One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [110]
Ralph’s lip curled. ‘There is nothing of that woman’s I would ever wish to view,’ he said disdainfully.
‘And nothing I should ever wish to show him.’
‘Thief.’
‘Poseur.’
‘Voleuse.’
‘Bâtard!’
The two of them glared at one other. Then they tossed their heads and flounced from the room: unfortunately – for no doubt a grand, sweeping exit was what both were after – simultaneously, so that the desired effect was rather marred. They collided in the doorway, jostling furiously to get through, to be first out.
Laura and I listened to the sound of their ever-decreasing stomping footsteps, which eventually died away as they marched off in opposite directions through the corridors of this great house. Then we sat down heavily together at the kitchen table.
Laura blinked at the Evian bottle. ‘Sod that for a game of soldiers.’ She threw it in the recycling bin, opened a cupboard, and seized a bottle of gin. I, meanwhile, busied myself getting the glasses, the tonic, the ice and lemon.
21
Supper that evening threatened to be a petulant affair. Two taciturn boys whose habitual mode of communication was monosyllabic at the best of times, a brace of warring interior decorators – both of whom, I’m sure, Laura was regretting having asked to stay as long as they liked – Laura and I, both shattered by the upsets of our respective children, and Hugh, blinking a bit as he tried to referee. Sensibly, Laura had plumped for a quick sausage and mash in the kitchen. As she fried the sausages, Ralph cleverly sidled in and installed himself on a stool by the Aga, arming himself with a drink and a clutch of amusing decorating anecdotes. By the time Maggie arrived slightly later, he was making his hostess laugh uproariously, and generally stealing a march on his rival. Maggie, witnessing the hilarity, turned on her heel and stalked into the scullery to sulk.
‘Conscious card,’ she muttered as, grasping the situation, I went to find her. She was sitting on the draining board, smoking furiously. I steered her out, in the opposite direction to the kitchen, handing her a glass of wine.
‘He’s just trying to be amenable,’ I soothed.
‘He’s just trying.’
‘Yes, but you know what it’s like when you’re doing up someone’s house. If you’re staying, you have to sing for your supper rather. We know that.’
‘He doesn’t sing, he brays.’
‘OK, he brays,’ I said wearily. ‘Come on, Maggie, forget about Ralph for the moment. Show me the house. Show me what you’ve done while I’ve been away. I deliberately haven’t looked, because I wanted you to show me.’
‘Really?’ She brightened. ‘I thought you’d looked and didn’t like it, because you hadn’t said anything.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve been walking round with my hands over my eyes. Come on, I want the grand tour.’
We started upstairs and worked our way down to the front hall, taking in all the rooms she’d had a hand in, and all those that were Ralph’s too. In actual fact, I decided, what Mr de Granville had achieved in the more formal areas of the house – the drawing room, hall, master bedroom, et cetera – was really rather good. Just as what Maggie had achieved in the informal rooms – the playroom, the sitting room, the children’s bedrooms – was excellent too. Maggie, of course, would beg to differ.
‘Look at this!’ she spat as we went into the drawing room. She waved an incredulous hand at the vast lump of rock she objected to by the fire. ‘Hideous! Just downright despicably hideous.’
I rather liked it. Long and elegant, it was a huge piece of granite, to be sure, but a welcome change from the ubiquitous stool or coffee table, and contrasted well with the marble mantle. He’d set it on a simple cream rug between creamy sofas, punctuated by the odd enormous granite-coloured cushion. I marvelled at its smoothness. Reached out to—
‘Don’t touch it!’ she snapped. I snatched back my hand as if I’d burned it. ‘It’s what he wants!’ she hissed. ‘He wants everyone to fondle it, to coo and use words like “tactile”. Useless lump of old rock.’
Except not useless, because smooth enough to set