by Caron Allan
The photo albums were still there on the side-table where Penny had left them that first evening. She crossed to them now, and picked them up.
‘Dottie? I’ve got an urge to look through these again. Are you interested?’ Before Dottie could respond, Penny added with a sly smile, ‘There’ll be pictures of Gervase!’
Dottie felt a little annoyed by this. Over the last few days, Penny had developed a habit of continually referring to him, as if alluding to an understanding between Dottie and him. Ordinarily Dottie could laugh off that kind of talk, but it seemed to her there was behind it the hard edge she had noticed before with Penny’s remarks: barbed, as if fishing for something, some weak spot or flaw she could use. She sensed a disapproval in Penny, too. Perhaps she thought Dottie was too young? Or perhaps it was only that Penny wanted him for herself? No matter what Gervase’s brother Reggie might choose to believe, Dottie was convinced Penny had a romantic inclination for her brother-in-law. Once the mourning period was over, she might hope or expect Gervase to pay court. Whatever Penny’s motive, Dottie was sure that she truly believed that in the ‘affair’ between Gervase and Dottie, the interest was all on Dottie’s side. It really was starting to get on Dottie’s nerves—as was everything else Penny did. And said.
Penny set the albums down on the coffee table, as usual taking no care to avoid scratching the lovely gleaming top. Dottie despaired of the table surviving the length of her visit. Penny gripped the table by the nearest leg and yanked it towards the sofa where she took her seat beside Dottie, scraping the albums closer, and throwing the cover open with a bang. Dottie couldn’t help wincing at the sound. She had been so on edge ever since she’d come to stay with Penny. But she had already begun to plan to leave on the coming Saturday, and the day beckoned as a bright spot on her horizon. She’d have to wait until the right moment to tell Penny. She couldn’t handle any sulks right now. At least with Miranda and her family back from India, Penny would have less free time to gloom about the house and miss her husband.
The first album was the wedding album that Dottie had seen so very briefly on her first night. Rather than looking at each page in turn, Penny had a tendency to flip over several pages rapidly to find the one or two photographs she liked best. Hopefully, Dottie thought, this shouldn’t take too long.
Penny’s object in this album was the wedding photo of herself and Artie Parfitt she had already shown Dottie. This time Penny pored over it for several long minutes, then she reached into her sleeve for a lacy handkerchief with a black border, and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks.
Dottie quickly said, ‘And who were guests at the wedding? Have you got any pictures of them all together?’
Penny, distracted, hunted a few pages along for a photograph showing a small crowd. ‘Here we are. Look at this, what a sketch we all are in those old fashions! You will think us so out-of-date! Look, there’s Gervase, looking very young and handsome. He always does look very handsome, doesn’t he? Quite the best of the Parfitt boys.’
He was in the second row of the photograph, standing behind the bride’s shoulder, a smile directed at the lens. Beside him was Margaret, and on her other side was Reggie Parfitt.
‘Is that Deirdre between Algy and your brother Mike?’ Dottie asked.
Penny looked closely at the photo. ‘Oh yes, it is. Yes, if I remember rightly, she came as Algy’s guest but ended by being taken home by my brother Mike. It wasn’t as though they were engaged, but even so, Algy was furious. And Mike’s fiancée broke off their engagement. Threw the ring across the dining table at him, and it scratched the surface of the table. Mummy wasn’t at all pleased.’ Penny smiled fondly at the memory. ‘And that led to a falling out between Mike and Algy, though they made it up eventually, of course.’
Penny went through all the guests one by one, detailing each person’s life history and their relationship with herself or Artie in excruciating detail. Any attempt of Dottie’s to move Penny on to a new photograph came to nothing.
‘Of course,’ said Penny, looking over her shoulder and dropping her voice, ‘this was long before Margaret—disgraced—herself. She was still part of our set back then. She was actually my chief bridesmaid, or matron of honour, if you prefer the term. Little did any of us realise just how soon after this that she would become an actual matron!’ Penny laughed at her own wit, then cleared her throat and said, ‘Yes, well. You mightn’t think it now, but she was more or less my closest friend back in those days, after Miranda had left. Though some people—including my parents—thought she was a bad influence. Rather too free and easy with her charms, always running around with the men. Not that I had any idea just how free and easy she was. I always thought she was just an incorrigible flirt. But virtue was not a word she knew the meaning of.’
Penny got up and went to ring the bell. For a mad moment, Dottie wondered if she was calling Margaret in to give an account of herself but when Margaret appeared, Penny simply said, ‘Tea please, Margaret.’
Once Margaret had gone, Penny said, ‘You’d never think, would you, to look at our happy smiling faces, that tragedy was waiting in the wings for us. How innocent we all were back then. I mean, this was June 1925. By Christmas of that year, Margaret was an unmarried mother, and now, just nine years later, I’m a widow and poor dear Artie is lying in his grave.’ Suddenly overcome, Penny murmured something indistinct and hurried from the room.
A moment later, the door opened and Margaret came in with the tea tray. She set it down on the end of the table next to the album that lay open.
‘Looking at the old photos, I see,’ she remarked to Dottie.
‘Er—yes.’
‘Is she getting all weepy about Artie?’
‘Yes, she’s just gone upstairs, she was rather upset.’
‘Hmm,’ said Margaret. She bent to look at the photo. Her cynical manner fell away, and she shook her head sadly. ‘How young we all were. You just never know how things are going to turn out, do you?’
It was essentially the same sentiment that Penny had just expressed, but more lovingly done, and with a lot less self-pity.
With a sigh, Margaret went to the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she said to Dottie, ‘Don’t believe everything she says about her precious ‘poor old Artie’. It wasn’t a happy marriage, and the best thing he ever did for her was to drink himself to death.’
Dottie was shocked. But whether by the sheer spite in Margaret’s voice, or what she had revealed, she didn’t know.
She leaned over the photo. Was Margaret leaning closer to Gervase than to Reggie? Staring at the photo, Dottie couldn’t quite make up her mind, though it looked horribly as if... Had one of these two been her escort? Or perhaps it had been someone completely different. But no, Dottie realised. If Margaret had been the chief bridesmaid, she would have been part of the wedding party, so wouldn’t have had an escort. Even so... It was a bit of a cliché, but the bridesmaids were often pursued by the groomsmen. Who had been the best man? That was almost the only thing Penny hadn’t told her.
Dottie flipped the page over to look at the next photo. It was so similar to the first that for a moment she thought it was simply a copy. But then she noticed one or two differences, and looked closer to find each subtle variation. To begin with, not everyone was looking straight at the camera and smiling. Also a small child had wandered onto the scene and was standing in front of the bridal couple, its image blurred as if it was still moving as the picture was taken. No doubt that was the reason for the subsequent photo. But there were other differences.
Arthur wasn’t smiling. His face, slightly shadowed due to him turning to his right and away from his lovely bride, looked serious. Penny’s eyes were fixed in a most determined manner on the photographer, her smile as fixed as her stare, the first fresh impulse of joy having become set in her chin and jaw. There was tension in the way she held her neck and shoulders. Still, Dottie thought, everyone always said how exhausting and worrying it was to get married, in spite
of the happiness of young love.
Behind the bride was the answer to Dottie’s question. Margaret was laughing, looking into Gervase’s eyes, her hand on his sleeve. And he laughed down at her in response, his head bending towards her in an intimate way that almost brought his mouth level with her cheek. It was a scene that you couldn’t look at without feeling intrusive. It was the way he looked at Dottie herself when he was with her.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Penny said suddenly from the doorway, and Dottie, concentrating on the photo, jolted in surprise.
‘What a good idea!’ Her voice was over-bright, she knew. She jumped up. In a moment she had run to change her shoes. They went straight out, the unpoured tea quite forgotten on the table beside the photo album.
‘Were Gervase and Margaret ever involved romantically?’ Dottie knew it was foolish to ask Penny of all people about Gervase, but she just couldn’t stop herself. She knew that Penny had a malicious streak that enabled her to enjoy the weakness or the misfortunes of others. Nevertheless there was no one else Dottie could ask.
As they turned off the main street of the village to head towards the church, Dottie’s words were blurted out before she had a chance to think about the wisdom of saying them.
Penny laughed. As if Dottie’s future happiness might not hang on her answer. Dottie could have kicked herself. Or Penny. But she kept her hands folded neatly behind her, and her feet moving slowly forward in a ladylike manner. She fixed her eyes on the lovely pale yellow roses spilling over the wall of the vicarage garden, filling the air with their rich scent.
‘Of course! I mean, surely you’ve realised by now that over the years, Margaret has run through the lot of them: my brother Mike, Cousin Algy, Reggie, Gervase, and as you’ve probably guessed, my own poor dear Arthur. And God knows how many others besides. I’m rather surprised that she has only one bastard to show for it. In fact, I think she and Gervase have had a couple of affairs.’
Dottie couldn’t think of anything to say in response. She was shocked at Penny’s biting use of the B-word, and although she knew none of it might be true, she felt there was pain behind the words Penny seemed to so carelessly throw at her. Dottie fought to find something to say about the roses or the pretty little church, but no words presented themselves. She felt as though she was going to choke. But pride—the only thing she really had left—kept her from reaching for her handkerchief. She would not let Penny know how her words had hurt. But now some words did come, and she said them, firmly. A little too firmly, perhaps.
‘By the way, I’ve decided to go home on Saturday morning. Thank you so much for your kindness in having me to stay with you, it’s been a delight, but sadly I must be getting home. There’s my work,’ she added, with a ring of pride in her voice, ‘And of course, my sister’s baby will be arriving soon, so...’
‘Of course, Dottie, dear, I completely understand. It’s been lovely having you here, but we all know that holidays can’t last forever, don’t we?’ She prattled on for several minutes in the same vein, pointlessly repeating the same sentiments in a variety of ways. Dottie agreed with her from time to time, but otherwise blocked out Penny’s voice, taking a long time to admire the vicar’s roses.
Penny and Dottie settled back in the armchairs with their cups of cocoa. Dottie felt relieved that she had made the decision to leave, and that she had told Penny. She realised now that Gervase had exaggerated how much Penny needed company in the house. Thinking back to that first day, when Penny had been so agitated, Dottie was convinced he could have managed her on his own. Penny was definitely perfectly content to be in the house.
Penny said, ‘Now I’m on my own, I’m wondering about letting Margaret go.’
Dottie gave her a surprised look but said nothing.
Penny seemed to take her silence as disapproval, however, and rushed to explain: ‘Well, there’s so little to do about the house, especially when I’m here on my own. I can do some of it myself, of course, and the daily woman can easily manage the rest.’ She halted. Dottie waited once more, sensing Penny wanted to say more. Dottie endeavoured to look suitably attentive and interested. After another minute, Penny said, ‘The thing is, Artie hasn’t left me so terribly well off as I’d expected. I may need to consider some economies.’
Dottie clicked her tongue sympathetically and shook her head. Penny, leaning towards Dottie and dropping her voice, went on, ‘And really, I can’t bear to have that woman under this roof a moment longer.’
Dottie said nothing, but in her head, a few separate ideas clicked into place. Penny continued, ‘With how much Artie has left to her, she’s almost as comfortably off as I am. It’s beyond bearing.’
Dottie ventured to say, more in the way of testing the waters, ‘But then she has the child to educate, I suppose he had to think of that.’
Penny shot Dottie a sharp look, and Dottie had a brief moment to wonder if she’d overstepped the bounds of their short acquaintance, but then it was as if continued concealment was too much for Penny. She sighed heavily, passing her hand over her forehead.
‘Exactly so,’ she said. ‘And I suppose I can understand, even approve of, his somewhat belated sense of responsibility. Many men wouldn’t do half so much.’
‘Very true. As my poor friend discovered,’ Dottie said.
Penny nodded and sighed again. ‘I’ve always been thankful that Miranda showed such restraint.’ Dottie was puzzled by this. How did it fit with their conversation? Penny added, ‘Because of—you know—the man she was engaged to. The one who killed himself.’ She ended it on a whisper.
‘Ah!’ Dottie said. Suddenly Penny’s meaning was all too clear. ‘You mean...’
‘Well, honestly, Dottie, can you imagine—a half-caste child. She’d never have held up her head again. But thankfully they had the good sense to wait. He was a very moral man, in spite of his—er—background.’
You mean his colour, Dottie thought, appalled once again by Penny’s attitude. Not that Penny was alone in this. It was the same bigotry displayed most of the rest of Penny’s circle of friends, including Gervase, Dottie was ruefully forced to admit. And it was the same bigotry displayed by most of so-called ‘civilised’ British society.
‘Yes, his grandfather was a vicar or something, I seem to remember, so that’s doubtless why Richard had very strong moral values. More so than perhaps...’
‘Do you think they’d have gone through with it?’ Dottie butted in suddenly, speaking purely out of curiosity. ‘With the marriage, I mean. If he hadn’t... you know...?’
‘Hanged himself? Goodness knows. My parents would have thrown her out if she had persisted with the engagement. Or they would have made her break it off. But of course, they didn’t know about it until later, after he was dead. Otherwise...’
‘Otherwise?’ Dottie prompted.
At least Penny had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. ‘My father would probably have had him horsewhipped. And shipped off back to wherever it was he came from. Most of them went back anyway once the war was over. I mean, it was all right in a crisis, having them here, or sending them off to fight, but once the emergency was over, well... it seemed only natural to send them back again, back to their own country. They didn’t fit in here, after all. No one wanted them to stay here, and obviously there was the risk of them not sticking with their own kind, of marrying into English society, or of getting girls into trouble and leaving them to cope with the results. They weren’t like us, after all. So they weren’t really welcome.’
‘And yet he was a respectful, moral man.’ Dottie couldn’t help pointing out. How could Penny say such things about a man she had already said was morally upright and a nice man?
Penny turned on her quite quickly, a frown forming a deep ridge between her brows. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well you said yourself, he was the grandson of a minister, and had high moral values, and that he hadn’t persuaded Miranda to—you know—be intimate...’ Dottie was annoyed
with herself that she couldn’t help blushing over this allusion. ‘...before marriage. So it shows he was both respectable and respectful, and that he had regard for her reputation.’
Reluctantly, Penny nodded. She sank back into her chair. After a few moments’ retrospection, she said, ‘I know he was a black, but in many ways, Richard was the handsomest man I’d ever met. I mean, I was just a child, but he was so good-looking. And kind. He was a very charming young fellow. He was really Algy’s comrade and friend. Mike and Richard didn’t really get on. Mike had no time for darkies, as he called them, he still doesn’t. But even though he was an officer, it wasn’t easy for Richard to find anywhere to stay, so he stayed with us twice when he was on leave, and then again at the end of the war. Although, when my father had the ‘Welcome Home Heroes’ ball, Daddy found lodgings for Richard in the village. My father has always been very fond of a celebration, and he spent a lot of time and money planning the ball. He was M.P. for this area at the time, it was shortly after he got his knighthood, and obviously it was important for him and my mother to be seen doing things for the community, and you know, glad-handing. Daddy had great hopes of High Office.’
Dottie poured them both more cocoa from the shining silver pot that Margaret had brought in earlier. At least this didn’t taste of polish, she thought. She wanted to encourage Penny to keep talking, sensing that there was a story here. ‘When was that party, you know, when the young man...’
Penny gave a slight smile as she looked down at her cup. ‘Oh that. It was 1919. Fifteen years ago. The war had ended the year before, but it took such a long time to bring all our troops—and our wounded and dead—back from the different theatres of war. Gervase will tell you all about that, I’m sure. Months later, almost a year in fact, young fellows were still being demobbed. My father wanted to welcome back my brother Mike, and my cousin Algy Compton, and the three Parfitt boys who were our friends.
‘And Richard came too—as he was a great pal of Algy, and as his family were all the way over in Jamaica, it seemed only decent to invite him to come along with Algy and be part of the celebration. Not that my parents—or any of them—treated Richard very well. But he took it all in good part or at least he seemed to. I think he mostly just let it all wash over him. He used to be very sweet to me. Protective, sort of big-brotherly, even though he was only six and a half years older than me, and I didn’t think that was an especially big age difference, and after all it was only a month before my sixteenth birthday. We’d got fed up with the ball—the grown-ups were all so stuffy, and seemed so old to us young ones then—and we went off with some bottles and had our own little party out at the pavilion—the summerhouse—in the grounds of my parents’ house. It was the most perfect summer evening. You know how it is this time of year—warm, breezy, the long, long light evenings, the flowers. Everything is just so lovely. It seemed so...’ She struggled to find a word to capture that moment in time, but ended, with a frustrated shake of the head, back on the same word again. ‘It was perfect. So perfect. The perfect summer’s evening.’ Her lower lip trembled and her voice died away.