Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  I had sent Maria-Alba my Derbyshire address in my Wednesday letter. I felt it was important to be both faithful and consistent so I wrote twice a week without fail, though sometimes I could manage only a brief note. Her letters came erratically, sometimes two on the same day and then nothing for a week. The spelling was idiosyncratic, there was no punctuation and most sentences were incomplete. We had never corresponded before so I had no idea how much was due to difficulties with written English and how much to mental turbulence. She complained vehemently about the nastiness of the food and accused Sister Mary-Joseph, who was head cook at the convent, of putting poison in the tea. Apparently the convent was run as a brothel for the exclusive use of the Devil. Maria-Alba escaped diabolical violation by sitting up all night with the kitchen ladle at the ready. Her refusal to be parted from the ladle, which I had had repaired by the tinker who called regularly to sharpen knives, had caused considerable inconvenience in our household as cabbage soup was frequently on Ronnie’s menu, but he would not let me incur the expense of buying another.

  My letters, by comparison were tame. I had reported on Mark Antony’s weight gain, Ronnie and Ma’s departure to Cornwall, Dirk’s very nearly responding to ‘S-s-sit!’, our continued employment and the good behaviour of the washing machine. I said that Pa was in reasonably good spirits but did not say why. Rereading the letter, we sounded a thoroughly united, enterprising and successful family. I wondered if there was anything in Coué’s method of psychotherapy by auto-suggestion, which works by constant repeating the mantra that everyday everything is getting better and better. If I went on insisting what terrific achievers and all-round good eggs the Byngs were, might it become true?

  ‘This looks like lunch.’ Archie interrupted my thoughts.

  He turned left by a sign which said ‘Tallyho Towers, Hotel and Restaurant’. We followed the drive through woods until the trees gave way to a gravelled turning circle before a large Victorian Gothic house.

  ‘I suppose it’s no good being fussy.’ Rupert undid his seat belt and got out. ‘They will have tablecloths, at least.’

  ‘You go ahead,’ I said. ‘I shan’t be long.’ I put Dirk on his lead and led him a little way into the wood in search of a discreet peeing place. He was extremely interested in all the wood had to offer and took some persuasion to return to the car. A man with a brightly checked suit and long sideburns, who was loading suitcases into the boot of the car next to ours, smiled at me and said,

  ‘Very swish motor. Weber carburettors? Turbocharger?’

  I smiled back politely. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about cars.’

  ‘Nice dog, too.’

  Here I felt on more secure ground

  ‘Yes, isn’t he. He’s a Cornish terrier.’

  The man laughed, showing very white teeth. ‘A Cornish pixie, more likely. Don’t try and pull my leg, young lady. My aunt had a St Bernard. Lovely temperament. But nearly ate her out of house and home. Hope you’ve got some family jewels to sell.’

  I stiffened a little. ‘It’s a very rare breed.’

  The man laughed again. ‘Listen to this, Tracy,’ he said to the woman who had just walked up to us. ‘This young lady is asking me to believe that that pooch,’ he pointed to Drik, who was sitting on the gravel, scratching his ear, ‘is a rare Cornish spaniel.’

  ‘Terrier,’ I corrected.

  The woman, who was a pretty platinum blonde with startlingly red lips, said, ‘Well, sweetie, perhaps he is. I don’t know anything about dogs.’ She looked again at Dirk. ‘But I must say he looks awfully like your auntie’s old dog – the sort that wears a barrel round its neck and rescues people from the snow.’

  ‘Exactly.’ The man was triumphant. ‘A St Bernard. This one’s just a pup, of course.’

  The woman saw my face. ‘Anyway, poppet, you shouldn’t go around accosting people you don’t know.’ She smiled at me. ‘He can’t resist a chin-wag. Take no notice.’ She bent to pat Dirk, who simpered and panted. ‘You’re a ducky-dear, whatever you are.’ She fluttered her fingers at me. ‘Tra-la!’

  They got into their car and drove away. I was feeling cold and flustered by the time I walked into the restaurant.

  Our party was clearly the focus of all eyes. Waiters ran about, bringing drinks and menus, and the other guests stared and whispered. For a moment I saw us as others might. Rupert would always attract attention by reason of his height, his silver-grey hair and his handsome, slightly saturnine face. Cordelia was wearing a navy coat and pleated skirt that had once belonged to Ophelia. It was plain and well cut and showed off the bright gold of her hair. The cream jersey beneath made the most of her exquisite pink-and white complexion. I suppose it was superficial of me to care for appearances but I was proud of my little sister. Archie wore a thick tweed jacket and plus-twos of lovat green, his socks were tasselled, his brogues had an almost blinding shine. On the chair beside him was a Tyrolean hat, the band trimmed with colourful feathers.

  A waiter approached me to take my coat.

  ‘Reginald!’ hissed a respectable matron to her dull-looking husband. ‘That man is wearing lipstick!’ They were sitting at the table nearest the door and were so intent on gazing at Archie that they had not noticed me.

  Her husband snorted with laughter. ‘I don’t often venture to contradict you, my dear, but that man is, in fact, a woman. And a distressingly plain one at that.’

  ‘What? Oh, nonsense! Of course it’s a man.’

  ‘You need spectacles, my love.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight!’

  ‘I wish you would remember, my dear, that asserting something, however violently, does not make it true. I’m afraid vanity makes fools of us all. It’s high time you visited the optician.’

  ‘Well, I like that! Who was it mistook my aunt for the lady gardener? I seem to remember you told her to stop buggering about on the lawn and bloody well get down to it. She has always disapproved of language –’

  At this point the couple noticed that I was listening avidly, while taking an unconscionably long time to take off my coat. As I was already discovering, Archie had an unsettling effect on people. They crumbled their rolls in mute anger and I was obliged to join the others at the table. Another waiter bounded over to shake my napkin over my knee.

  ‘I advise the roast beef,’ said Rupert. ‘There’s little anyone can do to ruin a good piece of beef – except overcook it. And the crab salad to begin with, on the same principle.’

  ‘I never normally get the chance to eat in a restaurant,’ said Cordelia. ‘Can’t I have something more exciting?’

  Rupert looked at her. ‘Experience is good, they say, if not bought too dear. What would you like?’

  ‘I’ll begin with coquilles St-Jacques because it sounds pretty. And then I’ll have homard thermidor, please. I know that’s lobster. We had it in French.’

  I frowned at Cordelia and slightly shook my head for it was by far the most expensive thing on the menu but she affected not to see. She was delighted with everything, the waiter who bowed to her and called her ‘madam’, the panoply of glasses and knives and forks, the ice-bucket on a stand, the silver pot full of toothpicks, the books of matches with the hotel’s name on it. She was aware that people were staring at us and she played up to it, tossing her head and pouting and laughing rather loudly.

  I heard a man on the table next to us mutter, ‘Fetching little thing, isn’t she?’

  ‘Do you think he could be a relation?’ whispered his female companion who had been mesmerised by Archie for some time. ‘I mean it’s such a strange little group.’

  ‘I think you’ll find, my darling Fiona, that pansies don’t breed. Ergo, no relations. That’s something to be said for it, anyway.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Jerry. They have mothers and fathers at least.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re actors over from Hollywood. He’s wearing makeup.’

  ‘Yet their accents are good. Definitely upper-middle. Th
e one who seems to be in charge reminds me of Rudolph Valentino. Not quite English. I think the fairy is rather sweet.’

  ‘You used to think Mao Tse-tung was sweet. Anyway, actors are supposed to be able to do accents, aren’t they? I suppose they might have escaped from somewhere. The circus. Or the funny farm.’

  ‘Sssh! They’ll hear you.’

  I rather enjoyed our notoriety, with the attendant insights into other people’s ways of thinking. It was much more interesting than the fawning tributes that strangers paid to Pa.

  The crab salad was plain but good. Rupert and Archie grumbled about the dressing. Cordelia managed to eat nearly all the coquilles St-Jacques though I could see it was an effort. Scallops, mashed potatoes, breadcrumbs, cheese and cream are a rich combination and not the thing to choose when recovering from feeling sick in the car.

  A welcome distraction was provided by the drama of the carving trolley with its shining dome, vat of steaming gravy and theatrical clashings of knife against steel. The beef, when it was cut, was only faintly pink, which was fine by me as I am not fond of blood, but Rupert and Archie looked at each other gloomily. Cordelia’s face fell at the arrival of the lobster. It looked remarkably liked the coquilles except that the shell was a different shape and there was four times as much cream, breadcrumbs and cheese.

  ‘Well.’ Rupert put down his knife and fork, having worked through most of the beef, which was sadly tough. ‘At least our nervous systems were not subjected to sudden shock by finding the meat properly hung and the vegetables lightly cooked.’

  ‘We shall revive with pudding.’ said Archie gaily. ‘English hotels can usually manage to pull themselves together when it comes to confectionery. You groan, Cordelia? What about some trifle – layers of jam, custard and whipped cream with sherry and toasted almonds?’

  ‘Ooh …’ Cordelia moaned and pressed her napkin to her mouth.

  A waiter propelled a trolley towards us, loaded with dishes decorated with glacé cherries, angelica and chocolate shavings.

  Rupert waved him away. ‘Just bring the cheese board. No, Archie. You’ll never be able to get into those lederhosen you bought in Gstaad. Besides,’ he looked at Cordelia, ‘it’s mean.’

  When we were walking out of the dining room, a little later, the couple by the door observed Archie attentively. The woman broke what seemed to be a strained silence to mutter, ‘A man. I told you so. But Mother was right. You always were a pig-headed old fool!’

  ‘Your mother was a narrow-minded, sanctimonious, sexually frustrated old bitch,’ returned her husband, ‘and if you don’t look out …’ The rest of what he had to say was lost as the swing door closed behind us.

  ‘Looks like snow ahead,’ said Rupert. He consulted the map. ‘Another thirty miles to go. It’s getting dark.’

  ‘I’ll put my foot down, shall I?’ Archie revved the engine. ‘Dear me! What a lot of cowards you are! There’s no need to scream. I read somewhere that fear is good for the human constitution. It keeps our instincts sharp and our appetites whetted.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Archie,’ said Rupert as we skimmed by a lorry on the outside of a blind bend, ‘if you care nothing for our shattered nerves, at least have some care for the paint-work.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Cordelia’s voice had a note of desperation. ‘I’m going to have to get out again.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Archie. ‘There can be nothing left to spew.’ Poor Cordelia had already been sick twice since leaving the hotel. ‘Of course lobster is horribly rich,’ he continued cheerfully, ‘and together with a greasy combination of cheese and cream –’

  In the darkness of the back of the car Cordelia’s eyes grew agonised.

  ‘Stop!’ I cried.

  Archie drew over to the left. Cordelia threw open the door and stumbled into the thicket of trees. Dirk, who had seemed to be deeply asleep, gathered himself and made a leap for freedom.

  ‘Damn!’ I said. ‘I’d better go and get him.’

  ‘Much though I relish the idea of prospecting a dark, damp wilderness, peopled by vomiting children, he is more likely to respond to your call.’ Rupert sneezed several times. ‘I think my sinuses may have been permanently damaged.’

  We had had to have the windows open since leaving the hotel.

  ‘I’m certainly not going.’ Archie leaned across him to peer suspiciously into the wood. ‘There could be adders in there, or rabid foxes or psychopaths armed with knives.’

  I pulled on my boots and my fur hat and got out into the road. ‘I thought you said fear was good for you.’

  ‘Ah yes, but not after four o’clock. Evenings should be spent composing oneself peacefully for sleep. Scream if you’re attacked and we shall valiantly set forth.’ Archie slid the windows up.

  The wood was larger than it had first appeared. I shouted Cordelia’s name, then Dirk’s and at once winged things sprang out of every bush, making me jump. Beneath the trees was impenetrable undergrowth so I was sure she would not have left the path. I walked briskly, calling every few seconds. There was no sign of either of them so I decided to turn back and explore the other way. I could have sworn that I retraced my route exactly but when I found myself in a small clearing beside an unfamiliar pile of logs I knew I was lost.

  The sky was growing darker, and as I looked up something wet fell on my face. Snow. I told myself I had no reason to be afraid. I could not be very far from the road and Rupert and Archie would come to look for me before long. Probably Cordelia and Dirk were already back in the car. At this point I remembered that she had run off without her coat.

  The flakes were falling fast now. With what was perhaps a reprehensible care for the material things of this world, I constantly brushed them from my shoulders and shook them from my beautiful hat. My hands grew cold. I thrust them deep into my pockets and found the mint imperials I had bought when we stopped for petrol. I pulled out the packet and immediately there was a pattering behind me and something damp thrust itself into my palm. It was Dirk’s nose.

  I was much too pleased to see him to be convincingly angry. I snapped the lead on to his collar and said Cordelia’s name several times in an urgent, entreating way. Dirk sat down and refused to move no matter how much I tugged him.

  ‘Oh, really! What a dog you are!’

  I gave him a mint. He devoured it with one swallow and nearly dislocated my arms at he set off at speed. I ran behind him and soon saw, in the distance between the trees, the welcome sight of headlights. Twice, before we reached them Dirk sat down and refused to move until I had given him another mint. Then he darted off again until the enticing flavour had worn off sufficiently to require another. As I approached the car the interior light disclosed two dark shapes that were the heads of Rupert and Archie. No Cordelia.

  ‘We were beginning to think you had met a delicious prince on a magnificently caparisoned steed and had ridden away with him,’ said Archie as I came panting up.

  ‘Where’s Cordelia?’ Rupert sounded annoyed.

  ‘I don’t know! I’ve been calling and calling. And then I got lost. It’s the most confusing place and it all looks the same in the dark.’

  Rupert muttered something imprecatory beneath his breath on the subject of women and children. ‘All right. Get in. We’ll go and look for her.’

  ‘But it’s snowing!’ protested Archie. ‘My shoes will be ruined!’

  I remembered how I had felt about my coat and hat and did not reproach him in my heart.

  ‘There’s a torch in the boot. We’d better hurry. The wretched child may be wandering further away every second.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’ I stripped off my coat and hat, threw them on the back seat and enveloped myself in the car rug. ‘Dirk brought me back to the car. He may be able to find Cordelia. Here, Dirk, good boy!’ I offered him Cordelia’s coat to sniff. ‘Seek, seek!’ Dirk was off like a pea from a catapult. He bounded ahead while I hung on with difficulty behind.

  ‘Give him to me,’ said R
upert.

  Dirk, feeling a less gentle hand on the rein, stopped dead but a mint fired him off again. Behind us Archie was calling, ‘Oh, do wait, you mean things. I’ve got a stone in my shoe and it’s agony!’

  As we had the torch I suggested that we stop but Rupert said, ‘We’ll go back for him when we’ve found Cordelia. Oh, get on, you tiresome creature! Give him another mint, Harry, quick!’

  The snow was whipping up into our faces now and it was completely dark. I continued to call Cordelia but my voice was weakened by breathlessness. Just as I was beginning to feel really frightened for Cordelia’s safety, Dirk started to whimper with excitement and seconds later the torch-beam fell on a section of trunk and the sleeve of a jersey. Cordelia had climbed into the hollow of a tree to shelter from the snowstorm. She was voluble with fright and cold but her teeth were chattering too much for us to understand what she was saying. I pushed her arms into her coat.

  ‘Put this round your shoulders.’ Rupert was taking off his own coat as he spoke. ‘You can stop crying now. Where’s your spirit of adventure? Come on, walking will warm you up.’

  Between us we coaxed her along, groping our way between the trees, faces screwed up against the snowflakes that melted on our cheeks and dripped down our necks.

  ‘You beasts!’ Archie was wrathful when we found him. ‘Leaving me alone in the dark! I’ve probably got pneumonia …’ He followed behind us, grumbling all the way.