Wicked! (95 page)

Nothing could dim Hengist’s high spirits. The end of term was nigh and so was his darling Oriana, who was due to arrive at Bagley in time for Christmas and stay at least a week.

Janna’s end of term had been a great success, with trips to the pantomime and a carol service at the cathedral, where Kylie Rose had sung ‘Mary’s Boy Child’. On the last day, the food technology candidates helped cook a glorious Christmas lunch, ending up with more carols, mulled wine, mince pies and every boy in the school trying to manoeuvre Taggie under the mistletoe hanging in reception.

Driving home through the twilight, seeing a fuzzy newish moon like a little pilot light, Janna turned on the car radio to find a voice of exceptional beauty singing ‘See Amid the Winter Snow’ and burst into tears. She’d thrown herself so wholeheartedly into Larks High, she hadn’t given herself time to mourn the loss of Larks Comp or of Hengist, or even her sweet mother, whom she always missed most at Christmas. It was probably exhaustion and still not having a man in her life and wild jealousy of Oriana, because Hengist and Emlyn were so excited about her return.

Among her post on the doormat, however, was a letter from Sally. ‘Darling Janna, If you’re not busy we’d simply love you to join us for Christmas dinner. Oriana’s home and we need some bright attractive young to amuse her. Black tie for the chaps so do dress up. So hope you can make it. Love, Sally’.

Hardly pausing to open a tin for Partner, Janna shot next door to find Lily making fudge and salted almonds.

‘Sally B-T’s asked me to Christmas dinner.’

‘Well, that’s very nice, you must go.’

‘But I was coming to you.’

‘Never mind, you can come on Boxing Day. It’ll be fascinating for you to meet Oriana.’

Relieved to see Janna, who’d been very near the edge recently, looking ecstatic, no doubt at the prospect of seeing Hengist again, Lily was too kind to say she and Christian had already refused Sally’s invitation to Christmas dinner because they didn’t want to desert Janna and Feral.

‘Sally said dress up.’ Janna glanced at herself in Lily’s kitchen mirror, hardly able to see her reflection for photographs of General slotted into the frame. At least her fringe covered her eyebrows now, and Rowan had had a whip-round and the staff had bought her a day of pampering at the local health spa. What could she wear to win Hengist back? But she mustn’t think like that, it was so kind of Sally to ask her.

‘Naughty Dora’s given me a Christmas hamper full of pâté, plum cake and some lovely red,’ announced Lily. ‘Shall we have a glass now? The end-of-term party was fun, wasn’t it?’

‘Lovely. Amazing how the Golden Oldies have mellowed; Skunk’s so loyal to Larks High he even snogged Basket in the store cupboard.’

‘The nicest sight was Xav dancing with Aysha,’ said Lily, who was rootling around for a corkscrew, ‘so happy, both of them. You’ll never guess what Christian has got Feral for Christmas: two tickets for an Arsenal match.’

‘Lovely,’ said Janna, who wasn’t listening. ‘Do you really think I should go?’

‘You will anyway,’ said Lily.

Sally had in fact invited Janna because, a week before Christmas, Oriana had rung and dropped the bombshell that she’d be bringing her producer Charlie Delgado with her for Christmas.

Sally couldn’t help being thrilled as she asked Alison Cox, their housekeeper, to make up the bed in the spare room. She’d always known that Emlyn wasn’t the answer for Oriana – too chippy and the wrong class; things like that grated in the end. Emlyn also seemed to have been seeing a bit of Janna recently, so with any luck he wouldn’t be too upset about Charlie Delgado.

What a shame Christian and Lily couldn’t join them. Christian, she knew, was anxious to have Oriana as a guest on
Buffers
and was longing to hear about the war in Iraq. It was a tragedy too that Artie Deverell couldn’t make it. Artie and Oriana loved each other, and he had such a wonderfully emollient effect on both her and Emlyn and could discourse on any subject. But Artie and Theo had decided they needed some sun and taken off to Greece together. Nor could Ian and Patience, who had both daughters staying, make it, so in the end it would be a cosy family party: Janna and Emlyn, Charlie and Oriana, herself and Hengist.

Sally went to the present drawer and found Charlie some cufflinks, English Fern aftershave (which was liked even by men who regarded scent as sissy), David Hawkley’s lovely translation of Catullus in paperback, and a jokey yellow silk tie decorated with pink elephants from Elaine.

Sally had been feeling tired, what with all the presents and parties to organize and over a thousand cards now slotted into the drawing-room books in a huge patchwork of glitter and colour, but the prospect of Charlie Delgado had given her a second wind. Not that she was a snob, but Oriana Delgado had a nice ring to it. Although, knowing Oriana, she’d keep her maiden name.

Emlyn, who’d been told in a very casual way that Oriana was bringing some workmate, was getting increasingly twitchy and poured his heart out to Artie on the eve of his and Theo’s trip.

‘I don’t know what she feels any more. She’s always been a workaholic, but in the old days she always found time for me and we had fun together. Now I see her on TV growing harder and more glittering. She never answers my emails and puts herself out of communication – as though she and her mobile are both switched off. I’m sure she’s got someone else.’

‘Only Mungo and the desire to compensate for his death. If he’d lived, she could have shown how much in everything she excelled him. What’s she like in bed?’

‘Like playing Rachmaninov Three on a soundless piano. Pouring out love and emotion to no effect somehow. I teach lovesick schoolboys; I don’t want to act like one.’

‘Sorry to desert you, dear boy, but Theo needs to get away – he wants to see Attica.’

‘For a last time?’

‘Probably. Poor Paris. He loves Theo and Theo’s so desperate not to abandon him. When are you going to Wales?’

‘Tomorrow and driving back on Christmas Day.’

On Christmas morning it started to snow, just a few flakes drifting down; by five o’clock it had settled, but Hengist couldn’t. He was playing Charpentier’s
Oratorio de Noël
, which had reached the jolly jiggy tune of the shepherds on their way to the stable. The house looked ravishing, filled with crimson roses, flame-red amaryllis and white candles everywhere. Holly and pine branches were banked in corners. The whole house smelled divinely of jasmine, pine, orange zest, beeswax and the heady sweet scent of Sally’s indoor hyacinths, waxy white and pink flowers rising out of their mossy earth. In the hall, the blond head of the fairy on the top of the Christmas tree touched the vaulted ceiling.

Hengist and Sally had opened their presents earlier. They had so many, and they didn’t want to embarrass Charlie Delgado who would have so few. So many of the cards had congratulated Hengist on his wonderful reporting of the World Cup. He still had a dark tan and had not come down to earth. He had managed to get a signed photograph of Jonny Wilkinson for Dora.

He had already received ten copies of Martin Johnson’s autobiography and five copies of Lynne Truss’s book on punctuation and a digital camera, on which he had just photographed Elaine in an emerald-green paper hat watching a squirrel raiding the bird table, whose roof was already covered with snow three inches thick.

Newspapers kept ringing up for his reaction to Saddam’s arrest – pity, strangely – and for his New Year’s resolution. To get stuck into his biography of Thomas and Matthew Arnold, vowed Hengist.

Sally had given him an 1867 first edition of Matthew’s poems, which included ‘Dover Beach’, ‘Rugby Chapel’ and ‘Thyrsis’. ‘Ah, love, let us be true To one another!’ read Hengist. ‘And we are here as on a darkling plain . . . where ignorant armies clash by night.’

Sally should have been washing her hair but, ever conscientious, was scrabbling round in old address books to reply to a card from a cook who had left ten years ago. Hengist was therefore delighted to welcome Dora, who’d turned up to waitress, and gave her a glass of champagne.

Dora then told him about lunch at Randal’s. ‘Dicky got drunk, kept mistaking Randal’s furry cushions for cats and apologizing to them. Mummy and Randal are now at home, offering most surprisingly to dogsit. Probably because they want a good bonk.’

After taking a frantically over-excited, capering Elaine for a run in the snow and failing to teach her to catch snowballs, Dora retreated to the kitchen to help Mrs Cox. She had great hopes of tonight. Oriana was a huge star since Iraq. Several newspapers were interested in any titbit about her. Dora couldn’t believe her luck when Mrs Cox, who had never really warmed to Oriana and who was utterly devoted to Emlyn, let slip in her indignation that Oriana was rolling up with a new man.

Concentrating on washing up saucepans, Dora didn’t reveal how fascinated she was, particularly when Sally breezed in, wet hair in a towel, to check the goose was browning and to remind Coxie that the roast potatoes in their goose dripping should go in at seven-thirty.

‘That smoked salmon pâté is delicious, Mrs B-T.’

‘I’m glad, Dora. There’s plenty of food in the fridge if you’re hungry,’ suggested Sally, noticing that the parsnip purée and the bread sauce, as well as the salmon pâté, were pitted with Dora’s finger marks.

To distract her, Dora said she’d dropped in on Patience and Ian on the way. ‘Dulcie’s so sweet, she asked me if I was going cattle singing.’

‘I’d like a grandchild just like Dulcie,’ said Sally.

‘I’d like a mother just like you or Mrs Cartwright.’

Sally had written people’s names on little cards decorated with holly and mistletoe.

‘Shall I put them round the table?’ offered Dora. ‘You’ll catch cold if you don’t dry your hair.’

‘That’s kind. Janna on Mr B-T’s right, Emlyn on my right,’ said Sally.

‘Hengist, Sally, Janna, Oriana, Emlyn, Charlie,’ read Dora.

In the shadows of Hengist’s study, she switched on her mobile. ‘Oriana’s got a new boyfriend coming called Charlie,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll keep you posted. So pants for Mr Davies.’

Out of the window, the snow was still falling, transforming the laurels into an army of lop-eared white rabbits.

‘She’s here, she’s here!’

The crunch on the gravel was softened by the snow. Oriana wriggled out of the dark green Peugeot, gathering up parcels and pashminas, a bunch of red freesias between her teeth like Carmen.

‘Hi, Mum.’

Oriana had never been a cuddly child, arching her back to wriggle out of every embrace. Now she rested first in Sally’s, then in Hengist’s arms, pressing her smiling red lips to their cheeks. Softened and glowing as never before, she took Hengist’s breath away.

‘Hi there, Coxie.’ She hugged a startled Mrs Cox before handing her a squashy, scarlet-wrapped present.

‘Here’s yours, Mum and Dad, Charlie’ll be here around eight-thirty. The house looks glorious – I’m so used to New York minimalism and neutral colours . . . and that’s new, and that too!’ She paused in front of a John Nash of weeping ashes, then a William Nicholson of a child and a dog asleep in a haycock. ‘Lovely, both of them.’ Then, peering into the dining room: ‘That green wallpaper’s great.’

‘Show’s how long you’ve been away,’ said Sally.

From a dark corner of the hall, Dora took pictures on her mobile.

‘Who’s coming tonight?’ asked Oriana.

‘Just a very small party. You are staying for a bit, aren’t you, darling?’

‘Well, at least till the New Year, if that’s OK. I want to show Charlie the West Country,’ said Oriana, running upstairs to her old bedroom.

‘Oh, how lovely you haven’t changed anything, except for that sweet little blue chair.’ Fingering the Christmas roses and snowdrops in a vase on the dressing table, she said, ‘You do know how to make things pretty, Mum.’

She must be in love to be so complimentary, thought Sally.

Hengist gasped when Oriana came down a good hour later. Her slenderness was enhanced by a sleeveless dark brown velvet dress, split to the thigh to show off long greyhound legs and very high heels. Her short spiky hair was softened by pearl drop earrings and, for Oriana, a lot of eye make-up, blusher and scarlet lipstick. She reeked of familiar scent.

‘You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.’

She must be bats about this Charlie. Where the hell did that put poor Emlyn?

‘Can I take a photograph of you and Mr Brett-Taylor?’ asked Dora, sliding in with a champagne cocktail on a silver tray.

Before long, Oriana reverted to being as spiky as her hair.

‘You’ve obviously been fundraising,’ she told Hengist. ‘Place looks more like a country club than ever, I nearly got lost on the way in. What are you teaching at the moment?’

‘First year,’ said Hengist, unstoppering the whisky decanter. He intended to get gloriously drunk this evening.

‘Hardly extending yourself.’

‘It’s a very good way of acquainting oneself with a new intake, and, quite frankly, teaching is something I do in my spare time these days.’

Then he tried to tell Oriana about Paris and the brilliant poem he’d written about England winning the World Cup, because for once David (Jonny Wilkinson) and Goliath (Martin Johnson) were on the same side. But he soon realized Oriana was interested neither in Paris nor the World Cup: ‘It wasn’t reported in the States; it was irrelevant on a global scale!’ nor in him fulminating about the dumbing down of the GCSE history syllabus, which now included the restoration of historic houses and the producing of television documentaries.