‘No, I never learnt.’
‘That’s a pity. There’s a group of us at the shop thinking of starting a cycling club. You can take your cycle on the train, you know, in the guard’s van, so we could ride out to somewhere nice of a Sunday, then cycle round all the lanes and villages. Stop for a nice pint of something, and sandwiches, then back by train again in the evening. Could try somewhere different each time, like.’
‘Oh, that sounds wonderful,’ Daisy cried, her imagination fired. ‘I’d love to learn to ride a bicycle. Is it very difficult?’
‘Not when you get the hang of it. It sort of comes to you suddenly. One minute you’re wobbling all over the place and the next, you’re off. And once you’ve got it, it’s wonderful. Flying along with the wind in your face, you feel like you’re king of the road. And the freedom of it, too. No more waiting about for trams or buses, you just peddle off to wherever you want and whenever you want.’
‘Oh – I wish I could try.’
Daisy pictured herself cycling along a country lane with Johnny by her side, not with a club but just the two of them, the sun warm on their faces and the birds singing in the trees overhead. It seemed idyllic. Then reality intruded.
‘But aren’t bicycles very expensive?’ she asked. She had seen them down in their basement department at the store. The cheapest ones were over six pounds, the better ones three times that amount.
‘Well yes, but you can buy them second-hand.’ Johnny turned to Isobel. ‘I could always look over a cycle for you, do the brakes and that and make sure it’s safe.’
‘Thank you,’ Isobel said.
‘It’d be fun, wouldn’t it, Iz? Going cycling?’ Daisy said.
They were interrupted by the arrival of the tram. Johnny gallantly handed the girls on board, which gave Isobel the chance to slip into a window seat. Daisy plumped down beside her, so Johnny had to take the seat on the other side of the aisle. It was an arrangement to please everyone but Johnny, since Isobel now completely opted out of the conversation by looking steadfastly out of the window. To Daisy, the whole journey was an adventure. The part of it that went through central London she only knew in sections, and once they were into the new suburbs, it was entirely fresh territory to her.
‘Where are we now?’ she kept asking Johnny, who was happy to give a commentary on everything they passed.
‘What do you think of these places, Isobel? Neat, aren’t they?’ he said, trying to draw her in. ‘How would you like to live somewhere like that?’
‘I think it would be most dreadfully lowering to the spirits. Rows and rows of houses, all looking exactly alike,’ Isobel answered.
‘I think they’re lovely,’ Daisy exclaimed.
The new developments were all very alike, it was true, each house built of red or yellow brick with heavy stone pillared bay windows and a front door with stained-glass inserts. But compared with North Millwall they were palaces. They were big and solid and well-built, they had front gardens with coloured tiled paths and back gardens with real grass and flowerbeds, those bays must let in lots of light, and the streets were wide with saplings planted along the edges of the pavements. They were clean and new and had three or even four bedrooms. Daisy could not even think of aspiring to one of them.
‘It’s so clean out here, and look at them – those – trees. That’s one of the things I like about Trent Street, the trees. Back home, we had to go down the Island Gardens if we wanted to see a bit of green.’
‘I used to look across to the Island Gardens from Greenwich. Me and my pals went over there sometimes, but it was more for the fun of walking through the tunnel than the gardens themselves. They were a bit tame after Greenwich Park,’ Johnny said.
‘Did you really? Fancy that! We might of seen each other there. We used to go to Greenwich Park sometimes, but it was a bit of a long haul from where we lived. I used to look across from the gardens at them – those – beautiful big buildings and the green hill behind and it looked like paradise,’ Daisy said, smiling at the memory.
‘The hill’s marvellous for sledging. Ever so steep. We used to take our mum’s tin trays and slide down,’ Johnny said.
‘That must of been good. Did you fall off?’
‘Tons of times. It was all part of the fun.’
They chatted easily the length of the journey, comparing experiences and opinions. They had the same sense of humour and similar tastes, although Johnny had travelled and done so much more than Daisy that he seemed quite the man of the world compared with the lads she had known back home.
The tram arrived at the end of the line and they got down. Johnny immediately offered his arms to both girls again and they set off down the little High Street and then along a road similar to any of those past which they had travelled, except that there were many empty plots between the new houses. After a while they came to an unmade road, with just a few houses in various stages of being built beside it, which at length petered out into a country lane.
‘There, we’ve left London behind us at last,’ Johnny said. ‘Now, isn’t this nice? Fresh air, sunshine, flowers – aren’t you glad you came, Isobel?’
‘It’s very pleasant,’ Isobel said, evading the question.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Daisy sighed.
She could not get over just how lovely it was. There were wild flowers in the grass verges, dog roses in the hedgerows and poppies blooming amongst the young corn. Birds sang in the trees, animals grazed in the meadows and everywhere flourished with the luxuriant green of summer. High overhead, a lark sang.
‘Oh look, sheep!’ she cried. ‘I ain’t never seen sheep before. Ain’t they sweet? All fluffy. Can I touch one? Do they bite?’
Johnny laughed. ‘Bite? Sheep? Get away! Here, look, see if you can reach this one if you want to touch it.’
Fascinated and slightly apprehensive, Daisy climbed onto the lower rungs of a gate and stretched out towards a grazing ewe. Her fingers met with the wiry, oily outer wool, then sank in to the clean white layer beneath.
‘Oh! It’s all soft! It’s lovely. Oh Izzy, come and feel.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘You really never seen a sheep before?’ Johnny asked.
Daisy blushed, her pleasure abruptly cut short. ‘We never went very far in our family,’ she had to admit.
It was something of an understatement. Apart from the Sunday School outings to Epping, the only journey she had ever been on was one trip to Southend when she was eight.
Johnny rescued her from her embarrassment.
‘You girls hungry yet? If we go down this lane to the left here we get to a village with a nice pub. We could stop there and have a drink and eat our sandwiches.’
‘I don’t really think I want to go in a public house, thank you,’ Isobel said.
Johnny was quick to reassure her. ‘You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. There are benches outside, and they sell lemonade and ginger beer or even milk if you prefer. And it’s a very respectable place. They get a lot of visitors out here as it’s so near to London. Lots of ladies walking and bicycling. Just come and see it, and if you don’t like it, we needn’t stop.’
Isobel couldn’t very well argue with this, and when they got to the village, even she had to agree that it was very pretty, with a collection of cottages, some of them thatched, round a little green. The pub was an attractive place with, as Johnny had promised, rough benches placed against the walls. The girls sat down and Johnny went in to get the drinks. Daisy sighed with pleasure, leaning back against the sun-warmed brick of the wall and closing her eyes.
‘Isn’t it beautiful? I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere so pretty in all my life. Aren’t you glad you came now?’
‘It is nice to get away from London, certainly,’ Isobel agreed.
Johnny came back with glasses of home-made lemonade for the girls and a pint for himself.
‘Mmm, that’s the stuff. Better than what you get from the London breweries,’ he sa
id. ‘Lemonade all right?’
‘Delicious,’ Daisy enthused.
They opened their now slightly squashed sandwiches and watched children playing on the green and locals and other visitors coming to the pub. As Johnny had said, it was a popular place. A group of cyclists stopped off for a drink, laughing and joking amongst themselves, and two motor cars went by while they were eating.
‘Do you want to walk on a bit? There’s a pretty stream about a mile down the road,’ Johnny asked Isobel.
‘Very well,’ Isobel agreed.
Daisy could not help feeling hurt that she was not consulted, but was happy enough to go along with the decision. When they got to the stream, Isobel settled down to rest in the shade of a willow tree, closing her eyes and giving every appearance of not wanting to be disturbed. Johnny gazed at her for a while, disappointment written on his face. Daisy took a breath.
‘Are there fish in the river?’ she asked.
For a moment, Johnny did not answer her. Then he turned to her slowly, as if surfacing from a deep sleep.
‘What? Er – yes, there are. Little ones. Minnows, sticklebacks, that sort of thing.’
‘Really? Where? Will you show me?’
Once she had managed to distract him, he was a lively companion again, pointing out the fish, picking wild flowers, telling her the names of things. It was worth admitting to her ignorance to hear his pleasure in knowing about the plants and birds and insects around them. Daisy’s knowledge of the natural world was limited to drawing pictures of leaves on squeaky slates in school.
‘Daisies for Daisy,’ he said, presenting her with a handful of meadow marguerites.
Daisy flushed with pleasure. Nobody had ever given her flowers before.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, aching inside, wishing that the gesture was as romantic as it seemed.
At three o’clock they had to start back, in order to catch the tram home.
‘It’s the Sunday service, you see,’ Johnny explained.
Isobel was roused from her doze, and Johnny did his best to get her to talk as they walked back through the lanes and then the beginning of the built-up area to the stop. Daisy clutched her bunch of flowers in one hand and held on to Johnny’s arm with the other. She could feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his jacket, the brush of his leg against her skirt, and wished with all her being that Isobel were not there, that it was just the two of them, strolling together in a haze of happiness.
Johnny said goodbye to them on the doorstep of number twenty-four.
‘I do hope you enjoyed yourself?’ he said to Isobel.
‘It was very nice,’ she replied, coolly polite.
‘It’s been the loveliest day I’ve ever had,’ Daisy told him, her eyes glowing.
Johnny gave a wry smile. ‘Yes, well, I’m glad you liked it, anyway. Perhaps we could do it again sometime?’
He looked at Isobel, but it was Daisy who jumped at the chance.
‘That’d be lovely,’ she said.
Isobel said nothing. Johnny turned to go.
‘Thanks ever so much for taking us,’ Daisy called after him as he went down the steps.
Johnny raised a hand in farewell, and set off down the street. The spring had gone out of his step.
Daisy fetched an empty jam jar from the kitchen for her wild flowers.
‘They’re already looking a bit droopy. Isn’t it sad that they don’t last?’ she said. The thought of their fleeting beauty brought a great lump to her throat. It had been such a wonderful day, but now it was over, and Johnny still only had eyes for Isobel.
‘Why don’t you press one or two of them?’ Isobel suggested.
The idea held back the threatening tears. Daisy chose the most perfect marguerite and put it between the pages of the only book she possessed, her Sunday School prize Bible. She held it to her chest for a while, gazing at the flowers in the vase. Now she had something to keep, something that he had given her.
17
EDWARD STEPPED OUT of the motor with the rest of the family and followed them across the lawns. It felt odd to be out in the sunshine on a weekday, odd to be wearing a striped blazer and a boater. He had not wanted to be part of the family party to Henley, but his grandfather had insisted.
‘You know what they say, Edward – all work and no play and all that. The store can look after itself for three days. You come and have a little holiday. You’ll be all the better for it.’
And since in the end his grandfather called the tune, here he was, a part of one of the great set pieces of the Season. Now that he was here, he had to admit that it was very impressive. Against a backdrop of trees and green grass a great picnic was assembling, with enclosures and marquees spread out across the lawns, and dazzling houseboats moored along the river bank. In amongst this huge live stage set, hundreds of people were sitting in picturesque groups or strolling about dressed in whites or the brightest of colours, the men in their garish blazers, the women in their prettiest summer dresses, wearing flowered hats and carrying parasols. Society was out in force, along with all its hangers-on.
‘There!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘That is our houseboat.’
Her voice rang with pride. The toy she had hired for the festival was indeed a triumph. A two-decked affair painted in bright blue, it had blue and white awnings fringed with gold shading its decks, and gold and white pennants fluttering from its fragile masts. Flower boxes fixed along its sides overflowed with marigolds and trailing nasturtiums, and at each end of the gangplank there were bay trees in tubs, surrounded by more nasturtiums. The family was duly impressed. They all trooped on board, exclaiming further at the luxuries to be found there. There were Persian rugs, Chinese umbrellas and wicker chairs strewn with embroidered cushions waiting for them, while the servants who had gone on ahead were ready to take any surplus belongings and serve drinks.
‘Just the ticket, old girl,’ Edward’s father, Bertie, said, as he sank into one of the chairs and held out a hand for the day’s first glass of champagne.
Edward looked at him with disapproval. Yes, it was just his sort of occasion. He could lounge around all day, eating and drinking and leering at the pretty girls. He would be entertained to his heart’s delight without having to lift a finger.
‘Very pretty, my dear, and so comfortable,’ his grandmother commended, sipping tea.
‘Splendid, Winifred my dear. We must have one of the best views of the river here,’ Thomas said.
Winifred looked duly gratified, but Edward could see that she was still uneasy. He knew what was worrying her. It was all very well to have a beautiful houseboat in a prime position, but it meant nothing if the right people did not call in to sit on its decks and eat and drink the vast amounts of food and wine she had ordered. It sickened him, this courting of all these people with too much idea of their own worth. Most of them had only their names to be proud of. Maybe in the past their ancestors had done something to gain the titles they held, but the present generation seemed to him to be a talentless lot.
He leant on the deckrail with his glass of champagne and surveyed the scene. Already flotillas of skiffs and punts, bright with awnings and cushions and flowers, were plying the river, powered with varying degrees of skill by men of all ages and a surprising number of young women. The shrieks and cries of the English upper class at play echoed across the water, grating on Edward’s nerves.
To his surprise, his grandfather came to join him.
‘Splendid sight, eh?’ he said, waving with his cigar at the kaleidoscope of people and boats before them.
‘Remarkable display of wealth, certainly,’ Edward conceded.
‘And beauty, my boy. Lots of pretty girls here, too. Look at that little blonde thing. See her driving that punt along! Shows spirit, that does.’
Edward was not interested in girls with spirit, and particularly those with minds of their own.
‘Can’t abide these New Women,’ he said.
‘Couldn’t agree mor
e,’ Thomas said, and rambled on for some time, pointing out what he considered to be beauties, until Edward was drawn in as well, and began making his own comments.
‘And they’re all on the lookout for a husband, too,’ Thomas reminded him. ‘You should take the opportunity to look about you a bit. It’s time you started to think of marrying. A married man has more of an air of stability, you know. Shows he’s serious about life and his future.’
Edward was startled to be given such an obvious hint. Was marriage then the key that would bring him more real power in the store?
‘Expensive business, though,’ he said, seeking to confirm it.
‘I realise that, my boy. None better. You can rest assured that there would be suitable adjustments to your position. I want to see all three of you youngsters well set up. It’s Amelie’s turn at the moment, of course, but you are not forgotten.’
‘I’ll certainly bear it in mind,’ Edward said.
Thomas was not to be fobbed off with vague assurances.
‘File it away and forget it, in other words,’ he retorted. ‘You have to make an effort in these things, you know. It’s not like buying a pair of gloves. Now, these three days will give you a good chance to think about it and maybe make a start. Just look at what’s before you! Good as a moving shop window.’
Edward was looking. There certainly were plenty of young girls in the boats and sitting in family parties under the trees on the oppositie bank. Many were not at all pretty, in fact some were remarkably plain, but all of them were beautifully turned out in dainty dresses and flowered hats or perky boaters. All were supremely confident of their position in the Top Ten Thousand.
‘Give them a whiff of Trade and they’d be off,’ he said.
Thomas snorted. ‘Don’t you be so sure of it. There are plenty out there with very old handles to their names who wouldn’t pass up the chance of an alliance with the Packard fortune. They can’t put on all this pretty display without money, you know, and not all of them have been wise with it in the past. They need people like us who can make it, however much they try to look down their noses at us. Take our Amelie, now. It’s doing her no harm to be known as my granddaughter. Your father might think she’s being launched on the Amberley name, but it wouldn’t do her much good without Packards behind her.’
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