Packards

by Patricia Burns

  Edward sat frowning at him. Perry felt as if he were back at school. He resisted with difficulty the urge to fidget.

  ‘Very well,’ Edward decided. ‘I’ll give you a month. Of course, you’ll have to give up the girl.’

  This gave Perry a strong pang of regret.

  ‘Oh but –’ he started. But he could see that it was no use. Holding on to his comfortable existence of idle pleasure was more important than a passing love affair. ‘Of course,’ he agreed.

  ‘I don’t mean next month or next week or even tomorrow. I mean now. You are not to communicate with her again.’

  ‘Oh I say, that does seem a bit tough –’ Perry’s protest trailed off under Edward’s hard eyes.

  ‘I think I’m being very generous. I’m keeping this from Grandfather, and I ought to dismiss the girl. As it is, you’re both getting away with it. I hardly think you’re in a position to argue over terms.’

  ‘No,’ Perry agreed.

  ‘Then I don’t think there is anything further we need to discuss. I’ll wish you good day.’

  Perry found himself dismissed, with no loan, no romantic entanglement and a threat hanging over his head. He slouched out of the store in the grip of the first really strong and sincere emotion to strike him since attaining adulthood. Hatred for his brother.

  27

  ‘AMELIE, I HAVE accepted this invitation on behalf of both of us and therefore you are going. It would be extremely impolite of you to stay away, and very embarrassing for me to have to explain your absence.’

  ‘Oh rubbish, Mama. Who is going to notice whether I am there or not? These garden parties are always huge. There will be a couple of hundred people there, spread out over the grounds and in and out of all the tents and marquees.’

  ‘Our hostess will certainly notice whether you are there or not, and she will think it a gross insult.’

  ‘She will be glad that I have not come. It will be one less awkward unmarried girl for her daughters to compete with.’

  Amelie stood in the hall of the Amberleys’ house, wearing a jade-green day dress and jacket in the new slim cut and holding a portfolio. It was perfectly obvious where she was heading for, and Winifred was having none of it.

  ‘Nonsense. Your status is immaterial. You are a guest. You were invited together with me, the invitation was accepted and you will go together with me. That is my last word.’

  Amelie looked her mother in the eye. ‘You accepted the invitation, not I. It’s none of my doing. I have to see the people in China and Glassware and agree on the lines which are to be featured in their advertisement. It has to be done today so that the details can go to the artist in time for him to meet the deadline for next Saturday’s papers.’

  Winifred went quite red with anger.

  ‘You have to do no such thing. Your grandfather employs people to do menial jobs like that.’

  That did it. Amelie had meant to keep her temper, to use reason, to make her stand in an adult but firm manner. But a remark like that was too much for her to bear.

  ‘It is not a menial job! Advertising is essential for success and if I don’t go in today to do it that stupid Carpenter man will and he’ll send in one of his boring old-fashioned things that nobody will bother to look at. But of course you wouldn’t understand that, would you, because all you care about is position. As if it mattered! You’re as stupid as Carpenter.’

  She knew she had gone too far as soon as the words had left her mouth. Winifred’s expression became glacial. She took a long breath in through her nose. Then she spoke.

  ‘You will go to your room now. Luncheon will be served to you there on a tray. You will change into a suitable dress and be ready at two o’clock to accompany me to the garden party.’

  There was no arguing with that tone of voice. The time for compromise had come and gone. Amelie could only submit. She did so wordlessly, walking past her mother and up the stairs with exaggerated dignity.

  In her room she gave vent to her feelings, flinging down the portfolio, stamping her foot and screaming her loathing of her mother and all the restrictions placed on her. Then she set about retrieving some order out of the mess by sending a note and a list of tasks to be done to Mr Carpenter. He was going to be delighted by her absence. She just hoped he would do what she had asked him to, but had her doubts. If she knew him, he would seize on the chance to revert to his own way of doing things. She ground her teeth in frustration. All this trouble over a silly garden party. It was not even as if it was very nice weather. They would probably spend half their time huddled in tents waiting for the rain to clear, and to what end? It was just one more pointless Society gathering.

  At two o’clock Amelie was ready, decked out in an afternoon gown of yellow and white silk trimmed with lace and self-coloured embroidery and topped by a large hat with the oversized crown that was all the rage this year. Winifred looked her over and gave a nod of cool approval.

  ‘Do you have your tennis racquet with you?’

  Amelie was astonished. ‘My tennis racquet?’

  ‘Yes. There is to be tennis.’

  All the frustrations of the morning resurfaced.

  ‘Mother! I cannot possibly play in this outfit. This corset is difficult to sit in, let alone hit a ball. It nearly comes down to my knees. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

  Winifred was still wearing her frostiest face.

  ‘Had you been at all civil, I would have been able to do so. As it is, you had better go and change. You have twenty minutes.’

  Not quite believing her ears, Amelie went. Twenty minutes was an almost impossibly short time to get out of all the layers of the intricate outfit and into another, even with the help of a maid. But the fact that her mother had allowed, even told her to do so was unprecedented. The journey time to the garden party must have been calculated down to the last minute and punctuality was one of Winifred’s gods. Yet in sanctioning the change she was almost guaranteeing their arriving late. Amelie could not understand what was going on. What was obvious, though, was that the afternoon promised to be a good deal more entertaining than she had first thought. Instead of just standing around saying the same old things to the same old people, looking and being looked at, she was being offered the chance of a game of tennis. She began to feel a good deal more cheerful.

  The party was being held in the grounds of a pretty old house just beyond the tide of new brick terraces that were spreading out from the metropolis. Sloping lawns of manicured emerald grass alternated with informal beds of flowering shrubs and tangles of spectacular azaleas, rhododendrons and magnolias. The effect was embellished by pretty striped tents and marquees set with refreshments and a plentiful supply of wrought-iron chairs and tables set in picturesque groups beneath the trees. Somewhere, a band was playing a selection of melodies from The Merry Widow. Against this pretty background the ladies fluttered like so many butterflies in dainty gowns of every colour of the rainbow, while the gentlemen in their sober grey suits provided a foil for them.

  Winifred explained away their late arrival with a smooth lie about trouble with the motor, enquired as to the location of the tennis and swept Amelie off to the courts. A couple of dozen young men and women were already gathered there and two games of mixed doubles were in progress. To Amelie’s surprise, Perry was there.

  ‘Ah, here you are, Mother! Come and sit at this table. I’ll fetch you some tea. Hello, Mel, ready for a game?’

  ‘You’re playing tennis, Perry?’ Amelie teased. ‘Whatever has come over you? Are you feeling unwell?’

  Perry laughed it off ‘I can hit a ball, you know. You and Edward aren’t the only sportsmen in the family. Jolly afternoon, isn’t it?’

  They were interrupted by some friends of Amelie’s coming to greet her, so she only half heard the exchange that went on behind her back between her mother and Perry.

  ‘Where is he, then? You said he was going to be here.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Mother. I know he was invite
d. Perhaps he’s been held up. You’ve only just arrived yourselves.’

  Then he joined in with the general conversation, and before long Amelie found herself agreeing to partnering Perry in a match against a pair of mutual friends whom she knew to be good players.

  ‘Righty-oh, I’ll go and sign up for the next available court, shall I?’ said Perry.

  Winifred beckoned him over. Amelie could see that she was not happy about something. Perry’s reassuring words floated over to her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing, Mother. You’ll see.’

  The last thing Amelie wanted was her mother sitting there watching everything. Just to know she was there annoyed her.

  ‘Perry’s here to chaperon me, Mother. You could join your friends, if you wish. I know you find tennis boring.’

  Winifred was repressive in the extreme. ‘Thank you. I intend to remain here.’

  And watch her every move, no doubt. Amelie pointedly went off to join a group of young people gathering by the touchline, but however closely she followed the game in progress, and however much she commented on it to the people around her, she still could not rid herself of the sensation of her mother’s eyes boring into her back.

  She did not really take much notice when she heard Perry cry, ‘Ah, just the chap I wanted to see!’

  Then the next moment the world seemed to tip slightly around her. For there was her brother by her side, holding Hugo Rutherford by the arm. He was speaking in his most cheerfully persuasive voice.

  ‘Now then, Rutherford old chap, I need you to save my neck for me. I’ve simply got to tear off elsewhere, not a moment to lose, and it means leaving my sister here in the lurch. You do know my sister, don’t you? No? Ah well, Melly, allow me to introduce Hugo Rutherford. Splendid fellow, can play any sport you care to name. And, Rutherford, this is my sister, Amelie. Terrific eye for a ball.’

  Automatically, Amelie held out her hand. Her mouth had gone dry. She stretched her lips into a smile that she knew looked silly.

  ‘How do you do?’ she managed to say.

  Hugo Rutherford’s grip was warm and firm. Close to, his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his sheer air of physical power was overwhelming.

  Amelie’s knees felt weak.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Amberley?’

  ‘Now, you’ll partner Melly for me, won’t you, Rutherford? Poor girl’s dying for a game and I know you never turn down the chance.’

  Amelie could not believe this was happening.

  ‘Mr Rutherford might not want to play pat-ball with us. I’m sure he’d rather be in a singles match,’ she heard herself say, and immediately regretted it. Supposing he agreed? What an idiot she was!

  But he gave a pleasant smile. ‘On the contrary. It will be a pleasure to partner you.’

  ‘That’s settled then. Splendid! Must be away. Have a jolly time!’

  Perry left, but Amelie hardly noticed him go. She felt suddenly tongue-tied, standing here at last next to the man she had admired from a distance for nearly a year. Fortunately, he was not suffering from the same problem. He asked her if she enjoyed playing tennis and where she had learnt, and all Amelie had to do was answer, though she was sure she sounded stupid as she did so. The chance that she hardly dreamt she might ever have was being ruined by her own inability to act naturally. She felt an utter failure. She was almost relieved when their opponents appeared, and exclaimed over Perry’s disappearance.

  ‘What a beastly trick to play! We had a good chance of beating you when your brother was partnering you, but Mr Rutherford is quite another matter,’ the girl declared, flashing him a smile. ‘Ah well, at least I am wearing one of your patent tennis blouses, Amelie, so I shall not come apart in the middle. If one must lose, at least one can do so elegantly.’

  ‘I’m very glad to hear it, Maude. No sporting lady should be without one, or better still, two,’ Amelie said.

  ‘You would never guess that Amelie here was a shopkeeper, would you?’ Maude said to Hugo Rutherford.

  If she meant to nip any dawning friendship in the bud, she failed. Hugo turned to Amelie with real interest in his eyes and a quite different tone of voice from when he was merely making well-bred small talk.

  ‘Of course, your grandfather is Thomas Packard, is he not? He must be a remarkable man. I admire excellence, whatever form it takes.’

  ‘He is a remarkable man. He came to London when he was fifteen with three shillings in his pocket, and now he owns the biggest and best department store in London.’ Amelie’s pride was evident to everyone.

  ‘And you are following in his footsteps, are you?’ Hugo asked.

  Amelie caught Maude’s fleeting look of malicious glee. So she thought Amelie was digging a grave for herself socially by talking about her Packard connections, did she? Well, so be it. Even for Hugo Rutherford, she was not going to deny they existed.

  ‘I hope to,’ she told him. ‘I opened a Ladies’ Sportswear department within the store last year, and now I’m responsible for the advertising as well. I’m hoping to persuade my grandfather to let me take over display next.’

  ‘All that and you’re doing the Season?’ Hugo sounded impressed.

  Amelie pulled a face. ‘I’d much rather be working at the store than going to silly parties. I’m only here this afternoon because my mother insisted.’

  They were interrupted by a rather petulant Maude.

  ‘Come along, you two, the court’s free.’

  Amelie spun her racquet and caught it.

  ‘I’m ready if you are.’

  The usual way of playing mixed doubles was for the gentleman to run around taking the difficult shots while the lady just patted any balls that came right up to her racquet. This was not Amelie’s method. Under normal circumstances, she always put her all into a game. Today, with Maude across the net mocking her every move and the best all-round amateur sportsman of the day playing beside her, she was truly on her mettle. She drew first serve, and stood at the back line, nerves mixed with excitement surging through her until she felt quite sick. She took a steadying breath, threw the ball in the air and smashed it right between Maude and her partner to land neatly six inches inside the court before either of them moved to return it.

  ‘Splendid shot!’ Hugo commented.

  The scene was set. Their opponents fought back valiantly, but they did not stand a chance. Amelie and Hugo annihilated them. At the end of the game they all shook hands over the net, Maude and her partner conceding defeat graciously as befitted good sports. Then Hugo turned to Amelie.

  ‘Congratulations. I cannot remember ever having had a better partner.’

  Amelie felt a breathlessness that had nothing at all to do with the strenuous game. She found herself burbling in reply, ‘You weren’t so bad yourself. I might even play with you again some day.’

  Hugo laughed. ‘I’ll hold you to that, so be warned! Now – I think some tea might be in order, don’t you?’

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a roller coaster of emotions. While Hugo was beside her, she was both exhilarated at the attention he paid her and terrified that he would find her wanting. But at half-past four he had to leave, pleading another engagement. Amelie was plummeted into despair that she hid with a smile.

  ‘But of course you must go if someone is expecting you,’ she insisted, hating whoever it was with a deadly loathing.

  ‘Perhaps I might call on you. When are you at home?’ Hugo asked.

  Despair turned to dancing joy. ‘Th-Thursdays,’ she told him.

  ‘Till Thursday, then.’

  And he was gone, leaving a huge aching gap. From then on Amelie hardly noticed what was going on around her. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she was blown between exalting at the kind fate that had brought them together, longing for Thursday and doubting whether he would indeed call. She certainly did not notice the look of satisfaction on her mother’s face.

  The next morning brought a dilemma. Normally, if she had been
forced to leave a task at Packards in order to attend some society function, she would have been there at the store as the sales staff arrived, ready to make up for lost time. Today, everything was different. Today was only Tuesday, which meant that there were still fifty-six hours at the very least before she could hope to see Hugo Rutherford again. But if she went for an early morning ride in the park, there must be a good chance that he would be there. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him at the more formal midday parade in the park, but it was possible that he might join the nine o’clock ride with those who actually rode for exercise and enjoyment rather than to see and be seen. In the end, there was no contest. She could not possibly wait till Thursday. She told the maid to lay out her riding habit.

  By ten o’clock she was back again. She had been up and down the Row till she could have taken an examination on who was there and what horses they were riding. By the time she left, there was nobody of fashion there at all. Hugo Rutherford had not put in an appearance. Disappointment robbed her of all her usual energy. She could hardly stand up for the maid to help her out of her riding habit. As for going to the store, it seemed to require an effort too great even to contemplate. So when her mother told her that she was to go to a dress fitting, she first pleaded exhaustion, then changed her mind, for she had remembered just which outfits had been ordered.

  ‘Do you think that pretty afternoon gown might be finished by Thursday? The blue and grey one?’

  ‘Most certainly, if I ask that it should be.’

  That decided it. It was absolutely essential that she had that dress to wear for their At Home afternoon. As an afterthought, she decided that once the fittings were over she would slip along to see what Mr Carpenter had done with that glassware advertisement.

  It was almost the longest two days Amelie had ever spent. Every hour was an age, and fraught with the worry that at the end of it, he might not after all appear. On Wednesday afternoon, Amelie was required to take part in the ritual of card-leaving and calling that every Society lady had to keep up throughout the Season. Amelie never did enjoy these rounds. But then, enjoyment was not the point of them. They were designed to keep the wheels of Society well oiled, and in Winifred’s case, to ease herself more and more into the set of people with whom she longed to be associated. Consequently, they set off in the victoria at half-past three to leave cards with three titled ladies whom Winifred was attempting to cultivate, then paid strict quarter-hour calls on two families with whom they were fairly well acquainted but not yet on dinner-party terms, and ended up at a tea party at a close friend of Winifred’s whose daughters Amelie found overwhelmingly boring. Altogether it was a pretty dreadful afternoon as far as Amelie was concerned, and seemed to go on for ever. When they arrived home, there was the usual charade of looking over other people’s cards to be gone through. The cards that had been left while they had been out were to be found on the hall table, where the footman left them. Winifred always picked them up with an air of unconcern, but she could never quite sustain it. She just had to comment, either disparagingly or with pleasure. Today there were just three. Two were from people lower down the ladder than herself and therefore not to be regarded except as bodies to fill the space of a large evening reception or ball, but the third called forth an arch smile.