find wealthy folk who are sad or unfulfilled and involve them in a project, perhaps a little African orphan, where they can see the results of their donations. I know we can make your life more meaningful.’
And line your own fucking pockets, thought Valent, looking bleakly across at Blanche, who was saying:
‘You’re so like your father, Martin.’
Valent wanted to throw up. Martin then pinged a glass and announced that with Ralph Harvey-Holden’s help he was approaching the delightful Clerk of the Course at Cheltenham, Simon Claisse, to stage a Sampson Bancroft Memorial race. ‘It would mean so much to Mother,’ he added to Valent. ‘Despite her unseemly crush on a certain person,’ he raised his glass roguishly to Seth, ‘there will never be anyone else for Mother but Father.’
‘Sampson was such a gentleman. Wellington, Cambridge,’ sighed Blanche, then, turning to Valent: ‘Tell me about yourself.’
Behind Blanche’s head, Trixie pulled a face at Valent and stuck her fingers down her throat.
Valent chucked aside his napkin and got to his feet.
‘Smashing nosh. You wouldn’t get better at the Ivy. I’ve got to go.’
‘But Martin’s about to make a presentation,’ wailed Romy.
‘I’m not going,’ said Bonny furiously, ‘I’m having far too good a time.’
Valent shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘I’ll see her home,’ chorused Seth and Martin.
Valent turned to Jude, who told him, ‘You’re lovely to sit next to. Normally men just talk about themselves at dinner parties.’
‘Give my best to your dad.’ Valent smiled briefly. ‘He’s a nice man.’
Seeing Trixie hovering in the doorway, a look of trepidation on her face, he crossed the room and kissed her.
‘Night, little one, thanks for sticking up for me. See you next time Wilkie races.’ Then, turning to an enraged Martin and Romy: ‘Thanks for supper.’
Then he turned to Corinna.
‘If you’d ever had the privilege of meeting my wife Pauline,’ he said softly, ‘you’d never have made such a filthy assumption,’ and he was gone.
In the hall he picked up one of the bottles of red Bonny had taken from his cellar for Romy and Martin and set out to see Etta, imagining how low she must feel to have been excluded. It was even colder, the bowed willows glittering with frost in the light of a yellow full moon. Odd that trees, when they needed warmth, shed their cover of leaves.
Leaving Romy and Martin’s barn, he appreciated for the first time how steep, slippery and treacherous was the path down to Etta’s bungalow, particularly when there was no moon and her torch might run out. Swearing as he put his foot down a rabbit hole, he vowed to do something about it.
It was a minute or two before Etta answered the door.
‘Who’s that?’ she cried in terror.
She was wearing an old green dressing gown. Gwenny, hanging on to the sash, tugged it open. Valent caught a glimpse of slightly sagging beasts, a little tummy and a small copse of pubic hair, before she tugged the dressing gown round her in embarrassment. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were a burglar.’
Aware how red and swollen her eyes were, Etta longed to slap on some foundation and comb her hair.
‘I’ve only popped in to ask after Mrs Wilkinson,’ Valent said as he handed her the bottle.
Priceless, who was stretched out on the sofa, flicked his tail but didn’t budge.
‘Lousy guard dog,’ said Valent.
There was a pause. ‘Come in,’ said Etta, ‘I’ll get a corkscrew, how incredibly kind.’
Once inside her sitting room, Valent realized the moon was totally blotted out by his mature hedge, planted to protect Bonny’s privacy, and how dark and poky was the bungalow. He vowed to do something about that too.
‘So sorry I didn’t bother to light a fire.’
Gratified to see a photograph of himself and Mrs Wilkinson on the side table, Valent opened the bottle and filled two glasses.
Etta felt stunned. All she could think of was how awful he should catch her looking so dreadful.
‘I talked to Marius earlier,’ said Valent. ‘Wilkie’s doing smashing but they’ve been held up by the weather. Pity he’s not speaking to Harvey-Holden or he could have borrowed his all-weather gallops.’
‘How was Harvey-Holden tonight?’ asked Etta with a shudder.
‘Evasive, never met my eyes once. Very nice wife.’
‘How did Trixie do?’
‘Brilliantly, best thing about the evening, smashing kid, brave as a lion, gorgeous lookin’. I’ll give her a job when she leaves school. Much better guard dog than that thing.’
Etta’s sad face lit up. ‘I’m so pleased, Martin and Romy and Carrie put her down so much.’