‘He’s been adopted by a farmer and his wife. They live in Wales, so he’ll have a good life, Jack.’
‘They wouldn’t let Louise keep ’im, then?’ he asked bitterly, as if he were referring to a family of which Juliet was not a part.
‘This was the best way for everyone’s sake,’ she said gently, wishing she believed it. ‘Of course Louise was terribly upset, but we do know he’s all right, because my great-aunt lives nearby.’ Juliet looked at him speculatively, liking the open honesty of his face and his serious eyes.
‘Your disappearance caused a stir in the village, you know, Jack. Don’t you think you should tell your father and your aunt that you’re OK, and that you’re in London?’
‘Me aunty knows, now. I just ’ad to get away. By lying about me age, I was able to join this lot.’ He indicated the fire crew, with a hand blackened with soot. ‘I felt the war was ’appening without me. And it was the shame, you see. Everyone guessing wot ’appened, ’ating me for gettin’ a young girl, from up at the big ’ouse, in the family way…’ He shook his head, and gazed with unseeing eyes at the still-smoking ruins of what had been a terrace house. He continued: ‘But Louise and me, we loved each other. It seemed natural-like, wot we did. Just like the birds and the bees.’ His boyish mouth drooped at the corners. ‘I’d liked to ’ave seen me son. Just once.’
‘Better not, perhaps?’ she suggested. Her heart bled for this youth, who, because of the war, had strayed into the path of both the rigid upper-classes, and the morality of the age.
Juliet didn’t tell Louise she’d bumped into Jack. She thought it better not to bring up the past. They’d avoided mentioning Rupert for months now, and Louise seemed to be settling into her nursing with calm efficiency. How she could bear to work with small children, after what had happened, Juliet didn’t know, but that was up to her.
Juliet and Louise were having a late breakfast, a few mornings later, both having been on duty the previous night, when Dudley announced there was a visitor to see them.
‘Who is it, Dudley?’ Louise asked.
‘It’s me, darling,’ said Liza, marching into the dining room, looking very neat in the dark green uniform of the WVS.
‘Mummy!’
‘Mummy…?’ Louise echoed in astonishment. Then they were all laughing and hugging each other and Bella was yapping and bouncing around their feet.
‘What a scream! I didn’t know you were going to do this?’ Juliet exclaimed. ‘Mummy, you’re amazing.’
‘The uniform suits you,’ Louise giggled.
‘Daddy and I are making several changes,’ Liza said, accepting the offer of a cup of coffee, as she joined them at the table. She seemed brighter and more cheerful than she’d done in years, and her attitude was refreshingly positive. ‘We’re going to rent a tiny pied-à-terre, just for the two of us, until Daddy retires,’ she continued, ‘and then we’ll be based permanently at Hartley.’
Juliet’s mouth fell open. ‘Aren’t you going to miss London?’
‘I’d rather miss London a bit than miss your father altogether,’ Liza responded bravely. ‘I realized, when Hammertons was bombed and I feared your father had been killed, that socializing isn’t what really matters.’
‘So you’re not going to share a flat with Uncle Ian any more?’ Louise asked, still surprised by her mother’s determination to change her life.
‘Thank God for that,’ Juliet observed acidly.
Liza frowned. ‘You never want to see him, do you? And he used to give you such lovely presents when you were small.’
Louise jumped to her sister’s defence. ‘He’s not really our uncle, though, is he? He’s just Daddy’s friend.’
‘His oldest and best friend,’ Liza reminded them, ‘and he is your godfather, Juliet.’
Juliet looked away, mutinously, her mouth tight, her expression veiled. ‘I hate him,’ she said coldly. ‘That’s all there is to it.’
* * *
‘University?’ Lady Anne exclaimed, in delight. ‘Amanda, I think that’s a wonderful idea. What do you want to read?’
‘Politics, of course.’ Now that Amanda had turned seventeen, and passed her School Certificate exams with flying colours, she was more determined than ever to have a career. Tall for her age, and more curvaceous than any of her sisters, she wore her glasses unashamedly, and had her hair cut short, with a side parting. Her wardrobe consisted of tweeds, flat shoes and thick stockings. She said yuck! to make-up and perfume, and absolutely refused to ‘get dressed up like a dog’ for any occasion whatsoever.
‘You’ve always been interested in politics, haven’t you?’ Lady Anne observed, ready to back this bright young woman, who was bound to face family opposition by becoming a bluestocking.
‘The thing is, Granny, I absolutely abhor and detest the class system in this country. It’s so bloody… sorry… so unfair! I’ve had a much better education than the village children, but only because Daddy could afford to send me to a private school. How unfair is that? And we can afford to have Dr Musgrove when we’re ill, while the poor have to queue up at the panel doctor. It’s a disgrace! People can go hungry in this country, and nothing is being done about it. And all the time the rich aristocracy are living in grand houses, with dozens of servants…’
‘Not any more, darling,’ her grandmother said, mildly, ‘the war has put a stop to that. And with food rationing, even the very poor are having a healthy and balanced diet for the first time in their lives.’
‘For the time being!’ Amanda insisted, refusing to see any point of view except her own. ‘Eventually, I want to be an MP but even if I have to start by being a Parliamentary researcher, or even a secretary in the House of Commons, I’ll be happy,’ she told her grandmother, earnestly.
Lady Anne smiled. ‘It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’
Amanda nodded. ‘Especially since everyone in this family thought Jack was so beneath Louise, they couldn’t possibly continue to see each other.’ She leaned forward, her intelligent blue eyes filled with fiery ambition to right the wrongs of the country. ‘If Jack had been the son of an Earl, things would have been handled absolutely differently. Louise would have been urged to marry him when she was sixteen, and she’d have been absorbed into his family, probably hailed as a heroine for producing the next son and heir!’
Lady Anne sat listening, her clacking knitting needles quiet for once. ‘I think the point you’re missing, darling,’ she said carefully, ‘is that, if Jack had been the son of an Earl, a marriage between him and Louise would have worked, because, in simple terms, they’d have spoken the same language. They’d have been brought up in the same way. Shared the same culture, values, possibly religion and politics. As it is, if she’d married Jack, the difference in their backgrounds would have grated, sooner or later. This doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with Jack. From what I’ve heard, he’s a thoroughly decent, polite and honest boy, but he and Louise come from very different homes.’ Lady Anne paused, reflectively. ‘It is hard enough as it is to make a marriage work, to make it last when the first ardour dies down, but people have a much greater chance of making it work if they start off by coming from similar families. That’s all I’m saying.’
Amanda frowned, pushing her glasses higher up her nose. ‘But love should overcome any differences,’ she argued, unconvinced. ‘I’m sure Louise would have been happy with Jack. And she’d certainly have liked to have been able to keep the baby.’
‘The baby, yes,’ Lady Anne agreed, reflectively. ‘But sadly, young women who have babies without being married are pilloried for being immoral, which is a very unforgiving attitude.’
‘And that,’ Amanda exclaimed, ‘is something else I want to change, Granny. How old does one have to be to join the Labour Party?’
* * *
‘Lady Padmore! How nice to see you again. How are you?’ Rosie turned to see Salton Webb, smiling down at her. She flushed, remembering how drunk she’d got at Juliet’s dinner party.
‘Are you still staying with your sister?’ Salton asked. Rosie’s features hardened, her thin face resembling a whippet with long mascaraed eyelashes. ‘I’m staying with Sonia Musgrove. In Eaton Square,’ she explained, grandly.
Salton shook his head. ‘I don’t know her.’
‘Lady Sonia. She’s the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting.’
‘The Queen has a whole bunch of Ladies-in-Waiting, doesn’t she?’ he remarked, in his unimpressed, easy-going American manner. ‘I suppose they work in shifts.’
She looked at him reproachfully. ‘It’s a very high position.’
‘Can’t be much fun, though, can it?’ He grinned, showing even white teeth. ‘Anyway, what are you doing with yourself, these days?’
Rosie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Seeing friends. Going to the theatre.’
He gazed expectantly at her, eyebrows raised, as if waiting for her to say more.
‘What?’ she asked, defensively.
Salton looked around the crowded cocktail party, where the air was blue with cigarette smoke, and the chatter of voices was giving him a headache. ‘I wondered if you’d like to come out to dinner with me. This is a bit of a bun-fight, isn’t it? How about supper at the Savoy Grill?’
Rosie could feel her animosity towards this arrogant Yank dissolve. Supper at the Savoy Grill sounded divine. After the years of being stuck down at Hartley, she was ready to go out with almost anyone, especially if it meant supper at a restaurant like the Savoy.
‘I suppose I could,’ she drawled, with faked nonchalance.
‘What about the friend you’re staying with?’ he glanced around the room. ‘Are you with her? Should we ask her to join us?’
‘You mean Sonia?’
He nodded.
‘She’s dining at Buckingham Palace this evening.’
Salton’s grin broadened, and his eyes danced with amusement. ‘Can’t quite equal that,’ he murmured, ‘but I bet we have a lot more fun.’
As it turned out, Rosie couldn’t remember when she’d last enjoyed herself so much. Or laughed so much. Salton turned out to have a dry wit and an amusing turn of phrase. She almost, almost, didn’t mind that he was not a member of the Englishman aristocracy. She wasn’t sure what Mummy was going to say, but meanwhile she was finding his soft drawling accent incredibly sexy. When he placed his hand on her arm, wanting to stress a point he was making, she felt a delicious shiver tingle down her spine.
Rosie was beginning to look at Mr Salton Webb through different eyes. Maybe, in time, he’d become more than a pleasant escort, she reflected, as he signalled to the waiter to top up her glass of champagne.
‘You and your sister are quite different, aren’t you?’ he remarked, looking at her thoughtfully.
Rosie stiffened, expecting a flow of complimentary remarks about Juliet to come next, as they usually did.
‘We are rather,’ she said casually.
‘I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of Juliet,’ he continued, ‘I mean, she’s no cupcake.’
Rosie dissolved into laughter, feeling much better. ‘You’re right. I’ve never heard that expression before.’
Salton had a habit of raising his eyebrows when amused, as well as when surprised. ‘Do you get on with each other?’
‘Most of the time.’ She didn’t want him to realize she was jealous of Juliet. ‘There are five of us, you know. And we’re all different. I suppose I’m most like my mother. Louise takes after Daddy. I don’t know who Amanda takes after, she’s a rabid socialist. Charlotte is a little angel, she’s fourteen and incredibly pretty and sweet.’ Rosie thought about it for a moment. ‘I think she takes after our grandmother, actually.’
‘And Juliet? Who does she take after?’ Laughter lurked behind his eyes; she knew he realized they didn’t get on.
Rosie raised her chin, and gave a little shrug. ‘I don’t know, really.’ Her tone was lofty.
‘But you’re… erm… not close, are you?’
His manner was so warm and intimate it broke down some of her defences. ‘We became very close when my husband was killed,’ she admitted. ‘Juliet looked after me and had me to stay because I’d been injured. We’re basically incompatible, though.’
‘You won’t be for ever,’ Salton said astutely.
‘You don’t think so?’ she asked mockingly.
‘Once you’re both happily married, you’ll feel differently about each other.’
Rosie blushed in spite of herself. Salton seemed to be seeing right into her soul. And it was true that neither she or Juliet had been happily married, because they’d both married for the wrong reasons.
They’d wanted status, position and money. Each of them competing for the biggest catch. Becoming deadly rivals. And every time Juliet had won – but had it made her any happier?
It had all seemed so important at the time, Rosie thought, gazing into the black depth of her tiny cup of coffee. Or was it that their mother had made it seem so vital to make a ‘good match’?
Rosie looked up at Salton, who’d been gazing at her in silence.
‘I think both Juliet and I have been burdened all our lives by our mother’s expectations,’ she said slowly, as if it had just occurred to her.
‘A familiar story, the world over. I was driven to succeed by my own mother. It all depends whether one is fulfilling one’s mother’s ambitions, or one’s own.’
Her eyes widened. No one had ever spoken to her as wisely or as perceptively as Salton. His words seemed to gather together the scattered pieces of a jigsaw and place them so they fitted perfectly, exposing the picture with clarity. And the picture wasn’t very attractive.
‘So what does one do?’
‘Follow your heart,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s no other way.’
When he dropped her off at Sonia Musgrove’s house, he held her hand, and then kissed her softly on the cheek.
‘Will you come out with me again, tomorrow night?’ he whispered.
Instead of saying, as she usually did, ‘I’ll have to consult my diary… I’ve got so much on,’ she replied unhesitatingly, ‘I’d love to, Salton.’
He swooped down to kiss her other cheek. ‘That’s swell. I’ll call you up in the morning.’
* * *
A few weekends later, Rosie invited Salton down to Hartley.
‘I want him to meet Sophia and Jonathan,’ she told Liza, her voice tight with excitement.
‘Is it that serious, darling?’ Liza asked in surprised.
‘Mummy, it’s very, very serious,’ Rosie admitted. ‘You’ve no idea how wonderful he is. So kind, so gentle and clever. Such a man.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s not like the average Englishman. He talks openly about his feelings. If we go to see a sad film, he’ll cry, too. His emotions aren’t buried as they were with Charles. And his interest in me isn’t just sexual, as it was with Freddie. It’s hard to explain, but he seems like a real man, compared to them.’
A few months ago, Liza would have bristled at the suggestion that an American was superior to an Englishman. She’d have been shocked at a man who showed his feelings, too. But she was beginning to see that she’d changed more than she’d realized.
Becoming a member of the WVS had had a huge impact on her. She was having to deal, first hand, with people from all walks of life, and finding to her surprise, that under the skin, everyone was much the same; hurt when injured, frightened of dying, inconsolable when a loved one was killed, hungry, thirsty or tired. Most of all, she realized with astonishment, everyone counted. They mattered. They were all human beings, too.
How had she become so blinkered? Then she began to wonder how she’d treated Parsons and Mrs Fowler, and the other servants at Green Street, as anything but efficient slaves to carry out her wishes? And her poor la
dy’s maid, Miss Ashley? Who’d had to sit up, sometimes until four in the morning, to help her undress and return the family jewels to the safe; only to have to reappear again at eight o’clock with a cup of Lapsang Souchong. Now, after nearly five long bleak years of war, the profligate extravagance of the Thirties seemed obscene.
It was just so sad, she reflected, that it had taken a terrible world war to make them all wake up to reality. And to make her aware she wasn’t required to impress anyone; and by just being herself she wasn’t letting Henry down, after all.
‘Do you love him, Rosie?’ she asked gently.
‘With all my heart.’ Rosie had regained the bloom on her cheeks, and her features were softer. ‘You wouldn’t be too disappointed if…?’
‘… All I want is for you to be happy.’ Liza’s eyes were over-bright with emotion. ‘That’s all I ever wanted for you and Juliet, and I really believed the path to happiness lay in having a lot of money and a good position in society. Now I realize those things don’t matter so much.’
‘They did matter though, when you thought them,’ Rosie replied generously. ‘It’s the war that’s changed everything. As Salton says, there’s no greater leveller than impending death, and let’s face it, we’ve all faced that in the last few years, haven’t we?’ she added, without bitterness.
There was no bitterness in Juliet’s voice either, when Rosie told her some weeks later, that she’d become engaged to Salton.
‘I’m really happy for you, Rosie,’ she said, giving her sister a kiss on the cheek. ‘And to think I introduced you to Salton! I’d no idea I was a matchmaker.’
Rosie laughed, basking in the contentment of this new and wonderful relationship. ‘I know. You usually keep all the best men for yourself, don’t you?’ she added, jokingly.
A shadow passed over Juliet’s face. ‘I had the best of the bunch, once, and I lost him.’
‘You mean Edward? Daddy told us when he was killed that you’d planned to marry him. That must have been dreadful for you.’
‘No, I don’t mean Eddie. He was the second best. I mean Daniel.’
The Granville Affaire Page 25
