The feeling of extreme discomfort that came over her whenever she encountered her father now descended, a huge grey blanket that engulfed her and made her feel both betrayed and somehow guilty, and also, if she tried to think about it, frightened, and just remembering her birthday evening was worse than that: she felt shaky and sick; her mouth was dry and she kept swallowing – nothing. She might have to leave home, but being more frightened of something else hadn’t made her less frightened of that.
‘Oh, God! Why can’t it be last summer when nothing was wrong?’ But it couldn’t be. ‘It will all be the same a hundred years hence,’ her mother was fond of saying about practically anything, a completely annoying remark since it involved not caring what was happening during the hundred years and that rendered life utterly pointless. Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was a gigantic, terrible secret that grown-ups kept from children – like there being no Father Christmas, or getting the Curse; perhaps being grown up, something she had always looked forward to, meant just that. That must be nonsense. They couldn’t all be as cheerful as they were if they knew that. And there was God, who was supposed to be pretty kind to people and who had presumably made the rules about whether life was pointless or not. She decided to have a jolly serious conversation with Nora, who was a year older, about life to see whether she knew anything useful. Cheered by this, she went into the house.
‘Well, darling? How goes it?’
Villy had ensconced Jessica on the wicker chaise-longue in the drawing room. Lunch was over, and the children had all dispersed. Villy had tucked herself up in the huge, shapeless armchair opposite, had lit a Gold Flake and settled down for a good chat. A table with a coffee tray on it lay between them; Villy had drawn the blinds on the south window, and the room was suffused with aqueous light that was restfully cool and conducive to intimacy.
Jessica sighed, and smiled, and crossed her elegant ankles and stretched her long white arms clasping her head before she said, ‘It’s sheer heaven to be here. I can tell you that. It was a nightmare drive. Poor Christopher was sick, and Judy kept wanting to go to the lav, and Nora quarrelled with Angela about sitting in front and the car overheated on that hill – you know, coming out of Lamberhurst, I think—’
‘Well, you’re here now. And Mama doesn’t come until next week. And Edward goes to London tomorrow. We’ll be on our own, except for the riff-raff. We’re dining at Home Place tonight, but there’s plenty of time for a rest.’
‘Heavenly!’ She shut her heavy-lidded eyes and for a moment there was silence in the room except for the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Then Villy, in a voice charged with neutrality, asked, ‘How is Raymond?’
‘Very cross, poor darling, about my leaving him. He’s off to Aunt Lena tomorrow. I don’t think he was much looking forward to it.’
There was another little silence, then Jessica added, ‘She’s ninety-one, but except for not hearing a word one says, she’s really in splendid health, but I suppose if you do absolutely nothing from morning till night except eat four regular meals a day and bully your servants there’s no reason why you should feel worn out.’
‘She is devoted to Raymond, though, isn’t she?’
‘She adores him. But there is this other rather awful nephew – the one who emigrated to Canada whom she rather holds over Raymond’s head.’
‘I suppose,’ Villy said delicately, ‘that when she … I mean, it would make all the difference?’
‘Oh, darling! I’m not sure that it would any more. The moment Raymond gets his hands on any money at all, he thinks of some frightful scheme that needs far more than whatever it is he’s got and then, of course, it all goes wrong because there wasn’t enough money in the first place. I mean, the idea he had about boarding people’s dogs when they go away. He completely left out that most of the year people don’t, and then in August they all do, and, of course, it cost a fortune to build separate kennels and even then we had a dog in every room, and in winter the kennels all got wet rot and weren’t fit for canine habitation. So really I actually dread Aunt Lena dying. Raymond simply hates his present job; he’d do anything to get out of it.’ She gave her charming, defeated smile and said, ‘But I dread to think what might be the alternative.’
‘He’s impossible!’
‘Yes, he’s impossible, but he’s the children’s father. He can be a perfect lamb, sometimes.’
Villy equated this with charm, which she had been brought up to distrust; charm in their mother’s eyes had been synonymous with worthlessness. Lady Rydal had distrusted Edward for his charm, and the fact that he was richer than Raymond was marred by his money having come from Trade – a situation that had required her to be as broad-minded as she had always said she was. Edward, however, without even trying, had succeeded in charming her in a way that Raymond had totally failed to do. As Lady Rydal, in any case, had had lower expectations of Villy than she had had of Jessica, Edward turned into a satisfactory son-in-law. It was poor Jessica who bore the full brunt of her disappointment. Looking at her sister, of whom, when they were younger, she had been so jealous, Villy felt a rush of affection, pity and sentiment. Jessica was so thin; her white, pre-Raphaelite face, coloured faintly by the sunlight filtered through the green drawing-room blinds, was gaunt with fatigue; there were mothy shadows under her eyes and in the hollows below her high cheekbones, fine declining lines each side of her pale, chiselled mouth, and her poor, once beautiful hands were now roughened, thickened by washing clothes and cooking—
‘… although he can be awfully difficult with Christopher.’
‘What?’
‘Raymond. He keeps wanting Christopher to be tough and athletic – all the things he used to be – and Christopher’s the dreamy type, and much clumsier than usual because he’s growing so fast. It’s all being a bit tricky. I keep apologising to each of them for the other.’
‘I think Christopher’s a dear.’
‘He’s not an all-rounder, like your Teddy.’
‘I’m sure he’s far brainier.’
Jessica took this, not as a compliment to her son’s brains, but as a criticism of his outdoor capacities and replied a little coldly, ‘I don’t think he’s particularly brainy.’
Meaning, Villy thought, that darling Teddy was an absolute nit-wit, which of course he wasn’t. She lit another cigarette. Jessica wondered when there would be tea.
‘Angela is looking quite beautiful. Just like you, of course, an absolute knock-out.’ Daughters were safer ground, and it was a handsome peace-offering. Jessica responded at once. ‘Villy, I just don’t know what to do with her. She only just scraped through her matric. She isn’t interested in anything except clothes and her appearance about which she is completely obsessive. I’m sure we weren’t so aware of ourselves at her age. Or were we?’
‘I don’t think we were allowed to be. I mean, everybody knew you were beautiful, but it wasn’t mentioned. Mama would have had a fit if it had been.’
‘Well, of course, I don’t keep telling her how pretty she is. But other people do. And she seems to think it entitles her to a far more exciting life than we can provide, and what’s more, that she ought not to have to do anything to get it. I think sending her to France was a mistake. It’s since she’s come back from there that she’s been so sulky and passive.’
‘It’s probably just a phase. What are you going to do with her next?’
‘I want her to do a shorthand and typing course because I’m afraid she is going to have to get a job of some sort. But, of course, she thinks that is far too dull. I mean, she wouldn’t think of nursing, and she couldn’t possibly teach, so what else is there?’
Villy agreed that there was absolutely nothing. ‘Of course, she’ll get married,’ she said eventually.
‘Yes, but, darling, who to? We really aren’t in a position to entertain and her doing a Season is out of the question. But that simply means she doesn’t meet anyone suitable. What are you going
to do about Louise?’ she added.
‘Well, when she finishes with Miss Milliment, we’ll send her to France, of course. After that, I haven’t thought. She still says she wants to be an actress.’
‘At least she wants to do something. She’s grown up a lot this last year, hasn’t she?’
It was Villy’s turn to sigh. ‘She sulks too, and can be most tiresome at times. I think Clary has put her nose out of joint. She and Polly have become great friends since Clary started with Miss Milliment – three isn’t always a good number. And, of course, Edward spoils her and is always encouraging her to put on grown-up airs, which is absurd at fifteen. Did you have trouble with Nora? But no, you wouldn’t have, would you? Nora has always been an angelic child.’ She said this with emphasis. Nora had always been the plain one and needed compensatory virtues.
‘She’s always been an easy child, although she’s not getting on very well with Angela at present.’
‘She’s probably jealous of her.’
Jessica shot a shrewd glance at her sister, thinking, How funny it is, that people always think everyone else will feel the same as they do, as she answered, ‘Oh, no! Nora’s never been jealous of anybody.’ Then, unable to resist having remembered, she added, ‘Do you remember that time when you cut off my hair and put it in a biscuit tin and buried it in the back garden?’
‘I didn’t cut it all off!’
Just enough to make me look like an idiot at the school prize-giving, Jessica thought, but she said, ‘Mama was always very hard on you, I thought. All that fuss about you wanting to be a dancer. And you were so good at it!’
‘Daddy was the one who supported me.’
‘You were his favourite.’
‘They were shocking about that, weren’t they? Quite barefaced!’
‘Well, it taught us not to be.’
They both thought of their amazing sons, and then told themselves that, anyway, they didn’t show it. Then Judy interrupted them, sick of her rest, she said, and what could she do, when was Lydia coming back, and would it be tea soon? She wore shorts and a yellowing Chilprufe vest. ‘Angela’s locked herself in the bathroom for ever, so I had to use the pot,’ she added.
‘Judy, I’ve told you not to walk about the house in your vest. You don’t need it in this weather, anyway.’
‘I do.’ She stroked her chest. ‘I love it.’
There were sounds in the drive of a car arriving.
‘That will be Lydia and Neville back,’ said Villy. ‘You can have tea with them.’
‘Go and put on your blue Aertex shirt first, darling. You don’t want them to see you like that.’
‘I don’t mind at all how they see me.’ But seeing her mother’s face, she went.
Rupert, carrying a bundle of damp towels and a picnic basket, took her place in the doorway. He looked extremely hot.
‘Two children returned more or less intact. Where shall I put these? Oh, Jessica, how nice. I didn’t see you!’ He went over to the sofa and exchanged kisses with her.
‘Rupe, you look exhausted. It was sweet of you to take them all. Stay and have a cup of tea.’ Villy rang the bell, and Phyllis, who had been cutting bread and butter in the pantry with a pounding headache, looked at the kitchen clock and noticed that it was just after four and tea was supposed to be at four thirty. Still, they were out to dinner, so when she’d done the nursery tea and washed everything up she could go to bed with some aspirin.
‘Phyllis, we just want a pot of tea for the three of us now, and the children can have theirs at the usual time.’
‘Yes, m’m.’ She picked up the coffee tray.
‘I’m afraid Neville’s brought a jellyfish back.’
‘Didn’t you tell him it would die?’
‘Of course I did. But he wants it for a pet.’ He turned to Jessica. ‘It’s his asthma. He’s always wanting a cat or a dog, and they’re lethal for him. So we get goldfish, earthworms and tortoises – and now the wretched old jellyfish.’
He collapsed on the sofa and closed his eyes. ‘God! Aren’t the young exhausting? Even if you tire them out, a mere ice cream will stoke them up again. They spent most of the journey back having a competition about what would be the worst way to die. They thought of the most ghastly ways. Better warn Ellen that Neville will probably have nightmares tonight.’ He opened his eyes. ‘How’s Raymond?’
‘Fine. He’s gone to visit his aunt. Coming next week, probably.’
‘Oh, good.’ Rupert liked Raymond, with whom he felt, without being able to define exactly how, he had something in common.
There was a short, peaceful silence, and then Angela entered the room. Entered, was the way to put it, Villy thought. She stood for a second in the doorway before moving, with studied grace, into the room. She was wearing a sleeveless piqué dress of the palest lemon yellow and sandals and a silver bracelet on one white wrist. She had spent the entire afternoon washing and setting her hair that hung in a long page boy bob at the back with little flat curls round her face like ram’s horns, which reminded Villy of Hermione’s hair. Rupert got to his feet.
‘I say! Is this really Angela?’
‘The same old me.’ She presented her perfectly powdered face for him to kiss.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not the same – not at all.’
‘Shut the door, darling,’ her mother said. ‘Oh, no – don’t. Phyllis is coming in with the tea. Where are the others?’
‘What others?’
‘Louise and Nora. And Neville and Lydia. You know perfectly well who I mean.’
‘Oh – the children! I haven’t the faintest.’ She disposed herself gracefully on the arm of the sofa.
Phyllis came in with the tea, and Villy said, ‘We shall want another cup for Miss Angela.’
‘Angela can fetch it,’ Jessica said somewhat sharply.
‘Don’t you move. I’ll get it for you.’ Rupert followed Phyllis out of the room. When he returned with the cup, Angela said, ‘Oh, thank you, Uncle Rupert. Although you aren’t really my uncle, are you?’
‘I think you could drop the uncle, in any case.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ She gave him a demure and – if only he knew it – much practised smile. Villy, pouring out the tea, exchanged glances with Jessica. She’s a bit of a minx, thought Rupert, but bloody attractive, and briefly wondered whether Zoë practised her early charms on any older man who had come her way. Probably. Jessica was asking him about Zoë, and he said she was fine, she was learning to drive, whereupon Angela said she was dying to learn and would he teach her? Rupert, looking rather harassed, said he would see, and took out his case for a cigarette.
‘Oh, please! Could I have one? I’m dying for a smoke.’ She selected one from the proffered case, put it between her immaculately painted lips and leant towards him for a light.
We can’t afford cigarettes, Jessica thought, with some desperation, for how could she be stopped? Raymond had forbidden it until she was eighteen, and she had been promised a gold watch if she did not smoke until she was twenty-one, but this was another habit she had formed in France.
‘You know Daddy doesn’t like you to smoke,’ she said now.
But Angela simply answered, ‘I know he doesn’t. But I can’t help that. If one didn’t do any of the things one’s parents didn’t want one to do, one would hardly be able to move!’ she explained to Rupert.
There was the distant rumble of thunder, and Rupert said he’d better go or he’d get soaked putting the car away. He called to Neville to say he was off and instantly the door burst open and the three younger children surged in.
‘Mummy! He’s got a jellyfish and he says it’s cruel to stroke it and stroking anything can’t be cruel, can it?’
‘Oh, yes, it can. If you touch him I’ll cut you up into tiny pieces and fry you in boiling oil,’ said Neville. ‘He’s my jellyfish, and he doesn’t like girls. He’d sting you to death if I gave him the chance.’
‘He likes me,’ Lydia said. ‘You said he
did.’
‘He likes you so far.’
‘Where have you put him, Neville?’
‘In the bath.’
‘How revolting!’
‘Don’t take any notice of Angela. She says everything’s revolting or else that she hasn’t the faintest,’ said Judy whose accurate mimicry of her sister in no way obscured her scorn.
‘And, Mummy,’ said Lydia caressing her mother, ‘we’ve used up all the dining-room salt and the water still doesn’t taste at all seaish, so I’m afraid we had to use all the big jars in the kitchen, but we can do without salt, can’t we, and for him it was an emergency.’
‘Yes, I see, but you might have asked.’
‘We might have asked,’ Neville conceded, ‘and you might have said no. And then where would we be?’
‘Well, I warned you, Nev, old chap, that jellyfish don’t take kindly to being removed from the sea. And the sort of salt we use isn’t the same. Goodbye, all. See you later. Thanks for the tea.’ Rupert kissed his son, ruffled his hair, and left.
‘Oh dear,’ said Villy, getting up. ‘I think I had better sort this out.’
Jessica and her eldest daughter were left among the teacups. Angela examined her nails, which were painted pale pink with the half-moons left carefully white. Jessica watched her for a moment, wondering what on earth went on in that shining and seemingly empty head.
The Cazalet Chronicles Collection Page 25