Polo. Part 9

'Seven pounds,' said Hamish, smugly patting his concave stomach, then s.n.a.t.c.hing up the telephone as it rang again.

'Hamish Macleod, oh, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo.' Turning towards the window, Hamish hunched his broad shoulders over the telephone, jumping as Biddy leapt up to tuck in the Marks and Spencer tag sticking up from his jersey collar.

'How are you?' you?' he went on. No, not yet, we open ours at teatime. Lovely, it's awfully sweet of you. I'll try. Happy Christmas.' he went on. No, not yet, we open ours at teatime. Lovely, it's awfully sweet of you. I'll try. Happy Christmas.'

Trying not to smirk, he put down the receiver. 'Isn't that sweet? That was Wendy ringing to wish us all Happy Christmas. She sent special love to you and Violet,' he added to Eddie, 'and hoped you enjoyed Peter Pan. Peter Pan. She's my PA,' he added to Biddy. 'Absolutely first rate. I hope you get a chance to meet before you go back.' She's my PA,' he added to Biddy. 'Absolutely first rate. I hope you get a chance to meet before you go back.'

They were late opening their presents because Daisy was still stuffing the turkey and edging it into the Aga, which was harder than parking the Mini in Cheltenham on Christmas Eve.

'Make a list,' said Hamish bossily, as the children fell on their presents, 'or we'll never remember who gave who what, and get a bin for all the paper we can use again, and get that dog out of here,' he added as Ethel pitched in joyously.

Biddy Macleod gave Eddie a camera, Violet a Walkman and Hamish some gold cufflinks to replace the ones Daisy had lost in the laundry. She gave Daisy a set of cake forks and Perdita two padded, satin coathangers.

'Judging by your room, I thought you needed something to hang your clothes on,' she told Perdita.

Daisy, shopping at the last moment, had overspent appallingly. Eddie was overwhelmed with the airgun.

Violet was too sweet not to pretend to be enchanted with the Laura Ashley dress, but Hamish wasn't remotely pleased with his Barbour and green gumboots nor his silk shirts (after all it was his money Daisy was squandering), and when Biddy opened the box with the beautiful, pale grey silk nightie, she merely said, 'Thank you,' very quietly and put it to one side. She made no comment about the Jane Fonda Work Out Book, Fonda Work Out Book, but went into raptures over Eddieand Violet's ma.s.sive box of chocolates, 'I'm going to have one now,' and then there was all the palaver of identifying a coffee creme from the chart. but went into raptures over Eddieand Violet's ma.s.sive box of chocolates, 'I'm going to have one now,' and then there was all the palaver of identifying a coffee creme from the chart.

'Oh, come on,' said Perdita.

Biddy went into orbit when Hamish handed her an envelope which told her that the tapes of all his programmes, including Road Haulage, Road Haulage, and a video machine, would be waiting for her in Glasgow when she got home. and a video machine, would be waiting for her in Glasgow when she got home.

'One more present,' said Daisy, handing Biddy an unwieldy red parcel coc.o.o.ned in Sellotape. 'It says "Biddy love from Ethel".'

In the end Hamish had to help Biddy rip it open. She gave a gasp as she extracted a pair of dusty, ancient, down-at-heel boots, one with a piece of chewing gum sticking to the toe.

'What is the meaning of this?'

'They're Mummy's boots,' said Violet. 'She's been looking for them all day.'

'I must have packed them by mistake,' said Daisy in a small voice.

Everyone dressed for dinner. Daisy only had time to wriggle into an old purple-and-red caftan and tone down her scarlet cheeks. Perdita, in a black skirt and shirt that Daisy had given her, came into the kitchen as Daisy was draining the sprouts. Her clean white-blond hair hung in a long plait. With that lovely smooth, white forehead, and long, long, dark eyes, and the Greek nose, and the tiny, upper lip curving over the wonderful pa.s.sionate mouth, she was pure Pica.s.so, thought Daisy.

'You look gorgeous,' she said.

'I wish Daddy and Granny thought so. That was inspired giving boots to an old boot.'

'Hush,' hissed Daisy. 'It was totally unintentional.'

Violet, loyally wearing her new Laura Ashley, which was quite the wrong colour, and embarra.s.singly emphasized her emergent bust, was doing valiant work with Biddy Macleod in the sitting room. Biddy, who'd been down since half past seven, pointedly refused a second gla.s.s of sherry: 'There'll be wine at dinner.'

Violet admired Biddy's shoes - black glace kid with high heels to show off Biddy's tiny feet.

'I thought I disairved a treat.'

At that moment Hamish walked in expecting praise. He was wearing a frilly shirt, a black-velvet coat with silver b.u.t.tons, a sporran, a heavy, closely pleated kilt, neat buckled shoes, and a silver dirk in his socks.

'Oh, Hamish, you look glorious,' said Biddy. "Thou mindst me of departed joys, departed never to return".' She applied a handkerchief to her burnt currant eyes. 'You look the image of your father.'

'I didn't mean to upset you, Mother.'

'No, it makes me happy to see you carrying on the tradition.'

'You look lovely in your scarlet, too.'

'I didn't want to spoil the feast,' said Biddy.

'What feast?' said Hamish, looking at his watch. 'It's nearly nine o'clock. Are we ever going to eat?' he demanded, marching into the kitchen, just as Daisy was carrying a swimming-pool of turkey fat to the sink. Her hair was dank with sweat, her cheeks carmine, only the dead white rings under her eyes showed how tired she was.

'We'll be about quarter of an hour.'

'But everyone's starving.'

'Look at Dirk Bogarde,' said Perdita, who was lounging against the Aga. 'You should have put Man Tan on your knees.'

Hamish's lips tightened. 'You ought to be helping your mother.'

'So ought you. I thought modern husbands were supposed to share the cooking.'

'Few husbands work the hours I do. Ouch!' screeched Hamish, as Ethel goosed him liberally.

'You'll never guess what Ethel's done, Granny,' said Perdita dreamily as they sat down to dinner. 'She's chewed up St Joseph.'

'But that crib's been in the family for generations,' spluttered Biddy. 'Is this true?'

'Mary's a single parent now,' said Perdita. 'Very topical, although I suppose G.o.d the Father's floating about overseeing things so she's not quite alone. I wonder how G.o.d impregnated her. AID or just miracles?'

Perdita,' snarled Hamish, handing a large plate of breast to Biddy.

'I wouldn't mind G.o.d as a father,' went on Perdita. 'Just think of the things he could do: magic me up a trailer, flatten the top paddock into a stick-and-ball field; exterminate certain people.' She smiled sweetly at Granny Macleod.

'Be quiet,' thundered Hamish, putting down the carving knife with a clatter. 'I am going to beat that dog.'

'Oh, no, Daddy,' Violet turned pale. 'She chewed it up yesterday. She'll have no idea what she's being beaten for. It is Christmas.'

Not a word of praise pa.s.sed Biddy Macleod's lips throughout Christmas dinner, although a great deal of food did. Now they were pulling crackers and Hamish was checking the angle of his blue paper Admiral's hat in the big mirror over the fireplace. He had hardly eaten a thing.

Perdita pulled a cracker with Eddie and disappeared under the table to get the rolled-up hat and the motto. She emerged a minute later, elderberry dark eyes glittering, looking dangerously elated. Oh help, thought Daisy, I've seen that look before. Violet noticed it too and exchanged uneasy glances with Eddie who was on his fourth satsuma. Hamish poured gla.s.ses of brandy for himself and Biddy, and a very small one for Daisy.

'We don't want a repeat of last night. To absent friends,' said Hamish raising his gla.s.s.

'Indeed,' said Biddy, 'To my dear, dear Lochlan.' Perdita refilled her gla.s.s with red wine.

'To Ricky France-Lynch,' she said and drained it. Biddy's mouth vanished and never came back.

'I hope he gets ten years for merdering that poor wee bairn.'

'He did not murder him,' said Perdita ominously.

Perdita,' murmured Daisy. Why, she wondered, was she frightened of everything, and Perdita of nothing - not bullfinches out hunting, nor Biddy Macleod.

'Drunk driving to my mind is murder,' went on Biddy. 'No-one has any right to drive when they're off their head with drink.'

'He'd been celebrating,' snapped Perdita. 'He'd just won one of the biggest tournaments in the world.'

'All polo players are the same to my mind,' replied Biddy. 'Spoilt, jet set, indulging airvery gratification.'

'Rubbish,' said Perdita furiously. 'I bet if Grandpa Macleod had run off with some tart, taking Hamish with him when he was two, and you'd been to some Hogmanay p.i.s.s-up, you'd have jumped into your Austin Seven and tried to get him back, and not given a stuff about drunk driving.'

Mouthing furiously, Biddy was too outraged to speak. 'Go to your room,' thundered Hamish, then turning to Daisy: 'Will you control your child.'

'She doesn't have to,' said Perdita, picking up her cigarettes. 'I'm going. I'm not having anyone slagging off Ricky, that's all. You shouldn't judge people you don't know.'

Pushing back her chair, she picked up the new black shoe which Biddy had kicked off because it was murdering her corns from under the table and threw it among the cracker remnants. The toe had been completely chewed off by Ethel. Biddy burst into tears and Ethel was shut howling in the utility room.

Daisy went out to the stable where she found Perdita mutinously cuddling Fresco.

'Darling, how could you?'

'How could I not? The b.l.o.o.d.y b.i.t.c.h, poor Ricky.' 'She is Daddy's mother.'

'She's your husband's mother. Do you know what she said to Violet in the sitting room? "Isn't it a funny thing, none of my grandchildren have fair hair like I did," and Violet said: "But Perdita does". And b.l.o.o.d.y Macleod said smugly: "I mean my real grandchildren.'"

'How horrible,' said Daisy, totally unnerved by talk veering towards Perdita's origins. 'She's never liked me, and secretly I think she's jealous because you're so much prettier than all her other grandchildren.'

Perdita waited until much later in the evening when Daisy and the children were watching The Magnificent Seven. The Magnificent Seven.

'Mummy says Granny's jealous because I'm so much better looking than you or Eddie.'

'Oh, shut up,' said Violet, who was red-eyed from Ethel's banishment. 'Mummy wouldn't say a thing like that, would you, Mummy?'

'Well,' stammered Daisy. 'Oh G.o.d, you're a b.i.t.c.h sometimes, Perdita.'

On Boxing Day Hamish, reeking of Paco Rabanne, went off to the office. Another frost ruled out hunting. Instead Perdita, practising her swing on a tea chest on the lawn, hit a ball straight through the stained-gla.s.s window halfway up the stairs. Daisy forgot she'd put a chicken in the Aga for lunch, so it emerged as a charred wren and they had cold turkey and salad instead.

Swelling with turkey leftovers and righteous indignation, Biddy darned Hamish's socks. If her beloved son was in financial straits, it was entirely due to Daisy's mismanagement and extravagance.

The sky outside was turning yellow, the forecast said snow.

'Wouldn't it be lovely,' said Violet, 'if we got snowed up and you couldn't go home, Granny?'

Daisy turned pale. Like an addict needing a fix, she thought she'd go mad if she didn't paint. While Biddy had her sleep after lunch, she surrept.i.tiously got out the sketch book Violet had given her for Christmas and drew Ethel and Gainsborough on their backs in front of the fire. Nor could she resist a quick sketch of Biddy Macleod, mouth open and snoring, chin doubled, two tweed spare tyres, legs apart showing three inches of doughy, white thigh between lisle stockings and wool knickers.

'Christ, that's good,' said Perdita, creeping up. 'Best thing you've done in years. You shouldn't have flattered her so much.'

'Hush,' Daisy giggled, and, as Biddy was stirring, hid the drawing in the desk and went off to put the kettle on.

Away from the fire, she started shivering. She hoped she wasn't getting 'flu. She was just bringing in the tea things when she heard Perdita saying, 'Do look at this really good drawing Mum's done of you.'

'It's not you,' squeaked Daisy, nearly dropping the tray. 'It's supposed to be an old girl who lives in the village.'

But Biddy Macleod had put on her spectacles.

'I see,' she said quietly. 'Now I know what you really feel about a defenceless old woman, Daisy. But I shall behave with dignity, I'm going to pack my suitcase.'

'Oh, please,' gabbled Daisy, utterly distraught. 'It wasn't meant to be a likeness. Look at Pica.s.so; look at Francis Bacon.'

'There's no need to explain yourself, Daisy.'

'At least have a cup of tea.'

'I don't want anything.' Slowly Biddy went out of the room.

'That was stirring it,' Daisy shouted at Perdita.

'I don't care. With any luck, we've got shot of her.'

When Biddy came downstairs with her suitcases she insisted on waiting in the hall for Hamish as the wind whistled through the broken stained-gla.s.s window. She had a long wait. Hamish, desperately late, sucking extra strong mints, took in the situation at once, led his mother into the study and left the door ajar.

'I feel so unwelcome,' sobbed Biddy. 'It's not you or Violet or little Eddie, but Daisy and that wicked, wicked girl.'

Hamish persuaded her to stay on.

'Now you see what I have to put up with, Mother,' Daisy heard him saying. 'Please don't go. I need you.'

11.

Hostilities had to be suspended the following night because they had been asked to a party in Eldercombe by a bearded psychiatrist called Lionel Mannering, and Philippa, his rapacious wife. Daisy dreaded parties. In the past Hamish had got so insanely jealous if she spoke to other men that she'd completely lost the art of chatting anyone up. She also had a raging sore throat, and was so cold and shivery that she put on a crimson and white striped dress (which she'd never worn because it was too low-cut) and put a crimson mohair polo neck over the top as a suck-up gesture because Biddy had once knitted it for her. Unable to wash her hair because Biddy and Hamish had hogged the hot water, she decided to put it up.

'You look great, Mother,' said Hamish, helping Biddy out of the icy wind into the front seat of the car.

Sepia clouds raced across a disdainful white moon. Sitting in the back, Daisy, who was beginning to feel really ill, felt sweat cascading down her sides and soaking her fringe.

It was a large, noisy party with all the women in taffetas, satins and beautiful silk shirts. There were also loads of good-looking men for Daisy to avoid. The moment Hamish entered the room, he was off, delighted to be with his peers, as he called them, telling everyone he was in television, dumping Biddy on the hostess's mother, and chatting up all the Rutshire wives, who were delighted to have some new talent, and even more delighted when Hamish's busty wife with the red, shiny face in the awful clothes was pointed out to them.

The lean, rapacious hostess whisked everyone round introducing them as if she were doing a grand chain in an eightsome reel. Daisy talked to a sweet girl who was giggling with nervous relief because she'd just got rid of her mother-in-law. 'I'm going to get seriously drunk.'

'I can't. Mine's over there,' said Daisy regretfully.