The nightingales had left, replaced by Beethoven’s fourth piano concerto played by Marcus Campbell-Black, which flooded the valley.
‘How lovely,’ cried Etta. ‘That was my father’s favourite piece of music. I adored the Proms because for once, on Fridays, which was Beethoven night, I was allowed to stay up and listen.’
‘Why were you called Etta?’ asked Valent, handing her a glass of Pimm’s and leading her into the garden.
‘My real name’s Henrietta, but my maiden name was Bullock and the girls at school kept chanting “Henry ate a bullock” so I changed it to Etta. Sampson said it sounded like a dodgy terrorist organization.’
How rarely she mentions him, thought Valent.
‘What do you miss about Sampson?’ he asked.
‘I liked the way he used to yell at the television during wildlife programmes. When some starving meerkat had been rejected by the pack or a baby elephant had lost its mother, he’d yell, “You bloody cameraman, why don’t you get out of your Land-Rover and give that poor animal some of your bottled water and egg sandwiches?” or “Why don’t you warn that poor zebra a lion’s bearing down on it, instead of filming it being gobbled up?”’
‘How’s Honky Malmesbury?’ asked Valent.
‘Well, Oxford’s returned to Mrs M for the summer and has personally vowed to catch the fox, and Honky’s fallen in love with the patio heater and won’t leave it alone.’
Valent laughed. ‘How are your grandchildren?’
How kind of him to ask, thought Etta, and confessed Poppy had suddenly become terrified of the dark.
‘Someone told her about the ghost of Beau Regard. And I’m a bit worried about Drummond. He used to be so aggressive. But I went to watch him play football the other day, he kept kicking balls into his own goal and expecting everyone to clap, and the other boys just said, “You’re so stupid, Drummond.” When he was in goal, he kept looking in the wrong direction, letting goals in and getting shouted at. He was so crestfallen.’
‘I’ll kick a ball around with him, next time I’m down.’
‘Oh, would you? Such a thrill for him.’
Etta got to her feet and wandered to the edge of the terrace. She was pleased with the roses and the delphiniums rising like dark and light blue dreaming spires. Across the valley, she could hear the roar of machinery as Marius’s lads pulled up ragwort and drove round spiking up bales of hay shaped like cotton reels.
‘Thank God he’s got his forage in. Torrential rain’s forecast for tomorrow. Oh look, there’s Count Romeo with his head between Wilkie’s hind legs so she can whisk the flies off him with her beautiful tail. Double pleasure. Sir Cuthbert’s looking very jealous. Poor little Chisolm still in her priest’s hole. She’d so love the fruit in this Pimm’s. Good thing Ione thinks fitted carpets are naff. Scattered currants don’t matter so much on polished floors.’
‘Are you going to Worcester to watch Family Dog next week?’ asked Valent.
‘With any luck. Romy and Martin are taking the children away for a long weekend, so I should be free. Doggie’s being given a last chance to acquit himself well after three years unplaced. Should be a laugh.’
105
Next day the rain started, and by Friday the River Severn had risen about four inches. Severe flooding was forecast. Racing had already been abandoned at Naas, Market Rasen and Brighton. Everyone expected racing to be cancelled at Worcester but it went ahead.
The centre of the course was flooded. Depressed swallows massed on telegraph poles, the Owners and Trainers was shut, and in the unearthly storm light the grass was lurid green and yellowish.
Despite dire reports of roadblocks, trains cancelled and fire brigades pumping out homes, the syndicate had pressed on. Alan had been keen to spend an afternoon with Tilda, Woody with Niall, Alban with Etta, Phoebe, already, without Bump. To the Major’s disappointment, Corinna was in London, rehearsing for Mother Courage, which was opening in the West End.
Because of the school term, exams and general revulsion, it was the first time Trixie had joined the syndicate since Antony and Cleopatra in February. Afterwards Seth had bombarded her with flowers and telephone calls begging her to forget the four-in-a-bed – everyone had been plastered – and see him again. All of which Trixie had refused but she was still overwhelmed with a sick craving for Seth and had rolled up today in the hope of seeing him again, only to find he was in Bath, in Private Lives with