‘You too, Harry. I shall be expecting a dance later. And talking of dancing, I vote we all pile in. It’s getting chilly out here.’
‘Good idea.’ Harry smiled down fondly at Olivia. ‘I came over to ask you to dance. May I have the pleasure?’ He extended his arm to Olivia, who took it, blushing with pleasure.
He looked at Archie. ‘We must talk some more another time.’
‘Perhaps, before I leave.’
‘I do hope so,’ replied Harry.
Then, with Olivia on his arm, he turned and walked into the ballroom.
As Olivia partnered Harry on the dance floor again and again, she thought back to London and how many times she had dreamt of being held in his arms. And here she was with him at Wharton Park, the place she had decided she loved best in the whole of England, on a beautiful midsummer’s night.
Later, Harry led her outside for some fresh air.
‘Well,’ he said, lighting his cigarette, ‘I think one could say that the evening has been an unqualified success, don’t you?’
Olivia was gazing up at the stars in the clear night sky. ‘Perfect,’ she murmured contentedly.
‘And Mother looks happier than I’ve seen her for a long time,’ added Harry. ‘Listen, the band are playing my favourite Cole Porter song, “Begin the Beguine”.’ Harry started to hum it under his breath. ‘One last dance, Miss Drew-Norris?’ he asked, as he put his arm round her waist.
‘If you insist, Captain Crawford.’
They swayed to the music together, Olivia resting her head against Harry’s chest and giving herself up to the moment.
‘Olivia, I’ve loved dancing with you this evening. Thank you,’ said Harry. Then he reached down and kissed her on the lips.
Adrienne, who had herself stepped outside further along the terrace to gaze at the night sky, watched them and allowed herself a secret smile of pleasure.
17
Olivia headed back to London the following day, wrapped in a gossamer shroud of happiness. Finally, she understood what the ‘magic’ was all about. She had confided in Venetia on the journey back to London. Venetia had snorted derisorily when Olivia had indicated that Harry was ‘the one’.
‘Darling, really! How can you possibly know that? He’s the first boy you’ve even kissed. You are absolutely mad!’
Olivia shook her head defiantly. ‘No. I’m not. I know how I feel, and sometimes it just happens that way. Look at your mother and father, they were eighteen and nineteen when they met and fell in love.’
‘Touché, but that was then and this is now. And besides, Olivia, you’ve always promised me you didn’t want to marry until you were a lot older. You haven’t even done the “thing” yet,’ added Venetia. ‘How can you “know” without doing that?’
Olivia knew Venetia had done the ‘thing’. And not just with one chap either. And hadn’t seemed to give it a second thought. This was one area where their thoughts differed and could not be reconciled. Venetia’s pronouncement that it was ‘her’ body and she could use it as she wished without guilt, was not an attitude Olivia shared. Whether it was upbringing, or her nature, she felt strongly that her virgin state should remain intact until she married the man she found to love.
‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ Olivia answered feebly. ‘That’s secondary.’
‘Golly, Olivia! I thought in the last few months I’d managed to instil some feminism into you. And here you are, imagining the wedding already. And don’t tell me you’re not,’ Venetia wagged her finger as the car veered dangerously into the centre of the road, ‘because I jolly well know you are.’
After two weeks of floating on air, and being detached from the final round of parties and other events that saw the Season coming to a close, before everyone left London like a swarm of flies to head for the warmer climes of the Riviera, Olivia had still heard nothing from Harry.
After the euphoria, came the uncertainty and the pain. Olivia sank into a black mood as she contemplated that Venetia may have been correct in her assessment and, for Harry, the kiss had meant nothing more than a pleasant end to the evening.
She had been invited, along with Venetia, to spend a month at a villa in St Raphael, owned by the parents of Angus, the Scottish laird. She knew Angus was awfully fond of her and he had made his intentions clear. Joining him at his family home would mean, on some level, an acceptance of his affection.
‘Well, I’m going along, whether or not you come,’ Venetia had declared. ‘The atmosphere here is quite dreadful. Pup’s locked away in his studio and Mup is sulking because Pup has refused to let anyone come to the house. And that’s before I’ve stepped out of the back door and tripped over the beastly air-raid shelter spoiling our beautiful garden.’
The two of them were walking towards the Ritz, having just left Dudley House in Park Lane after Kick Kennedy’s dance.
‘It’s hardly fair though, is it, Venetia?’ insisted Olivia. ‘Angus is delightful, but I don’t want him to think that I like him in that way.’
‘Darling, all’s fair in love and war,’ Venetia eyed her, ‘and presently, anything goes. Besides, beautiful girls were born to break some hearts along the way. Angus’s villa is meant to be utterly fabulous. And what will you do if you don’t come?’ she added. ‘Spend the entire summer mooning in a funk over lover-boy and waiting for the Germans to drop their bombs?’ They turned off the main road to walk down to the side door of the Ritz. ‘For goodness sake, do pull yourself together and have some fun whilst you can.’
As Venetia began to climb the steps into the Ritz, Olivia glanced to her left and saw a familiar figure emerging from a doorway and walking swiftly down the street away from her. She grasped Venetia’s shoulder, her heart pounding.
‘I think I’ve just seen him.’
‘Seen who?’
‘Harry, of course.’
Venetia stopped at the top of the stairs and sighed heavily. ‘Olivia, my dear, I do believe you are going queer in the head. What would Harry be doing in London?’
‘I’m sure it was him,’ she said determinedly.
Venetia grabbed her by the arm. ‘Obviously too many Martinis at Kick’s dance. Now come on, darling, buck up. You’re starting to become a bore.’
Three further days of agony later, Olivia awoke from a restless sleep and realised that Venetia was almost certainly right about Harry. Today she would accept Angus’s invitation, go to France and nurse her broken heart. At least the weather would be warm, it would be good to get out of London and, as the alternative was returning to Surrey, she supposed it was the best thing to do. She would telephone Angus today and tell him that she would join his house party in St Raphael.
Just as she was on her way out to visit Venetia and make arrangements for the journey to France, the telephone rang.
‘Operator here, you have a call from Cromer 6521, may I put you through?’
‘Yes, thank you. Hello, Olivia Drew-Norris speaking?’
‘Olivia! Just the person I wished to speak to. It is Adrienne Crawford here, from Wharton Park.’
‘Adrienne, how delightful to hear from you. Is everything all right?’
‘Of course, everything is perfect. Except for the fact I am a little lonely and I was wondering if you were busy for the month of August. If you are not, I thought that perhaps you could come and spend some of it here with me. We could walk in the gardens together and enjoy this glorious summer weather we have. I know Harry would love to see you. He is working so hard, poor boy, training his unrehearsed battalion for the opening night.’
Olivia sat down abruptly in the chair next to the telephone.
‘I …’ She knew she had to make a quick decision. The truth was, there was no decision to be made. ‘I would love to join you, Adrienne. It’s awfully kind of you to ask me.’
‘C’est parfait! Then that is settled. How soon can you come?’
‘I have arranged to visit my parents in Surrey, but I could be with you by the beginning of next week
. Does that suit?’
‘Perfectly,’ answered Adrienne. ‘I will send our chauffeur to fetch you from Surrey if that would be helpful. The train is so tiresome.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Well, I look forward so much to seeing you next week, Olivia. And it is very kind of you to agree to keep me company.’
‘Not at all. Wharton Park is my favourite place on earth,’ Olivia answered truthfully. ‘Goodbye.’
‘ A bientôt, chérie.’
Olivia put the receiver down and held her hands up to her cheeks to cool them. She could feel the adrenalin coursing round her body and upping her heart rate.
A whole month at Wharton Park … with Harry.
She closed the front door behind her and virtually skipped all the way to Venetia’s house.
Venetia did not seem as excited about the news as Olivia hoped she might be. Olivia put this down to Venetia’s own selfishness; and the fact that she would now be journeying to France alone.
‘You say it was his mother who telephoned you?’ sniffed Venetia. ‘Do you think he’s a “Mummy’s Boy”? Sounds pretty queer to me.’
Olivia was not to be brought down. ‘Surely it would be the Lady of the house who’d invite me, in terms of protocol? And besides, I love Adrienne and I love Wharton Park,’ she added, hugging herself inwardly at the thought of it.
‘You’re mad, giving up the Riviera for some draughty mausoleum in the middle of nowhere,’ sighed Venetia. ‘But I’ll think of you as I’m taking dips in the Med and drinking cocktails in the sunshine.’
And I won’t be jealous at all, thought Olivia happily.
The following day, Olivia packed up all her belongings, thanked her grandmother, and left for her parents’ house in Surrey.
The two nights she spent there were difficult and uncomfortable. Her parents were still the same as they had always been, yet Olivia was so different. It was almost as if she had grown out of them in the past few months. Long silences lingered over the dinner table as Olivia struggled to find subjects they had in common. Even if she managed it, they seemed to disagree with her opinion on everything.
On the night before she left for Wharton Park, she sat with her mother in the drawing room, drinking coffee after dinner.
‘So,’ her mother concentrated on her knitting as she spoke, ‘am I to presume there is an affection between you and Harry Crawford?’
‘He’s an awfully nice chap, yes. But he’s busy training his battalion, so I doubt I’ll see much of him when I’m there.’
‘You haven’t answered my question, Olivia.’ Her mother looked up from her knitting.
Olivia spoke guardedly. ‘We get on very well, Mother.’
Her mother smiled. ‘When I met him in January, he seemed like a good chap. I just want to say that your father and I would approve.’
‘Mother!’ Olivia blushed at the way things were being assumed. Partly out of embarrassment, but also from hearing her own wish being voiced by another. ‘It’s very early days.’
‘Yet I can see that you’re more than fond of him. Every time you say his name, your face lights up.’
Olivia surrendered. ‘Yes, I think I probably am.’
‘My goodness, what a lot of money we could have saved on your Season, if we’d realised the right chap was sitting right under our noses in January! Lady Crawford has kindly asked myself and your father to Wharton Park for a weekend visit. I’ve suggested we come at the end of August. By then, there might be good news. The world is so uncertain at present, Olivia.’ Her mother sighed. ‘Enjoy any happiness while you can, won’t you, dear?’
Olivia wandered upstairs to bed later, taken aback by her mother’s emotional honesty. Perhaps the impending war had brought out in everyone the need to say what they felt.
The following morning, Olivia was awake by six; dressed, packed and ready by eight. Fredericks, the Crawford’s chauffeur, arrived on the dot of nine.
Her mother stood with her on the doorstep. ‘Do write, darling, to let me know how you’re getting on.’ She kissed her daughter on both cheeks. ‘And have a marvellous time.’
‘I will, Mother.’ Olivia wrapped her arms round her mother’s shoulders and gave her a spontaneous hug. ‘You and Daddy take care, too.’
Adrienne greeted Olivia on the doorstep of Wharton Park. ‘Ma chérie, you must be exhausted! Come inside. Sable will sort out your luggage and show you to your room. It is the same one as you stayed in before. Take a rest before dinner. There is no rush. Christopher is in London and Harry does not arrive back until ten, or sometimes later.’
Having been escorted to her bedroom by Sable, Olivia was amazed she had once thought it cold and ugly. With the late afternoon sun casting a restful glow across the pretty, floral wallpaper, Olivia climbed on to the bed, thinking how much she liked it. And, exhausted from the tension and build-up of the trip, promptly fell asleep.
She was awoken by a knock on the door. Elsie, the maid, peered round it.
‘Hello again, Miss Olivia. How lovely to see you back here! I’m going to be looking after you during your stay. Her Ladyship told me to come and wake you as it’s past seven. You won’t get no sleep tonight unless you get up now. May I come in?’
‘Of course. Gosh!’ Olivia smiled, happy to see Elsie’s bright, familiar face. ‘I had no idea I’d been asleep for so long.’
‘I’ve drawn you a bath, Miss Olivia, so if you hop in, I’ll unpack whilst you do. Dinner is at eight, and her Ladyship says it’s informal, so may I pick out something pretty for you to wear?’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Elsie.’ Olivia drew back the covers and climbed out of bed. ‘So, tell me, have you and Bill named the day yet?’
‘Yes. In just over four weeks, I’ll be Mrs William Stafford,’ she said proudly. ‘You might still be here, Miss Olivia. I’d love you to come to the church and watch me get wed if you were. Her Ladyship has kindly given me a bolt of lace and my auntie’s making my dress. Oh, miss, I’m so excited!’
Elsie’s happiness was infectious and Olivia could not help but feel a small tinge of envy.
At five to eight, Olivia wandered downstairs and found Sable waiting for her in the entrance hall.
‘Her Ladyship is outside on the terrace, Miss Drew-Norris. Follow me.’
She did so and, when she stepped outside, saw a small table had been set for two in the corner of the terrace. Large candles, shielded from the wind in glass containers, cast their soft glow in the fading light.
‘Olivia, do come and sit down.’ Adrienne indicated the other chair. ‘I hope it is warm enough for you out here. I’ve brought you a wrap in case you get cold, but I like to eat out here whilst I can. In France, we barely ate inside at all between May and September. Now, I have some rosé, a pink wine we produce in the vineyards of our château in Provence. I have twelve cases shipped over every year. Would you like to try a glass?’
Olivia sat down. ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
Adrienne indicated that Sable should pour the wine. ‘We will eat in fifteen minutes, Sable. Merci.’
‘Very good, your Ladyship.’ The butler nodded and disappeared inside the house.
‘Santé.’ Adrienne reached her glass to Olivia’s then they both took a sip.
Olivia tasted the wine and found she liked it. White wine was too acidic and red wine too heavy for her; this seemed to be the perfect combination.
‘It is good, non?’ Adrienne asked.
‘Very good indeed.’
‘My family used to drink it out of large jugs, fresh from our cave,’ Adrienne sighed. ‘Eh bien! It is just one more thing that I miss.’
‘But you are happy here in England, aren’t you?’ Olivia asked.
‘Yes, of course, but this year I am a little sad. Always in August, we spend a month at my family château. This year, with Christopher so busy at Whitehall and Harry training his recruits, I felt I could not go without them. Christopher believes war is imminent.’
‘In London, it’s impossible to ignore the preparations. I was watching the air-raid sirens being erected along the Embankment on the day I left.’
‘I am sure.’ Adrienne skilfully steered the subject on to more palatable subjects. ‘You must tell me all about your Season. Was it all you imagined it would be?’
‘Actually, it was better. I met some marvellous people who were not at all as dull as I thought they would be.’
‘Like your friend Venetia Burroughs? She is unusual, like you. So,’ said Adrienne as Sable wheeled a large trolley, replete with silver salvers out on to the terrace, ‘tell me of the dances that you attended. Were they indeed as beautiful as I remember them?’
Over a dinner of fresh watercress soup and a salad made up of crisp, fresh ingredients from the kitchen garden, Olivia regaled Adrienne with as many interesting anecdotes of her experiences as she could think of.
‘Voilà!’ Adrienne clapped her hands together in pleasure. ‘It all sounds very much the same as when I came out. And, of course, I am sure there were many young men who were charmed by you. The question is, were you charmed by any of them?’
‘I … no. At least, no one I thought was special.’
‘Well, I am sure it will not be long before you are.’ Adrienne had read her discomfort. ‘Olivia, I would like you to feel as if this house were your own whilst you are here. You may have Fredericks, our chauffeur, to drive you anywhere, any time you wish. And perhaps we will go to the beaches together, of which there are many nearby, and you will see what a beautiful county Norfolk is. And Harry will be home for the weekends, to keep you company. He’s so tired, poor boy, but he was very happy when I told him you were coming here. It will be good for him too, to have some younger company. Now, I think it is time for bed, non?’ Adrienne rose, walked over to Olivia and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Bonne nuit, ma chérie, sleep well.’
‘And you, Adrienne.’ Olivia stood up too. ‘I’ve enjoyed tonight very much indeed.’
The two women moved inside and walked through the series of rooms that led to the entrance hall.
‘Elsie will bring you a breakfast tray in your room tomorrow morning, at an hour that suits you. And we will meet at one o’clock tomorrow for luncheon, after which I will take you round the gardens and show you the hothouse. You must take whatever you wish to read from the shelves in the library. There is a summer house tucked away behind the rose arbour, in the left-hand corner of the walled garden, where I often sit to read.’
Hothouse Flower Page 14
