September

by Rosamunde Pilcher

  “But she’s not addicted?”

  “Oh, Dad, I don’t know. But worrying about Pandora isn’t going to do any good. You’ve just got to accept her for what she is. The person she’s turned into. Have fun with her. Lots of laughs.”

  “In Majorca…do you think she’s happy?”

  “She seems to be. And why not? A heavenly house, a garden, a pool, lots of money…”

  “Does she have friends?”

  “She has Seraphina and Mario, who take care of her…”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I know. No, we didn’t meet her friends, so I don’t know if she has any or not. We didn’t really meet anybody. Except one man. He was there the day we arrived, but after that we never saw him again.”

  “I thought she would have a resident lover.”

  “I think probably he was her lover and the reason he didn’t come back was because we were there.” Archie said nothing to this, and Lucilla smiled. “It’s a different world out there, Dad.”

  “I know that. I know.”

  She put her arms around his neck and pulled him down and kissed him. She said, “You mustn’t worry.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Goodnight, my darling. God bless you.”

  25

  Sunday the Eleventh

  Sunday morning. Overcast, very still, very quiet, hushed with the weekly inertia of a Scottish Sabbath. It had rained during the night, leaving puddles by the roadside and gardens dripping with moisture. In Strathcroy, cottages slumbered, curtains stayed drawn. Slowly the occupants stirred, rose, opened doors, lit fires, made cups of tea. Plumes of peat-smoke rose, straight, from chimneypots. Dogs were walked, hedges clipped, cars washed. Mr Ishak opened up his shop for the sale of morning rolls, milk, cigarettes, Sunday newspapers, and any other commodity that a family might need to get through the empty day. From the tower of the Presbyterian church, the bell tolled.

  At Croy, Hamish and Jeff were downstairs before anyone else and, between them, cooked their own breakfast. Bacon and eggs, sausages and tomatoes, racks of fresh toast, marmalade and honey, all washed down with large cups of very strong tea. Isobel, descending later, found their dirty breakfast dishes stacked by the sink, and a note from Hamish.

  Dear Mum. Jeff and me have taken the dogs up to the loch. He wants to see it. Back about twelve thirty. In time for beef.

  Isobel made coffee, sat and drank it, thought about peeling potatoes, making a pudding. She wondered if there was enough cream for a fool. Lucilla appeared, and finally Archie, wearing his good tweed suit because it was his day to read the lesson in church. Neither his wife nor his daughter offered to accompany him. With ten people for lunch, they had more than enough to do.

  Pandora slept the morning through and did not put in an appearance until a quarter past twelve, by which time all the hard work in the kitchen had been accomplished. It was instantly clear, however, that she had not been idle, but busy titivating: painting her nails, washing her hair, doing her face, splashing herself in Poison. She wore a jersey dress patterned in diamonds of brilliant colour; it was so fine and supple and elegant that it had to be Italian. Discovering Lucilla in the library, she swore that she had slept the night through, but seemed perfectly happy to sink into the depths of an armchair and gratefully accept the offer of a glass of sherry.

  At Pennyburn, Vi sat up in her bed, drank her early morning tea, and planned her day. She should perhaps go to church. There was plenty to pray for. She thought about this and then decided against it. Instead, self-indulgence. She would stay where she was, conserving her energy. She’d finish her current book and then, after a late breakfast, sit at her desk to deal with overdue bills, pension funds, and that incomprehensible demand from the Inland Revenue. For lunch, she had been invited to Croy. Edmund, with Virginia and Henry, would pick her up and drive her on up the hill.

  She thought about this with more disquiet than delight and gazed from the window and assessed the mood of the weather: rain all night but now damp and still and muggy. Perhaps later it would cheer up. It was the sort of day, in more ways than one, that needed to be cheered up. For comfort, she decided, she would wear her grey wool. For courage, the new Hermès scarf.

  At Balnaid, Virginia went in search of Henry.

  “Henry, come and change.”

  He was on the floor of his playroom, constructing Space Lego, and resented the interruption. “Why do I have to change?”

  “Because we’re going out for lunch and you can’t go looking like that.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  “Because your jeans are dirty, and your T-shirt’s dirty, and your shoes are dirty, and you are dirty.”

  “Do I have to dress up?”

  “No, but you have to put on a clean T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans and a clean pair of sneakers.”

  “What about socks?”

  “Clean socks.”

  He sighed, hard done by. “Do I have to put my Space Lego away?”

  “No, of course you don’t have to. Leave it where it is. Just come, or Daddy’ll start getting impatient.”

  She led him, lagging, to his bedroom, then sat on his bed and stripped off his T-shirt.

  “Will there be any other children there?”

  “Hamish.”

  “He won’t want to play with me.”

  “Henry, you’re such a ninny about Hamish. If you don’t behave like a ninny, he’ll like playing with you. Take off your jeans and your trainers.”

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Us. And Vi. And the Balmerinos. And Lucilla because she’s come home from France. And her friend. He’s called Jeff. And Pandora.”

  “Who’s Pandora?”

  “Archie’s sister.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No.”

  “Does Daddy know her?”

  “Yes. He knew her when she was a little girl. Vi knows her too.”

  “Why don’t you know her?”

  “Because she’s been living abroad for a long, long time. She lived in America. This is the first time she’s come back to Croy.”

  “Does Alexa know her?”

  “No. Alexa was only a tiny baby when she went to America.”

  “Does Pandora know your gramps and grandma at Leesport?”

  “No. They live in Long Island, and Pandora lived in California. That’s right over the other side of the United States.”

  “Does Edie know her?”

  “Yes. Edie knew her when she was a little girl as well.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Heavens above, Henry, I’ve never met her, so I can’t tell you. But you know that picture in the dining room at Croy? Of the pretty girl? Well, that’s Pandora when she was young.”

  “I hope she’s still pretty.”

  “You like pretty ladies.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t like ugly ones.” He screwed up his face, making a monster grimace. “Like that Lottie Carstairs.”

  Despite herself, Virginia had to laugh. “You know something, Henry Aird, you’ll be the death of me. Now, hand me your hairbrush, and then go and wash your hands.”

  From the foot of the stairs, Edmund called, “Virginia.”

  “We’re on our way!”

  He waited for them, dressed for the occasion in grey flannels, a country shirt, a club tie, a blue cashmere pullover, his chestnut-polished Gucci loafers.

  “We should go.”

  Reaching his side, Virginia kissed him. “You’re looking handsome, Mr Aird. Did you know that?”

  “You’re not looking so gruesome yourself. Come along, Henry.”

  They got into the BMW and drove. They stopped for a moment in the village, where Edmund went into Mr Ishak’s and emerged with the bulky wodge of the Sunday newspapers. Then on to Pennyburn.

  Vi heard them coming and was ready for them
, on the point of locking her front door. Edmund leaned over to open the car door for her and she got in beside him. Henry thought she was looking very smart and told her so.

  “Thank you, Henry. This is the pretty scarf your mother brought me from London.”

  “I know. She brought me a cricket bat and a ball.”

  “You showed me.”

  “And she brought Edie a cardigan. Edie loves it. She says she’s keeping it for best. It’s sort of pinky blue.”

  “Lilac,” Virginia told him.

  “Lilac.” He said the word over to himself because it had a pleasant sound. Lilac.

  The powerful car left Pennyburn behind and sped on up the hill.

  Arriving, they found Archie’s old Land-Rover parked in front of the house. As Edmund drew up alongside and the Aird family disgorged from his car, Archie appeared at the open front door, come to greet them. They made their way up the steps.

  “Well, here you are.”

  “You’re looking very formal, Archie,” Edmund told him. “I hope I’m not underdressed.”

  “Been to church. Read the lesson. I thought about changing into something a little less stuffy, but now you’ve arrived so there isn’t time. So you’ll have to take me as I am. Vi. Virginia. Lovely to see you. Hello, Henry, good morning. How are you? Hamish is in his bedroom getting cleaned up. He’s set his Scalectrix Road Race up on the floor of the playroom. If you want to go and have a look at it…”

  The suggestion, casually made, was adroit and caught Henry’s attention, as Archie knew it would. He had no qualms about his son, who had been warned that Henry was coming, and had it made clear to Hamish that he was to behave towards this small guest in an hospitable fashion.

  As for Henry, it took only an instant to remember that Hamish, provided there was nobody else around to claim his attention, could be quite good company, even though Henry was four years younger. And Henry hadn’t got a Scalectrix Road Race. It was one of the things he was thinking of putting on his Christmas list.

  His face brightened. He said “All right” and set off at a fast clip, up the stairs, leaving the grown-ups to their own devices.

  “Brilliant,” murmured Vi, as though to herself. And then: “What sort of a congregation did you have this morning?”

  “Sixteen, including the rector.”

  “I should have been there to swell the throng. Now I’m going to have a conscience for the rest of the day…”

  “But it’s not all bad news. The Bishop’s come up trumps and ferreted out some obscure trust, set up years ago. He thinks he can wangle a sizy sum from that, which would pay off the balance of the bill for the electrics…”

  “Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

  “But,” said Virginia, “I thought that was why we had the church sale…”

  “We can always divert funds…”

  Edmund made no comment. It had been a long morning, deliberately filled with small and insignificant tasks that nevertheless had been demanding his attention for some weeks. Letters written, accounts paid, a query from his chartered accountant clarified and answered. Now, he found himself dealing with a growing impatience. At the far end of the wide hallway, the double doors of the library stood invitingly open. He looked forward to a gin and tonic, but Archie, Virginia, and Vi, loosely grouped at the foot of the stairs, had become absorbed by churchly problems. In these Edmund had little interest, having always taken great pains never to become involved.

  “…of course, we do need new kneelers.”

  “Vi, paying for the coke for the boiler is more urgent than new kneelers…”

  The real reason for their coming to Croy appeared to have been forgotten by his wife and his mother. Stifling his irritation, Edmund listened. And then did not listen. Another sound caught his attention. From the library came the tap of high heels. He looked up, over the top of Virginia’s head. Saw Pandora emerge.

  Watching, assessing the situation, she paused, framed by the open doorway. Across the long space that divided them, her eyes met Edmund’s. He forgot his impatience and found words flowing through his brain as though he had been abruptly asked to produce some sort of a report and was frantically searching for, and then abandoning, suitable adjectives with which to state his case: older, thinner, attenuated, elegant, mondaine, amoral, experienced. Beautiful.

  Pandora. He would have seen her, recognised her, known her anywhere in the world. Still those wide and watchful eyes, the curving mouth with its provocative mole at the corner of her upper lip. The features, the bone structure, were untouched by the years that had passed, the profusion of chestnut hair still youthful.

  He felt his face freeze. He could not smile. As though he were a gun dog pointing at a bird, the quality of his stillness, his silence, obscurely reached the others. Their attention wandered, their voices died away. Vi turned her head.

  “Pandora.”

  The church and its affairs were abandoned. She moved away from Virginia’s side, across the polished parquet, her backview erect, her arms outflung, her bulging leather handbag dangling by its strap from her elbow. “Pandora, my dearest child. What a joy. What a delight to see you again.”

  “…but Isobel, you can’t possibly have us all for dinner. That’s far too many.”

  “No. If my counting’s right, we’ll be eleven. That’s only one more than we are now.”

  “Has Verena not lumbered you with people to stay?”

  “Just one man…”

  Pandora chipped in. “He’s known as ‘The Sad American’ because Isobel can’t remember what his name is.”

  “Poor chap,” said Archie from the head of the table. “Sounds as though he’s doomed before he’s even arrived.”

  “Why is he sad?” asked Edmund, reaching for his glass of lager. At Croy, wine was never served at luncheon. This was not for any reason of parsimony but because of a family tradition, going back to Archie’s parents, and his grandparents before that. Archie upheld it because he thought it a sound idea. Wine was apt to render guests both garrulous and comatose, and Sunday afternoons, in his opinion, were made to be spent in useful outdoor activities, not snoozing over the newspapers in some armchair.

  “He probably isn’t sad at all,” Isobel told him. “He’s probably a very sensible, cheerful fellow, but he’s been recently widowed and he’s taken a couple of months off, and has come over here for a bit of a break.”

  “Does Verena know him?”

  “No. But Katy does. She felt sorry for him and asked Verena to send him an invitation.”

  Pandora said, “I do hope he’s not dreadfully solemn and sincere. You know how they can be. Show them round a sewage works and they’ll go into polite ecstasies. Swearing it was all very very interesting, and wanting to know when it was built.”

  Archie laughed. “Pandora, how many times have you shown an American around a sewage works?”

  “Oh, darling, never. Just giving a tiny example.”

  They sat around the dining-room table. The tender roast beef, perfectly cooked and pink in the middle, had been appreciatively consumed, along with fresh beans, fresh peas, roast potatoes, horseradish sauce, and dark gravy delicately laced with red wine. Now they were on to Isobel’s blackberry fool and hot syrup tart, drooling with fresh cream.

  Out of doors, the day, like a fickle woman, had ceased to sulk and decided, for no obvious reason, to brighten up. A wind had risen, freshening the air. From time to time, lozenges of sunlight fell upon the polished table, sparkling from silver and cut-glass tumblers.

  “Well, if we all come to dinner,” Virginia firmly led the conversation back to essentials, “you must let me help. I’ll make a starter, or a pudding, or something.”

  “That would help,” Isobel admitted. “Because the whole of the day before I’m going to be up at Corriehill helping Verena with the flowers.”

  “But that’s my birthday.” Vi was quite indignant. “That’s the day of my picnic.”

  “I know, Vi, and I’m sorry
, but for the first time in years I’m not going to be able to be there.”

  “Well, I hope nobody else is going to back out. You haven’t got to go and do flowers, have you, Virginia?”

  “No. I’ve just been asked to lend my biggest flowerpots and vases. But I can take them all up to Corriehill on Wednesday.”

  “When does Alexa arrive?” Lucilla asked.

  “On Thursday morning. She and Noel are going to drive overnight. Noel can’t get off before that. And of course they’re bringing Alexa’s dog. So they’ll all be at the picnic, Vi.”

  “I shall have to start writing all this down,” said Vi, “otherwise I shall lose count and produce far too much food or too little.” She leaned forward and looked down the length of the table to catch Henry’s eye. Henry’s expression was gloomy. He did not like people talking about Vi’s birthday when they all knew he would not be there. She said, “I shall post two huge slices of birthday cake over to Templehall. One for Henry and one for Hamish.”

  “Well, make sure it’s a cake that doesn’t go squishy.” Hamish scraped the last spoonful of syrup tart out of his plate. “Mum sent me a cake once and all the cream oozed out through the parcel, and Matron was livid. She threw the whole lot into the Sickbay dustbin.”

  “Mean old Matron,” said Pandora sympathetically.

  “She’s a cow. Mum, can I have some more?”

  “Yes, but hand it round first.”

  Hamish got to his feet and went to do this, a dish in either hand.

  Lucilla said, “We have a small problem.” Everybody looked at her, interested to know what it was but not particularly concerned. “Jeff hasn’t got anything to wear. To the dance, I mean.”

  Eyes were now turned on Jeff, who had sat through the meal without taking much part in any conversation. He looked faintly abashed and seemed pleased for the diversion of Hamish arriving at his side with the offer of second helpings of pudding. He turned to dip the spoon into what remained of the blackberry fool.