‘Shooter's stew and mashed potato, and boiled cabbage.’
‘Is there nutmeg on the cabbage?’
‘I wouldn't serve cabbage without nutmeg.’
‘In that case I'll probably eat it. Are the men in yet?’
‘Just heard them in the yard, counting up the bag. Rabbit pie for lunch tomorrow. They'll be in the gunroom, I expect, cleaning guns. Shouldn't be more than ten minutes.’
‘Ten minutes.’ Loveday made a face. ‘I'm starving.’ She went to the dresser, opened a tin, and took out a couple of rich tea biscuits. She gave one to Judith and crammed the other into her mouth.
‘Now, Loveday…’
‘I know. I'll spoil my appetite and I won't eat any of your lovely lunch. Come on, Judith, let's go and find Mummy and see if she'll give us a drink.’
They found Diana in the drawing-room, peacefully curled up in the corner of a vast cream sofa, reading a novel. She was smoking, with a jade holder, a fragrant Turkish cigarette, and on the small table at her side stood her ashtray and a cocktail. As they burst in upon her, disturbing her quiet, she raised her head to smile a welcome.
‘Darlings, there you are. What fun. Have you been enjoying yourselves?’
‘Yes, we've been all over and seen every single room, and we've been to say hello to Mrs Nettlebed, and now can we have a drink?’
‘What do you want to drink?’
A mirrored table stood against one wall, neatly arranged with bottles and shining clean glasses. Loveday went to inspect its offerings. She said, ‘I really feel like Orange Corona, but there isn't any.’
‘That dreadful fizzy stuff that turns your mouth orange? Perhaps there's some in the larder. Ring for Nettlebed and find out if he has a bottle tucked away.’
The bell was in the wall above the table. Loveday pressed her thumb upon it. Diana smiled at Judith. ‘What do you think of my darling house?’
‘It's beautiful. But I'm not sure that this room isn't the nicest of all.’ It was too. Panelled and with a parquet floor scattered with rugs, it was filled with sunlight and flowers. No humble daffodils here, but more exotic hothouse blooms, all purple and white and fuchsia, and in one corner stood a blue-and-white china tub and a camellia tree, its dark glossy branches loaded with deep-pink flowers. The thick curtains and the covers were cream brocade, and all the sofas and chairs were filled with fat satin cushions, in the palest of greens and pinks and blues, looking just like so many delicious, enormous boiled sweets. Magazines were neatly aligned on a central table, the journals mandatory to any self-respecting country house. The Tatler, for social gossip; The Sketch, for theatre and ballet; The Illustrated London News for current events, and The Sporting Dramatic for racing. As well, The Field, Horse & Hound, the latest Vogue and Woman's Journal, and a stack of daily newspapers which did not look as though they had even been opened.
Judith longed to be alone, to stare forever, to take in every detail, so that if she never came again to this house, she would be able to keep a perfect picture of it in her mind. The tall mantelpiece was white-painted, and upon it stood a row of engaging porcelain figures, a Meissen monkey-band. Over the mantelpiece hung a portrait of Diana, her slender shoulders draped in smoke-blue chiffon, and a shaft of light turning her corn-coloured hair to gold. There was laughter in the painted blue eyes, and the ghost of a smile on her lips, as though she and the artist shared the most intimate and amusing of secrets.
Seeing her staring, ‘Do you like it?’ Diana asked.
‘It's just like you.’
Diana laughed. ‘Wonderfully flattering. But then de Laszlo was always a flatterer.’
The view from the tall windows was by now familiar. The formal terraced gardens sloped down to meld with shrubs and rough-grassed meadows bright with daffodils. To one side stood a French window, which gave out onto a small enclosed terrace, private as a little room within the garden. This was backed by a conservatory, and through the glass could be seen a climbing jasmine, a burgeoning vine, and a lot of enviable, old-fashioned wicker furniture. All conjured up thoughts of summer, baking sunshine, lazy afternoons, and long cool drinks. Or perhaps China tea in very thin cups, and cucumber sandwiches.
Lost in charming imaginings, she was joined by Loveday.
‘That's Mummy's special spot. Isn't it, Mummy? She lies here and sunbathes without any clothes on.’
‘Only if there's nobody about.’
‘Well, I've seen you doing it.’
‘You don't count.’
At this juncture the door behind them quietly opened and a deep voice was heard. ‘You rang, madam?’
Mr Nettlebed. Loveday had already told her that he had stomach ulcers and so an unpredictable disposition, but this had not prepared Judith for his distinguished and awesome appearance. He was a tall man, white-haired and quite handsome in a gloomy way. A bit like a reliable undertaker. His clothes confirmed this impression, for he wore a black jacket and a black tie and sponge-bag trousers. His face was pale and lined, his eyes hooded, and so impressive did he look that Judith wondered how anybody plucked up the nerve to ask him to do anything, let alone give him any sort of an order.
‘Oh, Nettlebed, thank you,’ said Diana. ‘Loveday wants some drink or other…’
‘I want Orange Corona, Mr Nettlebed, and it's not on the table.’
This demand was followed by a long and pregnant silence. Nettlebed did not move, merely fixed Loveday with his cold gaze, as though he was piercing a dead butterfly with a long steel pin. Nor did Diana speak. The silence continued. Became uncomfortable. Diana turned her head and looked at Loveday.
Loveday, with a resigned expression on her face, started all over again.
‘Please, Mr Nettlebed, would you be very kind and see if there is some Orange Corona in the pantry?’
The small tension was immediately dispelled. ‘Certainly,’ said Nettlebed. ‘I think there's a crate on the larder shelf. I shall go and ascertain.’
He began to withdraw, but Diana spoke. ‘Are the men back yet, Nettlebed?’
‘Yes, madam. They're cleaning up in the gunroom.’
‘Have they had a good morning?’
‘A number of rabbits and pigeons, madam. And two hares.’
‘Heavens. Poor Mrs Nettlebed. What a lot of gutting and cleaning.’
‘I will probably assist her, madam.’
He went, closing the door behind him. Loveday grimaced. ‘I will probably assist her, madam,’ she mimicked. ‘Pompous old ass.’
‘Loveday.’ Diana's voice had turned icy.
‘Well, that's what Edward calls him.’
‘Edward should know better. And you know perfectly well that you never ask Nettlebed, or anybody, to do anything for you without saying please, and then thank you when they've done it.’
‘I just forgot.’
‘Well, don't forget.’
She turned back to her book. Judith felt awkward, diminished and gawky, as though the reprimand had been for herself, but Loveday was undismayed. She went to lean, in wheedling fashion, over the back of the sofa so that her curly dark head almost touched her mother's sleek golden one.
‘What are you reading?’
‘A novel.’
‘What's it called?’
‘The Weather in the Streets.’
‘What's it about?’
‘Love. Unhappy love.’
‘I thought all love was happy.’
‘Oh, darling. Not always. Not every woman is lucky.’ She reached for her drink, the little triangular cocktail glass filled with golden liquid. At the bottom of the glass, like a rare pebble, or some strange sea-creature, lurked an olive. She took a sip and then laid the glass down, and as she did so, the door of the drawing-room opened once more, but it was not Mr Nettlebed, returned, who stood there. ‘Pops!’ Loveday left her mother's side and fled into his outstretched arms.
‘Hello, my baby.’ They hugged and kissed, he stooping his height to hers. ‘We've missed you. And here you are, back
again…’ He ruffled her hair, smiling down at his youngest child as though she were the most precious creature on earth.
(So loved was Loveday. By everybody. Feeling a bit out of it, observing the sort of demonstrative behaviour that she herself had never experienced, Judith found it hard not to feel a small pang of envy.)
‘Diana.’ With Loveday hanging on to his sleeve like a puppy, he crossed over to where his wife sat, and bent to kiss her. ‘I'm sorry, my darling, are we late?’
She tilted her head to smile up into his face. ‘Not at all. It's only a quarter to one. Did you all have a good morning?’
‘Splendid.’
‘Where are Tommy and Jeremy?’
‘Tommy's on his way. Jeremy's cleaning my gun for me…’
‘The kind boy.’
Standing on the sidelines, listening to this exchange, Judith deliberately assumed a bland and smiling expression, hiding her shock at his appearance. For Colonel Carey-Lewis was a complete surprise, being so old, and privately she decided that he looked more like Diana's father than her husband and could easily be Loveday's grandparent. True, he held himself with the upright stance of a soldier and moved with the easy, long-legged lope of a perpetually active man, but his hair, what there was of it, was white, and his eyes, set deep in his lined face, were the faded blue of some ancient countryman. His wind-burned cheeks were cadaverous, and his nose long and beaky over a trim military moustache. He was tall and very sparsely built, dressed in venerable tweeds and moleskin knickerbockers, and his stork-like stockinged shins ended in brogues polished to a chestnut shine.
‘He said it was the least he could do.’
With this, he straightened up, loosed himself from Loveday's clutch, smoothed his hair with his hands, and turned to Judith.
‘And you must be Loveday's friend?’
She looked up into his eyes, and saw them both watchful and kindly, but, for some reason, dreadfully sad. Which was strange again, because his reunion with wife and daughter had clearly given all of them so much delight. But then he smiled, and some of the sadness was erased. He moved towards her, hand outstretched.
‘How very pleasant that you could come and stay.’
‘Her name's Judith,’ Loveday told him.
Judith said, ‘How do you do,’ and they shook hands formally. His fingers, enclosing hers, felt dry and rough. She smelt the sweet reek of his Harris tweed jacket, and realised instinctively that he was just as shy as she felt. This made her like him very much, and long to be able to put him at his ease.
‘Has Loveday been taking care of you?’
‘Yes. We've been all over the house.’
‘Good. Now you know your way around.’ He hesitated. He was not good at small talk and so it was fortunate that at this moment they were interrupted by the appearance of a second gentleman, with, hard on his heels, Nettlebed, who bore before him, like a votive offering, a bottle of Orange Corona on a silver salver.
‘Diana. Are we all in disgrace for taking so long?’
‘Oh, darling Tommy, don't be so silly. Good morning?’
‘Great fun.’ Tommy Mortimer stood for an instant rubbing his hands together, as though grateful to be indoors and out of the cold, and looking forward to a comforting drink. He too was dressed for shooting, in elegant tweeds and a canary-coloured waistcoat. His face was boyish, good-humoured and smiling; his skin smooth and tanned and immaculately barbered. However, it was difficult to guess how old he was, because his thick hair was nearly white. But somehow this only served to accentuate the springy youthfulness of his step and the whole rather theatrical manner of his arrival. Here I am, it seemed to say. Now we can all start having a wonderful time.
He crossed the room to drop a kiss on Diana's cheek, and then turned his attentions to Loveday.
‘Hello there, wicked one! Got a kiss for your honorary uncle? How's school? Have they turned you into a little lady yet?’
‘Oh, Tommy, don't ask such stupid questions.’
‘You could at least,’ said her mother, ‘introduce Tommy to your friend.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’ Loveday, palpably showing off a bit, proceeded to make a great production of this. ‘This is Judith Dunbar who's at school with me, and this, ta-ra, ta-ra, is Tommy Mortimer.’
Tommy laughed, amused by her impudence. ‘Hello, Judith.’
‘How do you do.’
The Colonel, however, had had enough of trivial formalities. It was time for a drink. Nettlebed, at the table, poured these. Dry martini for Mr Mortimer, beer for the Colonel, Orange Corona for the girls. Diana, lazily sipping her own martini, refused a refill. Tommy, holding his glass, came to settle himself on the sofa beside her, half-turned to face her, with an arm gracefully disposed along the back of the cushions. Judith wondered if he was an actor. She had little experience of the live theatre, but had been to enough films, squashed into the Porthkerris cinema with Heather beside her, to recognise the contrived arrangement of limbs, the outstretched arm, the gracefully crossed legs. Perhaps Tommy Mortimer was a famous matinee idol, and she was just too stupid and inexperienced to know about him. But if he was, then surely Loveday would have told her.
Nettlebed, having dealt with drinks, departed.
Judith sipped her Orange Corona. It was delicious, fizzy and strong and very sweet. She hoped that the fizz would not make her burp. Standing a little apart from the others, she endeavoured to swallow slowly and carefully, thus avoiding any possible embarrassment. Concentrating on this problem, she did not notice the last member of the shooting party enter the room.
He came quietly, on rubber-soled shoes, so none of the others heard him either. A much younger man, bespectacled, dressed in corduroys and a hefty ribbed sweater, he paused just inside the open door. Judith felt his eyes upon her and looked up, and saw him watching her, as once she had watched him. For an incredulous instant they stared at each other in some bewilderment, and then he smiled, and after that there could be no doubt at all, because everything about him was totally familiar.
He came across the room to her side. He said, ‘It is you isn't it? The girl on the train?’
Judith was so delighted that she was unable to speak, so she simply nodded.
‘What an extraordinary coincidence. Are you Loveday's schoolfriend?’
Her own face was creeping up into a smile. She could feel it, without any conscious volition on her own part. If she had wanted to, she couldn't have stopped smiling.
She nodded again.
‘What's your name?’
‘Judith Dunbar.’
‘I'm Jeremy Wells.’
She found her voice at last. ‘I know. I guessed.’
‘Jeremy! I didn't realise you'd come.’ From the sofa, Diana had spied him. ‘You must have tiptoed in. Are you introducing yourself to Judith?’
He laughed. ‘I don't need to. We've already met. In the train. Coming down from Plymouth.’
Immediately, they were the centre of attention. Everybody was suitably amazed by the coincidence, and wanted to hear all the details of their meeting. How they had shared the compartment, and gazed from the Saltash Bridge at the naval men-of-war, and finally said goodbye in Truro.
‘How's your little sister? The one with the gollywog?’ Jeremy asked.
‘She's gone. Back to Colombo with my mother.’
‘Oh dear. I didn't know. You'll miss them.’
‘They'll be there by now. And then they're moving on to Singapore. My father's got a new job.’
‘Will you be joining them?’
‘No, not for years.’
It was lovely. It was like being a grown-up, dressed in Athena's expensive clothes, and sipping a drink, and having everybody delighted because she had a friend of her own. She kept taking covert glances at Jeremy Wells's face, just to make sure that he was really here at Nancherrow, part of the Carey-Lewis clan, and yet, himself. She remembered how, in the train, when he opened the window, the end of his long muffler had lain across her knee. She re
membered telling Phyllis all about him. He was really nice, she had said. I wouldn't mind meeting someone like him.
And now it had really happened. He was here. Now she knew him properly. It had really happened…
From the hall, the gong for luncheon rang out. Diana finished her drink, handed the empty glass to Tommy Mortimer, rose to her feet, gathered her party around her, and led the way through to the dining-room.
The Colonel said, ‘Now you must explain to me how you and Jeremy came to meet.’
‘It was in the train from Plymouth. Just after Christmas. We were in the same compartment.’
‘And what had you been doing in Plymouth?’
‘Staying with my aunt and uncle. He's an Engineer Captain, at Keyham. We spent Christmas with them.’
‘We, being…?’
‘My mother and my little sister and me. And then he got off at Truro, and we went on to Penmarron.’
‘I see. Did you realise he's now a doctor?’
‘Yes. He told us that. And…Diana told me this morning that his father is your doctor.’ She hesitated a little over saying Diana's name to her distinguished and elderly husband in such a familiar way, but the Colonel didn't seem to notice. He was probably very used to his wife's casual attitude to the formalities of life.
‘He's a good lad.’ He glanced down the table to where Jeremy sat. ‘Great cricketer. Captains Cornwall Rugby team. Watched them play last year. Went to Twickenham. Great thrill.’
‘Diana told me about that too.’
He smiled. ‘In that case, I mustn't be a bore. Now, tell me about your family. They're in the East?’
‘Yes, Colombo.’
‘Have you lived there?’
‘I was born there. I didn't come home till I was ten. My mother was having Jess. She's four now.’
‘Is your father with the Civil Service?’
‘No, he's in shipping. With a firm called Wilson-McKinnon. He's being moved to Singapore, and they'll all be going there quite soon.’ She added, ‘My mother didn't really want to go, but I expect she'll like it once she gets there.’
‘Yes, I expect she will.’
She thought that he was being very courteous and hostly, conversing and making her feel at home just as though she were someone really important. He sat at the head of the long dining table, with Loveday and Judith placed on either side. Diana was at the far end, with Tommy on her left and Jeremy on her right. Mary Millyway, who had appeared as they all settled down at the table, had taken her seat between Jeremy and Loveday. She had combed her hair and powdered her nose, and was composed and perfectly at ease, talking to Jeremy, whom she had obviously known forever, imparting the latest gossip of the legendary Athena, and in return being brought up-to-date on his progress and work at St Thomas's Hospital.