But she could tell Erika. A week today it would be all over; she would have seen Erika and Lew and recounted to them every little detail of her experience—every mistake she had made, every time she had put her foot in it ... And how many more mistakes was she going to make during the week to come, how many more times was she going to put her foot in it? She had been there hardly more than six hours and there were six whole days to be got through.
She turned away from the glass with a sick, uneasy sense of fear at the pit of her stomach, and for the first time it occurred to her to wonder what would happen if she were found out. What would they say to her, what would they do—but worse still what would they think of her? She could imagine their scorn, their abhorrence, their coldness. Oh, heavens, what an awful position to have got herself into. If only they were not so nice. If only they had not been so kind and friendly. If only they had been stuck up so that she could despise them.
She stroked the softness of the mink and put her cheek against it before returning it to the drawer. It felt almost like a living thing, almost as if she had a puppy or a Kitten there to comfort her. “Oh, please, please, don’t let them find me out,” she prayed. “Not while I am here at any rate. I couldn’t bear it. I just couldn’t bear to see the look he might give me,” and by “he” she meant Romilly.
CHAPTER THREE
POPPY slept very well that night in her strange bed in spite of all her fears and misgivings. The evening had gone quite well and there had been no embarrassments. Philippa’s French girl friend had arrived to cause a diversion, accompanied by a young man—Timmy something or other, Poppy did not catch his surname—who seemed very nice and whose home was in Yorkshire. Nicole, the girl, was dark and attractive. She was a year or two older than Philippa, Poppy guessed, and she spoke very poor English but her French accent had great charm. Romilly was most attentive to her, so Poppy was able to tell herself that there had been nothing personal in his marked attentions to her earlier in the day. He was just very polite, it seemed, to all his guests. When his friend arrived from London they would be a party of six young people.
She only woke when Florence called her, and then she realized with consternation that it was a quarter to nine, and breakfast, she knew, was at nine. “I didn’t call you earlier,” Florence said, “as I thought you’d like to sleep on, and Miss Philippa nearly always comes down to breakfast in a dressing-gown.”
But Poppy did not like to do this. Supposing she came down in a dressing-gown to find that everyone else was dressed? She had just jumped out of bed intending to dress quickly when there was a knock on the door and in answer to her. “Come in” Philippa popped her head in. “Oh, good, you’re not dressed. Neither are Nicole or I. Don’t dress whatever you do, because we are going to swim after breakfast.”
Poppy’s heart sank. She had never had much opportunity for bathing. She could swim but not very well and she couldn’t dive and she loathed putting her head under water. On the other hand she had a conviction that Erika was probably a very good swimmer. Didn’t they have a house by the sea in South Africa? That Erika had intended to swim she knew because she had noticed a bathing dress in the drawer. What was she to do? ... And then an Inspiration came to her. She would get into the pool but she would excuse herself from diving or putting her head under water by saying that she suffered from sinus trouble. This was true both of herself and Erika. She herself did suffer from sinus when she had a cold, and Erika had told her during her treatments that she suffered from it too. Whether cold water affected it or not she did not know, but anyway it was an adequate excuse.
She went down to breakfast in Erika’s charming foulard dressing-gown.
She need not have worried about being the only one not dressed. Philippa and Nicole were both in dressing-gowns, and Romilly was already in a bathing dress with a bathrobe over it. Lord Hanbridge and Timmy were the only ones dressed. Lady Hanbridge was not there.
“Good morning, sweet coz,” Romilly greeted Poppy as she came in, and there was something caressing and musical about his voice which enchanted her. “How did you sleep?”
After breakfast, Poppy went upstairs to put on Erika’s bathing dress. If was of electric blue elastic nylon and it clung to her figure as if it were a second skin. She felt a little shy in it and got the large bath towel out of the bathroom and wrapped it round herself. The others were already at the pool by the time she got there. Nicole was making rather a fuss about getting in. She put one toe in and then withdrew it hurriedly with a little scream of “Oh, but it is so cold!”
“Nonsense,” Philippa said. “It’s as warm as toast,” and she dived in from the side.
Romilly and Timmy were already splashing about in the water. Poppy went to the shallow end and, slipping her towel off, lowered herself quickly into the pool. Romilly swam up to her. “Don’t you dive?” he asked. “I thought all you South Africans were great swimmers.” She was glad to have an excuse ready. “I have sinus trouble,” she said, “so I can’t put my head under water.”
“What a shame.”
“It’s a bore.”
Nicole was now to the water and Poppy was glad to find that she was no more expert than herself. They could do the breast stroke and float on their backs and that was about all. She envied the others, particularly Romilly and Philippa, who seemed so perfectly at home in the water. Romilly was the most wonderful diver. It was a joy to watch him. There was a power and beauty about his superb athletic body that reminded her of the Greek statues she had seen at the British Museum. What a model he would have made for Praxiteles!
She did not stay very long in the water but when she got out she forgot her shyness and stood on the edge watching the others. It was only when she suddenly realized that Romilly’s eyes were on her that she became self-conscious again and quickly picked up her towel and enveloped herself in it.
She had been told that they were to leave for the races punctually at half-past twelve. They were taking a picnic lunch with them. It was obviously going to be a very hot day for already it was warm, even out of the sun, while in the sun it was almost too hot. What should she wear? That was her next problem. Back in her room she went through all the dresses hanging up in the cupboard, wondering what Erika would have chosen. What were Philippa and Nicole going to wear? Though there were certain things of Erika’s which she appreciated enormously—her beautiful underclothes for instance, the fur stoles, the handkerchiefs and cashmere twin sets—she had to own, now that she had come to know it better, that she did not really admire her taste. It was too fussy, too ornate; her clothes were too smart. Any one of the dresses she now had to choose from would have been suitable for Ascot but she did not somehow think that Goodwood was like Ascot. How she longed to have one of her own print dresses to wear!
And there was the question of hats too. She had not yet examined all the hats which Erika had packed. Florence had arranged them on two shelves at the top of the tallboy. There must have been a dozen of them, suitable for every possible occasion, and yet not one, it seemed to Poppy, really suitable for today. Confronted with such a choice she felt very much as she had felt in a Paris restaurant soon after the war when the menu had been put in front of her. She had dithered; she had just not been able to make up her mind, and in the end it had been the waiter who had chosen for her.
Now, as it happened, it was Florence who finally helped her to make up her mind. To Florence there was nothing in Erika’s wardrobe which was not perfect. She had looked at everything, examined everything, as if she had been in an Aladdin’s cave, and had passed on a full description of all she had seen not only to the rest of the staff but also to Philippa, and Philippa in her turn had not been slow to pass it on to her mother and brother. “Florence says she has never seen so many clothes as she has brought with her,” Philippa informed them. She was up in her mother’s bedroom, and Romilly had just come in there too after his bathe to say good morning. “Florence has taken all my hangers for her. Does she think she is
going to stay here for the rest of the summer? ... She’ll be wearing a different dress every day during Goodwood and put us all to shame. Poor Nicole has only brought three dresses with her. She’s terrified of her; she thinks she’s so smart ... Romilly, what do you think of Nicole?”
“I think she’s very sweet. I love her accent.”
“And she’s attractive too, isn’t she? And awfully intelligent, though of course she’s at a disadvantage in a foreign language, but she’s passed all sorts of exams.”
“These French girls are extremely well educated,” Lady Hanbridge put in.
“You like her, Mummy, don’t you?”
“Yes, I agree with Romilly, I think she is very sweet.”
“And how about Erika?” Philippa asked. “What is the general opinion of her?’
“Your father has taken a tremendous fancy to her.”
“That’s because she’s so interested in the house,” Romilly said. “That always goes straight to Father’s heart.”
“I understand that she was more than interested,” Lady Hanbridge replied. “He found her extraordinarily knowledgeable both about English history and architecture.”
“What do you think of her, Mummy?” Philippa asked. “I can’t quite make her out. She is so very different from what I thought she was going to be.”
“Yes, that’s just how I feel,” Philippa agreed. “She doesn’t seem at all foreign, does she? I was awfully prejudiced against her, to tell you the truth, but I can’t help liking her in spite of myself. I don’t know what it is about her, because in theory she is so many things I dislike. All those clothes, for instance. She’s so showy. What do you think, Rom?”
“She lacks confidence,” Romilly replied, “and that surprises me. I didn’t expect her to be nervous.”
“Is she nervous?” Philippa said. “I hadn’t noticed it.”
“Yes, her hand was shaking so much yesterday that she had to use both hands to hold her glass.”
“Poor girl,” Lady Hanbridge said compassionately. “I didn’t know we were frightening. But I suppose it is rather an ordeal coming straight into the heart of a strange family ... She has the most charming manners.”
“Her nervousness doesn’t seem to go with her clothes and general appearance,” Romilly said. “There is something about her that puzzles me.”
“She is very, very pretty,” Lady Hanbridge said warmly. “That lovely coloring.”
“Yes, she’s pretty all right,” Romilly answered in a tone which seemed to imply, “But there are other things which she is not.”
“Do you really think she hopes to marry Rom?” Philippa asked in her embarrassingly direct way.
“Darling, you musn’t say things like that even in fun,” her mother admonished her.
“I’m not saying it in fun. That’s what her father gave you to understand, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. He just wrote to say that he thought it would be a good idea to bring our young people together.”
“I’m sure she means to marry him,” Philippa persisted. “I believe she’s fallen for him already. You should have seen the way she was looking at him while he was diving. She was standing on the edge of the pool with a sort of rapt look on her face.”
“Do you know what you have got to guard against, Pip?” Romilly asked. “Becoming a mischief-maker. We know you don’t mean half you say because we know you...”
Philippa put her tongue out at him. “I must go and dress,” she said.
Romilly was about to follow her when Lady Hanbridge called him back. “Darling,” she said, “don’t let anything Philippa says put you off Erika, will you?”
“Why,” he asked in some surprise, “do you want me to marry her, Mother?”
“I want you to marry someone one day whom you love and who loves you and who will make you very happy, and naturally I should like you to marry someone I could love too as a daughter.” (He knew that she was thinking at that moment of Daphne Cunningham whom she could never get to love as a daughter.) “But I rather believe that you, as well as Philippa, are prejudiced against Erika and I don’t want prejudice to blind you, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I married her?”
“Mind? Of course I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you feel you could love her as a daughter?”
“Do you know, I think I can honestly answer that in the affirmative. Isn’t it surprising? I like her enormously already. I think I could very easily get to love her.”
“A fortune no doubt makes her more lovable?”
“Don’t be cynical, Romilly. It’s not like you, and you know I’m not like that. Although I am not such a fool as to despise money, you know perfectly well that if you found a girl who would really make you happy I wouldn’t care if she didn’t have a penny in the world.”
“Or any connections?”
“Do you really think I am a snob?”
“No, of course not. I’ve never met anyone who is less of one. I’m sorry if I’m in a contrary mood, but the idea of marrying for money utterly revolts me. Even if I fell in love with Erika I couldn’t marry her. I should simply hate to have a rich wife. When I marry I shall want to do all the giving. Anything else seems completely wrong to me. It seems to go against all the laws of—of—love. Anyway, between a husband and wife. A mother’s giving is another matter,” and he smiled at her in the way she loved best.
“I think you are wrong,” she said with a sigh. “I agree with you perhaps about a wife richer than yourself, but a little money does help...”
“Maybe—for other people—but that’s the way I am, darling, and you can’t change me ... I must go and dress now or I shall never be ready. I’m sorry to disappoint you, and I’m not prejudiced against Erika, I promise you, and I certainly wouldn’t be influenced by anything that silly little Pip says!”
Lady Hanbridge was left alone feeling extremely dissatisfied. She had to own to herself that she had had hopes of Erika and now they had all been dashed. She was deeply concerned about Romilly’s attachment to Mrs. Cunningham. Daphne Cunningham was everything that she disliked most in a woman, and the whole of her feminine instinct distrusted her, and yet she could see her attraction. It added to her disquiet to know that she was what is called a “man’s woman”. She was one of those women whose behavior is quite different when there is a man present from what it is when they are alone with their own sex. With her own sex, she made very little effort to please, but the moment a man came into the room it was as if an electric light had suddenly been switched on inside her.
And now Romilly’s declaration that he could only marry a poor woman had further agitated Lady Hanbridge. Mrs. Cunningham was quite well off at the moment, but it was well known that under the terms of her »husband’s will her income would stop the moment she remarried. Romilly could not be unaware of this fact ... How could she save her son from such a disaster? It would be no good pointing out to him Daphne Cunningham’s true character. Lady Hanbridge knew enough about men to realize that they will not be warned. They are always so absurdly sure of their own judgment. Even if he were aware that there was something amiss with Daphne he would believe that it was nothing which his
Influence could not cure. Men always imagine that they can change women ... How much was Romilly attached to her, that was the question? Was he really in love with her? It might be imagined that one would know such a thing about one’s own son, but Lady Hanbridge had to own to herself that close as she was to Romilly in so many ways, and dearly as she loved him, she did not really know him. His innermost heart and mind were a mystery to her. And yet she probably knew him better than anyone else in the world—certainly better than his father, who always came to her for guidance where the children were concerned—better even than Philippa, attached as the two of them were to each other.
He had told her something about himself, though, this morning which she had not known before—this feeling he had of wanting to give ever
ything to his wife. But what if he should be put to the test? What if he did fall in love with Erika? Would he still feel the same? Would it really be an insuperable barrier between them? She wondered. She herself, and her husband, had found Erika most extraordinarily attractive. Was there not quite a good chance that he might fall in love with her, thrown so much together as they would be this week? It no doubt depended upon how much he was in love with Daphne Cunningham ... Oh, if only she knew that, if only she knew.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALL the others were assembled in the portico having drinks before starting out when Poppy put in an appearance. She was late because of this indecision as to what to wear, and without Florence’s assistance she would probably never have been ready at all. As it was she was flushed and flustered; her heels seemed higher than ever and she felt sure that the large floppy hat she had on would blow off at the slightest breeze. The dress she had finally decided upon was of beige chiffon, the bodice pin-tucked and the skirt billowing out over a buckram petticoat. The hat was of beige straw, the shoes of beige kid, and she carried a bag and very long gloves of beige suede. The only relieving touches of color came from a large aquamarine and diamond brooch at her neck and an aquamarine and diamond bracelet. These jewels Florence had insisted on her wearing and she felt ridiculously overdressed and extremely uncomfortable—even more so when she saw that Nicole was in a simple grey poplin in which she looked enchanting, and that Philippa had on a flowered cotton frock.
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