The Collector's Daughter
Page 8
“How did we all get to be so old?” Maude asked. “It seems only yesterday when Eve and I were flitting around town, our only concern being which frock to wear to that evening’s party.”
“That was never one of my concerns,” Brograve quipped.
“You used to hate parties,” Eve said, then turned to their guests. “His mother practically begged me to invite him out, but more often than not he turned me down. It’s a wonder we ever got together.”
“How did you know his mother back then?” Maude asked. “I can’t remember. Were they friends of your family’s?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. They turned up at the Winter Palace in Luxor in the winter of . . .” She hesitated and glanced at Brograve. She still had trouble remembering dates.
“February 1921,” he said.
Eve continued: “I’d been digging in the Valley all day and got back to the hotel, covered in sand from head to toe, bedraggled as a street urchin. Imagine my horror when I saw Brograve standing in reception with an older couple, who I assumed were his parents. I tried to slink behind a screen, but he spotted me, called me over, and made the introductions.” Eve pulled a face. “Betty was a delightful woman but I made a terrible blunder over cocktails and upset her badly.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Brograve murmured, and she was grateful, but all the same she knew it had been.
* * *
Brograve’s father, Sir Edward, was formal, shaking Eve’s hand briefly without smiling, but his mother was instantly friendly.
“Do please call me Betty,” she said in an American accent. “I never understand English titles and how you’re supposed to use them. Am I Lady Betty or Betty, Lady Beauchamp? Frankly, I just prefer Betty.”
“In that case you must call me Eve. How lovely to meet you. Are you staying here long?”
Betty explained that they were on a Nile cruise and had fancied a couple of nights on dry land while they explored Luxor. “I can’t wait to see Karnak and the Valley of the Kings,” she said.
“I’ve just come from the Valley,” Eve explained, gesturing at her grubby gown. “And I appear to have brought some of it back on my clothing.”
At that moment they heard the sound of raised voices coming from outside. Men were shouting in Arabic, and they sounded alarmed. Brograve hurried to the door to see what was going on.
“Probably some local dispute,” Sir Edward said. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going up to our room to read some telegrams I’ve received.” He bowed and told Eve it had been a pleasure to meet her, before heading for the stairs, swinging a room key.
“It’s the office,” Betty told Eve. “They can’t leave him to vacation in peace.”
“Am I right in thinking he’s in politics?”
Betty nodded. “He’s a member of parliament, and he’s also chairman of Lloyd’s of London, the insurance company. The telegrams will be from them.”
Brograve returned. “There’s a snake in a tree. A cobra, I think. Some men are trying to knock it down with forked sticks.”
“Which tree?” Eve asked, the blood draining from her face.
“A palm tree by the staircase up from the garden.”
“You mean the tree I just walked under?” Eve asked, having visions of a snake dropping onto her head, or uncoiling to strike as she passed.
“Oh my, was it there when we arrived?” Betty asked, an edge of hysteria in her voice.
“I think I should buy you ladies a drink,” Brograve said. “I’m sure they won’t allow any snakes indoors.”
Eve was about to excuse herself, feeling too scruffy to enter the hotel’s very smart salon, with its cool marble floors, white blinds, and aquarelles of ancient sites on the walls. She considered going upstairs to let Marcelle tidy her hair at least, but the lure of a drink was too powerful.
“Perhaps I’ll join you for a quick freshener,” she said. “I could murder a gin rickey.” It was a drink she had been introduced to by Tommy Russell—gin with ice, soda, sugar, and lime.
“How do you two know each other?” Betty asked as they sat down, and Eve explained while Brograve went to the bar to place their order.
Betty admitted she had found it difficult to make friends since she had arrived in London. Everyone seemed to have their own social group and did not include outsiders. “It means I don’t have many acquaintances with sons or daughters of Brograve’s age who might invite him to social events,” she said, then looked at Eve. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to include him in your gatherings once in a while? He hardly goes anywhere and I’d love him to make more friends.”
Brograve was returning from the bar and overheard her. “Mother!” he exclaimed, his cheeks coloring.
“I’ll do my best,” Eve promised, smiling at him. “But I suspect I might need to hold a pistol to his head.”
A waiter brought a tray with three gin rickeys served in tall glasses dripping with condensation. Eve and Betty kept up an effortless flow of conversation without Brograve uttering more than a few words. It seemed he would never get a sentence in edgeways if she didn’t ask direct questions, so she turned to him.
“Are you still playing polo?” she asked. “I was sorry to miss that match at the Hurlingham. My friends said that, from the little they could understand, you seemed to be a skilled player.”
He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Not at all. In fact, I’ve had to retire from the team as my work doesn’t allow me time for sport.”
“What work is that?” she asked. “Are you a career officer in the Life Guards?” She sipped her drink, brushing away a drop of condensation that landed on her skirt.
“My commission has recently come to an end,” he replied, “and I am starting my own business.”
“Goodness, that sounds intriguing. What kind of business?” The conversation was hard work because Brograve never volunteered information, leaving her to dig for it.
“I’m sure you will find it terribly dull, but I plan to manufacture a new kind of copper cable. It’s the type required for the telephone network to be expanded, and will have many other uses, I hope.”
“Well, far from finding it dull, I can tell you I will be your biggest customer,” Eve told him. “I love telephones! I spend far longer on them than you can possibly imagine. How did we ever manage without them?” She shook her head, smiling at Betty. “I also remember you mentioning that your father wanted you and your brother to go into politics. Will you combine the two careers, as he has done?”
Brograve glanced at his mother, seeming uncomfortable, and Eve wondered if she’d spoken out of turn. The terrace doors opened and she turned, momentarily distracted by the thought of the snake in the garden.
“Am I misremembering?” She turned back. “You said your brother would have made a better politician than you, because he was more outgoing.”
Betty made a slight choking noise and clutched the triple strand of pearls at her throat.
“I’m so sorry,” Eve said, realizing too late she had strayed into difficult territory. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Edward. I can be horribly tactless sometimes.”
Betty’s eyes filled with tears, and Brograve whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. She covered her face with it, shoulders heaving.
“Please forgive me . . .” Eve’s voice tailed off in horror as Betty stood up abruptly. What had she done?
“I’m sorry,” Betty said, her voice choked with tears. “I have to get better at this. I must.”
Brograve half-rose from his seat, reaching out a hand, but his mother hurried through the bar toward the stairs before he could stop her.
“Please run after her,” Eve begged. “Tell her I’m a complete dolt and am heartily ashamed of myself. I remember now you warned me that she couldn’t bear to talk of your brother.”
“Don’t concern yourself. She’ll be fine,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “Perhaps she will compose herself and return to join us soon.”
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Eve thought how hard it must be for him to live in an environment where he had to curb his own grief because of his mother’s distress. All the pressure rested on him as the son left behind. No wonder he had the air of carrying the world on his shoulders.
She decided then and there to take him under her wing. She felt drawn to this tall, reserved man. She sensed she could be good for him—if only he would relax his guard for five minutes and let her.
Chapter Fourteen
London, Spring 1921
After the discovery of the alabaster vessels of Merneptah, Eve’s determination to become a lady archaeologist was stronger than ever, but back home in London, Almina had other ideas.
“Ideally you should have been engaged after your first Season,” she said, regarding her daughter critically. “But to be single after your second would look as if there’s something terribly wrong with you. Shall I invite Tommy Russell for dinner this week?”
Eve cringed. “Please don’t, Mama. You would embarrass us both. He has his eye on many other girls apart from me and seems content to sow his wild oats.”
“There are subtle ways a girl can encourage a man,” Almina said, looking coy. “Perhaps he doesn’t realize you are interested.”
Eve snorted with laughter, wondering what methods her mother had in mind. “Believe me, Lord Russell knows exactly where he stands.”
Her mother’s expression clouded over. “Such a shame. He would be perfect. If you’re too fussy, you’ll miss the boat entirely. How about Wilfred Beningfield?”
Eve gave a mock shudder. “He’s inoffensive, I grant you, but . . .” She screwed up her face, and Almina couldn’t help but laugh.
“We’re counting on you, Eve,” she said. “Porchy’s the mischief-maker in our family, but you’re a good girl. You won’t let me down.”
Eve knew what had sparked this conversation. Porchy had fallen in love with a girl called Catherine Wendell, who was spectacularly beautiful, with strawberry blond hair and the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Pups was vehemently against the match because she was virtually penniless and he’d been hoping the estate would get an injection of cash from Porchy’s wife’s dowry. Almina was against it because she was American, and, what’s worse, it seemed her father had been an actor before his early death.
Eve liked Catherine enormously and couldn’t imagine a sweeter sister-in-law, so she was doing her best to change her parents’ minds. Porchy was so headstrong that she knew he would marry Catherine with or without their approval, and she feared that could cause a family rift.
Eve loved Highclere and knew that Porchy did too. They’d had an immensely privileged upbringing, but the price was high if they couldn’t marry for love. Sometimes she wished she wasn’t Lady Evelyn Herbert, daughter of the Earl of Carnarvon, but just plain Eve, from a normal family, who could pick any man she wanted as a husband, be he a lord or a chimney sweep.
All around her, friends were settling down. Lois had agreed to marry her childhood friend after the “kissing test” proved successful, and she was the first of the unholy quadrumvirate to walk down the aisle. Emily was engaged to a flashy friend of Tommy Russell’s. She chased around town in taxis following him from one party to the next, breathless and giddy, in no mind to listen to her friends urging caution.
Maude was Eve’s closest confidante in those years as they scrutinized the available men and endlessly discussed the type of marriage they wanted—and then Maude found Cuthbert, leaving Eve the last one on the shelf.
* * *
Fifty-one years later, over dinner with Maude and Cuthbert in the dining room of her London apartment, Eve smiled to remember that they had met because of her.
“Do you ever think of all the coincidences that brought the four of us to be sitting here tonight?” she asked. “I met Brograve by chance at the Residency in Cairo; I met Maude when she saved me from social humiliation at Queen Charlotte’s Ball; and, Maude, you met Cuthbert because I pressed Brograve to bring a friend to your party. Otherwise we could all have married quite different people, and where would we be now?”
“I think I deserve some of the credit,” Cuthbert said. “I had a deuce of a time persuading Brograve to go to that party. He made every excuse under the sun to bow out, and finally agreed only to stop me from throttling him.”
“If you and I hadn’t met that night, I’m sure we would have found each other on another occasion,” Maude murmured.
“But you might have been swept off your feet by another man by then, and I would have had to worship you from afar.” He turned to Eve. “I had the strangest feeling when Maude greeted us at the front door. Right from the start I knew—I just knew I had to marry her.”
Maude smiled at the memory. “By the end of that evening, I felt the same way. After all the agonizing you and I had done, Eve, when the time came it was simple.”
Mrs. Jarrold brought the main course of beef Wellington and there were gasps of admiration. The pastry was golden and flaky, the beef pink and tender. Eve had hesitated over the choice of beef because it was tricky for her to cut meat. She could hold cutlery in her right hand but not firmly. She saw Brograve wondering whether to offer to cut it for her, but she was determined to manage herself. She stabbed her fork into the beef and sawed with the knife in her left hand until she had a mouthful.
“I remember chatting to you at the end of that party,” Eve told Maude, “and you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face.”
For her, the evening had not had such a happy conclusion.
Chapter Fifteen
London, July 1921
As the friends’ second Season drew toward a close, Maude’s parents agreed to throw a party for the younger set at their Hampstead house. Eve decided this was a good opportunity to fulfill her promise to Betty Beauchamp to tempt Brograve into society. The invitation was sent, and a reply came two days later offering his apologies. He said he would not be able to attend, but gave no reason.
Eve resolved not to let him off the hook so easily. She asked the operator to put a call through to his family home in Putney, South London, and got Betty on the line.
“I think he’s worried he won’t know anyone,” Betty confided. “Perhaps if he could bring a friend, that might persuade him?”
“Of course he can bring a friend!” Eve exclaimed. “I know I speak for the hostess, who is my dearest chum. Please will you pass that message on?”
Formal balls were completely out of fashion in their set, so they had decided that Maude’s party would be a “Fun and Games” one with card tables, a roulette wheel, and childish pursuits like Pin the Tail on the Donkey.
Eve was doing rather well at roulette when she looked up and noticed Brograve had arrived with an equally tall man by his side. Maude was chatting to the friend, while Brograve hung back, looking uncomfortable. Eve collected her chips and slipped them in her evening bag, then hurried over.
“You’re here!” she exclaimed to Brograve. “Wonders will never cease!”
“And he’s brought his friend Cuthbert Delauney,” Maude told her.
Eve shook hands with them both and addressed Brograve. “Are you going to stay awhile or are you already devising excuses to escape?”
He chuckled. “Am I so transparent? I have no skill at the kind of talk people seem to make at parties. I find myself tongue-tied and thinking with longing of the book I could be reading in the garden at home.”
“That’s precisely why this kind of party is ideal,” Eve told him. “There’s no need to talk. We can just play games.”
Maude was deep in conversation with Cuthbert so Eve led Brograve to a sunny parlor that had French doors leading out to the garden. “Let’s see what mischief they’re getting up to in here.”
A lively group were huddled around a card table, laughing raucously.
“Come join us,” a young man beckoned. “We’re playing Answers and Commands.”
“That sounds alarming.” She glanced at Brograve.
“Perhaps we’ll observe for a while,” she said, worried that Brograve might find it too intrusive. “I’d like to see what kind of forfeits you have in store before I commit myself.”
“You’re either in or you’re out,” the man said. “No half measures. Are you a lion or a mouse?”
Brograve and Eve caught eyes. He was waiting for her to decide. “Shall we give it five minutes?” she suggested, and he agreed.
The dice was passed around, each person taking a turn. Eve was relieved to get a four but immediately afterward, Brograve threw a six.
“On the first throw. Just my luck!”
“Take a question!” the young man ordered, and two of the others chanted, “Ques-tion! Ques-tion!”
Brograve dipped his hand into the top hat and pulled out a question. Eve watched him and could have sworn he blanched as he read it.
“Read it out!” the young man ordered.
“‘What is the thing you are most ashamed of?’” He took a deep breath. “I am going to plead the Fifth Amendment, as the Americans say, and surrender myself to your forfeit instead.”
He dipped into the homburg, pulled one out, and read it. “It seems I am to sing the national anthem in a style of my choosing,” he declared to the company, with a sheepish grin.
Eve remembered his singing in Cairo, and worried that everyone would laugh at his appallingly flat voice. Was he aware he was tone deaf? He hadn’t appeared to be.
Brograve stood, placed his right hand on his heart, and began to sing, in the style of an opera singer: “God Save Our Gracious King . . .” all on the same baritone note. He gesticulated dramatically with his left arm but his singing was completely tuneless.