One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [129]
My parents moved away to greet their granddaughters. Daisy was bustling around clearing plates, and Mum was exclaiming at Biba, who was still running in with trays of bacon.
‘But, darling, Mummy tells me you were on duty last night till two. You are marvellous.’
‘I think you’ll find Biba’s got it all worked out,’ observed Dad, giving his granddaughter a huge wink. ‘No flies on her.’
‘Six pounds an hour, Grandpa,’ she grinned. ‘And double money after midnight. And let me tell you, I notched up a few of those last night. I was still running around at three a.m., and being backstairs girl gives you a totally different perspective!’ She rolled her eyes at Maggie, who looked flustered.
As Biba hurried on, Dad raised his eyebrows.
‘Whatever did she mean by that, d’you suppose?’
‘Nothing for you to bother about,’ soothed Mum, leading him off to meet and greet. ‘Oh, look, there’s Luca.’
She skirted the table to bestow a ravishing smile. Luca got awkwardly to his feet, his sallow, sulky face flushing slightly as Mum engaged him in animated conversation, as she did so well, I realized. Dad approached too, to shake hands heartily. They were so good at this, I thought, watching. At making him feel welcome, included. Drawing him out. It occurred to me that if I could turn out just a fraction like my parents, if I could put half the effort and kindness into life that they did, I couldn’t go far wrong. So accepting. So much grace. Turn out? If I was a blancmange I’d have been on the plate long ago.
‘A terribly attractive man has just asked me if I want to beat,’ Maggie breathed tremulously in my ear. ‘I might have to go and lie down. What does he mean exactly? And where does this flagellation take place? Are we completely naked? Will there be an audience? So many questions. He has got the most heavenly regional accent, though. Shall I say yes?’
‘Do, but I hope you’re not disappointed. You’ll be fully clothed and it takes place in dense, prickly undergrowth as you flush the pheasants out with a stick. It’s exhausting. I’d go with the guns, if I were you.’
‘Go… with the guns.’ She savoured this, rolling it around in her mouth. ‘Another very sexy option. Is that go, as in All The Way?’
‘No, it’s go as in perch behind on a shooting stick, freezing your butt off’, remarked Dad, overhearing. ‘Oh, and murmuring admiringly when he hits something. Try to keep quiet when he misses everything – whatever you say will be wrong – and on no account wrestle the gun from his hands and offer to have a go yourself. I’d ignore my daughter and beat. It’s much warmer, more exhilarating, and the company is often a deal more entertaining.’
‘Right,’ she agreed uncertainly. I could tell she rather fancied herself on a shooting stick behind a man with a gun, but out of politeness to Dad she turned to the tall, ruddy-faced chap standing with his group of beaters drinking coffee behind her. I recognized him as Hugh’s gamekeeper. Maggie laid a jewelled hand on his arm.
‘I’ll beat,’ she purred, fluttering wanton lashes.
Oh Lord. I’d have to take her home soon.
‘I think,’ she dithered, vacillating. ‘Hang on.’ She’d spotted Biba across the room: hastened away to canvass her opinion.
Meanwhile Ralph de Granville was making a late entrance, looking dashing and debonair in a subtle Harris tweed flecked with pink, which surprised me. Not the pink – I just wouldn’t have had him down as a sportsman. Yet here he was, picking his bit of card from Hugh, which told him which peg he was on, and downing a quick cup of coffee. Hugh lightly clapped his hands and cleared his throat, mildly pointing out, whilst glancing at his watch, that if we were to start at ten, which was kind of the plan, we needed to shake leg, a bit. If no one minded. The rest of the men duly collected their bits of card, and then Hal, Seffy, Luca, the Harrisons, the Rankins, Hobson-Burnetts, Tapners, my parents et al., plus the seven or eight beaters, all drained coffee cups and filed out across the hall and