The car drove away leaving Mrs. Johnson staring after it, crimson with rage and frustration and Aria, with a little sigh of relief, turned to pat Mrs. Hawkins’ hand.
“You will never go back there again,” she assured her.
“You’re very kind to me, my dear,” was the gentle reply. “Are you taking me to see my Maggie?”
“You shall see her,” Aria promised.
She wondered now, as she went down to dinner, whether that promise would be fulfilled.
Lulu was in the drawing room, the centre of a laughing chattering group of people. Her jewels flashing in the light from the chandeliers, her face as smooth and untroubled as that of an angel.
Aria saw that Dart Huron’s eyes were on her and, although she disliked him, she could not help a feeling of pity if he should be fool enough to tie himself up to a woman like this. He had evaded matrimony for so long, was he going to be caught by a hard little schemer who had no love in her heart for anyone or anything except herself?
‘What does it matter to me if he is?’ Aria asked herself with a metaphorical shrug of her shoulders.
“You are looking lovely!” a low voice said in her ear.
She looked round with a smile to find Lord Buckleigh beside her.
“You need to see an oculist,” she answered. “Haven’t you looked at Miss Carlo tonight?”
“She’s not my type,” he answered. “I have told you, I only love red-haired women.”
“All those people make me feel more like Cinderella every moment,” Aria answered, intensely conscious, because his words had drawn her attention to it, of the shabbiness of her one and only evening dress.
It was, however, well cut because it had been bought in Paris and she had tried to make it look different by wearing it sometimes with no ornamentation, sometimes with a bunch of flowers at the waist or on the shoulder and on other occasions with a chiffon stole of varying colours.
Tonight she had dressed hurriedly and the gown was severely plain, its black tailored shoulder straps throwing into relief the magnolia whiteness of her skin and enhancing, although she did not realise it, the dancing fire of her hair and the vivid green of her eyes.
“If I was a rich man, I should give you emeralds,” Lord Buckleigh remarked.
“Why?” Aria enquired innocently.
“Don’t you ever look in the mirror?” he enquired.
She smiled at that and replied,
“You are making me feel better. I was feeling angry and upset when I came downstairs and so I am grateful to you – though really I ought to be very angry because you talk so much nonsense.”
“I love you! You know that,” he said. “Why couldn’t you be an heiress like that dumpy girl on the right talking to Lady Westwood? Or the divorced wife of an oil king like Mrs. Davenall? The fat one in pink with the outsize pearls.”
Aria looked at the two women he mentioned and felt herself beginning to laugh.
“I would rather be me,” she said.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” he smiled. “I don’t want to kiss either of them, I would much rather kiss you.”
Aria looked hastily over her shoulder to see that no one was listening.
“You are embarrassing me,” she protested. “Go and be nice to the new guests who have just arrived. I am sure that Mr. Huron disapproves of his secretary monopolising one of the most eligible young men in his party.”
“I am not eligible, that’s just the point,” Lord Buckleigh retorted. “If I was, we could walk out of here, you and I, drive to London Airport and take a plane to some forgotten island in the Pacific where we could be alone, away from all these chattering fools. Would you like that?”
“I am not going to answer that sort of question,” Aria said evasively.
At the same time she could not deny that it was fun to be made love by someone as charming and good looking as Lord Buckleigh. It was also exciting, in some ways, to be here, to see all these well-known glamorous people, to know the luxury and the ease which only great wealth can bring.
All this and at the same time she was benefiting Queen’s Folly.
“I am lucky!”
She said the words aloud, almost involuntarily.
“Can’t I be lucky too?” Lord Buckleigh asked.
She looked up at him and saw the question in his eyes – the question she had half expected and which now he had asked it gave her a little sense of dismay.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said quickly.
“I think you do,” he answered. “We will talk about it later. Can I come to your room?”
“No! No! Of course not!” Aria said decisively.
She walked away from him and, going to the cocktail table poured out a cocktail, which she took across to the Ambassadress. It was only an excuse, for the Ambassadress indicated that she already had one at her side and Aria was forced to carry the glass back to the table.
At the same time the action had served her need to free herself from Lord Buckleigh, to let the colour subside from her face.
So that was what his love-making had been leading up to, she thought a little despondently. She might have guessed it. And yet somehow, now that he had come into the open, she felt as if he had deliberately despoiled something that was rather lovely and had promise of being lovelier still.
Aria was fortunately nowhere near Lord Buckleigh at dinner and when the meal was over she slipped away and went to the garden room to see Mrs. Hawkins.
In the doorway she met one of the young housemaids coming out, a girl whom she had asked to keep looking in at the old lady in case there was anything she wanted. She was Italian and spoke very little English, so Aria knew that any secrets the old lady might reveal were safe as far as the staff were concerned.
“How is the lady?” Aria asked in Italian.
“The Signora seems very comfortable,” the girl replied. “She thanked me for her dinner. She had very little, but she said it was enough.”
“Thank you, Maria, for looking after her,” Aria said. “I will stay with her now.”
“It no trouble, Signorina,” the girl said.
Aria went into the room. It was large and exquisitely furnished as it had been used by the last Duke of Melchester whose gout had prevented him, in the last years of his life, from being able to negotiate any stairs.
The bed was set in an alcove draped with curtains of misty blue and the peach-coloured shaded lights gave a soft glow to Mrs. Hawkins’ pale cheeks so that she looked better already.
“How are you?” Aria asked.
“I had a little sleep just now, dearie, and I thought I must be dreaming. Am I really here in this lovely place?”
“You are, indeed,” Aria answered. “And if you want anything, you have only to ring the bell by your side and someone will come.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Mrs. Hawkins declared.
“You would never be that,” Aria answered.
“And I will see Maggie? You promised me I would see Maggie. I have been lying here thinking how wonderful it would be if she walked in. She’s all I’ve got left. There was another very like her, but she was killed, the poor wee soul.”
The old eyes misted for a moment and Aria said quickly,
“Don’t think about it now. Think about yourself and what a good night’s sleep you are going to have.”
“But I don’t want to think about myself, I want to think about Maggie. You brought those newspaper cuttings, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” Aria told her soothingly. “They’re over there. I will put them on the chair so that you can see them. They don’t look very pretty wrapped up in a shawl and tomorrow I’ll find a big box so that you can put them on the table and look at them when you want to.”
As Aria spoke, she had a sudden sinking of her heart. Tomorrow, Lulu Carlo had said, Mrs. Hawkins must go away.
“Yes, I can see them now,” the old lady was saying. “Everything that’s been written
about her I’ve got there. I sit reading them, when my eyes will let me, and somehow it’s nearly as good as seeing her. She was always beautiful, was my Maggie. Those photographs don’t do her justice.”
“No, she’s very beautiful,” Aria murmured.
“She’s here!” Mrs. Hawkins said. “She’s here in this very house!”
It was as if she had suddenly tumbled to the idea that she had been brought to the very place where her grandchild was.
“Yes, she’s here,” Aria said hesitantly.
“And she’s coming to see me. Oh, my goodness! Please bring me a looking glass, dearie, and let me see if my hair’s tidy. I must look nice for Maggie. I wouldn’t want her to be ashamed of me.”
The frail old hands with their startling blue veins were trembling. Aria brought a hand-glass from the dressing table, but, as she did so, she said gently,
“I don’t think your granddaughter will be coming tonight. She would want you to rest and take things easily.”
“No, no! I must see her tonight,” Mrs. Hawkins insisted. “I must see her now. I’ve waited so long. I’ve a feeling that I can’t wait any longer.”
There was no mistaking her agitation, the breathlessness of the frail old voice, the trembling of her hands, the look of almost piteous desperation in her eyes.
Aria suddenly felt brave and resolute.
“You look very nice,” she said gently. She tidied Mrs. Hawkins’ pillows. “I am going to fetch your granddaughter to see you. And then you will be able to go off to sleep.”
“I’ve prayed that I would see her again before I die,” Mrs. Hawkins said in a low voice. “I’ve prayed day after day that the Lord would remember me. And He has!”
Aria turned away so she should not see the tears in her eyes.
Then she walked quickly down the long corridors to the hall. She opened the door of the drawing room. The ladies were there alone for the men had not yet left the dining room and their port.
Lulu was standing alone at the radiogram, selecting a record from a large pile of the latest tunes, which had arrived that morning from America.
Aria went to her side.
“I want to speak to you,” she began.
“I have nothing to say to you, Miss Milbank,” Lulu Carlo replied rudely. “Not here, at any rate.”
“You would be wise to hear me,” Aria said.
There was something in her voice that made Lulu Carlo glance at her in surprise. Then she almost threw the record down on the table.
“Very well,” she snapped.
She walked abruptly across the room, her dress swinging from the undulating movement of her hips. Aria followed her and they went out together into the hall.
“What is it?” Lulu Carlo asked. “What devilry are you up to now?”
“I am taking you to see your grandmother,” Aria answered.
“You are taking me,” Lulu Carlo answered scoffingly. “So you think you are giving the orders, do you, Miss Milbank? I don’t want to see my grandmother. She has no right to be here. She goes tomorrow and if I had my way you would go with her.”
“What happens tomorrow remains to be seen,” Aria said. “But at this moment you are going to see your grandmother and you are going to be pleasant and nice to her.
“If you don’t, I am going into the drawing room and I am going to invite all the other ladies here, and Mr. Huron when he comes from the dining room, to come and visit her themselves. They would be very interested, I think, in seeing the grandmother of the famous Lulu Carlo.”
“You little vixen!” Lulu Carlo exploded.
She made a movement with her hand as she spoke and Aria knew quite well that for a moment she contemplated slapping her across the face. But her self-control prevailed and she merely stood there, staring with smouldering eyes into Aria’s face.
Then she acknowledged defeat.
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s be quick about it.”
In absolute silence Aria led the way down the corridor to Mrs. Hawkins’ room. Only when they reached out and her hand was on the door did she say quietly to Lulu,
“Be nice to her. Don’t say anything about her leaving tomorrow. Just tell her how glad you are to see her. If you don’t, my threat still holds good.”
“I’ll make you suffer for this sort of blackmail,” Lulu answered.
Without answering, Aria opened the door.
“Here’s someone you very much want to see, Mrs. Hawkins,” she said in a very different voice from the one she had used to Lulu.
For one moment the film star stood in the doorway and then Lulu ran forward, her hands outstretched, her expression one of gladness and delight.
“Granny! How wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed and took the old lady’s shaking hand in hers.
It was an excellent performance, Aria thought drily, as she closed the door behind them and stood outside in the passage. Five minutes passed before the door was opened.
“Good night, Gran darling,” she heard Lulu say. “Sleep well. You must take care of yourself, you know.”
“I shall sleep now I’ve seen you, my dearest child,” was the old lady’s answer.
Lulu came out into the corridor and, as if she could be switched off like a light, her smile faded from her lips.
She gave Aria a look of inexpressible venom and walked away down the corridor without another word.
Aria went into the old lady’s room. She was weeping with happiness.
“Prettier than ever, she is,” she said to Aria. “And as sweet as she’s pretty. She was glad to see me. It’s been worth waiting all these years to see the gladness in her face at the sight of her old Granny.”
She went on talking as Aria made her comfortable, rearranging her pillow, putting her glass of water beside her bed and setting a clean handkerchief within reach of her hand. She was still talking when, as the old so often do, she fell asleep, her lips still forming a word as her eyes closed.
Aria turned out the lights with the exception of one very discreetly shaded by the bedside. She didn’t want the old lady to wake up in the night and be frightened by her new surroundings, not remembering where she was.
And then, having opened the window, she slipped away.
She felt somehow she could not face the party in the drawing room even though she knew that Dart Huron would expect her to be there. Instead she went out into the garden feeling that perhaps the soft scented darkness would ease her feeling of anger against Lulu and her sense of disappointment about Lord Buckleigh.
She walked away from the house down to the rose garden.
The moon was rising and it was easy to find the way along the paths with their neatly kept box hedges. At the end of the rose garden there was an arbour covered with honeysuckle. It had been built in the Georgian days in imitation of a Greek temple, as was the fashion of the time.
Aria sat down on the seat that stood between two pillars. It had been a long day, she thought suddenly. She was tired and it was very restful. There was just the rustle of the evening breeze in the trees and then the sudden scuffle amongst the leaves as if some small animal moved across them.
Otherwise silence! The silence of the night that seemed made for contemplation and reflection.
How long she sat there she had no idea – and then suddenly she realised that footsteps were approaching. Someone was coming slowly down the path, someone who was smoking a cigar because she could see the glow of it very distinct against the darkness.
She sat very still hoping whoever it was would either pass by or return before reaching the temple. But after a moment she realised that she, herself, was clearly discernible because the moonlight fell full upon the seat she was sitting on.
The man reached her side before she was sure of his identity. And yet, she asked herself as she recognised him, why had she not been sure from the very first moment of his appearance?
No one else moved in quite the same way with that curious feline grace that must have
been inherited from his Indian ancestor.
“You felt in need of solitude, I gather, Miss Milbank.”
It was a statement rather than a question, but Aria felt that it was an accusation.
“I thought perhaps that you would not need me any longer, Mr. Huron,” she replied.
She would have risen, but he put out a hand as if to restrain her and then seated himself by her side.
“I always need a hostess at my parties, Miss Milbank. I thought I made that quite clear.”
“I am sorry.”
Then somehow because in the dark he did not seem so awe-inspiring and so frightening as he did in the daylight, she spoke honestly and said what she felt.
“I feel so inadequate to play hostess in a house like yours. I don’t know the people and it is difficult to know what to talk to them about. I feel I am letting you down most of the time.”
It was only as she finished speaking that she realised how childish and inconsequential she must sound.
“I have no fault to find with you so far, Miss Milbank, You have been, shall we say, entirely satisfactory.”
“Thank you! That is kind of you to say so,” Aria smiled.
“I gather you have not had much experience of this sort of life before,” Dart Huron went on.
“No.”
“Do you like it?”
The question was surprising in itself and she turned to look at him. His face was enigmatic in the pale light of the moon, his eyes were pools of darkness and she could not know what he was thinking.
“Shall I be truthful?” she enquired.
“But of course! Why should you be anything else?”
“Because the truth is often impolite,” she said. “You have asked me if I like this life. No, I do not! And yet, in a way it fascinates me. But, I don’t know why, I feel all the time in my heart that it is wrong. People shouldn’t be so rich and so useless.”
“Useless?”
He queried the word.
“Most of the people here have worked hard for their success.”
“I didn’t mean useless in that sort of way,” Aria said. “I meant – ”
She stopped suddenly. She could not put into words what she was trying to say. She had been thinking of Lulu Carlo – hard, selfish, seeking only self-gratification, having no affection for anyone, not even her own kith and kin.
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