Helen stopped reading and looked up at Paul. “I can’t read any more. It looks like she’s writing in ancient Greek.” She passed the book over to him. “I thought you might be able to help with the translation?”
Paul scanned the page and frowned. “It’s certainly Greek but she is using some sort of code of her own devising. I can’t read it as it’s written.”
“How would a woman of that time know ancient Greek?”
“You heard the family history. My great-grandmother was a woman ahead of her time, intelligent and educated.” He tapped the book. “Leave it with me. I’m sure I can decipher it but it may take a little while. Now what time are you expected at Wellmore House tonight?” he asked.
“Seven thirty.”
Paul glanced at his watch. “Well you had better get a move on.”
Helen hesitated. “Do you suppose I will be all right?”
“You’re not Cinderella, Helen. You’re Charlie Morrow’s widow. Just be yourself. Anyway, Tony’s a gentleman. He’ll take care of you.”
Tony had every intention of taking very good care of her. Paul had recognized the look in his friend’s eyes.
Helen smiled in response and Paul remembered Charlie’s words in a letter he had written, like a brush stroke across his memory.
“I have asked her to marry me and she has consented. I can’t imagine ever finding a girl in England who could fill my heart the way Helen does when she smiles.”
The door closed behind Helen, and Paul picked up his whiskey glass. In the distance, he heard a dog barking. He rose to his feet and took Robert Morrow’s place at the window. Below him, Alice played with a black and white cocker spaniel.
Chapter 9
“You look lovely, Mummy,” Alice said wistfully.
She lay on her stomach on Helen’s bed, her head propped up in her hands, as she watched her mother dress for the supper party at Wellmore.
Helen peered at her reflection in the inadequate mirror. The couturier in Melbourne had assured her that this dress was the latest fashion. She twisted to have a better look at the plain, straight, midnight blue satin dress, the skirt gathered and fastened at her hip with a gold clasp and wondered if the latest fashion in Melbourne would still be fashionable in London.
“I’ll just have to do. Now, let’s see if Grandmama is ready.”
Evelyn was already waiting for them in the hall. Dressed in a black velvet evening dress of the latest style, her iron-gray hair was dressed loosely at the nape of her neck and held in place with diamond clips. For the first time, Helen saw a glimpse of the youthful beauty last seen in the stiff wedding photographs Evelyn had scattered around the house.
“Very nice, Helen,” Evelyn said as Helen descended the stairs toward her. At the compliment, Helen felt the color rising in her cheeks.
“I wish I was coming,” Alice said from her perch half way up the staircase.
Both women turned to look up at the child.
“Your time will come, Alice,” her grandmother said, her expression changing to one of surprise. “Paul!”
“Going without me?”
Alice swiveled to look up at the sound of the uneven tread on the steps above her. “Hello, Uncle Paul.”
“Hello, Alice. Don’t wait up for us.” Paul ruffled the child’s hair as he passed her.
“Sarah’s taking her to the vicarage to stay the night,” Helen said.
“I didn’t think you were coming?” Evelyn straightened her already perfect gloves. as Paul reached the bottom of the steps.
“Tony twisted my arm,” he said. “I’m afraid the suit needs taking in but I think I pass muster otherwise.”
Despite his assertion that the suit needed taking in, the jacket sat well across his broad shoulders. The stiff evening collar was still undone, the bow tie hanging loosely around his neck.
The tall, elegant man in the dinner suit bore little resemblance to the slightly shabby archaeologist Helen had come to know over the last few days. The formality of his evening wear had transformed plain Paul Morrow into Sir Paul Morrow Baronet and winner of the Military Cross.
“You look fine,” Evelyn said. “Let me do the tie for you.”
He bent toward his aunt and with practiced fingers, Evelyn buttoned his collar and executed the complicated knot.
Paul straightened and smiled at the two women.
“You both look charming,” he said.
“And you scrub up well,” Helen replied with a smile.
“I ‘scrub up well’ do I?” Paul said in passing mimicry of her Australian accent. “Glad to hear it.” Paul looked from one to the other. “Let’s get this tedious function over with.”
* * * *
Judging by the number of cars parked on the front lawns of Wellmore, it appeared to be a sizeable party, hardly the simple gathering of a few close friends Lady Hartfield had described.
Evelyn took Paul’s arm and he turned to Helen proffering his other arm.
“Helen?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the warmth of his body through the suit and glad of the reassurance of his presence as they crossed the marble hall to be shown through to the reception rooms.
“Sir Paul Morrow, Lady Morrow and Mrs. Charles Morrow,” A footman announced them in a solemn voice.
Lady Hartfield came forward to meet them.
“Evelyn, darling.” The two women kissed and their hostess turned to Paul. She took his hand. “Paul. I’m so delighted you could come. You’re looking well. Egypt must suit you.”
“Mesopotamia,” Paul said with a slight tightening of his lips.
“Were you there when that Carter person found that tomb?” Lady Hartfield continued.
“No,” Paul said with barely contained irritation. “That was in Egypt. I’ve been in Mesopotamia.”
“All the same to me.” Lady Hartfield laughed. “And Mrs. Morrow, looking charming. That’s a courageous decision you’ve made.” She indicated Helen’s hair. “Not many girls can get away with it. Now the Porters are here and Paul, I just know everyone will be simply dying to see you. Mrs. Morrow, the young people are in the withdrawing room, dear.”
Lady Hartfield took Evelyn by one arm and Paul by the other, leaving Helen standing by the door with the eyes of a dozen strange men and women watching her. As she shifted uncomfortably, not quite knowing what to do, they turned back to their groups, talking in low voices.
“Oh God, has Mother left you stranded here?” Tony hurried across the room toward her. “Mrs. Morrow, may I say how splendid you look tonight.”
Helen’s spirits lifted at the sight of Tony’s pleasant, smiling face. At least one person seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
“Thank you, Tony.”
“What did you do to persuade Paul to come tonight?”
Helen shook her head. “Nothing to do with me. I thought you twisted his arm?”
“I had a small word but I didn’t think he’d come. You know, the doctors kept saying he needed peace and quiet. Quite frankly, I think that’s the last thing he needs. Diversion and noise, in my opinion are to be infinitely preferred.”
He steered her into a room where a dozen young women dressed in expensive, elaborate gowns, engaged in animated conversation with each other or equally well dressed young men, some of Tony’s age and some a little younger. In this bright gathering Helen felt dowdy and old-fashioned. The conversation dropped away as she entered the room and the immaculately coiffured heads turned to look at her.
A dark-haired woman of Helen’s age holding a cigarette in a short holder came up to them.
“You must be Helen,” she said, holding out her gloved hand, “I’m Angela Lambton, Tony’s sister.”
Helen shook the proffered hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Ange, Paul’s here,” Tony said. “Be a dear, and go and rescue him from Mother or we will have him beating a retreat to Holdston.”
“Paul?” Angela
glanced into the next room. “Oh God, she’s got him cornered with those ghastly Porters. I’ll be right back.”
Helen watched over her shoulder as Angela sashayed into the main reception room, cutting a swathe through the older guests.
Tony laughed. “Ange on a mission can’t be resisted. Mrs. Morrow, come and meet the others. Champagne?”
She took a glass from a passing footman and Tony propelled her into a circle of his guests, his hand resting gently in the small of her back. He introduced her to a series of titled young people. The young women looked Helen up and down in much the same way as they would a horse they were considering purchasing. From the curl of their lips, they found her wanting. Helen decided, compared to their fine breeding pedigrees, she would be considered little more than a stock horse.
On the other hand, the gentlemen did not seem to have quite the same reservations and Helen found herself in the centre of a circle of young men who all appeared to have known Charlie and were keen to talk about him, reminiscing about the happier times of their shared youth. It was strange and disorienting to hear her husband talked about with such familiarity.
“I say is that Morrow?” one of the men drawled.
Her companions fell silent and turned to the door, where Angela and Paul stood. Angela had her hand tucked into Paul’s arm. Both were tall and carried themselves with a natural elegance, enhanced by the good cut of their evening dress. With their dark hair and finely chiseled faces, they made a stunning couple, Helen thought with a twinge of envy. They were both born to this life; she would always be an outsider.
Angela relinquished Paul, took a glass of champagne and joined Helen. Taking her arm, she steered her over to a window seat.
“God, these parties of Mother’s are such a bore. Tell me how did you get Paul to come?”
“I didn’t. He appears to have come of his own volition.”
Angela gave her a skeptical glance before lighting another cigarette. “Darling, I haven’t seen Paul Morrow at a society event since before the war.” She blew out the smoke, watching the haze as it climbed to the ceiling. “So you’re the girl Charlie Morrow broke all these hearts for?” She gestured to the young women across the room
“Surely not? They’re all too young.”
“It doesn’t matter if it were these girls or the matrons in there, Charlie would have stolen their hearts the moment he stepped through the door.” Before Helen could reply, Angela continued, “I can’t think what Mother is thinking. Do you suppose for a moment Tony, or any of these men, want to marry vapid women like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was a VAD ambulance driver in the war.” She laughed. “You look shocked. Can’t imagine me out there in the mud and the filth? I know what these men went through. Not just Paul but the others, like Tony, who came through without an injury. Believe me, none of them came through untouched. When you’ve looked death in the face every day for four years, a man needs more than just a comfortable home with a well-bred wife. They might not know it, but they’re looking for something different, something that will provide them with a bit more excitement.” She leaned in toward Helen. “Look at these girls, Helen, they hate you. You can see it in their eyes. You’re exotic, a colonial. You’ve already snared one of their own. I think they’re frightened of you.”
Helen shivered. “What a dreadful thought. Should I leave?”
Angela’s eyes widened. “Leave, darling? Not for a minute. You’re a breath of fresh air. You stay and charm the men and have a wonderful night. God knows, I fully intend to enjoy Father’s best wine and have a marvelous time.” Her eyes moved to Paul who leaned against a wall, a glass of champagne in his hand, his head bent to one side, listening to the conversation around him.
As if aware of being observed, he looked up and his gaze met Angela’s. A quick conspiratorial smile flashed across his face.
The dinner gong announced supper and Tony crossed the floor toward Helen, a dozen women watching his progress.
He crooked his elbow at her. “Helen?”
“I think you should ask one of the other girls.”
“You’re my guest, Helen, and this is my party. I’m damned if I’m going to be caught all night making polite conversation with a debutante whose only interest is dresses and parties. I want to know all about Australia and that place where you live. Tralee?”
“Terrala,” Helen replied with a laugh.
* * * *
Across the room, Angela took Paul’s arm. “Are you taking me into supper?” she asked.
“Do I have a choice?” he enquired.
Angela smiled up at him. “None. I want you all to myself for a few moments. I must say you look well, Paul,” she said as they walked into the dining room.
“Thank you,” he said. “I am.”
“The dust of the desert must agree with you.”
“It is preferable to the cold and damp of an English winter.”
He held out her chair for her and they sat, passing the appropriate pleasantries with their neighbors before allowing the conversation to turn to themselves.
“Tony said you weren’t coming,” Angela said. “What made you change your mind?”
“I thought I’d better wave the Morrow flag. I didn’t think Charlie would thank me if I left Helen to the vultures.”
“Oh, she seems to be managing,” Angela observed.
Paul glanced down the table. Every male within Helen’s circle appeared to be watching her as she talked.
“You know, I think Tony is more than a little in love with her already?” Angela said.
Paul turned sharply to look at Angela. “He hardly knows her.”
Angela shrugged. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight, Paul?”
Paul evaded the question. “What does your mother think?”
“What do you suppose she thinks? Look at her face, Paul.”
Lady Hartfield, while giving every impression of paying animated attention to her neighbor, had her attention firmly fixed on Helen. If those eyes could have shot blue sparks, they would have done.
“I was right,” Paul said, “They’ll eat her alive.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Paul. She’s an adult. She’ll manage and at the end of the day she’ll go back to Australia and her coming will just have just been a diversion in an otherwise dull world.”
Paul picked up his wine glass and looked at the contents, golden in the beautiful crystal and the candlelight.
“What about you, Ange?”
“Me?”
“I hear your paintings are selling well.”
Angela shrugged. “I can’t complain.”
“And your current lover?”
She gave him a sideways glance from underneath her long lashes. “That would be telling.”
“Ah, so he’s married?”
“Darling, it would be no fun if I told you.”
He leaned his head toward her. “You and I have no secrets, remember, Ange?”
She put a long nailed finger to her lips. “Yes, we do, Paul.”
* * * *
Dinner was served at the longest table Helen had ever seen in her life. It easily accommodated the fifty guests. Lady Hartfield sat at one end and her husband, a bald man with a luxuriant moustache, sat at the other.
Helen glanced up the table and saw Angela Lambton’s dark head bent close to Paul’s in a close and private conversation. Paul smiled in response to something she said to him. The two had an air of familiarity that went deeper than mere long friendship. A strange sensation of envy, or maybe even jealousy tugged at Helen’s heart. She had no right or claim to Paul Morrow. He and Angela had known each other since they were children, and of course they had a whole shared life to which she did not belong.
Helen turned to look in the other direction, seeking out Evelyn who was seated at the far end near the Viscountess. Even as she watched, Evelyn’s gaze turned to her nephew as if drawn by some magnet.
Helen turned her attention back to her immediate companions. A retired general had been seated on her right and after several abortive attempts at conversation, she concluded he was deaf. Abandoning the frustrating one-sided conversation, she turned back to Tony on her left.
“Do you know much about your ancestors?” she asked.
“This lot?” Tony waved a hand at the walls from which generations of Scarvells glowered down on the party. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been amusing myself with some research into the Morrow family. In some of the family papers, I came across the mention of an Adrian Scarvell. He was an officer in the 6th Regiment of Foot during the Peninsula War.”
Tony shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve heard mention of him. That family group over there dates from about then.”
He indicated a massive family portrait that took up a whole wall. The Viscount, resplendent in an immaculate powdered wig, stood behind his wife and a brood of eight children and assorted dogs.
Tony contemplated the painting for a moment. “It’s quite likely he was a younger son. You know how it goes. The eldest son inherits, the second goes into the army and the third into the church.”
“What happened to four and five?”
“Oh, they went out to the colonies. If you really want to know about the family, I shall have to introduce you to Great Aunt Philomena. She’s the family historian.”
“Where does she live?”
“In the village. Pa offered her rooms here but she prefers her cottage.”
Helen glanced down the table as Angela threw her head back, laughing at something Paul had said. Angela bent toward him, whispering in his ear. He shook his head, raised his wine glass and smiled. He leaned toward her responding to his companion with an animation she had never seen in her short acquaintance with him.
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