by Peter Rimmer
“We are what we are, the moment we are born,” she told Celia. “The little bugger kicked the poor dog to get a reaction. I’ll bet when he was younger he pulled the wings from butterflies. It’s not even malevolence. The boy’s bored. Straight out of Barnaby. He’ll either end up stinking rich or go to jail. That poor dog! I’m sure Tina must know. Harry does. For a brief moment I thought Harry was going to give the kid a clout. Isn’t life fascinating? We can’t stop what we do, even do the right thing if we wanted to. It’s all been passed down, the good and the bad. All this nurture business is a lot of rot and there’s the proof right over there. Barnaby has had no influence over his life other than giving him life. But there he is, a little Barnaby, Celia.”
“You just don’t like Barnaby.”
“Of course I do. He’s very valuable. For what it’s worth, a damn good lay. At least be honest on that one, Celia. We’re just girls together. Neither of us ever get jealous of each other. Why we are such good friends. But just look at that boy, the spitting image. One day they are going to recognise each other for what they are. The same person. I hope I’m not around. Two Barnabys kicking dogs and pulling wings off butterflies would be too appalling… Oh, just look at that. We’re going in to have drinks. Then we are going to be fed. I’m starving. If the dogs came in as they did last time I’ll slip that poor Alsatian a bone under the table. You have to have dogs under the table at a medieval feast. Now, girls, you must all do me a favour and stay sober enough to play your instruments. Suckling pigs, someone said, on the spits in the inglenooks at both ends of the Great Hall, head on. To the Great Hall, or whatever they call it now. We’d better enjoy this Christmas. You never know with a war on. None of us may ever get another one. Why I always enjoy my life. You just never know. Men get horny just before they go to war. Four days, girls. Enjoy yourselves. Let the night begin! I’m hungry and not only for suckling pig. This time, at the end of the feast, we’ll play our music standing on the table so all the men can see our legs. Make merry! Make merry!”
“It’s only seven-fifteen, Fleur. Another fifteen minutes,” said Celia. “Then we can start drinking booze.”
Phillip Crookshank, the chief engineer on the Short Sunderland flying boat, had never seen anything like it in his life. Neither had his wife, Mavis or the two children off somewhere in the big house with the Brigandshaw children, both Phil and his wife having happily lost all control of the two boys within an hour of arriving at Hastings Court. They had come all the way from their small cottage in the Isle of Wight, not three hundred yards from the beach, a beach that when they left in the morning to catch the boat and the train, was being pounded by six-foot high waves hurled at the shore by a storm from the English Channel, making the crossing to the mainland interesting. Mavis had been seasick, the kids screaming at the wind all the way across, their words plucked from their mouths as their father held each of them firmly by the hand.
“There’s a fire burning in every grate in the house,” said Mavis while they were changing into evening dress. “How many servants must she have? Just to lay the fires and bring up the coal scuttles would take two strong women a month. How many rooms are there in the house? How long’s it been here? I’ve read about these kind of old mansions but never been in one. Your friend Tinus can’t be changing for dinner. All they had were kit bags when they arrived.”
“There’s a war on. Maybe Harry will lend them something.”
“Are the kids all right?”
“They can’t go anywhere.”
“I could get myself lost in this house for the rest of my life. What does it mean, seven-thirty for eight?”
“We go to the drawing room, where we had tea, for drinks at seven-thirty and on to the Great Hall at eight to stuff ourselves with food. John Woodall says the food is good. He always comes for Christmas.”
“Who’s John Woodall?”
“Runs a flying school at Redhill. Flew with Harry in the war. Harry says they are not going to order the Short Sunderland just yet. Concentrating on bringing Fighter Command up to full strength. Going to rely on the navy to fish downed pilots out of the drink. We’ll just have to see. They worry the flying boats will be sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe. You look really good in that dress, Mave. Did you see those girls in the band when we arrived? That was their day clothes. Can you imagine what they’ll look like tonight?”
“Down, boy! How did Harry manage to get them for Christmas?”
“They are houseguests. Just like us. Anthony said they are going to give us a gig anyway. Friends of Harry’s. Harry seems to know everyone worth knowing. Ant said the girls come up from the village to help at times like this. I’ll ask him how many bedrooms. Likely nobody’s counted. This four days is a bit like the last supper. The family, all except Harry, are going to South Africa. The war effort has ravaged the servants. Most of the house is being closed up for the duration of the war.”
“It’s twenty past seven. Better start wending our way. I don’t even know which way to turn when we go out the door into the corridor. Tina says all the young kids will be kept in the nursery where it doesn’t matter if they wreck the place. Looked to me like dozens of kids. She’s organised, that woman, I’ll say that for her. Wouldn't live in an old pile like this if you paid me. Despite fires in every room and two in the reception rooms the house is still freezing.”
“Hardy lot, the Brigandshaws.”
“Weren’t they Mandervilles who built this place hundreds of years ago? How come Harry said his family have been here for centuries?”
“Harry’s maternal grandfather was a Manderville. Sir Henry Manderville Bart. They brought him back from Rhodesia where he died. Buried him with all the others among the yew trees, according to Anthony. Somewhere at the back of the house. Ant says some of the headstones are so old they’ve sunk into the ground out of sight.”
“That boy’s a fount of information.”
“He flew with us to Switzerland with Tinus in the flying boat. Test flight, or so they said. I wonder what the von Liebermans are doing for Christmas? They also have an old pile in Bavaria. Harry flew the plane.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’ve never eaten suckling pig off a spit.”
“It’s the crackling you go for.”
“Anthony again?”
“Of course. Come on then. Let the evening begin, my darling.”
“First give me a kiss.”
“Always my pleasure.”
In the corridor, all the lights were on with people coming out of their rooms dressed in their best like Phillip and his wife.
“I hope that boat was all right,” said Phillip. “That wind was powerful in the Solent.”
“I am sure it has weathered worse storms than that… This is fun, Phil. You too look nice. Did I ever tell you how happy I am being married to you?”
“Every day. You see, that’s my real job in life. Making you happy. They say later we are going to dance.”
“This must be Camelot.”
The four young girls were dressed exactly the same when they entered the drawing room a little after half past seven. Silk black sheaths that hugged their bodies to the knees where the material was pleated, the clothes made by Fleur’s dressmaker to Fleur’s design.
“When we twirl, darling,” she had told her dressmaker, “we want to show the men a good bit of leg. Just up to the knee. The rest is their imagination. What we play is important but how we look gets their attention. We’re young and sexy. Flaunt it, I say; one day we’ll be old and wrinkled. Enough movement at the top of the dress to show them what we have. You’ll have to be careful with Margaret or they’ll fall out. She really does have a big pair, the lucky girl. Sort of slope the bottoms, or the fannies as they call their arses in America. We’re in the entertainment business. I promised Martin to fill the Mayfair. Life’s all about making money. Making people come back for more. Funny, Margaret has the biggest boobs and the biggest instrument. A double bass that she strokes with a bow. That gir
l makes stroking strings so sexy you can hear the men ache. Is that material pure silk, Priscilla?”
“All the way from Greece. Best silk in the world.”
“Didn’t know Greeks made silk.”
“Start of the silk route to China. From antiquity. They’re going to be expensive, Fleur.”
“You think I care! Barnaby St Clair is paying for them. It was his idea. Wants us photographed in them for the box of our new record. They get ten 78s in the cardboard box and a picture of us girls on top. Barnaby thinks the picture will sell the record. Every record shop in London will have them on display.”
“Who’s Barnaby St Clair?”
“Long story, Priscilla. Just make us look sexy. Charge what you like. We’re friends, remember.”
Following in behind, Janusz Kowalski, dressed in his ordinary clothes, thought he at last had arrived in heaven, all his worries forgotten in the wiggle of the girls’ behinds, the black silk riding the four little bottoms to perfection.
“Eyes up, Janusz,” said Tinus. “Good, it’s Pimm’s tonight. Harry serves them in those silver cups with fruit and cucumber. The fruit and cucumber come from the heated greenhouses on the estate. Even the war doesn’t stop that one unless they run out of coal for the boiler. Large hot water pipes run all round inside the greenhouse. Hot house, some call it.”
“They’re the size of buckets.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Why didn’t you say we dressed for dinner before we left Tangmere?”
“Then we’d have been in our number ones and I didn’t want to wear uniform over Christmas. Let’s just forget the war and enjoy ourselves. I must say Cousin Anthony looks rather dashing in his first dinner jacket.”
“Who’s that gorgeous girl with him?”
“I don’t believe it! All dressed up! Aunt Tina must have had something to do with that. I wonder if Uncle Harry has seen her. That’s my Cousin Beth. She turns fifteen next month. My word, they do grow up quickly.”
“Every man in the room is trying not to look at her.”
“The other boy is Oliver Stokes, Anthony’s best friend. They were both at Radley together. Now Anthony has left to go to South Africa. Friendship rather like André Cloete and myself at Bishops. They’re going to miss each other. Do you want to meet Beth?”
“She’s far too young.”
“So was Melina von Lieberman but it didn’t stop me looking. Didn’t stop Anthony for that matter. Still talks about her. Funny how the first girl that takes your fancy stays in your mind. There was a girl on the boat coming over… But enough about that. We ended up in one of the lifeboats.”
“I thought your first love was Genevieve?”
“Maybe. Genevieve is unobtainable. The other girl wasn’t, if you see what I mean. Do you still think of Ingrid?”
“All the time. I know she’s still alive.”
Tinus heard the change of tone in his friend’s voice.
“Back to the girls in front, old boy. Try and enjoy yourself, Janusz. There’s nothing you can do about Ingrid now. Would you like a Pimm’s No. 1 Cup? Very British. Get you pissed as a newt if you drink enough of them. Just look at that! All four of those girls are straight into the Pimm’s. Come and meet them. Celia! Fleur! How are you all tonight? You remember my friend Janusz Kowalski? Unfortunately we don’t have dress suits tonight.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Fleur holding out her gloved hand for Janusz to shake. Then she looked straight into his eyes and licked her lips slowly. Without knowing it she took Ingrid clean out of his mind. “I love pilots. Do you like music, Janusz?”
“Good music is my favourite form of entertainment. Count Janusz Kowalski at your service, madam.”
“Fleur, please. We play in a band not an orchestra anymore. Do you know Brahms’s Third Symphony?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Later you’ll hear what I’ve done with the main theme. With a cello, a double bass and two fiddles. These drinks are wonderful. Make you tight as a tick, Tinus. Isn’t that your African expression? Come and tell me and Celia what you’ve been up to. No, Janusz, you too. You don’t get away from me that easily.”
“Flying aeroplanes,” said Tinus. “Not much else. All men together.”
“You poor darling. Have a Pimm’s Cup. Cheers! Happy days.”
“They were following me all the way down the stairs,” said Mavis Crookshank as they entered the drawing room together, the cocktail chatter all around them. “What’s in that enormous silver bowl Harry’s dishing out with a ladle? If I had to run the gauntlet of all those ancestors every morning coming down to breakfast I’d take them down. Gave me the creeps. Just the eyes following me as I passed their portraits. Some were dressed in weird clothes that went back to the ark. So dark from age, only the light bits showing.”
“Pimm’s No. 1,” said Harry.
“How did you hear what I said?”
“I didn’t. Everyone asks. The No. 1 is a gin base. Two and three are rum and whisky but you never see them in the shops. The trick is to tip two bottles of Beefeater gin into the punch bowl to strengthen the gin in the Pimm’s bottle. The fruit’s in the cups already. How are you both? Did you see my daughter? Sent her straight back upstairs to change, or at least I tried. Didn’t take any notice. Tina had taken her up to London to pick the dress. Fifteen next month! Little girls one day, women the next. I think she takes after her mother. Going to give all the men a hard time. Some say it’s better to have ugly daughters. Give you less trouble and have better lives. They don’t expect so much. Happy to find a husband to look after. Oh gosh, there she is over there. Quite the centre of attention. Fifteen next month, for goodness sake! We don’t have snacks in here. Ruins the supper. You won’t go hungry tonight. That dress suits you, Mavis. Have a good evening. If you drink too much and can’t find your bedroom, ask for help. We’re all friends here. Two Pimm’s Cups at your service, Mr and Mrs Crookshank. Phil, do you remember that restaurant on the pier at Romanshorn? I can still taste the cake. Enjoy yourselves.”
Each holding a silver cup they walked away, Harry by then busy with another couple. Harry’s brief expression to them of surprise clear: he had no idea who the new couple were.
“Tina likes the house to be full,” said Phil.
“You need an army to fill this house. I’m not sure if I can find the bedroom sober. And if that girl’s not yet fifteen I’ll eat my hat. She looks twenty. How do we know when to go into supper?”
“They strike the gong. The girl who brought the new scuttle full of coal told me. Her name is Mary Ross. From the village. You were in the bathroom. She and her brother Jack both do casual work at the Court. Jack’s going in the army. Mary’s got a job after Christmas at the Goblin factory. Government contract. She said it’s very secret so she wouldn’t say what they are making.”
“Do you always talk so much to young girls?”
“How did you know she was young?”
“And pretty, or you wouldn’t have wasted your breath on her.”
“She’s also working with the kids in the nursery.”
“Poor girl. My own screaming kids are fine. Other people’s must be hell. I can taste the gin. This is just my kind of party. I’m going to get this one down and have another before they ring the gong. I never imagined real people lived like this. He’s such a nice man.”
Smiling to himself, Phillip Crookshank looked around the room. All women liked men who paid them a compliment.
“And he meant it, Mave.”
“Meant what?”
“The compliment. Harry liked your dress. Let’s go and talk to John Woodall. He’s all on his own.”
“Doesn’t he have a wife?”
“I’ve never asked him.”
“Then I’d better not. Did that once, poor man’s wife had just left him. Now that’s what I call a roaring log fire. Your friend John Woodall’s found the best spot in the room.”
Looking at Beth surrounded by young m
en reminded Tina of what she had lost. She was jealous of her daughter, something she would not admit to herself. There was Beth in her first long dress with something in life to look forward to. Soon, very soon, the first of her children would be on his way. Anthony, without question, was now a young man. Confident. Assured. Not even self-conscious, ribbing the girls in the band, their figures on display for everyone to see. And enjoy, by the expression Tina saw on the Polish pilot’s face. Amazing, she thought, how quickly men forgot their problems when sexy girls came around.
All she had was Harry, serving the Pimm’s himself instead of allowing Jack Ross to do the job. A son that no longer needed her. A daughter stealing the thunder that had once always been hers at a party. Hers to choose who she smiled at. Hers to choose who she wanted. She was old, on the rubbish dump, and it made Tina wonder what point there was in her life anymore. All she could see, looking ahead, was a life of more and more isolation as the world left her alone, no longer important, with no longer anything to give that anyone wanted.
All the work she had put into the house party was for the benefit of all the other people, none of them interested in her once they had received their invitations. They were all looking around each other to see what they could find. The old men and women were talking war and politics, which bored Tina to distraction. What could any of them do about the war except get out of the way as she was going to do on the third of January. Sail away! Sail away with nowhere to go but round and round like the Flying Dutchman. Nothing to find on land that could really interest her, just another middle-aged woman, lucky enough to have found herself a rich husband and made herself a brood of children, all only interested in themselves and what they wanted day by day from life.
