Kate's Progress

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  It was such a nice day that she decided to walk, which was almost her undoing as it was further than she had realized, down the hill, through the village and up the Withypool arm of the crossroads. She heard the five-minute bell start and had to hurry, and got in just as the procession was entering up by the altar. A rather severe-looking sidesman gave her a prayer book and hymn book and directed her to a penitential pew at the back and to the side. The church wasn’t full, of course, but there was a fair turnout, and a good number of hats, always an indication of a wealthy parish.

  At the end of the service the vicar stood at the door and shook hands with everyone as they passed out, which caused something of a traffic jam as many of the parishioners wanted a leisurely chat. When her turn came Kate said a quick, embarrassed, ‘Good morning,’ and got a clerical smile and an interested inspection from the vicar. Most people were still hanging around the churchyard, having a natter – the parish church in rural places like this was often an important part of the social life of the area. Kate planned to slip away quietly, but as soon as she stepped out into the sunshine, her name was called with loud enthusiasm, and Jocasta came bounding up and flung her arms round her waist in greeting.

  ‘How nice you came!’ Jocasta cried. ‘When did you think of it? You didn’t say anything, or I’d have saved you a place by me. What did you do to your hair? It looks fab! Mummy’s still inside talking to Mr Braithwaite. She always talks longer than everyone else so she’ll be ages yet. Did you have a nice time last night? I haven’t seen Jack this morning, but Mrs B – our housekeeper – says she heard you were a wow, and everyone wanted to dance with you. I wish I’d seen what you wore. She said you were all got up like the Witch of Endor. It must have been epic!’

  ‘You’re looking very smart,’ Kate said, blinking at the Witch of Endor remark, and deciding the questions really weren’t designed to have answers. Jocasta was wearing tight pink pedal-pushers with a matching pink cotton jacket and ballet flats, and her hair was loose and held back by a pink Alice band.

  ‘I like pink,’ Jocasta said. ‘You could wear it too.’ She took hold of a length of Kate’s hair and held her arm up against it. ‘Look, it goes with your hair. Oh, here’s Mummy. Gosh, that was quick. She’s usually in there for half an hour once she gets started.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ Kate said. She wasn’t sure whether she was up to meeting Jack’s stepmother yet.

  ‘Oh, don’t go,’ Jocasta said with evident disappointment. ‘You should say hello to Mummy. You said she mightn’t want to let you ride with me if you were a stranger, and you won’t be a stranger if you meet her now, will you? Anyway, it’s too late, she’s seen you,’ she concluded with satisfaction.

  Kate turned, and couldn’t work out who she was supposed to be looking at. Unless – no, surely it couldn’t be? – was it this slim young-looking woman coming rapidly towards them? There was nothing in the least like a Lady Blackmore or a mother about her. But of course, Jocasta being only twelve-ish, her mother might easily be no more than thirty-five – could even be younger.

  ‘Mummy!’ Jocasta cried, putting it out of question. ‘This is Kate!’

  The woman who halted beside Kate was fashionably slim – almost thin – with perfect, enamelled make-up and golden hair expensively cropped into the modern version of the 1920s shingle. She was dressed in a short-skirted daffodil yellow suit so beautifully tailored, it would make you faint – surely a designer label? Kate thought. Her handbag Kate was able, thanks to Jess, to identify as Prada; her shoes were nude platform court heels which looked very similar to the Yves Saint Laurent pair Jess had been admiring on the Internet (and which, Kate remembered, with shock that such things could be, had cost £683).

  The whole outfit looked gorgeous, wickedly smart, and effortlessly superior. Looking as she did she could have walked in through any door, into the most elite and expensive establishment in the world, and been admired for her appearance.

  And she could have passed for twenty-eight, Kate added in her mind, in envy.

  She was looking Kate over with a very sharp and noticing eye, and Kate almost withered, feeling a lumpy and ill-kempt mess beside this bird-thin paragon. Only her pride kept her from visibly shrivelling up and dropping to the floor like a discarded snakeskin.

  But apparently something about her was right, because Lady Blackmore suddenly smiled (perfect teeth) and thrust out her hand (exquisitely manicured) and said, ‘This child of mine has done nothing but talk about you for days. And Jack’s no better. You saved that wretched dog from starving to death. I can’t tell you how grateful we all are. Jack must have told you how Theo dotes on it – we’d never have heard the last of it if anything had happened to it. There’d have been floods and tantrums and no doubt blame cast about for not making sure it was tied up properly. So, really, you are a complete saviour.’

  Jocasta was giving her a ‘there, told you it’d be all right’ look.

  Kate said, ‘Really, it was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have approached a strange dog in those circumstance,’ Lady Blackmore said. ‘You certainly have courage. Anyway, the fact is, whether or not anyone else would have done it, you did, so please accept our grateful thanks.’

  Kate smirked and muttered something. She had worked in PR where she was known for her ability to talk to anyone and deal with any situation, but for some reason this elegant woman was making her feel like a fumbling gnome. She was sure her feet were growing as she spoke.

  Fortunately Jocasta was not lost for words. ‘So now, Mummy, it’s all right if we go riding, isn’t it, Kate and me?’

  Lady Blackmore raised her eyebrows at Kate. ‘Do you really want to? You mustn’t let her be a nuisance.’

  ‘I’d like to very much. And she couldn’t be a nuisance. I enjoy her company,’ Kate said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see how pleased Jocasta was by the words. In front of her, the eyebrows went even further up.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure … We’d all be grateful to have her occupied. School holidays are so long.’

  Kate smiled. ‘I only remember them being much too short.’

  Lady Blackmore shuddered. ‘But then you’re not a mother.’ Something occurred to her. ‘Where are you off to now?’

  ‘Just home,’ Kate said.

  ‘Well, then, come back with us to The Hall for lunch.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy, yes!’ Jocasta cried, jumping up and down. ‘Brill!’

  ‘Oh, well, really, I—’ Kate began.

  ‘You haven’t anything else planned?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Kate had to admit. And, though she didn’t say it, she would like to see the inside of The Hall, see where Jack lived.

  ‘So, then, do come. Please, we should like it very much.’

  ‘Well, if it’s no trouble – you’re very kind, Lady Blackmore.’

  ‘Oh, Camilla, please. Call me Camilla. “Lady Blackmore” makes me feel like Sybil Thorndike, or who ever it was. You know, Lady Bracknell.’

  ‘Edith Evans,’ Kate supplied.

  Camilla looked as though she didn’t enjoy being corrected.

  ‘The car’s just over there.’ They started walking down to the road, with Jocasta still frisking like a lamb. ‘You can meet the other dogs,’ she told Kate, ‘and I can show you Chloe, and after lunch we could try them out, if you like.’

  ‘She won’t want to ride after lunch,’ Camilla said, indifferent to her daughter’s excitement. ‘She’s a grown-up, not a child. And do walk properly, Jocasta. A piece of gravel just hit my shoe. If you’ve scratched it … What’s the point of sending you to ballet and fencing and deportment lessons if all you can do is lumber about like a cow?’

  Kate had just been admiring the way Camilla managed to walk downhill, over an uneven surface, and on gravel, on five-inch heels, even with an inch of platform to help out. She felt less well-disposed, though, when she noted Jocasta’s crestfallen look. No-one likes to be told off, especial
ly in front of a third party.

  To take the attention away from her, Kate said, ‘I hope I won’t be putting anyone out.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Camilla said. ‘It’s practically open house on Sunday. We never know how many are going to turn up at table. Everyone invites someone. Besides, Ed, my stepson, is here, so really, the more the merrier. Anything to distract him. He won’t be able to go on nagging me and being a complete bore in front of a stranger. I’m glad you’re coming.’

  So Kate was able to stop feeling oppressively grateful, and to wonder instead what sort of ménage she was about to be plunged into.

  There were the remembered gateposts (a bit shabby now, some of the rendering chipping off and one of the balls that topped them missing) and beyond was a wide gravel sweep with most of the gravel missing, on which several cars were parked. The house proved to be Victorian Gothic: tall, red brick, all angles, very steep gables with ornately carved bargeboards and finials, and even taller chimneys.

  The first thing that struck her – literally – as they stepped into the entrance hall was a wave of dogs. They came charging out of the room to the right and flung themselves, tongues and tails waving, on Kate and Jocasta – Camilla avoiding them with a very nifty sidestep that spoke of years of practice. There was a black Labrador, an English setter with a sad, freckled face, a Jack Russell, an Italian greyhound, and a large black hairy thing like a small bear that Kate recognized, and who shouldered his way effortlessly through the crowd to claim her as his new best friend. Bringing up the rear was an enormous ginger tabby, which sat down at a safe distance to wait for recognition.

  Jocasta embraced and saluted them all, and told Kate their names. ‘The Lab is Milly, the setter is Ralph – isn’t he adorable? He looks so sad, but he’s not really. They’re supposed to be Ed’s. The Jack Russell is Jacob – he’s a terrible thief. Never leave anything edible at Jacob-level. He’s supposed to be Jack’s. And the greyhound is Esmé. She’s Mummy’s. She always gets left out because she’s so shy – don’t you, darling? Yes, you do, you do my little poppet,’ she interpolated in a cooing voice while dragging the dog close for an embrace. ‘So you have to make a point of petting her, or you’ll hurt her feelings.’

  ‘Supposed to be?’ Kate queried.

  ‘Well, they’re all everyone’s, really. They sort of belong to the house. And you know Chewy.’

  ‘He seems to know me,’ Kate said, trying to push him off her legs, where he was leaning so hard that it was difficult for her to stand upright. ‘And who’s the cat?’

  ‘He’s Sylvester. He’s—’

  ‘Kate doesn’t need the whole menagerie,’ Camilla interrupted in a bored voice. ‘If you’re going to let the dogs slobber on you, go upstairs and change before you ruin that jacket. Kate, don’t let the dogs be a nuisance. Everyone in this house seems to be mad about animals, and lets them run wild. Shove them off, or kick them if they won’t leave you alone. That’s what I do.’

  Kate noted that the pack seemed to have a healthy respect for the area around Camilla’s feet.

  ‘Come and have a drink,’ Camilla continued, turning away, ‘and see who’s here.’

  Kate followed, pausing when her hostess couldn’t see to caress the cat, who stood on tiptoe and erected his tail like a flag pole to receive her, and purred so loudly, Kate was afraid Camilla would hear.

  They went through the door to the right into an enormous room, a Victorian’s idea of a baronial hall, oak panelled, with an elaborately moulded ceiling, a vast inglenook fireplace, and tall narrow windows. There were old, much worn Turkish rugs on the oak floorboards, heavy red velvet curtains that had seen better days at the windows, bookcases full of books and in a far corner a grand piano on which Kate could see the undisturbed dust even from this distance. A number of old sagging sofas and armchairs were dotted about, with footstools and pouffes, and a variety of tables of varying size and height were loaded with newspapers, magazines, and empty cups and glasses. The remains of a log fire were grey in the fireplace, and on the hearth stood a vase full of dead flowers, an apple core, some screwed-up balls of paper and more empty glasses.

  ‘We spend most of the time in here,’ said Camilla, unnecessarily. For such an immaculately-turned out person she didn’t seem to mind or even heed the mess.

  Sprawled about the room in various attitudes of relaxation was a number of people who all looked up as they came in, though only one stood up. Jack was sitting on a sofa with Phil Kingdon, drinking Guinness: he smiled at Kate, rather nervously, she thought, while Kingdon gave her a narrow-eyed stare of calculation which she did not at all understand.

  Also present were Steph and Gil Holland, and another, older couple who looked vaguely familiar from last night. Camilla introduced them. ‘Don and Annie Culverhouse. And this is Hilary.’ Their daughter was a girl of about Jocasta’s age, rather pale, meek-looking and plain, with dark frizzy hair and glasses. She was perching on the edge of the sofa beside her parents looking awkward and uncomfortable, and showed a flash of steel braces when she managed a shy smile at Kate. ‘Jocasta’s upstairs getting changed,’ Camilla said to her briskly. ‘Why don’t you go up and see her, or she’ll be there all day.’

  Hilary ducked her head in assent and hurried gratefully out.

  A smart, trousered woman in her early thirties was introduced as ‘Susie Orde. And where’s Eric?’

  ‘Gone out to the stables with Ed,’ Susie replied, and smiled at Kate. ‘Eric’s my husband, in case you didn’t guess.’

  And finally Camilla came to the man who had stood up: a tall, soldierly-looking man, with a firm, brown face, keen blue eyes and neatly-cropped grey hair. He looked to be in his fifties, with the vigour of the prime of life and the sun-lines and wrinkles of experience in his face. ‘And this is Brigadier Mainwaring. Harry.’

  He alone shook Kate’s hand, a firm, cordial grip, and looked down from his height with a twinkling sort of smile. ‘You can imagine what I went through when I was a captain,’ he said. ‘It’s a shame there’s no way to skip a rank in the army.’

  ‘You could always have not joined,’ Don said, overhearing him. ‘You’ve a perfectly good brain – could have done anything with it.’

  The brigadier swallowed this near-insult like a man. ‘Given that my father and grandfather were both generals,’ he said genially, ‘it would have taken more courage than I have not to go into the army.’

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ said Annie languidly from her sofa, ‘surely a soldier has to have loads of courage?’

  ‘Excuse my wife, she’s terribly literal,’ Don said.

  ‘I’d sooner face the Taliban than my father in a rage any day,’ said Harry, and then, to Kate: ‘Can I get you a drink, since no-one else seems to be stirring. And you, Camilla, my dear?’

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Jack said, heaving himself out of the sofa, which seemed reluctant to let him go. ‘Anyone else need a top-up while I’m at it?’

  There was a period of movement and rearrangement, at the end of which Kate found herself on a sofa with a gin-and-tonic large enough to wash in, Jack beside her, several dogs at her feet, and Sylvester the cat planted in her lap as if he was stuffed with lead. Other conversations had broken out all round the room – everyone seemed to know everyone else very well – which meant he could talk to her without being overheard.

  ‘It was quite a surprise to see you come through that door,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you looked disconcerted,’ Kate said.

  ‘Not disconcerted – just surprised. How did it come about?’

  ‘I went to church, bumped into Camilla and Jocasta, and was invited back for lunch. Well, not so much invited as ordered,’ she added. She didn’t want him to think she was stalking him and had angled for the invitation.

  He looked awkward. ‘I’d have asked you myself, but I didn’t think you’d want to get bogged down with my family.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t expect it. It’s early days for you to be inviting me h
ome to meet your mother!’ she teased.

  He relaxed a bit. ‘Well, it’s nice to see you. Not tired after last night? No hangover?’

  ‘I’m not made of glass, you know. Though with drinks this size –’ she gestured with her glass – ‘all that could change.’

  ‘It’s mostly tonic,’ he reassured her. She had tasted it. She knew it wasn’t.

  ‘This is a nice room,’ she said. ‘Must be cosy when the fire’s lit.’

  ‘Oh, the house is a nightmare,’ he said with easy affection. ‘Much too big, cold as the tomb. We have to have a fire in here most nights of the year, even in the middle of a heatwave. And you’d need an army of servants to keep it clean. All we have is Mrs B.’

  ‘Camilla mentioned her – your housekeeper?’

  ‘She’s been with us since the year dot. Mrs Bradshaw, but she only ever gets called Mrs B. Her husband helps with the horses and does chauffeuring and odd jobs. They have the cottage by the stables. She shops and cooks for us and does one or two other things – answers the phone and orders the logs and so on – but you couldn’t expect her to clean as well. Every now and then we get a contract firm in to go through the place like a whirlwind, but it’s expensive, so mostly we just do it ourselves.’

  ‘Or don’t do it?’ Kate suggested, with a look around.

  He grinned. ‘I suppose nobody cares very much. We just cover the mess up with dogs.’

  ‘So who are these people?’ Kate asked next.

  ‘Neighbours. That’s who we always socialize with. Too much effort to go further afield.’

  ‘Unlike London, where your friends move away and you all have to travel to the centre to see each other.’ She looked across to where Kingdon was now talking to Camilla, he leaning forward with an air of urgency and she leaning back, her head slightly turned away as though he bored her. ‘And Phil Kingdon? Is he a friend or a neighbour? I thought he was your agent, or manager, or something.’