Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  Our discomfort was greatly added to by being miserably cold. Pa said he was sorry but he had developed raging claustrophobia during his spell of imprisonment and being cooped up in a car with four people and an enormous dog would, he feared, bring on a panic attack unless we had all the windows open. Rupert and Archie were wonderfully good about this. I saw Rupert several times hitch his scarf closer round his ears – or it may have been a defence against Dirk’s tongue – but he had said not a word of protest. Archie had taken from his luggage a splendid old-fashioned motoring cap with ear-flaps, which he had fastened beneath his chin. Leaning forward, clutching the wheel and baring his teeth, he looked more than ever like Mr Toad.

  ‘Well?’ said Cordelia. ‘What is it?’

  I opened the box. It was a charming little brooch, a silver acorn cup set against an oak leaf. The acorn was a pearl. ‘It really is beautiful. How good of him.’ I was delighted and moved. And sorry that I had sometimes entertained unkind thoughts about this most generous of hosts. ‘I must write and thank him as soon as we get home.’

  ‘Huh! That’s nothing,’ said Cordelia. ‘Wait till you see what he gave me.’ Cordelia fished about in her coat pocket, banging me in the eye and causing Dirk to thrust his claws into my leg. ‘Get a load of this!’

  She held up a two-strand necklace of the most beautiful, lustrous pearls. A clasp of emeralds and diamonds winked as they blew about in the blast of freezing air.

  ‘Cordelia! Oh, my heaven! It must be worth thousands. Archie, stop the car! We must turn round and go back. We can’t possibly accept such a valuable thing!’

  ‘We?’ Cordelia was indignant. ‘He gave it to me! And I’m going to keep it. Actually I don’t like it much but I’m certainly not giving it back.’

  ‘Make her see that she must, Pa,’ I said urgently. ‘It’s probably an heirloom. It ought to go to Annabel. It would be very wrong to keep it.’

  ‘Annabel’s got masses of stuff to inherit.’ Cordelia spoke before Pa could answer. ‘I saw what was in the box when Sir Oswald got it out. Piles of things. Besides, he won’t want it back. It was the price of my silence.’

  ‘Cordelia! What do you mean?’

  ‘I bloody well earned it.’ Cordelia put her nose in the air and glanced sideways at me, enjoying my consternation. I caught Rupert’s eye in the rear-view mirror. His expression was unreadable.

  ‘What did he make you do?’ I demanded.

  ‘Oh, not what you’re thinking.’ Cordelia stuck out her tongue. ‘So there, Miss Fussy-Knickers. And we all know who got into yours.’

  ‘Cordelia! Tell me at once! Or Pa will make you.’

  My father looked at me inquiringly.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Don’t get so uptight. It was yesterday while you and Rupert were out searching for Annabel. Sir Oswald asked me to come upstairs to his bedroom.’

  ‘Cordelia, you must never go into a bedroom alone with a man again. Promise me you won’t!’

  ‘Don’t be silly. My husband’s going to be pretty annoyed on my wedding night if I say I can’t go into a bedroom alone with him because I promised my sister. Or perhaps you’d like to come in with us to make sure I’m all right?’ Cordelia could be maddeningly sarcastic when she wished. I wanted to shake her.

  ‘She’s got a point there.’ I could see my father was trying not to laugh.

  I gave him a furious look. ‘This is serious. What did he make you do?’

  ‘Nothing much. He made me lie on his bed. He stroked my hand and looked soppy and grinny. You know how men do when they fancy you.’

  I heard something like a snort from the front of the car, which I ignored.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘He went on about me being an angel and said he wanted to show me how to fly with him up to heaven. I thought, if you think I’m going along with that you’ve got another think coming. It was incredibly boring, so after a bit I started to get up. Then he unzipped his trousers and got his thing out.’

  I groaned and put my head in my hands. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I feel so responsible.’

  ‘That’s bilge! I suppose you didn’t tell Sir Oswald to fall desperately in love with me? Some people always want to make themselves out to be important even when they had nothing to do with it. Anyway, I said, “Put it away. It’s horrible. I don’t want to see it. If you don’t I shall scream for help and you’ll be arrested because I’m underage and it’s called peedo – something.” Sir Oswald started to cry and said he was very sorry and he knew he shouldn’t have but he was so much in love with me that he couldn’t help himself. So I said, “Stop crying, it’s all right and I won’t tell anyone if you never, ever do it again, not just to me but to any girl because no one likes looking at such a revolting thing.” He promised he wouldn’t. So you see,’ she smirked at me triumphantly, ‘I’ve probably saved some poor girl less intelligent than me a very nasty shock.’

  ‘I must say Cordelia, you seem to have handled the situation with remarkable aplomb,’ said my father. ‘Though,’ he assumed a look of mock-severity, ‘you have already broken your word about not telling.’

  I gave him a burning glance of reproach. ‘But suppose he hadn’t co-operated? Another man might well have tried to – force himself on her.’

  ‘I’d have kicked him where it hurts,’ said Cordelia promptly. ‘I know it’s absolute agony if you do that. And they can never have sex ever again. They’re importunate for the rest of their lives.’

  This was too much for Rupert and Archie. They almost yelled with laughter. I did not know what to say. If such a thing had happened to me at the age of twelve, I would have been horribly frightened, agonisingly embarrassed and probably put off sex for good. Cordelia had evidently been none of these things. Perhaps some innate wisdom had told her that Sir Oswald was a feeble, unhappy man – harmless, as Rupert had said. Perhaps she was, as she so often claimed, more able to deal with life than I, more perceptive of human strengths and weaknesses. Was I making too much of it? No harm had been done. But it could so easily have been disastrous. But then, one could say this of nearly every situation in life. I was baffled.

  ‘That necklace must go back,’ I said.

  As we left the High Peak behind and the roads became straighter Archie drove faster. He kept his hand more or less continuously on the horn through towns. When we overtook a bus on the brow of a hill my father was moved to protest that as his hair could not turn any whiter, presumably its next reaction to severe shock would be to fall out altogether. And he feared the love of his life might revolt against a man with a pate as bald as a baby’s. I felt a trickle of pain when he said that. He had been very busy on the telephone before we left. His voice had been charged with enthusiasm and he had laughed a lot in a bright, eager way, which made me certain he was not talking to Ma. I closed my eyes in order not to see lorries with huge radiators and sixteen enormous wheels coming straight towards us and tried not to think about the future.

  We stopped for lunch at the same hotel. As we entered the dining room, a stunned silence was swiftly followed by an excited hum of talk. I overheard snatches of conversation as we were shown to our table.

  ‘It is him. I’m sure of it. You remember. Waldo Byng – oh, yes, he murdered that actor – now what was his name? No, he didn’t, you silly, at least he got away with it. Extraordinary people he’s with – that man with the cloak – isn’t it called an Inverness cape? – but, my dear, purple eye shadow! Do look at that child – perfectly angelic – I wonder who that tall, distinguished-looking man is? – vaguely familiar – didn’t I see him in the newspaper the other day?’

  My father, aware that many eyes were upon him, straightened up and put on his Henry V face – all keen, boyish charm. ‘Waiter!’ he called. ‘Dom Pérignon, prestissimo, per favore. The ’68 will do. And bring the menu at once.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Give us great meals of beef and iron and steel. We will eat like wolves and fight like devils!’

  The waiter looked alarmed. I
hoped Rupert was not expected to pay for this performance with a hefty bill.

  ‘That’s Shakespeare,’ a superior-looking woman informed the rest of her table. ‘One of the history plays.’ Throughout lunch they sat with their heads inclined towards us, like seedlings growing towards the light, hoping for more snippets of culture.

  ‘Harriet, you cannot possibly have tomato juice and a plain omelette.’ My father’s voice must have been audible in the kitchen. ‘Never let it be said that a child of mine was a killjoy. You’ll offend the cook.’ He called the waiter back. ‘Madam will have the fritto misto, followed by the tournedos Rossini, rare, with pommes noisette and a green salad. There!’ He beamed across the table at me. ‘That will put colour in your cheeks. You’re looking quite pinched.’

  I expect I was. My blood was gelid due to the interior temperature of the car. I glanced apologetically at Rupert, but he was frowning over the wine list.

  We reached London by the late afternoon. The champagne and the enormous quantity of food we had eaten meant that we all, except Archie luckily, slept for the remainder of the journey. I woke suddenly to see that we were bowling down The Avenue only yards from our house. I experienced the customary rush of pleasure on seeing it. As Archie gave the brake a violent jab with his foot, the squeal of tyres and the restraining clutch of seat belts woke the others. Mark Antony, about whom I had had many anxious thoughts during the last ten days, was on the doorstep flanked by a couple of photographers, who were leaning against the columns of the porch, reading newspapers. The faces of the latter were transfigured by joy as they came galloping down the path.

  ‘Is my hair sticking up?’ My father tried to see himself in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘There isn’t enough of it to stick up, Pa,’ said Cordelia with the grumpiness of the just-woken. ‘Hat, open the door and let Dirk out. He’s crumpled my skirt and dribbled all over it.’

  My father smoothed a licked finger over his eyebrows and took several measured breaths. ‘Mi, mi, mi, mi!’ he sang before stepping out of the car. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

  ‘Sir! Mr Byng, sir! Look this way!’ Cameras flashed. ‘Great! Lovely! How are you, sir? How does it feel to be a free man again? Crikey, is that a dog or a horse? Let’s have one of you with the girls. Happy family reunited. That’s right – closer – smile, young ladies. That’s great! Thanks, and another. Who are these two? Give us a photo, gents.’ Archie posed in his motoring cap and cape. Rupert pushed past the photographers and walked up to the front door. I followed him, fumbling in my bag for the door key.

  ‘They’ll be ages.’ I said. ‘We might as well go in and get some fires going. Darling Mark Antony, I’ve missed you so much.’ I picked him up and kissed him between his ears. He struggled in my arms and, the minute I put him down, stalked round to the back of the house. I knew it would be at least twenty-four hours before he would forgive our desertion and consent to be properly friendly again.

  I could hear the telephone ringing as I turned the key in the lock. I kicked my way through a heap of letters on the doormat and went to answer it. It was Dilys Drelincourt, my father’s agent. She sounded excited. It took a degree of persistence on my part to get Pa away from the cameras.

  ‘Hello, Dil darling, how are you … I’m fine … Yes, tremendous form … What? … Wait a minute, say that again … No! you’re kidding … Really? … Oh, my God, but that’s marvellous! Abso-ruddy-lutely marvellous!’ Pa smacked his forehead with his hand and began to pace the floor to the length of the telephone wire, his eyes bright with excitement. I waited in the hall with him, longing to hear whatever this good news was and knowing he would want someone to tell immediately. ‘OK, OK … yes, right … Ring them at once and say yes … Good girl, Dil! We’ll show them! Ha! Ha!’

  At last he put the telephone down, threw his arms round me and danced me up and down the hall. ‘Harriet! Darling girl! They’re putting on a new production of Othello at the Kemble. A superb cast. Roderick Ripple’s to play Iago, Lynda Layover’s Desdemona. And,’ his mouth trembled and his eyes filled with tears, ‘guess who’s going to be Othello?’

  ‘Oh, Pa, Pa! My clever brilliant Pa!’ I kissed him again and again. ‘I’m so proud of you!’

  My father wept a little. ‘I thought no one would want me – I expected to eat the bitter bread of banishment – but Dilys says audiences will be sympathetic, she thinks it’ll be an added draw. She’s already had offers of other parts. They’re clamouring for me.’ He wiped his eyes and looked solemn. ‘Sweet are the uses of adversity, which like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head.’ Then he snatched up the telephone. ‘I must ring Fleur at once and tell her.’

  ‘But what about Ma? Aren’t you going to tell her first?’

  My father paused in the middle of dialling. He looked at me and something like guilt crept into his expression. ‘Of course. Now, let me see, where’s the number?’

  I pointed to it on the pad. My father made comic faces at me while he listened to the telephone ringing miles away in Cornwall.

  ‘Hello? Can I speak to Mrs Byng? … Waldo Byng … Yes, it is, actually … Thank you, thank you … Yes, it certainly is … You’re very kind … Thank you … Oh, I see … No, that’s all right. I’ll try again later. Just tell her when she comes in that I rang will you? Thanks. Goodbye.’

  He put down the telephone. ‘She and Ronnie have gone for a walk.’ He sighed, his hand still on the receiver. Then he looked down at the table. ‘Harriet, I can’t think of a gentle way to say this, but you’ll have to know some time. I’m so sorry, darling. I know of all of you it’s going to hurt you the most. In fact I don’t expect the others will mind too much. I hope not, anyway.’ He winced and continued to stare at the pad on which the Cornish number was written. ‘You see, what happened – my going to prison, I mean – well, it sort of pointed the way. It wasn’t that that did it. We’ve been drifting apart for a long time, years really, but we were both too lazy, and perhaps too comfortable, to do anything about it. But while I was in prison I had a chance to think about things. And your mother did too. She’s a marvellous woman – God, there’s no one lovelier and more accomplished than Clarissa. I’ve been a lucky man, a very lucky man, to be married to her all these years. We’ll always be the best of friends. But you see,’ he gave a laugh that sounded rather sad, ‘for a long time your mother hasn’t wanted sex. She says she’s bored with the whole thing. She can’t be bothered with the mess and she doesn’t like her hair getting tangled. Naturally I respect that – but, well, I’m a man. There’s life in the old dog yet –’ he laughed again – ‘and Fleur and I, well, not to put too fine a point on it, we’re in love. You’ll love her too, I’m sure, when you get to know her. She’s so fine and intelligent and beautiful.’ At that moment he looked up and saw my face. ‘Well, naturally, you may not feel – just at first …’ He closed his eyes for a second and swallowed. ‘Harriet, my darling, your mother has agreed to a divorce.’

  I knew I ought to say something but I had no idea what. My face, in fact my whole body, had become absolutely rigid and all the time my muscles were pulling tighter and tighter like ropes round a windlass until I thought they might be going to snap. My limbs began to tremble with the tension. My mind said, this isn’t true. It’s all right – nothing’s going to happen. This is nothing but a dream. You’ve always been so frightened of this and now you’re dreaming about it. But it isn’t true.

  ‘I’ve got the fire going.’ Rupert came into the hall from the drawing room. ‘I think Archie and I’ll push off now. I’ve got some calls to make and we’re having dinner with some of the EOH committee. What’s the matter?’ When neither of us said anything, Rupert said impatiently, ‘Harriet, you’re absolutely white. What’s the matter with you?’

  I moved my hand experimentally. It jerked unnaturally as though operated by strings.

  ‘Guess what, Rupe!’ My father’s voice was ringing with good cheer. ‘I’ve been asked to play Othe
llo at the Kemble!’

  ‘Waldo! A coup indeed!’ Rupert shook my father’s hand and then they embraced. ‘That’ll be something to look forward to! I’m absolutely delighted.’

  ‘You’ll review it kindly, I hope.’

  ‘I rather think my reviewing days are over.’

  The front door opened to admit Archie and Cordelia. My father gave them the good news about Othello and there was further congratulation. Then Cordelia saw Mark Antony on the stairs and ran up in pursuit.

  ‘We’ll give you a hand with your cases.’ Rupert’s voice reverberated oddly in my ears. He seemed to be standing very far off.

  ‘Bye, Harriet, dear girl.’ Archie kissed my cheek. ‘My, what glacial flesh! Be circumspect and mean with your favours until we meet again. Remember that the primrose way leads to the everlasting bonfire.’

  I smiled – it felt like a gape, a rictus.

  The front door closed behind the three of them. I heard Cordelia upstairs, opening bedroom doors, calling Mark Antony. I walked stiffly into the drawing room as though on stilts. The firelight gave a pleasing glow but could do nothing for my frozen body. I went to the window and looked into the street.

  My father was talking to Rupert and Archie. The street lamp was on now and their faces were cast into high relief. Pa ran his hand over his white bristly head then spread his arms wide and shrugged. He was telling them that he and my mother were going to divorce, that never again would we live together in this house as one large happy family. That was over; it was already something to be remembered only with pain. What had been most precious to me, what had kept me safe, what had been utterly to be relied upon, my prop and stay, my happiness, had been destroyed. My parents no longer loved each other. It was over.

  A spasm of something like terror made my knees shake. I dropped on to the window seat and lowered my head until my forehead was pressed against the cool silk of the cushion. It was real. The thing I had feared all my life was going to happen. My parents were going to divorce.