by Nicola Upson
Before she could change her mind, Marta walked back to the house, wrestling with the lid of the bottle as she went. She swallowed two aspirin with a mouthful of cold coffee, then took a card out of the wastepaper basket and went over to the telephone.
Josephine stared at her reflection in the looking glass on the back of the door, and decided that it wasn’t going to get any better. There was no question that Ronnie and Lettice had excelled themselves on her behalf: the dress was modelled on a design by Lucien Lelong which she had casually admired when last at their studios, never suspecting that they would recreate it for her. Cut low at the back, and made of a soft satin which clung to the waist and hips and draped in sinuous folds from the thigh, the gown was predominantly black except for a twisted column of scarlet and emerald ribbons that extended down the spine to the floor. It was stunning, and normally she would have been thrilled, but dressing to be on show was the last thing she wanted to do this evening; she only hoped that she had appeared more gracious than she felt when she tried the dress on earlier.
She fastened a single string of pearls around her neck so that it hung down her back, emphasising the low-cut line of the dress, and left the room while she could still resist the urge to crawl between the sheets and hide. Going down the stairs, she was careful not to tread on one of the club’s more idiosyncratic features—a silver cross, embedded into one of the steps as a memorial to an unfortunate resident of the old house who had died from a fall and was supposed to haunt the first-floor landing. It was all nonsense, of course, but it fascinated some of the members and Celia had always been happy to exploit any legend that brought in more subscriptions—in fact, Josephine had once joked that she probably put it there herself. After the tragic accident at the weekend, though, the remark had ceased to be amusing. She wondered how Lucy was, and remembered how nervous and clumsy she had seemed at their two brief meetings; with the luxury of hindsight, it seemed inevitable that something would happen to the girl sooner or later, but Josephine had never envisaged the horror of the injuries which Celia had described to her.
Archie was waiting at reception, and she smiled nervously at him, wondering how quickly they would be able to leave yesterday’s argument behind. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, bending to kiss her. ‘Gertrude who?’
The words were warm, but Josephine saw her own anxieties reflected in his face and she led him over to the door, out of earshot of the group of women by the desk. ‘Archie, I’m so sorry about yesterday,’ she said. ‘I should never have expected you to counsel me on what to do about Marta, or about anyone else for that matter.’
‘I should be apologizing, not you. I didn’t mean to be so impatient with you, but this case is …’
She raised her hand to interrupt him. ‘Don’t blame yourself or the case when I’m at fault. Please, Archie.’
He smiled. ‘All right. Shall we go in?’
She took his arm, relieved that he seemed as reluctant as she was at the moment to return to the subject of Marta, but they hadn’t got far before Lettice came hurrying out of the dining room. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking out for you. Sorry, Archie, but I just need a quick word with Josephine—you can have her back in a minute.’
‘All right, but let’s get a drink first,’ Josephine said. ‘I’m dying for one.’
‘No, I need to speak to you before you go in,’ Lettice insisted, then added more quietly: ‘After that you can have as many drinks as you like—you’ll probably need them.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Before Lettice could answer, Lydia came up behind them and threw her arms around both of them. ‘Josephine—how lovely to see you.’
‘Lydia, I need to speak to Josephine in private for a moment,’ Lettice said impatiently, and Josephine looked at her in surprise: she rarely lost her temper with anybody; the pressure of the gala and the shock of Marjorie’s death seemed to have taken their toll.
‘Of course,’ Lydia said, ‘but I wanted to say it as soon as I saw you. Thank you, Josephine.’
‘You’re welcome. What for?’
Lydia laughed. ‘Don’t be so modest. For Marta, of course. She’s here tonight, and she told me that you spoke to her and encouraged her to get in touch. I’m so grateful, Josephine.’
Lettice mouthed an apology behind Lydia’s back, while Archie looked as if all his Christmases had come at once. Wondering if she had inadvertently walked on stage in a farce at the Vaudeville, Josephine heard herself give the sort of nervous laugh which usually made her want to slap someone. ‘Marta’s here tonight?’ she asked, the voice barely recognisable as her own. ‘Gosh—she doesn’t waste much time.’
‘No. I sent her an invitation weeks ago, never dreaming that she’d say yes, but she phoned this morning, completely out of the blue.’
‘I’ll meet you inside in a minute,’ Josephine said to Lettice and Archie. ‘Lydia and I will just have a quick chat out here while it’s peaceful.’
‘No, no—Lettice needs to talk to you and I don’t want to interrupt.’
‘It’s fine,’ Lettice said, defeated. ‘I can wait.’ She disappeared into the crowd with Archie, glancing back apologetically over her shoulder.
Lydia took Josephine’s hand and led her over to the window. ‘Let’s sit down here for a minute,’ she said. ‘I owe you an apology, as well as a thank you.’ Her words came so soon after Archie’s unwarranted contrition that Josephine began to suspect some sort of conspiracy, designed to make her feel worse than she already did. ‘I haven’t been a very good friend to you since Marta and I split up, have I?’ Lydia began hesitantly.
‘It’s been hard for you—I understand that. You love her, and you’ve been apart—you’re bound to feel bitter at times.’
‘It’s more than that, though.’ She looked away, and Josephine guessed that she was considering how much to say. ‘The fact is, I blamed you because we didn’t get back together again the moment she stepped out of prison. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I thought there was something between you—something on her side, at least—that was keeping us apart.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking?’ When I could have denied it truthfully, was what Josephine wanted to add, but she simply said: ‘We should have talked about this months ago.’
‘I know, but I was angry and hurt and bewildered at Marta’s silence, and the last thing I wanted to do was show any vulnerability to you.’ She smiled, embarrassed. ‘And rather more childishly, I didn’t want to find out that you were in touch with her if I wasn’t. Jealousy isn’t a very generous emotion, is it? Or a very attractive one.’
‘No, and it has a habit of creeping up on you when you least expect it. I don’t suppose I would have behaved any more generously in your position. And I’m sorry if I’ve made things worse for you—I never meant to.’
‘You didn’t. It was just the shock of it all, and knowing that Marta felt able to talk to you about things that she’d never discussed with me. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but it’s not just about sex, is it?’ Josephine shook her head. ‘I began to wonder how close we’d really been. And then there was Archie, and everything he did when she gave herself up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He found her a lawyer, spoke up for her in court, made people take into account her mental state—you’re surely not telling me he did that for Marta? He did it for you. And I thought to myself—why would that be such a gift? Why, by helping Marta, could he hand you something precious?’ Josephine was too shocked to speak: she had honestly never considered that Archie might be doing anything other than what he believed to be right and just, but she knew now that what Lydia said was true, and Marta’s words came back to haunt her: how many times had she made Archie unhappy without even realising it? ‘It was stupid of me,’ Lydia continued, ‘but the longer the silence lasted, the more significant all these things became in my imagination. I blew them up out of all proportion, when I
should have had the sense to realise that Marta just needed time to get over what happened to her, to leave prison behind.’
‘Is that what she said?’
‘Not in so many words, but she’s changed, Josephine, and even I can see that things are different now. I suppose I’ll just have to be patient.’
‘You’ll never be able to pick up where you left off, but that’s not always a bad thing.’ She looked at her friend, knowing how fragile Lydia’s new-found happiness was. ‘You can build something new—something stronger.’
‘I hope so. We haven’t actually talked about getting back together and I don’t want to rush her, but friendship’s a start, isn’t it?’
Josephine was too tired to do anything but give Lydia the hope she was looking for. ‘Yes, it’s a good start. And you’re right to give her time. Take her to the cottage. Find some peace together.’
She stood up, afraid to test her public generosity any further, and they walked together into the Hall. Lydia disappeared to find Marta, and Josephine looked round for Archie, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was about to head for the bar, when someone shoved a glass into her hands. ‘Coward,’ Gerry said, ‘and I’m not giving you a run-down of the play bill. I see you’ve decided to play Cupid after all.’
‘It’s not as straightforward as you think.’
Her voice was less ambiguous than her words, and Gerry looked at her with genuine concern. ‘Christ, Josephine, I’m sorry—are you all right?’
‘I’ll be fine as long as I stay angry.’
‘With her or with yourself?’
‘That’s not a distinction I want to make at the moment.’ She drank the champagne and looked at Gerry. ‘How are you? I notice that Celia’s still on her feet tonight.’ They both stared across the room to where the secretary was deep in conversation with Amy Coward, Mary Size and the rest of the club’s committee. Archie was standing nearby, talking to a man she didn’t recognise. ‘I’m sorry about Marjorie,’ Josephine said, more seriously. ‘You’ve had a bitch of a weekend.’
‘Haven’t we both? Losing someone is losing someone, no matter how it happens.’
‘Did you know her very well?’ As soon as she asked the question, Josephine realised that Gerry was probably still oblivious to the fact that Marjorie had been Lizzie’s half-sister; Archie was unlikely to have shared the details of the case during his questioning, and he wouldn’t thank her for interfering now before everything was resolved, but Gerry would have to know eventually and Josephine doubted that it would make things any better.
‘No, not really. Not well enough, anyway.’ She pointed across to the bar. ‘If you’re still angry, now might be the moment to show it. She’s on her own. And Josephine?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you want someone on your arm later—purely to get your own back, of course—I’m happy to oblige.’
Gerry grinned, and Josephine laughed properly for the first time that day. ‘Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.’ The hall was beginning to fill up with guests, and it took her a few minutes to get to the bar, but Marta didn’t seem to be going anywhere. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she asked angrily.
‘You look beautiful. Champagne?’
‘Don’t mess about. Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘So you just turn up on Lydia’s arm without even warning me?’
‘If I’d warned you, as you put it, you’d have found an excuse not to be here.’
‘Jesus, you move quickly. It’s a wonder that any of us can keep up with you. I thought after …’
‘After what, Josephine?’ Marta turned to look at her for the first time, and Josephine was startled to see tears in her eyes. ‘After you left, and I wandered round the house wondering what to do with myself? After I stopped trusting myself to be on my own?’ She waited until her voice was more under control, and then said: ‘I know how this looks, and I know how angry you are, but please try to understand—being with you last night made me realise how isolated I’ve become, and how damaging that can be. I need company, friendship, love—whatever you want to call it, and I need it more often than I could ever demand it from you. You were right. I can have that with Lydia, and I can make her happy—really happy. But none of that changes how I feel about you. Everything I said last night, everything I asked of you—it still stands. I just can’t be on my own while I wait for you to come back to London.’
Marta’s vulnerability made Josephine long for the privacy they had shared the night before, but it was impossible to hold her in a hall full of people. Casually, she slid her glass a few inches along the bar until her fingers rested against Marta’s; it was the subtlest of touches, imperceptible to an onlooker, but sufficient to dispel everything else in the room. Denied the possibility of anything more, they allowed this one small gesture to become the focus of everything that was miraculous and fated about their relationship, and the moment was so surprisingly intense that it was a while before Josephine could speak. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked quietly.
‘I love you.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It’s the best I can do. Can you think of a better one?’ Josephine shook her head. ‘You have to go,’ Marta said, squeezing her hand. ‘It looks like you’re needed for the cameras.’
‘That can wait. This is more important.’
‘Yes, but this could take a lifetime to resolve, and we have approximately fifteen seconds.’ Marta hugged her, and Josephine felt her hand trace the line of pearls down her back so fleetingly that she might have imagined it. ‘You’re about to be fetched.’
‘What?’ Josephine turned round to see Celia Bannerman bearing down on her and beckoning her over to the other side of the room, where a couple of reporters were lining up guests to be photographed. She groaned. ‘That’s just what I need.’
‘Before you go, take this.’ Marta held out an earring. ‘You left it at Holly Place. I was going to keep it, but when you start holding pearls to ransom in the hope that someone will come running for them, you really are lost.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t have any more tricks up my sleeve, Josephine. You’ll come, or you won’t come. I hope you do.’
She disappeared into the crowd and Josephine fought her way reluctantly across the room to smile for Tatler. ‘Nice to see you back in London, Miss Tey,’ called one of the reporters. ‘You’ve got a new Inspector Grant book out soon, we hear.’
‘Yes—early next year. It’s called A Shilling for Candles.’
‘Let’s hope it raises a bit more than a shilling, eh? You’re donating the proceeds to charity, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right, to a cancer hospital.’
‘And is there a personal reason for that?’ He must have seen the look on her face, because he added quickly: ‘I’m not trying to pry, but it’ll make a nice little story to go alongside the Cowdray Club piece. It all helps to get the public on side, doesn’t it?’
It was a cheap trick, but Josephine felt obliged to answer, as he had known she would. Remembering why she hated the press, and why she never gave interviews, she said: ‘My mother died of breast cancer twelve years ago.’
‘That must have been a sad time for you.’ She didn’t even dignify that with a response: in truth, her mother’s death had devastated her, but she wasn’t about to share that with the world, not even in the name of charity. Smiling politely, she tried to excuse herself, but the reporter hadn’t finished. ‘A lot of people say that one of the characters in Mrs Christie’s new book is based on you,’ he said with a sly grin. ‘Muriel Wills—the woman who writes plays as Anthony Astor. Is there any truth in that, do you think?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t often read Mrs Christie.’ It was the best snub she could think of at short notice; she had, in fact, bought the book as soon as she heard the rumour, and had been furious to discover a ghastly creation who simpered and giggled and cluttered her home with nick-nacks; the fact that the playwright was
observant and deadly with a pen did nothing to soften her anger.
‘No harm in a bit of friendly rivalry, though, is there?’ the reporter continued. ‘I just wondered if we might find a little cameo in your new book for Mrs Christie?’
‘What?’ Josephine was distracted by a commotion at the door. ‘A cameo for Mrs Christie? I couldn’t possibly say. If you look carefully, though, you’ll find a tramp with a very similar sense of humour. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some people I have to talk to.’ This time, she didn’t have to work very hard to get away: the commotion signalled the arrival of the real stars of the evening. As the dignitaries and charity ladies clamoured for position around Noël and Gertie, Josephine found her table and sank gratefully into a seat next to Lettice. ‘I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Jack Dempsey,’ she said. ‘What have I done to deserve a night like this?’
‘Looked gorgeous in that dress?’
‘You’re the third person to tell me that tonight, and you can probably guess who the other two were. The dress is stunning, though—thank you.’
Lettice poured her a drink. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to you first,’ she said. ‘I wanted to let you know what you were walking into, but Lydia was too quick for me.’
‘Don’t worry—it was nice of you even to try. Where’s Archie?’
Before Lettice could answer, the lights in the hall were lowered and Celia Bannerman walked on to the stage. ‘That’s it, then, girls—fun over,’ Ronnie said, slapping two more bottles of champagne down on the table. ‘Sweet charity’s arrived.’ She leaned across to Josephine. ‘And where did you spend the night? You could have had the whole of Scotland Yard out looking for you if it hadn’t been for our discretion.’
‘You? Discreet?’ Luckily for Josephine’s self-respect, a ripple of applause drowned out the rest of her reply. Celia held up her hand for silence. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the College of Nursing and Cowdray Club on what promises to be a very exciting occasion for us all. Before we go any further, I’d like you to join me in giving a warm welcome to our special guests this evening, Miss Gertrude Lawrence and Mr Noël Coward, who have taken a break from the tour of their latest production to be with us.’ The spotlight moved to a table at the front of the hall. ‘Later on, they’ll be treating us to two short pieces from Tonight at 8.30. You’ll be the first London audience to enjoy the new show, and I’m sure it will whet our appetites for when it comes to the West End early next year.’ There were cheers around the room and, when they subsided, Celia said: ‘Clearly neither of our guests needs any introduction from me, but I will, if I may, tell you a little about one of the charities that we’re all here tonight to support.’