Jilly Cooper - Harriet

Harriet couldn’t hear Cory’s reply. She collapsed on the bed, holding her clenched fists against her forehead in a desperate attempt to gain control.

A minute later Cory came in, shut the door behind him and sat down on the bed. Her whole body was shaken with sobs.

‘It’s all right, little one,’ he said gently, stroking her hair. ‘I know what you’ve been through.’

‘And I know I’m bad for Jonah at the moment,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m overreacting, but I love him so much, and I thought he was going to die, and no-one would take any notice, and they wouldn’t give him any pain killers, and bloody Dr Williams was so bored with the whole case it wasn’t true. And then she, I mean Noel, turns up this morning, and suddenly everyone rolls up, and starts paying attention to the case, and giving Jonah VIP treatment, and he’s been getting better all day. I know I should be h-happy. I prayed to God, if he m-made Jonah better, I’d never be unhappy again. I c-can’t think why I’m so miserable.’

‘I can,’ said Cory, his hand over hers. ‘You’re absolutely played out. What I want you to do now, is not to argue, but to go and have a bath and wash your hair, have a little gentle supper, and then go to bed and have a decent night’s sleep. Then you’ll be fresh to look after him in the morning.’

‘But he gets such frightful nightmares. You think he’s better, and suddenly he gets worse. Will someone sit with him tonight?’

‘I will,’ said Cory.

He went back into Jonah’s room.

‘Well,’ said Noel icily. ‘Have you finished consoling her?’

‘For the time being,’ answered Cory in a level voice. ‘She must have been through hell and back. I’m absolutely appalled by her appearance.’

‘She’s obviously one of these people who go to pieces in a crisis,’ said Noel.

Cory was about to reply when Noel added quickly, ‘Where can one eat round here?’

‘There’s a good restaurant in Skipton,’ said Cory.

‘As soon as Jonah’s asleep, I thought we might go there. In fact I’ve asked Dr Williams to join us. He’s charming, and I thought he could give you the low-down on Jonah.’

‘No thanks,’ said Cory. ‘I didn’t come four thousand miles to go out to dinner.’

Jonah in fact made very good progress and was out in five days. Harriet hardly recognized the nursery and the children’s rooms when she got home, they were so tidy. All the playing cards and jigsaw puzzles had been sorted out, the children’s clothes lay in serried ranks, beautifully ironed in the drawers. William’s nappies were all fluffy and as white as snow, even the old table in the nursery coated with generations of poster paints, gripfix, pentel, and coca-cola, had been scrubbed and was now gleaming like a furniture polish ad. Miss Hanbury, the temporary nanny, was a miracle, and Noel took every opportunity to point out the fact.

Noel stayed at the Wilderness and only left at the end of a week because she had to be in London to go on the Parkinson Show. It was one of the worst weeks of Harriet’s life. William was teething and, like Cherubim and Seraphim, continually did cry, which gave Noel plenty of excuse for more bitchiness. Jonah, having had undivided attention for so long, displayed all the despotism and capriciousness of the convalescent. Chattie, from lack of attention, was very jealous and playing up. She was only just stopped from giving two of Noel’s minks to a woman collecting jumble, and one afternoon Harriet came into the kitchen and found her and Sevenoaks both looking sick and extremely sheepish. They had consumed a whole tin of Good Boy Dog Choc Drops between them.

Chattie burst into tears when Harriet ticked her off. ‘I was only trying to turn Sevenoaks into a Good Boy,’ she wailed.

The worst part was having Noel about the place, looking gorgeous, getting in the way, and interfering with the running of the house.

‘I can’t call my kitchen my castle any more,’ grumbled Mrs Bottomley.

Nor did the telephone ever stop ringing. It was either Noel’s agent, or the people on the Parkinson Show, or the Yorkshire Post wanting to interview her, or Ronnie Acland, or Dr Williams. Then, if people weren’t ringing her, she was making long distance telephone calls herself, or getting Harriet to run errands for her, or wash her shirts, or sew on her buttons. Then there were the interminable discussions about her choosing the right thing to wear on Parkinson.

When one has passed through a time of great anxiety, relief and happiness do not immediately follow. Harriet found herself subject to fits of depression, inclined to be crotchety. She told herself she was very run down. She was fed up with seeing Noel’s peach-coloured silk underwear on the line, of smelling her wafts of scent everywhere.

Dr Williams called every day, which Harriet was sure was quite unorthodox. Looking out of the window, while making beds one day, Harriet saw Noel sitting girlishly on the old swing under the walnut tree, with Dr Williams pushing her, totally infatuated. The next moment she was called inside for a ten-minute drool with Ronnie Acland. Wedging her options open, thought Harriet.

One lunchtime, Dr Williams rang up, and after a brief conversation Noel disappeared in Cory’s car. She returned five hours later, flushed and radiant, and came into the kitchen to regale Mrs Bottomley and Harriet with a long spiel about the impossibility of finding the right pair of shoes in Leeds for her television appearance.

‘Did you try Schofields?’ said Mrs Bottomley.

‘I tried everywhere. I must have visited twenty shoe shops,’ sighed Noel.

At that moment, Sevenoaks wandered over to her big bag which lay open on a chair, and before she could stop him, plunged his face inside and drew out a pair of frilly peach-coloured pants.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t find anything at Dolcis,’ said Mrs Bottomley.

Harriet had to go out of the room to stop herself from laughing. She would have given anything to have told Cory.

She suspected, however, that Dr Williams and Ronnie were pure dalliance, and Noel’s big guns were aimed at getting Cory back. Cory avoided opportunities to be alone with her and slept in the spare room. He buried himself in a load of work he’d brought back from America, and in getting Python ready for the point-to-point on Saturday. Occasionally Harriet saw his eyes resting on Noel, but she could not read their meaning. How did that beauty affect him now? He was kind to Harriet, but detached, as though his mind was somewhere beyond her reach. One thing she was certain of. If Noel came back, she would be straight out of a job. It made her very uneasy.

On the last evening before Noel went South, she and Cory stayed up talking. Harriet, coming down to get some Ribena for William, heard raised voices. The door was ajar and she stopped to listen:

‘You’ve been content to leave the children entirely to me,’ Cory was saying. ‘Now you have the effrontery to say you want them back.’

‘Ronnie and I have a house in France now as well as one in London,’ said Noel. ‘They’d be proper bases for the children to live. Be honest, Cory, children need a mother. A man can’t really bring up children on his own.’

‘I haven’t managed too badly so far,’ snapped Cory. ‘You know perfectly well there is only one set of terms on which I’m prepared for you to have the children and as you’re quite incapable of complying with them, there’s no point in discussing it.’

He means her coming back to him and chucking all the others, thought Harriet miserably.

‘How do you know I’m incapable of complying with them?’ said Noel huskily.

The next moment the door shut.

Harriet fled upstairs. It’s going to happen, she thought in anguish. But five minutes later she heard Cory come upstairs and the spare-room door open and shut. It was as though a great spear had been drawn out of her side.

Harriet never forgot the day of the point-to-point — the bookies shouting, the county in their well-cut tweeds, the children sucking toffee apples, the crowds pressing around the paddock and the finishing post, the circling horses with their glossy coats.

She stood in the paddock trying to hold on to an impossibly over-excited Chattie — poor Jonah hadn’t been allowed out — watching Python being saddled up. The black mare’s coat rippling blue in the sunshine.

Cory came over to them. He was wearing a pink and grey striped shirt, and carrying a pink and grey cap. They had hardly spoken since Noel left. He picked up her hand and gave her his watch.

‘Look after it for me,’ he said, curling her fingers over it.

‘Good luck,’ she whispered.

‘Good luck, Daddy,’ said Chattie.

They watched him feel Python’s girths, clap a hand on the ebony quarters, put a foot in the stirrup and he was up, riding slowly round the paddock.

Two men beside Harriet in the crowd were discussing them.

‘Grand looking beast. Bit young, bit light, though.’

‘Erskine can ride her.’

‘Oh it’s Erskine is it? That’s worth a fiver each way.’

Harriet’s heart swelled with pride. Oh, please let him win. He needs this small, unimportant victory so much to cheer him up.

There were nine horses in the race. Acceptance, the favourite, a tall rangy bay, had been heavily backed to win. Harriet and Chattie climbed to the top of the hill, so they could see nearly all the way round the course and also hear the commentator. Harriet was so nervous she could hardly bear to watch.

At last they were off. For the first time round, Python was lying sixth for most of the way, but as the field started to jump the fences for the second time, she slowly began moving up.