Heart's Ease

by Sarah Harrison

  Perhaps, she thought, with a sense of surprise, this is what it means to find a soulmate.

  Twenty-One

  Honor had been expecting to take her guests home at the end of the day. That had been the arrangement on which her invitation was based.

  ‘And of course,’ she said, ‘I shall collect you and take you home afterwards.’

  But when the time came, at around five (after some gentle wrangling about tidying up), she found she had been outmanoeuvred. Everything had gone better than she hoped. Archie had behaved impeccably, and been made much of. Lunch, if not up to Marguerite’s or Felicity’s standard, had been hot, tasty and plentiful and presented no health hazards. Her vegetables in particular had attracted compliments, and everyone had seconds. Presents had been exchanged, and she was enchanted by what nice, well-chosen things they had given her. She was deeply touched to think of Mr Dawson in Mason’s of Salting (how had he got there, had Graham taken him?) looking for the beautiful red leather gloves. And Avis had been too extravagant with a gift box of Royal Jelly bath oil and body lotion, purchased through the agency of a friend. Honor’s eyes got a bit shiny, which made Avis chuckle.

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve – you need a bit of spoiling, doesn’t she, Alec?’

  It was only today that Honor had found out that Mr Dawson was Alec – she wasn’t going to use it herself unless invited.

  ‘Yes, definitely,’ he agreed. ‘Speaking for myself I don’t know what I should do without you.’

  Just to make him feel better she nearly said that Graham would soon find someone else, but that would have been to undervalue both sides of the relationship.

  ‘I can’t thank you both enough,’ she said. The presents were still on her lap as she looked up at both of them. ‘This is a lovely Christmas.’

  ‘One of the best,’ said Avis.

  ‘You’ve looked after us beautifully,’ said Mr Dawson, gently stroking Archie’s head.

  Suddenly it became vital that they understood her exact meaning – that this was not an extension of her job.

  ‘You’re my dearest friends,’ she said. ‘Having you here has meant so much to me.’

  Avis had chuckled again and blown her a kiss. Mr Dawson’s eyes were a little too bright as he nodded, and then asked if he might possibly have more cake. She had bought it from the baker in town, and iced it herself. The pipe-cleaner robin on top was hers, she had learnt to make those at infant school.

  The only other moment of slight awkwardness had been when her mother rang. She could hear cheerful family noise in the background, the slight difficulty this caused was a good reason not to extend the conversation beyond a very few minutes. Her father was put on and, briefly, Bruno.

  ‘Alright, sis?’

  ‘More than alright – it sounds as if all of you are, too!’

  ‘Rob has a free hand with the fizz, what can I say?’

  ‘I’m so glad. Have a great rest of the day, and look after yourself, Bruno.’

  She had been talking on the phone in the hall. When she returned to the drawing room Alec and Avis were busily chatting, and looked up almost too obviously, to show they hadn’t been listening.

  ‘Talking to the family?’ asked Avis.

  ‘Yes, they’re all having a wonderful time at my sister’s in London.’

  ‘Do they know you’ve got a rough crowd in?’

  ‘They certainly do.’ Avis’s attitude was what she needed to keep emotion at bay. ‘They told me to lock up the spoons.’

  So everything had exceeded expectation, most of all how well Avis and Mr Dawson had got on. A case, she supposed, of opposites agreeing, because no two people could on the face of it have been more different. Avis had clearly been charmed by Mr Dawson’s old-fashioned gallantry, and her natural bonhomie had rubbed off on him – he had laughed more than ever before, Honor had seen another side of him, one capable of having fun and being almost flirtatious in a quiet way.

  When he struggled to his feet and announced that they should be going she was genuinely sorry.

  ‘Oh, must you?’

  ‘I think we must.’

  Avis agreed, levering herself upright. Honor saw how Mr Dawson watched, ready to help if needed, but careful not to fuss. When she dropped her bag Honor let him pick it up, in spite of the agonising slowness, using the moment to go and fetch her coat and car key, the excited Archie in attendance. When she came back in her guests were standing side by side like a couple of school children caught in a conspiracy.

  ‘Oh we should have said, there’ll be no need for those,’ said Mr Dawson.

  Honor stood with her coat on, still undone. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve ordered us a taxi.’

  Avis saw her jaw drop. ‘He would do it, and he won’t even let me chip in. But we both want to save you the trouble after giving us such a lovely day.’

  ‘But you don’t need to,’ protested Honor. ‘I’m only too happy to run you back.’

  ‘I know, I know …’ Mr Dawson drew back his immaculate cuff and peered. ‘But we decided to override you, and he’ll be here any minute.’

  And in fact Terry’s trusty minicab drew up at that moment. There was no arguing with them, they would have had to pay now anyway, so she had to let them go. She kept her coat on and went out into the drive with them, carrying Archie who would otherwise jump aboard. Terry, in expectation of a generous seasonal tip, had both the passenger doors ready open, and was wearing his chauffeur’s hat, reserved for special occasions. He knew his old people, who were an excellent source of income.

  ‘Good evening all, Happy Christmas!’

  They chorused back and he saw Avis and Mr Dawson into the back, closing the doors with a flourish and addressing Honor as the founder of the feast.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see everyone safe in at their doors.’

  ‘Please do, Terry. I was going to run them home myself and, you know, make sure they were alright.’

  ‘I know. I’ll keep an eye on them.’ He glanced back at his passengers. ‘They look pretty good to me, what do you think?’

  Still carrying the dog she went ahead of the car to the gate, to close it behind them and wave them off. As she leaned forward to mouth, ‘Goodbye’ she saw Mr Dawson’s hand touch Avis’s. Only briefly – checking that she was comfortable, perhaps? But there was something more than courtesy, or friendship, in the gesture. A remembered tenderness, perhaps? As the car lights fanned across the arch of trees at the start of the beacon walk, and disappeared into the dark gulley of the lane, Honor felt a squeeze of the heart at a job well done.

  She spent a perfectly contented hour to the accompaniment of Radio Four getting things straight in the drawing room – not an arduous task compared with the usual Blyths’ Christmas – and washing up. Even with only three people she was glad that her parents had finally invested in a dishwasher. All the dishes and cutlery went in there and the more heavy-duty cooking pots and pans she left to soak in the butler’s sink. Her last task as hostess was to call Mr Dawson and Avis to check they were home safe and let them know what time she would be in the next day – there was agency cover at bedtime. They were both in fine spirits, and full of praise for her hospitality, she could tell from the timbre of their voices and not just what they said, that they were exhilarated.

  After that she left Archie, exhausted by socialising, on the sofa, and went upstairs. She ran herself a bath, using Avis’s wonderful golden products that filled the chilly family bathroom with richly scented steam. She was not usually a great one for indulgent baths – not one for self-indulgence at all – but this time she revelled in the limitless hot water and the silky texture of the soap, and turned the radio to cheerful music, quite loud. It occurred to her that this was a particularly good way to end Christmas Day – alone in a tidy house, with just enough leftovers downstairs and the sofa and television all to herself. She thought fondly, but only fleetingly, of her family, and not at all of the vicar.

 
; The presence of Ellie and her fiancé lent an extra benign dimension to the TS’s Christmas dinner. Non-family members made the whole thing feel more like a party, and the family, seeing themselves through their eyes, upped their game, and acquired an added lustre. It was impossible not to like Ellie, whom most of them knew anyway, and Brian – ‘Bri’ – was a charming, bearded joiner, the sort of man who could have got on with anyone. Bruno thought, She’s marrying Jesus! But couldn’t think of who to say it to, until he ran into Rob in the kitchen, and Rob leaned his head in with a man-to-man air.

  ‘Is it just me who thinks there’s something appropriate about Ellie marrying that agreeable hirsute carpenter?’

  After that, whenever Bri was being especially likeable they caught one another’s eye. But Bri’s Christlike qualities didn’t stop Bruno feeling slightly jealous. From the start he’d had a bit of a crush on Ellie, and felt that they shared a certain semi-detached position in the household. It wasn’t just the TSs that were going to miss her. She even noticed when Cissy was about to fall asleep, and scooped her up. Fliss had leapt to her feet.

  ‘Ellie, you mustn’t, you’re our guest this evening.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said Ellie, ‘from now on I can be one of the family.’ And she took Cissy up to bed.

  Marguerite glanced at her daughter – that had been a kind gesture, but had it hurt her feelings? She decided on balance not. Fliss was dishing up chocolate yule log and morello cherries. But as they all began eating and exclaiming, she rose and could be heard going upstairs.

  Cissy was already asleep when Fliss came in. Ellie had put her underwear and tights over the back of the chair and was hanging up her blue velvet party dress. Fliss bent to kiss her daughter and was rewarded by a mumbled, ‘Night, Mummy …’

  The two women came out into the wide, windowed corridor, Fliss drawing the door to behind them.

  ‘Thank you for that, Ellie.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Ellie’s expression was quizzical, a little rueful. ‘I’m sorry if I was out of line.’

  ‘You weren’t, not at all,’ said Fliss truthfully. ‘But I can’t tell you how much we’re going to miss you.’

  ‘You already have.’

  ‘Bri’s such a nice man.’

  ‘That’s what I think. We’re a good fit.’

  They began to walk, but at the top of the stairs Fliss touched Ellie’s arm to detain her.

  ‘What you said – about being one of the family.’

  ‘I’ve had a few bevvies …’

  ‘But I hope it’s true. It would be so nice to think we’d still see you even if you’re not working here. Especially if you’re not.’

  ‘Thanks, Fliss,’ said Ellie, ‘that’s sweet. But we’ll be back in New Zealand, remember?’

  On Boxing Day most of the family went to a drinks party, then home for turkey sandwiches and then to the pantomime. During the drinks party phase Bruno stayed home with the children, which he was more than happy to do. In fact it was almost a definition of comfort to have acres of empty space and luxurious seating, a kitchen furnished with delicious leftovers and cold beer, and the kids content with all their new stuff.

  The whole situation was an inducement to indolence, but Bruno wasn’t entirely idle. After half an hour or so he got off the sofa and wandered about. He liked to admire his surroundings. Fliss and Rob, he’d decided, had just the right level of richness. Not absolutely stinking, but enough so that everything was as nice as it could be, and they never had to think about it. Money was like sex, if you were getting plenty it wasn’t an issue. Only the lack of either (or in Bruno’s case both) kept it at the front of your mind. He’d never thought of himself as materialistic, but exposure to the TS’s lifestyle had changed all that.

  Standing in the drawing room overlooking the elegant wintry garden and the stupendous view beyond he realized that he wanted to be exactly as well-off as this. He wasn’t a fool, he realized that the gap between his current situation and their enviable one was bloody enormous. But it was bridgeable, and he was determined to bridge it.

  Conscious suddenly of not being alone he turned to find Cissy sitting in one of the big leather chairs with her hands resting queenlike on the arms. She was watching him with the unselfconscious wide stare of the very young.

  ‘Hello,’ said Bruno. Not so long ago he’d have felt awkward with his niece, but he’d learned there was no trick to it. You simply had to be straightforward.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking out of the window. You can see a long way.’

  She slid down from the chair. ‘How far?’

  ‘This far.’ He picked her up. Her arm went round his neck, her fine hair tickled his cheek. She was a sweetie. ‘See?’

  Faces together, they gazed. Cissy said, ‘What is that?’

  ‘London.’ He gave her a gentle prod. ‘Where you live.’

  ‘But …’ She wriggled and he put her down. ‘We live here.’

  ‘That’s right, this is part of London.’

  She gave this due consideration before shaking her head. ‘No. We live in Hampstead.’

  Bruno was an experienced enough hand these days to know when he’d reached a sticking point.

  ‘Correct. You do.’

  There was the tiniest furrow between her brows, her expression was stern. He wasn’t going to get off that easily.

  ‘We all live here,’ she declared, spreading her arms. ‘Mummy and Daddy, Noah, Rollo, Ellie, Bruno—’

  ‘Not me. I don’t live here.’

  ‘Yes, you do!’

  ‘I’m staying here at the moment, just for Christmas.’

  There was another scowling pause, during which Rollo wandered in. ‘I wondered where everybody was.’

  Bruno said, ‘We were discussing who lives here.’

  ‘Bruno …’ Rollo approached and sat down on the broad, low windowsill, his back to the garden. ‘Are you coming to the panto?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Rollo. ‘It’s Aladdin.’

  Bruno forbore to say that it didn’t matter what it was, they were all the same. ‘That’s a good one.’

  ‘I’m coming,’ Cissy informed him.

  ‘Have you been before?’ asked Bruno.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded vigorously.

  ‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Rollo the worldly wise, ‘and she’s too young. Mum will have to take her out.’

  ‘I’ll take her out if she needs to go,’ said Bruno. ‘I’m not bothered about missing bits.’ He looked down at Cissy. ‘We’ll be alright, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cissy, clearly satisfied. ‘We will.’

  After that, Noah tore himself away from his Playstation and the three chaps, with Cissy orbiting them, emptied the dishwasher, made sandwiches and put everything out for lunch on the kitchen table. It was a sort of game, but one which carried the added bonus of knowing they would be in everyone’s good books when the time came.

  ‘They’ll be pleased we’ve done this,’ said Noah, ‘because they’ll be drunk.’

  He may have been right, but once again noticed that in the area of drunkenness, as in that of wealth, there were different flavours. The hosts on this occasion lived in what Robin cheerfully described as ‘a seriously fuck-off piece of real estate’ within walking distance, so no-one’s imbibing had been affected by the need to drive. All four of them were probably on the outside of several glasses of Tattinger but any comparison with Sean after a hard night at the British Queen didn’t compute. The Blyths and the TSs were merely gracefully convivial, pink-cheeked, tactile, full of jokes and general good humour. Vomiting and violence just didn’t qualify. But after the sandwiches had gone down both Robin and Hugh fell sound asleep in front of the racing, and Marguerite withdrew to ‘put her feet up for a bit’ before the cab arrived to take them to the panto. Fliss, a woman of iron, cleared the kitchen with his assistance.

  ‘How were the kids while we were out?’

  �
�Great,’ he said. ‘No trouble at all.’

  She cut herself a thin slice of Brie from the cheese board, the only sign that she was slightly pissed. Before putting it in her mouth, she said, ‘Thanks, Bruno.’

  ‘No prob. Pleasure.’

  ‘No, I mean it,’ she insisted. ‘They like you.’

  ‘I like them.’

  ‘So sad about Ellie …’ Fliss sighed, munched, swallowed. ‘I hope I can find someone half as nice.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Tough call.’

  Rollo was right, the panto, and especially Abanazar, was too much for Cissy, and Bruno spent much of the time in the foyer area behind the dress circle watching her run about, high on sweets and over-excitement. The show was also incredibly long, and he was quite relieved when in the interval Fliss told him to feel free to take Cissy home if he wanted to.

  ‘Let’s bring her back in for while, but do scoot off if it’s not working – is that OK?’

  It was more than OK. Cissy took flight at the first sign of Abanazar’s pyrotechnics, and the two of them hailed a black cab and set off home. He handed over Robin’s thirty pounds (Boxing Day to Hampstead was at a premium) and they walked hand in hand up the drive. The front door with its magnificent evergreen garland, the window with the first of three Christmas trees in pink and silver, the soft light in the hall shining through the leaded fanlight, all reminded Bruno how much he was dreading leaving tomorrow.

  He made buttered toast and they sat together companionably on the sofa in the family room, munching and watching Mary Poppins. Bruno considered Julie Andrews quite sexy. Perhaps nannies with their combination of discipline and kindness were sexy by definition. Jesus, if Ellie had had to wear a uniform …! He squirmed, and with some difficulty banished the image.

  By his calculation, given the length of the first half, the others wouldn’t be back till at least seven. When the film ended he sat Cissy in the kitchen and gave her a bowl of ice-cream (her second of the day but hell, it was Christmas), and then he suggested she have her bath.