The Last Perfect Summer of Richard Dawlish
Page 9
Margaret turned and walked out of the room. Dottie felt there was a bristling hostility in the woman’s manner. It seemed as though she disliked Dottie as much as Dottie did her. Dottie wondered if it was for the same reason.
She ate a little of her food, poking at it on the plate. When she cut through the yolk of the egg, the knife came out clean, the yolk was so firm. All that stuck to the knife was a small piece of eggshell. The coffee was lukewarm and tasted of silver polish. It was admirable that the silver had been cleaned, and certainly the coffee pot was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, but no one wanted to taste the ammonia in their coffee.
Dottie’s headache had worsened rather than improved. The sun shone in at the window, glistening on motes of dust twirling gently through the air, and the room was growing warm. She had to get out. She wiped her mouth on the wrinkled linen napkin and got up. There was a garden door in the drawing room across the hall, where they’d sat the previous evening, she remembered, and went to see. However, when she tried the handle, the door was locked, and the key was missing.
She went out of the front door, and as she rounded the house to look at the gardens at the rear, she immediately saw the maid, sitting on a low wall overlooking a wide expanse of lawn, and smoking a cigarette. She jolted on seeing Dottie, and seemed on the point of leaving.
Seeing her so shaken, Dottie felt mean about her previous dislike. Perhaps she should try and make amends. She went over to sit beside her.
‘Lovely day. It’s so warm in the house, I just needed a breath of fresh air.’
‘Me too,’ Margaret said, adding with a wry glance at her cigarette, ‘and of course, I’m not allowed to smoke in the kitchen.’
Dottie smiled. ‘No, I suppose not. I expect it’s even warmer in the kitchen.’
‘Yes.’ Margaret’s face certainly looked flushed and damp. She pulled out a handkerchief from her apron pocket and blotted her face and neck. ‘Look, I know your breakfast was horrid, by the way. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible cook, I just seem to get worse the harder I try. I know I’m not very good at my job, but I need the money, obviously, and I’m not in a position to be picky.’
‘Oh?’ Now that she’d heard Margaret say a bit more, Dottie noticed her refined tone. A well-bred woman, then, working as a servant, because she had to, not because she had some scruple that forbade her to live a leisured life.
‘Well, you might have heard that I’ve got a little boy?’
Dottie shook her head.
‘It’s one of the top local scandals, I suppose. I’m a bit surprised you haven’t already heard about it. ‘Unmarried daughter of county family gets herself knocked up’.’ Margaret raised her hand in the air to indicate the headlines of a newspaper.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dottie said, sincerely. She was wondering two things: should she tell Margaret what had happened to Diana, in the hope that it might make her feel better about her situation. And secondly, was Gervase the father of her child? That might explain...
‘My own stupid fault,’ Margaret said. ‘But you know how it is,’ a sideways glance at Dottie, taking in her neat feet primly together and her slender figure. ‘Or perhaps you don’t. But,’ she sighed, ‘It’s like this. You meet a fellow. He turns on the charm, takes you about a bit, promises you the earth, tells you you’re beautiful and that he’s never met anyone like you before, then he ditches you at the first hurdle. They’re swine, the lot of them.’
Dottie didn’t feel she could find an appropriate response to that. Instead she said, ‘And what are the other local scandals?’
Margaret looked at Dottie in surprise then laughed. ‘You’re a cool one, I must say. Well, let me see...’ She stubbed out her cigarette on the brickwork of the wall, and immediately lit another. ‘I suppose our biggest scandal was the suicide of a young negro fellow. That was a few years ago now, though. After the war, it was. I expect most people around here have forgotten it. Fifteen years is a long time. Though it’s probably coming back to a few people at the moment.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the anniversary next week, and then of course, Mrs Parfitt’s sister is returning home in a couple of days—and she was the fellow’s fiancée at the time he killed himself.’
‘Goodness!’ Dottie said, then scolded herself silently but furiously for sounding like a twelve-year-old.
‘Not that any of their friends or family knew about it at the time. No, they’d kept it a secret—obviously she knew her parents would never allow it. I mean, can you imagine?’
Dottie had to admit she could. After all, it may have been years ago, but even now there were so many people still holding onto these foolish prejudices. If Dottie had come home engaged to a black man, her parents—who were nicer and more intelligent than a lot of people—would go through the roof.
She said, ‘But how awful that it drove the poor man to suicide! Mrs Parfitt’s sister must have been devastated.’
‘Oh, she was. There had been a ball the previous evening, to welcome home the heroes from the war—and even this negro chappie was honoured—amazingly, he’d become an officer in his regiment. Then the next morning, one of the servants found him hanging from a tree in the grounds. When Miranda heard the news, she fell onto the floor in a dead faint.’
‘How awful.’ Dottie could almost picture the scene in her mind’s eye, it all sounded so vivid. ‘Were you there at the time, then?’
‘I wasn’t there when he was found, but I had been there the night before, at the ball. We youngsters had our own little drinking party outside later, away from all the fuddy-duddies. Really it was just an excuse to get drunk and for the couples to neck.’ Margaret stubbed out her second cigarette. Dottie noticed her hand was shaking. It had obviously all come back with the telling. It must have been dreadful, Dottie thought, someone you knew dying like that, and so young.
‘His family must have been distraught, what with him surviving the war, then doing that,’ Dottie commented. Margaret got up to go, and as she did so it seemed that the previous reserve had fallen upon them once more.
‘No doubt. Well, do excuse me, I must see about lunch.’
Dottie sat there a bit longer. The sun went behind a cloud and a chilly breeze ruffled her hair. The hem of her dress rippled. She didn’t feel like going back inside that gloomy house, but neither was there any point in staying outside. She wandered over to a flower border, sniffed a rose, and felt disappointed that it was all colour and no scent. She turned back to look at the house.
She felt rather restless and adrift again. She wished she had gone home with her parents. She should have gone home. She could have gone in to the warehouse and begun to take up the reins of the business today. She could have gone to see Flora and George, and Diana’s baby. Yet here she was, shivering in the chilly breeze, and feeling completely in the way and unwelcome.
It was because of Gervase, of course. She had felt an immediate attraction to the man, although she knew it wasn’t a serious attachment. He would not be interested in a girl as young as she—he was a worldly, experienced man. She had somewhat glossed over in her head what that might actually mean up until now, but now she was beginning to think. She had no real interest in falling in love with him, she felt too bruised and upset about William for anything of that kind. But she couldn’t deny he was attractive, charming and had a way of talking her into things. And he made her laugh. She did wonder a great deal about just how well he and Margaret knew each other, though, and whether that ‘friendship’ was confined to the past.
But in spite of his excellent qualities, Dottie was ready to get back to her everyday life, and allow her normal routine to heal her wounds from ‘the big row’, as she now thought of it.
The garden door from the drawing room was swinging open. Penny Parfitt stepped outside. ‘Good morning!’ she called, and Dottie forced a bright smile. As Penny came closer, she said, ‘I see you’re the outdoor sort. My husband loved this garden. These roses were his pride and joy.’
It was fortunate that Penny took this as a compliment. She spent the next hour telling Dottie in excruciating detail the names and habits of each plant, and where her late husband had acquired it, concluding at last with, ‘And this one he found halfway up Mount Nubia, and almost broke his neck trying to dig it up and pack it safely to bring it back down the mountain. The natives had to lower him on a rope harness to reach it.’
The cause of all this trouble proved to be a tiny, daisy-like white flower that, without this new information, Dottie would have had no hesitation in plucking out and discarding as a weed. She managed to look impressed and nodded vigorously, words having completely failed her.
Penny, putting her arm through Dottie’s, drew her away. ‘As a matter of fact, I actually came out to find you as Gervase rang to ask us out to lunch. He’s picking us up in about...’ She broke off to glance at her watch. ‘Oh my goodness, in less than five minutes!’
Dottie found herself being dragged in the direction of the house, Penny’s sharp little fingers pinching her arm. Penny rushed upstairs; Dottie was about to follow her when Margaret came out of the kitchen.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Mr Parfitt has invited us out to lunch. I’m afraid time has rather got away from us. He’ll be here shortly.’
Margaret’s face was a picture of fury. She flung away from Dottie into the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder, ‘Oh, well then I’ll just throw out the lunch I’m slaving over, shall I?’ The kitchen door slammed.
With another wish that she had gone home after all, Dottie ran upstairs to change her dress and put some colour into her face.
Not that she needed the extra colour. The excitement she felt knowing she was about to see Gervase again brought her to life. She felt fluttery and restless, unable to settle her thoughts.
He arrived before they were ready, of course, but Dottie—the first to come down—found him lounging in the doorway of the kitchen trying to soothe the furious Margaret. Dottie again couldn’t help speculating about their relationship.
She stepped off the bottom stair; her shoe tapped on the tiles of the hall floor. He heard her. Glancing over his shoulder at her, his face lit up with a smile. She chided herself. Obviously at his age, a man would have had past affairs, only an idiot would be surprised by that. But she knew she was the focus of his interest in the here and now, which was all that should matter to her.
With renewed confidence, she beamed back at him, and reaching his side, she was thrilled when, forgetting or perhaps, simply ignoring Margaret, he turned and swept Dottie into his arms, and kissed her with passion. She was blushing as he released her. She was aware of Margaret staring from the kitchen, and behind them, halfway down the stairs, Penny Parfitt was also watching, one foot halted mid-air as she stood there.
Dottie held her breath—no mean feat as she was so breathless from his kiss—waiting to see if anything would happen. Gervase still gripped her hand, his rough fingers warm and strong. Margaret simply turned and went back to the pan she was stirring on the stove, and Penny, continuing to come down the stairs, gave them both a broad maternal smile.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Gervase dear. I’m so glad Dottie was able to–entertain you.’
She kissed his cheek, grinned at Dottie who was blushing happily and then, ignoring Margaret completely, she led the way to the front door. Gervase gallantly stepped forward to hold it open for her. Penny went out. Dottie was next. Gervase quickly dropped a kiss on her cheek. ‘You certainly did that, all right,’ he said, for her ears only.
Dottie giggled. Her heart felt light. An image of William intruded, and she pushed it away, along with a creeping sense of guilt.
In the car, she had little to do but listen to and laugh at the teasing banter between Penny and Gervase as they began to reminisce. She let it all wash over her, gazing at the countryside streaming past the window: here a little knot of cottages, there a horse; here a smiling boy with a dog, there an irritable-looking man on a tractor. She closed her eyes briefly. Beside her the conversation flowed gently back and forth.
‘...I knew you had a soft spot for her...’
‘...only for you, dearest Penny. You’re the one that got away, my love...’
‘Humph, I seem to remember chasing you one particular summer, only to be rebuffed...’
‘Oh, but then I was just a child. Now I am a man and I have put off childish things.’
Dottie felt relaxed for the first time in a week. Everything was going to be all right. Everything would work out. She would get over William. Diana’s baby would be loved and safe. Diana would rest in the family plot with her ancestors; and she, Dottie, would go back to London in a few days, rested and ready to learn everything she could about how to run a fashion warehouse. Life would go on.
She exhaled slowly and deeply and felt the last of the tension trickle away. Everything would be all right.
They were lunching, not at a restaurant or hotel as Dottie had expected but at the rather nice house that belonged to Gervase’s brother Reggie. There were several people there already; Dottie felt a momentary shyness as she was presented by Gervase to the other guests, simply as, ‘Our new friend, Miss Dottie Manderson,’ though her hand through his arm, and his hand covering hers, seemed to indicate to everyone that ‘friendship’ was an understatement. As a result, surprised but pleased, the others all made a great fuss of welcoming her, crowding round to shake her hand or kiss her cheek.
The ladies bustled upstairs to dispose of hats, gloves and bags, and ensure the blustery drive had not ruined their hair or lipstick. Men were so inclined to forget that kind of thing when they decided to put down the roof on their cars. The men went into Reggie’s study for something alcoholic and to argue about stocks and shares.
Lunch was a large formal affair in the dining room. They took their seats at the long, rectangular table. To her relief, Dottie was placed between Gervase on her left and Michael Maynard, Penny’s older brother, on the right.
There was rather a lot of wine—red and white—and Dottie was glad to drink a glass of water to offset the effects of the alcohol on an almost empty stomach. The table buzzed with conversation. Everyone here had known one another for years and years, and Dottie felt rather overawed by their friendship. Reggie was very like Gervase in some respects, though he looked by far the older, rather than the two years younger he actually was. He stooped slightly in the shoulders, and his hair, already greying, was thinner than Gervase’s. Dottie thought he rather resembled an anxious chicken, his long neck poking forward, a lone sparse strand of hair habitually flopping over his brow.
Next to Reggie sat Penny, talking nineteen-to-the-dozen and looking very flushed. Dottie wondered how much wine she’d had. Her brother Michael, on Dottie’s other side, was boyish, charming, though a little inclined to make racy comments, and given to casual bad language. Not what her mother would call a true gentleman, but Dottie thought that he seemed pleasant enough, and no doubt when sober, he would be very nice indeed. He was talking to her about his other sister, Miranda, who Dottie knew was en route from India.
‘It’ll be wonderful to see her again. She went away after all that bloody awful business years ago—one couldn’t blame her at all, had to get over it somehow, poor kid. So, she’s been gone for fifteen years. Done all right out there. Damn well hitched herself to some major from some artillery company, and popped out a couple of sprogs.’
‘Michael! Please!’ Penny protested, but with an indulgent smile.
‘Sorry sis, it just slipped out, as the bishop said to the chorus-girl.’
Across the table, Reggie spluttered his wine, and Deirdre, Reggie’s wife tutted loudly. Dottie knew she was blushing. Gervase said, more sharply, ‘Mike, for God’s sake watch your language!’ He surreptitiously patted Dottie’s knee, and managed to lean c
lose enough to bump her gently with his shoulder. She flashed him a smile, then turned to give her attention to the Maynards’ cousin, Algy Compton who was seated on the other side of Penny and halfway through a very long anecdote about a newspaper article. He too seemed to have drunk rather a lot. Dottie was glad that the rather thin soup was out of the way and some more substantial food would soon be arriving to counteract the wine.
She felt a little bemused. All around her was the buzz of conversation and laughter. It was her natural environment, just as it had been Diana Gascoigne’s. She couldn’t help thinking about Diana now as someone talked about a radio show they’d listened to, and Dottie remembered the New Year’s Eve party, when she and Diana had moved the big radio set into the downstairs hall of Diana’s parents’ home so that the guests could listen to the recorded sound of Big Ben striking the turn of the year. And now, here she, Dottie was, at a lunch party just six days after Diana’s death, a mere six months later. It felt so wrong. She made a mental note to telephone Flora later, if Penny didn’t object, and just see how the little one was doing, and if Flora and George were coping with their new routine, and whether they had made a final decision on her name.
Gervase leaned a little nearer. ‘You look sad,’ he said softly. ‘Are you thinking about your friend?’ His look was gentle and understanding. She felt the prickle of tears and hastily sipped her wine. She couldn’t break down in public, and certainly not amongst strangers. She nodded quickly and felt his hand press hers for a fleeting second, then he said, more loudly, to everyone, ‘What are we all doing for dinner this evening?’
‘I thought we could go to that new place in town. They have a dance band there on Fridays and Saturdays. They’re supposed to be very good,’ Reggie said, leaning forward to catch his brother’s eye.
Everyone agreed it was an excellent idea, and Gervase winked at Dottie. ‘Coming from London, I’m sure Miss Manderson knows all the latest dances. She can teach us how to do them.’
Dottie laughed and protested. Algy warned her about Gervase’s two left feet, telling her she had her work cut out. Mike then added that it was more his wandering hands she needed to be on her guard against. Reggie said that she had to dance with him first, and the chatter became generally loud and enthusiastic, amply covering Gervase’s low comment to Dottie, ‘I’m not sure I can spare you, you know. I might get jealous if you spend too much time dancing with the other fellows.’