The Forget-Me-Not Sonata

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘How long do you both intend to be in the Argentine?’ she asked.

  ‘About a couple of years,’ he replied. He settled his steady eyes upon her and knew that he could be persuaded to stay longer. A piece of bread caught in his throat and he coughed then dislodged it with a swig of water. Disarmed by the loveliness of this serene young woman he felt self-conscious and clumsy.

  ‘Then you’ll return to England?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘You might lose your heart to the Argentine. So many have,’ she remarked and noticed his lips curl into a small smile. He had already lost his heart but Audrey was unaware that she held it.

  ‘You don’t know England, do you?’ he asked. Audrey shook her head.

  ‘No, but Daddy talks about it often, I feel I know it quite well.’

  ‘There’s no place quite like England. Perhaps you’ll find the time to go there one day.’

  ‘I’d like that. But I can’t imagine living anywhere but here.’ Then she chuckled. ‘Colonel Blythe has a strange fascination with the weather in London. He reads the Illustrated London News and comments on it a week out of date. It appears to rain all the time.’

  ‘Ah, the inimitable Colonel Blythe.’ He chuckled, sitting back in his chair. ‘What a wonderful eccentric he is. A true Englishman, for like the rest of us he talks of little else – the weather and the war.’

  ‘Does it rain all the time?’ she asked.

  ‘My dear fellow,’ said Cecil in the Colonel’s deep plummy voice, ‘I should think it’ll be a wet summer again, bloody bad luck for all those at The Races.’ Cecil laughed and was delighted that Audrey’s shoulders quivered as she bubbled into laughter too. ‘Colonel Blythe isn’t wrong. It does rain a lot of the time, I’m afraid. You feel wet right down to your bones. It’s that damp cold in winter that’s so unpleasant, but springtime in England is lovelier than anywhere else in the world, even here. The rain makes it all so green. And when it’s sunny you can imagine everyone’s joy. That’s why they comment on it, because it’s such a rarity and therefore such a pleasure.’

  As Cecil talked to Audrey he was unaware that during the pauses that punctuated their dialogue her attention was diverted across the table to his brother. Due to Audrey’s polite laughter and spirited commentary he felt he was being entertaining, but then he had a way with people. Everyone loved Cecil Forrester; mothers wanted him for their daughters and some secretly yearned for him for themselves. Young girls knew instinctively that he was eligible and did their best to attract his attention. But Audrey was different. She robbed him of his self-confidence. She had the same detached air as his brother yet in Audrey Cecil found it desperately attractive. It placed her out of his reach and gave her an ethereal quality that he had never encountered in anyone else.

  He looked across at Louis and cringed with embarrassment. He hadn’t even bothered to dress up for dinner. Cecil was sure he had let his good manners slip in order to irritate him. But Louis was untameable and wild, a liability wherever he went. Cecil remembered his parents’ relief when he volunteered to take him to South America. They pretended to be saddened but he knew they were happy to see the back of him. He had let them down, badly.

  Rose led her sister and daughters inside while the men smoked on the terrace, discussing the pros and cons of privatization. Isla grabbed Audrey by the arm and hissed into her ear, ‘Isn’t he the most attractive man you’ve ever met?’

  ‘Who? Louis?’

  Isla shook her head with impatience. ‘Don’t be silly. Louis is odd! No, Cecil. He’s so handsome he makes my eyes burn.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ she said lightly. ‘He’s a gentleman.’

  ‘You’re so lucky, you talked to him all through dinner. I could only look on longingly. I’m so glad he’s coming to your party, Audrey, I’m going to be the first to dance with him.’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Just for fun. I’d like nothing more than to annoy all the other girls. He’s the most eligible man in Buenos Aires, Audrey, and he’s yours if you want him.’

  ‘Oh, Isla, you’re still tipsy!’ She laughed.

  ‘Perhaps, but not too tipsy to notice the way he looked at you.’

  ‘Rubbish. He was just being polite.’

  ‘There are limits to politeness and he far exceeded those!’ Audrey couldn’t help but feel flattered, after all, she wasn’t immune to the attentions of such an attractive man and his interest caused her spirits to soar.

  It wasn’t until they were on the point of leaving that Audrey found herself alone with Louis beneath the soft light of the street lamp. She glanced anxiously back up the path to see the rest of her family lingering at the door with Cecil, pointing to the strange tree in the corner of the garden that had no known name and always baffled everyone, even the many expert botanists who had come from all over South America to identify it. Louis swept his sandy hair off his forehead with an unsteady hand and settled his eyes on the nervous young woman who shuffled from foot to foot beside him, suddenly unsure of herself now that she was on her own. ‘Do you dance?’ he asked. It struck Audrey that his question wasn’t motivated by politeness but by genuine curiosity, for he looked at her intensely as if her answer was of great importance to him.

  ‘A little,’ she replied, unable to help but smile through her shyness. ‘I don’t think I’m a very good dancer.’

  ‘I think you’d be a very good dancer. You have a natural grace when you walk. You see,’ he mused, watching her shift her weight from one foot to the other. ‘You’re already dancing and you’re not even aware of it.’

  She glanced down at her feet. ‘I don’t think I am,’ she said. ‘I don’t dance very often. I don’t have the opportunity.’

  ‘I’d like to learn to dance the tango,’ he said and flicked his fingers as if to the time of a melody that only he could hear. ‘I’d like to dance over the cobbled streets of Buenos Aires. I’d like to dance with you.’ Audrey bit her lip and then watched in amazement as he began to hum, moving his body in time, lifting his hands and knees with the fluidity of a trained dancer. Audrey laughed and this time she saw his face open into the widest and most captivating grin she had ever seen. He was never happier than when he was giving way to the constant rhythms that played in his head and his enjoyment lit him up from the inside like a lantern. Audrey thought of Aunt Edna’s sunshine husband and knew what she meant.

  ‘You certainly know how to dance,’ she said truthfully, wishing she had the nerve to dance with him.

  ‘Yes, but not the tango.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful dance.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ he agreed. ‘It’s formal yet simmering with sensuality. It’s the most romantic of dances. So close yet not close enough. It makes my hair stand on end just to watch it, but to dance it, now that would be truly something.’ His eyes widened with excitement.

  ‘They dance the tango in Palermo,’ she said. ‘Have you been to Palermo?’ He shook his head. ‘There’s a little café there where they hold tango evenings. I know because Aunt Hilda’s maid has been. That’s a secret by the way, Aunt Hilda would be appalled. She considers the tango as intimate as . . . as . . .’ she blushed.

  ‘As making love?’ he interjected.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied tightly, swallowing hard.

  ‘She’s right, it is. That’s why I like it. Your aunt must be a dry old thing.’ Audrey laughed, touching her hot cheeks with her hand, hoping to cool them down. ‘Perhaps one day some lucky man will take you to tango in Palermo,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Not if my aunt has anything to do with it, or my mother for that matter. I don’t think it’s something that a nice young lady is expected to do.’

  ‘How boring to have to be a nice young lady. Nice young ladies should only have to perform up to midnight, after that they should be allowed to step off the stage and have some fun. I’d like to see you leave the theatre by the back door and tango your way into the sunset.’ Then he added in a quiet voice, ‘Y
ou’re a dreamer like me. People don’t understand dreamers. We frighten them. Don’t be afraid to dream, Audrey.’

  There was a heavy silence while Audrey struggled past her embarrassment to find something to say and Louis watched her, enthralled. He was certain that they were two of a kind, that she was the first person who understood him. With the instincts of a child Louis perceived Audrey’s big heart and vast capacity to love and he was drawn to her with a need that made his whole body tremble.

  Just when Audrey was on the point of floundering, her parents led the small group down the path to join them. They were still laughing and discussing the strange tree. ‘So what do you call it?’ Cecil asked.

  ‘The bird tree,’ Henry replied.

  ‘Because for some reason it attracts all the birds in summertime,’ said Rose, linking her arm through her husband’s.

  ‘Well, it’s a delight, whatever it is,’ Cecil concluded. ‘Thank you so much for inviting us, Rose, we’ve had a charming evening.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ she replied enthusiastically. ‘And welcome to Hurlingham. Please come as often as you like. You’re almost family after all.’ She noticed Cecil pay special attention to Audrey before he and his brother started up the street towards the Club. She had been pleasantly surprised to see how well they both got on and it hadn’t escaped her notice either that while they were talking under the bird tree, Audrey had not once, but twice, cast her eyes across the garden to Cecil. She inhaled the sugary air and sensed the blossoming of young love.

  That night Audrey lay in bed and brooded on the sudden infatuation that had, quite inadvertently, changed the colour of everything. She couldn’t sleep and she was too restless to read. She could hear the ghostly whistles of the policemen who patrolled the streets as they signalled to each other and a warm breeze now slipped in through the open window, carrying with it the scent of the orange trees and jasmine, but neither the sweet smells from the garden nor the reassuring whistling could soothe her tormented spirit. It was humid, too hot to find a comfortable position to lie in. So she threw off her covers and tiptoed down the stairs, across the blue shadows into the silent hallway. Once out in the garden she could breathe again. The dew seeped in between her toes, cool and wet and pleasurable. Following their earlier footsteps through the orange orchard she recalled the brief conversation with Louis that had so unsettled her. She conjured up his easy smile and the distant light in his eyes and dwelt on his frightening unpredictability and delicious impulsiveness. He seemed beyond the rules that everyone else lived by, following his desires with little regard for protocol and etiquette. Audrey was captivated by this man whose vague charm was in sharp contrast to his direct speech. She couldn’t work him out – there was no one else like him to set a precedent. In spite of her instincts that warned her against him she was unable to harness the cyclone that whipped her emotions into foam. There was something terrifyingly unstable about him but at the same time oddly familiar. She felt at ease with her fear.

  When she returned to her bed sleep no longer eluded her but wrapped her in dreams so pleasant she longed to hold onto them. In the twilight gloom of her imaginings she danced with Louis across the old cobbled streets of Palermo. Their bodies were united, so close she could feel the heat of his skin through her dress and the warmth of his breath on her neck and they both knew the steps as if they had been dancing them all their lives.

  Chapter 3

  When the Garnet family returned to Buenos Aires at the beginning of March after six weeks in the Uruguayan resort of Punta del Este they discovered to their disappointment that while Cecil Forrester had continued to grow in everyone’s esteem his brother had done little to win people’s affection. Of course, his antics hadn’t escaped the notice of the Crocodiles, who were only too delighted to discuss them during their Thursday afternoon painting session in Diana Lewis’s overgrown garden.

  ‘He does play the strangest tunes on the piano,’ Diana said, dipping her brush into a jar of murky water before bringing it up to her mouth to lick it dry. ‘He goes into a trance with that serious look on his face. Most peculiar.’ Of the four Crocodiles she appeared to be the most innocuous, innocently making comments for the others to interpret and seize upon like hyenas, thereby distancing herself from the actual kill. But she enjoyed the ripping of flesh no less than the others. ‘Sky, I find sky so dreadfully difficult,’ she complained airily, waiting for the others to pick up the bait she had just laid. She could always count on Charlotte Osborne.

  ‘Diana, ever the queen of understatement. He’s positively loopy. The piano is the least of it, after all, he’s a gifted musician, there’s no doubt about it. It’s his whole manner I find disturbing. I don’t believe his mind is all there.’ She lowered her voice and hissed, ‘Loopy, quite loopy. He didn’t lose it in the war like all those brave heroes. No, Louis Forrester is mercurial and bohemian without good reason. I am not prejudiced against people who are different; poor Dorothy Franklin’s son is simple, born that way, and one has complete sympathy. But Louis isn’t simple, just arrogant. Yes, it is a form of arrogance not to wear a tie for dinner, for example, not to bother with one’s appearance. He displays an open disregard for convention and it’s convention that shapes our society and keeps us all civilized. Louis Forrester isn’t very civilized, is he?’ Charlo sniffed her disapproval. ‘You’ve got a blue mouth, Diana,’ she added curtly, observing her friend over her glasses with eyes as narrow as a serpent’s. ‘I just wash the sky in.’

  ‘What do you mean, wash?’ Diana retorted, forgetting to wipe her mouth.

  ‘Well, I just dip the brush in water and wash it all over the page, then add a tiny bit of blue, tiny, tiny. Look, like this.’ She demonstrated with exaggerated strokes across the paper. ‘There, rather effective don’t you think?’ She sat back and admired her painting in the same way that she admired everything she did in her life, with total confidence. Still attractive at sixty-eight with a handsome face, intelligent blue eyes and fine silver hair, she believed that allure was dependent on self-assurance not beauty. It didn’t matter what one did; as long as it was done with utter decisiveness one would always be admired.

  ‘Very effective, Charlo,’ breathed Phyllida Bates deferentially, passing a dry tongue over thin, scaly lips. Possibly the most poisonous of the four, Phyllida was cowardly yet utterly ruthless. With the spine of a reptile she always twisted in whichever direction the majority turned and relished the spilling of guts more than anyone else. ‘Are you suggesting, Charlo, that Louis Forrester is, to put it delicately, mentally unstable?’ she asked, rubbing her arthritic hands together with pleasure.

  Charlo laughed out loud. ‘Trust Phyllida to be delicate. Delicate but incisive.’

  ‘Mad,’ Cynthia Klein interjected from behind her easel. The least malicious of the Crocodiles, Cynthia’s only vice was to say things as she saw them, good or bad. ‘He’s definitely mad.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Charlo, nodding her head. ‘It’s the look in his eyes that unsettles me. There’s something very unpredictable about him, not to mention self-indulgent. He’s handsome enough, but the dishonour of not fighting for one’s country negates anything positive about him. Do you know I saw him dancing all by himself the other night after dinner? I was on the point of leaving when I saw his silhouette in the moonlight. It was unmistakeably him. That hat set crooked on his head, no one else wears it like that, especially at night! Imagine dancing all by oneself without any music. Most peculiar. His brother is clearly embarrassed by him and I don’t blame him. Cecil is a decent, beautifully mannered young man who returned from the war a hero. A true hero. It’s because of men like him that we’ve been saved from the horrors of Nazi Germany. He risked his life for all of us while his silly brother danced the war away. The shame of it! One wonders why on earth he came out here in the first place.’

  ‘I think it’s obvious why he came out here – because he had disgraced himself in London.’ Diana chuckled, wiping her clumsy hands on her
painting smock.

  ‘Well, he’s got off to a bad start,’ said Charlo. ‘We all know his secret. He can’t run away from such shame. What do you think his excuse is, pacifism?’

  ‘For certain – or some mad religion,’ said Diana, taking pleasure in adding another dimension to the subject.

  ‘Oh yes, he’s probably a member of some sect,’ Phyllida agreed in a thin voice. ‘Black magic under the guise of pacifism.’

  ‘Come on, girls, this really is taking it too far. He’s not a bad person, just a little too unpredictable for us old people,’ said Cynthia, tearing the paper off her easel and discarding it on the grass with the other painting she had started and grown tired of. ‘One can’t blame him for not fighting without knowing why. Perhaps he has a perfectly legitimate reason. Besides, I think he’s attractive, in a roguish way. I’m rather partial to that vulnerable look in a man. He clearly needs looking after. One wants to mother him.’

  ‘In your case, Cynthia, you’d be grandmothering him,’ said Charlo with a sneer.

  ‘Pot calling the kettle black, Charlo, my dear. You’re so many years beyond your prime one can barely remember it.’

  ‘Those poor girls, all waiting hopefully for marriage, what with such a shortage of young men.’ Diana sighed, bringing the brush up to her mouth, adding a touch of green to her blue lips. Charlo watched her put more paint on her face than on the paper and smirked.

  ‘No mother in her right mind will want him for a son-in-law,’ said Cynthia. ‘If I were fifty years younger I’d put my money on his brother Cecil. Now he’s a sensible young man.’