‘What’s he like?’ said Harriet. ‘Like Mr Erskine?’
‘Chalk and cheese,’ said Mrs Bottomley, helping herself to another glass of sherry. ‘He’s handsome is Master Kit. Tall and golden as one of them sunflowers, and enough charm to bring roses out of the ground in winter. But he always brings trouble. Drove his poor mother mad with worry. Magnificent scenery, indeed. He never moved out of Mrs Erskine’s bedroom, and she lying there totally nude, as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and the central heating turned up so high, you’d think it was a heatwave. And it wasn’t just painting they got up to, neither.’
‘Whatever did Mr Erskine say when he got home?’ said Harriet in awe. ‘He must have hit the roof.’
‘’E did,’ said Mrs Bottomley. ‘You should have heard them. Mr Cory, very controlled as always, but very sarcastic, and Mrs E. in hysterics. You could hear her shouting all over the house: “Well, at least I kept it in the family, this time”!’
There was a pause before Mrs Bottomley said, in a confidential voice, ‘You see Harriet, Master Kit wasn’t the first by a long way. Ever since Master Jonah was born, it’s been one young gentleman after another.’
‘But why does Mr Erskine put up with it?’ said Harriet. ‘He doesn’t strike me as being the permissive type.’
Mrs Bottomley shook her head.
‘He isn’t,’ she said glumly. ‘He’s tough in most ways, but where she’s concerned, he’s as weak as water. He loves her.’
‘But how’s he got the strength to divorce her now?’
Mrs Bottomley shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Happen he won’t. She claims she wants to marry this Ronnie Acland, but I reckon Mr Cory will take her back in the end. She likes being married to him. It gives her respectability, and he makes a lot of money. She’s extravagant, you know, wants the best of everything — and she likes having power over him, knowing he’s still under her spell.’
Harriet understood so well how Cory felt. Now that she no longer worried about being able to keep William or where the next penny was coming from, all her thoughts centred on Simon.
Her longing for him grew no less with time. It hungered in her, night and day, engulfing her senses and her reason in an aching void. She tried to fill the void with hard work, to stupefy the ache by watching endless television, and reading long into the night, but her loneliness deepened round her as though she were alone in a huge cave.
Later that evening, after Mrs Bottomley had gone up to bed, the telephone rang. Harriet answered it.
‘Mr Erskine calling from Dublin,’ said the operator. ‘Will you accept the call?’
‘Yes,’ said Harriet, wondering what Cory was doing in Ireland.
‘Hullo, hullo, Cory. Can I speak to Cory, please?’ It was a man’s voice — slow, lazy, expensive, very attractive.
‘He’s not here,’ said Harriet.
‘Hell, I thought he’d be back,’ said the voice. ‘Where is he?’
‘In Antibes still. Can I help?’
‘Not really, darling, unless you can lend me a couple of grand. I’ve found a horse Cory’s got to buy.’
‘Do you want to ring him?’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve got the number. Who is it?’
The voice laughed. ‘Kit Erskine, registered black sheep. Hasn’t Botters been telling you horrible stories about me?’
‘Oh no, not at all.’ Even though he was miles away at the other end of a telephone, Harriet could feel herself blushing.
‘Of course she has. Don’t believe a word. It’s all true.’
Harriet giggled.
‘And you must be Harriet?’ he went on. ‘The distressed gentlefuck.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Harriet furiously, immediately on the defensive. ‘How do you know?’
‘Cory told me or, rather, he issued king-sized ultimatums that I was to keep my thieving hands to myself where you’re concerned. Is that your little baby making that horrible noise?’
‘His teeth are hurting,’ said Harriet.
‘Why doesn’t he go to the dentist? Any news of Noel?’
Harriet, rather indiscreetly she felt afterwards, told him about the postcard of the African footballers.
Kit laughed. ‘Funny how she likes to keep an eye on Cory, and on me, too, for that matter. In fact, she’s had her eye on so many men in her time, I’m surprised she hasn’t developed the most awful squint. Everyone’s laying bets whether Cory’ll divorce her or not.’
‘I think I’d better go and look after the baby,’ said Harriet, feeling suddenly that she shouldn’t be discussing her employer.
‘Don’t go,’ said Kit. ‘Are you as sexy as your voice is? What do you look like?’
‘Scrawny and sallow-skinned,’ said Harriet.
‘Just my type,’ said Kit. ‘I’ve a portrait to paint up North next month. I’ll come over and case the joint. Don’t go shacking up with any of the local gentry before I arrive.’
Bitter, bitter, sweet, thought Harriet afterwards. Bitter because, in his gaiety, panache and directness of approach, he reminded her so much of Simon; sweet because, even over the telephone, it was nice to be chatted up once more.
Later still that night, Ambrose the cat decided to have her kittens at the bottom of the huge four-poster quadruple bed in Cory and Noel’s bedroom. At six o’clock in the morning, having finally installed her, tired but contented, in clean straw in the kitchen with five kittens, Harriet finally fell into bed.
It seemed only a few minutes later that she was woken up by Chattie’s voice telling her very smugly it was half past nine.
‘Oh, my god!’ said Harriet, leaping out of bed. ‘And it would be Mrs Bottomley’s day off.’
Frenziedly pulling on her clothes, not even bothering to wash, she rushed downstairs, fed Chattie and Jonah bread and marmalade, packed Jonah’s suitcase for the week, put William bawling and unfed into the car in his carry cot, and set off to drop the children at school.
It had frozen the night before and the road was like a skating rink. Harriet tried hard to concentrate on driving, but was distracted by Jonah fiddling with the door handle. The next moment, his hand slipped and the door swung open, nearly taking him with it. Narrowly missing an oncoming car, Harriet pulled him back, locked the door and gave him a ringing slap on his bare leg.
‘Don’t ever do that again!’ she shouted.
Jonah said nothing, gazing in front of him, colour slowly draining out of his cheeks, as the red finger marks grew on his thigh.
Chattie, of course, was delighted. ‘Naughty, naughty Jonah,’ she chanted.
‘Shut up, Chattie!’ snapped Harriet, turning the car into Jonah’s school gates.
Jonah grabbed his small suitcase and jumped out of the car.
‘Goodbye, darling,’ said Harriet her anger evaporating. ‘Pick you up on Friday evening.’
Jonah was white with rage.
‘Don’t call me darling!’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘I hate you! I hate you! I wish you’d never come. I’m going to tell my father to send you away.’
On the verge of tears, Harriet dropped Chattie off at her school. William was bellowing his lungs out with hunger all the way home.
‘William! Please!’ she said, her voice rising in desperation. ‘It won’t be long.’
While she was heating up milk for a bottle she very hurriedly washed some of William’s clothes and put them into the spin dryer.
Suddenly the telephone rang. William redoubled his howls. At the same moment, the milk boiled over and as she rushed to retrieve it, she realized she’d forgotten to put a bucket underneath the spin dryer.