Hothouse Flower

by Lucinda Riley

  Venetia was still complaining next to her about her empty stomach, her stiff back and her sore foot from so much gear-changing. Olivia wound down the window and breathed in the smell of the warm, balmy evening.

  ‘There’s the house,’ she said as it came into view. ‘Don’t you think it’s absolutely beautiful?’ she added dreamily.

  Venetia, past making pleasantries and just to be obtuse, said, ‘Has the light bulb made it here yet?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious, Venetia, of course it has! Besides, it’s the twenty-first of June, the longest day of the year. So we’d hardly need light even if there wasn’t,’ Olivia replied. ‘Anyway,’ she said as Venetia brought the car to a bumpy halt in front of the house, ‘if you want to spend the weekend in a funk, go ahead. I think it’s a heavenly place. And I’m all set to enjoy it, even if you’re not.’

  At that moment the front door opened and a young man she vaguely recognised came running down the steps towards them.

  ‘Hello, Miss Drew-Norris,’ the young man said, as she stepped out of the car and smoothed down her creased dress. ‘Good to see you back at Wharton Park again.’

  Olivia recognised him as Bill, the gardener’s son, whom she had met briefly in the hothouse in January.

  ‘How are the flowers?’ she asked, smiling at him. ‘My frangipani is looking awfully pretty on my windowsill in London.’

  ‘They’re doing well, Miss Drew-Norris. Thank you for asking.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see the gardens,’ Olivia breathed. ‘Harry said they were magnificent in high summer.’

  ‘That they are, and you’ve picked exactly the right moment to see them; everything’s still fresh and budded. By the time mid-July is here, it all starts to look tired and parched. Miss Drew-Norris, do you have anything to be taken into the house from the car? I’ll carry it in for you, then if I may have the keys to your car, I’ll take it off and park it for you.’

  ‘It’s my car, actually.’ Venetia sidled around it and dangled the keys in front of Bill. She smiled at him seductively. ‘Take care with it, won’t you?’

  ‘Course I will, Miss,’ said Bill, opening the boot and removing the two small suitcases.

  As he carried them up the steps and inside the house, Venetia said, ‘Now that’s what I call scenery. He’s heavenly, who is he?’

  ‘Will you please behave yourself?’ admonished Olivia, but she was smiling. ‘He’s the gardener’s boy. You’ve been reading too much Lady Chatterley. Now come on, I’m gasping for a cup of tea.’

  At seven o’clock, Adrienne was standing on the terrace, a glass of champagne in her hand. The night was as perfect as she could possibly have hoped. And it was only on nights like this that Wharton Park rivalled the beauty of her childhood home in Provence. The softness of an English country evening, when land and sky seemed to melt into each other, the smell of freshly mown grass, mingling with the scent of roses, had its own special magic.

  Inside the house, everything was ready. The ballroom behind her looked exquisite, the fifteen tables laid with crisp white linen, antique crystal glassware and, in the centre of each, a vase containing fresh blooms from the hothouse.

  Adrienne loved moments such as this one. Everything was finished, yet nothing had begun, and one was filled with optimism that it would live up to expectation.

  ‘Mother, you look ravishing.’ Harry was behind her, looking hopelessly handsome in evening dress.

  ‘ Merci, mon chéri. I am taking just a few seconds to enjoy this perfect evening.’

  Harry lit a cigarette and gazed across the magnificent gardens. ‘It’s so very still, calm … the lull before the storm,’ he smiled.

  Adrienne turned to him, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. ‘I have hardly seen you since you arrived home. How are you, my darling?’

  Harry nodded. ‘I’m well, Mother.’

  ‘And happy?’ she asked, although she knew the answer.

  ‘I am … accepting that I’m a mere cog in the wheel and don’t control the universe. What will be, will be,’ he sighed, ‘and one must simply get on with it.’

  ‘My Harry,’ Adrienne sighed. ‘If only the world could be a different place, but it cannot. Mon dieu!’ Adrienne clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I am becoming maudlin and I must stop this instant. I am so very fortunate to have you here, and we will enjoy the time together.’

  ‘No fear!’ He smiled down at her, thinking how much he loved her.

  ‘Now, your cousin Hugo was unable to attend tonight. He too is training with his battalion in Wales. So, rather than your father leading poor Penelope in her first dance, it must be you, Harry. I went up to see her in her gown a few minutes ago.’ Adrienne shrugged elegantly. ‘Even though it is difficult to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, between my choice of the dress and Elsie styling her hair, we have at least made her presentable.’

  ‘Then you must really be a miracle worker, mother,’ he replied, thinking of his plain, dumpy cousin.

  ‘Perhaps she will be a late bloomer.’ Adrienne reached for his hand and squeezed it. ‘I must go, chéri, and search out your father. Last time I saw him he was upstairs, deciding on his choice of dress shirts. He can hardly believe his luck that all the young debutantes have come to his house. He is very excited.’ Adrienne raised an eyebrow. ‘We will let him have his little game, n’est ce pas?’

  Harry watched her cross the terrace. She looked radiant tonight, in a saffron-coloured silk gown which accentuated her perfect, petite physique. Her dark hair was styled into a chignon and large diamond-drop earrings emphasised her swan-like neck. Harry thought back to their conversation and wondered whether it was a hindrance to have such a beautiful mother. It was difficult to imagine any girl matching up to her. He pondered sometimes whether that accounted for his lack of interest in women. The magical feeling that other men would describe as ‘love’, or some of his fellow officers described on a more base, physical level, had not happened to him yet.

  Olivia Drew-Norris, the girl from India he’d met a few months ago, had been the nearest to his idea of an attractive woman. She was here tonight, he knew, and perhaps he’d make an effort to dance with her.

  He heard the faint sound of tyres crunching on gravel at the front of the house, indicating the first guest had arrived. His moment of contemplation at an end, Harry walked back inside the house to do his duty.

  16

  ‘Golly, Olivia! You look rather marvellous tonight!’ Venetia had walked into Olivia’s bedroom to see if she was ready to go downstairs. ‘Why, you’re positively glowing! Is that a new gown? The pink suits your complexion perfectly. And I absolutely adore the rosebuds in your hair. Who did it for you?’

  ‘Elsie, the maid. She’s a complete sweetheart. And awfully good, to boot. Would you like her to style yours?’

  Venetia flicked her thick mane of unbound black hair over her shoulder and shook her head. ‘No fear, darling, the “Pretty Princess” look just isn’t me. How do you like my dress?’ she queried.

  Intent on flouting convention again, Venetia was dressed in a figure-hugging sheath of gold that accentuated her ample cleavage. She looked arresting, but rather out of place in the setting of an English country house.

  ‘Breathtaking,’ said Olivia. ‘It’s so very … you.’

  ‘I found it in Mup’s wardrobe. And I’m going to wear it for the rest of the Season.’ Venetia giggled. ‘You know me, darling, forever tripping over acres of net and tulle whilst I’m dancing and stepping on the poor chaps’ toes.’ She indicated the door. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Rather!’ Olivia smiled.

  The two girls linked arms, walked companionably across the wide landing and down the grand main staircase, which led directly into the entrance hall, now buzzing with voices.

  Venetia surveyed the crowd beneath her. ‘Golly! Must have been a fearfully dull night in London. Everyone’s here.’

  Adrienne spotted them and glided towards them. ‘Olivia, why, ma chérie, you look trul
y beautiful! You are surely la belle de la soirée!’

  ‘Thank you, Adrienne.’ She blushed in embarrassment. As Venetia was standing by her side, Olivia quickly introduced her. ‘This is my friend, Venetia Burroughs.’

  Adrienne took in the gold sheath dress and Venetia’s unstyled hair. She smiled widely. ‘And you, you are a beauty too. I admire people who wish to shock, and that is what you wish to do, n’est ce pas?’ She kissed Venetia on both cheeks. ‘Bienvenu, chérie, and enjoy the evening.’

  ‘Gosh!’ murmured Venetia as they made their way out on to the terrace, where everyone was gathering in the warm evening air. ‘She rather got me in one, didn’t she? As she would say: Elle est formidable!’

  ‘She has an unerring habit of knowing instantly exactly who one is,’ said Olivia, taking two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. ‘Personally, I think she’s utterly sweet and very beautiful.’

  ‘She’s that, for certain,’ agreed Venetia, as a young man in a red waistcoat wound his arms round her. ‘Teddy, you’ve dug yourself out of the bar at the Ritz to come here? I’m overwhelmed!’

  ‘My dear Venetia,’ the young man replied as his hands wandered freely over her body, ‘may I say you look absolutely ravishing in that dress. Hello, Olivia,’ he offered, ‘you’re looking rather topping, yourself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Olivia nodded, as Teddy turned away to talk to Venetia and steal covert glances at her cleavage.

  Olivia walked across the terrace and stood by the balustrade overlooking the park. As Harry had promised her, the gardens in high summer were magnificent.

  ‘Miss Drew-Norris! Olivia. It is you, isn’t it?’ A familiar voice beside her made her turn round. ‘May I say, you look like a dream.’

  ‘Hello, Harry.’ Olivia could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Although she had been convinced the mental image of him she had carried with her for the past few months was accurate, he was actually far more handsome in the flesh.

  ‘So, how has the Season been?’

  ‘Actually, it’s been far more fun than I thought it would be. And I’ve made some heavenly new chums.’

  ‘Good-oh. And have you settled down in England now?’ he queried. ‘You certainly look happier than the last time I saw you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I rather think I have. And on nights like this,’ she indicated the park in front of her, ‘it would be hard to refute its charms.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Harry nodded. ‘And have you any notion of what happens next for you, once the Season’s finished?’

  ‘No. Not yet. Anyway, let’s not think about that tonight. I want to enjoy being back at Wharton Park and this simply divine evening. How are you, Harry?’

  ‘At present, I have the whole summer at home and I intend to make the most of it.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s awfully good to see you, Olivia, it really is.’

  ‘Olivia, darling, how are you?’

  A man Harry did not know appeared beside them. He took the cue to leave. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Olivia, I must do my duty and circulate. I can see there are certain young ladies, including my cousin, who seem to be doing an accurate impression of a wallflower.’ Harry indicated a plump girl standing alone further along the terrace. ‘I shall no doubt see you later.’

  He ambled off to save Penelope from wilting but, before he reached her, he was struck on the shoulder by a familiar figure.

  ‘Harry! My dear chap! How are you?’

  ‘Sebastian!’ Harry shook his old friend’s hand heartily. ‘Long time, no see. Fourth of June at Eton a couple of years back, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I rather think it was!’ Sebastian removed his thick-lensed, round glasses and wiped them. ‘Rather gathered you might be here tonight. How’s tricks? Sandhurst as ghastly as you thought it would be?’

  ‘Worse!’ joked Harry, enjoying the fact that Sebastian was one of the only chaps he could make that comment to. They had met at Eton, and the bookish, asthmatic and chronically short-sighted Sebastian had clung on to the musical and painfully shy young man Harry had been. They had both suffered their share of bullying and, though they had little in common, had found mutual ground through their position as outsiders. ‘Over, thank heavens. Now there’s simply the war and getting my leg shot off to look forward to,’ Harry added grimly.

  ‘Well, that at least is one fate from which I’ve been saved.’ Sebastian returned his glasses to his nose. ‘No one in their right mind would put me in charge of a shooter! Couldn’t see where the bally thing was pointing to begin with!’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you in my battalion, old chap, but then I’m not sure that I’d want me either, to be honest,’ Harry smiled, removing a couple of glasses of champagne from a tray and handing one to Sebastian. ‘So, what are you doing with yourself these days?’

  ‘Working for my pater in his trading company. I’ve been learning the ropes in the London office and I’m about to be shipped off to run things in Head Office in Bangkok. Papa is rather eager to come home after twenty years of being an ex-pat. Even if he is arriving to face the uncertainty that gathers daily on these shores.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ muttered Harry grimly.

  ‘The most contact I’ll have with the war, if it heads that way, is organising some of our ships to carry troops and supplies out to the Far East. Rather looking forward to it, actually – they say the Siamese girls are just the ticket!’

  ‘Sounds as if you’re leaving at the perfect time,’ Harry commented enviously. ‘Getting out of the bloody great mess that is Europe. Can’t see it spreading to where you’re heading.’

  ‘No, but one never knows, does one?’ answered Sebastian. ‘One feels rather guilty, not being able to make a tangible contribution to one’s country, but perhaps it’s a small compensation for being given such a duff pair of eyeballs and a dicky chest.’

  Harry touched his shoulder briefly, noticing Penelope still standing alone. ‘Must dash, old chap, drop me a line with your forwarding address.’

  ‘Will do. Awfully good to see you, Harry,’ said Sebastian fondly. ‘Try and stay alive if the worst happens, won’t you? I’ll have some of those Siamese girls lined up for you!’

  Over dinner, Olivia enjoyed the company of her high-spirited table, mostly people she knew from London. To her left sat Angus, the Scottish laird who seemed to be keen on her, and to her right was Archie, Viscount Manners. There was talk amongst some friends in London that Archie ‘batted for the other side’. Olivia was not experienced enough to tell.

  After dinner, they were ushered out whilst the room was cleared of tables. Olivia stood on the terrace with Archie, smoking a rare Abdullah cigarette with him companionably.

  Archie looked over the park, which was bathed in the half-glow of night, and sighed. ‘I can hardly stand its beauty. As Blake so aptly describes, one knows it’s leaving as soon as it arrives.’

  The band struck up and people made their way back into the ballroom.

  ‘I hope you won’t mind awfully if I don’t ask you to dance. I have two quite ghastly left feet and don’t wish to maim you, Olivia,’ confessed Archie. ‘Please, feel free to find an alternative squire.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy standing here, really.’

  ‘Well, it shan’t be the case for long. I can see a beau approaching us already.’

  Sure enough, Harry was crossing the terrace towards them. He stopped short of them, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I’m not disturbing you two, am I?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Olivia, a little too eagerly. ‘Please, come and meet Archie. Archie, this is Harry Crawford, son of the house.’

  The two men stared at each other for a while, before Harry extended his hand towards him. ‘Archie, a pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘And you, Harry.’ Archie smiled suddenly for the first time that evening.

  Eventually, Olivia broke the silence that had descended. ‘Archie and I had such a jolly time at dinner, discussing the great romantic poets. And, of course, Archie is a poet himself
.’

  ‘You write poetry?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I do. For myself, of course. I wouldn’t wish to subject any other poor soul to it. It’s rather maudlin, I fear.’

  ‘Sounds right up my street,’ grinned Harry. ‘I’m a fan of Rupert Brooke, myself.’

  Archie’s face brightened. ‘What a coincidence! So am I. I’ve been boring poor Olivia half to death with him over dinner.’ Archie closed his eyes and began to quote:

  ‘Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,

  And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.

  The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.

  I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands …’

  Harry took up the words:

  ‘Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea’s making

  Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned.’

  They smiled at each other, acknowledging the pleasure of a passion shared.

  ‘One day, I mean to go to Skyros to see his grave for myself,’ offered Archie.

  ‘I was lucky enough to visit the Old Vicarage at Grantchester. Marvellous to see the very house where Brooke spent his boyhood,’ replied Harry.

  Olivia listened as they talked animatedly, feeling like a spare part. Luckily, Venetia arrived by her side. Olivia could see she was a little the worse for wear.

  ‘Hello, my darling,’ she said, looking Harry up and down with a glint in her eye. ‘Who’s this?’

  Harry was still deep in conversation with Archie, so Olivia whispered, ‘Harry, the chap I told you about.’

  Venetia nodded approvingly. ‘He’s … dreamy! And if you don’t want him,’ she giggled, ‘then I’ll have him. Harry –’ she broke into the conversation – ‘I’m Venetia Burroughs, Olivia’s closest chum, and I’ve heard all about you.’ She reached up and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘I feel as if I know you already.’

  Olivia could have died on the spot from embarrassment.

  Harry looked rather taken aback by her exuberant greeting, but recovered his manners to say, ‘Venetia, it’s my pleasure to meet you.’