She thought about my question, but I don’t think there was any real doubt in her mind. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.’
Kieran de Yong was the first person I spotted when I finally emerged to join the thrash. It would have been hard to miss him. His hair was dyed a particularly virulent shade of pinkish blond and he was wearing tight jeans under a kind of military jacket, which looked as if it had once graced an officer in the Guards, but the cuffs were now turned back to reveal a pink satin lining. His densely patterned shirt was wide open at the neck, to reveal two or three thick chains. The overall effect was not so much hideous as pathetic and, given what I had just heard, I felt very sorry for him. ‘Do you know Portugal at all?’ I asked, trying to make it sound as if I were interested in the answer.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
Lucy had joined us and she tried next: ‘Where are you and Joanna living now?’
‘Pimlico.’
We were both rather flummoxed, since obviously we could not simply stand and ask him questions, receiving one-word answers, until the end of the evening. But then he said something that indicated he was a little less dense than we had all assumed: ‘I know what this is all about. She thinks I don’t, but I do. And I’m not leaving.’
Naturally, Lucy hadn’t a clue as to the meaning of this, but I did and I rather handed it to him for agreeing to come at all. It was the decision of a brave man. I couldn’t very well comment without getting myself into a mess, but I smiled and filled his glass and attempted to establish that I was not an enemy.
There was still no sign of Damian. I registered that his windows remained tightly shut, just as I heard a flurry of arriving cars, followed by voices and doors opening and shutting, and out on to the terrace issued the whole Claremont/Belton party. Serena had brought the baby girl and there was a certain amount of fussing attendant on her arrival. I suggested they put the cot in my room, since it opened directly on to the terrace where we would be eating, and this was generally reckoned a good idea. It saddened me to see that the infant, Mary, was still the living image of Andrew. Not only did this seem like thoroughly bad luck for her, but it also gave rise to painful images in my semi-conscious mind.
To mark his distance from all this ‘women’s business,’ Lord Claremont hailed me in his vague and cheerful way. I think he was relieved to find a familiar face and also to have escaped from the exclusive company of his daughter’s in-laws, since I could tell at once they weren’t at all his type, however he may have urged the marriage. He started to walk towards me, but the temptations of Joanna and Lucy soon drew him in that direction for a little flirtation over his Sangria, or whatever the Portuguese equivalent is called. The Beltons clung together, staring out to sea, she too difficult and he too tired to talk to anyone else. Lady Claremont walked across. ‘How are you?’ She smiled. I told her. ‘So you’re forging off into an artistic life. How exciting.’
‘My parents don’t approve either.’
This made her laugh. ‘It’s not that. I rather like the idea. It just seems so terribly unpredictable. But if you don’t mind a few years starving in a garret, I’m sure it’s the right thing to do. One must always try to follow one’s heart.’
‘I quite agree. And there are worse things than starving in a garret.’ By chance, as I said this my eyes were resting on Serena, who was talking to Candida by the balustrade. Now this was purely because I couldn’t find anywhere more satisfactory to rest my eyes than on her, but I could see at once that Lady Claremont had taken my comment as a criticism of Serena’s life choices, for which she no doubt felt extra responsible, as well she might. Her face hardened a little as she looked back at me and her smile became fractionally taut.
‘You must go down and see Serena and Andrew. They’ve got the most marvellous set-up, a simply lovely farmhouse on the edge of the estate. Serena is all geared up to decorate it, which she loves, and the village is within walking distance. It’s ideal. Do you know Dorset?’
‘Not really. I used to go to Lulworth when I was a child.’
‘It’s such a beautiful place, really enchanting, and still almost a secret from the outside world. She’s too lucky for any words.’
‘I’m glad,’ I said. It was somehow important for me that Lady Claremont should know I didn’t want to make trouble. ‘I’m very fond of Serena.’
She laughed again, more easily, relieved to have passed the sticky corner. ‘Oh, my dear boy,’ she said, ‘we all know that.’
It was then that I heard the doors open behind me and I looked round to find Damian standing there, the darkened room behind him throwing him into a kind of high relief. He was completely motionless, but I did not need to be told where his gaze had fastened. Some of the others had registered him too. Not least Lord Claremont, whose brow visibly darkened. If he’d had any suspicions as to what this was all about, his worst ones were in this instant confirmed. He shot a glance at his wife and I noticed her give a tiny, almost indiscernible shake of her head. Damian’s silent stillness was becoming a little embarrassing, so I walked over. ‘Isn’t it extraordinary?’ I said. ‘Serena’s parents have taken more or less the next-door villa. We all ran into each other this afternoon outside the cathedral. Wasn’t it weird? You should have come.’
‘Obviously,’ said Damian, remaining completely stationary.
I pointed out Joanna and briskly explained the second not-coincidence. He smiled. ‘Oh, brave new world, that has such wonders in it,’ he said. But still he did not step forward into the party, or indeed alter his position at all. During this, Serena had been watching, waiting, I can only suppose, for him to make the first move, but if so, she was obviously going to be disappointed, so she decided it was time for her officially to register his presence. I admired her manner in doing it. A lifetime of emotional concealment can sometimes have its uses. She walked up briskly with a wide smile. ‘Damian,’ she said, ‘what a treat. How are you?’ Andrew had followed her across the terrace, and now stood, almost threateningly, as he locked eyes with the man who had after all knocked him down in front of us all at Dagmar’s ball. She, Dagmar, perhaps recalling the same incident with shame, left her own conversation and drew near. ‘You remember Andrew,’ said Serena, as if this whole thing might be happening on any street in any city.
‘Yes,’ said Damian. ‘I remember him.’
‘And I remember you,’ said Andrew.
I think the idea crossed several minds in that second that we might be about to witness a rematch, but Candida, sensing danger, came over, clapping her hands. ‘Let’s all have a walk before dinner. There’s a path down through the rocks, directly onto the beach. Don’t you agree?’ And before Serena could mention it: ‘Your motherin-law says she’ll stay here and watch out for the baby.’ Behind her Lady Belton had parked herself in a chair, with the expression of one of the accused at Nuremberg hearing his sentence read out.
In a way it did seem a solution and nobody raised any objection, so we broke away in groups and followed Candida, who had collared her uncle, Lord Claremont, as her personal guide. He didn’t put up much resistance and set off by her side, after refilling his drink and carrying it with him. We all pottered down on to the sand and I must say it was a marvellous sight, the wide, blue sea, shining and glinting in that pellucid, evening light. We loitered, listening to the waves for a while, but when we set off for our walk down the beach I realised with a faintly sinking heart – although why? When she was a married woman, and so no concern of mine – that Serena and Damian had slipped to the back of the group. With her marvellous instinct for avoiding trouble Lady Claremont had also taken this in and made a beeline for her son-in-law, sliding her arm through his, and involving him in some apparently intense flow of talk, heaven knows what about – what would one talk about when trying to interest Andrew Summersby? – as she dragged him down the beach with her. But I could see her husband watching his daughter and Damian at the end of the trailing line, and it was not ha
rd to tell that the sight was becoming more and more disturbing to him.
Joanna had joined me, and now she whispered: ‘Do you think we’re going to see some fireworks?’
‘I bloody well hope not.’
‘My mother’s furious. She thought I’d have Damian all to myself, but it’s quite clear he couldn’t care less whether I live or die. Not when Serena’s around.’ Of course, at the time I thought she was exaggerating. That’s how slow I was.
At this stage Andrew drifted away from his motherin-law. He cast an angry look at the pair who were now quite a long way behind us on the sand, but Lucy came to his aid. I think that by this stage we were all, by unspoken agreement, working together trying to avoid a collision. Andrew had left Lady Claremont walking on her own and I could hear Pel Claremont as he drew alongside his wife. ‘Do you see who that is?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Did you know he was here?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘What’s he talking to her about?’
‘How should I know?’
‘By Christ, if he’s trying something…’
‘If you say one single word you will only make things worse. I want your promise. You will say nothing contentious, not one word, before you close your eyes on your pillow.’
Lady Claremont hissed the phrase ‘not one word’ like a giant, angry snake and it was easy to tell she meant business, but whether she got the answer she required I couldn’t say, since I had to crane forward to catch the last of these muttered exchanges and her husband’s reply was lost beneath the sounds of the surf. Not knowing most of the facts, I couldn’t understand their hostility to Damian. I turned back to Joanna, on my left. ‘Did you hear any of that? If so, what’s it about?’
But she shook her head. ‘I wasn’t listening,’ she said.
I noticed we had been joined by Dagmar on the other side. ‘What about you?’ I asked, but she’d also missed it. In fact, she seemed rather quiet that night and uncharacteristically thoughtful. I looked at her, raising my eyebrows to signify a question, but she shook her head and gave a sad smile. ‘Nothing. I’m just pondering the rest of my life.’
‘Heavens.’
She waited until Joanna had dropped back to walk with George Tremayne. ‘You started it, last night,’ she said. ‘You and Damian.’ With her moist mouth twitching she was at her most poignant. ‘All I want is a nice man who loves me. It sounds so tragic but that’s it. I don’t care how I live, really, as long as it’s not in a complete hutch. I just want a nice man who loves me and treats me with respect.’
‘He’ll turn up,’ I said. How baselessly optimistic one is when young, although I did not then guess how completely her request for even a tolerable future would be denied.
Dagmar nodded, sighing softly. I did not understand why this melancholy had gripped her, but of course now I know. The previous night, after their final tryst, Damian had told her she would never have him, she would never have the one above all others whom she loved and wanted. Any of us who have lived through a similar dismissal will feel for her. At last she gave a wistful smile. ‘Maybe. Que sera sera.’
‘Well, no doubt everything will work out for the best.’
‘But I do doubt it,’ she said.
At last Candida, sensing or praying that the danger had passed, turned us around, and slowly we made our way back to the villa. The light was failing, now, and the maids had arranged lit candles down the table and turned on the lamps that threw their beams against the house, so we seemed to be climbing up the path through the rocks, towards a fairy palace made of jewels.
We started peaceably enough. The first course was a sort of Portuguese version of Insalata Tricolore with olives added for good measure. I forget what the proper name was but it was delicious and we ate of it freely, which was just as well since it was destined to get us all through until the following morning. The trouble began when the main course arrived, some sort of fish stew, which looked and smelled delicious although I never got to swallow any, brought by the angry women in the kitchen. They did not hold it for us, but instead put three large, white, china bowls, filled with the steaming mixture, onto the table at intervals, leaving it to us to help ourselves and others. Meanwhile, and perhaps inevitably, Lord Claremont had been tucking into the drink since he arrived. In fairness to him, and again I did not know it then, he was simply livid to have found Damian at this house where, as he saw it, he and his wife had been lured by artifice. Once there, and presented with this bounder, which was bad enough, he found himself sitting next to a very common woman whom he did not know and who kept trying to engage him in a conversation about things and people of whom he had never heard. On the other hand, Valerie Langley was only too thrilled by her placement, since one of her main goals in coming out of England had been to catch the Claremont family for herself and for her daughter, and was quite unaware that it was not working well.
To get things straight, to trace the source of the explosion, one must bear in mind that Pel Claremont thought Damian Baxter a liar and a cad, who’d attempted to seduce Serena into a marriage that would have ruined her life, all in an attempt to promote his own slimy and ill-bred interests. This was not my reading of the matter at all, but it was his and he did not understand why he had to sit at dinner with the author of his misfortunes. The plain truth is that neither Serena nor Candida had thought this through. The whole thing was as doomed as their original plan that exposure to Damian, at Gresham, would bring her parents round. Clearly, once the Claremonts had invited themselves on this expedition, Candida should have cancelled, or at the very least made a totally different plan as to how Serena and Damian would meet, because, given my new and greater understanding of the situation I now think Serena was incapable of turning down the chance to see him when it was offered. Unfortunately.
Damian was silent as we returned from the walk, and he had been fairly monosyllabic all evening since then. I saw Serena make an attempt to sit next to him, but he deliberately placed himself in a different, empty, chair, where the seats on either side were already taken by Candida and Lady Claremont, who may have been a little surprised when he chose her as his neighbour, but who contained it. After that, Damian talked to Candida exclusively and of course it would have been to everyone’s benefit if he had continued to do so, but Lady Claremont lived by certain rules and one of them was that at dinner, when the course changed and the next one was brought, it was time to turn to your other neighbour. Accordingly, she resigned George Tremayne to the claims of Dagmar and turned to Damian on her other side. ‘So, what are you doing now?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘Have you made any plans for the future?’
Damian stared at her for a moment, long enough for most of us to register his deliberate insolence. ‘Do you really want to know?’ he said. Now, as I am happy to testify, this was very unfair. At the time it was completely bewildering to the rest of the party as we could not imagine what on earth Lady Claremont had done to deserve it, but even if I now accept that she had been an accomplice in wrecking his life, I still don’t think it was fair. In this context she was just trying to get through dinner. Just trying to allow Candida or John or Alicky to feel that the evening was a success. What’s wrong with that?
With something like a deep breath she nodded. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said, as steadily as she could manage. ‘I’m very interested to know what lies ahead for all Serena’s old friends.’ Honestly, I would swear she meant this in a friendly way. She did not want Damian to marry her daughter it is true, but I don’t believe she wished him ill beyond that. This may not have been true of her husband, but it was true of her. For a second Damian looked slightly ashamed. He seemed to gather himself and he opened his mouth to speak, presumably to talk about the bank or something.
But before he could utter a word, Lord Claremont cut in. ‘Well,’ he said as he reached for a bottle of red that required him to stretch right across the table, ‘we are interested in a way. But only really to be sure that
if you do have any plans they won’t involve us.’ The effect of this was electric. In an instant every conversation was dead. Lady Claremont slowly shut her eyes and held them closed against the tidal wave that she probably guessed was coming. John and Alicky were just puzzled as to why their guests had suddenly chosen to be so rude to each other. The Langleys looked shocked, as did the younger group including me, while Lady Belton assumed her usual expression of indignant disdain. In the silence, Lord Belton took a huge slug of wine.
‘They won’t,’ said Damian easily. ‘What makes you think I’d make a mistake of that magnitude twice.’
‘Stop this!’ Suddenly Serena was as angry as I had ever seen her. ‘Stop this right now!’ Her eyes were blazing, but of course it was too late.
Lord Claremont quietened her with a sharp gesture of his hand, then looked his opponent in the eye and took another sip. Next, slowly and with some style, he lowered his glass and smiled before he spoke. In truth, his languor was not enough to conceal that he was very drunk. ‘Now, you look here, you little shit-’ This actually made half the people at the table jump, like mice they all jigged up and down in a row. Lady Claremont gave a sort of low groan, which sounded like ‘Oh, no,’ but might have just been a sound of mourning, as she leaned forward with one hand raised, and Valerie Langley let out a kind of wailing ‘What?’ to no one in particular.
But, by now, Damian was standing. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You look here, you pompous, ridiculous, boring, idiotic, unfunny, pretentious, ludicrous joke.’ There were seven adjectives employed in this sentence and I was fascinated by them, because I cannot imagine that seven words could do more to change a life. When Damian had first got to his feet, he was part of a minor incident, which a few apologies and a ‘have a drink, old boy’ would soon have fixed. By the time he’d finished his speech, less than a minute later, he was out of this world for good and there was no possibility of return. The gates of the drawing rooms of 1970s England had clanged shut against him and the air was thick with the smoke of burning bridges.
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