There’d been little hope during her two years of exile, but now, with a share in Tyson’s, she had a better chance of snaring someone. Not that she wanted a fortune hunter. Apart from any other consideration there was little actual wealth attached to her share holding, only prospects for the future. And even that depended on Kate’s competence, in which Lucy had little faith. She was banking on gaining complete control, hopefully through Jack, then things would be very different.
Not that she had any wish for dear Jack to wear himself out with the business. When he grew bored with it, she wanted to be in a position to sell, then her darling son could become the gentleman he deserved to be, and she could sit back and enjoy her just reward.
In the meantime what Lucy needed most was to marry wealth. Unfortunately, the stock of eligible men was low.
So many had been killed off in the war, so many ancient families gone to the wall. With no sons to inherit, stables empty, no servants to look after the estate properly, taxes rising and incomes falling, land and fine houses were being sold off to profiteering city types who moved in and aped their betters, pretending to be what they weren’t.
Although being connected to a title and landed gentry would be fun, Lucy was not entirely against these Johnnie-Come-Latelys, so long as they were very rich. And she certainly had no wish to lumber herself with faded grandeur. Living in a draughty, ancient pile was not at all to her taste.
Nor was she quite of an age when she could guarantee to supply any future spouse with an heir, so she must choose with care.
Lucy rather saw her later years spent in becoming a hostess of note and fashion, one whose dinner parties must not be missed at any cost. Although short periods spent exploring the continent during the winter would not go amiss either. She longed to be one of the new breed of hostess who possessed flair and élan. The kind who held the new style cocktail parties, serving champagne with crème de menthe, White Ladies and enough gin to sink a battleship, not to mention dinky titbits of food served with consummate imagination. She’d read all about it in Vogue magazine. All of which made Mrs Petty’s culinary efforts look positively Victorian by comparison, but then the woman was Victorian.
Like it or not, the dragon must be brought to heel. Mrs Petty would do as she was told or suffer the consequences.
But Lucy had begun to despair of ever striking lucky in the marriage stakes.
Callum was missing Bunty badly. Not only was she his only real friend but he loved her devotedly, ached to hold her in his arms again. She was still at her finishing school in Switzerland and hating every minute, as she’d expected. They wrote letters of love and longing to each other, rarely missing a single week. In addition, Callum would keep her abreast of all the gossip and news back home. Bunty equally concerned about Kate, and appalled by her mother’s apparent vendetta against her, wanted to be kept up to date. The pair were united in their hope that one day they’d be free to be together, despite everything.
But Callum hadn’t heard from her for a week or two now, which was worrying. She’d complained of feeling unwell the last time she’d written, maybe she’d caught the ’flu or something. Switzerland must be pretty cold at this time of year. And then a letter came saying how much she was looking forward to seeing him at Christmas.
‘We need to talk. There’s so much I need to tell you. I do wish we were old enough to marry. That would solve everything. Couldn’t we elope, like Romeo and Juliet?’
Callum smiled affectionately to himself as he read her eager words. She really must hate that school. Poor Bunty. He wrote back, gently reminding her that Romeo and Juliet’s love story didn’t exactly have a happy ending and he was very determined that theirs would.
‘We’ll marry just the minute we’re old enough to please ourselves. Till then we must be patient.’ But he finished with lots of words of love, saying how much he missed her and how he too was longing for Christmas to come so they could be together again.
As if she didn’t have worries enough, Christmas to arrange for one thing, over which Kate was making not the slightest effort, Lucy received a most disturbing letter from the school concerning Bunty. The headmistress was threatening to expel her for misbehaviour and wished Lucy to come and collect her at once.
She was flabbergasted. Bunty had always been an individual, fiercely independent sort of child, but it surely wasn’t in her nature to cause mayhem and bring expulsion upon herself. What on earth could she have done? Smoked an illicit cigarette perhaps? Got a little squiffy with her friends, as young girls did from time to time? Whatever it was it was obviously something the prissy headmistress disapproved of, silly woman.
Perfectly certain that she didn’t have the time to take the boat train to Switzerland right now, Lucy sat down and wrote to the school, insisting that they at least keep her daughter until the end of term.
The response this time came from Bunty herself, by telephone. A frantic, desperate appeal for her mother to meet her at Liverpool Street station on Saturday as she was on her way home, via Harwich, and would then do her best to explain.
Lucy very nearly refused, in a fury that her wishes had been flouted. How dare the school dismiss her darling daughter! Such effrontery. What could the girl possibly have done to deserve such treatment?
A tearful Bunty sat in the station buffet weeping into her tea cup while she confessed to her mother that she was almost three months pregnant.
Lucy could actually feel the blood draining from her face, and then flooding back on a tide of fury. Had they not been in such a public place she might well have knocked her child to the ground, so livid was she.
‘You’ve ruined everything, you stupid girl! Destroyed your future, your reputation, all my efforts in trying to make a lady out of you. You’ve turned yourself into a harlot. Who’s the father? I’ll kill him with my own bare hands.’
Faced with this prospect, Bunty very nearly refused to say, but then how could she and Callum every marry if she didn’t tell? ‘He will marry me, Mama, there’s no problem about that. We love each other, were intending to marry anyway.’
‘We’ll see about that. Who is he?’
The moment Callum’s name was out of her mouth, Bunty recognised her mistake. If her mother’s face had been pale before, it now bleached to a ghastly hue. ‘Never,’ she hissed. ‘Never will you see that boy ever again, not while I live and breathe.’
Lucy wasted no time. She took her sobbing, seventeen-year-old daughter straight to a doctor and before the afternoon was out, the ‘problem’ had been dealt with. Lucy then telephoned the headmistress of another school that dear Teddy had recommended, giving a garbled explanation for the reason things hadn’t worked out in the previous establishment, and offering a large donation for the new school’s inconvenience.
A couple of days later, Bunty was put back on the boat train and returned to Switzerland, although to a different school in a different town; rather like an unwanted parcel going the rounds. There would be no hasty marriage and certainly no baby, not even Christmas in her own home. She would spend the holiday at the new school, which, as her mother explained, would allow her ample opportunity to consider the error of her ways.
‘Callum will wait for me,’ Bunty sobbed. ‘I shall please myself what I do when I reach twenty-one. We’ll get married then, see if we don’t.’
‘You will do no such thing. By then, my girl, I will have married you off to someone who can teach you the merits of decent behaviour. Until then, you will stay where I put you, in Switzerland.’
‘I shall have to leave when I’m eighteen,’ Bunty retaliated.
‘No indeed, nineteen is the age agreed for you to be properly finished. After that, I had hoped to find a good family to take you under their wing, people of wealth and influence. I even dreamed of seeing you presented at Court. Now that may be impossible. We’re in danger of having your chances utterly ruined unless you keep this matter absolutely quiet. Not a soul must know of it, do you understand? The headm
istress of your new school certainly doesn’t. If we’re careful, we may still be able to salvage your reputation and find you a good husband.’
Bunty sobbed, ‘I don’t want a good husband. I want Callum.’
‘There will be no further correspondence between the two of you. Ever!’
Try as she might to fight her cause, Bunty’s defiance was weakening. Always afraid of her mother’s anger, and only too aware of how badly she herself had transgressed, she felt nervous of what Lucy might do next. It was soon made abundantly clear.
‘You will do as I say in this. Not another word will be exchanged between you, not even by letter - not if you want Callum to keep his job at the factory - and to stay safe and well. Do I make myself clear? Stay away from him or you will regret it. I have the means of getting my own way in this. Don’t make me use them.’
Chapter Eleven
As the New Year came in, Lucy put her daughter’s problem firmly from her mind and set about her campaign of husband-hunting with renewed fervour. She had her hair shingled, went on a diet and desperately struggled to squeeze her plump bosom into the new, flattened lines; her legs, which she’d always thought rather good, were shamelessly on display with skirts worn at least three inches above her ankles. The fashion pages rumoured they might go shorter still!
She attended any number of weekend parties, desperately keeping the flame of hope burning. But even if Lucy were fortunate enough to catch the eye of a young man, the next morning at breakfast he could well start flirting with someone else, or have left early and gone off for the day with some silly young flapper. It was all most disconcerting and meant that she had to start again from scratch, chatting and flirting, striving to listen and be attentive, which was too often stupendously boring.
If I am going to be bored by some old buffer, she would say to herself, he’d better be rich and on his last legs, ripe for leaving me a large fortune. On the whole, though, she preferred younger men. So much more exciting in bed, even if capturing a rich one would be her ideal.
Having satisfied herself that Tyson Lodge was now in order, and that her dinner parties, lunches and delightful little musical soirees had met with reasonable success, Lucy decided to expand her horizons. She began holding weekend affairs to which she invited all the right people, either Of Our Class, or else with sufficient funds to counteract the lack of good breeding.
She took up golf and archery, since they would bring her into the company of the right people, and gave instructions for the installation of a tennis court. If they chopped down a few trees in the garden there would just be sufficient room. Not that she mentioned this plan to Kate who would only make a fuss.
Lucy was intent on becoming known for her sophistication, for her fashion sense, her gramophone records, her bridge parties. She even bought a Pekinese dog which yapped all the time and drove Aunt Cissie’s dogs wild, but she was a cute little thing, and so modern.
One evening she was walking in the garden when a figure stepped out of the bushes, quite startling her. It was Swainson. ‘You haven’t been to see me for a while, so thought I’d pop in.’
Lucy felt a surge of panic. ‘But you mustn’t. Don’t ever come here again, do you understand? We mustn’t be seen together. Ever! Far too dangerous.’
‘Haven’t you got something for me? Why the long silence?’
How could she tell him that matters were going along swimmingly, that she really didn’t need him any more, or not at the moment anyway? ‘Wait here, I’ll fetch you some money.’
‘I’ll settle for a bit of the other.’
Lucy was irritated. ‘Not now! I have dinner guests arriving at any moment. Wait in the summer house. I’ll bring you something later.’
He grabbed her arm as she turned to go, a fierce iron grip that seemed to cut off her circulation. ‘See that you do. I’ll be waiting.’
Back in the house she was distracted by the arrival of her guests, and by the time they’d all had their drinks and were being served canapés, it had started to rain. Lucy certainly was not prepared to risk getting her hair wet or her gown spoiled simply in order to keep Ned Swainson happy. She’d deal with him another time.
Besides, she had Teddy to amuse her now, and he was such a darling. Very fast, and far too young for her, of course, but willing enough to take her to bed when she’d a mind, and his love making had so much more finesse than Swainson.
‘You’ll stay over tonight, won’t you, darling?’ she would say, or merely give him a look or a wink, and he’d be more than happy to oblige.
Weekend parties were so convenient, and he proved to be a vigorous lover, if not necessarily husband material. His shoulders sloped and he slouched somewhat, but then he was dreadfully lazy. He smoked and drank a great deal too, which wasn’t particularly a problem because everyone else did, and Teddy certainly liked to follow every trend. But he was also undoubtedly shallow, selfish and utterly irresponsible.
‘Lend me a fiver, sweetie,’ he would say. ‘I know of a sure bet on the three-thirty at Doncaster. I could put one on for you too, if you like. Just need to give a chum a ring on your dinky phone.’
And Lucy would make a great show of sighing and complaining, though not really minding at all as she peeled off a few notes, then let him kiss her all over by way of reward for her generosity. He did sometimes win and bring her more notes back, although not quite as often as she would have liked.
They enjoyed several weeks of the most entertaining high-jinks in her bedroom but then she found him in bed with Silky Shackleton. Too shaming for words. Silky being a good ten years older than Lucy herself.
‘You prefer the older woman then?’ Lucy snapped at him.
‘Of course, dahling. Why do you think I sleep with you? Not a problem, is it?’
And there was the nub of it. Of course it was a problem. There were so many young girls around and so few young men, that finding one interested in a woman about to turn forty wasn’t easy. Lucy had no wish to be thought of as an “elderly fruit”, which is what Teddy called her.
Besides which, those young men who had survived the war were utterly cynical and selfish, devoting their lives entirely to the pursuit of pleasure. Their starry-eyed idealism had been crushed out of them in the trenches and they had little patience now with stifling morals, petty-fogging rules or social niceties.
They wanted to have a good time and not think of tomorrow.
In a way their attitude took some of the fun out of what Lucy’s own generation had called house parties. No more creeping along passages and landings; nor any necessity for secret assignations. You could simply make a straightforward assignation with the man of your choice, and no one would bat an eyelid.
Teddy once told her, ‘You know, it really wouldn’t matter, old thing, if there were a fire drill, burglary or some such that got everyone up in the middle of the night, so long as there wasn’t actually a fire, you understand. No one would care a jot if they emerged from the wrong bedroom. I don’t think Freddie Macintosh has slept with his wife in months.’
Teddy himself certainly couldn’t be accused of being the faithful type.
Lucy put an end to their affair, naturally, refusing ever to sleep with him again after the Silky Shackleton betrayal. Well, perhaps just occasionally, if she was in the mood. And he did still have his uses. There was no one, simply no one, that Teddy didn’t know.
Only this morning, she’d casually risked a query of a most delicate nature. ‘If one of your relatives were rather - below par, - shall we say, Teddy, where would you send them for a little extra-special care? Somewhere discreet, naturally.’
Unlike most people, Teddy did not investigate her reasons for asking. He simply gave the matter a moment or two’s consideration and then came up with a suggestion. Several, in fact, but one in particular appealed. Lucy resolved to discuss the matter later with Jack. She always valued her son’s opinion, largely because it generally coincided with her own.
It all proved remarka
bly easy to arrange. Lucy did worry that perhaps she should have made her move sooner, since the stupid woman was beginning to show signs of recovery. Quite remarkable, really, when you thought about what she’d been through. Nevertheless, it was not quite too late. Nobody else had noticed how much better Kate seemed of late.
When Lucy suggested to her that she might care to accompany her to the next weekend party, Kate was taken by surprise. ‘Why would you want me tagging along? I’m not seeking a husband, and I’ll only cramp your style.’
‘I’m thinking of you, dear Kate. Can’t you at least concede that I care about your welfare just a little? They’re friends of Teddy’s. Own a marvellous place in the country, apparently, right up in the borders of Scotland, so it will be a real treat. Lots of fresh air and vigorous walking. You’ll love that.’
‘I couldn’t leave the children, not for a whole weekend.’
‘Callum is hardly a child and is rarely home in any case what with all his football and cricket, and evening classes. Darling Flora will be spoiled rotten by the aunts. Besides, she’ll hardly notice you’re gone before you’ll be home again. It’s only a Friday to Monday do. Oh, do come along, whyever not? A break would do you the world of good . I shall be off with the hunting and shooting brigade during the day myself, but you’ll be perfectly free to be superbly lazy and idle, read a lovely book or explore the countryside, as you will.’
‘I do like walking, it’s true.’ Strange as it might seem, Kate felt sorely tempted. Perhaps Lucy was right, a break would do her good.
Lucy gave a trill of laughter. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in your eyes. Won’t we squabble the entire weekend? Surely not. We’re mature, sensible women, and we really must try to get along. This is as good a way to start as any, don’t you think? You’re no good to Tyson’s Industries, nor to my investment in it, if you start being ill again, now are you? So, what do you say?’
Kate came to a decision and agreed that she would go, suddenly attracted by the idea of a trip to Scotland. She’d never been and had heard it was very beautiful. Eliot used to wax lyrical about its heather-clad hills and magical glens, promising to take her one day. Well, that couldn’t happen now but she could still go, walk in the glens or by a loch, and remember the happy times they’d enjoyed together. It really was time she started living again.
The Woman From Heartbreak House Page 10