Packards

by Patricia Burns

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Amelie agreed.

  The maid opened a huge hatbox and took out a large-crowned creation of green and russet watered silk trimmed with self-coloured rosettes. She settled it on top of Amelie’s piled-up hair and fixed it into place with two foot-long hatpins. The assembled young women declared their approval.

  ‘It’s utterly darling. So elegant!’

  ‘Will I pass, do you think?’

  ‘With full marks.’

  Amelie pulled on the matching kid gloves, pausing to look at her shining new ring. The bridesmaids all kissed her and wished her luck.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll both be very happy,’ one of Hugo’s sisters said.

  ‘Yes. Don’t take any notice of his funny ideas,’ another told her. ‘It’s just his way.’

  ‘Ideas?’ Amelie echoed.

  ‘Yes, all this nonsense about eugenics. It’s not really important.’

  Before she could find out more, Winifred came in.

  ‘Are you ready, my dear? Oh yes – you look charming, quite charming.’ She advanced across the room, her arms outstretched, took Amelie by the shoulders. For just a moment, there was a real mother’s concern in her face. ‘Take care, my dear. I hope everything goes well for you.’

  She kissed Amelie on the cheek, looked for a moment into her eyes, then snapped back into her usual role.

  ‘Well, come along. Your luggage has all been loaded and everyone is waiting to see you,’ she said, and went off, with the bridesmaids, to join Bertie in the hall.

  Hugo was waiting for Amelie on the landing.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ he said.

  ‘So do you,’ Amelie couldn’t resist answering.

  She took Hugo’s arm and descended the stairs to where a sea of upturned faces was gathered in the entrance hall. Cheeks were kissed, hands were shaken, wishes for luck and happiness expressed, and finally they were able to leave the carnival behind them.

  ‘At last,’ Hugo said, sinking back in the leather upholstery of the motor. ‘You don’t know what torture it was to sit beside you all that time and do no more than hold your hand.’

  ‘Mother didn’t like even that. She gave us both some very frosty looks,’ Amelie giggled. ‘Well, she can’t stop us now.’

  ‘Did she choose that hat?’

  ‘Er – yes, I think she did.’

  ‘I thought so. It’s the perfect chaperon. I can’t get near you.’

  ‘That’s easily remedied.’

  Amelie drew out the hatpins and carelessly tossed hours of skilled millinery work onto the floor.

  ‘There,’ she said, and fell into his arms.

  They travelled by train up to London and thence to Claridge’s. It was as the porter shut the door behind him that Amelie experienced her first attack of nerves. Now they really were alone, for the very first time.

  ‘It – it’s a beautiful room,’ she said, wandering round, touching things. ‘Such lovely flowers! And so tastefully decorated. I wonder what the view is like.’

  Hugo came up behind her as she stared unseeing out of the window. He put his arms round her and ducked underneath the restored hat.

  ‘It’s a much nicer view from the room next door.’

  ‘Next –?’ Amelie began, then realised that he meant the bedroom. ‘I – er – I have to – you know –’

  ‘I believe the bathroom’s next door again,’ Hugo told her, interpreting.

  ‘Ah.’

  She made her way past a vast double bed draped in peach satin and locked herself safely into a bathroom that made even the new ones being put in at Tatwell look Spartan. She ran the taps and stood staring at herself in the looking-glass. All the hints and whispered information that helpful married friends had given her over the last few weeks flooded through her mind. Try as she might, she could not quite relate it all to Hugo and herself. Kissing was one thing, and very nice, but what they were supposed to do now, if her information was correct, was quite different.

  She found she really did need to use the lavatory, and sat there for a long time, chewing her lip and worrying. Supposing she couldn’t do it? Supposing he was disappointed in her? Was it going to happen now, as soon as she unlocked that door, or would they have dinner first? After all, it was supposed to take place in bed, and no one went to bed at six o’clock in the evening. Taking courage from this thought, she emerged from the bathroom to find the bed turned back and a maid unpacking her overnight trunk.

  ‘Will you be wanting some help changing, ma’am?’

  ‘Er – yes,’ Amelie said. She could not, after all, wear her travelling outfit all evening.

  The maid helped her undress, ran an experienced eye over the contents of the trunk and held out a rose silk négligée.

  ‘Very pretty, if I may say so, ma’am. And your hair?’

  Obediently, Amelie sat at the dressing table while the woman undid all the elaborate pinning and brushed out her hair.

  ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

  Amelie got up. ‘Yes – thank you.’

  She was left standing in the middle of the bedroom, feeling very exposed and wondering just what to do next. She did not have to wonder for long, for Hugo came in, wearing a dressing gown. Embarrassed, Amelie looked down at his feet, and realised that they were bare. She had never seen his bare feet before.

  ‘My darling –’

  He took her in his arms and began kissing her. Amelie responded happily. This she could do. His hands moved over her, caressing a body unconstrained by corsets and layers of clothing. The strange pleasure of it was frightening. Amelie knew she was rushing towards something she could not control, and yet she did not want to stop. She pressed against him, wanting to be closer still, and found something hard there that excited her even more.

  Hugo’s lips pulled apart from hers. His breathing was ragged.

  ‘My lovely girl. I’ve dreamed of this moment. Come –’

  He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Amelie was swept up in a hot tide of delight as he caressed her breasts, her belly, her thighs. She was no longer thinking, just reacting to the new sensations. There was something that she wanted, something empty and aching inside her. She opened up to him, caught her breath as he entered her and cried out as a sharp pain went through her. Her eyes flew open. She was being torn apart. She wanted to stop. Then Hugo gave a rising shout that turned into a cry of triumph. A few more movements and it was over. He was cradling her head against his chest and kissing her hair and telling her that he loved her.

  Shaken and bewildered, Amelie lay still as he fell asleep and slipped out of her. So that was it. That was what husbands and wives did.

  Hugo stirred, opened his eyes and smiled into hers. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  ‘That was wonderful, darling. Truly wonderful. I hope I didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘Not much,’ Amelie lied.

  ‘It’s always difficult at first. But you’ll come to like it, I promise you.’

  ‘Oh. Good.’

  Did all wives like it? Did Sylvia? She could not imagine her sister-in-law enjoying anything so uncontrolled.

  ‘You will, I promise,’ Hugo repeated, kissing her doubting face. ‘But now, I’m ravenously hungry, so I am going to run a bath for you, and order dinner for an hour’s time. How does that suit you?’

  Amelie thought it would suit her very well. Through dinner they gossiped about the wedding, laughing at their relatives and guests, and talked about the coming honeymoon in Tuscany. When they went back to bed again, Amelie found that Hugo was right, and that she did enjoy it much more than last time. So much so that she was left with a faint sense of dissatisfaction. There was more to it, something that she had not reached. But by then she was so tired that she fell asleep and slept soundly through the night.

  She woke, warm and relaxed, to find Hugo propped up on one elbow looking down at her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Rutherford. How are you?’

  ‘Very w
ell, thank you.’

  ‘Good.’

  He ran a hand over her body, caressing her breast, then bent to kiss her nipple. The rush of pleasure made her gasp.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No, no – please –’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Yes –’

  This time she was fully roused, striving towards something that seemed beyond her until it burst inside her, leaving her dazed with pleasure. She lay with her arms and legs entwined with his, soft and slippery and replete, wondering just what had happened, while he laughed softly and gave her little kisses.

  ‘Oh Amelie, Amelie, you are the most amazing girl. I was right, I knew I was. You have the most beautiful body. Strong and perfect. We shall make such beautiful babies.’

  ‘Babies?’ Amelie repeated.

  ‘Lots and lots of beautiful babies. And not just beautiful, but strong and intelligent. Olympians.’

  Through the golden sea of utter contentment, a sharp black rock appeared. Amelie steered round it.

  ‘Yes, but not yet, I hope.’

  ‘Oh but we must, straight away. We have to lead the way, to set an example. We must prove how important it is to choose one’s partner in life properly so that all that is best can be passed on.’

  ‘But –’ Bewildered, still drugged from their lovemaking, she did not quite follow him.’

  ‘You agree with me, my darling, I know you do. Do you remember at your brother’s wedding, when you said you were sick of people marrying for money and family names?’

  ‘Yes.’ She remembered that very clearly, for just after she had said that, he asked her to marry him.

  ‘So many people have the wrong ideas. You see it all the time. Rich men marry beautiful women and everyone says that their children will have their mother’s looks and their father’s brains. It’s so unscientific. They don’t seem to see that it’s just as likely to be the other way round, and that they’ll produce children that are ugly and stupid. There’s no danger of that with us. Whichever one of us our children take after, they will still be both beautiful and clever, and if the traits are combined, they’ll be exceptional.’

  Through this speech, Amelie felt a growing sense of dismay. She stared at him, the man who had said she should marry him because he loved her. The man who had just shown her the ecstacy of making love.

  ‘Is that why you married me, then? To – to breed?’

  He laughed at her horrified expression and kissed her.

  ‘I married you because I love you, my darling. But children are the natural product of marriage, and ours will be perfect.’

  She remembered his interest in the Packards, his admiration of her grandfather, his remarks about the degeneration of the old families.

  ‘So you took care to fall in love with somebody suitable, did you?’

  ‘But of course. There’s nothing wrong in that, surely?’

  There was so much wrong with it that Amelie did not know where to start. But before she could collect her thoughts, there was a tap on the door to the sitting room and a rumble of trolley wheels. A waiter had arrived with their breakfast.

  ‘Good heavens, I had nearly forgotten – we have the boat train to catch,’ Hugo said. ‘Do you want breakfast here or in the sitting room?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Amelie said.

  She no longer cared about the romantic trip to Tuscany. What did Italy in the spring matter when Hugo had chosen her not for herself, but for her breeding qualities?

  38

  DAISY JUMPED OFF the bus and ran through a heavy April shower down Isobel’s road, hoping against hope that this time her friend would listen to reason. She rapped on the door and stood pressed against it for shelter.

  ‘About time too, I’m drowning out here,’ she said, when Isobel finally opened it.

  ‘Oh.’ Isobel stared at the weather with a vaguely uncomprehending expression. ‘Is it raining?’

  Daisy’s heart sank. She was not going to get much sense out of her today.

  ‘Yes it is,’ she said, stepping past Isobel, taking off her jacket and shaking it. ‘But how are you? How are you keeping?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Isobel responded. She switched into her hostess role and took Daisy’s jacket and hat. ‘Dear me, you’re wet. Do come in and sit down while I make us some tea.’

  Daisy sighed and followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Day like this you could do with a nice coal range to dry things out,’ she commented, as Isobel placed the kettle on the shiny new gas stove. ‘Don’t trust those things myself. They can blow up, they can.’

  ‘Really? How extraordinary,’ Isobel said, and reached for the teapot.

  Daisy waited till they had drunk their tea and she had imparted all the latest Packards’ gossip. Then she started on her campaign.

  ‘Now then, tell me how you really are. You still got the morning sickness?’

  ‘No, no, that was just a passing trouble. I’m very well.’

  ‘You don’t look well. He been knocking you about again?’

  ‘No, no. Not at all. He’s very happy at the moment.’

  ‘I should think he flaming well is. He’s got a nice wife with a baby on the way, he’s got you for his fun, and there’s all this talk round the store about Sir Thomas retiring, and we all know who’ll be in charge then. Everything’s just hunky-dory for him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, he’s very pleased about Sir Thomas retiring. He’s been waiting for that to happen for a long time.’

  ‘He tells you about it, does he?’

  Try as she might, Daisy could not at all imagine the formidable Mr Edward lying in bed chatting about the store.

  ‘Sometimes. He was very excited yesterday. Something about the company being re – re – reconstituted, I think it was. I don’t remember. But it is going to be very good for him.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that’ll keep him so busy that he won’t be round here so often.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Daisy could tell by her expression that she was not going to say any more. It was what Isobel did not say about her life that worried Daisy the most. She was sure there were a lot of things went on that her friend just could not bring herself to talk about.

  ‘You’re going to have to tell him sometime, Izzy,’ she said gently.

  ‘Tell him?’ Isobel repeated.

  ‘About the baby.’

  ‘No! No, I can’t. Not after – he’d be so angry, I can’t tell you.’

  ‘But he’ll see it for himself. He’s not stupid, and his wife’s expecting, so he knows what’s what.’

  ‘No he doesn’t. It’s all right, Daisy. His – his wife doesn’t – she’s – she has her own room.’

  Daisy hesitated. It was at times like this that she wondered if her friend was quite right in the head. It was as if she had managed to convince herself that if she did not admit to there being a baby, then it would just go away.

  ‘So she’s not letting him have it while she’s carrying, eh? Very nice too. Must be wonderful to be rich and have things all your own way. But Izzy, that’s not going to stop him from finding out. Another few weeks and it’s going to show. You’re already bigger round the bust. Soon you’re going to get a belly on you.’

  But Isobel just shook her head. Daisy sighed and changed tack.

  ‘He might like pregnant women. Some men do, you know. I mean – he’s got you and his wife in the family way both at the same time. It shows he’s got it in him doesn’t it?’

  ‘He doesn’t. He – he said so, several times, that I wasn’t to.’

  ‘Then you got to think ahead, Iz, about what you’re going to do. Leave now, before he suspects.’

  Isobel stared at her, her lovely blue eyes widening with fear.

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘You can. I been thinking about it, Izzy, and it’s the best way.’ Daisy leant forward and held Isobel’s hands. She looked into her face, trying to impress her with the seriousne
ss of what she was saying. ‘I can come back next week with a carrier. It’s no good taking a cab ’cause they can be traced. You get all your clothes packed up ready, then when I get here we’ll take everything we can carry.’

  Isobel gasped, horrified.

  ‘Daisy! That’s stealing!’

  ‘Rubbish. It’s your wages. You been giving him what he’d have to pay for and no danger of him catching something nasty and he ain’t given you nothing except a kid. What are you going to live on, else? It’s only fair. He’s rich. He ought to support his child, didn’t he?’

  Isobel’s soft mouth set into a stubborn line. She shook her head and looked away, refusing to meet Daisy’s eyes. Daisy held on to her temper with difficulty. Shouting at Isobel never did any good.

  ‘What we’ll do is, I’ll find you a room, and we’ll say you’re a widow. We’ll say your husband just got killed in an accident. Then you can sell off the stuff from here bit by bit, and that’ll make enough for you to live on until the baby’s born, and then afterwards you can get it minded while you get a job or something.’

  Privately, Daisy did not think it would come to that. Knowing Isobel, some man would come along and want her. With a bit of luck, he might even believe the story and fall in love with her and marry her. All that was necessary was to get her out of the house and away from Mr Edward. While he had this hold over her, there was no getting her to see sense.

  ‘It’d work, Iz, I know it would. I’d help you. Say you’ll do it.’

  But Isobel bit her lip and said nothing. Daisy wanted to shake her.

  ‘For God’s sake, Izzy, listen to me. I’m right, you know I am. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just trust me.’

  ‘And why should she do that, pray?’ asked a male voice behind her.

  Daisy gasped, fear and shock slicing through her. She jerked round. There, standing in the dining room doorway, was Mr Edward.

  Beside her, she heard Isobel moan, but she could not drag her gaze from the man who stood looking at them both with a small unpleasant smile on his face. He stepped into the room. Isobel’s fingers dug into her arm as she huddled closer to her.

  ‘You can stop that,’ he said, addressing Isobel. ‘Leave go of her and go and sit on the other side of the table. I’ll deal with you later.’