Teddy was about to retort that he had been taught to stand whenever ladies got up to leave a room, but then he saw that Reggie had not moved, was engaged upon pouring port, and decided to say nothing. He did not wish to embarrass his host.
As it turned out, this proved to be quite a difficult thing to do. Reggie handed him a glass, and belched loudly. ‘Well, that’s better out than in. Now. Let’s see if you know what this is.’
‘It’s port. Isn’t it?’
‘Of course it’s port. Try it.’
Teddy sipped. It made him think of very dark red velvet and was intoxicatingly good. He said as much, but Reggie retorted, ‘Ah! But that’s not good enough, young man. Whose port?’
‘Cockburn?’ he hazarded.
‘Not bad. You’re right there. But what year?’
Teddy thought furiously.’ ‘Twenty-nine?’
‘Got you! It’s ‘twenty-seven. Although, I’ll grant you, ‘twenty-nine’s not a bad choice.’ He took a huge swig. ‘My opinion of you has gone up,’ he said, and at once began an attack of hiccups.
Teddy offered water, but he waved it away. ‘Never touch the stuff.’ He leaned over, so close to Teddy that he could see the riot of hairs in his nostrils.
‘Give me a good thump on the back.’ Teddy did. ‘Harder!’ He did it again. ‘That’s better.’ He emptied his glass. ‘The port is with you.’ It wasn’t, but Teddy did an imaginary circle of the table and the decanter ended up two inches from where it had started.
‘You pour out.’ He had the kind of very bushy eyebrows that were designed either for insensate rage or overwhelming benevolence. ‘I’m coming to think quite well of you. Cockburn, and then only two years off. Drink up, boy.’ He took another large swig, which meant that he got a bit further away, which was good, because his breath was hideous. There had been three wines at dinner and Teddy began to feel that he was very nearly drunk. He suggested that perhaps they should join the others, but Reggie hadn’t finished with him.
‘I suppose you’ve come down here because you want to marry my daughter.’
‘Yes, I have. I do.’
‘Thought so. I’m never wrong. Well, young feller, you’ll have a job pulling that off. I’m a broad-minded sort of chap, and provided you’ve got a good job, with good prospects, and can afford to keep her in the circumstances to which she’s accustomed I might be open to some agreement. No – I’m by no means the nigger in the woodpile. It’s the missus. It’s Pearl. She’s set her heart on Sabrina marrying up. She keeps asking young Lord Ilchester down for weekends, but he’s so wet you could shoot snipe off him, and Sabrina hasn’t taken to him at all.’
‘That’s because she’s in love with me.’
Reggie, who had poured himself a glass unashamedly full to the brim, waved this assertion aside. ‘She’s threatened to cut her allowance – sanctions, you see. She won’t manage long without it.’ He now drank the contents of his glass at one go.
‘She’s trying to get a job,’ Teddy said. ‘She’s done one or two.’
‘Hasn’t kept them, though, has she?’
‘I don’t think she’s found the right one yet.’
‘She’s not made for work, boy. And she’s too young to be married without our consent.’ He reached for the decanter again, and poured its remains rather sloppily into his glass. ‘And that’s not all,’ he said thickly. ‘A little bird’s told me that all is not tickety-boo with your family’s firm. I notice you haven’t mentioned that.’
‘I haven’t, because it’s news to me. Who told you?’
Reggie laid one finger against the side of his nose. ‘Ah! That would be telling.’ He took another gulp. ‘If I want to find anything out, I can usually find the right person to tell me. Usually.’ He finished his drink. ‘Always. I’m very ‘fluenshall man – the Shitty, politics, you name it.’ But Teddy didn’t have a chance to do that because, with another immense belch, Reggie collapsed, his head and arms spread upon the table.
Teddy looked at him with dismay. He shook Reggie’s shoulder tentatively, but the only response was a steady, stertorous snore. After a minute or two, he left the room and escaped to the library, where he discovered Mrs F, as he privately called her, embroidering a piece of canvas that had two Christmas trees and a gnome on it. Sabrina was biting her nails.
‘Mummy, I’ve told you, I can’t bear him—’ They both stopped when they saw him.
‘I’m afraid he’s passed out. Gone to sleep,’ Teddy added, to make it sound better.
‘Sabrina, ring the bell for George.’
When George arrived he was told to get another servant and put the master to bed. ‘I simply cannot imagine why you let him drink so much.’
‘You can’t stop him so I don’t see why you should blame Teddy.’
Teddy, who was feeling slightly dizzy, made for a chair and collapsed into it. He felt grateful to Sabrina for standing up for him.
Pearl had got to her feet: she said she was going to bed and that Sabrina should go up, too, as she would be called at six. Then she left the room.
‘I expect you can see now why I wasn’t keen on you meeting the Frankensteins. They really are simply the end, aren’t they? No wonder Daddy drinks so much. I would if I was married to Pearl.’
‘I’m afraid she doesn’t like me.’
‘Well, she wouldn’t, would she? You haven’t got a title and you’re not in line for one.’
She looked so sad when she said this that Teddy got up to put an arm round her. ‘As long as you like me, I don’t care what she thinks.’
‘I do like you, awfully.’ She put her face up to him so that he could kiss her a little.
‘Darling, why don’t you skip hunting tomorrow and stay here with me?’
‘I can’t do that! It’s all been arranged. Mummy would be absolutely furious!’ She was silent for a moment while she extricated herself from his arms. ‘Anyway, I love hunting – and riding generally. It’s the only thing I like about being here. I’ll be back about four thirty – we’ll go for a lovely walk in the park.’
‘What park?’ Teddy asked petulantly. A stupid question because it really didn’t matter – the point was that she was abandoning him. And the worst thing about it was that she didn’t seem to realise it or, even worse, seemed not to care. He wanted to be in bed, by himself, in the comforting dark, no more challenges to deal with. ‘I’m going to bed. And I think you should, too, if you’re getting up at six.’
His bed had been turned down, his pyjamas laid out elaborately as if to remind him of what shape he was, and in the adjoining bathroom his toothbrush was already decorated with paste. The bedside table had a small lamp and a carafe of water topped with a tumbler. His mouth felt like hot fitted carpet, so he drank two glasses, got into bed and turned off the light.
In the dark, he struggled for a while with images from the evening, like stills from a film, flickering across his brain: preposterous Reggie, with all his contacts and money, who had seemed to let his vulgarity off its leash the moment the women had left the dining room, blustering, hectoring, patronising. In spite of all that, he had felt sorry for the old man, whose ghastly wife had dragged him down to such depths of gentility that, refusing to sink, he was ill-equipped to swim. What he had said about the family firm surfaced and disturbed him. Surely Uncle Hugh would have said something about it last Thursday, but he had only repeated that Teddy might very soon be needed in London. On the other hand, he did not think that Reggie had been bluffing. Then there was Sabrina, who had shown most clearly that she was both spoiled and selfish. It was strange that she could be so rude to her mother and also be so terrified of her. One might become mildly bored with one’s parents as one got older – a flash of his mother sitting in her gloomy little house came to him, with the customary shot of guilt that he didn’t make enough effort to see her – but, then, since he had moved to the country, he hardly saw his father at all, which he missed. He had loved to go shooting with Dad, to play squash and tennis w
ith him, to have festive meals at the Thames Yacht Club; none of that had happened for a long time now, largely, of course, because of his being moved to bloody Southampton. He would make a point of seeing Dad and telling him that he wasn’t up to managing there: selling was his strong point, administration was not. This resolution cheered him – but then he thought of the day and, worse, the evening ahead.
He woke late – after nine – with a raging thirst and a headache, the signs of a hangover. He ran himself a very hot bath, rummaged in the bathroom cupboard and found some Alka Seltzer. The bath, followed by a cold shower, made him feel much better, but it also came to him that, of course, he was going to have to put up with another evening: it was only Saturday. He had to stick it out, if only for Sabrina’s sake … During those hours: a hearty breakfast, a walk in the park – it was a bright shiny day and there had been a frost, a few disconsolate deer picking at the crunchy grass, and loudly complaining crows – coming back for his solitary lunch, game pie and Stilton, nothing to drink, thank you, and an impressive array of Saturday newspapers that he skimmed in the library.
He thought about Sabrina lustfully – he had never seen her wonderful breasts naked – her silky hair, strands of which kept falling over her face, her long white neck, her tiny waist, elegant knees and pretty ankles; and then, protectively, of the way she swung from a childish cockiness when she landed a job to bewilderment when she lost it. She did not understand advice – seemed to regard it as something critical that people said to her – but she was far from stupid. She read voraciously and kept a notebook, which she had once let him look at. It was full of essays and criticism: ‘A comparison of the strengths and weaknesses of Trollope and Dickens’; ‘The Brontë sisters: a reappraisal of Anne – too long demoted to third place’; ‘The genius of Evelyn Waugh – virtuoso of inference through pure dialogue’, and so on. She’d snatched it away at this point and said sadly, ‘It’s all about novels. It wouldn’t interest you.’
He remembered yet again how much he had loved her then. How angry he had felt that her wretched parents had prevented her going to university, which was the only thing she had wanted; he found now that he was even forgiving her for leaving him to ride with her parents. She had said that her father might cut her off, and that she needed money to ‘pay things’. He wondered for a moment whether she would elope with him, then realised that this was out of the question if things were going wrong with the firm and that, therefore, he might lose his job. To take his mind off this, he resorted to the newspapers, and read about Donald Campbell breaking his own speed record on water by achieving 248.62 miles per hour …
And then they were back, cold, rosy (in the case of Mrs F’s nose unfortunately so) and, after a good deal of stamping about in the hall, they streamed into the library where an enormous tea appeared like magic. Crumpets, boiled eggs, scones, hot chocolate, several cakes, coffee eclairs and, of course, tea. Perhaps this meal was intended to replace dinner, Teddy thought with some hope, but that was dashed when Pearl announced that she had asked Lord Ilchester to dine. Sabrina rolled her eyes at him, and Reggie didn’t seem pleased either, but this, of course, made no difference, and Teddy resigned himself to a different sort of awful evening.
Ilchester was tall, with not very much blond hair, rather bulbous pale blue eyes and a falsetto laugh, which erupted after almost anything he said. He asked Teddy why he had not been hunting, and before he could answer, Mrs F replied that Mr Cazalet did not ride. ‘Oh, I say, hard luck! What do you do in winter, then? I must say I’d be totally lost without something to do.’ He laughed at such an idea.
‘Teddy works, Ticky,’ Sabrina said, with emphasis. ‘He has a job – he earns his living.’
But her mother cut in sharply: ‘Of course, some people have to do that. It takes all sorts to make a world.’
Reggie, who had been refilling glasses, stood up for him, too: ‘He prefers shooting, and I bet he’s a damn good shot.’
‘Really? I’d no idea you’d brought your guns with you, Mr Cazalet.’
At that moment dinner was announced.
While they ate potted shrimps, roast pheasant and a cold lemon soufflé, it was Mrs F who dominated the conversation: she praised her daughter’s horsemanship, said how exhausting it must be to manage the Ilchester estates – ‘Two thousand acres, isn’t it, Ticky?’ – to which he replied that it was nearly three, actually, and laughed at the idea, and she proceeded to commiserate with him about the difficulty of getting landsmen and tenant farmers. ‘By Jove! It’s certainly that! Servants of any kind! I had a devil of a job to find a person to look after my aunt Agatha – she lives at Ilchester Court. I had to interview three women before I found someone suitable. Frightful problem! Quite difficult to please an aunt, don’t you know.’
By now Teddy was wishing he possessed the wit of Oscar Wilde, but he couldn’t think of any ripostes that would fit. ‘Some aunts are tall, some aunts are small; it is surely a matter for an aunt to decide for herself,’ cruised through his head. Better just eat and be careful not to drink too much …
Fortunately for him, Mrs F was determined to thwart Reggie in any attempt at a serious port-drinking session. ‘Reggie, darling, I’ve arranged for the gentlemen to join us in the drawing room for port and coffee. We don’t see Ticky very often and don’t want to waste him.’ She smiled at Ticky, who laughed (brayed, really, Teddy thought).
Nobody else smiled. Reggie’s face showed a conflict of emotion. He had been looking forward to a men’s drinking session but, on the other hand, it was clear that he had nothing at all to say to Ilchester. He shrugged the rich red-velvet shoulders of his smoking jacket and made some show of getting to his feet.
The library drum table was laid out with coffee and three tiny glasses of port; no sign of a bottle. Teddy saw Reggie shoot his wife a look of pure hatred, but he said nothing, busied himself offering gigantic cigars to Ilchester, who refused, choosing a herbal cigarette from a gold case. It smelt awful – rather like poor-quality hash.
‘Do, everybody, help yourselves to coffee.’ And Pearl took up her needlework. The coffee cups were tiny, like the port glasses – a doll’s set, Teddy thought – and while Pearl was bent over her awful cushion cover, he managed to slip Reggie his port – the eyebrows went ultra-benevolent then. Emboldened by a third glass – he had swiped Ilchester’s while he was lighting another herbal cigarette – he embarked upon a cross-examination of Ilchester about his politics. What did he think about all these cheap homes the government were planning to build?
Clearly taken aback, Ilchester said, ‘First I’ve heard about it. Are they really? Where’s the money to come from? Out of our pockets, you can be sure of that.’
‘My friend – he’s a junior minister in the government – takes a poor view of it all. What’s your view? I don’t see the House of Lords likely to welcome it.’
‘I don’t suppose they will much care for it, no. My chaps are all in tied cottages, you see, so the problem doesn’t arise. ‘Fraid I don’t know much about that sort of thing.’
The rest of the evening was predictably awful, Ilchester went early, which should have been a relief but it allowed Reggie to take sweet revenge on his wife. ‘Where are you going, Reggie?’
‘None of your business, but as a matter of fact I’m off to my study. Goodnight, all.’ His eyebrows were in angry mode. She wasn’t going to stop him drinking – not she.
His behaviour clearly upset Mrs F. Shortly afterwards, she packed up her sewing and left them, telling Sabrina that she should go to bed after the early start that morning.
‘She’s gone to hunt him down. They’ll have a ghastly row.’
‘Oh, darling, do you mind?’
‘Not much. Only I don’t want Daddy to be in a bad temper tomorrow because I still haven’t asked him for the money I need. But if he goes shooting with you, he’ll probably get into a better temper.’
This was going to be difficult. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but I
’m leaving tomorrow after breakfast. Of course you can come with me, darling.’
There was a silence. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘You never said you were going to do that! And you know I can’t!’
‘Why can’t you come back with me?’
‘Teddy, I’ve told you. I can’t go back to London until Daddy has given me some money. Anyway, why are you going?’
He decided to tell her: ‘Your mother’s been so offensive to me that I have to go.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said, “If you think you can worm your way into this house in order to form some liaison with my daughter, you are very much mistaken.”’
‘When on earth did she manage to say that?’
‘She came to my room before dinner, knocked on the door, said it, and went. Satisfied?’
She burst into tears. ‘It’s not my fault they’re so awful!’ she sobbed. ‘It’s not my fault that they won’t let me do the only thing I might be good at – that they’ve brought me up to be useless, only good for marriage and breeding!’
Teddy took her in his arms (she always let him do that when she cried), and he did his best to soothe her. ‘As soon as you’re old enough we’ll get married, and if you still want to go to university, you shall.’
The Cazalet Chronicles Collection Page 234