‘Oh yes, rather,’ said Sir Merlin. ‘That would be fine. As long as it’s not that German stuff you all drink now. Buddy something or other.’
‘Do you mean Budweiser?’ said Tilly. ‘That’s American. But this is Dutch. Would that be all right?’
‘Yes, fine. Some of our finest allies, the Dutch. Thank you very much. Take the top off for me, would you?’
‘It’s really kind of you to come and meet me,’ said Tilly, handing him the beer.
‘Oh, not at all. Relief to get away as a matter of fact. God, there’s a todo going on at the house. Poor old Jamie.’
‘Well, I suppose it is worth a bit of a to-do,’ said Tilly, grinning at him. ‘I mean it is Cressida’s wedding day and –’
‘Lot of fuss about nothing if you ask me,’ said Sir Merlin.
‘Oh, Sir Merlin, you can’t say that, surely.’
‘Indeed I can. I can and I do. Your grammar is a little at fault as well. Look, my dear, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll know nothing is really very important. Twenty years after some event that you thought catastrophic, you’re wondering what it was all about. Or you can see it wasn’t catastrophic at all.’ He took another swig of beer, looked at Tilly thoughtfully. ‘Give you an example. All my young life I dreamed of going in the army. My grandfather was a field-marshal, Father was a general; place all ready for me at Sandhurst. Got turned down at the medical. Dicky ticker, they said. Although I can’t say it’s ever bothered me since. Well, I was very upset at the time. I’d have fallen on my sword if I had one. But now I can’t think of anything worse. I’d never have really travelled, never have learnt what I’ve learnt, carried on seeing the native as fuzzy-wuzzies instead of fine, civilized chaps. More civilized than we are, most of them. Well, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. Where are you from? Somalia by the look of you.’
‘Brixton really,’ said Tilly, ‘but yes, my dad was from Somalia.’
‘Thought so. Fine people. Anyway, you mark my words, Miss Mills, in a few years you’ll be wondering why on earth there was such a fuss over this. Oliver’s a tough young nut. He’ll get over it.’
‘Well – I suppose so,’ said Tilly slightly doubtfully. ‘And please call me Tilly.’
‘Right you are. You haven’t got another of those beers, have you? It was jolly good. Excellent people, the Dutch. Excellent. Lived in an attic in Amsterdam for a year or so with six of them. Never a cross word.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Well, it was in the war. Had a little sailing boat, made a few trips over to Dunkirk, you’ll know about that I trust. Picked up some chappie who had a Dutch wife. Jewish. She was with her parents just outside Amsterdam, he was desperate to get her home to England. Well, I pulled a few strings you know, managed to get over there and went to see her. Nice girl. Wonderful people, put me up. Just leaving with the girl when the Gestapo started on the village. Local baker let us hide in a little attic, above his grain store. Had a hidden door. Just for a few days, we thought. Well the few days turned into a few months. Pretty exciting. I have to tell you I enjoyed it. Got a bit restless, but we made out. Wonderful fellow the baker. They – well, they shot him in the end. And his wife. And found the attic, dragged the family out, put them on a train to Bergen-Belsen. All dead, I’m afraid. Well, when you’ve seen things like that some damn silly girl running off in her wedding frock doesn’t seem very important.’
‘No,’ said Tilly. ‘No, I can see that.’ She was completely engrossed in the story. ‘Why didn’t they take you as well?’
‘I was out on the roof. We’d made a sort of trapdoor, took it in turns to climb out each day, get some fresh air. It was my turn. Felt terrible about it, but giving myself up wasn’t going to help anybody. After that I made my way to the border, got out. I had a very good German passport some johnny at the Foreign Office had done for me. And I speak their filthy language of course. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the Dutch. Lovely people. Survived that terrible winter, never broke. How did you meet young Rufus then?’
‘Through Harriet,’ said Tilly. ‘And Mungo and Oliver. In Paris. Um – did you say Cressida had run off in her wedding dress?’
‘Well, she took it with her. Don’t suppose she was actually wearing it.’
‘Why on earth should she have done that, I wonder?’
‘God knows. Dreadful behaviour altogether. Always thought she was spoilt. Harriet’s worth ten of her. Work for Harriet, do you? Bit of sewing I suppose?’
‘Um – not exactly,’ said Tilly carefully. ‘I’m a model.’
‘Oh are you? What, walk up and down on the – what’s it called – catwalk, that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Had a girlfriend who was a model once. In London, just before the war. Worked for the chappie who makes clothes for the Queen. Norman Hartnell. Never let me near her, in case I creased her frock. You don’t strike me too much like that. What do you think of Harriet?’
‘I think she’s great,’ said Tilly. ‘Really great. And clever too. She’s going to be really big.’
‘You mean successful? I think so too. Gave her a bit of money, you know, helped get her going.’
‘That was kind.’
‘Yes, well, haven’t got any nippers of my own. Always had time for Harriet. Took her travelling with me a bit. Wouldn’t have taken Cressida. Not in a million years. Not surprised she’s done this between you and me. Not surprised at all.’
Tilly looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Really? I don’t know her very well. I only met her once or twice.’
‘Not worth meeting much more often. Not for a girl like you anyway. Only thing that ever impressed me was that she played a fine game of poker.’
‘Poker!’ said Tilly. She thought about Cressida, with her soft sweet manner, her slightly helpless charm, and tried to imagine her at a poker game. It was almost impossible. ‘That’s amazing. When did you discover that?’
‘Oh – a couple of years ago. We were stuck in Charles de Gaulle Airport. I was on my way back from somewhere or other, stopped over to see Harriet and Cressida was there staying with her, said she’d travel back with me. Well, you know what the French are like, go on strike as soon as look at you. We were there all night, made friends with a couple of young chaps and one of them suggested a game. I expected Cressida to say she couldn’t play, but she was very good. Didn’t win of course, I always do that, but –’
‘You do?’ said Tilly, grinning at him. ‘You played with Mungo Buchan?’
‘Of course I have. Many times. He did beat me once, I think. Anyway, she asked me not to mention to the family she could play. She said she’d been learning and was planning to surprise them at Christmas or some such nonsense. What do you think of Mungo then?’
‘He’s cool,’ said Tilly.
‘I take it that’s a compliment. I agree with you. A most interesting young man.’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ said Tilly slowly. She was still trying to imagine Cressida playing poker. ‘Yeah, he is.’
‘So how do you fit into all this?’
‘I told you. I know Harry.’
Careful, Ottoline, don’t even think about the other connection; not now.
‘Rufus seems very fond of you.’
‘Yeah, he is. And I’m very fond of him,’ she added with just a touch of defensiveness.
‘Good,’ said Sir Merlin. ‘Wouldn’t want him hurt. Very fond of his mother,’ he added slightly unexpectedly.
It was an exhausting drive. The novelty of being in an open 1930s convertible rather than an air-conditioned limo very soon wore off. The fumes and the noise on the M4 were appalling, and as the car never went above 45mph, the journey took a long time. Tilly drifted into a confused agitated sleep, and woke to hear Sir Merlin singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ very loudly. ‘Have to sing,’ he explained. ‘Only way I can keep awake. Sing with me, won’t you?’
Tilly didn’t know many of the songs in his repertoire, so they
settled for ‘London’s Burning’ and ‘Ten Green Bottles’. She was inordinately relieved when they turned off the motorway and he announced they were almost there. She was to be taken, Sir Merlin told her, to where Rufus was staying, at the Beaumonts’, old friends of both the Forrests and the Headleigh Draytons. ‘And after that I think I’ll head over to the hotel where young Theo’s staying. Get a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘I’d much rather go there,’ said Tilly. ‘Can’t get along with these country types.’
‘Nor me, my dear. Can’t stand them. But Rufus has told me to take you there, so I have to, I’m afraid. You’ll like Susie, though. Lovely girl. Lots of guts. Ah, here we are, our turning. Hasn’t she done well, the old darling?’
It took Tilly a few moments to realize he was referring to the Lagonda rather than Rufus’s mother.
Rufus was standing in the Beaumonts’ drive. He looked rather pale, but cheerful.
‘Tilly! It’s so wonderful to see you. You seem to have got here very quickly.’
‘Sir Merlin and I made good time,’ said Tilly tactfully, getting out of the car and kissing him briefly, feeling her heart lurch as always at the sight and sense of him and marvelling as always that she could feel such tenderness and such passion for someone who was so patently a product of everything she disliked and disapproved of. And thinking, too, that if she went to New York they would be forcibly separated for a great deal of the time, and that would be at one and the same time almost unbearable and a very neat way out of her dilemma. ‘It was very kind of you to bring me,’ she said, hauling herself back to the present, holding out her hand to Sir Merlin. ‘Thank you. I enjoyed it. I hope we meet again.’
‘Oh, I shall make sure we do. I enjoyed it too. Good afternoon, my dear. Everything all right, Rufus?’
‘Oh – well, you know, sir. As well as can be expected. Everyone’s a bit hysterical.’
‘Lot of silly fuss,’ said Sir Merlin, turning back to his car. ‘I’m off to have a stiff drink and a nap. See you later, boy. Give my love to your mother.’
‘Yes, I will, sir. And thank you again.’
‘Pleasure. You’ve got a good one there,’ he said, indicating Tilly.
‘I know,’ said Rufus, giving Merlin his oddly sweet smile. He took Tilly’s hand and led her towards the house.
‘Do we have to go in?’
‘Well – just for a bit. Mum’s here. I’d really like you to meet her. And I can tell you what’s been happening. After that, we can go and see Oliver. He was so pleased you were coming.’
‘OK.’
They went into the house. Tilly having admired the exterior, which was large and modestly grand, was amazed by what she found inside, an extraordinary blend of ripped sofa covers, kicked-about paintwork and what were clearly extremely expensive bits of furniture dotted about. A great many silver-framed photographs of children in various stages of development stood on a large table in the hall and what was obviously a valuable oil painting of a woman in a red crinoline hung above the stairs. The stairs themselves were covered in extremely theadbare carpeting, the floor of the hall was stone, and of the drawing room very unpolished wood. A woman with wild grey hair held back from a pleasantly plain face by a velvet Alice band came down the stairs. She was wearing wellingtons, a floral, full-skirted Laura Ashley dress and a sleeveless quilted jacket. She held out a very rough hand with rather dirty nails to Tilly.
‘How do you do. You must be Tilly. Jolly nice to meet you. So good of you to come all this way.’
Tilly looked at her in horror. If this was Rufus’s idea of a pretty, fun person, then they really did have no future together. She smiled slightly nervously and said, ‘No problem.’ The heat, the long journey and her anxiety made her suddenly feel rather dizzy.
‘Now what about a cup of tea? My goodness, I’ve made a lot today. Rufus dear, bring Tilly into the kitchen – you don’t mind a kitchen tea do you, Tilly? Careful, dear, of that dog, she’s blind and deaf and gets a bit snappy if she’s startled. Now then, I expect you’re hungry, that drive with Merlin must have been jolly tough, I’ve got some cake or would you prefer a sandwich or something? – William, darling, I’ve told you not to bring bridles into the house, take it out to the tackroom.’
‘But Mum –’
That was funny, thought Tilly, she could have sworn Rufus’s small brother was called Tom.
‘Take it out at once. Now, Tilly, would you like China or Indian?’
‘Indian please,’ said Tilly, ‘with lots of sugar.’ She sat down thankfully at the huge wooden table, which was covered in newspapers, mugs, letters, a pile of snapshots, a dog’s lead and a lot of crumbs, removing something excruciatingly unfriendly from beneath her buttocks which proved to be what looked like a cross between a metal brush and a comb.
‘Great,’ said William, swooping on it. ‘My curry comb. It’s all right, Mum, I’m going.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Dreadful child,’ she added, smiling at his disappearing back. ‘Seems to have been home forever already and we’re only three weeks into the holidays. Rufus dear, tea for you? Now – ah, Susie, there you are.’
And into the room, smiling, came a woman who Tilly could indeed recognize as extremely pretty and who could quite clearly be tremendous fun: a woman with dark brown hair, tied back loosely from a perfect oval face, large dark eyes, perfect, almost unlined skin. She was wearing beige shorts (revealing very tanned, very good legs) and a white T-shirt and she looked about thirty.
‘I’m Susie Headleigh Drayton,’ she said, holding out her hand to Tilly. ‘How do you do? It’s lovely to meet you and it’s so nice of you to rush over from Paris. All the boys seemed to think you would make them feel better. I can quite see why.’
Tilly smiled back at her, took her hand, knew she was going to like her immensely, knew also at once why Rufus was as he was. ‘I can’t really,’ she said, ‘but I’ll do my best.’
‘What were you doing over there? The shows?’
‘No, they’re over. It was a photographic session for Sept Jours. Wedding dresses,’ she added, after a pause.
‘How ironic,’ said Susie lightly. ‘On such a day. One of my favourite magazines that. Do you enjoy modelling?’
‘Yeah, I love it,’ said Tilly briefly.
‘I did a bit when I was young. I was with an agency that’s gone now, called Peter Hope Lumley. I never really got going because I wasn’t tall enough, but I did a few shows and lots of head shots. Mostly with Barry Lategan, does that mean anything to you?’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t work much now,’ said Tilly, both impressed and irritated that Rufus hadn’t mentioned this crucial piece of information about his mother. ‘He was great, though. The guy I was working with today, Mick McGrath, he has a kind of shrine to Lategan in his studio in Paris.’
‘Really? He was such a sweet man. I loved him. Anyway, I never got very far. But it taught me all kinds of useful things, like how to do my hair and put on false eyelashes, and I developed huge muscles in my arms, carrying my bags around, all those shoes, my goodness –’
‘You don’t have to do any of that these days,’ said Tilly. ‘They have hairdressers and make-up artists and the fashion editors bring everything, down to the last pair of tights.’
‘So I understand. Aren’t you lucky! Well, I’m sure they make a much better job of it than we did.’
God, she was nice, thought Tilly. Really really nice. She wanted to get to know her: properly know her. She sat there trying not to stare at Susie, at her lovely, fine features, her curvy mouth, her slender, young girl’s body, and as she looked, Susie looked back at her, and Tilly saw within the depths of the velvety dark eyes an odd expression, something close to wariness, to anxiety. And she noticed something else too: a heavy shadowing beneath the eyes, a tautness to the jaw when the smile relaxed. There was something going on here, Tilly thought, some unhappiness beyond the disappearance of a close friend’s daughter. She was intrigued, and more than intrigued –
concerned. She smiled at Susie, and Susie smiled back, warmly, sweetly, and Tilly thought, in recognition of her concern.
‘Mum, unless there’s anything you want me to do, I thought we’d go over and see Mungo and Oliver,’ said Rufus. ‘Mungo’s running out of positive thinking and wants to talk to Tilly and Oliver’s in a very weird state apparently. His mother’s totally freaked out and his dad’s gone for a long walk.’
‘How extremely sensible,’ said Susie. ‘About the best thing he could have done, I would think. If I was Josh I’d spend my whole life going for long walks. That woman is exceedingly irritating.’
‘Fearfully glam though,’ said Janet Beaumont, coming over to the table with four cracked mugs, a milk bottle and an exquisite silver teapot. ‘Wish I had a figure like that. You have of course, Susie. Lucky you. How about some cake? Tilly, what about you?’
‘Mustn’t,’ said Tilly, ‘it looks delicious, though,’ she added politely, eyeing the wonderfully solid, large iced chocolate cake on the dresser. ‘Is Harry around? I’d love to see her.’
‘Who?’ said Susie. ‘Oh, you mean Harriet. Yes, she’s on her way over. So please wait for her, Rufus. Poor girl, she’s worn out, trying to console her mother and keep calm herself. She’s so fond of Cressida, of course.’
There was something about the ‘of course’ that struck Tilly rather forcibly; she looked at Susie sharply. But Susie was relaxed as she looked back at her, smiled her lovely, radiant smile.
‘How well do you know Cressida?’ she asked.
‘Oh, not very well,’ said Tilly. ‘Harry’s my friend. She was how I met Rufus.’
‘Well, bully for Harry,’ said Susie lightly. ‘I have to say she is my favourite of those two girls, although of course one shouldn’t be saying any such thing. Not that Cress isn’t adorable, but Harriet has so much gumption. The way she’s built up that business of hers, almost singlehanded, I really do admire her. And she had a tough childhood –’
‘Really?’ said Tilly. She thought of her own childhood and wondered what tough meant to Susie Headleigh Drayton.
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