She wept until she was dry of tears, mopping her face with the sheet, and then lay for a while, exhausted, but also curiously relieved – as though she had got rid of something that could not be borne.
She was woken by the telephone: it was Dr Plunkett’s secretary with an appointment for two days’ time. I have nearly two days to pull myself together, she thought. I must eat meals and rest and tidy up this shabby old house. I might even play my fiddle a bit – some unaccompanied Bach would be just the ticket. I must do things – any sensible thing I can think to do. And when Rachel rings I will sound light-hearted and casual. It would be pointless to tell her anything until I know the worst.
LOUISE AND JOSEPH
‘Are you free on Saturday morning? I want you to help me with my Christmas shopping.’
Joseph hardly ever spent a weekend away from the beautiful house he had recently bought in Berkshire. She knew what the house looked like because, just after he had bought it, he had taken her there one late-summer evening. It was a small Georgian mansion overlooking the river, with four reception rooms, six bedrooms on the first floor, attics above, and a huge basement with a Victorian kitchen, wine cellars, larders, a pantry and other anonymous quarters. It also had several cottages, a walled garden, a rock garden and quite a lot of land, and could be approached by two long, winding drives. He had shown her all over it: ‘Completely unspoiled,’ he had said. ‘The whole thing was only eight thousand.’ It clearly excited him. She sincerely thought it was beautiful and said so. She also thought, rather sadly, that this was the only time she would see it; she would only be able to imagine his wonderful weekends spent there.
So when he asked her to go shopping with him, she agreed at once. She was enough in love with him to feel that any time spent with him was better than being apart.
‘We’re going to Cameo Corner first,’ he said, when he had picked her up in his Bristol. ‘Do you know it?’
She did indeed. She had, in her more affluent times, bought earrings there, and Mosha Ovid would lend her amazing necklaces when she’d gone to grand dinner parties with Michael. She was particularly fond of Georgian paste, of which Ovid had a large collection.
Joseph clearly liked it, too, and picked out a necklace of peacock blue, large, simple stones set on a chain. ‘Do you approve?’ he asked.
What a wonderful present, she thought. I should want to wear it all the time.
‘We’ll have it,’ he said. ‘Have you a box for it?’ They had.
‘Now, which is the best material shop?’
‘Jacqmar,’ she said.
There he chose the most expensive green satin embroidered in gold and green sequins. ‘How many yards for a long dress?’
The assistant told him. ‘I’ll take it. What do you think of my choice?’
‘It’s awfully grand – you know, for going to the opera.’
‘Yes, I thought that. Glyndebourne, that sort of thing. Now we’ll have some lunch.’
When they were back in the car, he said, ‘That’s Penelope sorted. You’ve been a great help.’
She could not think of anything to say. She knew that Penelope was his wife, hardly ever mentioned but always there. She wanted to cry. But pride forbade it, and she latched onto a gust of rage that he should have made her feel greedy and acquisitive, had probably been teasing her – not mentioning Penelope all morning. I suppose he feels guilty about her, and the presents are to make him feel better.
He took her to Bentley’s for lunch and ordered oysters and champagne, followed by poached turbot, but she couldn’t get far beyond the oysters.
‘How’s your nice father getting on with his intransigent brother?’
‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since that evening. I could find out, if you like.’
‘It might be worth telling him once more that time is running out. The business is trading at a loss now, and if that goes on it may be too late to sell.’
‘How do you know about trading at a loss?’
‘Oh, there are ways of finding out that sort of thing. Do you not want your fish?’
‘I’m full of oysters. I can’t eat any more.’
‘Right. I’ll take you home.’
‘Are you going to stay with me?’
‘Darling, I can’t. Penelope is in London this weekend. Togetherness begins at six.’
She said nothing. She felt confounded by his indifference to her feelings, and humiliated by her position. She was a mistress, ‘the other woman’, and she had either to stop caring about him, or put up with being a spare-time person, forced into fitting in with any casual plans he had for her.
‘Thank you for lunch,’ she said, as she got out of the car, and practically ran down the dark passage that smelt always of the grocer’s darker practices. The shop was on the ground floor, and the basement was where they plucked and dressed birds. Usually she hardly noticed the odour of singed feathers, decaying innards and overripe bacon, but today she hated the squalor. It was why the flat was cheap, and cheap was what she could afford. Perhaps Stella would be in: she would have a long talk with her about Joseph, and take comfort in her sardonic affection. They’d had these talks before. ‘He’s taking you in,’ Stella would say. ‘You want him to do that, though, don’t you?’
But Stella had left a note outside her room that said: ‘Have migraine. In bed. See you later.’
So there was nothing for it but to lie on her own bed, overcome by unhappiness and champagne, have a good cry and fall asleep.
HUGH AND JEMIMA
‘I’ve been thinking.’
It was after supper, which they had eaten alone as the boys were still at boarding school, and Laura was – at last – asleep. Jemima had made a chicken pie, which Hugh particularly liked, and they were now finishing their bottle of claret with cheese and celery. Outside it was raw and raining, but the kitchen, with the new yellow velvet curtains that Jemima had made, felt cosy from the Aga’s warmth.
She knew what he was going to say, because Polly had confided in her, but she waited to hear it from him. ‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘Polly was talking to me about Edward and Diana, and I think it would be a good thing to ask them to dinner. How do you feel?’
She pretended to consider for a moment. ‘I think it would be an excellent idea.’
‘Good. Do you think we should take them out, or should we dine here?’
‘Oh, much better to have them here.’
‘I do love your decisiveness, sweetheart. Finally, should we ask some other people?’
‘Oh, no! The whole point of the evening is for us to get to know Diana.’ Jemima did not add, ‘And for you and Edward to be better friends,’ but that was really the point. Being nice to Diana was simply a first step. And Hugh had been looking so drained and unhappy of late that she had begun to worry about him.
‘You ask him, darling. I think any Saturday would be good.’
‘Hugh and Jemima have asked us to dinner, darling.’ He had waited until their second Martini had been drunk – was nervous about it. When he thought of it, the awful evening with Rachel and Sid still made him feel angry, ashamed of Diana’s behaviour and, worse, his failure to tell her so. The truth was that he had been really shocked, seeing her in a new and most unwelcome light, but he had taken refuge – as cowardly people will do – in sulking and refusing to make love to her after Rachel and Sid had left. This had worked, up to a point. The next evening she had been full of excuses – she had tried so hard with the food and they had spurned all of it; Sid had been rude to her in her own house, and Rachel had spent nearly all the evening talking to him, until, she – Diana – had simply felt like a servant.
Seeing her blue eyes – they were more like dark hyacinths than bluebells – fill with tears was too much for him; he didn’t want to argue any more, and she had apologised, so it had been a kind of a victory. He finished by saying, ‘All I ask is that you’ll be on your best behaviour with Hugh and Jem.’
‘My best,’ she promised, dabbing her eyes with his large silk handkerchief.
And so it was that the following Saturday he picked her up from the Lansdowne Club, which she used on her shopping expeditions to London, where she had changed into the little midnight-blue velvet that he had agreed she should wear, with the amethyst necklace he had given her years ago before they were married.
Jemima also was nervous. She consulted Hugh about the menu, and they settled upon potted shrimps (only the toast to do), followed by poulet à la crème, a dish she had found in Elizabeth David, one she knew she did very well, and ending with tarte tatin.
‘I do think, Mummy, it isn’t fair when you have party food that I should just have fish fingers,’ Laura said, as she sat in front of her early supper. She had been watching the preparations all afternoon: the laying of the dining-room table, which was used only for parties, the candles, the arrangement of yellow and white freesias, a cluster of Dad’s best glasses on the right-hand side of each plate, napkins as white as toothpaste, she thought, and masses of knives and forks and spoons arranged in military rows, much of this reflected in the beautiful shiny table made of walnut, Dad’s favourite wood. She had helped to lay the table, and Mummy had told her how to do it, but she’d had to start again twice … ‘After all my helping,’ she said tragically, ‘you would think that that would make a difference.’ Her arm was out of plaster, but she still hobbled about with the cast on her leg and had become astonishingly agile with her crutch.
‘Darling, I promise you shall have chicken tomorrow for lunch.’
‘And shrimps? And the upside-down tart?’
‘Only if you eat your supper now, quickly, because I’ve got to change.’
Mercifully, Hugh arrived at this point. ‘Go and have a lovely hot bath, and I’ll see to Miss Horrible.’
Laura adored it when he called her names. ‘How horrible am I?’
‘Absolutely horrible – all over. Speaking when your mouth’s full shows that.’
‘I have to speak sometimes and I’ve been told to eat. That’s two things at once.’
‘Well, you eat and I’ll tell you how horrible you are.’
She smiled contentedly, and began to demolish her fish fingers.
He had just had time to make Martinis when their guests arrived. They had the drinks in the drawing room, which had not been changed since Sybil’s day: the same Morris wallpaper, the same chintzy loose covers, and curtains to match the honeysuckle on the walls.
Jemima heard Hugh greeting the guests in the hall as she stood trying to get warm by the fire she had lit too late. She felt unreasonably nervous and, when Edward and Diana came into the room, realised she was not alone in that. All three of them looked as though they were going to the dentist, she thought. Edward greeted her with a kiss, and then said, ‘This is Diana.’
‘Hello, Diana, I’m so glad you could come,’ and Diana smiled and said how nice it was for them to be asked.
Hugh was quickly pouring what turned out to be particularly strong Martinis; cigarettes were lit, conversations started uneasily about current news. Diana said what a pity it was that the Queen was abolishing presentations at Court for debutantes, and then asked Jemima if she had ‘gone through all that’?
‘Oh, no. I’ve never been quite sure what was involved, but in any case it sounds too expensive. My family could never have afforded it, even if they had wanted to. But I’m sure that for some girls it must have been fun,’ she added, in case Diana had been one of those girls, and would think her rude. ‘I’m off to make the toast.’
‘Here comes the other half,’ Hugh said.
‘I must say, old boy, you do make a powerful Martini.’
‘I’ve never liked weak drinks. I knew someone at my club who used to dip his finger in gin, run it round the rim of a glass, fill it up with tonic water and give it to his mother.’
‘What a horrible trick! I’m sure neither of you would ever have done that to the Duchy!’
The brothers exchanged their first affectionate glance.
‘No, we wouldn’t. She liked her gin with Dubonnet.’
‘But only one. She was very sparing about food and drink – for herself.’ Hugh turned to Diana. ‘What do you think about this plan to reform the Lords? Admitting women, and doing away with hereditary peers?’
‘Well,’ she needed time to think, ‘I’m all for women having more say, but I don’t know much about the other part. You aren’t necessarily bad at a job because you were born to it. What do you think, darling?’
‘I’m a Tory, darling. Not keen on change of any kind.’
‘Yes, you are, Ed. You know you are. Look at the firm!’
At this point, Jemima called from below to say that dinner was ready, which was a relief for all.
‘Let’s not talk shop tonight,’ Edward muttered to Hugh, as they were going downstairs.
‘I hear you’ve found a lovely house in Hawkhurst,’ Hugh said, as he was pouring the wine, after he had settled Diana in her chair.
‘Yes. It really is rather a dream home, and you love it too, don’t you, darling?’
‘I do indeed. Bit of a commute, but you can’t have everything. Diana’s a great gardener.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I do simply adore it, though.’ She turned to Jemima. ‘Are you a gardener?’
‘Not really. I try to keep our little patch at the back tidy, but I don’t seem to have much time for more. Although,’ she added, ‘I suppose if I loved it I would find the time. It’s a bit like people saying they don’t have time to read. When, really, they simply don’t want to.’
‘Laura takes up a huge amount of time even though she goes to school,’ Hugh said. ‘And then there are the twins in the holidays.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean. Poor Mrs Atkinson gets absolutely worn out producing huge meals for my boys. And then there’s Susan and Jamie. Fortunately, the big boys are hardly ever with us – they prefer Scottish gambols with their grandparents.’ There was a slight pause: Jemima took the shrimp plates and went to serve the chicken.
‘Jem does all the cooking,’ Hugh said. He was trying desperately not to disapprove of Diana, whose attitude to her older children had shocked him. ‘Ed, could you deal with the wine? I’m just going to give Jem a hand.’
Edward walked round the table filling glasses; when he reached Diana, he gave her a kiss on the back of her neck. Her décolleté produced in him a twinge both of lust and anxiety: it was more suited to an unquiet evening at home than the present occasion.
‘How am I doing?’
‘Fine. You’re doing fine. Not so difficult, though, is it? Jem is a sweetie.’
In the kitchen Jemima ladled out the chicken and Hugh added vegetables: they looked at each other, Jemima anxious and Hugh reassuring. Nothing they wanted to say to each other could be said. They carried two plates each through to the dining room.
The chicken was a success; Diana praised it extravagantly. She had become aware that anything nice she said about Jemima seemed to please Hugh. They all drank a lot, and gradually the atmosphere became less charged. Hugh admired Diana’s necklace, and the women talked about the various boarding schools that Jemima’s twins and Diana’s two youngest, Jamie and Susan, attended. Hugh interrupted at that point by saying that they were not going to send Laura away anywhere – he didn’t approve of boarding schools for girls. ‘I’m not sure that I think they’re a good thing for anyone,’ he ended.
‘I think the boys are quite happy at their school,’ Jemima said, ‘but of course I agree with you about girls. I should hate Laura to board.’
‘Susan couldn’t wait to go,’ Diana said. ‘And, of course, Jamie simply loves Eton.’
‘He was pretty homesick his first year.’ Edward, who had loathed all of his schooling, had secretly sympathised with the sobbing telephone calls on Sunday evenings, leaving Diana to cope with them.
‘Oh, but, darling, they all go through that stage. It doesn’t last. They get us
ed to it.’
‘I can’t say I did. Nor did you, Hugh, did you?’
‘No. That’s what I mean. Most men I know didn’t at all find school the best days of their lives. Most of them said they had a bloody awful time, so why are they – I suppose I must say we, since Simon went – so keen on exposing their sons to the same misery?’ He turned to Jemima, who had begun collecting their plates. ‘It’s fine with the twins, I know: they’ve got each other. Edward and I didn’t go to the same school. And we certainly weren’t allowed to telephone home. We were left to the bracing uncertainty of matrons. You had a particularly horrible one, didn’t you, Ed?’
‘She smelt of pear drops and had rocky false teeth. I bit her and she was extra horrible to me after that.’
‘I’m not surprised!’ Diana, Hugh could see, was shocked.
‘I had a boil on my neck and she squeezed and squeezed until it hurt like hell,’ Edward explained.
‘My marvellous resident chef has made you a tarte tatin.’
Jemima had brought in the pudding and set it on the table. ‘I’m afraid I burned it. So it’s lemon tart instead. I’ve cut it up, but I thought you might like to help yourselves.’
They did, and Hugh uncorked a half-bottle of Beaumes de Venise. ‘It’s all I’ve got left of it, I’m afraid. There’s Calvados, though.’
The Cazalet Chronicles Collection Page 220