Strangers in a Garden

by Deanna Maclaren

  ‘I cannae cope,’ Dougal said when the aviator made his first appearance. ‘It’s Biggles. Chocs away!’ Handing Laura her fresh sheets on Friday, Miss Speddie enquired,

  ‘And when will you be leaving, Miss James?’

  Laura stared at her blankly. ‘Leaving?’

  ‘For Christmas,’ Miss Speddie went on. ‘All the girls go home. I go to my sister in Fort William. Miss May is always invited by her niece. So you see, Arundell House will be closed.’

  Back in Room Nine, Laura reread the letter from her sister-in-law:

  ‘Mother and Father will be coming up from Roadnights to spend Christmas with us.’

  Laura felt the familiar spurt of anger. She’s not your Mother. He’s not your Father. They’re mine, and Richard’s.

  ‘My parents will be with us as well, so what with the children, it will be a bit of a crush, but no doubt we’ll all muck in.’

  This wrung a wry smile from Laura. ‘Mucking in’ was not Mr James’s forte. The family joke was that he had no idea exactly where the Roadnights kitchen was.

  When the rent queue had dispersed from Miss Speddie’s office, Laura went and knocked on the door.

  ‘May I have a word, Miss Speddie?’

  ‘Of course. Come in, Miss James. Something troubling you?’

  Laura stood in front of the housekeeper’s desk. No one was ever invited to sit down.

  ‘The thing is, Miss Speddie, I can’t go home for Christmas.’ Can’t afford it. And I want to be with Adrian. ‘My parents are going away.’

  ‘Well surely you have other relatives? An aunt…’

  Aunty Hilda. That Arctic farm. No thanks.

  ‘No, and um, well I wondered if – if I could just stay here.’

  ‘Stay here? But Miss James, the kitchen will be closed. And you can’t expect the Drawing Room to be heated just for you. I am responsible to the trustees.’

  ‘Yes, I appreciate that. But I thought I could just stay in my room.’ Thank heavens for the gas fire meter that would jam.

  ‘Stay here?’ Miss Speddie’s voice rose. ‘All on your own?’

  Oh dear. Oh God. Well, as Dougal would say, chocs away!

  ‘No, what I wondered was, just this once, for this very Christian celebration, I could invite my boyfriend.’

  ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘You met him. You talked about the Bible.’

  Laura could sense Miss Speddie’s thoughts roving back to Adrian. On the steps. Handsomely respectable in his blazer.

  ‘ Ah yes. The theology student.’ Then ‘But in your ROOM, Miss James?’

  ‘I – you see, Livingstone House will be closed. His parents are abroad, they’re Army, and he’ll be all alone. All he’s got is me.’

  Much of this was drivel. Livingstone House would remain open as it was inconvenient for many foreign students to fly home. And of course Adrian had relatives. All Scots had relatives.

  Miss Speddie’s face reddened. ‘If – if I give permission, I must have your word of honour that there will be no improprietry.’

  ‘Of course. I mean, of course not. Adrian will be busy with his essays.’ Not if I have anything to do with it.

  ‘And no alcohol. Definitely no alcohol.’

  ‘Oh, no question of that, Miss Speddie.’

  ‘I’ve swung Christmas,’ Laura told Adrian as they headed towards Loch Fyne.

  ‘Thank heavens for that. Logan’s not going away.’

  The McAllister publicity office was not vibrant with Christmas cheer. There were no decorations, and no Christmas bonus. Nobody exchanged Christmas cards.

  Shona took Laura out to lunch. Pointedly, Elspeth was excluded and Laura realised that, though they disguised it well, there was no love lost between Elspeth and Shona. It all, apparently, boiled down to clothes. Shona, with what Jimmy sneered at as the McAllister millions, could sport a different outfit every day. Elspeth, five days a week, wore the same tobacco brown shirtdress, enlivened by different coloured scarves. Shona pulled disparaging faces at this. ‘Oh, mercy me, it’s Monday. She’ll be in the yellow scarf.’

  In the restaurant, Laura tucked blissfully into her steak and asked, ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, we always go to the house.’

  The house, Laura had gathered, was on the River Dee. It sounded baronial. Laura envisaged deer heads with alarming antlers looking balefully down as the old retainers shuffled round the Christmas tree and waited respectfully for their handouts from Mr McAllister.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Shona.

  Laura said vaguely, ‘Adrian’s coming up with something.’

  Yesterday evening, when Miss May had finished washing up and laying the tables for breakfast, she had caught up with Laura on the landing outside Room Nine.

  ‘Miss James. I hear your young man is coming for Christmas lunch!’ she sounded breathless with excitement, ‘What will you give him to eat?’

  Laura stuttered. She had never in her life had to shop for food. On Saturdays, her father had backed the Wolseley out of the garage and kept the engine running while his wife raced out of the house to join him. They were always early, so he’d secure his usual parking space in the high street. Mrs James went to the grocers, the greengrocer, the baker, returning in relays to deliver her booty to the sanctuary of the car. It was, of course, unthinkable for Mr James to be seen carrying a shopping bag, but an acceptable manly activity was visiting the off-licence. This was not termed ‘shopping.’ Buying gin, Martini and wine was ‘repleneshing stocks.’

  Laura realised she had never given a thought to how food arrived at Arundell House. Bread and milk were delivered to the Tradesmen’s Entrance – the kitchen door. Gold top milk because, Miss May said, correctly, the creamy top of the milk was best on porridge.

  But neither Miss May nor Miss Speddie possessed a car. Miss May was catering for twenty five ravenous girls. How on earth did she do it?

  ‘We must have your young man fed,’ Miss May said. ‘Leave it to me.’

  The exodus of chattering, excited girls began on December 23. Adrian arrived at midday on Christmas Day. Laura took him straight up to her room. She’d had the fire on since seven, and removed the washing line from the window.

  As he looked curiously round, Laura patted Marje’s bed. ‘We can use Marje’s as a sofa and mine for – later.’

  ‘Where is Marje?’

  ‘Staying with Cinderella’s mother. The panto starts Boxing Day. Want to come?’

  Laura had watched Marje, under Miss Speddie’s supervision, pinning up a poster offering everyone at Arundell House reduced price tickets.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go,’ laughed Adrian. ‘I love all that Oh yes he did, Oh no he didn’t stuff.’

  Laura was glad to see him in such good spirits. She’d worried he might be missing his family.

  Adrian had brought a transistor radio, two bottles of red wine and a corkscrew. Laura had herself found an off-licence, so they were well set up. She had cleared both chests of drawers so she could lay out, covered with drying-up cloths, Miss May’s thoughtful provisions.

  Cold chicken, ham, pork pie, chipolatas, baps and fruit tarts. They would be having the same for supper only, of course, Miss May was unaware that Adrian would still be in residence. Miss May had left the water heater on in the Butler’s Pantry so for supper Laura planned to nip down with Marje’s Thermos and make up a packet of tomato soup.

  Laura watched Adrian slipping some French letters under her pillow.

  ‘Adrian, do we have to use those things?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said lightly. ‘We don’t want anything to happen, do we?’

  I wouldn’t mind, thought Laura. I wouldn’t mind being the mother of your children.

  Adrian said, ‘Couldn’t you go on the Pill?’

  ‘They won’t give it to you unless you’re engaged.’

  ‘So borrow a ring from Marje’s props basket.’

  Laura gave up. For the time being.

&nbs
p; Adrian stood at the door, studying The Rules. He was convulsed. ‘How do you stand it?’

  ‘Well the girls are nice, on the whole. But I was wondering, could we get a flat? With Kel and Sven maybe.’ I could have a baby, her thoughts raced improbably on. A boy. Like Adrian.

  ‘Can’t’ Adrian said cheerfully. ‘My mother’s coming over and then when I’ve done my exams, I’m flying back with her. The old man’s got a new posting. Cyprus. Sounds good.’

  Downstairs, the phone was ringing. Laura ignored it, perfectly aware that this would be the ritual family phone call:

  ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘Happy Christmas to all of you too. Have you had your presents?’

  ‘Well the children have had their stockings, of course, but otherwise, no presents till after lunch and the washing up’s done.’

  There would then follow a protracted discussion about sprouts until, hopefully, the operator would cut in, ‘Thirty seconds, caller.’

  Laura went across and kissed Adrian, lounging on Marje’s bed with a tumbler half-full of wine. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said, handing him a package wrapped in red. Inside, he found a pewter statuette.

  ‘It’s Apollo,’ Laura told him. ‘Apollo is the god of writers and healing.’

  ‘It’s fabulous. Where did you find it?’

  ‘Lol helped me. We’ve started having lunch together.’

  She had never told Adrian about the stolen breakfast baps, but one day she’d noticed Lol doing exactly the same thing. When Lol had learned that Laura ate hers illicity and icily at Central station, she was horrified.

  ‘Come down to the shop. I can use the back room. Make tea.’

  Adrian’s present to Laura was not an engagement ring. It was a book of French poetry with a useful prose translation. The cover showed Renoir’s Dance at Bougival and on the flyleaf Adrian had written, ‘To darling Laura, see page 178.’

  She found he had underlined two lines in a poem by Leconte de Lisle:

  ‘Va, sombre messager, dis-lui bien que je l’aime,

  Et que voici mon coeur.’

  Go, dark messenger, be sure to tell her that I love her, and that here is my heart.

  Laura was so happy, so in love with him, she thought she’d melt.

  Adrian ate heartily of the picnic lunch she served.

  ‘Good news,’ he said, opening the second bottle of wine. ‘Logan’s going home for New Year. His family want him to first foot.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a tradition. First person to set foot in a house on new year should be a dark haired man carrying a lump of coal. Hearth, good cheer, home fires burning, all that.’

  He reached to draw the curtains. Stopped, and exclaimed, ‘My God. That house!’

  The enormous house was on the other side of the Great Western Road, high enough up so you could see into the sitting room, which appeared to be on the first floor. It was ablaze with light and in the window shimmered a gigantic Christmas tree, decorated in pink and silver.

  ‘Marje and I call it the party house.’

  ‘Who lives there?’

  ‘Well one Remembrance Day, Marje and Lol went round with a tray of poppies. And the door was opened by this complete madwoman shouting at them. Didn’t they realise the atrocities that happened at the Somme and how did they think a few paper poppies could make up for what those poor dying men had suffered…’

  ‘Christ. Come on, let’s take this wine to bed.’

  Laura started to undress, but Adrian said, ‘No. I want to do that.’

  He took off her clothes with a slow deliberation that normally Laura would have found seriously arousing. But today she was apprehensive. This would be the first time he had seen her completely naked. And in daylight. Despite the breakfast porridge, the baps and Miss May’s nourishing meals, climbing ninety stairs at least once a day had convinced Laura that she was getting too thin.

  Laura wanted to hide under the covers, but Adrian wasn’t having any. He looked at every inch of her and finally murmured, softly, ‘Yes. You’re beautiful. I knew you would be.’

  Downstairs, the phone was ringing. Laura reached for Adrian, determined to give him the most memorable Christmas present of his life.

  At half past four, Laura asked if he’d like some tea and an iced bun. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the phone shrilled.

  Laura gave in. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Laura!’ snapped her sister-in-law. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘With Adrian.’

  ‘I’ve been ringing all day. Father’s beside himself. I’ll put him on.’

  Laura took two mugs of tea upstairs and fed Adrian, still in bed, an iced bun. She liked the chance to do these nurturing, wifely things.

  She told him, ‘My folks are going to Lincolnshire, to my aunt’s farm for New Year. They must be mad. Talk about primitive. There’s no heating, no running hot water, no inside toilet and no food.’

  ‘No food? On a farm?’

  ‘Oh, the larder’s laden with pig. Ham, haslet, sausages, kill a pig and it’ll feed you for months. But on the farm, the only person who gets a square meal is Uncle Bert. Because he’s working. If you’re not heaving up potatoes or sugar beet, you get bread and scrape followed by Apple Snow. Still at least at last they’ve got what they call The Electric. Before that it was oil lamps she was too mean to fill up.’

  They opened some more wine, had another picnic, put on the radio, danced and fell asleep, in the single bed, wrapped in one another’s arms.

  The slam of a door, the front door, woke them the next morning, around ten. Laura threw a towel at Adrian. ‘Bathroom. Quick.’

  She slung on her dressing gown and went out onto the landing. Someone was advancing up the stairs. It couldn’t, surely, Miss Speddie couldn’t have got back from Fort William this early? It was ninety miles.

  To her relief, Fiona came into view. ‘Came back for an extra jumper.’

  Laura ran along and banged on the bathroom door. ‘You can come out now.’

  Adrian emerged, her blue bathtowel round his waist and she thought, you’re such a good looking guy and I’m lucky, lucky, lucky.

  He said, ‘Good morning, Fiona.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Fiona responded. She was staring into Room Nine. The wine bottles, cigarette butts in a saucer, the strew of knickers and underpants, the used French letters and the turmoil of Laura’s bed.

  Fiona went on, in her precise way, ‘And congratulations, Adrian. You’re the first man in the history of Arundell House ever to get his end away.’

  ‘She works down at the docks, so she hears a thing or two,’ Laura told Adrian as, giggling, she straightened the bed while he collected the evidence and loaded it into his sports bag.

  For New Year, Glasgow turned on all the lights. Literally. George Square and McAllisters were illuminated all night. The party house in the Great Western Road blazed dramatically as a stream of revellers arrived, in fancy dress.

  Laura celebrated Hogmanay in Adrian’s bed. She had taken Adrian’s advice and, flashing a ‘ruby’ from Marje’s props basket, had presented herself at the doctor’s to request the Pill. It meant, for the first time, they could make love all night uninterrupted by the bore of condoms. It was bliss. They were insatiable.

  She was grateful New Year’s Day was a holiday. Shona had taken ten days off, leaving Laura to cope with January Sale copy:

  Bread bins. Guaranteed 5 years. Were 5s 11d. Now 3s 11d.

  ‘Prepare yourself,’ Elspeth said as Laura hung up her coat. ‘Shona’s back. And, well, prepare yourself.’

  In the office, Laura found Jimmy putting on a theatrically fake choking fit.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Splutter, hack. ‘She’s done it. Heh, heh, heh! She’s actually found some poor jock who wants to marry her!’

  Shona, calmly, was laying out her make-up. The cause of all the excitement was the blistering engagement ring she was wearing. A massive sapphire, surrounded by diamonds. It was huge
, blinding.

  Laura felt faint with envy. All right, it wasn’t an emerald. But Laura would have been grateful for anything. Sometimes her ring finger felt on fire. And here was Shona, spitting into her mascara, maddeningly insouciant.

  ‘Heh, heh. Clock the rocks!’

  Dougal said, ‘Who’s the lucky man, Shona?’

  She said, somewhat defiantly, ‘Oh. Hamish.’

  That did it for Jimmy. Laura thought he’d have to be carted out and force fed Super Plenamins.

  ‘The one who had a bath! At your house! What did you have to do – hose him down?’

  Laura made herself say, ‘What a lovely ring, Shona.’ It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. ‘I – I didn’t know you and Hamish were going out.’

  ‘Just to the pictures a few times. But my mother invited him to the house for Christmas. As a diversion, I think. Next thing, it’s Hogmanay and my sister comes rushing up to me shrieking, Hamish is in the library with our Father. He’s asking permission to marry you.’

  Laura said quietly, ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Well, he’s certainly different. But I do feel so nervous. Really, really nervous.’

  ‘I don’t understand this,’ Laura came tearing back to Arundell House to give the girls the news. Gossip was the oxygen of Arundell House. They had no money for lunch but they feasted on gossip, huddled up against the cold as they sat on the steps.

  Fiona immediately wanted to know what sort of sapphire it was. ‘Light or dark? Light is more expensive.’

  Laura continued with her theme, ‘I mean, the wedding won’t be for months yet. Shona appears to be having nothing to do with it. Her mother and sister are masterminding everything. So the wedding night, if that’s what she’s afraid of, is a long way off. She’s got plenty of time –‘

  ‘No, no’ Fiona interrupted briskly. ‘The point is, in some Scottish circles – not all, just some – when a man gives you an engagement ring he feels he’s entitled to give you one.’

  ‘You mean, you’re expected to go all the way?’ asked Marje.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I’ve never been all the way,’ said Dinkie. ‘Do you with Adrian, Laura?’

  Fiona’s laugh would have stripped paint. ‘Of course she does. Why do you think she can’t get up on Sunday mornings?’