‘The little tramp!’ Peregrine continued, delighted.
‘What has she done?’ begged Jasper.
‘What a filly!’
‘Pear-rare-grin!’ bellowed Jasper. ‘Word for word! Go!’
Peregrine cleared his voice. ‘He’s called Carl, apparently. A big, strapping bushman from New Zealand! Blond, bronzed and brawny. Oh, that we were thirty years younger!’
‘Speak for yourself, old crock,’ said Jasper. ‘Twenty would be fine for me! Is that how she describes him? A hunky thing from the bush down under?’
Peregrine reread the letter swiftly. ‘No, actually, she says, I’ve met a really nice bloke from New Zealand. His name is Carl and I know you’d love him, bla bla.’
‘Stop it with the bla blas,’ Jasper demanded.
‘OK,’ conceded Peregrine, ‘this is what she says: His name is Carl and I know you’d, bla bla. Sorry! He lives above the tack room – I know the thought of a strapping young man amongst all that leather will probably drive you two wild, but calm down so I can tell you all! Writes a good letter, our Chloë.’
‘I never went in for leather much, but carry on, dear.’
‘We’re the only youngsters here. Mind you, by your standards, Gin and Dai are spring chooks!’
‘Sprung whats?’ asked Jasper.
‘Ah, she explains, as the Kiwis say for “chicken”! You know, just as soon as I set eyes on Carl, I felt strange murmurings for him which quickly transpired to be Lust, loud and clear! You see, he’s big and blond and sensitive and sexy and perfect. And he kisses divinely. She must know not to start a sentence with “and”, surely Jocelyn would have drilled her?’
‘Let’s make an allowance – the girl’s obviously quite beside herself with excitement.’
‘Dormant lust, I’d say!’
‘Whatever! Continue.’
‘Ah, sweet Chloë, listen to this: As you know, Things were never good with Brett – I don’t know why the capital “T” but never mind – I realize now that I have never really been kissed before. Before Carl, that is. Can you believe that after a month of near-kisses near-misses, we finally found ourselves mouth to mouth in a tack shop in Abergavenny at lunch-time! I’m sure she needs a comma or two, but I’ll let it lie.’
‘Gracious,’ said Jasper proudly, ‘in a tack shop in Aberwhatsit at noon!’
‘All that leather!’
‘So public!’
‘So exciting!’
‘Wild! Please continue, do.’
For some reason, on which Jasper thought it best not to comment, Peregrine took a sip from the empty cup before reading more. ‘The kiss lasted an age and beyond. And then some! In fact, was it one kiss or many? Heavens, it was so exciting I could hardly breathe, mind you I could hardly breathe because there were two tongues in my mouth and our faces were pressed as close together as was physiognomically possible! I could feel how excited he was, if you know what I mean – in the trouser region, if you like.’
‘We know what you mean! And yes, we like!’
‘And I don’t mind telling you that I felt positively glued to my trouser region!’
‘Do we mind her telling us?’ Jasper interrupted.
‘I don’t think so,’ pondered Peregrine. ‘Do we?’
‘No, no, I think that will be acceptable, Perers. Go on.’
‘She continues – ha! Do I mind telling you? I wonder? But who else is there to tell with Jocelyn gone? Do you mind me telling you, though? I hope not. If I know you two, you’ll find it riveting! Well, there we were, snogging for England. I mean for Wales, of course. Light-headed and tongue-tied. I was in paradise. I was on another, higher plane and begged the moment to last forever. As I said, we had been kissing for hours – ages, at least – and if it were not for Jones the Tack (honest!) hollering “Hoof picks!” at us, we’d still be at it now! (Who knows, by the time you’re reading this, maybe we are, once again!) After we beat a hasty retreat and the fire in our loins had subsided – what has the girl been reading?’
‘I rather like that – fire in the loins!’
‘You would, you incorrigible old codger. I think it’s downright Mills & Boon. Where were we? Fire in loins – ah yes: ‘had subsided, we sat on a bench and, while I’d love to tell you of the view out over the dingle, I really can’t – I didn’t even get a glimpse. Mostly I kept my eyes tight shut so I could just feel and taste Carl, soak it all up. Savour the moment. Remember it for eternity. Occasionally, I opened them a peep and caught the dip of his cheek or a snatch of his ear lobe, or a glint of his eye.
‘I’m not falling in love or whatever, I don’t think, – oh yes she is! – it just feels so, I don’t know, fresh? Fun? That’s it – fun. Just what the doctor ordered after those gloomy, sterile Brett years. Strange how, at the time I thought them neither gloomy nor sterile, yet nor was I having fun and feeling adored – as I am now. Having traded boys for horses during my teenage years and enduring only Brett since then, it now feels so liberating. Finally I can snog and grope and do all those other fun, naughty, wholesome things!
‘Believe me when I tell you his eyelashes are like pitchforks! Pitchforks, I declare! Oh, the beauty of the boy! Adonis is a Kiwi called Carl – and happiness is a gal called Cadwallader. Trust me, you two! I’ll keep you posted. With love and passion, bla bla bla.’
They sat in silence for a while. Chloë was miles away, a different country indeed. There she was having the time of her life. Here they were, Jasper and Peregrine, feeling the winter in their joints, sitting in silence in Jocelyn’s house. And yet silence in Jocelyn’s house was surely anathema.
‘Well?’ said Jasper. ‘What do we think?’
‘I don’t know what to think!’ answered Peregrine.
‘Well,’ continued Jasper methodically, ‘the girl is safe, cosy and having fun. She sounds happy, animated – like when she was a youngster. Now, what would Jocelyn say, do you think? What would be her view? What would she think? And, ought we to go by it?’
They sat quiet a moment longer, Jasper running the envelope through his fingers, Peregrine tapping the pages of the letter against his chin.
‘Jocelyn,’ said Peregrine mistily, ‘dear darling Jo Jo. She, I’m sure, would be delighted. She may not approve of the sentences beginning with “and”, nor, perhaps, of the very public site of this first clinch; but she, more than anyone, wished entirely for Chloë’s happiness.’
‘Remember how she loathed Brett?’ reminisced Jasper. ‘How she longed for Chloë to find the elation and bliss that she had experienced?’
‘Oh so fleetingly.’
‘Just the once.’
‘So long ago,’ rued Peregrine. They sat in silence save for a sigh apiece.
‘Hush now, we’re becoming maudlin,’ said Jasper tapping Peregrine’s knee. ‘Jocelyn moved on. So must we. The past is indeed a different country, in which one no longer has a home.’
‘Indeed,’ pondered Peregrine.
‘Alas,’ concluded Jasper.
‘Come now! Back to matter in hand – our Clodders swept into the clutches of lust! I know damn well what Jocelyn would think – after all, was it not she who placed map and wherewithal into Chloë’s fair hands?’
Jasper raised