‘Just after he married you. He didn’t want any more children, what with seven of us and buckets of illegits. He was fed up with the expense and the hassle. But there’s a 28 per cent chance of reversing the operation, so you still could have babies together. Kitty, Kitty, are you still there?’
‘Yes — are you sure?’
‘Certain. He had the op in America. Not even James Benson knows.’
‘Oh my God.’ Kitty gave a sob.
‘You will go on being my friend even if you leave him,’ pleaded Natasha. ‘But try not to. He loves you in his funny way, and he needs you. You’re the best wife he’s ever had.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ mumbled Kitty, switching off the telephone and slumping back on the blue-and-yellow cushions, clutching Lassie, who stretched up, long pink tongue frantically trying to staunch her mistress’s tears. Outside, Rannaldini’s horses were lying down in a patch of sunlight close together to keep warm, folding up one after another like camels.
Kitty couldn’t stop crying as she remembered the way Rannaldini had complained so bitterly when she had all those horribly embarrassing and often painful tests — not to mention the devastating disappointment each time her period came. Now he was bullying her non-stop to have an abortion and all the time he’d made her bear the full guilt and humiliation of being the infertile one.
‘The stupid bitch drove off the road,’ she muttered, ‘an’ we’ve only recorded two movements. Oh, poor Rachel, oh dear God.’
Kitty had no idea how long she sat, her thoughts churning, but suddenly the door flew open and in bounced Hermione, smothered in leopard skin.
‘Come on, Brickie! We’re off to the bird sanctuary at Slimbridge. We’ve always vowed we’d go. Such a lovely day and what better way of celebrating Rannaldini’s wonderful new job.’
He must have rung to tell her straight away, thought Kitty dully.
‘You must wrap up warm.’
Marigold, following Hermione into the room, thought how really ill Kitty looked.
‘But what about Rachel?’ said Kitty bewildered.
‘It’s terrible. We’re all devastated,’ said Hermione briskly. ‘Bob was crying when he rang from London to tell me, but crying won’t bring her back. We’ll all have to rally round Boris and the children. Gretel’s being a tower of strength. Mind you, spare men are lucky, they get snapped up very fast.’
‘We can’t go on a jaunt,’ said Kitty in horror, ‘not when she’s just passed away.’
‘Rachel was mad about conservation,’ said Marigold gently. ‘It’s a sort of memorial to her if we go. Come on, Kitty, it’ll do you good.’
64
So off they went in two cars: Marigold and Larry, Georgie and Guy rode in the first. Hermione, reluctantly accompanied by Meredith, because Bob was still in London coping with the ramifications of Rachel’s death, drove with Kitty and Rannaldini, who was resplendent in a new, long pale-fawn cashmere coat from Ralph Lauren.
The clouds had rolled away. Primroses, violets and blue hazes of speedwell crowded the hedgerows from which the first green flames of hawthorn and wild rose were flickering brightly.
‘Dark glasses and head scarves, chaps,’ said Hermione, tying a rust silk square over her dark hair. ‘We don’t want to be mobbed by autograph hunters.’
There was hassle even before they got inside Slimbridge when, ignoring a sign saying NO ENTRY FOR FURS MADE FROM SPOTTED CATS OR TIGERS, Hermione tried to force her way through the turnstile.
‘Is that coat fake leopardskin?’ asked the girl on the till.
‘Certainly not,’ said Hermione in outrage.
‘I’m afraid you can’t come in.’
So Hermione threw a moody and as Rannaldini showed no signs of relinquishing his splendid new cashmere, kind Guy had to lend her his old army greatcoat.
‘It looks better on a man,’ joked Guy as he did up the brass buttons. ‘D’you remember that advertisement, Brickie?’
Kitty didn’t. She was thinking of the contrast between the noisy, self-confident sophistication of the Paradise party — excluding herself of course — and the scruffy excited crowds, mostly parents and children in anoraks, retired couples or earnest men in shorts and hung with cameras and binoculars.
‘Dreadfully suburban,’ shuddered Meredith, as he whisked Kitty past bright pink double cherries, weeping willows, little concrete ponds and pebble-dash islands crowded with birds.
‘I fink it’s beautiful,’ said Kitty, admiring the little teals with their glossy blue, green and chestnut heads and the black swans whose necks unfurled like ferns.
‘’Ooo, ’ow sweet.’ She bent down to stroke the little brown striped Hawaiian geese who wandered round soliciting bread and rubbing against people’s legs, tame as Lassie.
‘That bird with a white collar looks just like Percy,’ said Meredith.
‘It’s called the common shoveller.’ Marigold was eager to show off her ornithological knowledge.
Guy, who’d been a keen birdwatcher during the walking tours of his youth, was equally eager.
‘The courtship of the ruddy duck is absolutely fascinating,’ he was telling Larry.
Seeing a notice which said GO QUIETLY, TREAD GENTLY, Kitty thought it sounded like a prayer. There must be a god to produce such a marvellous variety of different coloured birds, and what a wonderful quacking and honking and hooting they make. From every bush came scuffling like a teenage party.
‘Interior designers could pick up a few tips.’ Meredith was studying the black, rust and white plumage of a passing eider duck.
‘Listen to what it says about the courtship pattern of the great whistler,’ cried Marigold putting on her spectacles to read another notice: ‘The male arches his body and neck, flinging up droplets followed by head up, tail up. Usually several males frantically display before one female.’
‘Sounds like the husbands of Paradise showing off to Rachel,’ said Georgie sourly. ‘Oh my God, I forgot she was dead.’
Noticing Kitty’s glazed eyes suddenly spilling over with tears, Meredith mouthed to Marigold, ‘Is she OK?’
‘I don’t think so,’ mouthed back Marigold.
Picking up this exchange, Hermione turned to Rannaldini: ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Kitty could adopt a Canada goose? They’ve got a scheme here. It would give her an interest. I’ll go and jolly her up.’
Showing off her deeply caring nature and her charmingly curved legs, she moved forward putting her arm through Kitty’s.
‘I’m so delighted about Rannaldini’s new job. I know he’s been a naughty boy, but when you think of stags, stallions and male dogs, and how much more glamorously the male birds are kitted out than the females, it’s no wonder men are different. Bitches, does and female birds are gentle, sit on their nests and stay at home. Sex really isn’t that important.’
It is with Lysander, thought Kitty sulkily.
She noticed a mallard, his emerald head gleaming in the sunshine as his tabby wife nestled beside him in married contentment.
Like Lysander and me, thought Kitty, I’m plain and tabby, he’s beautiful and resplendent, but he loves me.
‘I know you’ve still got a crush on Lysander.’ Marigold took Kitty’s other arm. ‘He’s so sweet. We all had one on him once, just like the flu.’
‘Some of us still do,’ sighed Meredith, admiring the blond hairy legs of a hulking German tourist.
‘Don’t be silly, Meredith,’ reproved Marigold. ‘And don’t be rash, Kitty. Valhalla’s a beautiful place and Rannaldini’ll buy some gorgeous apartment for you in New York. It’s no fun lowering one’s standard of living.’ Marigold sighed even more deeply. ‘And think of the travelling you’ll do.’