Daisychain Summer

  ‘Well, that makes it all right,’ Drew beamed, because he liked Keth and didn’t want him to be left out. ‘But we can’t call ourselves the Sutton Six.’

  ‘No,’ said Tatiana, who had been trying for ages to get a word in.

  ‘And we can’t be the Secret Six because that’d be too childish for words,’ said Bas, who was almost as tall as Keth and only seven months younger.

  ‘Then why can’t we be the Clan, like mother calls us?’ Drew hesitated.

  ‘The clan! That’s it! And we’ll not tell the grown-ups and we’ll stick together and meet here, at Rowangarth, as often as we can. And it’s gotta be a secret.’ Kitty fixed the smallest Sutton with a warning glance. ‘Okay, Tatty? No telling?’

  ‘Oh, no …’ This, thought Tatiana tremulously, was the very best day of her life, and if Mama ever again said that Nanny must come with her to Rowangarth to play, she would scream until she was sick on her new buckled shoes!

  ‘And no talking in Russian, behind our backs?’

  ‘No. I promise.’ Of course not. They wouldn’t understand what she was saying, anyway.

  ‘Then that’s fine, Tatty. Now I guess we’d better get back to Rowangarth for tea. Best not be late, or you’ll not be allowed to play here again,’ Bas warned.

  ‘Then let’s run,’ Tatiana pleaded.

  ‘Come on, Bas. You take one hand and I’ll take the other,’ Keth grinned. ‘We’ll go like the wind.’

  They grasped Tatiana’s hands, then ran whooping back, with Drew taking the lead and Kitty and Daisy giggling and skipping behind. And Tatiana, feet hardly touching the grass, eyes closed with delirious joy, laughed as she stumbled and slipped and was the centre of everyone’s attention.

  Now she belonged to the Clan, and what Grandmother Petrovska and Grandmother Sutton would say if they could see her now made her shiver with delight.

  All at once it didn’t matter that she didn’t have a father or that Grandmother Sutton made her shake with fear. Nothing at all mattered but the Clan and Keth and Bas bearing her along with them.

  And if Nanny sent her to bed without supper for coming home with her white socks grass-stained and her hair ribbons untied and her pretty starched frock creased and dirty – which it was – then she wouldn’t care. Such was her sudden happiness that she wished that this day would never end and that Bas and Kitty could stay for ever and ever.

  They couldn’t, of course, but oh – wasn’t it worth a wish?

  26

  June, 1931

  ‘I don’t suppose I could beg lunch, Helen.’ Edward Sutton accepted the coffee cup, stirring it thoughtfully. ‘I’d be so grateful.’

  ‘But of course you could. Julia is in London and Drew is having lunch with Nathan whilst she is away. I do so dislike eating alone – but is something wrong, Edward?’

  ‘It is. Clemmy!’

  ‘But I thought she was making an effort. Yesterday, when I saw her, she seemed quite well.’

  That was yesterday. This morning, a letter came from Kentucky and goodness only knows I don’t wish to sound disloyal, but –’

  ‘But?’ Helen prompted, gently.

  ‘Albert and family intend coming – would like to stay five weeks. It’s more than generous of Amelia – Albert isn’t at all keen to spend so much time at Pendenys, and I can’t say I blame him. Amelia has a strong sense of family, though. She feels that Bas and Kitty should be close to their English roots; she’s the most fair-minded person I know – apart from yourself, of course.’

  ‘Flatterer. But tell me about Clemmy?’

  ‘She resents Albert. He’s happily married, you see, and has a son. Elliot didn’t. Albert is alive and to Clemmy’s way of thinking, he has no right to be. No one has the right to life when Elliot is dead. Almost six years after, and she’s still unbalanced about it. I tell you, Helen –’ He gave a small, hopeless shrug.

  ‘Hush, now. We must try to understand Clemmy’s great affection for Elliot. She –’

  ‘Affection!’ Edward set down his cup with a clatter. ‘It was – is – obsession. Clemmy could never see wrong in him, or if she did, she would never admit it. She ruined him. As soon as she read Amelia’s letter she threw it down, said she wasn’t feeling well and went to her room. No lunch, she said. She’ll be shut in the tower, now, for God knows how long and just when I thought she was beginning to make headway.

  ‘But she needs to be miserable, Helen. The letter from Kentucky was just the excuse she was looking for. I’m sorry, but it’s got to be said!’

  ‘Edward – don’t get upset. Not on this beautiful day? I shall visit Clemmy as soon as Julia is back and I’m sure that by then she’ll be over whatever is troubling her. Try to think that soon, Bas and Kitty will be with you.’ Helen reached for photographs from the table at her side. ‘Just look at our young ones, Edward. A new generation – ours, to watch growing up. The Clan, Julia calls them, and soon they’ll all be together again.’

  ‘I must say they’re a handsome lot.’ Edward’s pleasure was genuine. Bas, his grandson, brown-eyed, serious; Kitty, Bas’s sister, with her mother’s violet eyes and black, curly hair – a throwback, that hair, from Mary Anne? And Drew, grey-eyed like his grandfather. ‘Drew is very much like my brother,’ Edward nodded. ‘John would have been proud of him – proud of Giles, too.’

  ‘True,’ Helen smiled. ‘Yet I have always thought that Drew is quite like you, Edward – but then, you and John were brothers.

  ‘Hmm.’ Edward studied Tatiana’s likeness and a fierce proudness gazed back at him. ‘Little Tatty isn’t a bit like Elliot, you know.’ Tatiana had inherited her mother’s lustrous brown hair, her thick-lashed eyes. ‘Pity that Clemmy can’t take to the little girl. Not yet nine, yet she speaks English, near-perfect French – from her governess, I suppose – and Russian. I’m glad Anna decided on a governess for Tatiana and got rid of that nanny. So possessive, she was …’

  ‘You have three beautiful grandchildren, Edward. I have only Drew,’ Helen admonished. ‘But he is such a comfort. It was as if he was meant to be after all that happened to Rowangarth in the war.’

  ‘There is Alice’s child, don’t forget. She is very close to you both.’

  ‘Daisy is a delight.’ Helen’s finger picked out the elflike face, the impudent grin. ‘What a pity photographs must be so dull. A colour painting would show them all so well. Daisy’s hair, for instance – it’s like pale gold and such blue eyes. She and Drew accept they are brother and sister, of course – well, half so – and are very protective, each of the other. Neither is what you would call an only child.’

  ‘And the other one – the tall lad?’ Edward pointed to Keth, standing a little aside of the group. ‘A bright youngster, I believe?’

  ‘Very brainy. He and Drew are close. They played together as small children when Alice lived in Hampshire. It’s wonderful that they all seem to gather at Rowangarth. Julia says they’re an unruly lot, but she’s very possessive of them all. Her Clan, you know. It’s so good for Drew to have someone close. Julia and I could have spoiled him between us.

  ‘But give me a minute to let Mary know there’ll be an extra place for lunch, then I want you to come with me to the orchid house. There’s such a show, there – pity we can’t snap them in colour. The ones John gave me when we were married are particularly beautiful. When my wedding orchids flower well, I always think Rowangarth will have a good year. Julia carried them at her wedding, too, if you remember, just as I did when I married John.’

  ‘I remember. I was his best man and I envied him his Helen. But let’s take a turn in the garden? It is so peaceful, here. I’m feeling better already.

  ‘I hope Drew’s bride will carry John’s orchids, too.’ Helen opened the French door, stepping out onto the terrace. ‘It would establish a tradition, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Helen! Drew is only twelve!’

  ‘I know, but he’s growing up.’ She linked her arm in Edward’s. ‘You’ll have heard that Nathan thinks he
should go to real school, now? It’s almost certain we’ll send him to Creesby Grammar, when the autumn term starts. He and Keth can go together – Daisy, too, perhaps. I believe Alice and Dwerryhouse are thinking of sending her there.’

  ‘So you won’t be sending Drew to Sedbergh? I’d have thought he would have followed Giles and Robert.’

  ‘No. I lost too many of their young years. Drew won’t be sent away. University, if he wants it, but not boarding school. And we aren’t being possessive,’ she hastened, ‘but Drew is happy at Rowangarth and his happiness is all that counts.’

  ‘Then Drew is lucky. I very much doubt if I could say that of any of my sons. Albert is happy, now, but he had to run away from home to find it. And Nathan, I suppose, is all right in his own way, though he ought to be thinking of getting married. Isn’t natural to live as he’s living. And as for Elliot – well, he was never happy. He was – well, he was Elliot …

  ‘Mind, there must be a lot of men lying in French cemeteries willing to change lots with them. This country of ours, Helen – it’s so unequal. The rich – us – manage to hang onto what we’ve got, but the poor are having a bad time of it. Such unemployment. Dole money cut and Public Assistance inspectors forcing their way into people’s homes, making sure they have nothing more they can sell. It’s monstrous! Just what did those soldiers of ours die for?’

  ‘Truly awful, Edward, but there is nothing you and I can do about it except see to it that those who depend on us for a living are well cared for and make sure none of the elderly in Holdenby are without warmth and food. I try, you know. I visit all the time. But do look on the bright side, dear? All women have a vote, now. We’ll change things! Now – let’s look at the orchids?’ To see something so beautiful gave her hope for the future; made her sure that somewhere – though where, she wasn’t exactly sure – was a God who was merciful and kind and who would, in His own good time, sort out the terrible mess. ‘And if we should see Catchpole, Edward, don’t forget to admire them. He’s more obsessed with those orchids than his father was. And tomorrow Julia will be home and I shall come to Pendenys and cheer Clemmy up, so do please smile?’

  The waiter at the Ritz coughed discreetly, then bent to whisper softly. Mark Townsend pushed back his chair.

  ‘Sorry, Julia. Please excuse me? Probably a client. Won’t be long.’

  Julia nodded, then looked around her at the diners. Mostly rich, of course; the clothes they wore, their jewellery, their aplomb proclaimed it. Exquisite, extravagant gowns in heavily beaded silk or startling creations in lamé.

  The dress Julia wore was neither of those. Alice had made it ages ago from rose taffeta and a piece of gold lace. Against the glitter of short dresses and long cigarette holders, Julia could well have felt dowdy; would have, had it been important.

  Money. The opulent dining room reeked of it, which was sad, Julia frowned, when a dividing line ran cruelly through the country. On the one hand, those who danced, dined and did without nothing; on the other, the have-nots. Andrew would have been so angry …

  She took a sip of coffee, but it had gone cold. Sighing, she lit a cigarette. She smoked too much. Andrew would not have liked that, either, but Andrew was dead.

  ‘Someone who thinks I’m available twenty-four hours a day.’ Mark returned to smile an apology.

  ‘Nothing serious?’

  ‘I don’t know. The minute I picked up the phone, the line went dead.’

  ‘But how did they know you were here?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, though it can’t have been important. I waited at the desk for a minute, but they didn’t ring back.’

  They didn’t ring back, he frowned. She had said, ‘Mark?’, then hung up. She had known where he would be. The call, perhaps, had been to let him know.

  ‘My coffee is cold, Mark. I don’t suppose I could have another cup?’

  You could. And we were talking about Drew …?’

  ‘Mm. He’s going to Grammar School, and looking forward to it. A child who has been reared by two doting women and privately tutored, thinks a classroom full of boys and girls will be nothing less than wonderful. And he’s talkie mad, now.’ A small miracle, the talking pictures. No more reading words on a screen. Now, the actors actually spoke! ‘He and Keth and Daisy go to the children’s matinee every Saturday afternoon. They’re all talkie mad, but that’s the young ones for you,’ she smiled indulgently.

  ‘And you, Julia? How is your world?’

  ‘I’m fine. Mother is amazingly well, Drew is a delight and Alice lives only a few hundred yards away. I’m contented, I suppose.’

  Contented. All a widow could ever hope for. Sometimes she even felt vague pleasure, being with Mark. Mark wanted her with his eyes, but never touched her because he was still in love with his dead wife. That, Julia thought wryly, made her feel safe. Safe from ever falling in love again.

  ‘Contented. That wasn’t exactly what I meant, and I think you know it,’ he admonished softly.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said flatly, ‘and if I’m to be brutally honest, I suppose that nothing changes – except that I’m learning to accept what I can’t change. But surely, Mark, you know what it’s like? Don’t you sometimes get lonely, too?’

  She had asked him, long ago, if there was a woman in his life, and he had replied, briefly, that once there had been. In the war, he’d said, and there still were times when she coloured his thinking, which was a peculiar way, she remembered thinking, of putting it. ‘Just when I think I am out of the woods, something happens,’ was the way he’d put it.

  That day she had apologized, red-cheeked, vowing never again to speak of his wife though sometimes she wondered what had parted them. An illness, had it been, or one of the air raids on London? But clearly he hadn’t wanted to talk about it – apparently still didn’t want to because he ignored her question, turning instead to call a waiter and ask for more coffee.

  ‘There now,’ he smiled. ‘Another cup, then I must see you home, give you back to Sparrow. And I’m sorry if I was a little abrupt, but I’m only human, Julia. It’s different for a man, you see.’

  ‘Different? Women don’t have feelings, then?’ She drained her brandy glass at a gulp, then set it firmly on the table. ‘And I really must go. Sorry, but I won’t wait for the coffee. Sparrow will be waiting up for me and I’m catching an early train tomorrow.’

  ‘Julia – don’t go back?’ He reached across the table, taking her hand. ‘Stay another night?’

  ‘No!’ Too hastily, she pulled her hand away. Tonight, something had happened to their easy relationship. Tonight, Mark had abandoned caution, declared tacitly yet without any doubt, that the waiting game was coming to an end. Stay not another day, he’d said, but another night. ‘Sorry, Mark. Must go back tomorrow. It’s Daisy’s birthday, you see – Alice’s too. Nice, isn’t it, both of them sharing a birthday?’

  She was talking wildly, caught off balance, and they both knew it because he rose smiling to his feet and pulled back her chair.

  ‘My dear – it’s all right; it really is.’ He picked up her wrap, draping it over her shoulders.

  ‘Mark?’ Pleading for his understanding, her eyes held his. ‘I have enjoyed tonight. Thank you for being so very kind.’

  And she had enjoyed being with him. The theatre, the supper afterwards had been a rare treat and quite perfect, but for one thing. The man she was with had not been Andrew.

  ‘What I want to know,’ Mary Strong grumbled, tight-lipped, ‘is how much longer Will is going to shilly-shally. Nine years we’ve been walking out – four years since he gave me a ring – and still we’re no further forward! He’ll be getting his marching orders if he don’t buck himself up!’

  The parlourmaid tossed her head defiantly because the odds favoured Will. Women of her generation outnumbered men by two to one so it was no use her talking like that, though knowing it didn’t help when all she wanted was to be Mrs William Stubbs and live in the rooms above the coach-house.r />
  ‘I don’t know why you’re in such a rush to get wed.’ Peevishly Tilda laid aside her newspaper. Tilda Tewk had long since accepted that her knight in shining armour had galloped past. Her beloved David’s picture she had removed from the kitchen mantelpiece when public opinion decreed that, now the war was over, the Prince of Wales would surely be taking a wife.

  Not that he’d been in all that much of a hurry. Talk had had it that he’d wanted the little duchess but she’d turned him down in favour of Prince Albert. It had been rumoured, too, that he’d then set his heart on a lady of breeding called Rosemary, and the King and Queen had been obliged to remind their reluctant son that nothing less than a princess would do.

  After her prince, Tilda found all other men hard to love; even Rudolph Valentino came a poor second though women still wept to recall his sudden, sad death.

  ‘I did hear it said,’ Tilda set the kettle to boil, ‘that the doctor was called to Denniston House today.’ Tilda liked the new doctor. Young and fair and two years spent serving king and country in France. Doctor Ewart Pryce, said the brass plate outside the house where once Doctor James lived.

  ‘And who’s badly, then?’ Cook asked. Not Countess Anna, that was certain. On Sunday, at church, she had looked nothing short of beautiful in a rose silk costume with matching shoes and the bonniest hat you ever did see. And the lass was devout, considering she hadn’t been reared Church of England. Never missed a Sunday, nor a saint’s day. If she had been given to uncharitable thoughts, Mrs Shaw could have been forgiven for thinking that Mr Elliot’s widow was interested in the Reverend, though she was almost certain the law of the land didn’t allow a man to covet his brother’s widow.

  ‘It’s Miss Tatiana,’ Mary supplied, much to Tilda’s annoyance. ‘She’s got measles. Will had it from Deniston chauffeur that you can’t put a pinhead between the spots. Poor little thing.’