by Kirsty Ferry
Aidan’s heart began to beat a little faster and he fingered the corner of the page. He wondered if it was time to pay another visit to Hartsford Hall and see if they were interested in his mementoes. Or at least, Great-Great-Uncle Robert’s memorabilia.
Yes, why not?
Chapter Five
1937
‘It’s my birthday! You have to be nice to me. It’s the law!’ Stella shouted and thumped his back with her fists as he ducked under the surface and rose up beneath her, lifting her high out of the water on his shoulder. ‘Oh, God, put me down. I’m laughing so much I’m afraid I’ll be sick.’
‘Just because it’s your twenty-first doesn’t give you special privileges.’ Rob manoeuvred her so she was cradled in his arms, then tossed her as high as he dared and she landed in the middle of the pool with more screams. She bobbed to the surface and her hair was covering her face and she was spitting out water, her nose all scrunched up in that way he loved and her emerald eyes squeezed shut.
‘It’s exactly because it’s my twenty-first that you have to be nice to me.’
‘And now we’re going around in circles,’ he teased. He cupped his hands together, filling them with water and tossed that at her for good measure. ‘Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I see the picnic will soon be ravaged if we don’t join in and they’ve already emptied the punch.’
The others had fallen upon the picnic basket which had, seemingly, magically appeared while they were playing in the water. Mary and Lois, in cute little matching halter-neck bathing suits, were sharing it out into exact portions, and good old Oscar was trying to hold Rosie back from the cakes. ‘Savoury first, Rose-Petal!’
She swore at him good-naturedly, throwing herself down by the rug. She’d twirled herself away from him, the full skirt of her light, floral cotton summer dress flying outwards, leaving poor old Louis Armstrong still singing about how he was in the mood for love.
Rob could have sworn Oscar and Rosie were more than likely just holding each other up, rocking back and forwards in each other’s arms, in a terribly drunken sort of dance to the tinny sound of the gramophone record. They’d already tried and failed at dancing the Carioca, and were a long way from being Fred and Ginger – but they were having fun anyway. Oscar was the best dancer of the lot of them, so Rob wondered exactly how much of this was him playing to the audience and he grinned at the thought.
‘Is there any more champagne in there?’ called Stella, clambering out of the pool and running unsteadily over to the others.
‘Yes. Six bottles.’ Veronica held one aloft whilst tossing her rubber bathing cap aside. ‘Shall we open this one to start with?’
‘Oh, let Rob do it!’ cried Mary – or Lois – one of them, anyway. ‘It’s such fun.’
‘D’you think he’ll have a handy sword?’ Stephen was wild-haired and half-cut as usual. He had saved his glass of punch from being diluted rather unfortunately by pool water, and now he drained the remains, ready for a refill. Helen and Anthony sat to one side, their fingers loosely entwined, a gesture that wasn’t lost on Rob. One always had the impression that Helen was just an observer in this world, passing through until she found something more fitting. Anthony was a good match – he was solid and strong and she’d be safe with him.
Rob smiled and followed Stella. ‘I don’t have a sword with me, sadly.’
‘Then we must get one. Come on.’ She held her hand out to Rob, but he shook his head.
‘No, you’d have to go all the way back to the Hall. I’ll do it with you later.’
The innocent comment invited bawdy whoops and Stella buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. ‘Rob! Please! What will my father say? And my brother. The old stick in the mud.’
‘Oh, Leo isn’t a stick in the mud,’ piped up Veronica, dismantling a sandwich and taking the salad out of it. She piled it up on Stephen’s plate and he didn’t complain. ‘He’s just – old.’ Almost ten years separated Leo and Stella.
Stella shook her head. ‘Yes. Old. He’s thirty. My God! Imagine being thirty. How dreadful.’
‘Surely it’s better than the alternative?’ Helen spoke up at last. ‘He’s always been very nice to me, anyway.’
‘If the alternative is death,’ Stella replied frankly, ‘then yes. I suppose. Anyway. I care nothing for his stickiness, although he has been very good to me in other ways.’
‘His what?’ The twins answered as one.
‘His stick-in-the-muddiness. You know. Don’t you? Anyway. I’m going to get a sword and that’s that.’
She ducked down and rammed a huge slice of fruit cake into her mouth, then turned and began to run off to the Hall. Rob stared after her, a smile on his lips.
This – this was what life was about. Stella and Hartsford and their friends and their happy, uncomplicated lives.
He thought he might write a poem about it. He was certain he’d be quite a good poet. His poems at Cambridge had been inspired. He could earn decent money from that sort of work if he put his mind to it.
He lay back on the grass and stared into the sky. Yes. Poetry was a good plan.
Stella ran towards the Hall, but she had a stitch before she got there, and slowed to a fast walk clutching her side and grimacing. It was her own fault – she’d bolted that cake far too quickly.
She thought she’d best go in the back entrance, just in case her father was prowling around and complained about the state of her. He might have guests himself and it would never do if they saw her like that, blah blah blah. She rolled her eyes. He’d used that argument several times.
She skirted around the back of the property and worked her way towards the kitchen gardens – but the Fates weren’t being very kind to her today, because there was Leo sitting in a deckchair reading a paper, one leg folded across the other, his feet bare.
There were headlines all about the Spanish Civil War on the front, but none of it interested her until she spotted a photograph of Decca Mitford and her husband, Esmond Romilly. They’d eloped to Spain and Decca was currently pregnant. Stella had followed the society scandal carefully. Jessica Mitford – Decca – was only a year younger than herself and although she didn’t know the girl, she was utterly fascinated by her story.
‘Leo. What’s that saying about Decca?’ She forgot she was supposed to be creeping past him in secrecy. She stood beside him, blocking out the sun and dripping pool water onto his foot.
Leo jumped and looked up at her. ‘Ezzy! God what a shock. Where did you spring from?’
Stella pulled a face. Leo had a weak heart and she always tried her utmost not to startle him or act loudly around him. She didn’t really want to be responsible for the heir’s decline and death. She also objected to the childhood name he kept using for her. Estella was such a big name for such a little thing, he’d been too lazy to use the whole word and just stopped at Ezzy.
‘Sorry. We were at the pool.’ She pointed vaguely in that direction. It was unnecessary, as the shrieks were getting louder in proportion to the bottles of champagne consumed. ‘I needed – something – from the Hall.’
‘I see.’ Leo folded the paper up and handed it to her, the picture of the young society beauty uppermost.
‘Has she had the baby? Oh, I do hope she has.’ Stella grabbed the paper and read the short article. ‘Oh. No, she hasn’t. It seems as if Esmond is getting caught up in his principles though. Damn. I hope he stays safe.’
‘Baby? You do know how long it takes to have a baby, don’t you?’ Leo looked amused. ‘They only got married a couple of months ago. I know she was pregnant, but still!’
‘Yes, I suppose. But just think what a beautiful baby it will be.’ She thought Esmond was perhaps the second most handsome man she’d ever seen. Rob was the first, of course. Maybe Leo was third, if she was being generous. ‘I can’t wait until she has it. Look.’ She pointed at the photograph. ‘That must be the book he’s worked on. Boadilla. All through his honeymoon. He’s wonderful.’
> ‘You’re drunk, Ezzy.’
‘I’m not. Not properly. Not yet anyway.’ She re-read the article and handed the paper back to Leo. ‘He rode to Marseilles on a bicycle, you know, to fight for his beliefs in the Spanish Civil War.’
‘And he was invalided out with dysentery after his friends were killed. It’s not glamorous.’
‘But he went back and he’s a news correspondent now.’
‘Still not glamorous. Father has guests, by the way.’
‘Damn.’ She chewed on the edge of her fingernail. ‘I’m utterly stuffed then.’
‘Not entirely.’ Leo stood up. ‘What do you want? I’ll nip in and get it.’
‘Ah. A sword.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not going to get that now, am I?’
‘A bloody sword? What on earth for?’
Stella thought if she gave it the proper name, her brother might be more impressed and not look as if she’d just stripped naked and danced the polka in the gardens. ‘Sabrage. For Rob.’
‘For Rob.’
‘Well, yes. He’s going to do the – sabrage,’ she mimed the action, ‘and he’ll impress us all.’
‘Who the hell is “all”?’ Leo still looked stunned. ‘It’s so ruddy noisy over there that they could be three hundred of your friends.’
‘Not three hundred of us. Just my good chums. You know. Veronica and Rosie. The twins. Stephen and Oscar. Anthony. And Helen.’
‘Helen?’ He said her name too quickly.
‘Yes.’ Stella thought she might have a chance if she drilled down to Helen-level. ‘Helen says you’ve always been very good to her. She’ll be the most impressed. The absolutely most impressed if you get us a sword. I promise.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Wait here.’ He turned and stomped off back to the Hall. Stella suddenly did feel rather spifflicated and threw herself into the deckchair for a few moments until she saw him coming back. He was carrying a sword and had the darkest scowl she’d ever seen on his face.
‘Leo!’ She jumped up and wobbled slightly as the alcohol hit her. ‘Thank you.’
He shook his head as she held out her hand to take it. ‘No. I’ll come with you. I don’t trust you to walk safely with it in that state.’ Stella had no choice but to walk alongside him, wondering how she could make sure he didn’t stay to spoil their fun with his scowls and his sensibleness.
Although he had brought her the sword. That had been very kind of him.
They approached the Spa and the noisy laughter trailed off as they saw Leo with Stella.
‘Leo.’ Stephen nodded stiffly to him. ‘Good to see you, old chap.’
‘And you.’ Leo nodded equally stiffly.
There were mumbled greetings from Stella’s friends, but Rob stood up and shook his hand. ‘Are you joining us?’
‘I don’t think so. I just didn’t trust Stella with this.’ He frowned at the sword then handed it over to Rob.
‘It would be nice if you stayed,’ said Helen’s quiet voice. ‘There’s plenty of food.’
‘And once Rob has opened the bottle, we’ll have plenty of champagne,’ added Anthony. He smiled up at the older man. ‘Please?’
Leo hesitated for a moment and cast a glance at Stella. ‘I’m sure Stella won’t want me to stay.’ He smiled and nodded. ‘So I’ll decline politely.’
Stella suddenly felt terribly silly and selfish. Leo never really had many of his own friends to stay – he was awfully shy, really.
‘Oh, Leo.’ She jumped up at him and flung her arms around his neck. He brought his arms up to steady her, a look of shock on his handsome face. ‘Please. Do stay. It’s my birthday party and I’d love you to stay. I really would. And thank you for the sword. Thank you very much.’
Leo blushed, but his arms fastened a little tighter around her. ‘Maybe for just one glass.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose I should stay to supervise this sabrage nonsense, anyway.’
‘You most certainly should!’ Rob grabbed a bottle of champagne and raised it to Leo. ‘Your very good health, Sir. But I must serve the birthday girl first.’ He felt for the crease in the glass, then laid the blade of the sword at right angles to the bottle. With one swift movement, he ran the blade up towards the neck and the top sheared off. Champagne fountained out and everyone cheered. He bowed, theatrically and handed the sword to Oscar who was on his feet applauding. Then he found a glass and poured some champagne into it. He held it up to the light and checked for glass particles.
Apparently satisfied there were none, he bowed again and handed it to Stella. ‘Happy birthday, my love.’
‘Thank you.’ She raised the glass to him.
She thought he had never been more magnificent.
And my love. He’d called her my love.
It was almost the perfect birthday.
Her eyes drifted past him to the changing rooms and she smiled. Later, it would be the perfect birthday. She just had to get him on his own first.
‘Do you ever dream of doing something wild?’ Stella breathed the words into Rob’s ear as he lay beside the pool, dozing. The bees were buzzing and the scent of flowers was tickling the air around them. The birthday party was winding down and they were all in that perfect stupor that comes of too much food, too much wine and too much sunshine.
‘Wild? All of the time.’ He smiled, his eyes still closed. His arms were bent behind his head and an abandoned sketchbook lay next to him. He’d done a terrible picture of Stella lounging beside the pool and she had shrieked with laughter and asked him if their friends really were as disproportionate as he had portrayed them on the tennis courts?
Good-naturedly, he had wrestled her to the ground, and tickled her into submission until she promised to agree that it was a wonderful picture and depicted their friends exactly.
‘Just never let Mary or Rosie know that I think they look like that.’ She wiped tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes.
‘But dear God, they do!’ He narrowed his eyes mock-critically at his work. Then he’d grinned. ‘Well at least they do in this picture. And anyway, I thought that was Lois. But you, my dear, are delightful and I don’t think I’ve ever drawn you better.’
‘Quite right,’ Stella had agreed. ‘All your sketches of me are quite appalling.’
Then he’d wrestled with her again and made her promise to kiss him to make up for it.
They’d been lying companionably after that, chattering about the little intricacies of life until the conversation had tailed off and they were simply lying there. Stella’s head rested on Rob’s chest as she closed her eyes and listened to the thwack of the tennis ball and the shouts of merriment from the courts. There was the odd splash as someone or other leaped into the pool and they were what they were: young, privileged people without a care in the world enjoying life.
But now, Stella leaned down and blew into his ear again. ‘Do you want to do something wild with me?’
He opened his eyes and fixed her with his lazy, navy-blue gaze. ‘What a silly question, Estella. Of course I do.’
‘Good. Then meet me at twilight, back here.’ She smiled down into his eyes. ‘You don’t need to bring anything except yourself.’
Rob raised his eyebrows. ‘Not even champagne?’
‘Not even champagne.’
‘My goodness. This will be something extraordinary indeed then. Are you sure you mean twilight? That’s terribly vague. How about midnight? That’s so much more exciting, don’t you think?’
Stella giggled and snuggled back down next to him. ‘Midnight then. But I want you to remember exactly how extraordinary this will be, Rob, which is why we shouldn’t spoil it with a poorly head.’
‘Excellent.’ He shifted so she could get more comfortable and draped his arm around her.
She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. And she stayed safe and warm in his embrace until someone tipped an icy cold glass of pool-water on her stomach and told her it was time to change for dinner.
Chapter Six
L
ate April, Present Day
Thanks to her advert, and of course the village grapevine, Cassie began to gather a fine collection of mementoes from the village to help with the weekend. And as such, the end of April saw her sitting in the kitchen at the Hall with a box of goodies beside her and more on the breakfast bar in front of her. She had also begun to realise that the success of this weekend lay with her, which was rather scary.
They’d just decided to keep all the mementoes at the Hall, as and when they came in – well, Elodie had made a unilateral decision in that respect, probably so she could rummage through anything exciting at her leisure. Cassie, however, had pilfered Stella’s photograph, and the picture of the swimming pool, and they were safely in her cottage.
Delilah was with Cassie, sorting through the latest batch of treasures she herself had brought along. Delilah’s granny, also a Delilah, had worked in the Hall as a cook and she had lovingly saved some original dinner party menus and place cards.
The Aldrichs had been keen on their horse racing as well, and there were even some invitations to Hunt Balls and big horse-racing event parties.
‘I think I’ve seen some copies of these at the Folk Museum. How lovely!’ Cassie exclaimed, going through the treasures. ‘Your granny must have been a bit of a magpie.’
‘Completely. I think every time they had a party she would squirrel away what she could afterwards. I’ve got her old recipe books as well. They’re interesting. I could try some of the creations for your vintage teas, if you want. I know you’re worried about the catering. Do you know something? My granny would have been the star baker if she’d ever been on Bake Off. I wish I was half as good as her.’
Delilah was an amazing baker and Cassie stared at her in surprise. ‘She was even better than you?’
Delilah nodded. ‘Much better.’
Cassie moaned slightly. She loved her food. She looked ruefully at the plate of warm cheese scones she’d managed to polish off in the short time Delilah had been there. Delilah might have had one from the pile. God only knew how many Cassie had eaten.