For a minute she glared at him.

‘Yes, I did,’ she hissed. ‘I wrote every word of it. Can’t you understand that I love him? I love him!’ And she collapsed, sobbing hysterically, into the arms of a policewoman.

A great sigh went through the court. For a minute the Jury conferred. Pendle was about to call his next witness. But the Foreman of the Jury forestalled him. If it so pleased His Lordship, they felt they had the evidence required.

‘What witness were you about to call, Mr Mulholland?’

‘A handwriting expert, M’Lord.’

The Foreman consulted with the Jury again.

‘M’Lord we have reached our verdict already. We are unanimous in returning a verdict of Not Guilty.’

‘Always thought she was a fast piece,’ said my neighbour, disconsolately, upending the empty red Malteser packet.

The Judge in his summing up congratulated Pendle on his handling of the case, admiring his tenacity, if not his slightly reprehensible methods of obtaining information. The moment he swept out in his scarlet robe pandemonium broke out. Fiona Graham was led away by the police and the Press made a most indecent dive for the public telephones outside. Across the court Pendle was being congratulated by a stunned Canfield contingent. His hands were shaking as he gathered up the papers. I knew he was dying for a cigarette. Looking up, he caught my eye over the crowd and waved. I made a double thumbs up sign. Then he mouthed that he was a bit tied up, but he’d pick me up at the flat at 8.30.

I took a bus to Sloane Square, and then walked home. I wanted some fresh air and time to think. Women in tweed skirts were raking up leaves in Chelsea gardens. An aeroplane trail was turning pink in the setting sun. Inside the houses, people were switching on lamps and lighting fires. A group of children were throwing sticks into a goldfish pond; a black spaniel ran round them barking with excitement. It all seemed so normal after the dramas in court. I was haunted by Ricky Wetherby’s stricken face. He had been so God-like and self-confident that morning. I kept thinking of Pendle, cruel and as merciless as Torquemada, turning and turning the thumbscrew on Fiona Graham. In a kinky way, though, the whole day had been so erotic. Fiona’s feverish craving for Canfield had been uncomfortably near to my own feelings for Pendle. If he didn’t make a pass at me soon, I should burst. I had been rattled too by Jimmy Batten’s comments. Perhaps Pendle
was
queer, and if so what was the point of seeing any more of him? But after today, I knew I was in too deep to get out. I felt restless, uneasy and horribly carnal. I’d better have a cold bath before I went out.

In fact we had a heavenly evening; all my fears were lulled. Pendle took me to Parkes and we sat in a secluded corner, guzzling champagne and Mediterranean prawns fried in garlic, and gloating over the evening papers. Canfield had been vindicated at great length, with the most sensational headlines.

‘How on earth did you get that diary?’ I asked, holding out my empty glass absently. Pendle filled it.

‘I spent the last fortnight chatting up Fiona’s flatmate.’

‘Is she pretty?’ I said, bristling.

‘No.’ Pendle flipped my nose teasingly with his finger. ‘She’s a cow and absolutely eaten up with jealousy where Fiona’s concerned. She pretended it wasn’t quite cricket to hand over the diary. Actually she was frightened Fiona’d find out she’d nicked it.’

‘When did she finally give it to you?’

‘Lunchtime today.’

I whistled.

‘I did run it a bit close, I admit. That’s why I had to abandon you to Jimmy’s blandishments. You made a conquest there.’

‘Did I? How lovely.’

‘He rang up when I got back to the office, ostensibly to congratulate me, actually to ask us both to dinner next Friday.’

‘Ooh, can we go?’

Pendle was silent for a minute, fidgeting with his lighter. That was odd; I’d never seen him fidget before. Then he took a deep breath.

‘I’m thinking of going home for a few days next week. I was wondering if you’d like to come too.’

For a few seconds I couldn’t believe my ears. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t speak.

‘I’d adore to,’ I finally squeaked.

Relief seemed to flood over him.

‘It’s a long way. My family live in the Lakes, but it doesn’t take that long up the Preston Motorway. I’d like to leave on Thursday afternoon, and probably come back on Sunday night. Can you get the time off?’

‘I’ve still got some holiday left,’ I said. ‘And I can always blackmail Rodney by threatening to tell Jane terrible things about him.’

‘Good. We’ll try and make it in time for late dinner then.’

‘It’ll be such heaven getting out of London,’ I said.

He smiled rather ruefully. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy it. They’re all rather formidable, particularly my mother.’

I went whooping into the flat, dying to tell Jane all about it and barged into the drawing-room. In the dim light, I could just distinguish two people locked on the sofa.

‘Get out!’ shrieked Jane. She must have picked up someone at the party she’d been to. How crude, I thought loftily, as I made myself a cup of coffee. How much more sensible Pendle and I were conducting our affair. I’d obviously destroyed their mood, for a few minutes later I heard voices, and the front door bang. Jane came into the kitchen looking ruffled.

‘You look jolly smug,’ she said sourly. ‘Has he asked you to marry him?’

‘Not quite,’ I crowed, clutching my happiness to me like a hot water bottle, ‘but he’s asked me to stay with his family next week.’

For a second her face fell. However much one likes one’s flatmate, one can’t bear their love-life to go too well, but Jane is basically a nice person, and she smiled almost immediately.

‘Pru, that’s marvellous! When? For how long? What on earth did he say? Tell me all. He must be serious, to take you home to meet his mother.’

I muttered something about chickens before they’re hatched. But I found it difficult in the next few days to keep my mounting elation in check, and wrote Prudence Mulholland all over my shorthand notebook.

Jane became very bossy.

‘If Pendle says his mother is formidable, she must be a tartar. She’s bound to go through your things when you and Pendle are striding over the Fells, to see if you’re a slut or not. You’d better buy some new underwear — I counted two safety pins in your bra — and a new nightie, in case Pendle comes stealing down those dark passages after lights out.’

‘You must be joking,’ I said, but I could not suppress a shiver of excitement.

In the end, she did my packing for me.

‘Tissue paper always impresses people,’ she said. ‘And lots of little polythene bags for your sweaters.’ She insisted that I bought a pair of lace-up shoes.

‘But I’ve got a perfectly good pair of boots,’ I wailed.

‘Kinky,’ she added darkly. She lent me a silk dress, but refused to let me take any of my more outrageous clothes.

‘You want to borrow them while I’m away,’ I grumbled. ‘I’ll look such a frump, Pendle won’t recognize me.’ But I managed to sneak in my green culotte dress when she wasn’t looking.

‘Now remember,’ she warned me, ‘lots of housework, clean the bath, don’t wipe your make-up off on the towel and, for God’s sake, don’t smoke in bed. These old houses burn down very easily. You’d better take my knitting too.’

‘But I can’t knit,’ I protested.

‘That doesn’t matter. Just take it out of its bag from time to time and count a few stitches. It gives the right impression.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ I said nastily. ‘Where did it get you?’

‘The mothers adored me,’ she said airily. ‘It was the sons who went off me.’

Pendle picked me up at the office about five. He was wearing a dark grey sweater, which emphasized his pallor.

‘If we don’t hit heavy traffic,’ he said, putting my luggage in the boot, ‘we should be there by nine.’

He was smoking incessantly and seemed very much on edge. We didn’t talk much, then my tummy started rumbling. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

‘There’s a slab of chocolate in the back,’ he said. I found it and, as Pendle wasn’t hungry, wolfed the lot and then felt sick.

‘Before we get there,’ I said, licking my fingers, ‘can we sort your family out a bit?’

‘Pretty complicated,’ he said, ‘but I’ll try and explain. My father, as you know, is dead, and I’m the eldest. Then there’s my sister Linn, who has emotional problems and works in Manchester, so she probably won’t be there. Then there’s my younger brother Jack. He’s only twenty-eight but he’s already on his second marriage. He used to be a terrible rake, but he’s running the family firm now and seems to have settled down. With Jack you have to take the smooth with the smooth, but you’ll like him. Everyone does.’ There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

‘What’s his wife like?’ I asked.

‘Maggie? Very young, very spoilt. I don’t think she’s very nice but, like Jack, you can’t help liking her. They’re staying with my mother until their house is built.’

‘So there’ll be your mother, Maggie and Jack,’ I said, ticking them off on my fingers.

‘And, to confuse you further, there might be Ace.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘My step-brother. My father was married before, but his wife died when Ace was a baby.’

‘Poor little boy. Who brought him up?’

‘My father wasn’t the sort to stay a widower long. He married my mother almost immediately, and we were all brought up together.’

‘Is he married too?’

‘Ace? He was — but his wife was killed in a car crash two years ago. She was driving to meet him at the airport. The roads were icy.’

‘Oh, how awful,’ I said.

‘Ghastly. Particularly as she was pregnant. He absolutely worshipped her. We all did. We never thought anyone would be good enough for Ace, but she was.’

Pendle had never sounded so enthusiastic about anyone.

‘What did he do after that?’

‘He was working for
Panorama
in London, then he landed a job in New York for American television. He roves all over the world. He hasn’t been home since Elizabeth died, but my mother said he might possibly be back this weekend.’

The conversation dwindled. I slept fitfully, and wondered if it would be worth letting my head slip on to Pendle’s shoulder, but thought better of it. As a few stars made a tentative appearance, I speculated about Pendle’s brothers — Jack, the reformed rake whom everyone liked; Ace, whom no one was good enough to marry.

A slim white moon slipped between the stars. We were now driving over cobbled streets. When we stopped for petrol, a blast of icy wind came through the door.

‘Not far now,’ said Pendle. ‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’ The hills began to grow into mountains. I’ve always been frightened by mountains, and I suddenly shivered as I wondered what I really knew about the silent, withdrawn man beside me. I put on some scent to give me confidence. Beside the road, there was a gleam of silver.

‘That’s Grasmere,’ he said. A few minutes later, he swung off the road up a winding drive.

The headlights showed heavy undergrowth, and brambles hanging in festoons on either side.

‘Here we are,’ he said, hooting his horn.

I could only see that the house was large and hung with creepers. As we opened the car doors a black labrador and a large English setter came bounding out, wagging their tails and barking amiably. The front door opened and we were flooded in a stream of light. I was quaking with nerves as I saw an old woman standing in the doorway. She had an apron on. Pendle’s mother. I walked forward smiling.

‘Hello, Mr Pendle,’ she wheezed. Obviously
not
Pendle’s mother.

‘Hello, Mrs Braddock,’ said Pendle.

‘It’s good to see you back, after so long. Come into the warm.’

Mrs Mulholland must be a cold customer, I thought, not to come rushing out to welcome him. I knew what my mother was like whenever I came home. I followed Mrs Braddock into the hall, which was huge and baronial and covered in faded crimson wallpaper.

‘I’ll just help Mr Pendle with the cases,’ she said.

A moment later, Pendle followed me. He looked furious — a muscle was twitching in his cheek.

‘I’m afraid my family aren’t here. They’ve gone to a party in Ambleside. So we’d better eat now. I’ll show you your room. I expect you’d like a wash.’

I’d been so steamed up to meet his mother, it was a terrible anti-climax. I followed him upstairs, along a dark, winding passage to my room.

‘I’m sorry. It’s frightfully cold in here,’ he said, drawing the curtains and turning up the central heating. If only he had taken me in his arms then and there everything might have been all right.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘I’ll just clean up and come down.’

On closer inspection, I found it wasn’t at all lovely. None of the drawers had been cleaned out: there was only one broken coat-hanger — and even I, who never noticed dust, couldn’t miss the thick coating on the dressing table. I couldn’t imagine my mother having anyone to stay and not giving them flowers. The only compensation was the large double bed. I was strangely chilled by that room. However I re-did my face and calmed my wild curls abit.