‘There will be children, David.’
While she rubbed cold cream on her face that night, Iris commented, through the half-open door of the dressing room, to Charles, ‘I can’t imagine why he hasn’t married. It’s such an odd household, Charles. They live so quietly. That house in Belgrave Square shut up most of the time … It isn’t lack of money. It costs fortunes to maintain this place … but then, Cynthia Barrington had millions. Her father was in railways, I remember. And in steel. There was some connection with Krupp, I think, though I don’t suppose they talk about that. I seem to remember her father was involved in the Congo. That must have made a couple of fortunes for him. Her father was made a baron, but Cynthia was the only child, so the title died out.’ Iris’s inexhaustible memory refreshed itself. ‘I’m almost certain she died before her father did, so I wonder how the money was left … There must have been a lot of money, Charles.’
‘I would think, my dear, that they need a lot,’ came Charles’s voice, rather absently, from the dressing-room. ‘Just keeping the roof repaired here would need a tidy bit.’ He came to close the door. ‘Good night, my dear. Don’t worry about it all. I know you’ll manage splendidly.’
‘Oh! …’ she said to the closed door. ‘A lot you know about managing.’
3
Iris finally found her way around her frustration at Nicole’s wedding plans by giving a pre-wedding reception dinner-dance at the Savoy. ‘There isn’t time to arrange it at Mowbray,’ she said, ‘and the big room at the Savoy will hold everyone we want to ask.’ The invitations were printed and rushed out within a week, Iris using the list she had prepared for Nicole’s coming-out dance, and adding to it. Then she flung herself into an orgy of planning the details of the reception, the decorations, the flowers; she hounded and bullied London’s top dressmakers into keeping their workrooms open late at night to produce Nicole’s trousseau.
‘But Aunt Iris,’ Nicole protested. ‘I don’t need a thing! Everything was new at the beginning of the season.’
‘Nonsense,’ Iris retorted. ‘If you imagine you’re going to be married and present yourself as a bride in the things you’ve been seen in all season then you’ve been mistaken in me. The Manstones will have nothing to complain about in the way you are turned out.’ There was an edginess about the way she spoke of the Manstones. Was she, Nicole wondered, just faintly uncomfortable in the presence of John Manstone? ‒ did she sense some sort of agreement between him and his mother not to hinder David’s marriage in any fashion? Or was it that, in her disappointment that Nicole was not marrying Lord Blanchard, she had set out to make the best of a second-best situation, and show the Manstones how beautifully, how efficiently she could produce this part of her niece’s marriage celebrations? Was she declaring her contempt for the ‘nice small wedding’ at the chapel at Lynmara, telling them that they were too casual about what should have been the wedding of the year? Iris was going, Nicole decided, to make certain that no one would ever accuse her of marrying her niece off ‘on the cheap’ just because it was going to be the sort of ‘country-bumpkin’ wedding people like Iris despised. Iris’s recollection of the stinginess of her mill-owner father, the rather shabby little wedding he had given his only daughter, was a very long one. The bitterness of that memory was to be erased for all time in the sheer extravagance of what she would give her niece.
The Manstone house in Belgrave Square was reopened; Iris didn’t know whether to be pleased or sorry that Lady Manstone would be present at the reception for a few hours; it would, of course, set the seal of approval on her grandson’s marriage to Nicole, but Iris was aware of a reluctance to share the limelight with this frail but dominant figure. Of Lord Manstone Iris was even less sure. He was an enigma to her, as he was to other people, an outstandingly handsome man who belonged to several London clubs, and seemed to appear in none of them, who was a sportsman and a rider, but preferred rough shooting alone with one keeper on his estate and did not join the shooting parties in Yorkshire or Scotland, who at one time had won prizes for show-jumping, but never went hunting. He seemed to live an aloof, even lonely life. There were seldom guests at Lynmara, Iris had heard, except those his son invited. It had not taken Iris many hours of the few days she had spent in that house to decide that behind the façade of deliberate, quiet calm, Manstone’s feeling for his only child was passionate and deep. It seemed to go hand in hand with his feeling for his home. With these two things only, Iris thought, could this man be reached. In her heart she did not envy Nicole’s future living between the pride and possessiveness that the Countess and her son could not help but betray. She would need consummate tact and patience to weld the diverse elements of her own nature in the timeless rhythm which the years had established at Lynmara. Iris wondered if Nicole would begin to establish her own customs, gradually institute change. Then she shrugged, and stopped wondering, and went back to her lists. Nicole could have married Harry Blanchard and had an adoring and completely malleable husband, as well as parents-in-law who would have welcomed her openly and made her life easy and pleasant. If she had chosen to marry into this rather distant and difficult family, it was her own affair. If she was not happy, she could blame only herself.
The evening of the dinner-dance arrived. Nicole and David were to be married three days later. ‘I still think it’s ridiculous having the bride already in her future husband’s home before the marriage,’ Iris protested again as they drove to the Savoy. ‘This business of the two of you strolling hand in hand along the path to the chapel. Nonsense ‒ and suppose it rains?’
‘Then we’ll run, and carry an umbrella.’
Everyone had come that evening. Nicole seemed to see the whole of her one season revolve before her eyes. It was September, and most people had come back to town. This was the first big party after the August break, and they came eagerly. They came because Iris Gowing gave splendid parties, and because they wanted to look once again at that extraordinary American girl who had appeared out of nowhere and upset all the accepted ideas of how débutantes should conduct themselves. It wasn’t that she had done anything wrong; it was that she had done it differently. ‘It isn’t as if she’s even pretty,’ one disappointed mother said to her son and daughter as they waited for their turn to pass along the receiving line. ‘It’s really too much. She’s thrown over the most eligible man in England, and just gone and picked up probably the next one down the line. These Americans ‒ no sense of what’s right.’
‘I think she’s delicious,’ her son murmured.
‘You would! Why she’s even had Gerry Agar in tow, and you know what that means.’
‘I wouldn’t mind having Gerry Agar for a while,’ her daughter said plaintively.
‘You, Miss,’ her mother hissed, ‘don’t know what’s good for you. For God’s sake, smile, can’t you. Sparkle a little. Do you want people to think you’re envious?’
‘Well, it just so happens I am …’ Their names were announced, and they moved forward. ‘Thin as a rake, she is,’ the mother whispered when they were past. ‘And pale. Can’t imagine what anyone sees in her. I wonder if she’s pregnant? All this rush to get married … Well, I don’t envy her coping with Manstone’s mother. Looks a regular old Tartar, doesn’t she?’
‘I envy her David Ashleigh,’ her daughter sighed, and then giggled. ‘And after all, it’s Nicole Rainard who’s a Tartar. She’s supposed to be half-Russian or something funny like that, isn’t she? Funny the Ashleighs letting their precious heir marry a Russian.’
‘The Milburns were willing for their heir to marry her,’ her mother snapped back. ‘I tell you things are going to pot. When I was a girl, no one would have spoken to her.’
‘Well,’ said the son, eyeing the packed room, ‘things certainly have changed.’
The line of faces had become almost a blur for Nicole. She was smiling, as people smiled at her; she listened as congratulations were offered to David, as greetings were extended to Lord Manstone, ‘Well, old man
‒ good to see you out of your shell. It must be years …’ The Countess insisted on remaining standing until the last of the guests had been announced, leaning on her gold-topped stick, wearing an old-fashioned gown of grey chiffon. She wore the Manstone sapphires, and a tiara. ‘Good show the old girl puts on,’ Nicole heard someone say, rather too loudly. ‘She’s been out of circulation so long one tends to forget that she is one of the Haversley daughters. Formidable lot, they all were …’ Iris was splendid in pink silk, which did little for her sallow complexion, and Nicole had again insisted on white. ‘I don’t know why you do it.’ Iris had protested. ‘Every dress looks the same.’
‘That’s the idea. No one will notice when I stop having new ones.’
Gerry Agar had been invited, but sent regrets from Paris. And there was Richard in the line, suddenly facing Nicole. ‘Can I claim a kiss?’ he said to David. ‘You’ve really pulled it off. Do take care of this girl, won’t you?’
And as David smiled and nodded, not quite sure who Richard was, Richard bent close to Nicole and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Beautiful. You’re beautiful. But I hope now you’ll settle down and start to eat, before you vanish. I wish I were David. Be happy, Nicole … he really is a golden youth, isn’t he?’
For some reason Nicole’s eyes suddenly misted with tears. She was remembering that last afternoon at Fenton Field, the afternoon they had sat in the orchard, and talked about the future, the future she had then been so certain would be all beautiful and peaceful and serene. She had not then known about falling in love; she had never dreamed that rejection of love could be this hell of pain and confusion. She had not known that David existed, and that he and Lynmara were to be her future. She was at the instant aware why he had seemed so familiar to her the day he had limped towards her on the moors of Carrickcraig. He bore a startling resemblance to the pictured face of the young poet, Rupert Brooke, whose book had lain face-down on the grass that day at Fenton Field, the book that Richard had read from, the book that spoke of war, and the hope of the end of all war, the romantic illusion that had died. In the heat of that crowded room she suddenly shivered.
‘Nicole! ‒’ It was Judy’s voice, a voice that belonged back in Paris, in the early mornings when they both had risen to work at the things that had absorbed them, the shared companionship of the trek around Europe, the generosity of welcome that had flowed from Fenton Field. ‘Look who’s come! You remember Gavin McLeod, don’t you?’ Judy’s face was radiant. She pulled Gavin forward as if he were some prize she had won. ‘It took a lot of persuasion to get him here tonight.’
Gavin’s hand was briefly in hers. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ he said automatically. Nicole remembered that he had thought her frivolous, and his opinion didn’t seem to have changed. But his features, which she had thought over-serious, had seemed to relax a little. He looked at her, and at the big room and the crowd with an air of tolerance; he could put up with it for one night, he seemed to indicate.
Nicole caught Judy’s hand as she made to move along. ‘Judy, you’re coming over to Lynmara for the wedding, aren’t you? It’s going to be tiny, but I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t there. You haven’t replied to the invitation …’
‘Of course I’m coming. Wouldn’t miss it. I expect the reply’s just got lost in all the others.’
‘There aren’t many others, Judy. It’s going to be quite small … David and I wanted it like that.’
Judy beamed at her. ‘I don’t know why, but that makes it sound right. I was so afraid it was going to be that Blanchard chap. Poor thing … he can’t help it, I suppose. But David … next to Rick, I think he’s the best. Rick’s heartbroken …’ She pulled a wry face. ‘As usual, I expect he didn’t try hard enough.’
Nicole was suddenly conscious that time was slipping from her, the past was giving way to what would be her future. Judy represented the best of her past, and she now wore a special radiance that Nicole wished she had for herself. She said on impulse, ‘Judy, come and see me tomorrow afternoon? It’s been so long since we talked …’
‘Tomorrow?’ Judy was surprised. ‘But won’t you be awfully busy? All the last-minute things …?’
‘With Aunt Iris there are no last-minute things. I shall have nothing to do. Come about four … Will you? Please?’
Judy nodded, then the next person in line took Nicole’s hand. It was a girl she remembered having met and re-met at various functions all through the season, a handsome, forthright girl whose voice had always been the loudest in the the ladies’ cloakroom. ‘I say ‒ you do move fast, don’t you? Well, they say the race is to the swift. In that case ‒ congratulations. You won!’ And her laughter boomed out.
The food was good, the two bands played non-stop, the good wishes were all about Nicole. ‘Splendid first party of the season,’ someone said. Some of Iris’s frustration melted in the face of everyone’s evident approval. The Tatler was there to the end, taking pictures. And watching the Countess making her departure with her son, Nicole thought of Anna. ‘Strange how things turn out,’ she murmured as she danced with David.
‘What …?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just saying it’s turned out rather well ‒ the evening, I mean.’
His arm tightened about her. ‘It’s just the beginning.’
Lord Manstone returned to the party after he had escorted his mother back to Belgrave Square. Nicole accepted readily when he asked her to dance. He danced beautifully. ‘I’m out of practice,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t feel that way. Did you dance often with Anna?’
He nodded to an acquaintance as they passed. ‘Hallo, there! Yes ‒ David’s a lucky man, isn’t he?’ She thought he was trying to avoid answering her question, but he looked down at her directly. ‘Yes ‒ I danced often with Anna. She moved so beautifully. She was more graceful than you, you know. Now … do we agree to stop these teasing questions? Will we for ever be talking about Anna? Can we never leave it alone?’
‘Perhaps I shall, in time. But on this night, I can’t help it. I’ve been thinking of almost nothing else. I wish she were here. Have you been thinking of her?’
He nodded, and his smile, which had seemed fixed in place for the whole evening, vanished. ‘Tonight ‒ and all these last weeks. If you meant to break up whatever gloss I’ve managed to put on the memory of how badly I behaved, then you’ve succeeded. Until you came, I’ve managed to persuade myself that everything went well with Anna ‒ she was so strong in her way. Stronger than I ever was. If your father had lived, it would have gone the right way. But then, if other things hadn’t happened … It makes no sense. You told me about her job, and about that …’ It seemed an effort for him to go on. His step faltered, and he was out of rhythm with the music. ‘You told me about that man, Lucky Nolan …’
Suddenly Nicole found herself roused in defence of the man she had thought she despised. ‘Don’t be insulting about Lucky Nolan. He did better than you. He was good to Anna. And very fond of her. He was good to me, but I was a stupid little prig who couldn’t see it that way.’
He shook his head. ‘And neither of us can do anything to change the past. I hope you won’t go on taunting me about Anna. Life won’t be tolerable. You must know by now that my only happiness is centred in David. If he is happy, then I am. If you make him happy, then I will …’
What had he almost said? ‒ she didn’t know. A new twist entered her feelings about him. Could she possibly pity this man? She shut the thought off abruptly. Beware pity. So she asked the next question sharply, tugging at his hand to emphasize it. ‘What do you think of me ‒ now? Now that we know each other?’
‘You?’ He looked puzzled, as if she, as an identity, hardly entered his mind. ‘You? ‒ I don’t know whether you’re a curse or a godsend. If you do all the things you’ve said you will, then ten years from now I might agree with what a lot of people are saying tonight ‒ that David is a lucky man.’
She halted abruptly. ‘Then let’s drink to
that, you and I. Let’s drink to promises. Promises kept ‒ not broken.’ She beckoned to a waiter who held a tray of filled champagne glasses. Nicole took one for each them. ‘Lord Manstone ‒ here’s to promises. And absent friends. Here’s to Anna. Here’s to the things that didn’t happen, and the things that are going to happen. You and I are the only ones who know the full story.’
She raised her glass to him, ‘Look, the whole room thinks we’re having a nice, cosy little toast together. How beautifully they get on together, people will say. Well … people never know, do they? Here’s to ‒ Anna.’
His lips murmured the name after her, but the sound of the band drowned it out. ‘Anna …’
As she drank another name rose, was silenced and demanded to be said within her. Lloyd …
They put aside the glasses and danced again, smiling, smiling for the room, not for each other.
4
It was raining the next afternoon when Judy came to Elgin Square. A few yellowed leaves from the square garden swished along the pavement in a wind that had in it a fool of autumn. Nicole led Judy upstairs to the little music room. She had carried a tea-tray up there, and Adams would bring boiling water; she had spent the whole afternoon there, relentlessly playing scales. The whole frantic pre-wedding rush now seemed suddenly to be over; after the party at the Savoy, there was little to do except pack, and tomorrow to go down to Lynmara. It was strangely quiet. David had gone to Oxford to make last-minute arrangements with his tutors and about the house they were renting. Iris was still wrestling with the logistics of getting all of Charles’s family into the right rooms at the right hotels. The bustle of activity would be at Lynmara now, preparing for the guests invited to stay, preparing for the party that would be given for the tenants. But that was all far removed from Iris’s sphere. It needed only the delivery of a few more dress boxes to Elgin Square, and there would be nothing more to attend to. Last night Nicole had worn the most splendid of Charles’s and Iris’s wedding gifts, a diamond and sapphire brooch which complemented the diamond and sapphire ring David had given her. ‘Something blue,’ Iris had said with uncharacteristic sentimentality. Nicole had removed the ring, as she always did, when she had sat down to practise at the piano. It lay there still, beside the keyboard, when Judy entered.
The Lynmara Legacy Page 26
