Sense & Sensibility

by Joanna Trollope

Mrs Jennings pushed Edward a little further into the room and then bustled out, closing the door resoundingly behind her.

  Elinor picked up a mug of coffee and held it out to Lucy. ‘Coffee?’

  Lucy gave a little smirk, but didn’t speak. She accepted the coffee and resumed her seat on the sofa, staring into her mug. Elinor looked at Edward. ‘Coffee, Ed?’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, not moving.

  She held a mug out, offering him the handle so that their fingers need not touch. Lucy lifted her head and regarded them both and, although her pose didn’t alter, her eyes were watchful.

  ‘How are you?’ Elinor said to him, into the silence.

  He took the mug and held it in both hands. ‘Fine. Thanks.’

  Elinor waited. The awkwardness in the room was as thick as smoke and she was suddenly conscious of being barefoot in pyjamas with unbrushed hair. She was also seized with a flash of irritation at Edward’s inability to help with any conversation and Lucy’s deliberate refusal. She said, too loudly, ‘Well, before you trouble to ask, Mum is fine, Mags is fine, Marianne is doing OK, and I am about to go back to Devon. When I’ve dressed, that is.’

  Edward took a swallow of coffee. He seemed unable to look at either girl. He then said, hesitantly, ‘I’m – I’m so glad if Marianne’s OK.’

  ‘She’s down,’ Elinor said, ‘but not out. Definitely not out.’

  He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Brilliant.’

  Elinor looked at Lucy. Lucy seemed perfectly composed now, but in no hurry to help with the conversation. Elinor said to her, ‘You OK?’

  Lucy nodded, smiling. ‘Perfectly, thank you.’

  ‘Well,’ Elinor said, putting her mug down, ‘you two haven’t seen each other for ages. I’ll – I’ll just go and see if Marianne has woken up.’

  ‘Please …’ Edward said.

  ‘Please what?’

  He sidled behind an armchair. Lucy watched him, still smiling.

  ‘Please see if she’s awake,’ Edward said. ‘I’d – I’d love to see her.’

  Elinor moved towards the door. Lucy didn’t take her eyes from Edward’s face. ‘Me too,’ she said.

  ‘Ed’s here?’ Marianne cried, starting up in bed. ‘Here? In Mrs J.’s flat?’

  ‘Yes. He wants to see you.’

  Marianne began to rummage about, hanging over the edge of her bed, for her slippers.

  ‘How fantastic. God, how cheering. A human being after weeks of monsters. Can you see the other one?’

  ‘You don’t need slippers,’ Elinor said. ‘And – and Lucy’s here.’

  Marianne flipped upright and pushed her hair off her face.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What is she doing here?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. She just came.’

  Marianne climbed off the bed and stood up. She said, grinning, ‘You mean thing, Ellie, leaving him to have to talk to her.’

  ‘Well, I thought that as they know each other a bit—’

  ‘Nobody should have to talk to anyone from the Steele family unless at gunpoint. I’m going straight along.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to brush your hair?’

  Marianne looked at her. ‘You haven’t brushed yours.’

  ‘Mrs J. pounced before I could.’

  ‘And you’, said Marianne, ‘pounced before I could. Poor Ed.’

  She wrenched the bedroom door open and went racing along the corridor towards the sitting room, with Elinor stumbling in her wake.

  ‘Ed!’ she cried, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘Oh, Ed, I am so pleased to see you!’

  Edward, who had hardly moved from his position behind the armchair, returned her embrace as enthusiastically as he could whilst encumbered with a coffee mug. ‘Hi, M, oh, hi, hi.’

  ‘We’ve been longing to see you! Ellie especially, of course, but me too, to see someone normal, someone from home.’

  He held her away from him a little. ‘You’re terribly thin, M.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, tossing her hair, ‘that doesn’t matter. I’m fine, I really am. But Ellie’s great. Don’t you think she looks great? As long as Ellie’s OK!’

  Elinor caught Lucy’s instant change of expression to one of unmistakable fury. She tried to say something conciliatory, and failed.

  Edward said to Marianne, ‘Are you OK here? In London?’

  She shook her head. She said quietly, ‘You know what happened?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said sadly, ‘I heard.’

  ‘And then’, Marianne said, brightening at the recollection of how dreadful the previous evening had been, ‘we had this family gathering thing, organised – sorry about this, Ed – by your sister, which was beyond awful. Why didn’t you come? It would have made it bearable.’

  He shifted slightly. He said, mumbling, ‘I – couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, I’d kind of promised someone—’

  ‘And Edward’, Lucy said, suddenly and sharply, ‘isn’t like the kind of guys you know, Marianne. Edward keeps his word. Don’t you, Ed?’

  Marianne stared at her. She said in surprise, ‘I know he does. I know if he says he’ll do something, he will. I know that. What are you on about?’

  Elinor turned away, clenching her fists. It was one thing not to like or trust Lucy Steele especially; it was quite another to be on the point of hitting her.

  Edward put his mug down on a side table. He said to Marianne, with real affection, ‘I’m so sorry, M, but I’ve got to run.’

  She laughed at him. ‘But you’ve only just come!’

  ‘Just – just wanted to see how you were.’

  ‘I’m fine. I will be fine. And she’ – gesturing towards Elinor – ‘is the most fantastic sister and person. As you know.’ She leaned forward until her mouth was against his ear. ‘Lucy’ll be gone in a minute, I’m sure she will,’ she whispered. ‘Stay and talk to us.’

  He shook his head, even though he was smiling at her. ‘Sorry, M. Got to go.’

  He glanced up, his gaze sliding rapidly over Lucy and Elinor. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.

  Elinor didn’t speak. Anger at Lucy and disappointment in Edward formed a lump in her throat she didn’t seem able to swallow past. She looked steadfastly ahead, aware of Edward leaving the room, having some brief encounter with Mrs Jennings in the hall and then hearing the slam of the front door behind him. From what seemed like far away, Lucy’s voice said, primly, ‘I ought to be going too.’

  Elinor jerked into full consciousness. Marianne had walked past Lucy and flung herself on the sofa, where she was examining her fingernails with fierce concentration.

  ‘Oh,’ Elinor said.

  Lucy moved towards the door. She put her mug down on the side table, close to Edward’s. ‘Busy day,’ she said, and gave a little laugh, ‘and after a really late night!’ She looked at Elinor. ‘You are’, she said with theatrical emphasis, ‘such a trustworthy person. And I do so value that!’

  When the front door had slammed for the second time, Marianne uncoiled herself from the sofa. ‘OK, Ellie. Why was she here?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Why was she here, Ellie? Her and Ed?’

  Elinor looked out of the window. She said, ‘They’ve known each other for yonks.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘No and.’

  Marianne marched to the door.

  ‘OK, Ellie, don’t tell me. But don’t expect me to play games with you either. You hardly give him the time of day, and then she’s here, whatever that means.’

  Elinor started to speak but Marianne held up a hand to silence her.

  ‘Don’t fob me off, Ellie. Something’s going on that’s not good for you, and if you won’t tell me, then you won’t. But don’t expect me, either, Elinor Dashwood, not to smell a rat.’

  And then she strode out of the room and left Elinor staring out of the window at the sky.

  13

  Sir John thumped a heavy bottle
down on Belle Dashwood’s kitchen table. Belle, who had not been expecting him and was not prepared for visitors, looked at the bottle in amazement.

  ‘Champagne!’

  He beamed at her. ‘Champagne, indeed! To celebrate.’

  ‘But’, Belle said, ‘it’s just a Tuesday …’

  Sir John put his hands flat on the table, either side of the bottle, and leaned towards her.

  ‘We’re going to drink to Charlotte. She’s had the baby. Tommy Palmer’s got a son and heir!’

  Belle smiled broadly back. ‘I’m so glad.’

  ‘A whopper,’ Sir John said happily, ‘over nine pounds. Bigger than any of ours. Mary’s gone flying up to London and I imagine the monster-in-law is already barking orders in the hospital. Isn’t it great?’

  ‘Wonderful! Wonderful. I’d get the girls but they’re not back yet, from Exeter. Margaret had some after-school club.’

  ‘Then’, Sir John said, grasping the bottle, ‘we’ll have to swig the lot, you and me. Get the glasses!’

  ‘I haven’t lit a fire yet.’

  ‘I’ll do that. Come on, come on, Belle, if we’ve got to make a party on our own, then we’ll do it. Abi said to me on the phone that Tommy was all over the place while Char was in labour, and then the moment the baby’s here, he reverts to type and is making out that he can’t tell one end from another and that the poor little blighter looks like Churchill. Abi said he was as exasperating as ever and the baby looks exactly like him, poor little sod.’

  He began to march round the kitchen, opening cupboards. ‘Glasses? Glasses?’

  ‘Here,’ Belle said. ‘But not proper flutes.’

  Sir John made an exclamation of false annoyance. ‘No flutes? No flutes?’ He nudged her jovially. ‘Between you and me, Belle, I’d be happy to drink it out of jam jars.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Elinor said.

  She was sitting up in bed, the sleeves of her father’s cardigan pulled down over her knuckles, drinking a mug of tea. On the end of the bed her mother sat, still dressed and still slightly flushed from a quantity of champagne drunk at astonishing speed. She had tried to make Sir John stay for supper, but he had declared that he was off to Portugal in the morning, to visit his factory, and that he needed to sort himself out for an early start. He had roared off into the dark in his Range Rover, and left Belle slightly dazed and with a mild attack of hiccups, to await Elinor and Margaret’s return from Exeter.

  She sighed, now, regarding Elinor.

  ‘Darling, I know it’s exhausting, all this toing and froing to London. But John – and Fanny, I suppose – have asked you to this concert, and Marianne won’t go without you. And you could go and see Charlotte’s baby. Couldn’t you?’

  Elinor drooped over her tea mug. ‘I’ve been every weekend, for ages.’

  ‘I know you have.’

  ‘And that bus journey is so long. And grim on Sunday nights.’

  ‘Darling Ellie. Could you just go one more time? Because I think it’s time Marianne came home.’

  Elinor’s head jerked up. ‘You what?’

  ‘Well,’ Belle said carefully, ‘she’s got to face life again, sometime, hasn’t she? You may think I didn’t notice anything but I am aware that we’ve been here more than six months, and she has just drifted about and not really focused on what she’s going to do.’

  Elinor said shortly, ‘I’ve tried.’

  ‘Oh, darling, I’m sure you have …’

  Elinor put her mug down on the pile of books beside her bed. She said, ‘So you think getting her back here will focus her? On anything?’

  ‘It would be a start,’ Belle said. ‘She can’t go on taking Abi’s hospitality—’

  ‘Mrs J. loves it. She’s using Marianne as a substitute daughter.’

  ‘All the same …’

  Elinor rubbed her eyes. She yawned. ‘So you want me to drag up to London again for some concert—’

  ‘I think’, Belle said, interrupting, ‘that John wants to – well, make amends. For Fanny, I mean. He wouldn’t say so, in so many words, but I think he feels that they weren’t very supportive over Marianne, and he’d probably like to offer you a bed in Harley Street. At least, that’s what he was implying on the phone.’

  ‘I would hate to stay in Harley Street.’

  ‘Ellie darling, John is family.’

  ‘And I’, Elinor said, sliding down under her duvet, ‘am exhausted.’

  Belle leaned forward. She patted the duvet roughly in the region of Elinor’s stomach. ‘One more weekend, darling. Be nice to John and persuade Marianne to come home. You can see your friend Lucy—’

  ‘I detest Lucy,’ Elinor said.

  ‘Oh, I thought—’

  Elinor twisted over on to her side, facing the wall. ‘That’s what everyone does,’ she said. ‘They think what suits them. And one of the things that suits you is to have me make things nice with John and Fanny, and persuade Marianne that she’s got to stop making an opera out of a broken heart and think seriously about the future.’

  There was silence. Belle stood up. Elinor waited for her to cross the room to the door, but she didn’t. Instead she said, in a voice that was not entirely steady, ‘I do appreciate you, darling.’

  Elinor stared at the wall. Was it worth saying that she was no longer going to do anything for anyone since it seemed to her that the more generous she was, the more she herself seemed to get punished? Or was she going to be sensible, reliable, patient Elinor who never put her own feelings first because – let’s face it – she didn’t have any worth considering in the first place, did she?

  She rolled back and peered at her mother. Belle was standing with her hands clasped together, almost in an attitude of supplication. ‘One more London weekend,’ Elinor said severely. ‘And that’s it.’

  The concert was in a grandly converted church in Chelsea. The audience, Elinor guessed – uniformly well fed and well dressed – could be divided into those who really liked music and those who liked to be thought to like music. Fanny, she was sure, was in the latter category, and spent a good deal of her time swivelling in her seat to see whom she knew and might make a beeline for in the interval. Only Marianne sat quietly studying her programme, pausing just long enough to say to Elinor, ‘Rachmaninov Two. I don’t care how often I hear it. Bliss.’

  Fanny gave a little screech.

  ‘Oh my God, there’s Robert! What on earth is he doing here? Classical music is so not his thing!’ She leaped up and began brandishing her programme. ‘Robbie! Robbie! Over here!’

  A slender young man in a suit of exaggerated cut, halfway down the aisle from their seats, began to gaze about distractedly.

  ‘Robbie!’ Fanny shouted. ‘Here! Up here!’

  The young man, Elinor saw, was the one she had seen in the double-page spread in Mrs Jennings’s Sunday newspaper. He came swooping up the aisle and gave his sister a theatrical kiss. ‘Lovely to see you, big, big sis!’

  ‘And this is Elinor,’ Fanny said without enthusiasm. ‘You know. Johnnie’s half-sister. Or rather, one of them.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Robert Ferrars said, rolling his eyes at Elinor, ‘so we’re nearly related!’

  ‘Well, sort of.’

  ‘And you’, Robert said with emphasis, ‘know our bad black sheep brother, Ed, don’t you?’

  ‘A little,’ Fanny said crisply.

  ‘Well,’ Robert said, shooting his shirt cuffs, ‘I always say – don’t I, Fan – that if Mother and Father had done the sensible thing with Ed, and sent him to Westminster, like me, we’d have had none of this nonsense. Would we, Fan? It was being sent in disgrace to that crammer in Portsmouth—’

  ‘Plymouth,’ Fanny said.

  ‘Well, that’s what did for him, wherever it was. He just ran wild. And he hasn’t stopped since, has he? Such a naughty boy.’

  John Dashwood, noticing his brother-in-law for the first time, got to his feet and moved into the aisle to greet him. Marianne glanced up from her programme, too
k in someone – yet again – of no interest to her, and returned to her reading.

  ‘Hello, old boy,’ John Dashwood said heartily. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here.’

  Robert Ferrars winked at Elinor. ‘Not really my thing, I have to admit. Why sit in silence, listening, when you could be talking, I say!’ He looked at his sister. ‘Remember Sissy Elliot? Or, Lady Elliot, darling, as she now is since he got booted into the coronet department. Such a hoot! Well, I was supposed to be there tonight, helping her with a party. Robbie, she said, there’s no way we can get two hundred people into a room the size of a small fridge, and I said to her, Darling, easy peasy, leave it to me, sofas out on the balcony, under plastic, open the double doors to the dining room and hey presto, party space with somewhere even for the smokers to sit, outside. She was thrilled. But so cross I wouldn’t be there, after all.’

  Elinor was equally fascinated and repelled by him. She said, almost without meaning to speak, ‘Why aren’t you?’

  He touched her hand.

  ‘Entre nous, Elinor my nearly sister-in-law, I had a better invitation. The Elliots are life peers, ducky, and I’ – he glanced down the aisle – ‘was asked here by a duchess. Who wants me – yes, me – to organise her daughter’s wedding.’

  ‘Oh,’ Elinor said blankly.

  ‘You are so naughty,’ Fanny said with real affection.

  He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Then he laid two fingers against Elinor’s. ‘Kisses next time, sweetie pie.’ He looked past her, at Marianne. ‘Is that the famous—’

  ‘Shh,’ Fanny said, mock scolding, ‘you are awful. So awful.’

  He grinned at her. ‘And I’m gone,’ he said and darted back to his seat.

  ‘Such a sweetheart,’ Fanny said to Elinor. ‘We adore him. He’s welcome any time, isn’t he, Johnnie?’

  John Dashwood looked at Elinor. He said in a rush, as if he were greatly daring something, ‘As you are, of course, Elinor. Any time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Elinor said awkwardly.

  Fanny cleared her throat. She said to her husband, in measured tones, ‘We talked about that, sweetness.’

  ‘I know we did,’ John Dashwood said. ‘But I didn’t want Elinor to think—’

  Fanny turned to look at Elinor. ‘I don’t suppose Elinor thought anything. Did you, Ellie? Why should Elinor mind if I offer a bed to the Steele girls while they’re in London?’