‘Come and get a drink, Ella,’ she said, leading her away from Cressida.
Cressida watched them go with an unfamiliar feeling of resentment. Ella was plainly a member of the favoured group. She wondered whether to go to the bathroom and straighten her dress. It might look as though she was offended by Ella being there. Which naturally, she thought briskly to herself, she wasn’t.
‘Hello, darling,’ said Charles, coming up to her with a rather unnatural smile. ‘I see you’ve been talking to Ella. I’m glad you two have met at last.’ Cressida stared at Charles in renewed incomprehension. Why would anyone be glad that she’d met Ella? She couldn’t see any benefit in it at all.
As Stephen went into dinner, he felt agreeably content. He was relaxed and glowing after the day’s tennis; his appetite was sharpened by the sight of the plates of delicately arranged smoked salmon on the table, and he still had a lingering sense of exhilaration at the deal he’d done with Patrick. He glanced at the others, following him in to the dining-room. They all looked sophisticated and cosmopolitan – even Annie. An image of their usual homely family suppers flashed through his mind. Annie always looked pretty, he thought loyally, even when she was hot and bothered over the stove, or coping with Nicola in a frustrated mood. But tonight her face was alive and excited, and she seemed to be laughing a lot. That was Caroline’s influence, of course. He’d forgotten quite how determined that woman was to have a good time.
‘Hello.’ A voice at his elbow caused him to turn round. It was Ella, her dimpled face creased in a smile. ‘I haven’t said hello to you properly yet,’ she continued. Stephen bent to kiss her cheek, which was smooth, glowing and smelling faintly of coconut.
‘You’re looking very well,’ he said, aware that he was dealing in clichés. But how else was he to talk? ‘Travelling certainly agrees with you . . .’
‘. . . or something,’ she finished, laughing. Her brown eyes searched his face. ‘And you? Are you happy?’ Stephen shrugged casually. He remembered now that Ella had always stood just a little closer than other people; asked slightly more penetrating questions; had always pursued a difficult line of enquiry where others would meekly have said ‘oh, I see’ and changed the subject.
‘I’m fine,’ he said easily. He smiled at her; his new, confident smile.
‘I told Caroline I wanted to sit next to you,’ said Ella. ‘I want to hear all about your thesis. I’m so thrilled that you’re doing it at last.’ She darted to the table, peering at the name places.
‘Here we are,’ she called. ‘We’re over here,’ Stephen joined her slowly, his confident air seeming to slip away slightly with every step. He had almost forgotten about his thesis. He had cast himself, this afternoon, as a leisured, moneyed deal-maker, enjoying some tennis among friends. He had almost convinced himself that this comfortable and luxurious house, not the grubby libraries and teaching rooms of the university, was his natural environment. Was he now to be forced to go over in his mind his failed attempt at scholarship; to recall the unwieldy, uncertain mass of dubious information and half-baked arguments that haunted and mocked him in his dreams? He flinched at the memory of it. Look at Patrick over there. He seemed to be doing all right, and he’d never been near a university in his life. Let alone given up a relatively well-paid job late in life in the vain pursuit of some sort of academic recognition. Wasn’t this easy, leisured life what he really aspired to? He sank uneasily into a plushy, upholstered dining chair and smiled jovially at Valerie, who was sitting on his other side. But Ella was tugging at his sleeve.
‘Now,’ she said, shaking out her napkin, squeezing lemon over her salmon and looking seriously at him through her lashes. ‘I really want to know. How’s your research going?’
* * *
As Mrs Finch cleared away the plates from the first course, Charles looked over at Stephen and Ella again. What were they finding so much to talk about? Stephen was gesturing animatedly; Ella was nodding enthusiastically. She was leaning forward towards Stephen, clasping her hands, unwittingly pushing up her breasts until a full, golden-brown cleavage was on show. Or was it unwittingly? Charles looked away, and then looked back again.
‘But that’s amazing!’ Ella’s husky voice travelled across the table to him. ‘Absolutely fascinating.’ Charles could bear it no longer.
‘What’s fascinating, Ella?’ he asked in a hearty voice. The whole table stopped talking and looked at him. He ignored Cressida’s pale, questioning face, Caroline’s raised eyebrows, Patrick’s smirk, and ploughed on. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing that something was fascinating. I was just wondering what it was.’
Ella raised her eyes, slightly contemptuous, slightly amused, to his.
‘We were talking about Stephen’s thesis,’ she said. ‘It’s so interesting. But you must know all about it, I suppose. I’m hearing it all for the first time.’ Charles looked at Stephen. Everyone was waiting for an answer.
‘Of course,’ he said eventually. ‘Your thesis. Terribly interesting.’
‘Do you think so, Charles?’ said Stephen, grinning at him in mock-surprise, knowing full well that Charles couldn’t give a damn about his thesis. Charles forced himself not to glare at Stephen. He suddenly felt an irrational hatred for him, sitting next to Ella, breathing in her scent, touching her bare arms, sharing her jokes. But it was Charles that Ella was now looking at, twisting her amber beads thoughtfully round her fingers. He had to say something.
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Seventeenth-century stuff, wasn’t it?’
‘Fourteenth,’ said Ella. ‘You’re not telling me they were writing mystery plays in the seventeenth century?’
‘Mystery plays?’ said Charles in surprise. ‘Since when has your thesis been on mystery plays, Stephen?’
‘Since my original proposal was turned down,’ said Stephen, grinning. ‘Only about two years ago.’
‘I haven’t kept up,’ said Charles apologetically. To his surprise he did feel genuinely ashamed. He had a sudden flashback to cosy suppers in the Fairweathers’ basement kitchen. He remembered Stephen outlining his latest piece of research; eyes lit up with the thrill of discovery; gesticulating with a piece of garlic bread or a pasta-laden fork; pausing in his rhetoric only to swallow a mouthful of food or wine; then looking up to see Annie and Charles giggling at him. And Ella, of course. She had always been there.
‘I think the idea of our own local mystery play is wonderful,’ said Ella. ‘The Silchester Mystery Play. We should organize for it to be put on. In the cathedral.’
‘We could do it for charity,’ said Cressida suddenly. She had been following the exchange with very little enthusiasm. She had no idea what a mystery play was and no interest in Stephen’s thesis. She did not trust Ella; she couldn’t think why Charles was insisting on talking to her, and she was longing for bed. But an instinctive desire to win back Charles’ attention, coupled with her belief that it was one’s duty to contribute to general conversation, forced her valiantly to speak. Having spoken, she sank gratefully back into her chair.
But Ella had fixed her attention on Cressida.
‘What a wonderful idea,’ she said, in an intense voice. ‘Could you organize something like that?’
‘Well,’ said Cressida faintly, ‘I’m on several charity committees. In Silchester, you know.’
‘It’s perfect,’ said Ella. ‘You can stage a show in the cathedral. Get professional actors. It’ll be a marvellous occasion.’ She beamed at Stephen. ‘And wouldn’t it help your research? To see it actually performed?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Stephen. ‘I suppose it would.’
‘Of course it would,’ said Ella. ‘You must let me know when it happens. I’ll come back especially to see it.’
‘Back?’ said Charles in spite of himself. ‘Back from where?’ Ella gave him a curious look.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m starting a job. In Italy.’
‘Ooh, how lovely!’ exclaimed Valerie. ‘Imagine work
ing in Italy!’
‘What are you going to do?’ said Annie.
‘I’m going to be assistant,’ said Ella, ‘to someone called Maud Vennings. She lives in Italy most of the time.’
There was a slightly stunned silence. Ella grinned at Caroline, who shrugged back. Ella had told Caroline about her new job earlier in the evening – but since Caroline had never heard of Maud Vennings, the announcement had not made much impact. Now Annie was the first to speak.
‘Maud Vennings? The painter?’
‘Yes, the painter,’ said Ella, delicately spearing a piece of seafood tartlet and eating it thoughtfully. The others gazed at her in awe.
‘We saw a programme about her, didn’t we, Val?’ said Don. ‘On the telly. Isn’t she a real eccentric? Lives all by herself in some huge castle?’
‘Yes, I suppose you could call her eccentric,’ said Ella. ‘She used to live all by herself. But now I’m going to be living with her. And we won’t be on our own. We’re starting up a series of residential workshops. Painting, food, wine, walking . . . that kind of thing.’
‘A package holiday, you mean,’ said Charles, unable to keep a sneer out of his voice. He was experiencing a feeling perilously close to jealousy.
‘Not really,’ said Ella, giving a secretive smile. ‘It will only be open to painters of talent. Graduates of art colleges, that kind of thing. We might branch into music, as well. Maud knows a lot of musicians. And they’ll be guests of hers. It’s not a business. But she still needs someone to organize it all.’
There was another pause, as everyone took in the implications of this.
‘I suppose’, said Don eventually, ‘she’s absolutely loaded.’
‘Her paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of pounds, don’t they?’ said Valerie eagerly. ‘Those nude girls. I’ve a postcard of one of them on my wall at work.’
‘I’ve got a poster in the kitchen,’ said Annie.
‘I went to see an exhibition of hers in London once,’ volunteered Cressida. ‘I think it was for Save the Children.’ Charles shot her an angry look.
‘So, do tell us, Ella,’ he said, unable to contain his incensed curiosity, ‘how on earth did this come about?’
‘Well, it was quite simple,’ said Ella. ‘I wrote to her and said I was coming to Italy and would it be possible to visit her. I thought I might try to interview her or something. I don’t really know what made me do it. But she said yes. So I went to see her, and she invited me to stay for dinner, and that was it, really.’
‘She said yes, just because you wrote her a letter?’ Charles’ outrage was transparent.
‘It was quite a long letter,’ said Ella, consideringly. ‘I told her about myself, and my life, and why I was coming to Italy . . .’ She broke off and smiled at Charles. ‘I think she thought it all sounded rather interesting. And we got on really well, right from the start. She told me the other day that as soon as she saw me, she knew she wanted me to live with her.’
Valerie’s eyes widened.
‘It said on the programme that she might be a bit of a . . . you know.’ She broke off. ‘Lesbian,’ she whispered.
‘Did it?’ said Ella. She paused, fork halfway to mouth. ‘Well, you never know,’ she said. ‘Perhaps she is.’
Coffee had been served, Don and Valerie were making signs of departure, and the others were still sitting in the drawing-room. The doors to the terrace were still open, and the sweet smell of night air mingled with the lingering aroma of coffee. Annie dreamily swirled a cognac round in her glass. It had been such a lovely day. Her muscles ached agreeably, her skin was warm with sunburn, and her stomach replete with food. She was also, she realized, quite drunk.
‘See you tomorrow!’ Don’s grinning face interrupted her reverie.
‘Sorry? Oh, yes, see you then,’ said Annie.
‘We’ll be along to watch your match,’ he said. ‘Bright and early.’ Annie clutched her head.
‘But I’ll feel dreadful tomorrow!’ she cried.
‘Drink a glass of water for each alcoholic drink you’ve consumed,’ advised Don cheerily. ‘That’s my advice.’ Annie felt a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to throw her glass at him. She deliberately took a large gulp of cognac, looked up, and spluttered as she saw Caroline grimacing at Don behind his back.
‘I’m such a child!’ she wailed, when Don was out of the door. ‘I’ve regressed thirty years.’ She looked accusingly at Caroline. ‘It’s all your fault,’ she said. ‘I was a sane human being before today.’
‘No you weren’t,’ retorted Caroline. ‘Remember apple bobbing at that Hallowe’en party? That got really out of hand.’ She and Annie collapsed into giggles at the memory.
‘I got completely soaked,’ said Annie.
‘We all did,’ said Caroline.
‘And Nicola kept saying, “No, Mummy, like this”,’ called out Stephen, who was watching Annie in amusement.
‘Poor old Nicola,’ said Annie, fondly wiping her eyes. ‘I don’t think she’d ever seen me drunk before.’
‘She was good at apple bobbing,’ said Caroline.
‘She still is,’ said Annie robustly.
‘Sweet Nicola,’ said Caroline. ‘She’s a darling child.’
‘Oh Nicola!’ chimed in Ella, from the sofa. ‘I love her to pieces!’
Ella had commandeered two thirds of the sofa and was reclining comfortably, shoes kicked off, head thrown back. The remaining part of the sofa was, as yet, unclaimed. Stephen was sitting nearby on the floor; Annie and Caroline were by the fireplace; Cressida was sitting on her own, on a low leather pouffe. Charles was the only one not sitting down; he paced about the room like a big cat, unable to keep his eyes from swivelling towards Ella every time she spoke or moved.
She was again pursuing the subject of the Silchester Mystery Play.
‘Really, Stephen, you must put it on,’ she insisted, sitting up and hugging her feet through the gauzy layers of her dress.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Stephen, smiling at her.
‘Don’t just think about it! Do it!’
‘It may not be as simple as all that,’ he said. ‘These things take a lot of time, a lot of preparation, a lot of money. A serious amount of money, if you want it done well. Where am I to find that?’ Ella shrugged.
‘You can always find money if you really want it.’
Charles had been listening to this exchange. Now he came over and, with deliberate casualness, sat down on the bit of the sofa not occupied by Ella. She looked at him silently. There were only inches between them; her feet were almost brushing against his trousers.
‘If you wanted some money,’ he said, looking not at Stephen but at Ella, ‘we could always put some up. The Print Centre. It’s just the sort of project we should be involved with.’ Ella’s eyes held his insolently.
‘How much?’ she said challengingly. Charles’ breathing quickened slightly.
‘Five, ten thousand, maybe?’ he said. Ella didn’t move. ‘Fifteen?’ his voice cracked.
‘Fifteen thousand pounds?’ Stephen exclaimed. His voice rang through the room. ‘My word, Charles, that’s very generous!’
Cressida, who had been staring, unheeding, at the carpet, looked up. Were they talking about money? Was Charles promising fifteen thousand pounds to someone? The memory of the letter flooded into her mind; a pang of alarm shot through her body. She had to speak. ‘Sorry, Charles,’ she said awkwardly, flinching as everyone turned to look at her, ‘what were you saying?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Charles, ‘it’s just Print Centre business. Nothing for you to worry about.’ He turned away. In a slight haze, Cressida took in the fact that he was sitting on the sofa with Ella. And yet when she had been sitting on the sofa earlier on, he had insisted on standing up. It was like a bad dream. And worst of all was the untold secret of the letter.
‘What sort of business?’ she persisted. Charles gave her an annoyed look.
‘A sponsorship deal. We�
�re going to back the Silchester Mystery Play. You can help to organize it.’
‘Oh,’ said Cressida. Waves of panic went through her. She had to tell Charles. Before he promised any more money. She had to talk to him.
Shakily she stood up, and flashed a smile around the room.
‘I think I’ll go to bed actually,’ she said. She smiled hard at Charles. ‘Are you coming, darling?’ Charles gave her a surprised, rather irritated look. He glanced at his watch.
‘It’s not midnight yet,’ he said. ‘Do you want to go so soon?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ said Cressida, staring at him with what she hoped was a meaningful expression. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Well, I think I’ll stay up a while longer,’ said Charles. ‘See you later.’ Cressida stood still for a few seconds, trying not to appear desperate.
‘You won’t be too long, will you?’ she said eventually. She was aware of how awful she must appear to everyone. They would all laugh at her when she was gone but she couldn’t bear another hour going by without having told Charles about the letter.
‘No, I won’t be too long,’ replied Charles evenly. ‘Good night.’ He turned back to Ella, leaving Cressida stranded in the middle of the room. She began to back uncertainly towards the door.
‘Good night, Cressida,’ said Patrick kindly. ‘I hope you sleep well. If you want anything, just shout.’
‘Good night,’ chorused the others.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Caroline, smirking. ‘We won’t keep Charles up much longer.’ Cressida flashed a smile at her, and hurried out through the door, tears stinging her eyes. They were all laughing at her. And Charles despised her for trying to rush him off to bed.
She went hurriedly through the hall and up the stairs, wondering if it was too late to run herself a hot bath. She walked briskly along the pale corridor, which seemed much longer now than it had been during the day. But when she reached the door of the boys’ bedroom she paused. She had been preoccupied that evening, and had said goodnight to them in a rush. Now she carefully pushed open the door and looked into the moonlit room. Two little blond heads glinted on their pillows; Martina was gently snoring in the corner and the floor was carpeted in toys. She moved in a few steps, longing to pick up her babies and hold them tight against her chest, to feel their puny heartbeats and let their soft breathing soothe her. But a sense of discipline stopped her from doing anything so silly. The boys needed their sleep; she would disturb Martina; what would people think if they saw her? She stood a few seconds more, then reluctantly tiptoed out of the room and made her lonely way to her own bedroom.
The Tennis Party Page 13