by Mary Wesley
The Jonathans said, ‘Lovely boy, lovely,’ and, ‘My dear! What virility,’ and were rewarded by a flash of Ebro’s enormous teeth.
Pilar was also dressed in black but had stuck a flower behind her ear. As she spooned soup into Hector’s plate, he said, ‘Calypso and I have been looking forward to this all week. Will you sit with us? Move up, Calypso, and make room.’
Henry stood at the head of the table while his guests arranged themselves. The Bullivants sat together, as did also the Jonathans, but Antonia gestured to Matthew to sit opposite her, next to Maisie. He did so with ill grace, while he watched Ebro take the chair which might have been his. Barbara, dropping quickly into a chair next to Henry, almost excluded James, who was only able to sit near her after asking the Jonathans to ‘move down a bit’. With the soup served, Pilar and Ebro sat among the guests and Trask, shedding his coat (‘too tight, too hot’), joined them in his shirt sleeves.
When Henry sat down Barbara murmured, ‘I shall try and console you for the absent skeleton,’ and brushed his thigh with the hand which held her table napkin. ‘Oh, there goes my napkin,’ she exclaimed, dropping it between them. As Henry made no attempt to retrieve it for her, she leaned down to pick it up, balancing herself by a tight grip on Henry’s thigh. He willy-nilly got a waft of scented shampoo from her freshly-washed hair as she leaned with her head almost in his lap. Edging away towards the empty chair she had referred to, Henry stood up. ‘I forgot the candles. Will you help me light them, Ebro?’ Barbara, flushing pink, was left to regain her seat by herself.
His guests watched Henry circle the table, tall and mysterious, lighting the candles in the chandeliers to bring velvety darkness at their backs, while beyond the candle-light Ebro moved quietly on the grass to light lanterns hanging from the branches of flowering trees further down the garden.
As Ebro regained his place one of the Jonathans said, ‘Instant darkness, how delightful.’
Maisie Bullivant exclaimed, ‘Perfect for footsie-footsie. Who am I sitting next to?’
‘Your husband,’ said her husband.
‘And me,’ said Matthew, shrinking away from this flirtatious approach. ‘Matthew Stephenson.’
Maisie said, ‘Oh, oh, Matthew Stephenson.’
‘Watch out, she is wearing lethal heels,’ said Antonia sitting opposite.
‘The seating arrangements are not very formal, are they?’ said Maisie. ‘It would have been more formal in Henry’s mother’s day. In her day I would not have been stuck next to Peter, would I?’
‘Don’t you like your husband, then?’ asked Antonia pertly.
Matthew frowned. I shan’t let her speak so freely to older women when we are married, he thought.
‘Of course I like him,’ said Maisie. ‘But I like things done right; it’s etiquette.’
‘What a stickler you are, Maisie. Would you like us all to change around?’ asked Jonathan. ‘You might get stuck next to me,’ he said, laughing.
‘Some of us already have changed around.’ Maisie looked pointedly at Barbara. Then, feeling uneasy in the presence of these young and pretty girls, she picked up her spoon and addressed her soup, murmuring, ‘Pilar’s soup, wonderful.’ She swallowed the word as she eyed Antonia and wished that Peter, instead of just sitting there, would say something to restore her social courage, which was inclining towards the wobbly.
Then Antonia, smiling at the older woman, said, ‘When you need to kick Matthew, please take care. He has delicate ankles.’
‘Lucky man,’ said Maisie gratefully, ‘mine are terrible. Thick. I wish—’ I wish, she thought, that I was as young and confident as this girl; she must be thinking me as thick as my ankles. She sighed and ate her soup and wondered what to say next.
Antonia took stock of Maisie. There was something in the woman which reminded her of her mother; she tried to pin-point it. Too much eye shadow? Someone should tell her. Did her husband squash her in private, as her father squashed her mother? No, it was her age, the age when features no longer fitted, noses grew larger and chins doubled. I shan’t allow it to happen to me, she thought; I shall keep my looks as Calypso Grant has kept hers. She smiled across the table at Maisie.
Maisie said, ‘When we were introduced I did not quite catch your name.’ The girl was lovely, there was no need to be scared of her.
‘Antonia,’ said Antonia. ‘Antonia Lowther, and that’s Matthew Stephenson next to you. We are engaged to be married.’
‘Oh!’ cried Maisie, delighted. ‘Oh, how nice. Antonia Lowther, of course. Your father is that MP one is always reading about, the very red one, almost a communist. How interesting.’
‘No!’ said Matthew sharply. ‘No. Antonia’s father is in steel.’ He stressed the word.
‘A relation, perhaps?’ Unconsciously Maisie belittled Antonia’s parent. ‘An uncle or something?’
‘No relation,’ said Matthew firmly, ‘none at all. He’s Lowther’s Steel.’
Maisie looked discouraged.
Antonia said, ‘Not even a “something”, I’m afraid.’ There was no need for Matthew to snap at the poor woman. ‘I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘that that Lowther makes witty jokes in Parliament. My father’s not in the same league. Matthew is anti-red,’ she said, grinning at Maisie and avoiding her fiancé’s eye.
Failing to catch Antonia’s eye, Matthew realized an implied reproof. She was looking very pretty in the candle-light, more mature than her years; he would forgive her.
Calypso, who had been listening to this exchange, glanced at Hector but made no effort to break a silence which began to spread around the table. Henry had regained his place and was eating his soup. Barbara sat on one side of him; the chair on his left was empty, backed by the dark yews. James, ignored by Barbara, tried to catch her eye; she should, he thought, pay attention to him. He cleared his throat but, unwilling to look a fool, stayed silent and listened to Peter Bullivant who, having finished his soup, was almost shouting past his wife to Henry at the head of the table.
‘I hear,’ Peter said, ‘that your wife’s had her quarters redecorated; it can’t be long since she had it all done.’
Henry said, ‘No.’
‘What is it this time? Somebody told me she’s gone in for gold.’
Henry said, ‘Yes.’
‘Must cost you,’ said Peter. ‘I mean, you don’t get paint and paper and re-upholster furniture for nothing, do you?’
Henry said, ‘No.’
‘And labour,’ said Peter. ‘That costs, these days.’
Henry said, ‘Yes.’
‘It’s vulgar to talk about money, Peter,’ Maisie whispered.
‘Not etiquette, I suppose,’ snapped Peter, ‘not done, bad form.’
‘Well, it is,’ said Maisie out loud.
‘What?’ said Peter.
‘Bad form,’ said Maisie.
‘So are red MPs,’ said her husband. ‘Don’t teach your grandmother—’
Henry laughed.
‘I love the way you two squabble in public,’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s refreshing.’
‘Where was I,’ asked Peter, ‘when old stupid here interrupted?’ He sounded quite affectionate.
‘Cost of labour,’ John prompted.
‘Oh yes,’ said Peter, ‘that. Yes. I suppose, when you spend so much on Margaret, you let the rest of the house go hang. Let’s face it, it’s jolly shabby.’
‘Yes,’ said Henry.
‘But your land,’ said Peter, ‘you keep that in good heart, nobody could fault you there. Your farm is terrific’
Henry said, ‘Thanks.’
‘And this party,’ Peter carried on, ‘it’s splendid. You don’t stint your guests. Jolly good food, and the drinks—’
‘He’s been costing them,’ said Maisie.
‘I haven’t,’ said Peter.
‘You always do,’ said Maisie. ‘When we get home you know exactly what the wine has cost. He might be a wine merchant,’ Maisie informed the table at large, ‘so clever.�
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They could almost see Peter resist calling her stupid.
She smiled hugely round the table at her fellow guests, proud of her husband. ‘It’s all right if you do it in private,’ she said.
The Jonathans, Calypso and Hector burst out laughing and presently awkwardness evaporated and conversation became general while Ebro and Trask collected the soup plates, replacing them with fresh ones for the salmon, which soon ceased to look pretty and dissipated as they were transferred from their beds of watercress to diverse digestive tracts.
From time to time Henry circled the table, replenishing his guests’ glasses, catching, as he went, snatches of talk. Hector and Trask were deep in forestry, Ebro discussing pop music with Antonia. The Jonathans were instructing Maisie on the novels of Camus which was, he guessed, an affectionate tease, it being common knowledge that Maisie never read a book if she could avoid it. Peter was trying to engage Barbara’s attention without success and Antonia, only sparing half her attention for Ebro, was watching Henry move in and out of the shadows, his presence betrayed by the glint of a candle on the bottle he carried. He refilled her glass and moved on.
Why, thought Antonia, watching Henry, did he never raise his voice? She compared him with Matthew, who was talking embarrassingly loudly to Calypso while ignoring Maisie sitting next to him. How was it Henry looked so elegant in his outre clothes? They made Matthew’s excellent dinner jacket look dull. How was it Barbara had managed to sit next to Henry? Why should Barbara sit next to Henry and not she? Antonia pushed back her chair with her neat little bottom and, taking her plate of salmon with her, moved into the empty chair beside Henry.
When Henry resumed his seat he said, ‘That’s nice,’ but Barbara, on his other side, failed to respond.
Maisie, observing the move, and sorry to see Antonia move away, wondered whether this sort of general post was the new mode among the smart set in London, and whether to try it at her next dinner party. But I am not silly enough to suggest it to Peter, she thought. I lack the nerve.
FOURTEEN
CALYPSO WAS THE FIRST to see Margaret; she nudged Hector, who was turned away from her talking with Trask. It had grown quite dark as they ate their salmon; the candles on the table accentuated the severity of the yew hedge’s dark backdrop. In the flower borders tulips raised their pale faces and Antonia’s lily arrangement on the bar seemed to hover in the gloom.
Amused by the girls’ manoeuvres, Calypso had been watching the head of the table; now she stared at the point where she had seen a movement, a lightness which shifted from Henry to Antonia to Barbara. Perhaps she had been mistaken? Was what she saw a shift in the shadows caused by a flickering candle? The candles flickered again when Peter’s breath gusted in laughter as Maisie began teasing Jonathan and John, reminding them of the days when they had both clung to the same name.
‘You made yourselves ridiculous,’ she said, ‘both called Jonathan. That’s what they did,’ she said to the table at large. ‘Used the same name! It was almost possible when we were all young, but ludicrous when they began living together—’
‘A beginning which has no end—’ Peter’s laugh tinged on the cruel. ‘So far,’ he said.
The shape in the shadows shrank back. ‘We were equally entitled to the name,’ cried the younger man. ‘We were both baptized Jonathan.’
‘It made them look silly,’ persisted Maisie. ‘It made the neighbourhood laugh.’
‘We don’t care about the neighbourhood,’ cried the younger man, ‘never did.’
‘Obviously not.’ Peter backed his wife.
Why are they being so petty? What’s this all about? Antonia wondered, and liked Maisie less than before.
‘Henry’s father was our sponsor, our godparent. He chose the name,’ protested the older man. ‘Who were we to question his choice? Our mothers didn’t.’
‘He wouldn’t have suggested the same name if he’d known what you would turn into—’
‘Steady on, Maisie,’ said Peter.
Henry said, ‘Jonathan was a favourite name of my father’s. It’s all ancient history, Maisie. There was some sort of entertainment value in telephone calls: can I speak to Jonathan? Which Jonathan? Oh, that Jonathan, and so on, but it did pall. It was graceful of the younger to give way and abbreviate to John.’
‘Are you suggesting I am not graceful?’ said Maisie, bristling. ‘That I am insensitive?’
‘Since you ask,’ said Jonathan, answering for Henry, ‘yes! You take a touchy subject and worry it like a terrier. You have no tact; you are almost as insensitive as Margaret, our absent, our quasi-hostess. Where is she, by the way? Weren’t we promised—’
‘Oh!’ Maisie’s cry was full of indignation and hurt. ‘Oh, you old—’
I have not given them the right proportion of alcohol, thought Henry. Perhaps I should top them up? If I defend the Jonathans, who are able to defend themselves, I shall offend poor Maisie, who can’t. He stifled a longing to laugh.
‘Hector,’ said Calypso in a low voice.
‘Yes, darling?’ Hector did not immediately turn to her, allowing Trask to finish a long and convoluted arboreal sentence. ‘They should not tease the boys,’ he said.
Calypso slipped her hand in his. ‘Look who’s here,’ she said quietly.
Hector said, ‘Look? Where? Who?’
‘I thought at first it was a trick of the light, but it’s Margaret. She’s behind Henry, look.’
Hector said, ‘Ah!’ and closed his fingers over his wife’s. ‘I see her,’ he said. ‘What d’you suppose she is up to?’ he said, speaking with his mouth close to her ear. ‘Now she’s gone. No, she’s there, behind Henry. There. Gone again. D’you think he’s aware?’
‘He’s too far away for me to see the hairs rising on his neck. Mine would.’ Calypso glanced over her shoulder.
Peter had taken over from Maisie and was in full cry teasing the Jonathans, listened to with a mixture of surprise and distaste by Matthew and Antonia.
‘Peter Bullivant’s an offensive bastard,’ said Hector quietly. ‘Never heard the word tact.’
‘There she goes again,’ whispered Calypso.
Hector, who assessed his wife’s nerve as normally steely, recognized a tremor of fear and tightened his grip on her hand.
‘Henry may not have noticed,’ he whispered. ‘He’s got to deal with Peter,’ he said as Henry pushed back his chair and stood up.
‘Now then,’ Henry said, ‘would you two girls collect these sordid plates while I circulate the wine and Pilar and Ebro bring the pudding?’ If I top up my foolish guests, he thought, they will swing from the offensive to the sweet—with luck. He advanced on Maisie and Peter armed with a fresh bottle of wine.
Antonia and Barbara jumped up and began collecting plates, and as they moved along the table Hector and Calypso saw Margaret shrink back into the shadows. They strained their eyes, but could not see her. Hector said, ‘Did we imagine her?’
‘I didn’t imagine that.’ Calypso chuckled as Antonia deliberately let a load of dirty plates slide into Peter’s lap. ‘Well done, girl!’
‘Oops,’ said Antonia, mopping with Peter’s napkin. ‘So sorry. I’ve got grease all over your pretty trousers.’
‘You did that on purpose, you are making it worse.’ Maisie snatched the napkin.
‘Oh no!’ said Antonia. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry.’
‘She should sound sorry,’ said Hector.
‘I think Henry has noticed,’ Calypso said. ‘His shoulders have gone all stiff. But he’s not letting on.’
‘M-m-m,’ said Hector. ‘And what happens now?’ He sat alert, holding his wife’s hand.
It was then that the cockatoo, furtively climbing up by the table-cloth, attained its goal and let out an ear-splitting screech. The diners jumped and there was laughter. The bird, as though acknowledging applause, raised and lowered its crest and began picking its way among the spoons.
‘He is fond of fruit,’ said Henry. ‘Here come
the strawberries,’ he said as Pilar and Ebro placed the fruit on the table. ‘Careful, Maisie, he is not so funny drunk.’
But Maisie, unheeding, offered the bird her glass. ‘I don’t suppose he’s got psittacosis,’ she said, watching the bird sip. ‘I’d like to see him pissed.’ She was annoyed with herself for hurting the Jonathans and annoyed with them for being hurt. I always think people should watch their own backs, she thought.
Henry put a hand down to catch the bird but it hopped sideways to the middle of the table, where it stood raising and lowering its crest, ignoring the people who offered fruit, saying, ‘Pretty Polly,’ in dulcet accents.
Trask said, ‘Best leave her be.’
Maisie, feeling at fault, said, ‘Oh, I thought it was a cock, I didn’t know it was a she. How d’you tell the difference?’
‘By looking under its feathers,’ said Trask, ‘as with skirts.’
With Henry moving round the table, and Barbara and Antonia parlour-maiding the plates, there were now three empty chairs at the head of the table. It was a shock to everyone when Margaret materialized seated in the middle chair. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘well,’ sitting with her hands folded. She smiled at the assembled guests. ‘Sorry to be so late,’ she said. ‘Any salmon left for me?’
With her red-gold hair piled high on her head, Margaret looked beautiful. The candles gave a peachy glow to her skin, enlarged her eye sockets, softened her mouth and flattered the cleavage between breasts pouting under the Dior chiffon.
Henry’s guests stared, speechless and gormless. Calypso shook with laughter and Hector chuckled out loud. The cockatoo was forgotten.
Trask said, ‘You had your salmon on your tray hours ago.’
Still smiling, Margaret said, ‘Dear Trask, so I did, but I’d like more.’
‘None left,’ said Henry cheerfully. ‘But you are in time for the pudding, coffee and brandy. Why don’t you move up beside her, Jonathan and John? Take your glasses and take this bottle with you.’