Ashford’s Version
It’s been a week since that surreal dinner.
The day after, my mother withdrew to her study with a scowl on her face, contemplating how to get rid of Jemma’s corpse.
Then, the postman arrived.
Apart from the usual junk mail and some letters for me, there was a note written by Lord Cedric himself, in which he thanked my mother for the pleasant evening and praised Jemma. My mother still wants to kill her, but now she can spare her some of the pain.
Now that Neville has taken Jemma under his impenetrable wing, it seems that everyone in society has accepted her odd presence, but it was indeed a bitter pill to swallow. In any case, who stands on the highest rank of the social ladder sets the rules, and Lord Cedric gave his approval.
To tell the truth, I thought the evening was a total disaster, and I thought so until the last fifteen minutes, when I was already expecting to be publicly exiled without appeal. Not that I would have minded, anyway.
So far, I’d been convinced that Jemma’s passion for Arsenal was one of the most irritating flaws she has. I mean, one can’t exactly regard her as a shining example of femininity, but now imagine her shouting obscenities among a bunch of fat sweaty people. See what I mean?
Yet, it seems it was precisely her passion for Arsenal that won Lord Cedric over.
After his thank you note, our doorbell has started ringing incessantly, followed by other similar notes and invitations to all the major events of the season.
In fact, when I go down for breakfast, I find that the table is covered by elegant paper invitations of all shapes and sizes, which my mother and Margaret are studying with the same attention of two strategists planning the D-Day landings.
“If we attend the Walsinghams’ garden party, we can’t decline the St Jermyns’ tea invitation, because they have the same title, but that of the St Jermyns is more ancient. Lady Paulson has set the chamber music concert for the same evening the Baxter-Coleridges have organised the tableaux vivants, but it’s not surprising, given the rivalry between the two families. Accepting one of the two invitations would mean taking sides, so we have to consider this carefully. Highlight all the important dates, because we are setting the charity initiatives calendar at the next association meeting, and we can’t clash with some events. Not to mention off limits dates: Henley Regatta, Ascot, the Epsom Derby, the Wimbledon finals, the Chelsea Flower Show, the Serpentine Summer Party—”
“And my polo tournaments,” I add, joining the conversation. “By the way, I thought I’d have breakfast,” I say, casting a disinterested look at all those invitations.
“Indeed. It will be served in the private parlour. We’re busy here, can’t you see?” She points at the leather folder on which she’s taking notes. “It seems that the world can’t go round without us. Heaven knows what I’ll have to plan in return for all these invitations!”
Before she can try to involve me in her plans, I make a bid for freedom, but it’s too late.
“I have a task for you, too. Although she’s completely inadequate, that thing you married, Jemma, received approval. Lord Cedric’s, at least, and the others are totally irrelevant. Besides, if he likes her, they will, too, but we can’t allow her to embarrass us and make people gossip.”
“I’m hungry, mother,” I interrupt her, but she doesn’t even hear me.
“You’ll have to educate her. Take her horse riding and teach her how to dance properly. God forbid she ever goes up a table as if she were in a promiscuous East End club.”
“I’ll hire an instructor,” I agree, quickly.
“Absolutely not. Nobody must know that your wife is inadequate!”
*
I have to put off my game of golf with Harring for a tedious afternoon with Jemma.
“Hey, Haz! Hello, it’s me. Look, I can’t make it this afternoon. You’ll have to find someone else to play with.” All I hear is the roar of an engine in the background. “Haz? Did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did, I’m in the garage. I’m trying some set ups for my car. Well, that means I can bring the appointment with my tailor forward,” he pauses. “By the way, why is that? What are you up to today?”
“I’m busy with Jemma. Horse riding.”
“Parker! We’ve known each other for twenty-five years, you can avoid these coy metaphors with me! I see, you dirty boy, go get ridden by your wifey. Will you call me tomorrow for squash practice?”
If Harring weren’t my best friend, I’d hate him, but he’s one of the few people who make this routine bearable.
“I can’t tomorrow. I have polo training with the team on Tuesdays.”
“Then I could come to the club for a drink after you’ve finished,” he says, and hangs up.
I must teach Jemma how to ride, but she’s being quite uncooperative, to say the least. I had her summoned three times before she came down.
“They’re rerunning Friends. What’s so crucial as to require my presence?” She says with her usual arrogant attitude.
“Follow me.” After what she said, I don’t even feel like replying.
“Congrats Ashford, were you ever told that communication is your strong point?” She retorts sarcastically from behind me.
We manage to reach the stables without starting a fight, and I escort her round the courtyard while she utters shrieks of amazement, greeting the horses and addressing them as ‘lovely little creatures’.
“These are thoroughbreds, all sons of champions. They’re not little creatures, or little ponies with little braids in a little farm.”
Jemma ignores me completely, as she’s busy stuffing Westfalia, my mother’s favourite mare, with carrots.
“The high society season is full of events involving horses, so you’ll have to become as familiar as possible with them. I don’t mean that you’ll have to field master fox hunts yourself, but being able to keep your balance on a horse at the meet will be a start.”
“It’s so kind of you to give me the chance of elevating myself from my humble beginnings.”
“You are very welcome,” I reply.
“Ashford, I was joking,” she points out.
“I wasn’t,” I object.
“Yeah, all right, you never joke, I’ve noticed.”
“John has already tacked up two horses for us. You’ll ride Poppy and I’ll be joining you on Agincourt.”
“I like this one!” Jemma says, stroking Westfalia.
“Westfalia is my mother’s horse. And don’t say that, you’ll offend Poppy,” I reproach her.
Jemma comes towards me muttering to herself: “These names are so stupid.”
“They all have a meaning. Poppy is named after the Poppy Appeal, and Agincourt is named after the great battle Henry V won in 1415.”
“And Westfalia?”
“That’s where we bought her.”
John helps her mount, while I’m beside her on Agincourt. “Hold the reins firmly and keep your legs close to the horse. Pull the reins towards yourself to stop, or pull them to the left or right to turn. Don’t move too much in the saddle, keep the centre of gravity: the horse is very sensitive to weight changes and could move in the wrong direction. Don’t worry, for now we’ll just go up to the fence.”
While going towards the fence and into the field, I hear the sound of cantering, so I turn around, and all I can see is a cloud of dust.
“Jemma!” I shout. I set off following her trail. Dear God, what the hell did she do to make Poppy bolt? I catch up with her a second before she gets into the woods.
“Jemma, are you okay? What happened? Did something frighten Poppy?” I ask, grabbing her reins.
There’s a mocking expression on her face, as if she wanted to challenge me. And Poppy is as calm as usual.
“What the—?”
“My dear Duke Know-it-all, you hit the ground running and didn’t even let me speak, but now I know that even trying would be useless. I’ve decided to let you talk as long as you want, and then do my own thing. While you were ranting about my inadequacy, you could have asked me if I had ever ridden a horse, but it’s obvious that you’re not interested, or you’re so arrogant that you think you know everything.” She pauses, looking right into my eyes. “When I was a child, my mother worked as an animal therapist at a farm in Kent. I spent all the free time I had riding horses and, believe me, I can ride without your precious foolproof tips.”
I have completely lost control of my jaw, which now hangs at the mercy of gravity.
“I wish I had a mirror to let you see your face right now. But I also have to thank you: in this boring life, at last you offered me a pretty good leisure activity. Now, are you going to stand there eating flies for long?” And, so saying, she takes her reins back and heads into the woods with Poppy.
I would like to turn around and go back to the stables. Yes, I’m easily offended and yes, I’m upset, because she made me feel like a prick. Yet, I follow her.
In the thick of the woods I have lost track of her, so I ride intuitively, trying to figure out the paths she may have taken. Jemma doesn’t even know how large the estate is!
I end up near the lake, a glass like surface surrounded by weeping willows, where I came as a child to play with model boats.
For a moment I think I’m alone, but the reflection on the water suggests that Jemma is on the other side under the wisterias.
I can’t believe it: with her mouth closed and seen from afar, she doesn’t look that bad at all. Wait a second… what the hell am I thinking?