Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  ‘On condition you let me help you.’

  ‘All right.’

  I took Ophelia a glass and gave Charles another chilled bottle of prosecco and the corkscrew and went upstairs to my room to change into jeans and a jersey as the evening was beginning to cool. The minute I shut my bedroom door I put my head in my hands and groaned aloud. I was seized by paralysing conflict. What was I to do? What was I to say? Who could have imagined such a thing? Oh God, what an intolerable mess feelings make of our lives! If we were only creatures of reason and intellect, what a delightful episode we might fashion of our brief period of existence. As it was, oh horror! I took myself to task. Was I guilty of having given him the wrong signals? I had really believed we were good friends. Perhaps that was an impossibility between heterosexual men and women. I had thought I could be as unguarded with Charles as I was with Rupert and Archie. I must be dangerously na’ive.

  ‘Hat?’ Cordelia turned the handle of my door and, finding it locked, rattled it hard. ‘That beastly, bloody sewing machine’s gone into loops again. It’s the complete end and I hate it! Do come and help me.’

  ‘All right. Just a minute. Go and chop a couple of onions, will you?’

  I heard Cordelia go grumbling away. I must think, decide what was the best thing to do. Of one thing I was sure: though I was enormously fond of Charles, I was not in love with him. I had no uncles, both my parents being only children, but if I had, Charles would definitely have been my favourite. Oh, what was I thinking about – uncles? This was ridiculous. I must be calm and behave like a sensible person. I must temper the blow but leave him in no doubt that I might possibly change my mind. I groaned again, almost screamed as I imagined his face as I told him the dreadful truth. No, I absolutely could not go through with it. I would have to do whatever he wanted. I liked him so much, what would it matter? People went to bed with people they weren’t in love with all the time. I might even learn to love him. ‘Harriet,’ I said aloud, ‘you’re a complete idiot!’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Cordelia was rattling the door again. ‘I can’t find the onions. You’ve got to help me or I’m going to have to join Maria-Alba and the nuns.’

  I unlocked the door. ‘You can come in. I’m just getting changed.’

  ‘You’re looking quite red in the face. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I disappeared for a moment inside my jersey. ‘How are the curtains? Did you find something else to cut up for squares?’

  ‘Well, as she obviously isn’t coming back I cut up Portia’s green dress, you know the velvet one.’

  I pulled on my jeans. ‘Was that wise? I seem to remember it was one of her favourites.’

  ‘I shall make the rest of it into a cloak for parties. With a Russian hood, perhaps.’

  I had to admire Cordelia’s unwavering confidence. We went downstairs together. I managed to put right the sewing machine without calling on Charles’s manly expertise. Through the window I saw the top of his head above the deck chair, the occasional puff of smoke from the pipe and his gesturing hand as he talked to Ophelia. I hoped they were not quarrelling. My ideas were still rioting as I chopped onions and bacon and grated parmesan. Thank goodness, he had forgotten his promise to help.

  Making a risotto is a calming exercise. A simple, undemanding process of adding ladlefuls of stock and stirring. Cordelia whirred away on the machine, talking all the time but I hardly heard a word she said. I was rehearsing something kind but firm to say, something affectionate and pride-saving. We were not talking about a proposal of marriage, after all. No doubt men had sexual advances turned down all the time. By thirty-nine they must be used to it. I had made far too much of the whole thing. But he had talked of love … Oh, Harriet, for heaven’s sake, get a grip!

  After half an hour of rambling thus, the risotto was ready. I loaded the dumb waiter and went upstairs to the dining room. I dressed the salad, put wine and water on the table and called Cordelia. I opened the dining-room window, which looked out over the back garden to call the others. I very nearly fell out in surprise at what I saw. Charles and Ophelia were no longer in their deck chairs. They were standing in the heart of the maze. And they were kissing.

  There was nothing avuncular about that kiss. It was as passionate as anything I had ever seen, either on the screen or in real life. They paused briefly and Ophelia pressed her face against Charles’s chest. Then they began all over again.

  ‘I’m going to take that bloody machine round to Oxfam first thing in the morning,’ said Cordelia, coming into the dining room.

  ‘Quick!’ I said, beckoning her over. ‘Take a look at this!’

  ‘If it’s that thrush you’re always on about I’m not specially interested – Blimey!’ Cordelia clutched my arm. ‘Golly, no wonder she’s been so cheerful lately. She’s had a pash on him the whole time. That’s why she was always so jolly rude to him, I suppose.’

  Yet again Cordelia’s sagacity amazed me.

  ‘I had no idea. I’ve been so stupid.’ I started to laugh. The sensation of relief was marvellous.

  ‘Look, they’re getting awfully excited,’ Cordelia leaned further out. ‘I expect they think no one can see them. I wonder if they’re actually going to make love? I’d better make myself watch. It’ll be useful experience.’

  ‘Supper, you two!’ I shouted.

  Charles lifted his head and they looked up, startled.

  ‘Oh God! I might have known,’ I heard Ophelia say. ‘There’s no privacy in this wretched family.’

  Charles waved. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself. I waved back.

  Supper was a strange affair. Charles and Ophelia were obviously present only in body while their minds were floating in some empyrean that we lesser mortals could not reach. Whenever they looked at each other a round tale of love was told and Cordelia and I were obliged to talk almost exclusively to ourselves. Whenever I thought of the fool I had so nearly made of myself I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing aloud. I was deeply touched that Charles had considered my feelings enough to feel some compunction about putting his love for Ophelia to the test.

  ‘No one’s listening to me,’ complained Cordelia at last. ‘I don’t see the point of pretending we didn’t see you two kissing. Are you going to get married?’

  Ophelia sat silent, hanging her head. I was astonished to see my proud sister brought to such a state by love.

  ‘I hope so.’ Charles looked at Ophelia, his face bright with desire. ‘I do hope so. But perhaps not immediately.’

  ‘The quicker the better, as far as I’m concerned,’ said Cordelia. ‘Have you got any younger female relations who might want to be bridesmaids?’

  ‘Um, yes, two nieces.’

  ‘What do they look like?’

  ‘Let me think – ginger hair and braces on their teeth.’

  Cordelia smiled. ‘Poor things.’

  The minute we finished coffee, Charles stood up and said, ‘That’s was excellent, Harriet. Thank you. If you’ll forgive me, I’ve some urgent business to attend to.’

  He held out his hand to Ophelia in a masterful way and she rose, blushing – something I never remembered her doing before – and allowed herself to be led off. We heard the front door shut and Charles’s car accelerate away.

  ‘Phew!’ said Cordelia. ‘I couldn’t have stood the strain much longer.’

  I stopped dusting Ophelia’s bedroom.

  ‘You know, the change that’s come over that girl is incredible,’ said my father several days later, about Ophelia. ‘She’s even more beautiful but she’s almost submissive. I’m not sure I approve.’

  We were gathered in the drawing room for one of our uneasy cocktail hours which Pa evidently felt obliged to keep up, in order to do his duty by Cordelia and me. Ophelia and Charles had been on a flying visit to collect some clothes. She had kissed all of us goodbye, even Fleur. She had actually hugged me and asked me to come and have supper at Charles’s flat the following week.
/>   ‘It’s happiness,’ I said. ‘I think it’s marvellous.’

  ‘But why him?’ said Fleur. ‘He’s OK-looking, quite a peach – but a policeman!’

  ‘He’s a chief inspector, not a bobby on a bicycle,’ I said, perhaps a little too fierily. ‘He’s very, very clever and well educated and thoroughly decent –’

  ‘Well, well, I’m sure we’re all delighted,’ Pa said pacifically.

  Ophelia had talked to me about Charles on her last visit. ‘He’s the only man I’ve ever met who didn’t believe I was a cold-hearted bitch,’ she said. ‘And so I’ve practically stopped being one. It’s extraordinary how we all feel compelled to live up to other people’s idea of us. Charles was so tough with me, I couldn’t help falling in love with him. Though I fought against it like mad. But he was stronger. I’d almost given up hope of finding a man who was determined enough. He says he fell in love with me the minute he saw me but that was only my face. Then he started to enjoy the tussles. Now,’ she blushed again, ‘he says he loves the challenge of knowing that I’ll be hateful if he drops his guard for a moment. He says I frighten him more than the most hardened criminals he has to deal with.’

  ‘But would you? Be hateful, I mean.’

  ‘Actually, no, probably not.’ Ophelia giggled, also a first. ‘I’m absolutely crazy about him. But I’m not going to let on.’

  I thought she was letting on probably more than she imagined.

  ‘We’re a bit worried, though, about you and Cordelia all alone here,’ Ophelia went on. ‘Are you really all right?’

  ‘Completely all right. It’s quite cosy actually, with just the two of us. Cordelia goes every day to the language lab. Her Italian sounds pretty good to me. And I’m making progress with the job. Mr Podmore said he thought I might have the makings of a journalist.’

  What he had actually said was, ‘Deb Shows Promise.’ High praise indeed.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then. I know what a home girl you are – how much this house means to you.’ She had looked about. ‘Come to think of it, it looks a lot better than I’ve ever seen it.’

  ‘I learned how to do housework in Derbyshire.’

  ‘Really?’ She made a face. ‘What a strange holiday it must’ve been.’

  ‘Fleur and I have been talking,’ Pa smoothed down his hair, still white but longer now and rather distinguished, ‘and it seems to us – of course we’re very willing to hear what you have to say – but we think it’s pretty silly, just you two girls in a great big house like this.’ He examined his hands, always one of his good points. ‘It seems to be fulfilling the function of a rather expensive wardrobe for the rest of us. The estate agent – just a preliminary talk, of course – says we could sell the leasehold for quite a large sum. It would be useful at the moment. Fleur and I have seen a house we like in Hampstead. It’s lovely but not cheap. And I shall have to settle some money on Clarissa.’

  He looked at me hopefully. I tried not to appear utterly miserable.

  ‘What about us?’ Cordelia put down her knitting – her latest creative project, the curtains having lost the lustre of novelty – and turned first to me, then to Pa. ‘Where will we live?’

  ‘Well. That’s up to you, naturally.’ Pa beamed uneasily. ‘You might like to come to Hampstead with us. It’s a pretty house and there are two spare bedrooms.’

  Cordelia looked doubtingly at Fleur.

  ‘That would be so nice,’ said Fleur. ‘Such a treat for us. But, Sweetness, have you forgotten that Harriet’s job is in Brixton? And Cordelia’s new school is in Fulham, isn’t it? We can’t expect the girls to wear themselves out with so much travelling. Besides there’s only a small yard. They’d have to find new homes for the cat and dog.’

  ‘I’ll go down and get another bottle,’ I said.

  I ran down to the kitchen. Mark Antony was dozing on the kitchen table in a ray of sunlight. The familiar pockmarks in the red Formica top that made the table so difficult to clean properly suddenly seemed inexpressibly dear to me. Next to him was the butter, which had a smooth, sculpted shape with distinct tongue marks.

  ‘You bad boy!’ I kissed his head and fondled his ears. ‘You shan’t be given away!’ Mark Antony shook his head and got down. He hated being disturbed when he was sleeping. I found the corkscrew and struggled for a while with a cork that had broken in half. When I finally got it out I was crying tears of frustration. I dried my eyes on the drying-up cloth and left streaks of mascara. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ I said just as the doorbell rang. Then next moment I heard Archie’s voice raised in protest at being jumped on by Dirk. I took up two more glasses.

  ‘Harriet, my dear girl!’ Archie was so brown that the whites of his eyes gleamed like lamps in the darkness of the hall. ‘You’re looking gorgeous! Give Uncle Archie a buss just here.’ He pointed to a tawny cheek.

  ‘You look gorgeous yourself.’ I obliged with the kiss. ‘Absolutely the colour of the dining table.’

  ‘It took a great deal of work. I had to turn myself every few minutes to avoid burning. Exhausting. But it was worth it.’ He admired himself in the mirror. ‘Do you like my Nehru coat?’ He stroked the sleeve of his embroidered jacket. ‘I’m thinking of a turban. With a large jewel right here.’ He indicated the place on his brow with a mahogany forefinger.

  ‘Like that toad of adversity Pa’s always quoting,’ suggested Cordelia, who had let them in.

  ‘Hm, not quite.’

  ‘Hello, Rupert,’ I said. ‘How was Italy?’ He was only lightly tanned but he looked very relaxed in an open-necked blue shirt.

  ‘Good.’ He examined my face. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Rupert never stopped working.’ Archie saved me the trouble of answering. ‘He sat in the shade surrounded by scores and manuscripts. The youthful talent of Tuscany paraded before him in various states of undress but he never looked up. There was one poor girl who tried everything to get him to notice her. She asked him to rub suntan oil on her back. Rupert summoned one of the waiters to do it. She did cartwheels round the pool. He put his hat over his face and went to sleep. Finally she contrived to drop her towel and stand buttock-naked before him. He trained his field glasses on a circling buzzard for the next ten minutes.’ Archie laughed. ‘Oh, it was cruel!’

  ‘It was a bloody nuisance,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Pa and Fleur are here.’

  I led the way into the drawing room. My father seemed delighted, almost relieved, to see them.

  ‘What’s this?’ Archie picked up Cordelia’s knitting, a fast-growing garment in red and white.

  ‘It’s for Ophelia’s baby.’

  ‘Ophelia’s going to have a baby?’

  Astonishment registered on both their faces. I explained about the latest development in the Byng family’s love life. Rupert and Archie took some convincing that I was serious. ‘They’re still in the first throes of passion,’ I said. ‘Cordelia’s just perfecting her skills. There’s no question of babies yet.’

  ‘There jolly soon will be,’ said Cordelia darkly. ‘They absolutely radiate sex.’

  Archie was examining the piece of knitting. ‘But it’s got four legs!’

  Cordelia giggled. ‘Two of those are arms, silly.’

  ‘If you ask me, something’s gone wrong with the pattern.’

  After polite enquiries had been made about health and holidays, Pa said, ‘Now you’ll have something sensible to contribute to the discussion, Rupert. I’ve just been talking to Harriet about selling the leasehold of this house.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Rupert noncommittally.

  My father set forth his reasoning. ‘So you see, it makes sense really, doesn’t it, if we can find somewhere for Harriet and Cordelia to live? They might live with Ophelia and Foy, I suppose?’

  ‘Not on your life,’ said Cordelia at once. ‘It’d be like being in one of those films by Tendency Williams about the Deep South. People sweating a lot and having conversations you can’t understand.’

&
nbsp; ‘Or they could have a little flat and be independent.’

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ said Fleur. ‘Or a couple of rooms in a boarding house, maybe?’

  Cordelia set her jaw and stabbed with a needle at a ball of red wool.

  ‘I think,’ said Rupert, ‘they had better come and live with us.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Rupert was accommodating beyond the call of duty about Dirk and Mark Antony, only insisting that they must be kept out of his work-room or fur would fly – theirs, with them in it. He drew the line at taking in Loveday. He said one look at the labour necessary to keep the maze in trim would convince the new tenants of Claremont Lodge that they must keep Loveday on. Besides, he would pine if separated from his masterwork.

  I broke the news of our departure to Loveday as gently as I could. He stopped clipping long enough to wipe away a green goatee of clippings and said, ‘I knew that. I cast the runes afore Yuletide. The serpent’s got its tail in its mouth and we’ve come full circle.’

  ‘We’ll be so sorry to say goodbye to you, Loveday.’

  ‘I dare say ye will. An artist dusna come mickle cheap. The worth of a thing is best known by the want o’ it.’ He snipped at a fragment of yew near my nose. By this I understood that he felt we were the losers, which was just as it should be. My father gave him a generous cheque, which Loveday accepted with condescension and so we parted.

  It was not possible to get through the packing-up without the shedding of many tears but I was conscious of disloyalty to the dear old house when I could not altogether suppress a pleasurable anticipation at the idea of living with Rupert and Archie. My mother said she was too busy decorating the cottage orné to come up to town and that she was indifferent to the fate of the old furniture. So Pa accepted Letizia’s offer to buy the contents. This made moving much easier, but as I closed the door for the last time on the Anubis hat stand I did feel pretty bleak. But a toot from the car accompanied by a howl from Dirk made it impossible to indulge melancholy thoughts, and in no time we were scorching down The Avenue for the last time, on our way to a new life.