The Summer House Party

by Caro Fraser

  ‘Oh, mercy! You made me jump!’ she exclaimed, as Meg put her head round the door. Then she smiled. ‘Whatever are you doing down here? Your aunt never said a word.’

  ‘Surprise visit. How are you, Mrs G?’

  ‘Well enough, thank you,’ said Mrs Goodall, resuming her polishing, ‘but not exactly best pleased to be doing this chore.’

  Meg unpinned her hat and chucked it aside, then sat down at the table. ‘I thought William did the silver?’

  ‘He’s gone to visit his mother in Hove. She’s very ill. He’s been gone a week.’ Mrs Goodall shook her head. ‘She’s not expected to live.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Meg picked up a rag and the silver polish, and set to work on the lid of a chafing dish. ‘What other news?’

  ‘Well…’ Mrs Goodall gave Meg a look, ‘Madeleine is still with us. Big as a barn, and about as talkative. I don’t know what your aunt was thinking of, letting her stay on here. It’s raised a few eyebrows in the neighbourhood, I can tell you.’

  ‘She’s being kind. Where else would Madeleine go? Her grandmother turned her out.’

  ‘Ah, well – I understand there have been a few words between Mrs Haddon and that lady.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘More than a few.’ Mrs Goodall nodded and set the candlestick aside. She folded the rag. ‘There, that’s all I’m prepared to do. I told Mrs Haddon, I said, I’ll do the dining-room silver, madam, but I cannot and will not clean every piece in the house. The rest will just have to wait till William gets back.’ She watched as Meg finished the chafing dish. ‘It’s nice to see you back. Your aunt misses you, I can tell you. She’s that lonely with your uncle gone.’

  ‘Well, I may be around more often in a few months. Mr Latimer and I have been trying to find a house for when we’re married, and this morning I went to see the loveliest place, just over the border in Berkshire. If we buy it, I can visit regularly.’

  ‘Madam must be pleased to hear that.’ Mrs Goodall folded her hands in her lap. ‘Now, tell me all about the plans for the wedding. I want to know every detail.’

  Meg stayed in the kitchen for another half an hour, talking. She enjoyed the grown-up feeling it gave her to be discussing her wedding. The last time she had sat here, she had felt little more than a schoolgirl.

  When it was time for Mrs Goodall to start preparing tea, she went out to wander round the gardens, which were looking at their very best in the spring sunshine. Yet it seemed to Meg that there was an odd inertia about the place, as though nothing was expected of it any more. With Uncle Henry gone, the life of the house had somehow receded. She strolled across the lawn and stood in silence beneath the big chestnut tree. She couldn’t imagine there ever being another summer house party, with people gathering here to take tea, laughing and talking on the terrace over evening cocktails, days passing in games of tennis and croquet. That had been only last August, yet it seemed long ago. An unbidden memory came to her, of Dan sitting just feet away from where she stood now, feeding her strawberries. For some reason, she remembered the golden hairs on his suntanned arms, not something she even recalled noticing at the time. She put her hands to her cheeks, which were suddenly hot. She didn’t want to think about any of that. She would be glad when she was married to Paul, and everything of that kind could be laid to rest.

  She was about to turn and go back to the house when she caught sight of Madeleine coming through the orchard. Mrs Goodall was right. She was very large. The baby must be due any day. She waited as Madeleine drew nearer, then hailed her. Madeleine came over.

  ‘Hello. I didn’t know you were visiting.’

  ‘Neither did I till this lunchtime.’ Meg explained about Hazelhurst, hoping it didn’t sound tactless to be talking about her possible new home in the face of Madeleine’s less comfortable prospects. ‘How are you? The baby must be due soon.’

  Madeleine shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’

  Meg got the distinct feeling that she didn’t wish to talk about it. Perhaps she was frightened. They walked together towards the house.

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Meg. ‘Afterwards, I mean.’

  ‘Go away. Find work somewhere. Mrs Haddon is going to sort out having the baby adopted.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure that’s what you want to happen? I mean, I’m sure there are ways…’

  Madeleine turned to Meg, her expression stony. ‘I just want the whole thing over and done with.’

  *

  Over tea with her aunt, Meg talked about Paul and their plans. Sonia listened avidly, seeming to take nourishment from everything Meg had to tell her, asking questions here and there.

  ‘How wonderful to be starting out, to have the adventure of your life ahead of you.’ Sonia poured the last of the tea, and set the tea strainer aside. ‘And here I am – at the end of mine. Without Henry, there are no more adventures.’

  ‘But you’re still young, Aunt Sonia. I mean…’ Here Meg faltered, suddenly realising how tactless it would be to touch on the possibility of her remarrying.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. But when you have loved once, and that love was entirely perfect, there is no point in looking again. And I could only ever marry for love. No one should marry except for love. I’m not saying that Henry was perfect – far from it. Everyone knew that, I most of all. I had to turn a blind eye to many things. But my love for him was perfect. I imagine you feel that for Paul.’

  Meg smiled uncertainly. Was what she felt for Paul the most perfect thing in the world, a love above all loves? Goodness, how could she possibly know? How did anyone know? Perhaps only when they had the chance to look back, as Aunt Sonia was doing now.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Sonia. ‘I don’t often speak about my feelings.’ She took a morsel of sandwich from her plate and fed it to one of the pekes. ‘I shouldn’t feed them scraps, I know. They’re getting far too fat.’

  Meg was on the one hand glad that her aunt had moved away from the subject of love, but on the other she wished she could hear more, find out exactly what it was that she was supposed to feel at this important stage in her life. She needed to know that her feelings for Paul measured up to whatever standard of perfection was required of them. She supposed she would just have to hope for the best, to strive to be happy and perhaps, one day, she would be able to look back and congratulate herself on having… On having what? Chosen the right man? Loved him enough? Been loved enough? Her aunt’s voice broke through the confusion of her thoughts.

  ‘I won’t pretend that your visit hasn’t been a godsend, Meg. Life here is quite difficult at the moment, what with Madeleine, and so on.’

  ‘Mrs Goodall told me you’ve spoken to Madeleine’s grandmother.’

  ‘Mrs Goodall should not gossip.’ Sonia stroked Domino’s silky head, and Domino responded with an ecstatic shiver, for which he was rewarded with a morsel of cake. ‘But yes. I felt it really was too bad of her simply to turn her back on the child. We had words. No doubt she overheard me on the telephone.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll come round once the baby is born.’

  ‘I very much doubt that. The words “bastard offspring” don’t sound terribly promising, do they?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Have any plans been made? About the adoption, I mean?’

  Sonia waved the question away. ‘Oh, we shall see to all that when the time comes.’

  Meg glanced at her watch. ‘It’s nearly five. I’ll have to be starting back to London soon.’

  ‘Already? But we have so much still to talk about! Why don’t you stay for dinner, and go back tomorrow? Your old room is ready and waiting.’

  Sonia’s hunger for company was so evident, her expression so imploring, that Meg felt she couldn’t say no. Besides, there was no pressing need for her to be back in London that evening.

  ‘Of course. I’d love to stay.’

  *

  By the time Meg went up to her old room, Effie, the oldest of the housemaids, was smoothing down
the sheets and tucking in the blankets. She was a wiry woman in late middle age, and had been with Sonia ever since Meg could remember.

  ‘Nice to see one of the guest rooms being put to use,’ Effie remarked. ‘It’s that sad, dustsheets everywhere. When I think how busy the house used to be, so many visitors coming and going.’

  ‘It’s only nine months since Uncle Henry died. I think it will take my aunt a while to get over his death. But I’m sure in time she’ll feel more sociable.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. Mrs Davenport is doing her best, trying to get her involved in this and that in the neighbourhood, but your aunt never was much one for that kind of thing.’ Effie plumped the pillows and smoothed the counterpane. ‘There, Miss Margaret, you should be nice and comfy. I’ve laid out a nightgown for you on the chair over there, and you’ll find fresh towels in the cupboard by the bathroom – but you know all that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Meg opened the window and gazed out at the terrace and lawn leading to the gardens beyond. She loved Woodbourne House; it had warmth and beauty, and managed to be imposing without being excessively grand. She hoped Hazelhurst could be such a place. Leaning out on the window sill, she could glimpse the tennis court through the trees. Hazelhurst didn’t have a tennis court. They could make one. It would be a project. Everything would be a project. Life itself was a project, and Paul had enough money for anything she took it into her head to do. That thought, exciting in theory, failed, for some reason, to stir her. She wondered why. Probably because she was tired. She was glad she wasn’t driving back tonight.

  *

  In an idle half-hour before dinner, Meg wandered into the drawing room. She noticed a photograph album lying on one of the tables and opened it. It was filled with photographs from the house party last summer. There was one of them all on the picnic, Daphne Davenport with her enormous parasol. Meg recalled the walk in the woods they had taken that day, the embarrassment of stumbling on Charles and Madeleine together, Paul’s indignation – an indignation she had thought rather overworked and silly at the time. Given Madeleine’s present predicament, it had probably been justified. She took the album to the sofa and leafed through it, conjuring ghosts of last summer. There was a picture of Diana posing with a cigarette by the summerhouse, pretending to be Bette Davis, one of the Cunliffes lounging in deckchairs, Sonia with Avril by the fountain, feeding the fish, Paul standing by the lake in his shirtsleeves, pipe in mouth, in the manly posture he always adopted when being photographed. She smiled and gazed at the photo for a moment, sure in her heart of her feelings for him. She turned the page, and there was a picture of Dan, sensuously stretched out in the sun on the broad stone terrace wall, eyes closed, hands folded behind his head. She could tell from his smile that he was aware he was being photographed and of how handsome he looked. Meg studied the photograph dispassionately. How easy to be taken in by those looks, that charm. She nearly had been. A lucky escape.

  Sonia came in to the drawing room and sat down next to her. ‘Ah, you’ve found my album. You know, after Henry died, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything about all those photographs. I only got round to it recently. I’m glad I did.’ She inspected the photograph of Dan. ‘Look at Dan. Like a golden cat in the sun.’ She gazed at the picture for a moment, musing. ‘He’s gone to Spain. I don’t know why they do it, these foolish boys.’ She shook her head.

  Meg was startled. ‘He’s gone to fight?’

  ‘No, as a war correspondent – still fearfully dangerous.’

  ‘I thought he was dead set against people going out there.’

  ‘Well, evidently he changed his views. I wake up each day wondering whether he’s alive or dead. At least he writes regularly, which is something.’

  Dead. Dan dead. The image quite shocked Meg. It felt as though someone had thrust a sharp blade into her. But of course, the idea of anyone so young dying was dreadful.

  She and Sonia leafed through the rest of the pictures, then Sonia laid the album aside and rose to her feet. ‘Now, I don’t generally drink these days, but I think your visit is a cause for a celebration. As is this new house of yours.’

  ‘We haven’t bought it yet, remember.’

  ‘Ah, but I have a happy presentiment.’ Sonia unstoppered the sherry decanter and poured out two small glasses. She handed one to Meg with a smile. ‘Just as I did about you and Paul. My presentiments are generally right.’

  *

  After dinner Meg and Sonia played a couple of games of cribbage, and then Meg went to bed, determined to make an early start for London.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. Meg lay there, listening to the rising wind rattle the window, which she had left ajar. She got up to close it. A hard rain was falling outside, drumming on the gable roof. Meg hoped it would be over by morning. She detested driving in bad weather. On her way back to bed she caught sight of the little bookcase, and decided she might as well read for a while, rather than toss and turn. She recognised the novel which she’d started last August, and plucked it out. It hadn’t wholly gripped her, but it was something to wile away a sleepless hour.

  She got back into bed. The book fell open, not at the page she had last read, but where she had put the wild rose that Dan had given her last summer. She lifted it from the pages. It was desiccated and brittle now, but the unexpected sight of it filled her with the recollection of their first kiss beneath the trees, the dappled light between the leaves, the drowsy sound of the wood pigeons. She shut her eyes as if to hold the memory back, then let it come. It didn’t matter that he had turned out to be worthless, he had given her that. Her mind drifted to the night he had visited her here in this very room, and then to the Cunliffes’ party, and those moments in the library, those kisses on the sofa. The recollection seemed to set her senses on fire. She lay there for a long, indulgent moment, remembering, then abruptly opened her eyes. She shouldn’t be doing this. It was a betrayal. It had meant nothing. It was all just about sex, and that was treacherous, too. It had nothing to do with love, only with gratification.

  The rose lay in her palm. She closed her fingers, crushing until there was nothing left of it but tiny fragments and a thin, dried stem. She dusted them from her hand, then closed the book and chucked it across the room. That was done with. She put out the light.

  Sleep took a long time to come.

  2

  WHEN SHE AWOKE a few hours later, it was to a tapping on her door. In her sleepy state she was transported back to that night when Dan had come to her room, and she sat up, startled, trying to make sense of it. Then she grew properly awake, and realised the tapping was in fact an urgent rapping.

  ‘Yes?’ she called out, swinging herself out of bed.

  ‘Meg?’ Sonia’s voice was urgent. ‘Can you come, please? I need you.’

  Meg hurried to the door. Sonia stood there in her dressing gown, her hair in a plait over one shoulder.

  ‘It’s Madeleine. The baby isn’t due for another fortnight, but I think it’s starting.’ They hurried together along the passage, and Meg became aware not only of shrieks and moans coming from Madeleine’s room, but also of Avril crying at the top of her voice in the nursery on the floor above.

  ‘Avril heard Madeleine and came down to her room,’ explained Sonia. ‘I don’t know how the rest of us slept through it. She must have thought Madeleine was dying. Now she’s having a blue fit up there. I told Miss Bissett to keep her in the nursery.’

  Effie, the only other servant who lived in, appeared on the stairs, clutching her robe, startled from sleep by the commotion.

  ‘Effie, we shall need your help. The baby is coming. All hands to the pump.’

  They went into Madeleine’s bedroom. She was writhing and moaning in a tangle of bed sheets and blankets, a sheen of perspiration on her face, her blonde hair in sweaty tendrils. When she saw Sonia she reached out and clutched her hand.

  Meg was shocked. She knew nothing of the realities of childbirth. In the rare moments when she
thought about it at all, she had a hazy, sanitised conception of a little puffing and panting, and then a baby being placed in the arms of a smiling mother. She had not expected to witness such pain, such naked desperation.

  ‘I don’t know what to do!’ she said to Sonia.

  ‘Don’t worry. I shall tell you what to do. Dr Egan is out attending another patient, unfortunately, but his wife says he will come as soon as he gets back. With luck he will be here before things get very far along. At the moment we must just help her manage her contractions.’

  Meg didn’t even know what a contraction was, and said so. Sonia explained, in between murmuring soothing words to Madeleine, who writhed like an anguished animal.

  ‘I’m just going to give my hands a good wash,’ said Sonia, and left the room.

  After a few moments, Madeleine grew quieter. She lay on her side, panting.

  Sonia came back, dressing gown sleeves rolled to her elbows. ‘Madeleine, dear, I need you to lie on your back. I have to see whether the baby is coming.’

  Madeleine gave a groan and rolled on to her back, her knees up. Sonia lifted Madeleine’s nightgown. ‘Dear me, this is so difficult. There isn’t enough light in here. Effie, can you bring that bedside light round here?’

  ‘How do you know what to do?’ Meg asked, watching as Sonia repositioned the lamp and peered at Madeleine’s nether regions.

  ‘I was in the VAD in the war. And it helps to have had a baby oneself.’

  Meg looked on anxiously as Madeleine clenched her teeth and grasped the sides of her swollen belly, giving vent to unearthly groans and shrieks. Meg was convinced there must be some problem, some enormous difficulty – surely it wasn’t always like this?

  ‘I can see the head,’ said Sonia. ‘This is going to happen faster than I had thought.’ She dropped the edge of Madeleine’s nightgown and turned to Meg. ‘I need you to go to the kitchen and boil some water and bring it up here in a basin. Scissors – we shall need scissors. And towels, plenty of towels. Effie, you can fetch those.’