Page 59 of An Invitation to the Kennedys
‘How d’you like that?’Maureen drawled, watching her and petting Pugsy, who had a blue bow tied around his fat neck.‘We’ve been left out to fry by the Americans.’She had that slightly squint-eyed look that, with Maureen, meant trouble.Honor edged her chair away and put a slight angle between them.
Brigid was still lamenting the lack of another couple.‘It’s uneven,’ she kept saying.‘We should have one more pair.Maybe Billy would come over …’
‘No,’ said Kick sharply, adding, when she saw Brigid’s face, ‘it’s too late to ask.’
For the first match, Brigid and Duff faced off against Kick and Chips.Kick was crouched low over her racket, knees bent, shifting her weight from side to side.She looked deeply serious.And she was.She served hard and quick, returning balls with precision, calling shots, even disputing the umpire’s decisions.Brigid was less good a player.Lazier, Honor thought critically.At least until she realised what Kick was like.Then, she began to try harder, chivvying Duff to do the same.Chips played better than usual, possibly spurred on by Kick or, more likely, by the audience and the many loud comments from the Kennedys.Both the ambassador and Rose called their encouragement to Kick.Rose’s were general – ‘Keep it up!’– whereas the ambassador was more precise and critical.‘You were slow to that,’ he said.‘Adjust your weight, you’re behind the ball.’Kick didn’t respond, but looked, to Honor, to be as finely attuned to her father’s voice as a hunting dog, shifting this way and that as he spoke.
Duff, it was immediately clear, was off his game.Not that Honor had seen him play for years, but once upon a time, he had been better than this.He was slow, sluggish even, easily distracted.He missed shots, returned them badly.He had put on weight, she realised.Not the way Chips had – all over, filling out from the slender young man he had been to a more broad-shouldered, solid version.With Duff, the weight was around the middle, and it slowed him and made him less agile.
The day was starting to cloud over, the blue of the sky thickening to a darker grey.But it was as hot as ever.Hotter.And quiet, muffled even, except for the drone of insects, the thwack of the ball and comments from Ambassador Kennedy.Even Chips was silent, squinting into the light as he played, Kick slim and fast beside him.Over, back, over, back, Honor followed the ball with her eyes until they began to hurt.She closed them and allowed her hands, which had been gripping the hard, spindly arms of the lawn chair, to relax.The sounds, now that she no longer followed the action, were soothing.All the heaviness of mind and limbs that she had longed for last night was upon her now.Then, her thoughts had raced here and there in tight loops, as though pursued through a maze by something that frightened them.Now, in the heat of the day, they settled, slumped even, and gave her the rest she had craved.
Perhaps she dozed off, because when she next paid attention, it was to hear Maureen, beside her, say sharply, ‘Keep up, Duff, you are letting the side down.’Honor jerked forward, hoping no one had noticed her slide downwards in her chair.The butler had brought a tray of drinks – a jug that had the soapy smell of elderflower mixed with the dull tang of gin, and many glasses.The jug was clouded with condensation and fat beads of water chased each other down the ridged sides.‘Keep up!’Maureen said, sharper again.She tipped Pugsy off her lap, the better to sit forward in the low chair and watch.
From the set of his shoulders and the way his thick eyebrows were close down over his eyes, Honor could see Duff was furious, but he said nothing.He hit the ball back over the net, but without enough force, and was off-balance when Chips returned it, smartly.Duff swung his racket desperately and missed, the ball bounced, then travelled past him and landed at the edge of the court.
‘Fault!’Albert the umpire called.
‘Never mind,’ Brigid said.‘We’re still winning.’It was, Honor thought, exactly the wrong thing to say.If they were winning, it was clear that Duff had little to do with that.He served and hit the net, served a second time and hit it again, ball landing with a defeated thump into the thick rope.
‘Honestly, darling,’ Maureen drawled, ‘we might as well go and watch someone throwing rubber balls at a coconut shy.’
The game continued in silence.It really wasn’t going well, Honor realised.Brigid was almost as annoyed as Duff.Only Chips and Kick played well, especially the latter.Any other girl, Honor thought, seeing how furious Brigid was, would drop a few shots; send back a couple of soft ones; anything to even up the score.Not Kick.
Duff missed another serve.‘You need more practice,’ Maureen called to him, ‘and not the kind that comes with lifting a brandy glass up and down, up and down.’She mimed raising her hand to her mouth and returning it, raising and returning it.Fritzi laughed and Honor turned to look at him.He smiled broadly at her.Did he not understand the sullen atmosphere that gathered as surely as the heavy clouds overhead?
‘Can’t you shut up?’Duff asked, through thin lips.Maureen, Honor saw with horror, smiled at that, peeling her lips back to show small sharp teeth like an animal’s.
‘If you’re going to lose your temper,’ she drawled, ‘I daresay you’ll be even more off your game.’
At that Duff flung his racket to the ground.‘Why don’t you play if you’re so damn good.’
‘I didn’t say I was good,’ Maureen said, ‘although I couldn’t be worse than you.’
‘Are you conceding?’Chips asked eagerly.
With an effort, Duff pulled himself together.‘Certainly not.’He picked up his racket and they played on but it seemed obvious that no one except Kick really cared for the outcome.
Maureen got up, rising out of her lawn chair in one easy movement that made Honor envious, and poured herself a glass from the jug Andrews had brought and drank it fast.‘Isn’t it time someone else had a go?’she asked.‘You are rather hogging the court.Elizabeth, you must be raring to play by now.’
‘Don’t stir, Maureen,’ Elizabeth said.‘Everyone is perfectly peaceful except you.’
‘Everyone is perfectly deathly except me,’ Maureen muttered.She threw a stick for Pugsy, aiming it, Honor saw, right onto the court.The little dog ran after it, darting towards it just as Duff stepped back.His heel caught the dog a solid blow, and sent it, yelping, several inches into the air.The dog landed hard on its side and yowled more.Duff cursed viciously and Elizabeth giggled; ‘Aren’t youeloquent,’ she said admiringly.Maureen had reached the dog and knelt beside it, making great play of stroking and kissing it.‘Poor baby,’ she said, catching Pugsy up in her arms and standing up.‘Poor sweet baby; what did that clumsy brute do to you?’She spoke to the dog, but she looked at Duff.He raised his racket and for one awful moment Honor wondered would he fling it at his wife.He didn’t.He didn’t move at all.No one did.They were like creatures in a fairy story, she thought, held fast in that moment, unable to tear themselves from it.
A fat drop of rain landed on her arm.The afternoon was as thick and grey as nursery porridge.She opened her mouth to suggest they give up and go inside, and then, from behind her, a voice.
‘Well, here you all are.’
There was a note of lazy amusement that she recognised.Honor turned awkwardly in the low-slung chair.‘Doris!’
‘Me,’ Doris agreed.And it was indeed her, more delicate and weary-looking than ever, her face wan and pale and utterly beautiful.The dark smudges under her eyes were pronounced, but her eyes shone with delight and affection.Honor began to struggle out of her chair.
‘When?’she asked.‘How?What …?’
‘Just now.The usual sort of ways,’ Doris said, laughing and putting out a hand to help Honor up.‘Train, car.Any more questions?’
‘All of them, but they’ll have to wait.’Honor threw her arms tight around her friend.The smell of her was, she thought, like walking into one’s own house after long days away.Familiar.Reassuring.‘Oh, darling, I’ve missed you.’She was, she realised, crying.She pulled back to look and saw that Doris’ eyes were wet too.Close up, she looked truly tired, not the affected exhaustion that she used to disguise the ardent energy that was her real nature.
‘Hullo, Doris.Wonderful timing – you’ll play,’ Brigid said immediately.‘You’re already wearing trousers – divine ones; Schiaparelli?– so all you need are shoes.’They had all come forward to cluster around the newcomer.‘At least, if we had someone for you to play with …’
