Part 14 (1/2)

”Oh G.o.d,” said Barnaby, who had clearly heard this particular tale before.

Chubby sighed as if under duress, then launched into the story. ”When I was a small girl of six or seven, my oldest sister took me to London to meet the Beatles. It was my first trip to the city. She knew them through a cousin of ours who ran a famous gallery in Chelsea at the time. Anyway, we ended up back at the Savoy-where they were staying, of course-and...oh G.o.d, I remember it like it was yesterday.” Chubby pressed a hand to her throat as her eyes fluttered to the ceiling.

”Go on,” Mish prompted.

”You must understand I was a sheltered thing. Not at all like six-year-olds today.”

”Her parents kept her locked up in the nursery with a German nanny,” said Nigel, squeezing Meredith around the waist and pinching a bit of back fat between his thumb and fingers.

”Yes, they essentially did.” Chubby took a slow sip of sherry.

Mish stamped her foot. ”And then what?”

”I was eventually sent to boarding school. Then to Cambridge for art history.”

”No, I mean with the Beatles.”

”Oh right, the Beatles. Well, there we were at the Savoy, just the band and my sister and I, when Nancy-my sister-announces to the entire room that she's a virgin.”

”How old was she?” asked Mish.

Meredith kicked her sideways.

”Let's see.” Chubby counted on her fingers. ”If I was six, she would have been, oh, eighteen. She seemed a lifetime older than me at the time. I'm not sure what she was thinking, bringing me along. But anyway, after a few more drinks and whatnot, they all decided to draw straws. To decide-you know.” Chubby opened her eyes very wide.

Nigel took over. ”And guess who Nancy got?”

”Who?” Mish's whole head quivered.

”Ringo.”

”No!”

Chubby lowered her head and shook it miserably. ”The truth is...I don't really want to discuss it any further. It's too difficult.”

Mish nodded.

”Well, that's enough of that,” Nigel sang, clapping Mish and Mere-dith around the hips. ”Come along, girls. Bring the dogs if you like. I want you to see what we've been doing to the maids' old quarters.”

By the time they returned to the sitting room, the fire had gone out and Barnaby was sitting alone on the love seat, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, chin on his chest, gently snoring. Meredith thought he looked like someone trying to sleep on an airplane. Chubby was nowhere to be seen.

Meredith sat down beside Barnaby and squeezed his arm.

Barnaby started. ”I'm so sorry,” he said.

The look on his face was so confused, Meredith felt the urge to pull him onto her lap and rock him back to sleep.

”No, no, it's fine. Nigel just took us on a tour of the house. You were only asleep for a little while. Not even an hour.”

”Oh.” Barnaby slumped, then pulled himself up and made a serious face. ”I couldn't find Harriet. I called and called but she wouldn't come.”

”She'll turn up.”

”I hope so. It's highly unusual behaviour. I so rarely have guests. Certainly not women. I think she may have been jealous.”

Meredith looked across the room to where Nigel was pouring Mish more sherry from the crystal decanter. ”Surely birds don't get jealous,” she said.

”I don't know.” Barnaby motioned to Didier for another Double Diamond. ”They might.”

There was a commotion in the corridor, the double doors swung open and two little girls in white cotton nightgowns trotted into the room. The smaller child ran up and wrapped her arms around Barnaby's knees. A plastic comb was snared in her hair.

”Little Miss t.i.tty,” he said.

”Uncle Barnaby, I'm so glad you've come. Tatia pulls my hair so hard after my bath it makes me cry, even when I'm not at all sad.” She lowered her voice and looked back at her older sister, who hung by the door looking bored. ”And Petsy's been beastly all evening.”

”Really?” said Barnaby, eyes widening. ”Well, you know what you must do to older siblings who torment you?” And he bent down and began to whisper in the little girl's ear, sending her into shrieks of laughter-which stopped when a red-haired woman walked into the room hoisting a fat infant on her hip.

”Girls,” she said in a steely eastern European accent. ”Say h.e.l.lo to the guests.”

Petsy and t.i.tty had begun a reluctant but well-mannered round of limp handshaking when Chubby returned, looking like a tired work pony-all swollen belly, k.n.o.bby knees and coa.r.s.e, dry mane. She clopped across the room and placed her girth squarely between her husband and Mish, who was receiving an involved lecture on the history of the sixteenth-century Florentine door frames. Nigel's hand had been resting on Mish's upper arm, just inches from the side of her left breast, when his wife appeared. He let it flutter gradually to his trouser pocket, skimming the edge of Mish's b.u.t.tock in the process.

”Darling,” Chubby interrupted in a louder-than-necessary voice. ”Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. Would you like to show the guests to the dining room?”

Nigel smiled at his wife. ”Of course, my love.”

The Yorkies reappeared from under one of the sofas, where they had been devouring a forgotten piece of lint-covered liver pate. They began to yap furiously and pull at the hems of the girls' nightgowns. The children squealed in delight.

”Girls!” Chubby shouted, ”How many times must I tell you-use your French when speaking to the dogs!”

Tatia held out the baby to be kissed while the other girls took turns saying good night to the adults. Petsy, the sullen older one (who looked about twenty-two but was actually eleven), seemed suddenly reluctant to go to bed. Having to make small talk with strangers was a bore, her expression said, but being sent to bed at nine-thirty on a Sat.u.r.day night was downright humiliating.

”Mummy, do you mind if I take the dogs out for a walk around the garden before I go to bed? I think they might need to pee.”

Chubby looked suspicious for a moment, then sighed. The late stages of pregnancy seemed to have pushed her beyond argument. ”Just make sure you put your boots on and mind you don't get your nightgown wet.” Petsy glowered and sauntered out of the room with John, Paul and George in tow.

Soon enough, dinner was served. The guests advanced to the dining room, a drafty, music-free chamber dominated by a blazing electric chandelier.

A woman in a starched ap.r.o.n distributed wedges of mysterious-looking game pie.

The table was a large walnut oval, polished to a reflective gloss. Meredith checked her lipstick while pretending to admire the china pattern. They were seated in an even spread around the table, so conversation had to be shouted, creating an echo off the ceiling. Apart from the blazing chandelier, the enormous walk-in fireplace, and the oil paintings of plump, unsmiling ancestors, Meredith was reminded of her loft back in Canada. Something about the cold rectangularity of the room. She reached for her napkin but found there wasn't one.

At the other end of the table, Chubby watched her husband talk to Mish. For a pregnant woman, Meredith noticed, she wasn't eating much.

”Your children are so polite,” said Meredith, hoping her words wouldn't sound disingenuous (they weren't).

”Oh, thank you.” Chubby seemed to soften a bit, took a sip of her wine. ”I'm sorry you didn't really get to talk to them. Petsy's going through a snarky adolescent phase and t.i.tty's so in love with Barnaby she can't bear to talk to anyone else when he's around.”

”I thought they were sweet.” She smiled at Chubby's tummy. ”When are you due?”

”Any second now. Actually, not for a month. But it feels like any second.”