The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (39 page)

‘I can’t
marry George because when I saw you with Harry the other night, I nearly died,’
she said simply.

‘You
and Harry?’ spluttered Inigo in my direction. I glared at him.

‘The
way he kept looking at you when Rocky was talking to you — the way his eyes lit
up when you walked into the room, the way you sneaked off together after
coffee, the way he kissed you, oh!’ She covered her eyes with her hands as if
the scene was being replayed on a screen in front of her. ‘It was too much. I
realised then, that if I didn’t get him back, I might as well stop living. You’ll
never guess what I did?’ she added, looking a little bit guilty.

‘What?’
demanded Inigo.

‘I set
the birds free,’ she whispered dramatically.

‘The
birds?’ Inigo was thrown.

‘Oh my
word, the
birds!’
I cried, suddenly realising exactly what she was
talking about.

‘The
parakeets Harry gave me for my engagement. I just couldn’t bear to see them
locked up any more. I set them free on the way out of town.’

‘Where?’
I demanded.

‘Richmond
somewhere. I don’t know. I asked the driver to stop where he thought the birds
would be happy and I just opened the cage and off they flew. They were kinda
confused to start with — didn’t understand that they were free. I guess they’re
not used to it. It made me so happy for about five minutes. Then I got back
into the cab and we drove off again and I thought how silly! They probably won’t
last a day in this weather.’

‘Oh, I
wouldn’t bank on it,’ said Inigo comfortingly. ‘Who knows, maybe there’ll be
thousands of wild parakeets all over London in fifty years’ time.

‘Oh!’
cried Marina, pressing a hand to her heaving bosom. ‘Oh! That makes me feel so
much happier! D’you really think they might survive?’

‘Certainly
not,’ I said witheringly. I felt cross with Marina. Those birds would have been
marvellous in the nut garden aviary.

‘He
doesn’t want me any more,’ she moaned dully. swiftly returning to the topic of
Harry.

I
opened my mouth to tell her that there was nothing to worry about, that he had
never stopped loving her and that I had been nothing more than a pawn in his
game, but stopped myself. Let her think that he loved me, I decided. It was
rather fun. Harry had got himself into this, so he could provide all the
explanations. So instead of confessing I said, ‘Don’t you think you’re being a
tiny bit over-dramatic?’

She
stared at me, incredulous. ‘Can you imagine the horror of losing the man you
love to another woman?’ she demanded.

‘But
how do you think
he
felt when you ran off with George? You can’t have
loved him that much, to agree to marry another,’ I said indignantly.

‘I was
blind!’
cried Marina, flinging her hands up into the air this time. ‘Blinded by
what I thought I wanted: money, success, a rich man — someone to pick up the
bills and open doors and adore me. George is a sweetie, but he’s not Harry. He
doesn’t spark like Harry. He doesn’t fill me with
passion
like Harry. He
doesn’t make me want to take off my clothes and
fling myself at his feet
like
Harry.’

Even I
was taken aback by these words, and Inigo, who clearly had no trouble accessing
his imagination for this image, blushed to his very roots. Despite my role in
the affair, and the fact that I was supposed to know the answer, I couldn’t
help asking: ‘Just what is it about Harry that you find so irresistible?’

‘Everything,’
said Marina miserably. ‘He’s the most alluring man I’ve ever met. He has that
certain something that very few people have. I suppose I have it, so I recognise
it in other people,’ she added, entirely without irony. Tally ho! I thought,
back to the old Marina. ‘I’d been tearing myself to pieces ever since I heard
that he had taken up with you. Everyone said how well suited you were, how
charming you were, how pretty and sweet.

Well! I
thought. At least she won’t have my intelligence. Then I hear that you’re
studying Shakespeare and that you and Charlotte can’t get enough of Tennyson!’
(Gosh!
I thought. I like that rumour!) Marina was rattling on now, stopping only
to drain her whisky. ‘The worst thing of all was hearing about this place,
Milton Magna. I heard that Harry came here for an afternoon and he — I heard he
— heard he — he —
performed
for you.

‘Performed?’’

‘Magic,’
whispered Marina. She was certainly enjoying herself now. ‘Magic,’ she
repeated. ‘It’s how he seduced me. And he did it to you too. Here at Milton
Magna — the very name of this house has haunted my soul. The place where you
first kissed, the place where you first laughed together. I couldn’t stop
torturing myself, so I decided I had to see you with him again, one more time.
I made sure that you were invited to the Ritz. I needed to convince myself that
he really.
really
loved you. So you were. And he does.’ She sat down
again and absent-mindedly opened a box of After Eight mints that had been
sitting by Mama’s reading lamp since Christmas.

‘How
did George take the news?’ I asked her.

‘Oh,
calm as a cucumber. He won’t talk to me, of course. In a few months he’ll be
thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t marry me. I’d have ruined him,’ she
said simply. ‘even if I hadn’t been in love with another man.’ She bit into a
mint. Funny, I thought idly, she chews just like the guinea pig.

‘Do you
want to explain why you’re here?’ managed Inigo, removing his specs and pulling
forward his hair. Marina looked down at her hands.

‘Where
else was I to go? This afternoon — heavens, was it only today? it feels like
another century — I turned up at Harry’s mother’s house in Kensington again,
and was told that he wasn’t at home. Charlotte was a darling; she plied me with
tea — I couldn’t eat a thing — and invited me to spend the evening with her. By
eleven o’clock, Harry was still out and I had a vision, a sudden flash of
realisation that he was with you at Milton Magna. I told Charlotte I was going
back to Dorset House, but first I went to Claridges and ordered myself a bottle
of Moet and drank the lot. Then I went back home, threw a few things into a
bag, collected the parakeets and took a taxi all the way here. It cost me
fourteen pounds’ — Inigo gasped admiringly at this — ‘and the paparazzi
followed me nearly all the way, vultures that they are. My nice taxi driver
threw them off the scent when we got close to your place. He dropped me at the
bottom of your drive. I had to walk up to the house alone, and I’m afraid I
wasn’t wearing the right shoes.’ She started to weep again. ‘When I got to the
front door, I found it wasn’t locked, so I just walked in. I suppose I thought
I would find myself another drink then go and find Harry.’

‘But
you got distracted by
The Gardener’s Dictionary,’
I couldn’t resist
saying.

Marina
ignored me and picked up another book from the shelf in front of her.
‘The
Constant Nymph,’
she whispered. ‘H-H-Harry used to call me his nymph. I’m afraid
I wasn’t very constant.’ She pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Now he’s lost. I am
undone.’

‘Well,
he’s not here,’ I said frankly.

‘Don’t
pretend! I know he’s here!’ Marina stood up and lurched again and steadied
herself with her mint-free hand.

‘Why
would I have to pretend to you?’ I said. ‘I promise he’s not here. I have no
idea where he is but I expect we can find him tomorrow.

‘Why
isn’t he here?’ wept Marina. ‘I came all this way,
all this way!’

‘In a
taxi,’ added Inigo.

‘In a
taxi!’
agreed Marina. ‘And I tore the hem of my pants fighting my way up your
driveway. I’ve ruined my shoes! I don’t
do
this sort of thing, do you
understand what I’m saying, Penelope? It’s not usual. It’s not like me.’ She
looked genuinely distressed.

‘Sometimes
doing things we don’t normally do can be great fun,’ I observed.

‘And
sometimes doing things we don’t normally do can be a pain in the ass — don’t
patronise me just because you’ve got the guy.

Inigo’s
eyes gleamed.

‘Lucky
Mama’s not here,’ I muttered, nearly swooning with the horror of imagining
Talitha waking up to the sound of Marina’s shrill American tones echoing
through the house.

‘Your
mother? I’ve heard she’s one of the great beauties of all time,’ said Marina.

‘Apparently,’
I said.

‘Do you
take after her?’ she asked Inigo.

‘Oh, I
don’t know. People say that there’s a slight resemblance.’

‘They’re
identical,’ I said wearily.

‘You’re
a doll,’ said Marina. ‘I like your hair.’

Inigo
blushed again. Please no, I thought. Spare Inigo.

‘Do you
think perhaps it would be a good idea if we showed you upstairs?’ I asked her,
bracing myself for another outburst. To my surprise, her eyes drooped.

‘I’m so
tired,’ she admitted. ‘I came all this way! I came to find him!’

‘We can
all look for him in the morning,’ I said, mother to infant.

‘Where
is he?’ she asked again, her voice slurring. She closed her eyes and her head
lolled onto the back of the chair.

‘Inigo,
I’ll show her to the red room,’ I said in a low voice. ‘I don’t think she’s
going to remember much of this conversation in the morning.’

‘You’ve
got a lot of explaining to do,’ said Inigo, draining his whisky.

So had
bloody Harry, I thought, leading Marina upstairs. ‘Whoops!’ she giggled,
catching her foot on the rug on the way out of the room, and grabbing at the
back of my nightdress on her way to the floor. She bought me down with her and
for a moment we struggled together on the rug, Marina giggling so hard that I
found it virtually impossible not to join in, in spite of myself. I clambered
to my feet.

‘Oh, I’ve
torn your nightdress! she wailed.

‘Oh,
don’t worry, I think it was already ripped.’

‘No one
should go to sleep in a ripped nightdress,’ said Marina, sounding remarkably
sober all of a sudden. ‘I’ll have you sent a new one next week.’

The next morning, I
overslept and did not make it down to breakfast until half-past nine. I
wondered if last night’s episode had been no more than a particularly surreal
dream, but dressed with more care than usual, in case it hadn’t been. Walking
into the dining room I was nearly asphyxiated by Chanel No. 5 and frying bacon.
It’s not Sunday, I thought. Marina was sitting at the table, relaxed and
beautiful in full make-up and a black and white checked blouse and skirt,
finishing a plate of food. Beside her stood what looked like a glass of fresh
orange juice. Inigo sat opposite her, reading the paper and spreading butter on
a corner of toast. It was quite the most domestic of scenes; I half expected a
small child to run into the room and hug them before setting off for the school
bus.

‘Oh,
Penelope!’ said Marina, looking up with a smile. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes,
thanks. And what’s all this? Bacon and eggs on a normal day?’

‘Marina
was hungry,’ explained Inigo.

‘Orange
juice?’

‘I
cycled to the stores and bought some oranges.

‘I can’t
drink anything but freshly squeezed juice,’ said Marina. ‘I need my vitamin C.’
She pronounced it Vite-amin’. Inigo smirked, delighted with yet more Americana.
‘You know I am so sorry about last night,’ went on Marina, conversationally,
pouring me tea from the best porcelain that had last been used on Coronation
Day. ‘I expect you think I’m the most dreadful beast. I’m happy to say that I
can recall very little of what happened once I entered your beautiful home. I
remember meeting Inigo, and admiring your wonderful library, but apart from
that,’ she giggled coquettishly, ‘I’ve drawn a blank!’

How
convenient, I thought.

‘You
came looking for Harry,’ I said, quite happy to fill in the gaps.

‘Oh
yes, I know
that.’

‘You’ve
left your fiancé, and the world’s press tried to follow you and your taxi down
here. You made your way up the drive in the pitch dark, and tore the hem of
your pants.’

‘Oh
yes, I know
that,’
repeated Marina, merry as daffodils blowing in the
March breeze.

‘As we
said last night, Harry’s not here,’ I went on, ‘but you’re not the only one who
would like to know where he is. I suggest we call Aunt Clare’s — I mean, the
Kensington residence — after breakfast.’

‘Good
idea,’ said Marina warmly. ‘Now, your woman Mary found me this marvellous damson
jam. It’s the best thing I’ve ever spread on toast.

On cue,
Mary shuffled into the room. ‘You didn’t tell me you were expecting Miss
Hamilton,’ she said to me accusingly.

I
gritted my teeth. Mary, like the rest of the world, was a sucker for red lips
and red hair. ‘I’m sorry, Mary. Can lunch stretch?’

‘Expect
so. Miss Hamilton says she can order in some beef for Sunday lunch,’ she said
smugly.