Hope died.
“Oh, well. It doesn’t matter….”
“But you should certainly go one day. In the spring, perhaps. They’d love it, and you’d love all of them. So we’ll have to come up with something else.”
We was significant.
“We?” r-Yes. You and me. Orphans of the storm together. What 757 I we do?”
“You mean, for Christmas?”
“Of course, for Christmas.”
“In London?”
“I think London would be rather dull, don’t you? Perhaps we should go away.”
“But where?”
There seemed to be no answer to this. They gazed at each other, and then Carrie got to her feet and went to the window, raising the voile curtain and staring down into the cheerless area three floors below. She said, “I’ve an idea. I just had it, this moment.” She dropped the curtain and turned, and came to perch on the edge of Lucy’s desk. She said, “Have you ever heard of Elfrida Phipps?”
Lucy shook her head, wondering what was coming next.
“She’s heaven. A cousin of Jeffrey’s. Your gran could never stand her, because she was rather wild and louche and an actress, and always had lots of boyfriends and husbands. They never had, what you might call, a lot in common, and your gran thoroughly disapproved of Elfrida. But I always loved her, and when I was at Oxford I started seeing her again, and we made terrific friends.”
“How old is she?”
“Oh, ancient. Over sixty. But more fun than anyone you ever knew.”
“Where does she live?”
“She used to live in London, but then her… well, he wasn’t her husband, but she adored him … he died and she moved to the country. Once, ages ago, she was ill after an operation, and I stayed with her until she was better, and we’ve always kept in touch. Now, she’s living in a little village in Hampshire; she says the house is weeny. But there’d be space for you and me. And if there isn’t space, Elfrida will make it. Would that be a good idea, do you think? Shall we give it a try?”
“You and me?”
“And Elfrida.”
“For two weeks?”
“Of course.”
“Would she mind?”
“I would bet my bottom dollar that she’ll jump at it.”
“How will we ask her?”
“I’ll ring. I’ve got her number.”
“Now?”
“No, not now. When I get back to Putney. We don’t want the others to know our plans until they’re all cut and dried. Then we’ll present them as a fait accompli.”
“If she doesn‘t have us for Christmas … ?”
“We mustn’t think so negatively. We must be positive. And at the moment, don’t say a word. It shall be our secret.” Carrie pushed back the cuff of her cashmere sweater and looked at her watch.
“Heavens, it’s nearly one o’clock. I’m starving, aren’t you? Your gran said she’d give us soup and pate, but I’m not sure if that’s going to sustain me. Why don’t I take all four of us out to lunch. Is there somewhere cheap and cheerful not too far away?”
“There’s Rosetti’s. It’s a five-minute walk.”
“Italian?”
“Spaghetti and stuff.”
“My favorite food. What do you say? Shall we go and round up our mothers and tell them they’re in for a treat?”
Lucy remembered Emma.
“I’m going to the cinema this afternoon with a girl-friend. I have to meet her at two-thirty.”
“How do you get there?”
“Tube.”
“No problem. We’ll have lunch, and then I’ll stand you a taxi. You won’t be late.”
It was getting better and better. Restaurant lunches and taxis. Lucy wondered if Carrie, returned from Austria, was now rich. She certainly looked rich, in her beautiful clothes and with her shining locks of hair and her glamorous makeup … just as good as the attenuated models who posed in leather and fur between the glossy pages of Gran’s favourite, Vogue. She felt as though, suddenly, she had walked from a dark and cold corner into a blaze of warm sunshine. All part of being relieved, shed of worry, and having Carrie back again, a benevolent presence who was making everything all right. To her horror, emotion caused Lucy’s eyes to mist over with ridiculous tears and she felt her face begin to crumple, like a baby’s.
“Oh, Carrie …”
“Hey, don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. We’re going to have a great time.” And she opened her arms, and Lucy stood, and leaned against her aunt, and pressed her cheek into the soft cashmere of her sweater, smelling her scent again. She was really here. Mercifully, before they could fall, the stupid tears receded, and in a moment she was able to find a handkerchief and lustily blow her nose.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Now, wash your face and find a jacket or something, and I’ll go and break the happy news to the others.”
“Just about lunch?”
“Just about lunch. We won’t say a word about our plans until we’ve got them all cut and dried. A secret, between you and me.”
She found Dodie in the little kitchen, endeavouring, in a half-hearted sort of way, to organize the promised snack. She had started to lay the table and was on the point of opening a tin of soup.
Carrie said, “Don’t open it.”
Dodie, startled, turned to face her younger daughter.
“Why not?” She looked out of place in a kitchen, dressed as she was in her neat, formal domes, and without a hair out of place. She hadn’t even tied on an apron, and held the soup tin at arm’s length, as though the opener might bite her.
“Because we’re all going out to lunch. My treat. Lucy and I have decided a little self-indulgence is in order. She suggested someplace called Rosetti’s. Is that all right by you?”
“Well. Yes.” But Dodie still sounded doubtful.
“I thought we’d agreed on soup and pate. Here.”
“You’re quite right. We did. But minds have been changed.”
“It’s almost one o’clock. Will we get a table?”
“Why not? Would you like to ring them up? Do you know the number?”
“I think so.”
“Then do that. And keep the can of soup for your supper. Where’s Nicola?”
“In the drawing-room.”
“Sulking?”
“No. Delighted with herself.”
“Let’s make a pact. Over lunch, no word of Florida. Lucy’s had enough.”
“Well, I most certainly have.”
Carrie found Nicola deep in an armchair, turning over the pages of the new Harpers and Queen that she had bought on her way home from the travel agent.
“Are you planning a new wardrobe for Florida?”
Nicola closed the magazine and dropped it on the floor.
“I know what you think, Carrie, and I don’t give a damn.”
“Why should you care? And why shouldn’t you go if you want to?”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Anything’s better than hanging around here, creating discord and being resentful.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Oh, Nicola …” Carrie sat on the arm of the sofa.
“Let’s call a pax. We’re going out for lunch. It’ll cheer us up. And we’re not going to talk about Florida, or Bournemouth or Christmas, or anything.”
“Is this Lucy’s idea?”
“No, mine. And I must congratulate you. She’s sweet-looking and sweet-natured, which is more than one can say about most fourteen-year-old girls. You’ve done a good job.”
“Well.” Nicola, with the wind thus taken out of her sails, allowed herself a wry smile.
“Thank you.” And then hastily added, “But it’s not been easy.”
“I don’t suppose bringing up children ever is. I wouldn’t know. Now, come on, get your skates on. Ma’s ringing the restaurant to be sure there’s a table for us. And Lucy and I are going to eat great mou
nds of carbonara.”
Over their mother’s fireplace was a gold-framed Venetian minor, which reflected back all the pretty charm of the double room. Nicola stood up and went to inspect herself in this, touching her hair and drawing her little finger across her painted lips. Then, through the mirror, her eyes met those of Carrie’s. She said, “There is still a problem, though, isn’t there?”
“I’ll try to find a solution.”
“Carrie, why did you come back from Austria?”
“Oh.” Carrie shrugged.
“A snap decision.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m grateful.” Nicola reached for her fur jacket, and then spoilt it all by saying, “At least it takes some of the pressure off me.”
The lunch out proved a good idea. Both Dodie and Nicola relished the restaurant life, and their spirits lifted visibly even as the little party walked the short distance from Farnham Court to Rosetti’s. The cold of the grey December day was a good excuse for Dodie to wrap herself into her new black fur-trimmed coat, and as she led the way through the glassed doors and into the warm and delicious-smelling interior of the restaurant, various charming and smiling Italians moved forward to greet her, to relieve her of her coat, to make her feel both pretty and important. The place was not large, and there were a number of diners already ensconced, but a corner table had been reserved for them, and once they were all sitting, Carrie wasted no time and ordered a round of drinks. Gin and tonics for Dodie and Nicola, Coke for Lucy, and a Tio Pepe for herself. Then she chose a bottle of wine to drink with their meal. Relaxed by alcohol, and soothed by the pleasant atmosphere of the little restaurant, tensions gradually loosed off, and conversation became, if not sparkling, then reasonably easy.
They had, after all, not been together for some years, and there was a great deal of chat and gossip to catch up on. Old friends, old acquaintances, distant relatives. Carrie was told about Dodie’s cruises in the Mediterranean and about one particular Greek island with which she had fallen in love.
“My dream would be to build a little house there.” And Carrie, questioned, told them a bit about Oberbeuren and the magic of the mountains in summer, when walkers came to stay at the big hotel and the white ski-slopes became green pastures where cattle grazed and cowbells rang out in the glass-clear air.
Dodie and Nicola kept their word, and no mention was made of Christmas, Florida, or Bournemouth.
By the time they had finished their coffee and Carrie was dealing with the bill, it was time for Lucy to go. One of the obliging waiters went out and stood on the cold pavement, with his long white apron flapping in the wind, until he caught the eye of a cruising taxi-cab and flagged it down. Carrie gave Lucy some money to pay the fare, and they saw her safely aboard. Perched forward on the seat, she opened the window.
“Carrie, I haven’t said thank you. It was a lovely treat.”
“My pleasure. Enjoy the movie. And I’ll ring you.”
“Don’t let it take too long.”
“Soon as I can. Shan’t waste a moment.”
Nicola was more practical.
“Lucy, when will you be home?”
“About seven.”
“Take care.”
“I will.”
The taxi rolled away and they stood and watched it go, and then turned and began to stroll back down the pavement in the direction of the river. At the corner of Farnham Road, they paused to say goodbye.
“You’ve cheered us up no end.” Dodie, warmed by quantities of good food and drink, was prepared to be generous.
“So lovely to have you home again. Keep in touch. Let us know what you plan to do.”
“Yes, of course.
“Bye, Ma.” She dropped a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “
“Bye, Nicola. Shall I see you before you fly off?”
“Oh, probably. I’ll be around. Thanks for the lunch.”
“If I don’t see you, have a great time.”
“I have every intention of doing just that.”
They parted. Carrie watched them go, the two ridiculously identical women, each totally bound up in her own affairs and problems. They didn’t change. She turned and went on walking, and it wasn’t until she was halfway across Putney Bridge, the east wind cold and damp on her cheeks, that she remembered Sara’s note on the kitchen table, and the fact that Carrie was meant to buy a vegetable for dinner, and a packet of Lapsang Souchong tea-bags. So, halfway up Putney High Street, she went into a Pakistani grocery and loaded up with cauliflower and leeks, and some tiny new potatoes. She bought the tea-bags as well, and a nutty brown loaf, and a couple of bottles of Jacobs Creek wine. The handsome young man behind the till stowed all these into a carrier-bag, and took her money.
“My God,” he remarked, “this is a cold day and no mistake. You will be grateful to be getting home.”
She agreed and thanked him, and went out again, and the overcast winter afternoon was already sinking into dusk. Cars drove with lights on, and shop windows spilled bright squares out onto the dank pavements. By the time she had reached the Lumleys’s little terrace house, Carrie’s hands felt frozen, and it was quite painful to remove her glove and struggle with the latchkey. Indoors, she turned on the hall light, dealt with the alarm, and was grateful for the warmth.” She went into the kitchen and dumped the carrier-bag on the table, and then, still in her coat, filled the kettle and plugged it in. She drew the blue-and-white-checked curtains and unpacked the groceries, by which time the kettle had boiled, and she made a mug of tea. Finally, she took off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair, found her handbag with her address book, and settled down by the telephone.
Elfrida Phipps, Poulton’s Row, Dibton. Carrie lifted the receiver and punched in the number. She heard the double tone of Elfrida’s telephone, and waited. She waited for a long time, but there was no reply, and clearly Elfrida had never got around to investing in an answer phone Perhaps she was out. Carrie gave up, drank her tea, and then went upstairs to hang up her coat and change her shoes. Downstairs again, she dealt with the sitting-room curtains and lit the fire. After that, she returned to the kitchen and had another shot at reaching Elfrida. Once more, no joy. After the third try, by which time Carrie had peeled the potatoes for dinner, dealt with the cauliflower, and made a marinade for some chicken breasts, she began to be a little concerned. It was, after all, a long time since they had been in touch. Elfrida had never been a great letter writer, preferring the telephone, but she had always been there. Perhaps, dreadful thought, she had died. This possibility hit Carrie out of the blue, but then common sense got the better of her, and she knew that if anything had happened to Elfrida, then Jeffrey would have let her know.
Jeffrey. She would ring her father. Jeffrey would surely know the whereabouts of his cousin. His number at Emblo was one that Carrie knew by heart, so she lifted the receiver once more and put through the call. This time she was successful, and he answered almost at once.
“Jeffrey Sutton.”
“Jeffrey, it’s Carrie.”
“Darling girl. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Cold, though.”
“Isn’t it hellish weather? We’re almost being blown off the cliff.”
“How are Serena and Ben and Amy?”
“They’re well. Serena’s taken the car to fetch them from school. So I’m sitting in solitary state writing cheques and paying bills. What can I do for you?”
“Have you a moment to talk?”
“How long a moment?”
“Like an hour.”
“For heaven’s sake, what’s up?”
“I’m looking for Elfrida. I’ve been ringing the Dibton number, but there’s no reply.”
“She’s not there.”
“Not there?”
“She’s in Scotland.”
“What is she doing in Scotland?”
“She went last month. She’s been there ever since.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I rang you up las
t week?”
“There seemed to be other, more important things to talk about. Like you.”
“Yes.” Carrie felt a bit shamefaced.
“Well. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t realize that Elfrida’s whereabouts were so important to you.”
“Well, it’s important now. Why did she go to Scotland?”
Jeffrey said, “It’s a long story,” and proceeded to tell her. That, in Dibton, Elfrida had these friends. A family called Blundell. They had been enormously hospitable to Elfrida, and she was clearly very fond of them. But then disaster, tragedy, had struck, and Mrs. Blundell and her daughter had both been killed in a horrendous road accident. Mr. Blundell, devastated, had left Dibton and escaped to Scotland, where, it seemed, he owned some small property. Elfrida had gone with him.
Listening in some horror to this sorry tale, Carrie found herself becoming increasingly bewildered. She knew Elfrida very well. Knew her to be kindhearted and impetuous, without ever much thought for the day ahead. But even so, it all sounded a bit precipitous.
She said, voicing the first thought that came into her head, “Is she in love with this man?”
“I don’t know, Carrie. I don’t really know what’s going on. She told me about it over the telephone, and she sounded more distressed than elated.”
“In that case, she isn’t in love with him. She’s just being caring.”
“She told me that he had asked her to go with him, for company and solace, and she’d said yes.”
“What sort of solace? I ask myself.”
“They were leaving the next day, driving, doing the long journey in stages.”
“Whereabouts in Scotland are they?”
“Sutherland. Far North. I’ve got the address and the tele phone number somewhere. I didn’t want Elfrida disappearing into the blue without any person knowing where she was.”
“Has she been in touch since she got there?”
“No. I imagine she has other matters to occupy her mind.”
It was all very frustrating. Carrie said, “Oh, damn.”
“What’s that for?”
“I really wanted Elfrida. I wanted to get hold of her. To talk to her.”
“Is there some problem?”
“You could say so.”
“With you?”
Winter Solstice Page 15