She had come to make discoveries. Here she was making one about herself that dismayed her.
Effie and Jeanie had come forward to have a closer look at the passengers disembarking. On their handsome faces was eagerness to welcome her but also alarm that she might not have come after all.
She hurried down the stairs and was the last to come off.
They were at the foot of the gangway to greet her. They towered over her. Jeanie shook her hand but Effie kissed her on the cheek. Diana and Edwin came forward. Diana patted her shoulder. Edwin gave her a little bow and a big grin.
As alert as a cat in a strange situation Peggy noticed people wondering what the relationship could be between these tall well-dressed, well-spoken members of the upper class and the small scruffy girl in the cheap clothes. Perhaps they were thinking that she had come to be their servant. But a servant wouldn’t have had her knapsack carried for her, nor would she have been led to the big blue car and given the place of honour beside the driver.
Other motorists might have been anxious about parking their car in such a congested place, with cars coming off and on the ferry, but not the Sempills. If they had been challenged they would have been polite but unconcerned. They would never have cringed with embarrassment.
Money gave courage, thought Peggy. But there was Edwin with more money than they, ready to blush and look sheepish.
Effie was to drive as far as Lochgilphead where Jeanie would take over. Evidently they did not think much of Edwin as a driver. He wasn’t huffed or crestfallen. He sat contentedly in the back, holding Diana’s hand.
‘We’ll go by the high road,’ said Effie, as they set off. ‘It’s quicker.’
It would also mean their avoiding the Holy Loch and the American nuclear submarines. Peggy remembered that Effie was a revolutionary, at least according to Diana.
‘How are your parents, Peggy?’ asked Diana.
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘Has Sonia had her baby yet?’
‘Some time next month.’
‘How old is Sonia?’ asked Jeanie.
‘Nineteen.’
‘I want children but not next year, thank you very much.’
‘I hope not until you’ve finished your course,’ said Diana. ‘Jeanie’s going to be a vet, Peggy, and Effie a doctor.’
‘And Di’s going to be a lady wife,’ said Effie. ‘As for children I’m never going to have any.’
‘So you say,’ said her twin. ‘Probably you’ll have half a dozen. Won’t she, Edwin?’
He guffawed. ‘At least.’
He had all the upper-class characteristics and yet Peggy found herself liking him more and more, and trusting him too. He would never try to make her or anyone feel small. She could see why his parents were willing that he should marry Diana.
‘What about you, Peggy?’ asked Effie. ‘Are you looking forward to having children?’
Peggy told them about the little girl with the red ribbon.
‘That’s when children are at their best,’ said Effie, ‘when they’re three or four. They’re absolutely delightful then. By the time they’re ten they’ve become egocentric little beasts. It happened to us Sempills. Didn’t it, Edwin?’
‘It certainly did not. At ten you were still delightful, all of you.’
‘What about the famous cricket match? We were horrible then.’
‘My father didn’t think so. He thought you were marvellous. So you were. Especially Di.’
‘Nigel didn’t think so.’
They laughed. Peggy thought she remembered Diana saying that Edwin had a brother called Nigel.
Ahead now were mountains, to Peggy unknown territory. Like the conquistadors she was being escorted by natives of the country. She did not, like Cortes, fear treachery and physical attack but she did feel in danger.
Effie noticed her smile. ‘What’s the joke?’
Peggy shook her head.
‘If you’re thinking that the Sempills are a self-sufficient conceited lot you’re right. For years and years we’ve thought we didn’t need anyone but ourselves. Outsiders must have found us insufferable.’
‘I never did,’ said Edwin.
‘We’re just beginning to concede that there are other people in the world besides ourselves. Now and then we still slide back into our old bad ways. Don’t be afraid, Peggy, to tell us off.’
‘The speed limit on this road is sixty miles an hour,’ said Diana. ‘You are doing seventy.’
‘This car could do a hundred with ease.’
‘We could end up in Loch Eck with even greater ease,’ said Jeanie.
The loch was long and narrow. It was dark with shadow, though the hills above it were bright with sun. It looked cold and deep.
‘We promised we’d be home for dinner,’ said Effie.
Peggy’s heart sank. They probably dressed for dinner. She had brought a change of blouse but no dress. She should have heeded Sonia’s advice, or better still her mother’s and not come at all.
A few minutes later when they were passing Cairndow, Keats’ country, Jeanie said: ‘Do you know any of Keats’ poetry, Peggy?’
This was the Sempills’ way of claiming Peggy as a friend. They had driven Edinburgh relatives along this road without ever mentioning Keats. Only the elect were honoured. It would not have mattered if Peggy had not been able to supply a quotation.
‘I used to be able to say whole poems by heart,’ said Peggy. ‘Why?’
Effie explained that Keats had walked along this road a hundred and fifty years ago. ‘It ruined his health.’
‘Isn’t Keats old-fashioned?’ asked Diana. ‘Shouldn’t we be quoting T. S. Eliot?’
‘He never stayed at the Cairndow Inn,’ said Effie.
‘Keats didn’t like Scots people,’ said Peggy. ‘He rhymed “wakened” with “spike end” because he was a Cockney and that was how he spoke. He was hardly any taller than me.’
They weren’t sure whether or not she was being ironical.
‘But he wrote beautiful poetry,’ said Jeanie.
‘Yes.
‘Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad,
In such an ecstasy.’
She spoke it quietly but with feeling.
There was a silence in the car.
She should have remembered that the Sempills would be worried about their mother.
They had passed Tarbeg, with Jeanie driving, and were on the single-track twisty road that led to Kilcalmonell when Effie, now seated in the back, suddenly said: ‘I think we should warn Peggy about Nigel.’
‘Who’s Nigel?’ asked Peggy.
‘Edwin’s brother. He’s younger than Edwin and not nearly as nice.’
‘He’s an outrageous snob, and proud of it,’ said Jeanie. ‘He’s at Oxford and has a very low opinion of all other Universities. Except Cambridge of course.’
‘He’s not as bad as that,’ said Edwin. ‘Is he, Di?’
‘It’s a pose with him,’ said Diana.
‘That’s a change of tune, Di,’ said Effie. ‘You used to agree that he was awful.’
‘I know him better now.’
‘Then you must know he’s worse than awful. Sorry, Edwin.’
‘Don’t mind me.’
‘Jeanie and I were afraid that you wouldn’t be a match for him, Peggy. We know better now.’
‘Don’t listen to them, Peggy,’ said Diana. ‘Nigel’s young –’
‘He’s older than Effie and me,’ said Jeanie.
‘And he may have an unfortunate way of expressing himself at times –’
‘Unfortunate?’ cried Effie. ‘Obnoxious, you mean.’
‘At times!’ cried Jeanie. ‘All the time!’
‘I assure you, Peggy, he can be very charming when he likes.’
Her sisters yelled.
If Nigel speaks to me, thought Peggy, whether charmingly or
obnoxiously, I shall say as little as possible in return.
Thirteen
BORN AND brought up in drab places Peggy had been conditioned to find interest and pleasure in people rather than scenery. She kept quiet therefore when her companions were enthusiastic about this or that view of sunlit peak or sapphire loch, but when she came into Kilcalmonell parish she thought it was beautiful and said so several times. Here was a harmony between people and nature. There were farms, houses with large gardens, a church, a shop, a village hall, and a little harbour, all set in the midst of green fields with cows and sheep in them, and magnificent trees. All the time there were views of the sea and the far-off Paps of Jura.
‘We’re not looking forward to having to live in Edinburgh,’ said Jeanie. ‘Are we, Effie?’
‘No. We’re coming home every weekend.’
Peggy doubted it. These two lovely and lively girls would have too good a time in Edinburgh.
They came to a large black iron gate. Effie got out and opened it.
They then drove along a tarred road through a thick wood. I really am an outsider, thought Peggy. I can’t tell an oak from an ash or an elm from a beech.
A bird with beautiful feathers and a long tail flew up off the road, with a loud harsh cry.
‘A pheasant,’ said Jeanie. ‘Edwin’s people come north every summer to massacre them.’
‘And deer,’ added Effie.
‘Not me,’ said Edwin.
‘If we’re given venison tomorrow I’ll refuse it,’ said Jeanie.
‘Don’t worry, Jeanie,’ said Diana. ‘Everyone knows you’re a vegetarian.’
‘I’m not,’ said Effie, ‘but I won’t want venison. I prefer deer alive in the wood to deer dead on a plate.’
Peggy wondered who might offer them venison tomorrow night.
Jeanie explained. ‘We’re invited to dinner tomorrow at the Big House.’
So that was the reason for Effie’s hesitation during the telephone conversation. Peggy had proposed coming at an inconvenient time.
Before she could start feeling dismayed by this news she saw in front through the trees the high white house, which she had seen so often in the photograph. Then they were in the large cobbled courtyard, all round which were coloured flower-pots containing what she learned later were geraniums. They drove past a small red sports car to the front of the house.
Peggy Cortes had arrived at Montezuma’s palace.
Montezuma, alias Mr Sempill, was seated in a deckchair on the lawn, with a glass in his hand: he smiled jollily and yet still looked sad. Mrs Sempill sat beside him, in a white hat and multicoloured dress. Two persons were playing badminton languidly, a young man in white shirt and flannels with a red tie round his waist: this must be Nigel, and a girl of about sixteen, of breathtaking beauty: she must be Rowena. Rebecca, the youngest, knelt on the grass, restraining a dog that wanted to chase the shuttlecock.
‘Well, here she is!’ cried Effie.
Each of them had his or her own way of greeting the newcomer.
Mr Sempill raised his glass in salute: ‘Welcome to Poverty Castle, my dear!’ he cried.
Mrs Sempill, thin-faced and long-necked, turned and smiled, not all that cordially, Peggy thought.
Rowena’s wave was flaccid. She did not believe in energetic movements.
Nigel just ignored her. It was deliberate, so in a way it was a greeting. Nigel was being awful.
Rebecca jumped up and ran over to Peggy. Though she was the smallest of the Sempills she was still inches taller than Peggy. Diana had said that Rebecca was the best hearted of them all, and here she was proving it. She would always do more than her share and never grumble. Her sisters, though they were all older, depended on her. Her opinion would often be the one that settled an argument.
She kissed Peggy’s cheek. ‘You must be tired after your journey,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’d like to wash and rest before dinner.’
Peggy also needed to be by herself for a few minutes.
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
Rebecca called to the others. ‘I’m taking Peggy up to her room.’
Carrying the knapsack, she led the way.
Peggy pretended to see the house through Sonia’s houseproud eyes. The spaciousness and the many rooms, especially the three bathrooms, would have had Sonia speechless and perhaps tearful with envy. The carpets would have been too muted in colour for her taste but she would have loved their soft thick pile. Though she could never afford it herself she knew the best quality when she saw it. The numerous pictures would have disappointed her, in that there were no spotted Bambis or golden-curled infants, but the gilt frames would have compensated. She would have pointed with triumph to the flowers which were everywhere, in a variety of bowls and vases. Many were roses. The house was fragrant with them.
Peggy’s room was on the second floor, at the front, so that the window looked down on to the garden and beyond to the sea. It struck her that it was adoration, not just plain ordinary love, that Mrs Sempill was demanding from her family. They all gave it too, even Diana. Peggy felt compunction as she thought how she and Bobby showed their love for their mother, and how she showed hers for them. Like most members of the working class they distrusted excessive displays of affection: it was part of their puritanism. But there was something else: a lack of refinement. Generations of living in small cheap houses in dreary crowded ghettos, of working hard at boring tasks for long hours in ugly places for little pay, and of being taught in utilitarian schools only enough to enable them to do the work their masters required of them, all that had inevitably resulted in coarseness, spiritual and physical. Peggy should know for she was herself a specimen. Nor could it be claimed, as her mother and Sonia would do indignantly, that the working class made up for their lack of grace by being more genuine in their feelings. The Sempills’ fondness for one another was as genuine as roses.
Rebecca joined her at the window. ‘Did Diana tell you that Mama’s going to have a baby?’
‘Yes, she told me. She looks very well.’
‘The doctors say it should be all right. She’s so keen to have a boy, after having five girls.’
Not too confident of her own chances of surviving the ordeal nineteen-year-old Sonia would consider forty-eight-year-old Mrs Sempill as good as doomed.
Suddenly Peggy caught sight of the peacock. It had its gorgeous tail outspread.
‘Where’s the Big House?’ she asked.
‘Over there, but you can’t see it for the trees.’
‘They were saying in the car that you’ve been invited to dinner tomorrow night.’
‘Yes. You’re included of course.’
‘I didn’t bring a suitable dress.’
‘You can borrow one of mine.’
‘I don’t think it would fit me. I’m what’s called a smout.’
‘We’ll make what adjustments are necessary.’
Peggy left it at that. Later she would find some excuse for declining.
Mr Sempill was wearing a kilt, rarest of garments in Netherlee Park. Even at that distance the purple of his cheeks and the redness of his nose could be seen, the consequence of too much alcohol, a very common occurrence in Netherlee Park. In the photograph he had looked lonely. He still did, in the midst of his family.
Mrs Sempill was now walking about the garden, making gestures with her arms as if warding off flies or evil spirits. Didn’t pregnant women often act oddly? And think that the world revolved round them and their unborn child? If she isn’t as nice to me as the others, thought Peggy, I must make allowances.
Edwin and Nigel seemed to be taking their leave. Edwin kissed Diana. Nigel exchanged banter with the twins.
In appearance he was the kind of young man Peggy admired: the very opposite of Sadie Meiklejohn’s beefy burly heavyfooted rugby players. His hair, neither too long nor too short, was neatly arranged.
Rebecca showed her to a bathroom. Dinner would be in twenty minutes, she said.
She had to go and help Mrs McDougall. They would eat in the kitchen as they always did when it was only family. With that compliment she left.
The untidiness of the bathroom would have affronted Peggy’s mother. In hers even the toothbrushes had always to be in their proper place. Here jars of cream, tins of talcum, bottles of perfume, deodorants, razors, tissues, and miscellaneous cosmetic aids, were scattered over every counter and on the carpet, many with their tops or stoppers off. ‘That’s not a reading-room, Rab,’ her mother would say, rapping on the door, and her father would soon creep out, with his Daily Record folded under his oxter. Here it was like a library, with bundles of books and magazines. One book lay on the floor, open: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. Which of the sisters was reading it? Not Diana: she was too ladylike to read such a well-bred book while seated on the lavatory. Not Effie: Jane Austen’s characters would be too genteel for her. Not Jeanie: she would read these veterinarian magazines. Rebecca perhaps? But she probably didn’t use this bathroom, which was why it was in such a mess. Rowena then? Yes, she would appreciate the indolent ladies and gentlemen.
With your face and hands clean, and your bladder empty, you could face anyone. That was a saying of her father’s which always provoked a reproof from her mother, who called it vulgar. Well, thought Peggy, as she went downstairs, I’ll soon see if it’s true.
Alas, never had she felt so stunted and scruffy than when Mrs Sempill came up to her, took both her hands, and thanked her for having been so helpful to Diana. Peggy wondered how she or anyone could have helped capable, self-sufficient Diana. In Mrs Sempill’s blue eyes, all the brighter because of the dark patches under them, she saw, not gratitude or sympathy, but gladness that her girls were so much more beautiful than this waif from the slums. All her life Mrs Sempill had been pampered. When she was a little girl her doll would have had longer lashes than any other girl’s. To get the attention she craved she must have resorted to many wiles and tricks. Was becoming pregnant one of them?
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