by Eva Rice
‘I doubt anyone broke her,’ he said. ‘Women like that are far too interested in who and what’s around the corner to become too attached. That’s where I imagine the similarity between her and her dear niece extends beyond mere outward show.’
But he was wrong there, of course. I remembered the way Charlotte had been off her food around A the T and it made me worry that she would never love again.
‘Do get on, Penelope,’ said Christopher irritably. ‘That’s quite enough thinking for one day.’
I rather agreed with him.
Half an hour later, Charlotte burst through the door. She beamed at Christopher.
‘Lovely day, isn’t it, Mr Jones? I’ve come to collect your assistant for a vital lunch engagement.
‘I thought we were meeting at Coffee on the Hill?’
I still hadn’t got used to Charlotte’s maddening habit of arriving early for absolutely everything.
‘We can walk there now. I’m bursting to hear your news—’ She stopped in her tracks, her eyes fixing on the window display. ‘Oh, what a beautiful scarf!’ she cried, pulling a rust-coloured Sevillian shawl from off the top of a hideous old sideboard that Christopher had never been able to shift. ‘How much?’
‘For you, one pound,’ said Christopher, not batting an eyelid. ‘Oh come on! You can do better than that!’ cried Charlotte, wrapping the shawl round her shoulders and flouncing in front of the big mirror behind the counter. It looked wonderful on her, I thought enviously — was there anything that Charlotte could not conceive of wearing? I fervently wished that I had had the presence of mind to realise two weeks ago, when Christopher first brought the scarf into the shop, that it was more than just the ‘bit of old tat from Spain’ he’ had described to me, for clearly it was a work of art, a beautiful piece of seduction that Charlotte could easily choose to wear to see Johnnie in the Palladium, and then he would fall in love with her and her exoticness, and not even so much as glance my way— ‘One pound,’ repeated Christopher.
Charlotte sighed and replaced the shawl. ‘Too much,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Ten shillings,’ ventured Christopher, no doubt hating himself Charlotte fixed him with a stare.
‘Nine,’ she said.
‘Nine and eightpence.’
‘Done.’
Charlotte whipped out her purse and handed over the money before he could change his mind.
‘You’re a hard woman, Charlotte Ferris.’
‘Hard my foot,’ I scoffed.
Charlotte folded the scarf into her bag. Her eyes took on a thoughtful look. ‘You know, Christopher, you and I should think about going into business together.’
Christopher kept his cool. ‘I’d never survive with you at the helm,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’
‘Ooh! You’re unkind!’ squeaked Charlotte.
‘Did. you pay your train fare here?’ demanded Christopher coolly. He was so attractive when he was like this, sort of like a good-looking headmaster who made one feel guilty for thinking naughty things about what he did when he wasn’t working.
‘No I did not pay my fare,’ said Charlotte defensively. ‘and what’s that got to do with anything?’
‘It simply proves my point.’
‘Well, I could have lied to you and pretended that I did pay it,’ pointed out Charlotte. ‘Instead, I chose to tell the truth.’
‘Big mistake,’ said Christopher airily. ‘I’d have taken you more seriously if you’d stuck to the lies. And Charlotte,’ he added briskly. ‘say hello to your aunt from me, will you?’
Charlotte didn’t miss a beat. ‘Of course I will. She talks of Paris with such fondness.’
‘It was Rome.’
‘Ah, you were Rome? I’m sorry, I get so muddled.’
‘You’re very like her, you know,’ said Christopher.
‘People say I look more like Aunt Clare than my mother,’ said Charlotte boastfully.
‘No, it’s not that,’ said Christopher thoughtfully. ‘It’s your attitude. Too clever by half’
Charlotte kicked up her heels and blew him a kiss and we burst out onto the street into the bright February sunshine. I thought how lovely it would be to have the nerve that Charlotte had. It felt to me like all one would ever need in life.
I suppose Coffee on the Hill was the first place in town to catch on to the fact that now that the war was well and truly over, money could be made from catering directly for the new youth, and the new youth gravitated towards it, magnetically drawn to the pastel colours of the ice-cream sundaes and the smell of heat and youth. They sold ham sandwiches and cheese on toast, and bucketloads of Heinz tomato soup with white bread, and cigarettes and glasses of warm red wine that seemed to us like the last word in sophistication. All the while, the records kept playing and playing, and if you got to the place and there wasn’t too much of a crowd, you could ask the waitress for Johnnie Ray and two minutes later you could listen to him singing while you ate. Charlotte and I liked the corner table by the far window so that we could glance down the hill towards the market square as we talked, ate and smoked. It was the best table to be looked in on and also the best table from which to stare out at the Teds who congregated on one of the benches in the square. Charlotte’s face was grim with concentration where Teds were concerned, all the time looking for A the T, though what he would be doing in Bath I don’t know. There was no doubt that these groups of velvet-collared boys had a hold on Charlotte. She flicked her hair more than usual when we saw them; she spoke in a hushed voice as though they could hear through glass.
I ordered a plate of chips and a glass of orange juice, and Charlotte a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a glass of lemonade. I waited until Charlotte had consumed most of hers before starting to talk as she was never really able to concentrate until her stomach was full. All around us the tables were filling up — mostly with clusters of giggling girls — but occasionally a couple entered the room, a girl and a boy who sat close together but said very little — struck dumb by their own brilliance, I thought. Struck dumb by the wonderfulness of being together and away from home. People-watching in Coffee on the Hill was heady stuff.
‘Why don’t you think Christopher’s married?’ asked Charlotte idly.
‘Why. do you want to marry him?’ I giggled.
‘Shut up. I was only asking.’ She actually went a bit pink.
‘He was married once,’ I said. ‘His wife died a year after they were married.’
‘Gracious. How inconsiderate. How?’
‘She fell off a horse, I think.’
Charlotte looked thoughtful for a moment then changed the subject as swiftly as if she were changing a record. ‘So,’ she said, licking her spoon. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, then?’
I didn’t really know where to start, but I supposed that Harry’s offer was as good a place as any. ‘It’s Harry,’ I said.
‘Don’t tell me. You’ve fallen in love with him.’
I shrieked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Thank God. I’ve been fearing it for the past few weeks, you know.’
‘Why?’ I asked her, temporarily thrown.
‘I don’t know. Just something about the way you look at him sometimes. It makes me nervous, you know. As if you’re seeing things in him that no one else sees. Oh, do signal to the waitress. Shall we get a pot of coffee?’
‘You’re utterly wrong,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t be less enamoured of him. Especially at the moment. He’s put me in a very difficult position.’’
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh help. I hope he’s not falling in love with you. I hadn’t even considered that.’ She looked horrified for a moment. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t meant to be rude, it’s just that he’s been so obsessed by bloody Marina I never imagined he could—’
‘Charlotte, will you be quiet and let me talk!’
‘Go on then.’ She sucked the remains of her lemonade loudly through a straw
.
I took a deep breath. ‘Harry wants ~ me to pose as his — his —friend — again,’ I said primly. ‘At the dinner that George is giving for Marina. He says you’ve been invited too.’
‘Hmm. I have, worse luck.’
‘Well, in exchange, he’s got us both tickets to see Johnnie. He thinks that my presence will rile Marina to such an extent that he’ll win her back, once and for all. He says that this will be the last of it, one way or another. I don’t know what to think. I can’t think of anything worse, but then I keep on thinking about Johnnie and all my fears vanish.’
Charlotte called the waitress over. ‘One pot of coffee, please,’ she ordered. ‘And make it strong.’
‘Not too strong,’ I added and the waitress raised her eyes to heaven.
‘Now,’ said Charlotte briskly. ‘I think he’s jolly silly to think that this plan of his will work. He’s not competing with George, he’s competing with his money and his connections, neither of which Harry could ever hope to match in a million years. So I suggest that you humour him and turn up at the party. act like his lover, then take the tickets and run for the Palladium as fast as your legs will carry you.
‘But I’m living a lie! I’m not Harry’s lover! I wouldn’t know how to be anyone’s lover, worse luck.’
‘It’s not something that anyone learns. One makes it up as one goes along,’ said Charlotte airily.
‘Quite literally in my case.
‘Nobody’s expecting you to do anything ghastly like spend the night with him.’ Charlotte liked saying this sort of thing to me because it always made me blush.
‘It’s not that,’ I said, frantically wiggling my toes, ‘it’s just the false pretences of the thing. Then if Marina does leave George, I’m the one who’s left on the sidelines, heartbroken.’
‘But you wont really be heartbroken.’
‘I know I won’t — not really — but everyone else will think I am. I’ll be seen as Harry’s cast-off.’
‘Could be worse,’ mused Charlotte. ‘Men adore a cast-off.’
‘Funny, that’s what Harry said too.’
We paused while the waitress poured our coffee.
‘You must know, already, what it is you’re going to do,’ said Charlotte. ‘You must have known from the moment Harry talked to you about it all. What’s the decision? Yes or no?’
I took a scalding gulp of coffee. It was sweet and strong and filled me with courage. ‘Well, yes, of course.
‘I knew it,’ said Charlotte. ‘You won’t regret it. Anyway, I’ll be there to make sure that nothing gets out of hand. I think it’ll be rather fun. And we get to see Johnnie,’ she breathed, ‘in the flesh! I must make certain that Harry hands over the tickets before the party,’ she said. ‘No tickets, no lover.’
‘Good idea.’ Buoyed up by Charlotte’s encouragement and dizzy with the kick of caffeine, I felt my heart crashing against my ribs. ‘Oh, and another thing—’
‘Yes? Gosh, another thing?’
I had planned to tell Charlotte about Rocky, planned to ask her opinion, share my story of how we met on the train, and how he had written his name down on the back of the opera ticket, but all of a sudden the words caught in my throat and I realised, to my astonishment, that Rocky was something I wanted to keep to myself for the moment. He wasn’t absurd like Inigo’s friends, or too young and dangerous like the Teds from the caff, nor was he out of reach like Johnnie Ray — he was a real live man, someone who had listened to me, and made me think.
‘I haven’t anything to wear to the party,’ I said.
When I got home that evening, I pulled on my wellingtons and walked out to Banjo’s field with an apple. Banjo crunched it up into little pieces and spat much of it out again — his teeth were pretty ineffectual in his old age — and I put my arm round him and smelled that lovely pony smell and stared back at Magna, which from a distance looked not at all weary, but tall and strong, like a phantom ship on the horizon. A great lump came to my throat at the idea of Inigo leaving us and going to America, and Mama disintegrating even further without him, and Papa never coming back, and I realised how horribly fragile everything was, and I closed my eyes tight and prayed for something to save us all. When I opened my eyes again, Banjo had dribbled the remains of the apple over my blouse, and I thought how unlike books life is, and how absurd Charlotte had been to imagine that I could be in love with Harry. The only reason that he had got right under my skin was because he had dangled tickets to see Johnnie under my nose. I wandered back home, hitting down nettles with a stick and singing Johnnie Ray and wondering if I would ever see Rocky again. Boys, I thought, were more trouble than they were worth. Really. one should stick to books where one sees the hero coming a mile off.
Chapter 13
THE LONG GALLERY
Charlotte telephoned me to say that Harry had shown her the tickets to Johnnie’s concert but that he was not prepared to give them to us until the dinner was over.
‘Did you really see them?’ I asked her in a loud whisper, for Mama was lurking.
‘Of course,” said Charlotte. ‘They’re genuine, all right. He must have pulled a fair few strings to get hold of them.’
I remembered what Harry had said about the roulette wheel and rich gamblers. ‘You’re absolutely sure they’re real?’
‘As sure as I’ve ever been. April the twenty-fifth, nineteen fifty-five, Johnnie Ray at the Palladium. Doors open at seven-thirty.’
I shivered, uncontrollably. with the excitement of it all. ‘George’s party takes place on Friday night at eight o’clock,’ went on Charlotte. ‘Oh, and your date wants you to dress demure.’
‘Oh he does, does he?’ I said grimly.
‘I said to him that you’ve only ever dressed demure, and who on earth does he think you are? If I were you, I’d head straight for the nearest corset and suspenders. Oh! Hang on, darling, he’s grabbing the—’
‘Hello? Hello?’ Harry sounded amused and very slightly drunk.
‘Yes?’ I said, as icily as I could manage.
‘I’m so pleased you’re coming with me, sweetheart. We’re going to have a terrific night. Just relax and I’ll take care of you.’.
‘Somehow those words don’t fill me with confidence.’
‘Listen, would you mind awfully if we turned up separately? I feel we could manufacture much more of a scene if you arrived after me, you know, just as everyone’s sitting down to dinner? My face softens with delight at the sight of my lady love.’
I could hear Charlotte protesting in the background. ‘Anything else?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘A kiss at the end of every course?’
‘Perfect.’
I stifled a giggle. He was preposterous.
‘Oh, and Penelope?’
‘Yes?’
‘Sweetheart, you’re far too tall to wear heels. I meant to say that to you last time, only I was too distracted by the American to talk. Now, I’ll see you at the Ritz. I’ll be there by eight, and I’ll expect you there at twenty past. Remember, demure but delightful. I’ll do the rest.’
‘Who else will be there?’ I bleated,’ suddenly panicked. ‘Oh, everybody you will have read about this year in all the gossip columns but nobody that you actually know.’
I fell silent, imagining the horror of it all.
‘Penelope?’ I heard Harry’s voice soften. I couldn’t help liking the way he said my name. He hung longer than most on the ‘el’ bit in the middle, and even longer when he was a little bit over the top with wine.
‘What?’
‘If it’s too awful, I can turn the whole lot of them into rats.’ I allowed myself to laugh. ‘Pity you can’t send me a fairy godmother too.’
‘Can’t I? We’ll see about that. Listen, I’m going to stay with an old school friend the night after next. He lives about three miles away from you.
‘Name?’
‘Loopy Turner. Well, Lorne Turner’s his real name. Deafeningly loud, has a fearfully pretty sister
called Isobel?’
‘I know who you mean. They live in Ashton St Giles. He’s very short, isn’t he?’ I gulped as soon as I had said this, realising that he was probably a little taller than Harry.
‘To you, every man is short. What do you say to my plan?’
‘Oh all right,’ I consented. ‘Shall I see you on Wednesday afternoon?’
‘I’ll get to you at about three,’ he said.
‘Very well. Oh, and Harry, just so you know — Isobel Turner’s the most awful girl. She came to Sherborne for a couple of terms. She used to eat chalk.’
‘Just the way I like them,’ sighed Harry.
I replaced the telephone and ran straight into Mama, who was conveniently arranging some daffodils in the hall.
‘What was all that about, darling?’
‘Oh, nothing much. I’m going to a party with Harry on Friday. He’s coming here on Wednesday afternoon to go through plans.’
‘Plans?’ demanded Mama, and I cursed myself for saying too much.
‘Oh, just talking me through the evening. It’s a smart affair,’ I said hurriedly.
‘What on earth are you going to wear?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll find something. Maybe the dress I wore to the Hamilton party?’ But I knew that I couldn’t possibly face Marina in the same outfit.
‘You should have something new,” said Mama. ‘Something new and sensational. How on earth do you expect anyone to notice you if you’re always wearing the same thing at every occasion? There’s nothing for it. Aunt Sarah’s watercolour must go.
‘Oh, Mama! It’s not worth it!’ I wailed.
‘It will be if you get yourself a suitable husband,’ said Mama grimly.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ I said, starting to lose my temper.
‘I don’t know why I bother,’ said Mama. ‘If you want to look like a bag lady. that’s quite all right with me. I shan’t be there to pick up the pieces when you’re unmarried at thirty!’
‘Just because you were married before you were whelped!’