Staging Death Read Free

been free at the same time. But the chemistry had never disappeared. In fact, I had a nasty feeling it was getting stronger, which was a shame, because he was now married for the fourth – or was it the fifth? – time. Not to mention the highly publicised liaisons he’d had in between. His latest wife, the size zero, was Allyn Rusch. Allyn was an American actress, aged anywhere between thirty and forty-five, whose main claim to stardom seemed to be the detailed research she did for all her roles. Ten years ago she starred in a Regency bodice-ripper which, thankfully for Georgette Heyer’s reputation, never made it on to the big screen. The only trace of it that remained, in fact, was the names she had bestowed on the twins conceived while her bosom was busy heaving. The poor little sods – and, having seen them in action, believe me it was the only time I would ever use the word poor in connection with such repellent specimens – were to go throughlife as Brummel and Nash respectively. I suppose, however, they were no worse than many current US appellations, which might well have been plucked at random from the Scrabble letters bag. Allyn, indeed…
    ‘The kids are going to Bourton-on-the-Water to see the model village. And Allyn’s off to a spa in Barnsley,’ he said. ‘All day.’
    I determinedly ignored any implications that the last two words might have. ‘Barnsley? As in Yorkshire?’ Even for a woman as determined to be pampered as Allyn, that seemed a long way.
    ‘Idiot! The village near Cirencester. Barnsley House. There’s a wonderful garden there too – an original Rosemary Verey. I’d like something like that here,’ he mused. ‘It’s time for me to put down roots, Vee.’ He flicked me a quick sideways glance with those cornflower-blue eyes of his.
    ‘Both metaphorical and literal?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘What does Allyn think of the idea?’
    ‘She thinks the boys might have a tutor until they’re ready for Eton or wherever.’ He spoke so deadpan it was hard even for me to tell what he thought of the idea.
    ‘I take it she had them put down at birth?’ I asked in an equally flat voice.
    He threw back his head, showing off that famous profile, and gave a roar of laughter thatwould have impressed the very back row of the gods, as would the dental work. ‘Would that she had! Dear God, would that she had! It’s their voices, Vee – and not just when they talk. When they sing, they sound like Mickey Mouse on helium and I can’t get her to hear how dreadful it is! And their table manners!’
    ‘Awful voices and bad table manners aren’t an American prerogative.’ I thought of Greg’s children, whom I saw at mercifully infrequent intervals.
    ‘Maybe not. Poor Brummel and Nash – she’s probably marked them for life,’ he mused, putting an arm round my shoulder and giving it an affectionate squeeze.
    ‘It could be worse,’ I said. ‘Imagine if she’d called them Gronow and Scrope.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Two other more interesting, if less eminent, Regency characters,’ I explained.
    ‘You still watch all those TV quizzes?’
    ‘And win them! In my head, at least.’
    ‘Those two don’t really know where London, England is… You know, I think I’ve just discovered why it’s young people who have babies. I just don’t have the patience anymore, Vee, so help me. Must be my age. Our age,’ he added with an ironic smile – he knew I always preferred to fog the issue.
    The spring breeze no doubt nipping the parts best not mentioned, he propelled me at a brisk pace to the back door, and through into my triumph, the stunning kitchen, which I’d had installed before any other work was done because it was the heart of the house. The floor area was bigger than the whole of my house, top and bottom, but then, that wouldn’t be difficult. Whether most of the expensive appliances were ever used I doubted, but then I supposed that the white-blonde Valkyrie operating the coffee machine –