by Caro Fraser
THE SUMMER HOUSE PARTY
Caro Fraser
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About this Book
About the Author
Table of Contents
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About The Summer House Party
In the gloriously hot summer of 1936, a group of people meet at a country house party. Within three years, England will be at war, but for now, time stands still.
Dan Ranscombe is clever and good-looking, but he resents the wealth and easy savoir faire of fellow guest, Paul Latimer. Surely a shrewd girl like Meg Slater would see through that, wouldn’t she? And what about Diana, Paul’s beautiful sister, Charles Asher, the Jewish outsider, Madeleine, restless and dissatisfied with her role as children’s nanny? And artist Henry Haddon, their host, no longer young, but secure in his power as a practised seducer.
As these guests gather, none has any inkling that choices made that week will have fateful consequences, lasting through the war and beyond. Or that the first unforeseen event will be a shocking death.
Contents
Cover
Welcome Page
About The Summer House Party
Part 1: 1936
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part 2: 1937
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 3: 1938
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part 4: 1939–41
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part 5: 1942–5
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About Caro Fraser
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
Part 1
1936
1
IT WAS AN afternoon in late August, and Daniel Ranscombe was travelling on the 4.49 train from Waterloo to Surrey. The train drew to a creaking halt just outside the sleepy village of Staplow, and settled with a hiss of steam into the summer silence. Dan gazed out of the window at a field of mournful-eyed cows twitching their tails at flies. Half-remembered lines of poetry from school slipped into his mind, something about a train stopped at a country station… No one left and no one came on the bare platform – tee tum tee something Adlestrop… and willows, willow-herb and grass, and meadowsweet, and haycocks high… He tried to string the verses together – he had known them by heart once – but his lazy mind wasn’t up to it. He stretched his legs out, closed his eyes, and contemplated in his mind the coming house party, which was being hosted by his godmother, Sonia, and her husband Henry Haddon, the renowned artist. The prospect of spending ten days at the fag end of summer enjoying the comforts of a fine country house was more than agreeable, especially as there would be other young people there, in the shape of Sonia’s niece, Meg, and Paul and Diana Latimer, to keep things lively. Meg he had yet to meet, though he had heard a few things about her from both Paul and Diana. The Latimers were the son and daughter of old friends of the Haddons, and Dan knew them well. Diana was a regular on the London social scene, and she and Dan flirted with one another whenever their paths crossed, though more as a matter of course than with any genuine conviction. Diana’s older brother, Paul, had been Dan’s senior by three years at Eton, and then at Cambridge, and Dan had certain misgivings – misgivings which he freely admitted were born out of envy and resentment – about meeting him again.
It seemed he was constantly being made aware of Paul’s achievements, which markedly eclipsed Dan’s so far unspectacular headway in the world. Paul had been a veritable hero to Dan at school – athletic, brainy, captain of the First XV and head of house, friendly and decent, full of charm and self-confidence. When Dan had encountered him again at Cambridge the schoolboy charm had begun to wear a trifle thin – the self-confidence was turning into self-importance, and the bluff affability had taken on a somewhat patronising quality – but there was no doubt that Paul’s star continued to burn with undimmed lustre. He had a reputation as a fine oar, an excellent bat, and a debater of such formidable skill that a career in Parliament was confidently predicted. Not that Paul had much need of a career. His parents had died while he and Diana were still in their teens, and to come into that much money at so young an age – well, it just seemed damnably unfair to add wealth to such a store of talent. Dan was acutely resentful of Paul’s ability to spend half the year climbing mountains and crossing deserts, and generally leading the life of the English gentleman adventurer, and the other half idling in his club and studying the stock market. Lucky blighter. He would probably arrive at Woodbourne House by car, with a ton of luggage and a manservant. Dan’s own luggage consisted of one suitcase containing his dress suit, the few decent shirts and ties he possessed, flannels and a blazer, underwear, pyjamas, shaving kit and toothbrush. It was all he could afford, and it would have to do.
Dan himself had come down from Cambridge two years ago with a degree in modern languages and, unwilling to follow his father into the diplomatic service, had taken a job as a reporter on the London Graphic. Despite his innate laziness he had been surprised to discover that he was, even with the minimum of effort, quite a good journalist. Now, a year later, he had graduated to being the Graphic’s arts correspondent. It wasn’t a job that brought him a great deal of money.
Dan contemplated the cows as they ripped up soft mouthfuls of cud, and wondered how much he would have to tip the Woodbourne House servants. That kind of thing could bleed a man dry. Not a consideration which would worry Paul Latimer – but then, nothing much worried Paul, favourite of the gods.
The train gave a creak and chugged slowly into life. Dan rummaged in his pocket for his cigarettes. As he pulled them out, the stout matron sitting opposite raised her eyes from her knitting and gave him a reproving glance. He returned them to his pocket and glanced at his wristwatch. Only ten more minutes till they reached Malton where, his godmother had informed him, her niece Margaret would meet him.
As the train slid into a tunnel, Dan contemplated his reflection in the carriage window. Aware of his own good looks since the age of twelve, he had yet to become bored by them. The face that looked back at him was handsome, the features nicely chiselled, the mouth sensitive and not too full, eyes blue and soulful. If the old bird hadn’t been present, he might have practised his charming, crooked grin, but he made do instead with passing his fingers through the waves of his thick blond hair and giving his reflection a final admiring glance before the train slid back into sunlight. He hoped there would be a few decent girls at the house party.
Dan was the only passenger to alight at Malton. He saw a little two-seater Austin parked next to the fence by the road, a girl in a short-sleeved blouse and linen trousers leaning against its bonnet. She waved when she saw Dan, and he carried his case over to the car. So this was Meg. Neither Paul nor Diana had mentioned quite how attractive she was. She had long, curling chestnut hair and dark eyes flecked with green, delicately arched brows and lightly tanned skin, and a very pretty f
igure. His hopes had been fulfilled. At least one looker on the premises.
‘You must be Daniel. I’m Meg Slater,’ she said.
Dan smiled and shook her hand. ‘Please, call me Dan. Good to meet you at last. I’ve heard a lot about you from Paul and Diana.’
‘Nice things, I hope. Here, chuck your bag in the back.’ She got into the car and settled herself behind the wheel. Dan guessed from the intentness of her gaze and the set of her body that she hadn’t been driving for long.
With a grinding of gears they set off.
‘Sorry!’ said Meg. ‘I only passed my test two months ago.’ She glanced at Dan. He was nice-looking. She liked fair-haired men. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see a house guest under fifty.’
‘Am I the first to arrive?’
‘The first non-geriatric.’ She made a face. ‘It’s been rather grim at dinner the past few nights. Gerald Cunliffe – you know, the poet? He and his wife arrived three days ago. They’re nice enough old people, but not terrifically exciting.’
‘When do the Latimers arrive?’ asked Dan.
‘They should be here tomorrow. You and Paul were at school together, weren’t you?’
‘He was a few years ahead of me. Very much a hero of mine when I was in the lower fifth.’
‘I can imagine.’ She gave him another glance. ‘Isn’t it funny we’ve never met? I’ve known Paul and Diana for the longest time. Di’s bringing one of her friends along, too – a girl called Eve Meyerson.’
‘Really? I know her. She’s a fellow journalist. Works on the Daily Herald.’ Dan reflected that this might be a most interesting ten days. He and Eve had already had more than a couple of flirtatious encounters in London.
‘And then there’s some fellow called Charles Asher, one of Aunt Sonia’s protégés. I’ve never met him.’
‘So, when did you come down?’
‘Three weeks ago.’
‘Bit slow for you, I’d have thought.’
‘I could be spending the summer on the Côte d’Azur with my mother, having a very glamorous time, but I decided I’d rather be here. I don’t share my mother’s social stamina. My debutante season last year was absolutely exhausting, thanks to her. She insisted I go to every single party. I’m quite glad of the rest this summer.’ After a pause she remarked, ‘So, Aunt Sonia’s your godmother?’
‘Yes. She’s rather taken me under her wing since my mother died last year. This is my first visit to Woodbourne House. What’s it like? Is everyone terribly proper?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. The house runs like clockwork, meals on time, all that kind of thing, but Aunt Sonia doesn’t stand on ceremony’ – Meg paused to concentrate as she rounded a bend a little on the fast side – ‘though she does like everyone to dress for dinner. I think that’s rather down to the Cunliffes. He’s a dry old stick, and she’s terribly strait-laced. But I imagine things will loosen up a little with more young people around. I hope so, at any rate.’
They drove through the village of Chidding, then after a quarter of a mile Meg tooted the horn and swung the car between a pair of stone pillars and up a curving driveway. Woodbourne House came into view. It was handsome, built of reddish stone, three storeys high, with roses and creepers surrounding the leaded windows on either side of a wide stone porch. Meg parked the car in a courtyard at the back of the house. As they got out she pointed down through a sloping apple orchard to a large barn.
‘That’s Uncle Henry’s studio. He spends most of the day there. It’s my job to trek back and forth with meals and mail and cups of tea, and clean his brushes when he’s finished for the day. Sometimes he lets me sit and talk to him while he works – a great privilege, I assure you. Hardly anyone’s allowed in there.’
Dan took his case from the boot and followed Meg to the house. She pointed to a line of trees. ‘Through there’s the tennis court. Aunt Sonia had it put in only this year. The gardener’s boy spends most of his time rolling it. Do you play?’
‘Rather. I didn’t think to bring a racquet, though.’
‘Oh, Aunt Sonia’s got several, all brand spanking new. We can have a game later, if you like. It’s always nicer in the evening, when things have cooled down a bit. Perhaps we can get a set in before dinner.’ The smile she gave him seemed full of promise.
Sonia Haddon emerged from the house to greet them, three small pekes pattering behind her. She was a tall, graceful woman, clad in a long dress of moss-coloured crêpe de Chine, and wore several bracelets and a long beaded necklace. She extended a hand to Dan.
‘Dan, how lovely! Meg must be very glad of your arrival. I’m sure she’s been bored to death with a house full of old people this past week.’ Sonia was in her mid-forties, attractive, with a long, narrow face, a generous mouth, and grey, slanting eyes, and an authoritative and gently incisive manner. ‘Meg, dearest, would you hunt down Avril and Madeleine? It’s time Avril had her tea. Come with me, Dan, and I’ll show you where I’ve put you. We’ll all have drinks on the terrace before dinner, and you can meet everyone. We dine at seven thirty – I’m sure you think that’s too early, but we old people aren’t good at late nights, and Henry gets cross if he isn’t fed punctually. Tell me, how is your father?’ And with a trail of conversation she led Dan through the garden room and into the house.
Dan’s unpacking was the work of a moment. When he had finished, he unfastened the window and leaned out to inspect the view. His room was at the back of the house, and below him lay the courtyard, and beyond it the kitchen garden, where a gardener in a straw hat was bent among the raspberry canes. To the left stretched lawns and flower gardens, and Dan could glimpse the stone balustrade of the terrace which curved around the side of the house, situated to catch the last of the sunlight. Far away lay the Downs, and in the near distance the Surrey countryside basked in summer serenity.
He could see figures coming through the orchard – Meg, with two girls following behind. One appeared to be a teenager, dressed in a button-fronted frock, her fair hair swinging in a long plait. The other could have been no more than five or six, with bobbed brown hair, and was clad in a pair of overalls. As they came closer Dan realised that the youngest girl was wailing – a screeching sound which grated on the ears. Meg and the other girl paid no attention. Dan watched them as they passed through the kitchen garden and crossed the courtyard, his gaze held by Meg’s neat, pretty figure.
He closed the window, stowed away his case and inspected the delights of the room which was to be his for the next ten days. His thoughtful hostess had left a tin of biscuits and some light novels by his bedside, a Lalique vase of roses and jasmine stood on the bureau, and clean towels hung by the washstand. Dan checked his reflection in the looking-glass, and sauntered downstairs. On a polished table stood a large bowl of arum lilies, scenting the hallway with their fragrance. He paused on the threshold of the garden room. Meg appeared in the hallway, looking cross.
‘Why the face?’ asked Dan.
‘That wretched child, Avril, my cousin. I had to fetch her in to tea in the nursery and she hacked me on the ankles, the little beast. Anyway, if you’ve finished your unpacking, how about that game of tennis?’
‘I think Sonia said something about drinks before dinner.’
‘Oh, that’s not for ages. An hour at least. Come on – I’m dying to play.’
‘I’ll have to go and change my shoes,’ said Dan. ‘I’ll see you out there.’
They started the game gently enough, but it wasn’t long before a competitive element crept in. Although Dan regarded himself as a pretty good player, he had to work hard to beat Meg. They stopped after a set.
‘You play tennis the same way you drive a car,’ remarked Dan.
‘How’s that?’
‘With beady ferocity.’
‘Thanks!’ replied Meg. ‘I used to play for my school. It’s nice to have a decent game for a change.’
‘What about Sonia? I thought the tennis court was her idea.’
‘Aunt Sonia’s tennis is a somewhat stately affair, and Uncle Henry just strolls round the court smoking a cigar, hitting anything that comes his way, generally out. Madeleine doesn’t play. Maybe we can have some doubles when the Latimers come down.’
‘You’re very keen.’
‘I’m very bored!’
Dan pulled out his cigarette case and offered it to her. Meg hesitated. She didn’t really smoke, but she didn’t want to appear unworldly, so she took a cigarette. As he struck a match Meg found herself transfixed by the hand that cupped it, the strong, shapely fingers, the dusting of gold hairs on the wrist. She bent her head to let him light her cigarette, aware of his proximity and a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes followed the flexing of his fingers as he flung the match away. He grinned at her, and she grinned shyly back.
‘By the way,’ asked Dan, ‘who’s the blonde girl I saw you and Avril with earlier?’
‘Oh, you mean Madeleine? She’s one of Aunt Sonia’s deeds of mercy. Her mother is an old friend of Sonia’s who got in the family way when she was a girl. The chap did the decent thing and married her, but then he died and since then her family won’t have anything to do with her. Now the poor woman has TB and is in some sanatorium in Suffolk. So Aunt Sonia has taken Madeleine in. She’s meant to be looking after Avril, but she’s next to useless. Has her head in a book most of the time. I’m always having to dig them both up and bring them in at mealtimes, and I generally get kicked on the ankles for my pains.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d best go in and change.’ They strolled back up the path and across the lawn to the house.
*
Meg was much in Dan’s thoughts as he dressed for dinner. A very pretty thing, though still something of a schoolgirl. Her determined efforts to beat him at tennis gave her a certain garçonne appeal, and he found himself wondering if she’d look as good in a cocktail dress as she did in tennis shorts.