The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets Page 27

  ‘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.

  ‘Sunday lunch?’ I stuttered.

  ‘It’s Friday,’ said Marina. ‘I don’t plan on returning to London until I’ve recovered from last night. If you show me the telephone, I shall call my man in London and have him send down a joint. So silly not to make the most of the glorious spring weather. Sugar and milk?’

  I looked at Inigo who looked away. He wants her here, I thought. He’s captivated by the whole performance.

  ‘Black and no sugar, thank you,’ I said.

  After breakfast, Marina said she would like to take a bath and I showed her up to my bathroom.

  ‘Oh, lavender oil, how charming,’ she said, turning on my bathroom taps. Then, just as the water spluttered out, the tears were back. ‘Oh, Penelope!’ she wailed. ‘I love him!’

  The speed with which Marina was capable of switching from happy to miserable quite overwhelmed me and I blinked a few times, trying to readjust myself. Rocky was quite right. She was exhausting.

  ‘Do you think he’ll marry you?’ she asked, sniffing. ‘No! Don’t answer me just yet. Let me lie in the bath and pretend that he wants to be with me. Don’t ruin my daydream. Please, Penelope. Say nothing. Say nothing.’

  So I said nothing, and excused myself and rushed downstairs and telephoned Aunt Clare’s. To my amazement, Harry picked up the phone.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I demanded. ‘Your American lady love is here at Magna, using all the hot water, organising Sunday lunch and weeping every other minute. She wants you back, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘Our plan worked.’

  ‘Your plan,’ I hissed.

  ‘I knew she would come and find you,’ he said. ‘She’s rather predictable like that.’ He didn’t sound victorious, as I had expected. He sounded half tired, half something else. Yes, that was it. Half bored.

  ‘Nothing predictable about turning up drunk in the middle of the night,’ I snapped. ‘Isn’t this your cue to gallop up the drive and whizz her off into the sunset?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I could hear him yawning.

  ‘You suppose so? Aren’t you overwhelmed by happiness and triumph?’ I wanted to shake him.

  ‘Of course I am,’ he said, suddenly sharp. ‘But she made me suffer, Penelope. I’m rather enjoying the idea that she’s having to put up with a bit of pain now.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! She thinks you love me,’ I said impatiently. ‘which was all well and good at Dorset House and the Ritz but it makes me jolly uncomfortable at two in the morning in the library at Magna.’

  ‘Did you look beautiful when she saw you last night?’ asked Harry lightly. It mattered to him, I supposed. He needed me to keep up the image he had created.

  ‘No. I was wearing an awful dressing gown and a torn nightie. I looked a mess,’ I said smugly.

  To my surprise, Harry laughed. ‘I wish I’d been there.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said with feeling. ‘I don’t like the girl, but it’s rather awful seeing her like this. She needs you, Harry.’

  ‘The only person she’s ever needed is herself.’

  ‘Are you telling me that now she’s left George, you don’t love her any more?’ I asked in ominous tones.

  ‘Oh, I love her all right,’ said Harry grimly. ‘But I hate her too.

  ‘Please, Harry, don’t leave me to sort this out alone.’

  ‘Sit tight. Don’t let her know that we were only pretending, please, Penelope. For your own sake, too.’

  ‘If she’s still here by the end of the weekend …’ I warned him. ‘What will you do?’ He sounded almost amused now. ‘I’ll tell her this whole thing has been one big act and I don’t think she’ll forgive you. The one thing I’ve learned about Marina is that she doesn’t like being taken for a fool. Goodbye, Harry.’

  I replaced the receiver and nearly leapt out of my skin when Mary tapped me on the shoulder.

  ‘I thought I’d do a Queen of Puddings tonight,’ she said thickly. ‘Miss Hamilton says it’s her favourite.’

  Upstairs, I could hear Miss Hamilton singing ‘The Little White Cloud That Cried’.

  ‘Lovely voice she has, too!’ sighed Mary.

  Personally. I thought it rather shrill. And she got the words wrong in verse two. Johnnie would have been horrified …

  Chapter 17

  DRAMA IN THE DINING ROOM

  Charlotte arrived just as Marina descended the stairs after the longest bath in Magna’s history.

  ‘I got the first train I could,’ she said breathlessly. ‘They should name the train line after us. The Wallace-Ferris Great Western service. I feel I spend more time on the train than anyone else in the world. We were delayed at Reading. I nearly burst with frustration. And I paid for my ticket! I’m far too well behaved by half, nowadays. I blame bloody Christopher Jones.’

  ‘I’d blame Marina if I were you.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Charming Inigo s
omewhere.’

  I was relieved to see Charlotte. With her around, the situation became less desperate, and more amusing. She was very good at cracking jokes at inappropriate times.

  Against the odds, Marina had unearthed a set of ancient tongs from the depths of some long-abandoned cupboard, and had curled her hair, reapplied her make-up and dressed thoughtfully for her weekend in the country in a tweed skirt and twinset that would have looked quite dreadful on anybody but her. As it happened, she defined alluring. Inigo, who had been valiantly struggling through a geometry paper at the dining-room table, decided to abandon his work in favour of a ‘stroll in the garden’ with our American guest.

  ‘Shall we take a glass of champagne with us?’ suggested Marina.

  ‘Why not a bottle?’ said Inigo quickly.

  ‘You should get that paper finished by the end of today!’ I called out threateningly as he popped the cork. Inigo, quite rightly, ignored me.

  ‘I shall need something to walk in,’ said Marina, looking down at her feet. Inigo raced to the cloakroom and found her a pair of wellingtons.

  ‘Try these,’ he suggested, handing her my boots.

  ‘Oh, Lord! These are men’s boots, surely!’ giggled Marina, pretending to fall over so that Inigo had to catch her.

  ‘No, I think they’re Penelope’s,’ said Inigo. ‘But they’re huge!’

  I could have slain him.

  Half an hour later, Charlotte and I watched them wandering back to the house, stopping to pick daffodils en route. Marina appeared to be laughing a great deal, which foxed me as usually I am the only person who finds Inigo funny.

  ‘She doesn’t seem to be missing Harry much at the moment, said Charlotte. We were sitting on the window seats in my bedroom overlooking the drive, eating a bag of apples and smoking cigarettes out of the window.

  ‘It comes in waves,’ I said. ‘And when it comes, watch out! She’s like a different girl, terribly humble and afraid and convinced that she’ll never get him back. Harry wants me to go on pretending for a while longer. He thinks it’s only right that she should suffer a little bit.’

  ‘How disgusting,’ said Charlotte. ‘And he calls that being in love?’

  ‘It’s George I feel sorry for,’ I said. ‘There’s something rather sweet about him. Rocky thinks so too,’ I added unthinkingly. Charlotte was on to me like a shot.

  ‘Oh, well, if Rocky thinks so,’ she said slyly. ‘Tell me, has he telephoned? When are you going out for your terribly smart dinner?’

  ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t called. I feel a fool, Charlotte.’

  ‘Give him time,’ she said. ‘That sort of man is far too important to call when he says he will.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Just do.’

  Charlotte was one of those people who only ever found good in anything. Events that I had dreaded she had embraced with never-ending joie de vivre. She had also been working far harder than Inigo or I could even dream of— the tips of her fingers were hard, like dried wax, from hammering the keys of Aunt Clare’s typewriter. Sometimes, she said, she felt herself typing in her sleep. She never complained, but more than that, she saw light in everything. She made light of all the right things, and she realised when she shouldn’t, which is one of the rarest gifts I ever knew in anyone.

  ‘You will see him again, you know,’ she said, seeing my thoughtful expression, and again I thought, isn’t that just like Charlotte? She understood completely that the only thing that mattered was that I saw him. Never mind kissing him or even talking to him. She understood the ache that could be eased just with a look or a smile. ‘Even if things don’t work out, there’s always Johnnie,’ she added, and unlike the rest of the world, I knew that she was being serious; she simply could not conceive of a reason why Johnnie Ray. world famous and only in England for a few nights a year, should want to spend his time with anyone but us. I loved her for that. And why not? We were young and the world spun for us alone.

  ‘I suppose we should go downstairs and have some lunch,’ I said.

  ‘Is Marina eating like a pig?’

  ‘She won’t stop. I think it must be a nervous reaction to the horror of her situation.’ I giggled.

  ‘Rubbish. She’s just greedy.’

  ‘Mary adores her,’ I said. ‘She calls her Miss Hamilton.’

  We stood up and Charlotte flipped her thick hair out from under the collar of her blouse.

  ‘Do you have a comb?’ she asked and I said I thought so, and crossed the room to my dressing table. Marina the guinea pig shot out from under my bed so I picked her up.

  ‘Look how tame she is now, Charlotte,’ I said, but Charlotte’s eyes were fixed on something outside, her jaw open in astonishment.

  ‘What is it?’ I demanded. Not Mama back early, please. But no. The most sensational pale silver car was careering up the drive at the most sensational silver pace.

  ‘Oh my God!’ breathed Charlotte. ‘It’s a bloody Chevrolet!’

  ‘Whose?’ I whispered idiotically. and the word stuck in my throat because who else would have a Chevrolet in the middle of Wiltshire?

  We watched him get out, take off his hat and march towards the front door.

  ‘Help! It’s him! Oh, Charlotte, what on earth is he doing here?’ I whimpered.

  ‘Come to find Marina, I’ll wager,’ said Charlotte with glee. ‘Americans can never keep their noses out of other people’s business.’

  Why, oh why hadn’t I washed my hair? I ran to my basin and splashed cold water on my face. Charlotte snapped into action.

  ‘Put this on,’ she ordered, hurling a pair of red trousers and a black sweater at me as the doorbell rang and Fido began to bark.

  ‘The trousers are too big!’ I hissed.

  ‘Hitch them up with a belt. Too big is always good, it makes you look like you’ve lost weight.’

  ‘What about my hair?’

  Charlotte grabbed the comb from me and messed around with my mop for a few moments.

  ‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘Get those pearls off and for goodness’ sake put some red lipstick and powder on. Don’t you just hate it when men turn up unannounced?’

  ‘I can’t say I have a great deal of experience in this field,’ I gibbered. ‘Suppose he wants to take us out for lunch? What shall I do? Oh help! Look!’

  But it was too late. From our vantage point, we could see the front door being opened and hear Marinas voice inviting him in.

  Charlotte and I fled my bedroom and stood just back from the edge of the gallery, looking down at the scene being enacted below. Marina looked Daphne du Maurier-beautiful, still dressed for her walk, radiant and mysterious in a pale grey wool cape. She seemed to register very little surprise at Rocky’s arrival, rather she smirked a bit and held out her hand to be kissed, which I thought jolly affected. Rocky looked heartbreaking in a long black coat that must have cost about a hundred pounds, a red and black checked scarf wound round his neck. His hair was Brylcreem-advertisment perfect despite the blustery day, and he carried a light brown leather case and a newspaper under his arm. I felt curiously detached from myself, watching him and Marina standing in the hall was like watching an alternative ending. to a favourite film.

  ‘I suppose you want me to ask you what you’re doing here,’ I heard Rocky say.

  ‘I could say the very same to you!’ said Marina.

  ‘Where’s little Penelope Wallace, havoc-maker?’ asked Rocky, shaking off his coat, and my heart jumped and Charlotte nudged me in the ribs.

  ‘How did you guess I was here, anyway?’ demanded Marina.

  ‘You’re as easy to read as Salinger,’ said Rocky.

  ‘I suppose George sent you,’ said Marina dramatically.

  ‘All George told me was that your jazz fan boyfriend is the man that Penelope kissed at the Ritz. That was all he needed to tell me for me to work out where you were.

  ‘Congratulations, Perry Mason,’ said Marina, removing her cape and tossing it ont
o the hall table.

  ‘I suppose you’ve terrorised that sweet girl into thinking that she has to give him up?’

  Surprisingly. Marina had the insight to lower her voice at this point so I missed most of what she replied, but I caught the phrase ‘doesn’t love him like I do’.

  ‘He’s not so old,’ conceded Charlotte in a whisper.

  ‘I told you!’ Gosh, but he was handsome. The hall at Magna, which dwarfed and made fools of most people, seemed the perfect fit for Rocky. He held out his arms to me as Charlotte and I descended the stairs.

  ‘How are you, girls?’ He smiled, kissing me on both cheeks.

  In that moment, I didn’t think to ask him what he was doing rolling up unannounced. I didn’t think to wonder what his reasons were for anything. The only thing that struck me as remotely important was the fact that ten minutes after Charlotte and I had been talking about him, he was standing next to me, as real and as shake-makingly intimidating as ever.

  ‘Do you want to stay for supper?’ I asked him, trying to keep the glee out of my voice.

  ‘I can’t think of anything nicer,’ he said.

  I led him to the drawing room and poured him a Scotch.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said, taking it from me. He chucked it down his throat in one gulp. Everything looked too small for him, even the double dose of whisky. ‘What a place!’ he exclaimed, noticing his surroundings for the first time. He gave a great kick of laughter and prowled around the room. ‘My God! This is the kind of England I read about when I was a kid. I kinda assumed there was none of it left. Seems I was wrong.

  Not that wrong, I thought, covering up a huge tear on the back of the sofa with an equally-ravaged cushion. Help, Mary would go spare if I didn’t let her know that there was yet-another glamorous guest for dinner.

  ‘Would you mind terribly if I left you here for a minute or two?’ I asked Rocky politely. ‘I need to talk to Mary about dinner.’

  ‘Who’s Mary?’ asked Rocky, eyes glinting.

  ‘Oh, she’s just the cook.’

  ‘Wonderful. Are we having spotted dick? Or frog in the hole? Suet pudding?’ I giggled. Rocky sloshed his ice around in his glass. ‘You’re so pretty when you laugh. It’s hard to believe you’re behind all this mess.’