‘Feel how gorgeous it is,’ Miranda said, taking her mother’s hand and running her fingers over the thick, beautiful fabric, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘The capri pants today, too – the cut! It’s so perfect. They’re the nicest things I’ve ever owned.’
Frances didn’t know what to say. Funny, what a difference the right clothes and a sparkle in the eye made to the girl. All these years of struggling to make Miranda happy, and it turned out she should have just taken her to Harrods and bought her some nicer clothes.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even as she chided herself she looked again at her daughter, laughing with Cecily for once instead of snapping at her, tucking her shining black hair behind her ear, eyes shining. She hadn’t seen her like this for a long time. She, Frances, as much as anyone else, was responsible for making Miranda feel small, and she was suddenly overcome with guilt.
Miranda turned back to her. ‘Is it really all right, Mummy?’
‘Did you write and thank Connie?’ said Frances, taking a sip of her champagne.
‘Of course I did.’ Miranda stared at her mother, her green eyes unblinking. ‘I wrote her a really long letter telling her all the lovely things I could buy for ten pounds. And then she sent me another pound in the post, just like that! In case I went over it.’
Frances sighed. How very Miranda. ‘Darling, that’s awful of you.’ But she couldn’t help smiling at her.
Cecily sipped her champagne, gingerly holding the stem of the flute. It was a special night, so she was allowed a glass. ‘Mm,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled her. ‘It’s so fizzy.’
‘Don’t get drunk and make a fool of yourself,’ Archie told her. He was himself beautifully turned out, his dark hair gleaming with brilliantine like a matinee idol. Next to his sister, they made quite a pair.
‘What, like peeking at people while they get undressed?’ Cecily said sharply, turning away from him.
Archie’s expression darkened and he stammered. ‘What?’ Cecily’s face flushed, but she was saved from responding by a clinking sound. ‘Welcome, all of you,’ said Arvind, addressing the assembled group, much to their surprise. He took his wife’s hand. ‘We are glad to have you all here.’
‘Yes, cheers,’ Jeremy said, raising his glass. ‘Thanks, Uncle Arvind. We love being here.’
Next to him, Miranda rolled her eyes. Frances, seeing her expression, tried not to smile, shaking her head at her instead. Dear, staid Jeremy.
Arvind gave Jeremy a polite smile. ‘Your good health, all of you. You are the future. I salute you.’
He stepped forward, raised his glass, and then frowned, as if he was surprised he’d spoken.
‘Daddy is pretty eccentric,’ Miranda whispered loudly to Guy, who was standing next to her. ‘Just ignore him.’
Guy nodded. ‘Excuse me a moment, would you? Sir –’ he said, moving determinedly towards Arvind and leaving Miranda standing alone. ‘I’m extremely sorry to bother you with work, but I felt I couldn’t stay here and not tell you how much I enjoyed The Modern Fortress.’
‘You enjoyed it?’ Arvind said. ‘How extraordinary.’
Guy was nonplussed. ‘Well, perhaps enjoyed isn’t the right word.’ There was a silence. ‘I – er, it’s a very interesting book, anyway.’
‘Thank you,’ said Arvind, staring at him through his small round glasses. ‘You wear glasses too.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Guy equably. ‘Sometimes. For reading.’
‘What do you do?’
‘Er – me?’
‘Well, yes, you.’ Arvind looked around, as if there was someone else there.
‘I’m up at Oxford,’ Guy said. ‘I’m doing PPE.’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s PPE?’ Cecily, who had materialised next to them, asked softly.
‘It stands for Philosophy, Politics and Economics,’ Guy told her.
‘That sounds pretty dire,’ Cecily said. ‘I mean very interesting. Sorry, Dad.’
‘Ah,’ Arvind said. ‘The child rejects the parent. Very disappointing.’
‘The child rolls her eyes at the parent,’ Cecily replied gravely, but her eyes were twinkling.
Watching them with surprise on his face – in most of the homes of his contemporaries, you called your father Sir and you certainly didn’t call his work ‘dire’ – Guy coughed. ‘You’re nearly taller than your father,’ he told Cecily, flushing slightly as he couldn’t think of what else to say.
‘Thank you, young man, for pointing out my lack of inches,’ Arvind said. He jabbed Guy in the stomach and smiled, and Guy laughed, his nerves suddenly gone.
‘Sir, I wonder if you read Dr King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail?’ Guy asked hurriedly. ‘Because there are several points in it which you touch on in The Modern Fortress. How oppressed people cannot remain oppressed for ever. It is not possible. The desire for freedom always manifests itself and works its way through, even though it may take a long time.’
‘Ah –’ Arvind said, his eyes lighting up. ‘The danger of the white moderate, greater than the white extremist. Yes, I found that very interesting.’
‘What are they talking about?’ Miranda whispered to Cecily. ‘Really boring stuff. Someone called Dr King.’
‘Martin Luther King, that is,’ Archie said. He was standing next to them, one hand casually resting in his blazer pocket. ‘The head of the NAACP. He’s a great man.’
‘NAACP?’ Cecily said. ‘National Association for the Advancement of Colored People,’ Archie said, enunciating each word. He took a sip from his drink, turning his handsome profile away from them, towards the setting sun.
‘How do you know who he is?’ Miranda asked scornfully. ‘You don’t know anything, Archie.’
She looked at her brother crossly, as she always did when Archie showed any signs of having a different opinion from her, or an opinion about which she knew nothing.
Archie licked his lips as if he were nervous. ‘I know all men were created equal. But we’re the only different people we know,’ he said suddenly. He looked around; his father was engrossed in conversation with Guy, Louisa and Frank were laughing together on the edge of the terrace, and Jeremy and Frances were sitting on the bench by the steps. ‘And I get called a Paki at school and told to go home by boys whose parents can barely read or write, when my father’s one of the cleverest people in the world, and his family lived in a palace in Lahore.’ There were bubbles of spit in each corner of his mouth. ‘You’re stupid, Miranda. You don’t stand up to those girls who bully you because your father’s Indian. You should tell them you’re better than any of them.’
‘They don’t bully me,’ Miranda muttered, hanging her head, her hair falling in her face. ‘Shut up, Archie.’
‘They do bully you,’ Cecily said softly. ‘They’re horrible to her,’ she told Archie. ‘They call her horrible things.’
‘We don’t talk about it,’ Miranda hissed, grabbing Cecily’s arm. She was bright red. ‘Remember?’
‘We never talk about it!’ Cecily said loudly, wrenching her arm away. Frances looked over at her three children, questioning. They huddled back together again, mutinous but quietened. Don’t break the pact.
‘There’s nothing to talk about anyway,’ Miranda whispered. She stood up straight again. ‘All right? So shut up.’
‘Anyway,’ said Cecily. ‘I don’t think it matters if Dad grew up in a palace or not. He could have grown up in a hut. They shouldn’t do it in the first place.’
But Archie wasn’t paying attention. ‘Dad went to one of the best schools in India. With Maharajahs and – and English boys,’ he said. ‘Much posher than the pit I go to.’
‘Only because his dad was a teacher there,’ Cecily pointed out. ‘That’s what I mean, it doesn’t matter either way. Just tell them they’re bigots.’
‘No,’ Archie said. ‘I don’t want to do it like that. I want to show them I’m better than them. That I’ll make more money t
han any of them, be more English than them, beat the faggots at their own game.’ He nodded, as though he was talking to himself. ‘I’ve got a plan, you see. We have to have a plan.’ His eyes rested, briefly, on his twin. ‘You have to understand that, both of you. They’re not going to help you. That’s all.’
The other two stared at him blankly, like he was speaking another language. And through the open window inside the house somewhere a tinkling, silvery bell rang suddenly, as if signalling the end of something.
‘I think that means it’s time for food,’ Frances said. Miranda turned away from her siblings. She put her hand gently on Guy’s arm. ‘Guy, would you like to go in to dinner?’ she said in a husky voice.
Guy turned. ‘Oh, hello, Miranda,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’d love to. Shall we?’ he said, turning to Arvind.
‘Well, if we don’t,’ Arvind said, patting him on the back, ‘it’ll go cold. Dinner, my friends. Let us eat.’
‘So, you’ve got two weeks,’ said Frances. ‘Is there anything you’d like to do while you’re here? Beyond relaxing and having a holiday, of course.’
Guy paused in the action of handing the salad bowl to Miranda and looked down the table at his brother, who was seated next to Frances.
‘We don’t really have any plans,’ Frank said, staring ner vously into Frances’s amused green eyes. ‘We’d like to go to the beach. Obviously!’ He laughed, a little too loudly. Cecily, next to him, watched him in amazement. ‘Um—’ He looked at his brother for help. He was nervous, he wished it would go away. Across the table, Louisa smiled gently at him, and he looked ruefully at her. I’m not normally this much of an idiot. He had hardly said a word since he’d arrived. He’d never been anywhere like Summercove before.
The windows were open, the curtains drawn, and it was a still night. Occasionally they could hear an owl hooting in the woods behind the house.
‘I’d like to go to the Minack Theatre,’ Guy said. ‘I’ve always wanted to.’
‘Well, if we can get tickets,’ Louisa said, looking at Frank to see if he registered any interest in this activity. ‘But it’s often booked up.’
Frances waved her hand. ‘That’s fine. I know them. I’m sure if we motor over tomorrow there will be some available. Terrific!’ She looked pleased. ‘I love the Minack, Guy, I hope you will too. It’s such a wonderful setting. So dramatic. You feel as if at any moment the whole thing could be swept away into the sea.’
‘Is it very dangerous, the sea around here?’ Frank said. ‘We’ve lived here for eight years, if you count when it was just our holiday home,’ said Archie sagely. ‘We’re all pretty used to the sea.’
‘The rocks can be treacherous,’ Frances said, staring at her nails. ‘But you just have to be careful. Sensible.’
Yes, be careful. Be sensible. Don’t rock the boat. She smiled, her teeth gritted together behind her lips.
‘Well, I’d like a picnic on the beach,’ Frank said suddenly. ‘With food.’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy said, pleased. ‘We thought we’d do that. At night, if that’s all right with you, Aunt Frances?’ He turned to his aunt, next to him. ‘Don’t want to leave you high and dry without company for the evening.’
‘So we’re not invited to the picnic on the beach, I take it?’ she asked him, amused.
‘Oh,’ said Jeremy, flustered. ‘Of course, if you’d like to – if you’d want to. How rude of me . . . I just thought, when Mother and Father arrive, you’d want to . . .’
‘I’d rather be on the beach,’ Arvind said.
Archie jumped in. ‘I say, Guy, Frank, have you been following the Ward trial?’ he said. ‘Pretty juicy, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Guy. ‘I can’t believe they’re serving it up like this, every day.’
‘Profumo lied to Parliament, he deserves everything he gets,’ Guy said. He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘The times are changing. You can’t have this Establishment covering everything up as it suits them any more.’
Archie nodded, pleased. ‘What do you think, Frank?’ Frances asked the silent man next to her.
‘I’m afraid I don’t really care much,’ Frank said, his handsome face set in a frown. ‘It’s just jolly entertaining, that’s all.’ He looked around, shamefaced. ‘Expect that’s an awful thing to say.’
‘I think that’s what we all feel,’ Guy said. ‘It’s terrible, but I want to read it.’ He turned to Miranda. ‘Do you read Private Eye?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Miranda said. ‘We sneak it in to school, I think it’s awfully funny.’
‘That’s rub—’ Cecily began, but bit her lip suddenly as Archie, next to her, kicked her.
‘Seems to me it’s the only paper or magazine telling the truth. There’s so much hypocrisy out there, in public life, it’s disgusting.’ Guy’s quiet face was animated. ‘L-look at the Argyll divorce case, it made me absolutely sick. We scrabble around to feast on the bones of these people, just so we can say how decadent and awful they are over our breakfast cereal, and then we bow and scrape when a lord or lady comes into the room.’ His voice rose as he came to an abrupt halt.
Silence fell as they all nodded politely, awkwardly. Frances looked at her nails again, and Guy sank back into his chair, embarrassed. Mary appeared in the doorway. ‘Shall I clear away?’ she asked. ‘Ooh, there’s not much left of it, is there?’
‘Thank you, Mary,’ Frances said. ‘That was delicious.’ The others murmured their approval, smiling, and Mary looked pleased. ‘You can go up afterwards, if you like. We can make the coffee.’
‘Behold, the symbol of our bourgeois repressive regime,’ Arvind said to Guy, after Mary had gone into the kitchen. ‘Mary. She cooks Beef Wellington and cleans for us and we give her money.’
‘Sir, I didn’t mean –’ Guy began, looking mortified. ‘Please don’t—’
Arvind waved his hand. ‘Please. I was making a joke. You are quite right, young man,’ he said. ‘Things are changing, and we are wise to recognise it. Only I don’t think any of us knows how they will change, not yet.’ He looked around the table, at his son Archie staring into space, at Louisa gazing at Frank, at Miranda watching them with a curious fury, at Guy, methodically eating his cheese, at Cecily, carefully peeling a grape and looking across at Jeremy under her eyelashes, and finally at his wife. She nodded back at him, but a little frown creased her brow.
They retired one by one that night; Arvind went early, followed by Cecily then Jeremy. The others stayed up, sitting outside on the terrace, talking quietly over coffee. Guy was next to go up. He said he was tired, and he was followed by Archie soon after. Frances, Miranda, Louisa and Frank were left, until Frances took the hint and got up, with a look at Louisa and Frank and at her daughter.
Frank leapt to his feet. ‘Goodnight, Mrs . . . Mrs Kapoor.’
She held her hand in his, smiling at him playfully. She’d forgotten how touching these boys could be. How bloody pompous, too. ‘Goodnight, Frank. And please. Call me Frances. It’s like Frank. Not too hard to remember.’
He gazed at her nervously. ‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’
She turned to Miranda, and her gaze flicked lightly back to Frank and Louisa, who was gazing shyly down at the flagstones.
‘You leaving these two to it, then, Miranda dear? See you tomorrow.’
Miranda, defeated, shot her mother a furious look. She got up from where she’d been artfully sitting on the ground. ‘Yes, I’m off too. Night, you two. Don’t be too long. It’s dangerous for the rest of us, you leaving the front door open,’ she said, somewhat obscurely.
Miranda didn’t come up immediately. Cecily was kneeling up in bed when she finally appeared, her diary beside her, and she was looking out of the window.
‘Are you peeping?’ Miranda said. ‘Watching what’s going on with the young lovers? Are they still down there?’
‘No,’ Cecily blushed, and shut the window hurriedly. ‘Oh, you smell,’ she said. ‘Is that where you went? Have you been . . . smoking?
Urgh.’
‘Oh, shut up, you baby,’ said Miranda, flinging herself on the brass bedstead. ‘I’m eighteen, for God’s sake, I’m a bloody grown-up.’ She stared at the wall. ‘Not that anyone like Mummy seems to appreciate that fact.’
‘That’s because you don’t behave like a grown-up,’ Cecily said automatically. ‘You don’t have a plan, unlike Archie.’ Miranda ignored her, and began unzipping her dress. Her younger sister watched her. ‘What are you going to do now? Do you know?’
‘I don’t know,’ Miranda said. ‘So leave me alone.’
‘You must have some idea,’ Cecily said, but her sister held up a hand.
‘Don’t start on me, please, Cecily. I’m not in the mood. Archie’s an idiot sometimes. A swot, with his ideas about making money and all of that rot. It’s so boring of him. I’ll be fine. I’ll work something out.’
‘Miranda,’ Cecily began. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘As long as it’s not about me.’ Miranda was struggling with the zip of her dress.
‘It’s not.’ Cecily leaned forward and tugged it down. ‘Thanks. Go on.’
‘Do you think it’s bad, if people . . .’ Cecily stopped. ‘A man and a woman. Do they—’ She flopped back against her pillows. ‘Oh, never mind. Forget it.’
‘A man and a woman?’ Miranda was intrigued. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Are you trying to spice up your diary? What?’
‘Nothing,’ Cecily said firmly. ‘I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight, Miranda.’
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, at breakfast, when Frank appeared at the table, tall and handsome in shorts and a slightly crumpled polo shirt, Louisa pursed her lips and looked down at her toast.
Frank cleared his throat. ‘Hello, Louisa,’ he said.
Louisa blushed, ignored this and turned to Guy. ‘What do you want to do today, Guy?’ She popped a strawberry into her mouth and smiled at him.
Miranda sat down at the table, shooting a sideways glance at Cecily, who was bright red and munching her toast furiously, as if it had done something to offend her. So that was what had been troubling Cecily last night. She smiled.
Love Always Page 14
