The Chocolate Tin
Page 9
‘Could you be?’ he asked mildly. ‘We could give her some other news that would relegate your fib into mere passing words,’ he baited.
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘Why not? We could be content, you know. We’d both remain sane in our marriage too. I promise I would look after you always.’
‘And love me?’
‘In my way, absolutely. I’m sure I already do.’
There it was again, that odd manner and curious phrasing to give her pause. And yet she was finding his offer increasingly hard to turn down. It would solve a lot of headache. She lifted a hand in a little wave of salutation to her approaching mother and imagined what joy she could bring Minerva by simply saying yes to Matthew’s proposal. If she rolled all of the other contenders’ best assets together, they’d come up wanting against Matthew Britten-Jones. The chance of falling madly in love with another man between now and perhaps Duncan Cameron coming home from the war, or even peace being achieved, seemed remote at best. Matthew, at least, would become her fiancé on her terms and they would go into marriage having made a decision together, having been entirely honest with each other about formalising a near platonic arrangement. Should that arrangement move into something romantic – and she saw no reason not to let it develop gradually – then that would be a special blessing.
This morning’s visit to Rowntree’s had delivered only happiness into her life and he was the one who’d made that visit possible and so easy. He was decisive, encouraging, positive. She realised Matthew was frowning at her being so lost in her thoughts but she couldn’t say anything to reassure him because the black ostrich feather had arrived and was dancing dangerously close to her nose.
‘Afternoon, darlings. Thank you for this lovely invitation.’
‘I’m so glad you said yes,’ Matthew charmed, holding out a seat for Lady Frobisher, who was leaning over to kiss her daughter.
Alex smiled. ‘Hope you aren’t offended that we started without you but we were both chilled.’
Minerva waved their explanation away as the waitress arrived. ‘Do you have any Congou, dear?’
Alex resisted rolling her eyes at her mother’s pretentious ways. The girl blinked, unsure. ‘English Breakfast, I think you’d call it,’ Alex suggested.
‘We do, yes, my lady.’
‘An extra hot pot of that for me and a separate top-up of water. I like my tea weak.’
‘Very good.’ The waitress looked to Alex. ‘Can I get you a top-up?’
‘Please, we’re having —’
‘Darjeeling,’ the girl jumped in and smiled.
‘Excellent memory,’ Alex remarked.
‘I practise a lot,’ she admitted. ‘I can now remember everyone’s orders on this side of the tearoom.’
‘That’s so impressive, er . . .’ Matthew said, squinting to read her badge, ‘Ellen.’
‘Thank you, sir. May I bring some more dainties?’
‘Definitely,’ he said, flashing her a smile.
Alex laughed as the waitress departed.
‘Tell me what is amusing you,’ Matthew queried.
‘Is any woman safe?’
‘Are you jealous?’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Minerva chimed in and then flicked a guilty glance at her daughter.
But Alex was in a buoyant mood and instead of being offended she sighed out of amused astonishment. ‘Mother, really!’
A trayload of silver arrived with Ellen, together with a china teacup and saucer. Another waitress followed, bearing two tiered stands of dainty cakes and sandwiches.
‘I brought two, sir, in case you’re hungry,’ Ellen admitted.
Alex loathed being predictable but she felt a sudden propriety towards Matthew and her glance at Ellen, though friendly, had a certain warding quality that she was intensely aware of. So was Ellen, who blushed and melted away quickly to other tables.
‘So you two look happy and as though you’ve had a good day?’ Minerva asked, peeling off her gloves.
‘It was splendid, Lady Frobisher. Your beautiful daughter has gamely volunteered at the hospital where she was instantly accepted, as we all knew she would be, and will now be a nurse’s aide, assisting with changing bandages and doling out medication.’
The claim about medication was stretching the truth but Alex didn’t leap to correct him. Instead she tried to counter it. ‘I’m sure I’ll be making beds too.’
‘Oh, darling, no. Really?’
‘It’s all part of it, Mother. War isn’t at all convenient. But it will make me feel like I’m contributing, so please don’t rally any of your influential friends to get me into some comfy role,’ she said, reaching to cover her mother’s hand with her own. ‘I want to be useful.’
Her mother gave a smile of sympathy. ‘Gorgeous child you are. I feel proud of you.’
‘There’s more wonderful news, though, Lady Frobisher. Exciting, in fact,’ Matthew said, not even casting a glance Alex’s way as he said this. ‘She has been – oh wait, it’s not my place. Let Alex share her lovely news from Arnold Rowntree.’
‘Did you meet Arnold Rowntree?’ Minerva swung around towards Alex and just missed the glare that her daughter had thrown Matthew’s way.
‘I did. He’s a most jolly fellow.’
‘Your father likes him enormously, despite what others say.’
‘Why? What do others say?’
‘Oh, well, it’s their Quaker way, darling. I know you steer clear of politics but there’s a lot of sentiment in York towards the Quaker community and these are not happy times for the Rowntree and Terry families. Not even for the Cadburys, I suspect, in Birmingham.’
‘Because they object to war? I object to war!’ She poured her mother’s tea for her.
‘Hush, dear, not so vehement. We all object but we’re in, aren’t we, darling, whether we like it or not. All our men are doing their best to fight for the country and what is right.’
‘The Germans probably have the same attitude,’ Alex murmured and could hear the churlish tone in her voice. ‘I’m sorry. You know what I mean. I’m sure the everyday German mother doesn’t want her son at war and the German wives worry about their husbands and sons as much as we worry about ours.’
Her mother’s expression at least conceded this point. ‘That may be true but it doesn’t excuse the fact that York’s most prominent family is refusing to defend Britain. It’s not a comfortable situation,’ Minerva said, sipping. ‘Oh, that’s delicious.’
Matthew joined in. ‘Arnold is a caring MP for York. His spiritual beliefs prevent him from raising arms against another. But the Rowntree hospital and indeed the special gift to the men at the Front, using their rail carriages for transporting goods for the war, are still vital and even highly valued contributions to Britain’s battles.’
‘Well said.’ Alex thanked Matthew as his gaze urged her forward; they both understood there would never be a more appropriate moment. She drew strength from his encouragement. ‘And this is why, Mother, I’m taking up Mr Rowntree’s proposition that I become a guide for the firm.’ Before her mother could put down her teacup to respond, Alex pushed on. ‘You see, there are a lot of visiting dignitaries, some extremely senior people, who travel up from London, including international visitors. And while there are existing guides, the Rowntree family is keen to find a single guide whom they can entrust to give a more . . . well, shall we say, appropriate tour of the company. This person needs to be able to field questions without fluster, in French for instance, to know the right view of the Rowntree family so that there is no ambiguity in the information passed on, and to be capable and comfortable with people of this social stature.’
Matthew leaned in to speak in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Lady Frobisher, I have it on excellent authority that there may well be a royal visit on the cards.’
‘To York?’ she warbled, intrigued.
He tapped his nose, nearly making Alex laugh while Minerva put a hand to her throat with intrigue. ‘
To the Rowntree factory, village, school, entertainment complex, even to its allotments.’
‘Good grief, when?’ her mother gusted.
Matthew gave a knowing shrug. ‘No date set yet, but . . .’ He paused dramatically. ‘There’s talk at high levels. And I suspect this is a reason why Arnold Rowntree would appreciate someone of Alex’s social standing, her education, her composure . . . dare I say her attractiveness, to spearhead a royal tour, should it eventuate.’
Now Minerva’s hand flew to cover her heart. ‘Oh, my heaven. Yes, darling. Of course it should be you. You are absolutely the right person to guide any royal around York.’
Alex blinked. Was Matthew lying or did he genuinely know something? ‘I’m glad that makes you happy, Mother, because it excites me to have this role.’
‘Lovely, darling, lovely. And you’ll feel you have a purpose, because I sense that’s been troubling you.’ She looked to Matthew. ‘She’s always loved chocolate; she used to try to guess what they were doing at the factories . . . She’s read up about it all but her father and I forbid her being on the factory floor like a common worker.’ Alex felt a pulse of horror flash through her. Her mother meant well but her haughty manner and choice of words could leave Alex speechless.
Not so Matthew, who showed no surprise. Trademark amusement sparkled in his eyes. ‘Oh, most understandable. You wouldn’t want to catch anything nasty, would you?’ Alex gusted a fresh, relieved laugh and her mother, definitely not used to this sort of dry wit, joined in, looking unsure. ‘Alex will be marvellous showing people around and explaining everything about the inner workings of a chocolate empire.’ He sold it beautifully; Alex found her admiration for him increasing by the minute. She watched his whiter-than-white teeth bite neatly into a cheese and cress sandwich and he gave a small grunt of pleasure, holding Minerva’s attention with his sleepy gaze and lazy grin. ‘And while they sort out all of that paperwork, embroidered name tags and so on, I’ve suggested to Mr Rowntree – I hope you don’t mind, Lady Frobisher, er, and you, of course, Alex – that you may like to help out on the special King’s Tin that is going to the men on the frontlines?’ He turned full attention to her. ‘I realise it’s rather forward of me, but they are in desperate need of additional people with excellent reading, analytical and geography skills. I took the liberty of presuming you might care to volunteer for the war effort as a geographical adviser as well as aiding the nurses.’
Alex didn’t need to look at her mother to watch her swell with pride. Matthew, she noted, was not nearly so bashful.
‘Forgive me for offering your daughter so readily, Lady Frobisher, but they’re looking for people with Alex’s exceptional education, and for women with cool hands, can you believe?’
Both women shook their heads in wonder.
‘When I shook your hand the first time, I recall thinking how cool and dry your skin is. It’s perfect for handling the chocolate should you need to.’ His words were met with silence and, rushing to fill it, he continued. ‘Working on the special royal tin, a treasured gift from the King, I thought would be special for your family too,’ he added in a final brilliant parry.
Alex had to stifle her amusement. Matthew was playing her mother the music she loved to hear and while she felt a twinge of guilt, she rather enjoyed the conspiratorial link with him, as though they were holding hands across the table and no one could see it.
‘Well, anything for the King,’ Minerva said in a hushed tone as though that was her final word.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then, as geographical adviser first, before coming a special VIP guide. Shall I let Arnold know, Alex, that you have permission to help with the King’s Tin?’
‘Yes, of course. It would be a privilege. I’ll start tomorrow morning if he wants.’
‘I think they’d take you sooner if they could.’ Matthew grinned. ‘Now, Lady Frobisher, can I tempt you with this exquisite fondant? The pale-green icing suits your attire, methinks.’
Her mother chuckled and reached for the tiny cake. ‘You’re wicked, Matthew.’
‘Oh, I know,’ he tsk-tsked. ‘How about coming out with me, tomorrow evening, Alex? We can celebrate your new role over a dinner?’
It was as though Minerva herself had been asked out. ‘Oh, go on, darling. We’ve not got anything special on tomorrow. I thought I’d suggest to your father when he finally agrees to step out of his club that we may pay a visit to the Thorntons over at Blythe Park. We’ve been invited to supper and stay over, actually.’
Alex nodded her agreement, feeling helpless under the pressure, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to feeling delighted. ‘That would be lovely, Matthew, thank you.’
‘Excellent.’ Matthew beamed. ‘Well, allow me to organise a hackney and get you both home on this cold afternoon when you’re ready. Then I might walk around to the club and meet your father for a bowl; he’s determined I improve my pipe skills before I leave York.’
At the mention of his leaving, Alex felt surprised at how her mood lurched into a momentary gloom. There was no denying that Matthew had already brightened their household considerably with his helplessly jolly disposition.
She allowed him to take her arm and noticed once again how he paid careful attention to Minerva, escorting them both to the reception hall of the hotel while he stepped outside to organise their ride home.
‘Isn’t he a breath of fresh air?’ Minerva seemed to be speaking aloud rather than asking Alex a direct question.
‘I have to admit he is pleasurable company. He makes me smile a lot.’
‘Oh, darling, that does make me glad. You know your father and I only want your happiness; you’re all we have.’ Minerva’s eyes were soft with affection and Alex’s emotions felt like they were being conched, melting gladly beneath the touch of her mother’s glance. This was Minerva at her fond best and Alex knew her mother’s smothering ways never came from a place that was anything but dauntingly loving. Alex wanted to please her parents but she didn’t want to please them at the expense of her aspirations. Maybe Matthew offered a bridge between the two?
With this notion Alex allowed him to kiss her cheek and help her into the hackney. He diligently did the same for Minerva, beaming into the carriage as soon as they’d settled themselves with the leather squeaking beneath them.
‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ Matthew politely lifted his bowler hat. ‘I shall stay at the club tonight, Lady Frobisher. He turned to Alex. ‘I’ll book a table somewhere delightful for us tomorrow,’ he added, before glancing to the man holding the reins. ‘Drive on, thank you.’ He flipped a coin that she presumed was deftly caught and pocketed.
Minerva gave a contented sigh. ‘Oh, darling, I forgot to mention. Daddy received word this afternoon that Duncan might be home on leave shortly.’
‘Duncan? When?’ Spangles of panic traced through her body until she imagined her mother could see fireworks flying from her gloved fingers, like the blitz of sparks from a tram. She showed none of this in her tone, though.
Her mother shrugged as the carriage lurched past the ancient water tower before they crossed Lendal Bridge. ‘I’m not certain. Your father simply mentioned it as probably happening next month. I do like Duncan Cameron.’
There it was, the gentle, unspoken, invisible and very genuine threat. Alex had no doubt it was deliberate but she also had no doubt it was meant to encourage her towards Matthew. She allowed the journey to The Mount to continue in silence but she fully understood the decision she faced in the next few days.
__________
At the club, which sat jauntily to one side of the Lendal Bridge with splendid views over the River Ouse, Matthew and Charles shared an aperitif.
Charles had been reluctant to taste his companion’s suggestion but had acquiesced when the waiter had agreed it was a surprisingly delicious pre-dinner drink. ‘Well, I can’t say I’ve been much of a fan of gin in my time, young Matthew, but this is a novel way to wet my whistle before dinner.’
‘Zingy, eh? Well, it’s that, all right,’ Charles said, holding up his glass to stare through the clear liquid to the tall bank of windows as daylight drained from the comfortable chamber in which they sat in armchairs. ‘But I’m a whisky man, Matthew. Nothing to match the honeyed sweetness of a ripe malt to warm my blood on a cold night.’
The waiter who had been serving them sidled up to where they lounged. ‘May I refresh your glass, Mr Britten-Jones?’
It was Charles who spoke, though. ‘Now, who are you, then? You’re a fresh face around here.’
‘I’m James, Sir Charles. I started only this week at the club.’
‘And you already know my name and this young whippet’s name too,’ he said, nodding at Matthew. ‘Impressive. Where’ve you come from, then?’
‘Bristol, sir,’ James replied.
Charles gave a sound of surprise and James appeared taken aback. ‘My companion here is from Bristol.’
James smiled lazily. ‘I don’t believe we have mixed in the same circles, sir.’ There was something vaguely suggestive about the man’s remark but although Charles registered it, he didn’t dwell on it. He was feeling thoroughly comfortable, in no hurry as dinner had turned into supper, and that was still many hours away; frankly he was still feeling tight from midday luncheon with his rail colleagues.
‘. . . from Clifton Down,’ he heard Matthew saying to the waiter. ‘And you?’
‘Hotwells,’ James replied, lifting Matthew’s glass to his tray but not before holding it in such a way that it became a question. Matthew nodded and James continued. ‘My father was a seaman so we lived down by the port.’
‘Make mine a malt, James,’ Charles requested. He’d stop after this one so he didn’t arrive home smelling like a barrel. He watched James’s long arm snake out to delicately lift the as yet unfinished gin sling that sat before him.
‘I’ll remove this, sir?’