The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  When Edmund was appointed head boy at Eton, his father had been overwhelmed with pride, and had since then admired his son and agreed to anything he wanted. Not that Edmund had ever done anything to make his father worry. He emerged from Cambridge with a first in English literature and the adoration of most of the girls, one of whom he had dated for much of his three years there. But he moved on to his career in the City, which absorbed his interest and time, and this, combined with his interest in the environment, had recently caused a rupture with his latest squeeze as she couldn’t stand waiting for him evening after boring evening. He had recently founded a new company, an investment bank that supported environmentally minded commercial ventures. He was aware that one day he would take over Denhelm Park and the estate, but he wanted to make his own mark first. Green Venture Capital Holdings had recently been written up in the Financial Times as ‘the most independent-minded, forward-looking entrepreneurial success in the new century. Edmund de Weatherby is far sighted, and advises companies to forget about Now, and to think of Tomorrow. His mantra is: “Don’t line your own pockets until those of others are full, and your company is making a profit.”’

  Edmund loved coming home. Apart from proving to himself that he could make a go of things in the real world, he loved nothing more than riding out with his father over their land, surveying the East Sussex countryside. He would sit by the Aga while Mrs Goodman fussed over him and made him feel like a boy again by cooking her nursery food for him – the only meals he had ever truly enjoyed. He might dine in top restaurants in the City, but nothing tickled his taste buds any more; it was all fancy fashion to him.

  He lived in his father’s old tweeds and sweaters whenever he returned, while at work his suits were of the finest Savile Row tailoring. Beauty and fashion were Gray and Savvie’s thing; Edmund appreciated beauty when he was confronted by it, but he didn’t crave it for himself.

  However, looking at Liberty like a golden vision before him, hair gleaming around her shoulders, with only a narrow diamond necklace setting off her throat, he was completely mesmerised. What had happened to the silly, lanky kid who used to hang around and do daft things with Savannah, he wanted to know. He didn’t like being so out of control of his emotions; it was a new sensation for him. Lust and love swamped him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t even listen to what she was saying, which was just as well, as she was apologising for displaying herself earlier, and explaining that her mother would be down soon.

  Liberty felt like a scolded schoolgirl again, and remembered the days when Edmund would shout at her and Savannah for taking out Jonathan’s prize hunter for a mad gallop, or dressing up some of the hounds in Christmas antlers as a joke just before they were collected for the hunt.

  Edmund had thought he was grown-up and sophisticated, but suddenly he wasn’t sure.

  Thankfully, at that moment Deirdre emerged, an advertisement for the 1948 New Look. Her classic black Dior gown had mid-length sleeves, a cinched waist and multiple petticoats to give a full skirt above Cuban heels. She wore long gloves and bright red lipstick.

  ‘You look stunning, Mrs James,’ murmured Edmund, rising swiftly to kiss her on both cheeks.

  Why didn’t he say that to me? thought Liberty petulantly.

  ‘Stop sulking, and pour the poor boy another drink,’ said Deirdre, thinking Liberty’s mood was caused by her obviously torn gown.

  Liberty told herself to stop being selfish. ‘We only need to wait for J-T now,’ she explained to Edmund, as she handed him a whisky and her mother a Martini. ‘I told him to wear really warm clothes, but as style matters so much to him he is probably knitting himself a vest from a rare Himalayan mountain goat, or something.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ replied Edmund. ‘Pa has really turned up the heating. Khalid and Savvie arrived this morning and even she hasn’t complained.’

  ‘I suppose I can always remove layers,’ said Deirdre, shattering the illusion of effortless glamour.

  As Edmund had not asked who or what J-T was, Liberty assumed that Jonathan must have told him the story of what she was now doing, and J-T’s part in it. But although Edmund knew her marriage had broken up, he hadn’t been informed of the house guest’s background. J-T entered the room, looking the ideal model of how a gentleman should dress in a dinner jacket. Edmund scowled.

  ‘How do you do?’ he said in his plummy voice, and held out his hand to the elegant man before him, expecting an American accent to respond (no Englishman looks that good in a DJ). The limp, dry handshake and the camp voice saying ‘Good evening, Handsome’, wiped the scowl from Edmund’s face, and it lit up with his rare smile. Oh, he isn’t Liberty’s new boyfriend after all, he thought, mightily relieved.

  Liberty just stopped herself from gasping.Oh, poor Jonathan, maybe that explains why Ed has never married. My God, he must be gay too, she thought. She saved the situation by suggesting they drove to the park before Jonathan sent out a search party.

  27

  Mrs Goodman had made Jonathan immensely proud. She had arranged with the head gardener to grow indoor flowers in the hothouse for the occasion, and these were now gracing the huge entrance hall. There was a mix of holly, ivy and white roses against the walls. The heady scent of stephanotis hung sweetly in the air, and mingled happily with the smell of wood smoke, while richly perfumed potted bay trees sat on each step of the wide, curved staircase that led up to the open galleried landing. Ivy and red ribbons wound up the oak banisters and huge garlands of yew and holly, tied in swags, hung from the ancient beams. Tall candelabras topped with flickering white candles, added to the best bit – it was very warm!

  ‘Liberty! Oh my God, are you here? Where are you?’ called a voice from the gallery over their heads. ‘Oh my, just take a look at you!’ screamed Savannah, who now appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing what looked like a man’s tuxedo; however, it was perfectly tailored to her petite frame, and in deep navy velvet. It was cinched at the waist with a wide satin bow in the same colour, softening the otherwise masculine outfit. It just about hid her modesty, especially from her guests’ vantage point down below. Her perfect, tanned skin glowed from the exotic, scented Arabian oils that she had applied after her bath, and her blonde hair shone like a moonbeam. She ran down to meet Liberty, clinging to the sturdy banisters as she was wearing incredibly high gold Louboutin heels. She had no need of makeup, except for black kohl around her eyes, and mascara.

  At the same moment they both screamed out, ‘You haven’t changed a bit!’ Then they fell into each other’s arms, and now Liberty was happy to feel like a schoolgirl again. They asked each other so many questions, but neither was able to hear the other as they were both talking at once. As they wandered around the hall, holding hands and taking frequent glances at each other, gasping that neither had aged, and asking how had they left it for so long, they slipped into their old friendship without hesitation. It was obvious to onlookers that they were good friends, desperate to fill in the gap created by years of separation.

  Liberty had not realised until this moment just how much she had missed her childhood friend. They had formerly been like sisters, and that closeness returned instantly. They arrived eventually at the long oak table, swathed in a linen cloth embroidered round the edges with dark holly leaves that was serving as a bar for the evening. A very handsome Arab man approached, and took Liberty’s hand.

  ‘Darling,’ said Savannah, ‘this is my husband, Khalid.’

  Khalid made a bowing motion and lifted her hand, although he did not kiss it. ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Liberty; Savannah has told me of some of your more tame adventures. I look forward to hearing more!’

  Liberty gazed at the tall, beautiful, olive-skinned Khalid, and was strangely reminded of Edmund. He had sadness in his eyes and a haughty, hooded look: a cross between the eagle on The Muppet Show and Cary Grant. Before Liberty could respond with more than ‘It’s lovely to see Savannah again, and to meet you�
�, her friend had grown impatient, as was her nature, and she shooed Khalid away, saying, ‘I told you I would want to be alone with Liberty. Please understand, I haven’t been home for over a year, and I haven’t seen Liberty for goodness knows how long.’

  Khalid took her rudeness in his stride and went to fetch drinks.

  ‘So, tell all about ghastly Percy,’ said Savannah, turning to Liberty, who, feeling a little uncomfortable, raised her eyebrow. Savannah mouthed ‘message understood’. When Khalid returned with their champagne, she gave his hand a squeeze and said, ‘Thanks, dearest.’ This, however, seemed to surprise Khalid, and his brows flew up as a brief smile flickered on his lips. He hovered momentarily, trying in vain to cover up his wife’s cleavage; her outfit revealed most of her sternum.

  ‘Don’t bother, dear, it’s not as though I have got anything in that department, and we are not in the Middle East now,’ she assured him. Extraordinary, thought Liberty, same old Savannah. Marriage hasn’t mellowed her, then!

  Khalid, obviously a diplomat at heart, simply said, ‘I am going to help your father, please do excuse me.’

  Savannah led Liberty to a Knole sofa in a corner of the hall, and as they sat down they both resumed talking at the same time, Savannah once more enquiring about Percy, and Liberty winning with, ‘Tell me about Khalid. How did you meet him? How did you end up in the Middle East? Where are the children? I’m dying to meet them both.’

  ‘Oh, they are fabulous, really sweet. And where are yours? Or don’t you have any?’

  The look on Liberty’s face told her friend everything, and with the knowledge and understanding that only your nearest and dearest can have, Savannah immediately changed tack.

  ‘Little Sasha is eight, and a mermaid; blonde hair, like mine, but lovely olive skin. Always saying she wants to be a pony. Rather like me. Hussein is a heartbreaker. Just six, dark like his father, and thankfully with his brains, too. You must come for lunch tomorrow, so you can see them; are you Christmassing here? Oh, Pa,’ she yelled across the hall, ‘are they Christmassing here with us?’

  ‘No, darling girl,’ came the reply, ‘they have their own lives to live, you know.’

  Deirdre, who was standing with him, helpfully piped up. ‘We have guests for Christmas, so too many of us.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly, you must, I have to spend as much time with you as I can.’ Savannah grasped Liberty’s hand, and all her sadness suddenly travelled through Liberty’s body, sending involuntary shivers down her spine.

  ‘Let’s talk about everything tomorrow,’ she said, hugging Savannah. ‘Tonight, let’s just have fun. Talking of which . . .’ And she related the circumstances of Edmund seeing her again for the first time in years, and his subsequent fall. They were still laughing as the first guests arrived.

  Jonathan had been master, or joint master, of the hunt for thirty-five years. He was an organised person, and had no qualms about maintaining his hounds despite the hunting ban. It gave employment to a number of people in the village, and kept several elderly people busy when there were puppies to bring on. So, despite his advancing age, and because he was good at it, he kept the position and was glad to have it.

  He had held the hunt ball annually since taking over Denhelm Park and estate when his father Montgomery died, so most people knew the form and one another. All but a few had ignored the promise of warmth and arrived in floor-length gowns, old furs and long cloaks, with various forms of woollen comforters underneath. The castle soon filled with the old county set, younger huntsmen and their partners, and splashes of hunting pink merged with the multi-coloured frocks. Very few wore black. Khalid and J-T’s dinner jackets stood out from the crowd, as the local men who didn’t hunt were mostly dressed in dark suits. They were taking comfort in each other’s company, because the local females would have made mincemeat of them otherwise – despite Khalid’s large wedding ring and J-T announcing to anyone who would listen that he was the only gay in the village.

  Everyone enjoyed Jonathan’s lavish hosting skills; there were apparently limitless bottles of champagne, whisky and wines in well-filled crystal glasses that sparkled in the candlelight.

  Eventually a piper marched through the door into the large medieval hall which served as a ballroom. In homage to his Scottish mother, Jonathan always started the dancing with a few reels. Jonathan and Deirdre stood at the head of a line and twirled to Strip the Willow, and everyone joined in as they realised what fun it was. It was also a good way to work up an appetite.

  Mrs Goodman and her team had created the usual magnificent spread of platters groaning with local cheeses, pâtés, hams and salads. Deirdre and Liberty had baked endless loaves of walnut and fig bread. There were tureens of cauliflower and cheddar soup with cheddar-crusted straws to dunk. A haunch of venison lay ready to be carved by the brave and ravenous, accompanied by bowls of chips fried from various root vegetables. On a side table sat traditional puddings – Mrs Goodman’s speciality trifle, apple pies and jugs of custard. Liberty was so pleased she hadn’t brought the canine version, as she envisioned Custard jumping inside one of the large jugs and licking it clean before starting on the sausage rolls.

  The food was being laid out in the dining room, which was nearly as big as the hall. When in Edwardian times the house was redesigned for modern living, a row of barns, formerly entered from the exterior, had been merged with the house by newly built but artificially aged connecting passageways. The result was an eclectic yet surprisingly cosy house for its size. It also created potential for lots of mischief in hidden corners and cupboards, and was a perfect party house.

  Young girls and boys from the village serving as waiters for the evening stood by in black uniforms, ready to hand out plates, knowing that when the revellers had eaten their fill, Jonathan was always kind enough to let them join in. Meanwhile, Mrs Goodman still slaved away in the kitchen, stirring the kedgeree that would be served to stragglers, family and drunken revellers to sober them up in the early hours.

  Many of the guests had assumed for years that Deirdre and Jonathan were partners, and this suited them both, as they loved a good party, but without having to be chatted up and then let down by interested but uninteresting people. Deirdre could hear old Widow Tankard shouting in Jonathan’s ear as he marched her surprisingly energetic body round the floor to the Gay Gordons. ‘Fancy meeting for a bit of what-to?’ she was asking loudly. Deirdre giggled to herself, relieved for Jonathan that the music hadn’t suddenly stopped at that moment. Polite as ever, Jonathan simply carried on dancing and muttered a platitude in Lady Tankard’s ear, something that made her smile and nod in agreement and look at him in a sorrowful way. Something to do with his wife, I suppose, she thought.

  Suddenly, Khalid was at her side. As he gently guided her around the floor to a Scottish waltz, she was surprised at his knowledge of Western dancing.

  ‘Gordonstoun School,’ he remarked simply, answering her unspoken question.

  He is a dark one, thought Deirdre, not referring in the slightest to the colour of his skin. There was a menace in his expression, handsome though he was, that made him look like the perfect baddie in a Bond film. She had already heard from Jonathan that he was an excellent horseman and a ruthless businessman. He bred racehorses simply because he could afford to; but then, everyone in racing knew how much money was needed to breed success. His impassive face had not yet shown her a flicker of emotion. You wouldn’t want to cross him in the boardroom, OR the bedroom, she thought.

  Deirdre squeaked as Khalid grasped her shoulder so firmly she winced in pain. She followed his eyes and saw Savannah chatting animatedly to a very handsome man in a heavenly dark grey suit, with matching shirt and tie.

  ‘Gray!’ she burst out, at which point the vice-like grip was mercifully released. Without waiting for an apology, Deirdre said, ‘Do let’s go and join them. I haven’t seen Grahame for so long.’ They left the dance floor. Taking drinks from a passing tray – water for Khalid and champagne for Deird
re – they went over to the reunited siblings. Khalid noticed the finger marks he had left on the older woman’s shoulder, but his maddening wife had been pushing his limits further and further recently; he would apologise later. Khalid was not sure if coming to England had been such a good idea after all.

  ‘Darling,’ sparkled Savannah as they approached. ‘Gray, meet my husband at last! Khalid, my brother Grahame, who is the hardest working Member of Parliament this side of Scotland.’

  Grahame and Khalid shook hands, and because both were experts in pleasantries and small talk they managed to hold a conversation while Deirdre and Savannah embraced.

  ‘I’m sorry I raced off with your daughter earlier,’ said Savannah, who was extremely fond of Deirdre. ‘It was rude not to greet you, but I have been so excited since Pa told me she was going to be here. We have both been terrible at keeping in contact, but it now feels as though we are back where we belong.’

  ‘How do you like living in Abu Dhabi?’ asked Deirdre.

  ‘Mm, well, we’ll see,’ mumbled Savannah ominously. ‘Tell me about you. Are you still running those fabulous cookery classes? I must get the children to come along. I’m a no-hoper in the kitchen, and at home all the meals are prepared by the kitchen staff. I’m sure the children think that food appears as if by magic. In fact, I’m not sure if they have ever seen a kitchen!’

  ‘We will have to change that, then,’ said Deirdre. ‘Has Jonathan told you Liberty is opening a café in the village?’

  ‘He mentioned it, but I need to hear all the details. Liberty is coming to lunch with me and the children tomorrow, and she’s not leaving till I catch up with all her news.’

  ‘Will you be staying for New Year’s Eve? I do hope you come to our party at The Nuttery.’

  ‘We aren’t sure about that yet,’ said Khalid, taking his wife’s arm and marching her off to a corner, where they appeared to start a very animated conversation.