A Change of Pace

by Budd, Virginia

  Having finished the washing-up at last, she decided to go upstairs and inspect the Dupont sleeping arrangements; it might, if nothing else, take her mind off things. Jean-Pierre was to share with Diz, and Liza to have the tiny room over the porch. Liza’s room was only just big enough for a bed and dressing-table, but nevertheless looked quite pretty. A young girl’s bedroom; soft pink walls, curtains and bedspread to match. She must remember to pick some roses in the morning for a vase on the dressing-table; some of those pale pink climbers behind the garage, with the heavenly scent — young girls liked that sort of thing. She sat down on the bed and closed her eyes. At least the next few weeks should be so busy that she would have little time to think: Diz at home, the Duponts, Pol and Pete down for ten days. Then, of course, there was the bloody village fete.

  How could she have been so idiotic as to promise Mrs Snately the Rectory garden for it? But she had, and that was that. She could hardly go back on her promise now. At least — and Bet would never know how her sister had achieved such a coup, or indeed whether Angie Snately was pleased or appalled by the development — Pol had taken over the running of the fête. And, naturally, Pol was in her element. Not since that last, halcyon term at St Christopher’s when she was head girl had she enjoyed herself so much. Committees proliferated under her hand, coffee parties bourgeoned, friendships blossomed. Smiling ladies ran hither and thither at her command, only too eager, it seemed, to oblige her every whim. It was all, they told Bet as they dashed about laden with home-made teddies, perfectly knitted matinee jackets and lists for the white elephant stall, turning out to be such fun. Mrs Redford was such a good sort, wasn’t she, and such a change from old Ma Snately. Bet’s role in all this — one had to be thankful for small mercies — was that of humble tea-maker, and she would do a possible two-hour stint on the cake stall. ‘That is,’ Pol had said nastily the other evening on the phone (if people only knew what she was really like), ‘if you can spare the time from your other activities ... ’

  *

  ‘Now, Mum, can we go over the programme just once more. We have the daube for supper tonight, OK? Plus salad and Sid Kettle’s strawberries for afters, plus those two bottles of wine I won in the Co-op raffle. Then Nell and Bern, having already eaten, join us for coffee, then — ’

  ‘Count me out for coffee.’ Bernie, in a track suit, closed his eyes wearily. ‘I’ve work to do this evening.’

  The three of them, Bet, Diz and Bernie, stood shivering in the booking hall at Stourwick station, waiting for the Duponts’ train, the day as cold as only an English June day can be. Bernie opened his eyes and went into his running-on-the-spot routine. ‘I hope the train isn’t late, I really do have a lot on. Didn’t you say the sister can drive?’

  ‘Yes, she’s frightfully good, all the French are.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why not hire a self-drive for the week, then the three of you can go round together.’

  ‘The train arriving at platform three is the seventeen forty-five from Liverpool Street to Norwich, stopping at ... ‘

  ‘They’re here! Come on, Mum, we must be there to welcome them, it looks so bad if no one’s around.’ Diz thrust himself into the crowd, Bet and Bernie trailing after him.

  ‘Dizzy, Dizzy, how are you?’ A tall, pleasant-faced youth, hung about with the usual paraphernalia of rucksacks and cameras, burst through the jumble of tired-faced commuters. ‘Great JP, great! May I introduce my mother ... ‘ Embraces all round. Bet felt relieved; he didn’t look too bad at all. But where was the sister?

  Then they saw her.

  Tiny, perfect, she was an enchanted figure straight out of the Arabian Nights. She had almond eyes and golden skin; she had black hair, its snaky ringlets caught up in a tortoiseshell comb at the side of her head, and perfect breasts swelling gently under her dusty pink bush jacket. She was followed by, of all people, old Monty Cornwall carrying her rucksack.

  ‘Is that ... ?’ Bernie, with an all too audible gasp, pushed forward to introduce himself before anyone else had a look-in. Bet had never seen him so animated. ‘I’m Diz’s brother-in-law, Bernie, welcome to England, Liza — is this your first visit?’

  “Allo, Bernee. Yes, it is my first visit to the UK. It is always so cold?’ One might have known her voice would be as enchanting as the rest of the damned girl; husky, lilting, the accent amusingly pronounced. Bet, her mouth dry, put a brave face on it. ‘Hullo, my dear, I’m Diz’s mother. How very nice to meet you at last.’

  Bernie seemed, quite literally, to have taken leave of his senses. He took no steps whatsoever to conceal his admiration for Liza, and throughout the car journey home did all he could to monopolise her attention. On their arrival at the Rectory, he added insult to injury by hovering solicitously in the doorway while Bet showed Liza her bedroom; Bet was sure he would have accompanied her to the loo if she had not forcibly restrained him. Nell, needless to say, took exception to all this, and instead of behaving like a sensible girl, showed it. In the end, worn out, Bet retired to bed as soon after supper as she decently could and left them to it. But Bernie of all people...

  At least Jean-Pierre was all right, and seemed delighted with everything. He was a modest, intelligent, unassuming boy, with an attractive sense of humour. Just the sort of friend Bet would have liked for Diz. Liza, on the other hand, when one had recovered from the shock of her beauty, turned out to be both sulky and hard to please, and was plainly used to being the centre of attention. She did not, she told Bet, like dogs or old houses, and complained incessantly of the cold.

  It was at breakfast the following morning that she started on about Tib, who with an only too typical lack of tact, had tried to bury his bone under her bed. ‘I pull ‘im out by ‘is tail,’ she told the assembled company, ‘and ‘e growl at me; ‘e bites — yes?’ No,’ they chorused in outrage, even Bernie, ‘not Tib,’ but it was an inauspicious start to the holiday.

  Later, Bernie rang from work to say he’d decided to take a few days holiday. ‘There’s nothing here that can’t wait,’ he told Bet, ‘and I’ve a load of chores to do at home. Besides,’ he added as a careless afterthought, ‘I could drive the others around a bit, save them having to hire. They haven’t tried to get a car yet?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Liza’s still in the bath.’ Another sore point, this; it was the second time she’d taken all the hot water.

  ‘But why couldn’t Bernie have told me himself?’ Nell wailed, wide-eyed with suspicion, ‘he hasn’t any chores, no more than usual, anyway, and the weather’s absolutely foul.’

  ‘Bet, if it’s still as cold as this, can you tell Christine to turn on the heating on Thursday morning. We’ll be arriving around seven on Thursday evening, Pete’s got Friday off, so could she also get the grouse out of the deep. freeze?’

  ‘Will there be anything else, modom, while you’re on the line?’

  ‘Oh Bet, don’t be difficult. I’ve enough on my plate organising this wretched fête. Angela Snately never stops ringing, what her phone bill must be like I dread to think. I thought C. of E. vicars were always supposed to be so poor.’ Bet grunted, she was in no mood to listen to moans about the Snatelys, it was Pol’s fault for getting involved. Pol, sensing a certain lack of sympathy, pressed on: ‘How are the Duponts settling in — are they nice?’

  ‘It depends on what you mean by nice. But this I will say, I would keep Pete on a tight rein if I were you.’

  There was a shocked silence at the other end, and Bet smiled in satisfaction. ‘You mean Liza Dupont?’

  ‘Yes, dear, I mean Liza Dupont.’

  ‘I see.’

  *

  ‘Mrs Brandon, I am sorry, but I do not eat your cabbage.’ ‘I’m sorry too, Liza. Perhaps you could have salad instead?’

  ‘That would be most agreeable.’

  Liza sat in her chair and lit a Gauloise. Bet went on munching her rissole — let the little b- get her own salad. After a moment or two of rather charged silence, Diz, a bit pink about the gill
s, sprang to his feet. ‘I’ll make the salad, Mum, don’t you bother.’

  ‘Thanks, darling’ — he was a good boy, bless him — ‘but I’m afraid you’ll have to get a lettuce from the garden, and do make sure you get one from the bed beside the west wall, they’ve less slugs in them than the others. Liza, dear, would you mind awfully not smoking at meals, it does tend to upset people, especially non-smokers.’ Liza, with an aggressive scrape of her chair, also jumped to her feet. ‘I will help Dizzy,’ she said, and stalked out of the room. JP smiled across at Bet. ‘Your cabbage is superb, Mrs Brandon, it is just Liza, she does not ... does not —’

  ‘We can’t all like cabbage, JP, if we did there wouldn’t be enough to go round, would there?’

  *

  ‘I can’t take much more of this, Mum.’ Bet and Nell stood at Nell’s bedroom window, watching the others pile into Bernie’s car. Bernie had just donned Liza’s peaked cap and with much hearty laughter — from Bernie and Liza, JP and Diz didn’t seem to think it all that funny — Liza was chasing him round the yard trying to get it back. ‘Well, darling, I’m afraid there’s not a lot we can do about it.’ Bet was thoroughly tired of the whole thing, but still doggedly doing her best. ‘You should have gone with them. In situations like this you must fight, you know, it’s no use sitting back and just letting things take their course.’

  ‘But I feel so ill all the time. It’s simply not fair of Bern, I can’t think what’s got into him.’

  ‘Life isn’t fair, darling, you know that. It wasn’t fair Dad dying, was it?’

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t. But Dad never behaved like Bern ... I mean, he just couldn’t have.’ Bet shrugged. ‘We can’t know that, can we — after all, he never met Liza.’

  Pete was the next to go down; a foregone conclusion this, but if Nell held any hopes that his presence in the house might draw the heat off Bernie, she was doomed to disappointment. Liza was perfectly capable of juggling with any number of suitors, especially when her own feelings were in no way engaged. She privately considered the entire household to be both boring and stupid, and longed to return to Paris. At least the Redford type appeared to be prepared to spend a bit of money, which was more than you could say for the others.

  They came together on Friday morning, when Pete found Liza sulking alone on the verandah, lethargically turning the pages of last month’s Vogue. Diz and JP had gone to lunch with Don Stewart to look at his collection of Neolithic pottery, and being totally uninterested in such things, Liza had elected to stay behind — then discovered, to her considerable annoyance, that Nell, in a rare fit of decisiveness, had taken Bernie out for the day on a long-promised visit to his parents.

  ‘Deserted by your menfolk, Liza? We can’t have that now, can we.’ Liza shrugged and squinted up at Pete through a haze of Gauloise smoke. ‘I do not care. Besides, I ‘ave the flu coming on — it is so cold ‘ere.’

  ‘I can see you need a bit of cheering up. Why not pop into Stourwick with me and have a bite of lunch? I have to go there anyway, to do a bit of shopping for my wife.’ Liza, after a quick glance at the gleaming Aston Martin crouched outside the front door, stubbed out her cigarette and stretched. ‘Why not?’ she said, putting out a heavily ringed brown claw. Pete, his heart beating a little too fast for comfort, took it and pulled her to her feet. ‘That,’ he said, in his excitement reverting to the vernacular of his youth, ‘would be absolutely smashing.’

  Bet, delighted to get rid of Liza and enjoying a solitary glass of beer and a cheese sandwich, was rudely interrupted by her sister. Pete’s just rung to say he’s giving that wretched girl lunch at the White Hart — can you beat it? I didn’t even know she’d gone to Stourwick with him.’ Bet took a bite of sandwich. ‘Well, I did tell you, didn’t I — that girl’s dynamite.’

  But how dare he. Pete never does things like that. There I am getting our lunch after a gruelling two hours with the tea committee, when he rings as cool as you please to say he and Liza have been delayed, so he’s giving her a quick lunch at the White Hart. Then before I can say anything, he’s rung off.’

  Bet, unable to stop herself, snorted. She hadn’t meant to sound derisive, but as usual Pol took it the wrong way. ‘I might have known I’d get no sympathy from you! But just you wait till that harpy claps eyes on that boyfriend of yours. And while I’m here, Bet, may I ask you once again to make sure Tib keeps out of our part of the house; I found dog’s hairs all over the sofa this morning ... ‘

  After she’d gone, feeling defiant Bet took another swig of beer and switched on the radio. But somehow she couldn’t concentrate; Pol’s taunt had gone home. But she needn’t worry, surely. Simon wasn’t down, was he, and Liza returned to France on Wednesday. Oh God, Simon ... Suddenly she didn’t feel hungry any more; Tib could have her sandwich.

  *

  ‘Rather a fancy piece, the boy’s sister?’ Don Stewart, sleeves rolled up, was helping Bet clear away Saturday lunch, while the rest of the party hunted for the croquet set. The weather was fine at last, and croquet seemed as good a way as any of keeping the young amused.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’ At least there was one male immune to the bloody girl’s charms. ‘In the short time she’s been here she’s already managed to stir up an amazing amount of trouble. Though thank God, I have a feeling Diz is beginning to see the light. Liza doesn’t like dogs, and he caught her throwing stones at Tib.’

  ‘Thank God for dogs ... Shall I take the tray?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Bet, comforted, followed him on to the verandah where Pol and Pete were already drinking their coffee.

  For a few short minutes all was peace; four middle-aged people sat chatting companionably in the sun, waiting to watch their young at play. But all too soon Diz and JP appeared, bustling with enthusiasm, hurrying across the lawn to place the croquet hoops; lagging behind, not helping, were Bernie, Liza — in a brilliant red shirt and the briefest of brief shorts — and Nell, looking miserable. Nell went and plonked herself down beside her mother.

  ‘Not playing then, darling?’

  ‘No, I don’t feel too good, actually. Anyway, only four can play croquet, and I can’t see Bern dropping out, can you?’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I’m sure Diz wouldn’t mind letting you take his place —’

  ‘Oh, can it, Mum. I don’t want to play anyway, so please don’t go on.’ Pete winked at Bet, who frowned and shook her head. He was just as bad as Bernie, only more crafty.

  The game began at last; Pete and Don lay back in their chairs and prepared for a post-prandial nap, Nell and Pol immersed themselves in the Sunday supplements and Bet, unable to settle and finding herself too hot, decided she needed a hat. Rounding the corner of the house on her way to get one, she was just in time to see Simon’s car turn in at the gate and pull up at the front door. Stopped in her tracks, with a mixture of despair and stomach-churning excitement she watched him emerge from the car, slam the door behind him, and catching sight of her standing under the cedar tree, smile and walk towards her. ‘Hullo, Titania. Hope I’m not interrupting anything; by the number of cars in the back yard I thought there might be another party going on.’

  ‘Only Don Stewart to lunch. When did you get down?’ ‘Late last night. I’m taking a few days off work, I’ve had just about as much of that place as I can stand.’

  ‘I expect they’ll manage to soldier on without you. They must be used to it by now, you hardly ever seem to be there.’ Now why did she have to go and say that; why start off on the wrong foot — why? Simon stopped smiling.

  ‘If you say so. But at least I do occasionally work for my living, which is more than one can say for some.’

  ‘Meaning I sit about on my arse all day doing nothing, I suppose?’

  ‘Meaning damn all! And if you’re going to be boring, darling, I’m off. I only looked for a moment anyway, just to see how you were coping with the French.’

  It was at this inauspicious moment that Pete just happened to st
ep out from behind a rose bush. ‘Hullo, there, Morris, long time no see.’ Had he been listening? Knowing Pete, yes. ‘Come and join us on the verandah and soak up a bit of sun,’ Pete put an avuncular arm on Simon’s shoulder. ‘Marvellous day, isn’t it. How’s your French, by the way, or more to the point, how’s your croquet? The kids need someone to make up the numbers.’

  ‘I can just about get by with my French.’ Far from looking annoyed at the interruption, Simon seemed delighted. ‘I once did a spell as a croupier at the casino in Monte Carlo. Not so sure about my croquet — haven’t played in years ... ’ And Bet, blightingly aware that whatever was happening was entirely her own fault, left them to it and went in search of her hat.

  Ten minutes later, after hunting all over the house for the hat, a rather becoming broad-brimmed red straw purchased years ago from Oxfam, and found at last rather squashed under a pile of mackintoshes in the downstairs loo. Bet returned to the verandah. Though she said so herself, she looked really rather pretty in the hat; she felt chastened in spirit, and ready to apologise for previous churlishness.

  She was too late.

  The thing she had dreaded ever since the Duponts’ arrival in Suffolk was well on its way to happening. Liza, after an unsatisfactory game partnered by Bernie — she hated losing — had returned sulkily to the grown-ups in search of further prey and was about to be introduced to Simon. Pol, perfidious Pol, was performing the necessary introductions. ‘Simon, this is Liza Dupont, her English is slightly short of perfect, so I’m sure she’ll be delighted to meet someone who speaks really decent French. The rest of us are rather lacking in that department I’m afraid.’ It was of course a meeting of Titans — Titans in the game of love, that is, not in much else. And when it was over, Bet, watching impotent and miserable from the sidelines, felt the only thing left for her to do was hurl herself and her stupid hat into the nearest litter bin.