‘I had to,’ she confessed. ‘Otherwise I knew I wouldn’t do it. Knew I’d lose my nerve.’
I nodded dumbly, acknowledging the warped logic in this.
‘Anyway, he was ages in the bathroom, and after a bit he called out, “Mrs Asher?”, which was rather formal, I thought, and not quite what I was expecting, so I called back, “In here!” And in he came holding my shower attachment, and saying it was rather different to Mary Granger’s.’
I stared at her for a long moment. Then the penny dropped.
‘He does plumbing on the side,’ she said stiffly. ‘Unofficially. Just during the recession. Hasn’t got a licence so it’s hush-hush. He serviced Mary Granger’s shower, apparently.
‘Oh, Angie …’
‘So there I was, in bed, stark-naked, propped up on pillows and showing a great deal of cleavage. Near as damn it with a rose between my teeth.’
‘What did you do?’ I breathed.
‘Well, he went completely puce, naturally, and his jaw dropped – he nearly dropped the shower head too – and then I had to pretend it was the most natural thing in the world to be talking to my plumber-come-farrier supine and in the buff. I said it was probably best that he took it away and sorted it out at home, where he’d got the proper tools, and he agreed. To save us, I asked conversationally in what way my shower head differed to Mary’s and he said mine had bigger holes. Did I mention I’d lit a candle?’
‘No.’
‘Yes. By the bed. And a few on the dressing table. Diptyque. And squirted Jo Malone about too.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, he fled. Thundered downstairs and out to his van and roared away in moments, no doubt to tell the entire village about the terrifying frustrated housewife at the manor. I should think everyone knows by now.’ Her face collapsed a bit. She looked older.
‘They don’t,’ I assured her quickly, but knew she was right. It was only a matter of time before it ricocheted around the village. ‘And anyway, you could say you always have an afternoon nap,’ I suggested. ‘Churchill used to. And a bath.’
‘I could,’ she agreed, ‘except it was ten o’clock in the morning and I wasn’t exactly marching the troops across the Rhine. Yes, of course you can, here.’ This, to Angus beside her, who’d asked to borrow her hymn book.
He then engaged her in animated conversation. The overexcited gleam in his eye, and the way he was staring down her top, worried me. Oh Lord, had he overheard? Sylvia, in front, turned to me, eyes huge. Right. They both had.
As Jennie slipped in beside me from the other end, I resolved not to say a word. Not yet, anyway.
‘Heard about Angie and Pete?’ she muttered as she took her coat off.
‘Yes!’ I breathed. ‘But don’t say a word.’ I swung round to glance, but Angie was still engrossed with Angus. ‘She’s terrified it’s all round the village.’
‘It is. Pete told his sister, who works with Yvonne in the shop, which is tantamount to putting it on the bush telegraph. Silly fool,’ she murmured, casting Angie a look.
‘It was a misunderstanding,’ I said loyally. Sometimes I found myself the glue between Jennie and Angie. Jennie occasionally found Angie a bit moneyed and spoiled, whilst Angie regarded Jennie as puritanical and over-principled.
‘As usual she thinks she can get what she wants simply by batting her eyelids.’
This was uncalled for, even for Jennie.
‘Oh, come on, she’s mortified.’
‘Oh, really? Not so mortified that she’s not throwing herself at the new master of the hunt too, I gather.’
‘Really?’ I was shocked. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Mrs Tucker at Countrywide, where I get Leila’s food. The first meet of the season’s next week, apparently, and Angie was in her shop yesterday, buying the tightest jodhpurs possible because some sexy new blood is leading the field. She’s out of control, Poppy.’
‘Right,’ I said wearily. If anything got Jennie’s blood up more than Angie at her most frivolous, it was Angie enjoying her expensive, privileged lifestyle. A wide streak of socialism shot right through Jennie, and she regarded the horsy crowd as arrogant toffs, particularly at this time of year. Personally I loved both my friends and found it all rather tiring.
‘We’re singing for a completely different couple today,’ I told her, changing the subject. ‘The bride got cold feet. Someone else has nabbed the spot.’
‘I know. It’s Simon.’
I stared at her. Her face was a mask. Calm; impassive.