They were passing the Slimbridge shop which still had a Mothering Sunday sticker in the window.

I don’t want no bits on the side and I’ll never even have children to damage if I stay married to Rannaldini, thought Kitty numbly, and a Canada goose that flies in and out of a bird sanctuary isn’t enough.

A pretty young mother was coming out of the shop. She had a sweet child who was trailing a black toy pig by the hand.

Over the hills and far away she danced with Pigling Bland, thought Kitty, biting her lip to stop herself crying.

‘The most important thing,’ Hermione came up on the left, ‘is that Rannaldini needs you. It’s wonderful to feel you are indispensable to a genius.’

‘Bob must find it a huge comfort,’ snapped Georgie.

Hermione bowed her head. ‘He does, he does.’

I’m not their age, thought Kitty. I don’t remember advertisements about things looking better on a man. I’m still young and I love Lysander.

Rannaldini, Guy, Georgie and Hermione, bored with anonymity, were not displeased when a big party of foreign tourists stopped them for autographs. Where foreigners had rushed in the shy English were not slow to follow.

‘We really must go,’ laughed Hermione five minutes later.

I love Lysander, he is the father of my child, thought Kitty. Rannaldini had lied and cheated and betrayed her and been utterly, utterly reprehensible. Now he was asking a busty Swedish girl her name so he could personally inscribe her autograph book.

‘We’re having our sixteenth anniversary in October,’ Marigold was saying. ‘Ay suppose we should be awfully grateful to Lysander. We maight not be havin’ it at all if he hadn’t made Larry so jealous.’

‘Home for tea at Valhalla,’ said Rannaldini, putting a warm caressing hand on the back of Kitty’s neck as they walked towards the cars.

‘What a lovely afternoon,’ cried Hermione, smirking as he stroked her bottom with the other hand. ‘Let’s make a regular thing of it.’

Georgie shivered. ‘It’s getting cold.’

‘How d’you think I feel with no coat,’ murmured Guy, then smiling at Kitty. ‘The best part is going home to crumpets and Brickie’s chocolate cake.’

They were all smiling at her now, some of them realizing the extent of her unhappiness and trying to boost her spirits.

‘You look tired, Kitty,’ said Rannaldini when they got back to Valhalla. ‘Miss Bates will get tea. You sit by the fire. Come and see my new toy,’ he added to the others.


65



They all trooped off to admire Rannaldini’s new helicopter. As Kitty went wearily into the house, Lassie danced towards her, striped body weaving and snaking, black-rimmed eyes full of love, peeing on the flagstones in her delight.

I can’t leave her, thought Kitty.

Not even pausing to wipe up the puddle, she ran down the dark passage. Outside Rannaldini’s boot room Lassie had chewed up what Kitty first thought was a twig. Then she realized it was the baton Toscanini had given Rannaldini on his death bed.

‘It’ll be your deaff bed, Lassie, if we don’t get out of here.’

Gathering up the puppy in panic and rushing into the kitchen, she found Miss Bates still looking dreadfully embarrassed.

‘Mrs Rannaldini, there’s something I must tell you. Then I’ll get you all tea.’

‘You’ve looked after Rannaldini and me so well,’ stammered Kitty, terrified of any delay, ‘we’re so griteful. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’

‘No!’ Miss Bates was so insistent that in the end Kitty sat her down at the kitchen table.

‘Mrs Rannaldini,’ said Miss Bates, frantically rotating the gold bracelet on her slender wrist. ‘I have to tell you that while you were fast asleep in bed, knocked out by one of Mr Rannaldini’s sleeping pills, I went to bed with Mr Rannaldini.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I’m desperately sorry, he’s just so attractive.’

For a minute Kitty looked at Miss Bates incredulously, then she burst out laughing.

‘Is that all? For an ’orrible moment I fort you was going to ‘and in your notice. Promise to stay and look after ’im.’

In the utility room Kitty found an ancient cat basket and, wiping it down, shut a quaking Lassie inside, who was convinced she was going to the vet.

‘Bong, bong, bong, tong, tong, ongong, ongong, this is the flight call of the female Rannaldini.’ Shrieking with helpless laughter, Kitty raced across the lawn, past the glowering maze and turned left to the stables. As the garage was next to Rannaldini’s helicopter pad she couldn’t steal off unobserved by car. The only answer was the kindest horse in the yard.

‘Bong, bong, bong, tong, tong. Nuffink venture nuffink win.’ She was already shaking with nerves worse than Lassie, she must try and keep her courage up.

But as she ran into the yard she gasped with horror. She’d forgotten that all the horses had been turned out except The Prince of Darkness who glowered out of his box as sinister as his name, evil eyes rolling as he scraped and gnawed at his half-door.

He’ll go for me if I try and put a bridle on him, thought Kitty, almost fainting with terror, then froze as the door of the groom’s cottage opened. But instead of Clive, Janice the head groom emerged.

Janice was very fond of Kitty; she might not shop at Valentino like Cecilia, but she always saw that the grooms were paid on the nail.

‘You do look poorly. You shouldn’t be up,’ she said, noticing Kitty’s violent shakes and her face grey and glistening with sweat.

‘Could you please tack up The Prince?’ stammered Kitty, kicking Lassie’s cat basket behind the mounting block. ‘Rannaldini wants to ride him.’

‘At this hour?’ Janice looked at her watch.

‘He’s got friends over.’

‘And he wants to show off,’ Janice sniffed. ‘And I was just off to get the other horses in. What was that?’ She paused at a piteous whine from Lassie.

‘Nuffink, ’spect it’s a bird. We was at Slimbridge today,’ said Kitty desperately.

‘More like one of the Rottweilers got stuck in somewhere.’ Janice glanced round the yard.

‘Please tack up The Prince.’ Kitty tried to disguise her panic.

The wait seemed interminable, particularly as she had to keep up a tuneless singing to drown Lassie’s increasingly aggrieved whining, but at last Janice put her head over the half-door.

‘God, he’s a dangerous bugger. Where d’you want him taken?’

‘Leave him for a sec. Rannaldini fort he left his silver-topped whip in the tack room,’ said Kitty.

She would rot in hell for such awful lies.

‘I’ll look,’ said Janice.

Kitty was nearly frantic with terror.

‘Please God take care of us,’ she prayed.

Taking a huge breath she unbolted The Prince’s door and just grabbed his reins as he shot out like an Exocet. Not giving herself time to have doubts, she gathered up Lassie’s basket, clambered on to the mounting block and somehow scrambled astride the vast black back which was pitching like a top deck in a force ten gale. With a manic clatter The Prince tore out of the yard, down the rough track in search of his friends. At least he couldn’t savage her if she was on his back. Alarmed by Janice’s screams to come back, however, he broke into a gallop.

‘Oooh, it’s worse than the big dipper,’ moaned Kitty, twining her fingers in the thick mane, as trees, bushes and telegraph poles flashed by. All this jolting must be bad for the baby, but far, far worse, Kitty gave a sob, if it had ended up a bloody mangled foetus on the abortionist’s table. The thought made her cling on even tighter.

Oh, heavens, she suddenly remembered she was hurtling towards the West Gate which was chained and bolted. If she had to get off The Prince to undo it she’d never get on again. Thundering towards a clearing on her left she loosened her grip on the mane to tug the near-side rein. Miraculously the big horse cornered at Rutminster Cup speed into a woodland ride.

‘Oh, good boy, Prince, please keep straight,’ begged Kitty. If he carted her under the branches, she’d had it.

The wind was lifting her hair, tugging at her grey cardigan and her old grey check skirt. To right and left on the woodland floor, bluebells battled to push through the dog mercury, little primroses were stifled by brambles and pale-faced anemones were being drowned like bathers in a rising sea of garlic, which gave off pungent wafts of aioli as it was pounded by The Prince’s flying feet.

They had reached open fields now. Again Kitty knew she was finished if The Prince’s stable-mates came pounding down to join him. But ahead like the Berlin Wall lay the River Fleet and freedom.

‘Go on, Prince,’ yelled Kitty as they slithered down the bank.

Only baulking for a second, the brave black horse plunged into the swirling brown water. A terrified whine reminded Kitty that if she slid off or let go of the cat basket Lassie was as good as drowned.

‘Our farver which art in ’eaven,’ cried Kitty, ‘’allowed by thy name.’

For a nightmarish few seconds The Prince was out of his depth, swimming boldly, battling with the cross-currents, then he was lurching up the other side.

‘Oh, fank you, good old boy,’ cried Kitty.

It was as though Magpie Cottage was pulling them towards it. Staying on going up hill was much easier. The south side of Paradise was far less advanced. The trees brushing the clouds were still bare. They were tearing past great banks of blackthorn that looked as though they’d been dipped in flour, and there was poor Rachel’s cottage.

An’ flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, thought Kitty.