by Anne Morice
Bernard had added that he would be visiting his parents in the near future, although only for long enough to collect his clothes, car and other belongings, and had thought it best to acquaint them of his plans before they met.
There was only one reference to Camilla in all this and Bernard had not expressed himself very clearly on the subject. There was a strong hint that their engagement had been no more than a façade, entered into mainly to placate his parents and her grandmother and to spare them both the continual nagging about settling down with a suitable partner, although whether Camilla had been a party to this arrangement was left in ambiguity.
In any case, she had apparently not been consulted about its termination and it was no surprise to hear that she had taken the news extremely badly and had been in and out of hysterics ever since two o’clock that afternoon.
Poor Tilly, who admittedly did not have very far to go in this direction, was now literally at her wits’ end, leaving unfinished sentences hanging in the air, only to take them up again when everyone had forgotten their beginnings. This imposed rather a strain, so it was no surprise either to hear that Camilla had retired to her room and refused to come out. In fact, I considered that for once she had done the sensible thing.
However, to Tilly, for whom lengthy verbal communication was the panacea, if not the cure for all ills, this voluntary confinement ranked as one step away from dangerous melancholia and in desperation she had sent for Helena. It occurred to me in passing that this action did not entirely accord with Alice’s description of the power maniac, intent on keeping all the reins in her own hands, particularly as Tilly then added that Helena was so clever and tactful that if there were one person in the world who could buck Camilla up it was she. Furthermore, she must have pitched her May Day call in pretty strong terms because, despite her own worry and chagrin, Helena had responded instantly. After a token reluctance, Camilla had consented to see her and they had now been closeted together for approximately twenty minutes.
Robin considered that this was long enough and, realising that his patience was rapidly running out, I was about to suggest that I should go up and ask Helena to pass her car keys out to me, when she saved me the bother by entering the room in person.
She looked tight-lipped and careworn, as was to be expected, but was, as usual, perfectly complacent about her own competent handling of the situation and made the rest of us feel like drunken layabouts, sitting around enjoying ourselves while she battled single-handed through this crisis. So no one was in a strong position to express doubts when she announced that Camilla was now perfectly composed, having accepted Helena’s assurance that this was merely a temporary aberration on Bernard’s part, that he would soon come to see how foolishly he was behaving and that, whether or not Camilla still wished to marry him after this juvenile escapade, she had a positive duty to throw up her head, square her shoulders and face the world as though nothing had happened; or words to that effect. In order to get this programme off to a dazzling start, she and Robert would be returning in two hours time to collect Camilla and escort her to the fireworks.
She then rounded off this performance by informing us that she was not in the habit of locking up when visiting friends, so it had only been necessary for Robin to release the handbrake of her car and give it a good push.
“I would cheerfully give her a good push,” Robin muttered, furious at not having thought of this himself. “Preferably when she’s standing on the edge of a cliff.”
“Perhaps it’s mostly put on?” I suggested as we drove away.
“Put on?” he replied, still smouldering. “Are you joking? It’s second nature to her to trample all over people while telling them they’re fools to put up with it. Odious woman . . .”
“I wasn’t referring to Helena, actually, although I do think you ought to make some allowance for her in these hard times, when all her dreams for the glory and advancement of Bernard lie shattered at her neatly shod feet.”
“Serve her bloody well right! Who were you referring to, then?”
“Camilla, of course. I was wondering whether she was putting on an act of being heartbroken, when all the time she’s been prepared for this to happen, because she and Bernard had agreed on it from the beginning.”
“Why the hell should she bother? Since the engagement of convenience, if that’s what it’s called, has served its purpose, why go on pretending. Now she’s got her money, what’s to prevent her being as cynical and coldblooded as he is?”
“Ah, but it’s different for her, isn’t it? Bernard may see it in that light, but then he has found and won his only true love and he can afford to be a bit offhand about Camilla’s feelings. Furthermore, he’s still at the centre of the drama and likely to remain so for weeks to come; whereas all that’s left for her is to play the jilted loser, wearing a brave smile, which is not a very rewarding role for anyone, least of all her. Also I have a suspicion that all this heartbreak and tears could be a means of endearing herself to Helena.”
“What a fantastic idea! She would have to be off her head! Personally, if I were in her shoes the big, bright consolation in all this would be that I was no longer stuck with Helena as a mother-in-law.”
“But you’re not in her shoes, are you? And you haven’t spent your whole life striving to become someone’s only pet lamb.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“Well, perhaps what I really mean is that you’ve been more successful at it. The only time when Camilla really shone in the Little Lord Fauntleroy part was when she was a tiny child and the sun, moon and stars to her doting grandfather. All that came to an end when he re-married and she’s been searching for a substitute ever since. First, she made a brave stab at becoming Tilly’s darling angel, which worked fairly well for a time, but inevitably Tilly became disenchanted. She still loved Camilla, but she loved her warts and all, which wasn’t any good. Camilla needed uncritical, unqualified worship and nothing less would do. When her grandfather died, I think she set her sights on Edna for a while, practically turning somersaults to transform herself into the dutiful, docile granddaughter, dancing attendance and having this pretty romance with the boy next door.”
“You don’t think Edna’s money was the attraction there?”
“Up to a point, of course. I feel sure she wouldn’t have worked so hard on anyone who was penniless, but I’m equally sure that the hunger for popularity came into it as well; unfortunately, she was fighting in a lost cause. There was only room for one adored pet in Edna’s life and that was herself.”
“Poor girl! What a sad, frustrated picture you have painted!”
“Yes, but there are signs that she’s not beaten yet and now I think she’s after new prey. Helena is starting to take her under her wing, choose her clothes, give advice on how to behave and goodness knows what else. And Camilla is rising like an eager little trout. Helena, you notice, is now the only one she can bear to have near her, and I predict her going flat out before very long to become ever such a ray of sunshine in that arid, childless life.”
“Then, quite honestly, she must be barmy! Helena has about as much capacity for affection as a packet of frozen peas.”
“And if you think she’s not slightly barmy, you haven’t taken in a word I’ve been saying.”
“Far enough over the edge to have played that nasty little trick on her grandmother, if she found she was being rejected?”
“Oh, easily, I’d have said; but I’ve been forced to rule her out, all the same. The evidence is all against her being involved in that.”
“And still no nearer finding out who the joker was? I feel for you, my love, but I suppose even you are prepared to admit defeat now? Whoever got that bright idea, if anyone did, must be congratulated on getting away with it, because it’s all over now.”
“Bar the shouting,” I agreed. “And I daresay we can still depend on Camilla to provide us with a little of that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
By then, a large and somewhat disorderly crowd had assembled on the Oxfordshire side of the river, where access was free and it was a case of first come first served into the front row, and all the nearby pubs having been granted extensions for the occasion.
In contrast to this merrymaking, the scene on the opposite bank was so sedate as to be almost funereal. The two grandstands, specially erected this and every year for the Regatta, had been left intact for the closing Festival event, the smaller being reserved for the Mayor and Corporation, together with all those who had contributed with their services or financial support, while the seats in the larger had all been sold weeks in advance.
There were two marquees behind the stands, also differing in size and distinguished by similar social nuances, one providing soft drinks and beer, the other champagne. Business was slack in both at the start of the proceedings, since only ticket holders to one or other of the stands were allowed into this enclosure.
Toby usually contrives to arrive late for every public function, not so much on principle as in the very practical hope that at least part of the proceedings will be over before he gets there, and he and Robin and I were apparently the last to be admitted.
His tactics availed him nothing on this occasion though, because all was as silent as the grave and, furthermore, we were obliged to hover about on the outskirts for several minutes, waiting for the attendant to inspect our tickets. This was because he was engaged in acrimonious exchanges with a group of young people who had been attempting to gain admittance by climbing under the ropes. They had presumably arrived on motor bikes, being bundled up in anoraks and helmets, and it was not easy to sort out the sexes, but, passing the time by making a study of each individual pair of hands, which is the really infallible guide in such cases, I came to the conclusion that they consisted of three boys and two girls, their ages ranging between about fifteen and twenty.
In the meantime, Robin had retreated into the shadows and was wearing the face which told everyone that he was not a policeman, while Toby, who had also removed himself from the unpleasant scene, now returned with the news that if we were to leave at once we stood a good chance of getting away before the rush.
It was not his lucky evening though, because for no discernible reason, the altercation at the gate had abruptly ceased. The tallest of the three boys dropped his cigarette on to the grass with a contemptuous gesture and then turned and strolled away towards the car park. A moment’s startled hush descended on his four companions, before they too backed away without a word and fell in behind their leader. Robin emerged from the gloom, stamped out the burning cigarette stub and presented our tickets to the attendant.
“You handled that very cleverly,” I said, while he was inspecting them.
“Won’t do much good though,” he replied sourly. “Silly idea, really, having just this rope to keep people out. It’s like an invitation to some of them.”
“You mean they’ll find another way in?”
“Bound to. Nothing to stop them, is there?”
“Except that I can’t imagine why they should bother,” Toby objected. “It must be just as easy to see the fireworks on one side of the rope as the other.”
“Try explaining that to a crowd like them! They’ve been round here like flies all evening. Never the same lot twice, mark you, and it’s not fireworks they’ve come for. Wouldn’t mind betting there are scores of them hanging round the beer tent by now, and looking for trouble. Thick they may be, but it don’t take them long to reason out that I can’t be in six places at once.”
We tut tutted in solemn tones over this, but not for long because a whooshing, whistling sound sliced the air, followed by a series of sharp cracks like pistol shots and an instant later the sky was filled with slow motion showers of crimson, green and gold. The fireworks had begun.
This opening salvo was greeted by tremendous cheering and handclaps, which were repeated with rapidly diminishing fervour every three or four minutes for the ensuing two hours, petering out completely towards the end, so that the resurgence of applause for the concluding set piece, which depicted members of the Royal Family suspended above the bridge, was obviously inspired less by loyalty than relief that the treat we had all looked forward to for so long was over at last.
Long before this reprieve, numerous people had left their hard wooden seats to stretch their limbs by sauntering around on the grass, or revive themselves in one of the tents, and among the first to go had been Camilla.
She had been sitting in the row in front of ours, flanked on either side by a Plowman, and it had to have been something more urgent than sheer boredom which had driven her away, for she left after only a few minutes, risking and indeed incurring a look of marked disapproval from Helena and obliging Robert to stand up and move aside to let her pass.
Some time after this, during one of the many interminable lulls between bursts of activity, there was a whispered consultation across the empty seat, or rather a whispered monologue from Helena, accompanied by nods and shrugs from Robert, which ended with his getting up and sliding away.
Twitching with envy, Toby made another attempt to put across his theory whereby we might get away before the rush, but Robin and I are made of sterner stuff and there were still no takers. Later still, however, during a subsequent passive interval, Robin did concede that we might at least anticipate the rush to the champagne bar, and the three of us folded our rug and silently crept away. It was then ten minutes to eleven.
We made slow progress to the marquee because many of our Storhampton friends and acquaintances had had the same idea and those who did not hold us up in an exchange of comments about how wonderful it all was and how lucky we were that the rain had kept off yet again, were already lined up in the queue for the bar. The noise and heat inside was already passing toleration point and so, leaving the other two to deal with the business end, I took the rug down towards the river, between the two stands, meaning to stake out a claim to some relatively isolated spot. Vi and Marge were not far away, sensibly equipped with camp chairs and vacuum flasks, as well as one or two other groups of people dotted about, but none that I recognised.
I had not caught a glimpse of Camilla, nor Tilly and Ferdy either, but the guardian of the gate had been correct in his prediction that the motor cycle contingent would find their way into the enclosure, with or without his blessing. However, his hint that they were intent on stirring up trouble had evidently been misplaced. I could see about twenty of them, all herded together in a circle on the grass and, although they had a radio playing and were making a fair amount of noise, they appeared to be perfectly harmless and good humoured.
All, that is, except one. This was a lone wolfer, who had detached himself from the group and was behaving in a distinctly odd, not to say sinister fashion. He came face to face with me, only a few yards from where I was sitting, seeming to have arrived there, in some inexplicable fashion, from underneath the larger of the two stands and his reaction on sighting me was so patently startled and alarmed that I became unnerved as well. Despite the dark curls flowing down over the anorak collar, I felt certain this was a male, but applied the usual test, out of force of habit. This was made easy to do by the fact that the shock of seeing me must have caused him momentarily to forget that the helmet and goggles rendered him totally anonymous and he instinctively raised his right hand, as though to cover his face.
It was then my turn to feel the world spinning upside down and by the time I had got it the right way up again he had turned his back on me and streaked away. Inevitably, that would have been the end of it, had not the organisers come to my aid and chosen this moment to loose off anothe
r round of fireworks. For about twenty seconds the scene was brilliantly illuminated, with every face save two turned towards the sky, and I had a clear view of the running figure, halting briefly as he came close to his comrades on the grass and then, to my astonishment, swerving away from them and bolting towards the car park behind the enclosure.
For anyone with a vehicle there was only one way out of there and it was by way of a temporary track which led past the main entrance before winding round to join the road at the point where it narrowed into a bottle-neck approach to the bridge.
In the flash which followed immediately afterwards I saw Robin and Toby, not far off, clutching their bottle and glasses and looking around for me; so I ran up to them, grabbed Robin’s arm and gabbled a few words in his ear.
Possibly, he thought I was mad and I can see now that he had good grounds, but he earned my everlasting gratitude for the fifty-second time that year by asking no questions and striding nonchalantly but rapidly towards the gate. The amusing part of it was that I felt sure he imagined he was putting on a very convincing act of an innocent spectator setting off to fetch something from his car, but in fact he had absent mindedly kept hold of the bottle and, as he went along, he was swinging it from his right hand, so that it looked exactly like a truncheon.
Toby, however, did not find this at all funny and was inclined to be churlish, not only about having the spoils thus snatched away, after all he had suffered to win them, but also because this treatment would render the champagne undrinkable.
“Never mind,” I said, “we can always go and cadge some off Vi and Marge; and anyway there are more important things at stake than champagne shaking.”
“I challenge you to name one!”