Emily

Chapter Thirty-one

The next moment I blacked out. I remember coming to and seeing a sea of faces and hearing Rory shouting at everyone to get out of the way and give me some air.

‘She looks terrible,’ said Coco. ‘Are you all right, mon ange?’

‘She got up too soon,’ said Buster.

‘She ought to see someone,’ said Coco.

‘I can see at least ten people already,’ I joked feebly.

‘Shall I call Finn?’ said Marina.

‘No,’ snapped Rory, ‘that’s the last thing she needs,’ and picking me up, he carried me upstairs.

‘You’ll rupture yourself,’ I grumbled, as he stumbled on the top step. Thank God I’d lost some weight in hospital.

Rory kicked the door of the best guest room open. A fire was blazing in the grate. The purple-flowered sheets of the bed were turned down. The scent of freesias filled the room.

‘But it’s all ready for Marcelle,’ I said feebly.

‘She can sleep somewhere else,’ said Rory, depositing me on the bed. He started to undo the zip of my dress.

‘I’ll do it,’ I stammered, leaping away. He looked at me, frowning.

‘Do you hate me so much you can’t even bear me to touch you?’

‘No — I mean…’

‘What do you mean?’ The tension was unbearable.

‘I can’t explain.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘All right, if that’s the way you want it. I’ll get you a couple of my mother’s sleeping pills.’

I sat down on the bed, burying my face in my hands. I felt sick. How could I explain to him that I couldn’t bear him to touch me because if he did, I’d only collapse, gibbering with lust, telling him I couldn’t live without him, that I loved him — all the things he hated.

Coco’s sleeping pills must have been very strong. It was mid-day when I woke up. The sun was streaming through the curtains, everything was quiet, except for a persistent thrush, and the occasional click of Buster hitting a captive golf-ball in the garden.

The fire had been re-lit in the grate. The scent of freesias was stronger than ever. Walter Scott lay sprawled across my feet. It was such a pretty room. For a moment I wallowed in the voluptuous euphoria created by the sleeping pills, then, bit by bit, the events of the last night came filtering back. Coco’s sister arriving and then that glorious Russian turning out to be Rory’s father, and Rory not being Marina’s brother after all, and there being nothing now to stop them getting married — and having hordes of ravishing black-eyed, red-haired children or ravishing blue-eyed, black-haired children. Oh, God, God, God, I writhed on the pillow — a bad business paid only with agony.

What the hell was I to do next? The last month had been difficult certainly, Rory and I living together with no sex, but at least we’d had a few laughs, and I felt somehow that even if he didn’t love me in the white-hot way he loved Marina, he was making very real efforts to make a go of it. Then Marina’s words of yesterday came back to me: ‘If he weren’t my brother, he’d drop you like a hot coal.’

I lay feeling suicidal for a bit, then got up and drew back the curtains. It was a marvellous day, the sea sparkling, the larches waving their pale green branches against an angelically blue sky. I felt the sun warming my hair and smoothing away the marks of the sheets on my skin.

Buster, hearing the curtains draw, looked up. I moved out of range and examined my body in the mirror. The only advantage about being miserable is you do lose weight. For a minute I forgot my gloom and admired my flat stomach and my ribs, then I sucked in my cheeks, and putting on a haughty model’s face, stood up on my toes.

‘Very nice,’ said a voice at the door, ‘you’ll make the gatefold of Playboy yet.’ It was Rory. I gave a squeak of embarrassment and grabbed a towel to cover myself. ‘Don’t,’ he said, shutting the door. He looked extremely pleased with himself. I wondered, with a flash of despair, if he’d spent the night celebrating with Marina.

‘You look better,’ he said, coming towards me. I backed away.

‘Oh for God’s sake, Em, stop behaving like a frightened horse.’

He was wearing a dark blue sweater, and an old pair of paint-stained jeans; his hair was ruffled by the wind: he looked so unspeakably handsome, I felt my entrails go liquid. I lowered my eyes in case he read the absolutely blatant desire there. I wanted him so much I had to turn away and jump back into bed, pulling the sheets up to my neck.

‘That’s a good girl,’ said Rory. ‘It seems a pity to get up on such a lovely day.’

‘Where is everyone?’ I asked.

‘Wandering around the house in various stages of undress, groaning about their hangovers.’ He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘Do you still feel sick, does the smoke worry you?’

I shook my head in surprise, fancy Rory bothering to ask that.

‘How are you getting on, adjusting to your new — er — father?’ I baulked on the word.

Rory grinned. ‘I quite like him, but he’s an old phoney; he’s already tried to borrow money off me, but then my mother always did have frightful taste in men. I’m very glad he didn’t bring me up, I’d have been cooling my heels in Broadmoor by now.’

‘Is he as grand as he makes out?’ I said.

‘I don’t think so, he looks degenerate enough, but I don’t believe those claims about tracing his ancestry back to Peter the Great. It does appear in fact that I’ve been born on the wrong side of an awful lot of blankets. Do you mind having an illegitimate husband?’

‘Do you mind?’ I said cagily.

‘Not at all, I never understood how Hector could be related to me anyway. His favourite painter was Peter Scott. There’s only one slight problem now to tax the ingenuity of the family solicitor. Have I any right any more to Hector’s money?’

‘Are you worried about it?’

‘Not particularly, I quite like the thought of starving in a garret.’ He shot me a glance under his eyelashes. ‘How about you?’

‘I haven’t tried it,’ I said carefully. ‘How’s your mother taking it?’

‘Medium. I think she’s a bit put out. Buster and Alexei have taken to each other like drakes to water, great bounders think alike I suppose. Alexei, like all foreigners, has a great reverence for English upper-class institutions. His ambition, like Buster’s, is to murder as much wildlife as he can. He’s so heartbroken the grouse shooting season is over that Buster has promised to take him pigeon shooting this afternoon.’

‘Are you going?’ I said.

‘I might — for a laugh. So my mother is rather irritated about the whole thing. She’s not gaining an ex-lover, she’s losing a husband. Alexei is between marriages at the moment, I think he and Buster might do very well together.’

‘But he’s old enough to be Buster’s father,’ I said.

‘Probably is, if I know that lot,’ said Rory. I burst out laughing. Rory took my hand. ‘You haven’t laughed much lately, Em. I think we ought to have a talk.’

I snatched my hand away, ‘People always say that,’ I said in a trembling voice, ‘when they’re about to say something awful.’

‘I’ve made you very unhappy since I married you, haven’t I?’ said Rory. ‘I’m sorry, you must have had a pretty bloody six months.’

Panic swept over me. ‘Come on,’ he said in an exaggeratedly gentle voice, ‘come here.’ He held out his arms to me.

‘No,’ I said desperately, ‘no, no, no.’

I knew exactly what he was about to say, that he’d made me so unhappy I obviously didn’t want to stay married to him any longer, so why didn’t we have an amicable divorce? If he touched me, I knew I’d cry.

‘Is it that bad?’ he said.

I nodded, biting my lip.

‘I gather Finn Maclean was round to see you yesterday,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘Are you still hooked on him — come on, I want the truth.’

I felt defeated, my eyes filled with tears. There was a knock on the door. ‘Go away,’ howled Rory. In walked Finn. ‘My God,’ exploded Rory, ‘why the hell can’t you ever leave us alone? What do you mean by barging in here, who the hell asked you?’

‘I’ve come to have a look at Emily,’ said Finn.

‘You’ve had a bloody sight too many looks at Emily recently,’ said Rory.

‘She happens to be a patient of mine.’

‘Among other things,’ said Rory. ‘She’s perfectly all right.’

‘She looks it,’ said Finn. He bent down to stroke Walter Scott who thumped his tail noisily on the floor.

‘And stop sucking up to my dog,’ snarled Rory.

‘Oh, please,’ I said, ‘leave Finn and me for a few minutes.’

Rory scowled at both of us. ‘All right,’ he said, going towards the door, ‘but if you put a finger wrong, Finn, I’ll report you to the medical council and get you struck off the register.’ And he slammed the door so hard, all the windows rattled.

Finn raised an eyebrow. ‘What was that little tantrum in aid of?’

‘He was trying to give me the sack,’ I said miserably. ‘And you interrupted him. You’ve heard that his real father’s turned up?’

Finn nodded.

‘So there’s nothing to stop Rory and Marina now.’

‘It’s not going to be as easy as that, there’s Hamish to be considered. I doubt if he’ll give Marina a divorce.’

‘It’s funny,’ I said, feeling very ashamed of myself, ‘none of us ever thinks of Hamish, do we?’

Finn gave me some tranquillizers. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m off to a conference in Glasgow this afternoon. I’d cancel it, but I’ve got to speak. I’m not too happy about the current situation. Marina’s in a highly overwrought state. So, obviously, is Rory, and I’m worried about Hamish. I want you to stay in bed today. I’ll be staying at the Kings Hotel tonight, don’t hesitate to ring me if you need me. Here’s the telephone number.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. ‘Don’t look so miserable, little one, things will sort themselves out.’

Knocking back tranquillizers like Smarties, I decided to disregard Finn’s advice and get up. When I finally made it downstairs, I found a noisy and drunken lunch had just finished. The debris of wine glasses, napkins and cigar butts still lay on the dining-room table. Buster was bustling about organizing his pigeon shoot. I went into the kitchen and opened a tin of Pedigree Chum for Walter. Then wandered into the drawing-room where I found Alexei well entrenched, chewing on a large cigar, drinking port and reading a book called The Grouse in Health and in Disease.

‘Ah, my enchanting daughter-in-law,’ he said, getting to his feet and kissing my hand with a flourish. Oh God, I hoped my fingers didn’t smell of Pedigree Chum. ‘Come and sit down,’ he patted a rather small space on the sofa beside him, ‘and tell me about yourself.’

Predictably I couldn’t think of anything to say, but Alexei had obviously had enough to drink for it not to matter a scrap.

‘Coco tells me you lost a baby recently — I am so sorry — you must have been very disappointed. You must have another one — as soon as you’re strong again. You and Rory would have beautiful children.’ It was not a subject I cared to dwell on.

‘Do you have lots of children yourself?’ I said.

‘Yes, I think so, several that I know about and several that I probably don’t, but none, I think, as talented as Rory. I have been looking at his paintings this morning. I am proud of my new son, he is a very good-looking boy, I think.’

‘Yes, he is,’ I said wistfully.

‘And not unlike me, I think,’ said Alexei with satisfaction. He got up. ‘I must go and change for the shooting.’

‘But it’ll be dark in a couple of hours,’ I said.

‘We wait till dusk and catch the pigeons as they come home to roost,’ he said.

‘Poor things,’ I said. ‘Where’s Rory?’

‘Gone to fetch his gun. Hamish is coming too.’ Suddenly, in spite of the centrally heated fug of the house, I felt icy cold. I didn’t like the idea of that cast of characters going shooting.

Alexei went up to change. I turned on the television and watched a steeplechase. It all looked so bright green and innocent one couldn’t really believe those horses falling at the fences were really hurting themselves.

A few minutes later, Rory arrived with Walter Scott. ‘Who told you to get up?’ he asked angrily. ‘You look frightful.’

‘I thought I might come and watch you all shooting,’ I said.

‘Absolutely not,’ snapped Rory. ‘You’re supposed to rest — according to your doctor. Go back upstairs at once.’

At that moment Buster walked in, looking ludicrously like a French tart in rubber thigh boots and an extraordinary hat with a veil.

‘Time’s getting on, Rory,’ he said, ‘we ought to take up our positions at least an hour before dusk.’

‘Is he getting married to Alexei already?’ I said.

Rory laughed: ‘It’s supposed to stop the pigeons seeing his face when they fly over — a pity he doesn’t wear it all the time. Come on,’ he whistled to Walter Scott.

‘Rory,’ I said. He turned in the doorway. ‘Be careful,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s all gun and no fear.’

I met Coco coming down the stairs.

‘’Ullo bébé, how are you, I am fed up. I ’ope the presence of Alexei would make Buster jealous, and spend less time on his horrible bloody sports, but it only makes ’im worse. I like to have a good sleep in the afternoon, but what is the point if there is no-one to sleep with you? So Marcelle and I decided to go over to the mainland. You will be all right, mon ange?’

‘Of course,’ I said.

I tried to sleep but I was in much too uptight a state. I heard voices outside and crept to the window to see them go off. Poor Hamish looked iller than ever. Alexei was laughing at some joke of Buster’s. Walter Scott, who was thoroughly over-excited by the whole proceedings, suddenly decided to mount Hamish’s red setter bitch. Hamish went mad and rushed over and started kicking Walter in the ribs in a frenzy. Walter started howling and Rory turned on Hamish in fury. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Hamish went absolutely spare with rage. I could see the white of his knuckles as his hands clenched on his gun. Then Buster came over and said something and they all set off, their boots ringing on the drive.

They crossed the burn and took the narrow, winding path up to the pine woods. I thought of the pigeons coming home after a long day to face the music: tomorrow they would be strung up as corpses in the larder, their destination pigeon pie.

I took more tranquillizers and tried to sleep, but it was impossible. I tried to read, Coco had left some magazines by the bed. I read my horoscope, which was lousy. Rory’s horoscope said he was going to have a good week for romance, blast him, but should be careful of unforeseen danger towards the weekend. I should never have let him go shooting.

An explosion of guns in the distance made me jump nervously. Then I heard a crunch of wheels on the gravel and looked out of the window again. It was Marina, Miss Machiavelli herself. She parked her blue car in front of the house and switched off the engine, then combed her hair, powdered her nose, and put on more scent — the conniving bitch. God, how I hated her.

She got out of the car, fragile in a huge sheepskin coat and brown boots, her red hair streaming in the breeze, and set off down the track the guns had taken.

No wonder Rory had been so insistent about my staying in bed and keeping out of his way. Drawn by some terrible fascination to see what they were getting up to, I got up, put on an old sheepskin coat of Coco’s and set off after her.

The guns popped in the distance, like some far-off firework party. It was getting dark, the fir trees beetled darkly, a rabbit scuttled over the dead leaves, frightening the life out of me. The sweat was rising on my forehead, my breath coming in great gasps. I ran on, ducking to avoid overhanging branches. There was the ADDERS — PLEASE KEEP OUT sign Buster had put up to frighten off tourists. I could hear voices now; the colour was going out of the woods; in the distance the sea was darkening to gun metal.

Suddenly I rounded a corner and, to my relief, saw Buster’s gamekeeper, then Marina’s red hair, and the guns strung out in a ring; Buster still wearing that ludicrous veil, Alexei next to him, then Rory, then Hamish, with Marina standing between them, but slightly behind. She was lighting one cigarette from another. I hoped they wouldn’t see me, then I stepped on a twig and she and Rory looked round. He looked absolutely furious. Buster smiled at me, waving and indicating to me to stay quiet. Walter Scott sat beside Rory, quivering with excitement, trying to look grown up. Marina tiptoed back and stood beside me. On closer inspection she didn’t look so hot, her skin pale and mottled, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. Even so, there was plenty of the old dash about her.

‘I thought you were at death’s door,’ she said. ‘It’s been quite exciting, Alexei has already tried to shoot a couple of sheep and nearly killed Hamish — I wish he’d tried harder.’

‘What are they waiting for?’ I asked.

‘The pigeons,’ she said, ‘they’re late back. I had the most cataclysmic row with Hamish last night,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I ended up throwing most of the silver at him. We started at four o’clock in the morning and went on till just before he came out. This is half-time, I ought to be sucking oranges and thinking what to do in the second half. He said I behaved atrociously last night,’ she went on, her eyes glittering wildly, ‘and that he absolutely refuses to divorce me. Has Rory spoken to you?’ she said, suddenly tense.

‘He tried to this morning,’ I hissed, ‘but your dear brother walked in in the middle.’

‘The trouble is,’ whispered Marina, ‘that Rory feels frightfully guilty about you because everything’s worked out for him, now he can marry me. If you went off with Finn it would make things much easier for everyone.’

‘I don’t want to go off with Finn,’ I said, my voice rising. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, riding roughshod over everyone’s lives, don’t you ever think that Hamish and I might have feelings?’

Marina turned her great headlamp eyes on me: ‘I’d never hang around being a bore to a man who couldn’t stand me — I’ve got too much pride, you obviously haven’t.’

‘Shut up you two,’ said Buster.

We were silent but the whole forest must have heard my heart thudding.

Then suddenly the pigeons came sailing over the view over the pine tops, and with a deafening crash the guns went off. It was like being in the middle of a thunderstorm, except that the sky was raining pigeons. The deafening fusillade lasted about three minutes.

Some of the birds escaped unscathed, others came down directly. The guns charged about looking for booty. Dogs circled, cursed by their masters. Alexei stood proudly with two birds in each hand. There were congratulations and verdicts. Walter Scott rushed grinning up to me, his mouth full of feathers.

‘Must be some more in here,’ said Buster, disappearing into the undergrowth. A minute later his great red face appeared and he said in a low voice, ‘Rory, come here a minute.’ Rory, followed by Walter Scott, went into the undergrowth.

There was a pause, then Rory came out, his face ashen in the half light, shaking like a leaf.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’ Marina ran forward. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s Hamish,’ said Rory. ‘There’s been an accident. I’m afraid he’s blown his brains out.’ His face suddenly worked like a small boy about to cry. ‘Don’t look, Marina, it’s horrible.’

Marina gave a scream and rushed into the wood after Buster. Rory disappeared to the right: next moment I heard the sound of retching.

Marina emerged a minute later, her eyes mad with hysteria. ‘There, you see,’ she screamed at me, ‘Rory killed him, he killed him for me, because he thought Hamish wasn’t going to let me go. Now who do you think Rory loves?’

‘Don’t be bloody silly, Marina,’ said Buster, coming out of the copse. ‘Of course Rory didn’t kill him, poor old boy obviously did himself in.’

Rory, having regained his composure, had returned.

‘I didn’t, Marina,’ he said, as she ran forward and collapsed in his arms. ‘I swear I didn’t.’

‘Well, it’s my fault then,’ she sobbed. ‘I told Hamish to do it, I told him how much I loathed and hated him, how much he disgusted me. I goaded him into it. Oh, Rory, Rory, I’ll never forgive myself.’

I turned away. I couldn’t bear the infinitely tender way he was holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, and telling her everything would be all right. Suddenly there was an unearthly wailing: everyone jumped nervously, then we realized it was Hamish’s red setter howling with misery.

‘She was the only one,’ said Rory, ‘who gave a damn for the poor old bugger.’