by Parks, Adele
‘That is very true.’
‘Well?’
‘I care because it’s you and you’re going to get terribly hurt.’
‘You’re wrong.’
Ava pulled heavily on her cigarette holder, held the smoke in her lungs and then blew it out in a series of neat and impressive concentric rings. Even when she was in the middle of something so serious, she could not help but be stylish and impactful. She turned to the gramophone and selected a Sophie Tucker record; one hand busy with her cigarette, she used the other to place the record carefully on the turntable and lower the needle into the fat grooves. The piano notes and the rich, gravelly, come-to-mama voice exploded into the room. Lydia let the words wash over her. Something about living alone and liking it. Ava stood in the middle of the room; like an actress on stage in the spotlight, she swayed, alone, almost aloof.
‘What do you do together? Besides the sex, I mean?’
‘We walk.’
‘Walk?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere. Everywhere. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It will, though, soon. You know that, don’t you? It will matter very much where you are going.’ Ava twirled. ‘It’s time to let him go, Lydia.’
‘He anchors me,’ Lydia whispered.
‘Does he? Where?’
‘In reality.’
‘Tell me about his reality.’
Lydia described the secret, stolen times that she’d shared with Edgar in his lodgings. She gave the sort of detail that made it quite clear that she was well beyond decorum. Ava had never been so consumed with a man that she’d consider being indiscreet in public or emotionally naked in private. She wondered whether she envied Lydia or pitied her.
‘Don’t confuse reality and poverty,’ she warned. Lydia forced out a bright smile, refusing to allow Ava’s words to cast a shadow.
‘I won’t give him up.’
‘You made a huge mistake, spending so much time with him. It allowed you to fall in love with him.’
‘No, it wasn’t like that. I was in love with him from the first instant. Ever since, I’ve looked to find something I might not love. Not like, even, but there’s nothing.’ Lydia beamed. ‘He’s quite perfect.’
Ava scowled. ‘Why do you think he chooses to live in the East End? I just can’t imagine you among those skinny, litter-strewn streets. All those dreadful, ugly houses, plummeting into squalid rot.’ She shivered dramatically.
‘Money, I suppose. Lack of it.’
‘But he’s an officer. He must be paid reasonably. He could afford Earls Court or Hammersmith. It sounds rather mean, the place he lives. I wonder what he does with his money.’
‘Well, he doesn’t gamble or drink excessively, if that’s what you think.’
‘I don’t know what to think.’
In fact, a sound that Lydia often associated with Edgar was the sound of ice clinking as he downed a whisky, or bottle knocking against glass as something was poured, but she was not prepared to admit as much to Ava, since Ava was being so unexpectedly contradictory. ‘Anyway, just about everyone who came home drinks too much,’ Lydia added defensively.
‘Is he one of those that likes to make a virtue out of poverty?’
Lydia recalled the luxurious gramophone, the gold teacups, and the beautiful brass art deco reading lamp. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Odd.’
‘He probably sends his wages home to his family.’
‘How very touching. I’ve seen those places in the East End: simply ghastly. It’s a depressing, drab, grimy wasteland, I can’t think how you’ve spent a week there.’
‘You’ve been to the East End?’
‘And how is that more shocking than the fact that you have? I do a lot of my charity work there.’ Ava thought of the persistent stench of rotting organic matter, sulphur, tobacco and sweaty bodies; the brew of poverty. ‘How do you tolerate the smells?’
Lydia thought of their attic room. Warm and fragrant; perfumed by the melting sweetness of roses opening, growing fat and then falling away in a loose sensual movement, like her throwing off her clothes for her lover. She thought of the dense, musky smell of their lovemaking.
‘It’s authentic, Ava. Sincere.’
‘Our reality is true too,’ replied Ava sharply.
‘It’s not. There’s nothing real about the endless parties. The masked balls, fancy-dress balls, themed balls. Frankly, it’s total balls.’ Ava’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, revealing surprise at her friend’s use of the colloquialism. She guessed that the sergeant major had taught Lydia this vulgarity and, no doubt, so much more. ‘If our world has anything to do with reality, it is only that it exists as its opposite. It’s escapism at best, which is why you go to the rallies for women’s rights and talk to those terribly poor women about contraception, and why you refuse to marry the rich men who fall at your feet. You want to be in the thick of it too, Ava. You and I never were. Not even during the war.’
‘You mean because we didn’t lose a lover or a brother?’
‘In part. We were protected. We still are. It’s not right. You know it isn’t.’
Lydia was struggling. She wanted to articulate what she felt with a fiery ferocity, but only recently had she acquired the knack of serious, thoughtful speech and she still needed practice. Now that she’d fallen in love with Edgar, nothing could be the same again. She’d jumped to a higher and more sincere plain; it was not possible for her to feign an interest in what she had previously valued and possessed. All the wealth and history that had been so vital, now somehow – inexplicably – seemed frail and tenuous. Land, art, money, furniture were ephemeral and transient. Love, experience and concepts about humanity and being seemed to be the only authentic truths. It was the opposite of everything she’d ever been taught but she knew it was so. What she felt for Edgar was somehow intrinsically linked with how she felt about justice and injustice, heroism and cowardliness, splendour and ignominy. Love and cruelty.
Ava sighed. ‘Darling, I can see perfectly well how a working man might seem exotic and wonderful. We’ve been brought up with such constraints and controls. He’s a novelty. He must be utterly intriguing.’
Lydia did not feel or recognise class distinction when she was with him. It wasn’t that. At least not that alone. Perhaps his sensual bulk was largely a result of his manual labour, perhaps his quick mind was a product of necessity, but she did not romanticise his origins. She admired his social mobility. She was relieved that largely he remembered when and when not to pronounce his aitches, that he was confident about the distinctive use of ‘them’ and ‘those’ and that he did not allow himself to slip into lazy colloquialism. The fact that he looked marvellous in black tie, white tie and uniform was as important to her as the fact that he knew which to wear when. Besides, his taste in art, music and books, though uneducated, was direct and true. So much more real than many of the opinions she heard inherited and passed around until they wore thin.
What they had was beyond class peculiarities. It seemed right and of the time. ‘Indeed, we were raised to value condescension and to be ignorant of people outside our accepted class, but—’
Ava interrupted. ‘Well, you’ve certainly put paid to that. I gather you know him very well now.’
Lydia was exasperated. ‘I’m not simply trying to be original. I’m not making a point.’
‘What if Lawrence finds out?’
Lydia could not hide her thoughts. One glance told Ava everything.
‘Oh, my God, you can’t want that. I’m not sure he’s the sort of man who, through sheer good manners and the force of society, would tactfully ignore an infidelity. He’d be wild.’
‘I don’t think I’d want him to ignore it.’
‘You’re going to hurt him.’
‘That’s not my plan.’
‘Maybe not, but you’re going to hurt him all the same.’
Lydia was beginning to wonder whet
her Ava could understand this at all. She was all about theatre: she used emphatic gestures and flourishes when she told stories; she oozed entertainment. Despite her endless love affairs, she had never been in love. Would she know what was real? ‘Edgar is not some sort of social experiment.’
Ava raised her eyebrows, communicating her scepticism. ‘His sort of people have a rough deal,’ she conceded. ‘I always say we should do everything we can, but that doesn’t include steadily working one’s way through the Kama Sutra with them.’
‘I hadn’t realised that there were such rigid limits to your philanthropy.’ Lydia was pleased to see Ava respond with a smirk. She needed to alter the atmosphere. She needed Ava on side. She couldn’t do this entirely alone. She couldn’t say what she’d come to say if her friend failed to understand her. She tried another angle. ‘You looked heartbroken that Beatrice has accepted the job as a chaperone.’
Ava perched on the arm of a high-backed chair and looked out of the window on to the hazy London street. ‘You could tell? I thought I hid it rather well.’
‘I doubt Bea noticed but I know that you think it’s a shame. I know you don’t care if she marries or not; you’re sad because if she makes a career out of being a chaperone, she’s going to have to attend these endless parties ad infinitum, until she shuffles off to a retirement home.’
‘I do agree the endless parties are a bore. I’m not sure when I came to that conclusion. It was so much simpler when one thought it was all about brilliantly shimmering fabrics and sensuous fringed shawls embroidered with Chinese motifs.’ Ava smiled weakly. ‘I do think Bea could have done more than become a chaperone, although she could have done less too, so it’s not a great shame. I am actually rather proud of her for finding a solution. Her options are limited.’ Ava was more than used to chasing disadvantaged women, imploring them to listen to her and to act on her advice – although normally she did so in dingy and dirty kitchens or draughty and dusty town halls. She recognised a compromise; chalked it up as a triumph. She’d also learned powers of persuasion and tenacity. ‘But you, Lydia, you are a countess now. There are no limits for you. Your reality is splendid and wide open.’
‘The sumptuousness of it offends me.’
‘So now you don’t want to be wealthy, is that what you’re saying? That’s ridiculous.’
For a moment Lydia didn’t know what to do. She let the music and the smoke bathe her and then she mumbled, ‘The truth is, Ava, I can’t go back to it.’
Ava gasped. ‘But you have to go back.’
‘I want to divorce Lawrence.’
‘No. No, Lydia. It’s unthinkable.’
‘It’s all I think of.’ Lydia could feel the blood pumping around her body. It was the first time she had articulated this thought. She’d half expected the world to implode when she did so.
‘Has he asked you to go away with him?’
Lydia paled, and then shook her head. He’d never asked her to leave Lawrence. It was excruciating and dishonourable to consider that he didn’t want her in that complete and utter way, but it was all she could assume. The pity of it was she did not care. Even if he was irreparably damaged and unable to love her the way she loved him – unconditionally, unreservedly – she would still leave Lawrence for him. She’d take whatever Edgar was capable of offering. She glanced shyly at Ava and could see that Ava looked relieved. No doubt she was reassured that this man was perhaps better than she’d feared. She would be thinking that he at least had recognised the impossibility of their situation, even if Lydia refused to acknowledge it. Ava would think that Edgar not asking Lydia to leave was enough to stop Lydia leaving. She was wrong.
‘It’s unnecessary. You could use your wealth and position to influence. To change things. There’s no possibility of you doing the same if you are shacked up with the sergeant major. You know the code. It’s rigid. At all costs a scandal must be averted. Within our circle we can, quite frankly, do whatever we like, as long as no one actually talks about it.’
Lydia sighed heavily. She would not budge. She could not. ‘But whose code is it? And whose circle? Ava, you are American and your father’s title is new. You can’t believe this nonsense.’
‘And you are from a family who inherited a title during the Civil War, and have married into one that goes as far back as Queen Elizabeth’s court. You must believe it. What can you be thinking about? You will be cut. You won’t have friends or society.’
‘Maybe not this society, but there will be people who will want to know us.’
‘Dreadful, low people; you’ll hate them.’
‘I don’t think so. Besides, I’ll still have you, Ava. You won’t feel the need to bend to society’s rules, will you?’
‘Oh, Lydia.’ Lydia felt cold with dread, because for the first time in her life she saw uncertainty in her friend’s face. She wondered how strong Ava really was. She was relieved when Ava sighed. ‘Certainly, if it comes to that, but I hope it doesn’t. Imagine it, Lydia. Be sensible. There will be no racing, no hunting, no more skiing trips to St Moritz. I know you’ll miss the warmth of the sun on your back that you get when you sit on a chair in the Riviera.’
‘Maybe, but I will have to learn to live without those things.’
‘Edgar Trent is the thing you ought to learn to live without.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You’re talking nonsense. Think, Lydia,’ Ava implored. ‘Your relationship as it stands has a thrilling, imprecise glamour. If you live with him, you’ll be nothing more than a common or garden mistress. Such dull proximity will kill whatever you have. I can see that it must be seductive, but can it really be enduring?’
‘I think it can. I don’t understand, Ava, I thought you’d be with me. You’ve always been so free.’
‘I have, yes. But it’s not for you.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘Being independent costs, Lydia. You can’t afford it.’
‘Why must you always reduce everything to money?’
‘I’m not talking about money. Not at all. It costs you your reputation and your family. Your safety. You’re not the sort of girl who is prepared to pay that price.’
Both women fell silent, exhausted by their exchange. Lydia noticed that the record had finished. She listened to the swooshing and cracking as it continued to turn endlessly and the needle scratched circles.
‘It wasn’t a horse,’ admitted Ava.
‘Sorry?’
‘It was Lord Harrington.’
‘Charlie?’
‘Yes.’
‘He hurt you?’
‘Beat me. Yes.’
‘Why?’ Lydia was aghast. ‘Charlie Harrington has always been so devoted. So besotted.’
‘Quite. He got the most ludicrous idea into his head. He wanted to marry me.’
‘He has a strange way of showing it.’
Ava shrugged. ‘I suppose, you know, he had a very terrible time over in France. He was injured out. Spent months in a san in Wales after being shot in some battle or other; there were so many, it’s hard to keep track. They saw such a lot of violence. I think it’s become difficult for them to tell right from wrong.’
‘And so you are saying this is acceptable? That a man can beat a woman whenever he wants to, because he was a soldier?’ Lydia’s astonishment manifested itself into fury.
Ava looked steadily at her friend. The bruising somehow seemed more glaring, more ugly to Lydia, now she knew where it had really come from. ‘No. I’m not saying that at all. It’s totally unacceptable. I’m just trying to warn you how complicated these men are. Having been through what they have. How dangerous.’
Lydia recognised the enormity of Ava’s confession. She wasn’t one to make a fuss and she hated looking vulnerable. Lydia wanted to run to her and hold her but Ava had closed her eyes. The pain and the shame were private.
‘Ava, you’re not the sort that one doles out advice to – you’re rather more the sort that does the doling –
but I do think you should report Charlie.’
‘No good would come of it.’
‘It would stop him. He’d be punished. That’s good enough. You work with these poor women who are hungry and beaten, physically or morally, and you try to change things. You don’t want to accept it has to be that way for them, so why would you think it has to be that way for you? Tell your father. Tell Charlie’s father. Tell Charlie’s wife. Kick up a stink.’
Eventually Ava opened her eyes and stared at Lydia. ‘He’s unhinged you.’
‘Yes, you are right. I’m quite mad about him.’ The two women were ostensibly agreeing, yet they were in reality totally opposed. One celebrated the insanity; the other despaired of it.
‘You are joining an army of women who have had a dalliance with heartbreak and humiliation.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because I can do no other.’
‘You have always had a hungry heart. I suspected as much. I wish you were more sensible.’
‘I do too. On some level. I see this will ruin me, but life without him is nothing at all. Better that I am ruined than dead.’
‘Don’t be dramatic. You wouldn’t die without him.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
‘Goodness, what a shame for you.’
‘I don’t think it’s a shame.’ The words were small but determined. Lydia beamed, refusing to dim. Her beam was stronger, broader and braver than ever, as though she was letting it all out. ‘Ava, I’m having Edgar’s baby.’
43
SARAH HAD EXPECTED Ava’s telephone call. She alone had been absolutely certain of Lydia’s whereabouts and realised that a catastrophe was imminent, but she had not anticipated the scale. She had not thought that Lydia would be so very awkward about returning to Clarendale, or that she would start to talk of a divorce. She had never envisaged a baby. The friends were all agreed that they could not let Lydia have her way in this. She had to be saved from herself. She had spent a week in her lover’s lodgings. From Ava’s description, Sarah could only assume he lived in a hovel; how could Lydia want to stay there? She’d been stupendously lucky not to have been spotted in all that time, but it was impossible to imagine her luck would continue. As the eldest of the women and the only other one with any experience of being married, Sarah was seen as the best person to try to talk some sense into Lydia.
