Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  ‘No!’ I felt indignant before I remembered that the favour I intended to ask was considerably greater. ‘No. But, oh dear, I think I will go. He hasn’t seen me for years. There was a terrible row.’ I paused. He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. At least he had stopped yawning. ‘I used to know Rupert very well.’

  ‘Yes?’ I could tell that he did not believe me.

  ‘Oh, yes. Real-ly well,’ I said, perhaps rather gushingly. ‘He was practically family.’ I saw I had his attention now. ‘He was ten years older than me but he played with us sometimes. We had a castle in the trees, called Ravenswood.’

  ‘Ravenswood? Good God!’ He frowned at his kneecap as though it had offended him. His cool reception of my confidences was crushing. I made up my mind to leave. Then he gave a crack of laughter. ‘Walter Scott. I used to admire him so much but I haven’t looked at him for years. Does anyone read him nowadays?’ He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the back of the sofa and recited in exaggeratedly theatrical tones,

  ‘When the last Laird of Ravenswood of Ravenswood shall ride,

  And woo a dead maiden to be his bride,

  He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie’s flow,

  And his name – his name –’

  He opened his eyes. ‘I’m too drunk to remember any more.’

  I felt protective of Rupert’s youthful passion. ‘Charlotte Brontë admired Scott enormously.’

  ‘What has that to say to anything?’

  ‘Well, she was a good writer and something of a judge, I should’ve thought. Anyway, our Ravenswood I remember as being glorious. It was the sort of place you long to get back to, sometimes, when you’re grown up. But you never can. I expect you think that’s ridiculous.’

  He seemed to me the sort of man who would find a good many things ridiculous. I wondered if he had stopped listening. He studied the marble chimneypiece, his dark eyebrows drawn together as though doubtful of its architectural merit. But he no longer looked bored. Then he said, softly, ‘Harry?’

  Only one person had ever called me that. I must have looked like a caricature of astonishment.

  ‘Oh, how mean! You might have said! What a rotten, low-down trick –’

  Rupert – for of course it was he – waved his finger at me. ‘Careful. Weren’t you going to ask me to do something for you?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. But it was unkind of you to let me go on making a fool of myself.’

  ‘It was unkind of you to mistake Archie for me, I consider.’

  ‘It was the hair. You look so much older than I’d – Sorry, I didn’t mean –’

  ‘You’re not doing very well, are you?’

  ‘Honestly, I didn’t mean to be rude. I like grey hair on men.’

  ‘I’m not sensitive about it. It’s a family characteristic – going grey early. So my grandmother tells me.’

  I examined his face. The picture of Rupert I had retained for so many years dissolved and reshaped itself. It was not only the alteration in hair colour. This man was broader, stronger and more confident than my indefinite imaginings. He had straight black brows, an authoritative nose and a square chin. The only part of him I recognised, now that I knew, were his eyes – dark, slanted and set wide apart, evidence of his Armenian ancestry. I looked for other traces of the boy but found nothing. I felt, absurdly, a sense of loss.

  ‘Is she still alive?’

  ‘Very much so. Like Lady Ashton in The Bride of Lammermoor she’s as proud as Lucifer and every bit as unrepentant and will probably outlive all those she’s made miserable.’ He folded his arms and turned his whole body to face me. ‘All right. What brings grown-up Harriet – how fortunate you’ve lost that tendency to podginess – to petition for my favour?’

  ‘I was never fat!’

  ‘You were a fright – a dumpy little thing, no front teeth and head shaved like a convict’s.’

  Evidently he had forgotten about the Dunkirk spirit.

  ‘It’s clear you are drunk,’ I prevaricated. ‘Or you’ve a hopelessly bad memory.’

  ‘Oh ho! You require my good offices, remember.’ He dropped his tone of mockery. ‘It’s about Waldo. Tell me everything that’s happened so far.’

  All I could add to what he had read in the newspapers were the incriminating facts about the gouger and the fingerprints, and the damning evidence of the wardrobe mistress and the two understudies, which established the impossibility of there being a third person on the stage at the moment of Sir Basil’s death.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ said Rupert, almost savagely, ‘is why the hell Waldo didn’t say straight away that he didn’t do it.’

  ‘Well, you know, he rather enjoyed it at first – being the centre of attention, high drama, tragic irony, all that sort of thing.’

  Rupert stood up. ‘I need to be able to think clearly. I’m going to run my head under the tap. Stay where you are,’ he added peremptorily, walking off.

  I did as I was told. The party seemed to be gathering zip. The pianist was playing Kurt Weill hits, a girl began to croon and the other guests to dance. Rosalind elbowed through the crowd with a plate of food, which she thrust it into my hand. By candlelight the black ovals looked suspiciously like kidneys, which I hate.

  ‘Having a lovely time, darling? What did you thay your name wath?’

  ‘Harriet. Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Where’th Woopert? I thaw you talking to him.’

  ‘He’s gone to put his head under the tap.’

  ‘Lithen to me, Harriet.’ Rosalind wagged a finger and nodded her head with solemn emphasis. ‘Don’t fall in love with him, becoth you’ll only be mitherwable. I’m mitherwable. Ath mitherwable ath thin.’ To my dismay she started to cry. A couple of sequins and trickles of black mascara transferred themselves to her cheeks.

  ‘Oh, dear! Poor Rosalind!’ I felt in Portia’s pockets for a handkerchief. All I could find was a screwed-up piece of newspaper. It smelled rather of vinegar but I offered it anyway. Rosalind wiped her eyes, not improving her appearance. ‘Why don’t you sit down until you feel better?’ I suggested.

  I meant on the sofa next to me but Rosalind plopped down on to the floor, her legs sticking out straight in front of her, like a doll’s.

  ‘Get me a dwink, darling, would you?’

  I filled my own glass from the bottle Rupert had left on a nearby table and held it out to her but a hand – Rupert’s – came down to intercept it.

  ‘Rosalind’s had enough. I’ll get her some orange juice.’

  ‘You beatht!’ said Rosalind when he returned. ‘What’th thauth for the gooth ith thauth for the gander!’

  Rupert laughed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, you ridiculous girl?’

  ‘It meanth I’ve often seen you ath pithed as a newt. But if anybody twied to get bothy with you you’d be cwoth ath two thticths.’

  ‘True. But the day I’m found sitting on the floor with makeup on my chin and newsprint on my nose, I hope someone will be good enough to take me in hand. You’d better eat something. I’ll find someone to look after you.’

  He disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘Have a kidney.’ I offered her the plate.

  Rosalind screeched with laughter. ‘Thilly! They’re devilth on hortheback!’

  The name was alluring – I thought of horned, caped fiends galloping furiously to hell – very Walter Scott. I ate one. It was delicious – an almond wrapped in an anchovy fillet inside a prune, rolled up in a rasher of bacon.

  ‘Have another,’ I suggested.

  ‘No, thankth.’ Rosalind sagged against the leg of the opposite sofa. ‘I’m feeling thleepy. I think I’ll have a little thnoothe …’

  A beatific smile spread across her stained face. I managed to catch her glass of orange juice before it fell from her relaxing fingers. I sat with the plate on my knee and tried to prevent people treading on Rosalind as they danced by. To while away the time I ate several more devils on horseback. Prunes are generous with their
essences, but having travelled to the party by tube I was reluctant to lick my fingers. Maria-Alba regarded London’s underground system as a pit of brimstone seething with pathogens, and early indoctrination is hard to throw off.

  ‘Hanky?’

  I looked up. It was Max Frensham.

  ‘I do seem to have got rather sticky.’ I took the handkerchief. ‘Thanks. Have one?’

  He sat down beside me. ‘I saw you when you came in but I was stuck in the dining room with Marina Marlow. That woman’s a black hole where flattery’s concerned.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was here.’ I felt again that constriction of the heart at the thought of her. ‘Do you have to be nice to her?’

  Max shrugged. ‘She’s a narcissist – capricious enough to insist on having me as her leading man in her next play if she thinks I worship her body.’ I wanted to ask if he did, but thought better of it and ate another prune. ‘I suppose that sort of duplicity shocks you? It ought to. I feel rather disgusted with myself.’ He grimaced and ran both hands through his hair as though shaking off something objectionable. Some people can do this without making themselves look a complete mess. I am not of their number.

  ‘How’s – Caroline?’ I remembered his wife’s name just in time.

  ‘Not well. Actually I’m really worried about her.’

  I popped in another devil and tried to look sympathetic, not easy when your cheeks are bulging with food.

  ‘What do you think’s wrong?’ I asked thickly.

  ‘Too many pills, probably. She takes a handful to send her to sleep at night and another to keep her awake during the day. She has pills for slimming, for depression, for imaginary illnesses. It’s awful to see such unhappiness.’ I was surprised. Caroline Frensham had always seemed to me about as soft and sensitive as a chisel. I saw sorrow in Max’s eyes and I no longer doubted. The greasiness of the bacon had transferred itself from my fingers to the handkerchief and back again, preventing any demonstrations of sympathy like patting his hand. ‘Believe me, Harriet, an inheritance is nothing but a curse.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was rich.’

  ‘Her father owns a chain of department stores in New Zealand. Imagine what it’s like to be able to have whatever you want.’ It sounded all right to me. ‘It’s by testing yourself and winning through that you become self-confident. Caroline’s never had to work. She’s bought her way out of every difficulty. As a result she’s crippled by self-doubt. Of course she covers it up brilliantly. She should have been an actress. God, when I think how much in love with her I was –’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘How’s your dear papa?’

  ‘Not too good.’

  Max took my hand and bravely did not recoil from its stickiness. ‘You know he didn’t do it, don’t you? I’d stake my own life on it. There never was a man less capable of killing anybody.’

  I was so grateful for this testimonial that I did not mind when he squeezed my fingers and crushed them painfully against my ring.

  ‘It must be agony for you.’ I realised he meant my father being in prison. ‘Why don’t we have dinner together next week? Somewhere small and quiet where we can talk.’ I must have looked doubtful for he said quickly, ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. You’re a beautiful young woman but I’m a happily married man. Well, married, anyway. And I’m not such a conceited idiot as to think you’d ever look at me.’ This surprised me for Max Frensham was, by anyone’s standards, attractive, and I had thought he knew it. ‘I’d like to help you through this dreadful business with Waldo. I can’t offer much, I know – just a sympathetic ear. You needn’t be grateful,’ he added when I started to mumble my appreciation. ‘It would be a treat for me to talk to someone who isn’t in the theatre. Someone who’s straightforward and rational. But you’re probably much too busy.’

  He laughed but his face was sad. I looked down at the empty plate balanced on my knees, wishing I had not eaten so many prunes. I felt extremely thirsty and a little sick. The room was suddenly too warm.

  ‘Quite a few of my guests have got to the hand-holding stage.’ Rupert was beside us. ‘But I want to talk to Harriet if you wouldn’t mind disengaging.’

  The man in the tiger-skin shorts hauled Rosalind up from the floor, swung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carried her off. Max stood up.

  ‘Hello, Rupert. I thought you were in Italy.’

  ‘I got back this morning.’

  ‘Whereabouts were you?’

  ‘Florence.’

  ‘When I was there they’d just cleaned all the Veroneses in the Uffizi. Stupendous colours. Did you see them?’

  ‘No.’ Rupert made no effort to continue the conversation. I felt embarrassed but Max seemed unruffled.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better be going.’ He smiled at me. ‘Don’t forget what I said.’ He turned back to Rupert. ‘Thanks for an excellent party. Original. As always.’

  ‘You must thank Archie. He does everything.’

  ‘Goodbye, Max.’ I would have offered my hand but I was sure he would not want to touch it again. ‘I hope Caroline will feel better soon.’

  ‘I’ll telephone you tomorrow.’ He kissed my cheek. I realised Rupert would conclude from this that Max and I were on more intimate terms than was in fact the case. I acquitted Max of blame, for men are always rather dim about these things. Anyway, it didn’t matter.

  ‘Come on. We’ll go too.’ Rupert led me through the throng in Max’s wake.

  Everyone was dancing now. A girl wearing a spangled leotard, like a trapeze artist’s, clapped her hands and shouted, ‘Be careful where you tread, people. Rover’s given me the slip.’

  ‘What does Rover look like?’ someone asked.

  ‘He’s about two feet long. And bright green. No, you ass, whoever heard of a green dog? Rover’s an Indian water snake.’ There was a burst of screaming and most of the girls and several men got on to chairs. ‘Don’t do that, you dopes,’ cried Rover’s owner. ‘He’s mad about getting under cushions. You’re probably squashing him to death.’ More screams as everyone hastily got down.

  ‘Really, Loelia,’ said Rupert when the yelling had died down a little, ‘you ought to give that poor creature to a zoo.’

  Loelia clasped her hands round his neck. ‘Can I be your pet, Rupert? Please let me into your bed. You don’t know what the love of a good woman can do.’

  ‘Take some aspirin.’ He removed her arms unceremoniously. ‘You’ll have a shocking head tomorrow.’

  ‘Won’t your friends be offended if you leave now?’ I said as we reached the front door.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  We walked along to the main road and Rupert hailed a taxi. He gave my address to the cabby. I thought I was being dismissed but Rupert got in after me. ‘All right, let’s have it,’ he said as the taxi drew out into the stream of traffic. ‘No beating about the bush. What do you want me to do?’

  He listened without saying anything as I described as succinctly as I could what had happened since my father’s arrest. ‘You see,’ I concluded, ‘we can’t pay the butcher or the greengrocer or the milkman and there are six of us – seven counting Ronnie – to feed. I absolutely hate asking you but Pa couldn’t think of anyone else who might – who might –’ I could not bring myself to suggest, as my father had done, that Rupert might feel himself to be under some kind of obligation to my family. It sounded so crudely calculating – ‘be in a position to lend us something to tide us over.’

  Rupert did not look at me. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or commiserative. ‘How much did Waldo suggest you ask for?’

  ‘Two thousand pounds.’ It sounded an impossibly large sum once I had said it aloud. I grew hot with shame. How hateful is the necessity to have money! How guilty you feel when you have more than other people, how wretched when you have less. Banks, overdrafts, loans, chequebooks, pounds and pence – I felt I should burst into tears if anyone mentioned any of these things ever again. I had a horrible pain in my stomach – pr
obably the result of eating a whole plateful of prunes.

  Rupert was silent for what seemed a long time. Just as I was going to ask him to forget I had ever mentioned it, he said, ‘I’m not going to give it to you.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right!’ I said eagerly. ‘It was a terrible idea! I knew I shouldn’t have asked. It was the most awful cheek –’

  ‘Shut up a minute and listen. If I give you two thousand pounds it’ll be gone in a couple of months and you’ll be in the same mess as before. It’s obvious that nothing’s changed. None of you has the least idea about money. You simply can’t be trusted with it.’

  I bent my head humbly. His judgement was harsh but I could not deny the truth of it.

  ‘What I’ll do is this. You can send me the butcher’s bill, and the baker’s and the candlestick-maker’s, and I’ll pay them. On certain conditions. You, Bron, Ophelia and Portia must find jobs. I’ll give you two weeks to get some kind of employment. Of course it won’t be well-paid but that’s not important. What matters is, you’ve all got to stick to it. Any slacking, getting the sack – by any one of you – and the wellspring will dry up.’ I said nothing. I was trying to imagine Ophelia getting up to go to work. ‘I’ll expect some simple accounting from each of you. Bus fares, clothes, books – whatever seems essential to you must be shown to be necessary to me. You must all of you contribute three-quarters of what you earn to the kitty, which I shall have charge of. That’ll go towards food, rates, electricity, telephone, and so on. I’ll make up the shortfall. The remaining quarter you can spend on cigars, crocodile luggage, diamond telephone diallers, what you will.’ I failed altogether to picture Ophelia getting on a bus, or Bron either. ‘Clarissa and Maria-Alba can be your pensioners. Ronnie, I assume, can pay for his board and lodging. Cordelia, naturally, will go to school. I’ve no intention of paying couturiers’ bills or exorbitant demands from interior decorators or plastic surgeons. You must all practise economy. If any of you knows what the word means.’