Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection

by Rosie Thomas

  She went to the foot of the stairs. ‘Of course I do, that’s why I put it out. Don’t shout, Tabby, please.’

  The forcing bag was in the drawer of the table. Ruth found a metal nozzle and fitted it in place, and spooned whipped cream into the mouth of the bag. The basement kitchen was dark, lit only by an overhead bulb, and she stood in her own light and frowned at the bland yellow faces of the trifles. The custard looked rubbery and was shrinking away from the sides of the bowls, but she could pipe the cream to disguise that. The cream came out of the nozzle a fat corrugated worm, following the impatient movement of her fist.

  The front door opened and Jake’s medical bag thumped on the hall floor. Ruth heard him greeting Tabby and Dorcas, and then coming down to the kitchen. His bulk in the doorway seemed to darken the room further.

  ‘Big surgery?’ Ruth asked, not looking up from her piping.

  ‘Interminable. Winter’s coming.’ He came to the table, prodding a finger into a dish of potato salad and then putting his arms round her from behind. He kissed the back of her neck under the coil of dark hair. The weight of him pressed her up against the table edge and he slid his hand down over her hip.

  ‘Jake.’ Ruth moved to one side and went on working. He surveyed the laden table good-humouredly.

  ‘It looks good, all of it.’ Jake had a hearty appetite. ‘The fish especially.’

  He had been down to Billingsgate Market to buy the pair of fat sea bass. Ruth had poached them in a borrowed fish kettle and now they lay nose to tail on a big oval platter, an astrological sign in hammered silver decorated with cucumber rings. The fish had been expensive, but in a private conversation Nathaniel had assured Jake that he would pay.

  ‘It’s what fathers do,’ he had said jovially. ‘Foot the bills.’ He was pleased that Clio was marrying at last, and believed that she was old enough to make her own decisions. Miles Lennox did not seem particularly hardy, but Clio had strength enough for the two of them.

  Jake was wondering how he would feel when the time came for him to give Rachel to another man. He did not want to imagine her wriggling eel’s body transformed into a woman’s.

  ‘Are you going to stand there all evening, or might you go upstairs to change and then come and help me?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Five minutes,’ Jake told her. He went upstairs whistling.

  Don’t wake the children, Ruth wanted to scream after him.

  At last the puddings were finished and the table was ready, laid out to Ruth’s satisfaction. She was still in her apron, directing Dorcas and Tabby to move chairs against the wall when Clio arrived with the senior Hirshes. The small rooms seemed full as soon as they crowded in.

  Jake accepted the praise for the buffet as if he had done all the work himself. But Clio took Ruth to one side, undoing the strings and pulling off her apron for her. ‘There,’ she smiled. She brushed the loose strands of hair from Ruth’s damp cheeks. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Ruth’s shoulders lost a little of their stiffness. ‘Well. I hope you’ll be happy. I wish you every happiness.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Clio said again. They kissed, and over her sister-in-law’s head Clio saw Miles arriving with Max Erdmann. Miles was wearing his good tweed jacket and a presentable shirt, even a proper tie. He was early, as he promised he would be, and he was rather pale but obviously sober. Clio’s face brightened and the sharper lines dissolved as she looked at him. She felt some of her anxiety lifting. The party would be a success, why should it not be?

  They met in the middle of the room and embraced each other, to the satisfaction of all the onlookers.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Clio murmured. She could see the pale fuzz of hair on the rim of his ear, and a shaving nick under his cheekbone. She tried not to think of putting her mouth against it.

  Miles studied her in return. She wanted to put her hands up to her hair, to pinch colour into her own cheeks to bloom for him.

  ‘A little tired of hiding out in Max’s sordid den.’

  Max had offered to put Miles up while Nathaniel and Eleanor were staying in Gower Street.

  ‘Only a few more nights,’ Clio consoled him. She drew his arm around her waist and turned to face the room.

  Ruth’s parents were arriving with her unmarried sister, and some writer friends of Miles followed behind them. Clio saw the Fitzroy regulars glance curiously at the table with its cargo of sea bass and fish balls, potato salads and heavy cream puddings, before herding into a corner with Max.

  The doorbell rang continuously. Colleagues from the Mothers’ Clinic came in bearing wrapped presents under their arms, making Clio think hilariously of the brown paper bags of contraceptive supplies. More Fathom regulars appeared, apparently the closest family Miles could claim. He seemed to have no relatives of his own, but there were more than enough Hirshes and Shermans to make up for that. The noise level rose and Jake and Nathaniel pushed through the crowd, filling glasses and exhorting everyone to eat and drink and enjoy themselves.

  The silver fish were already shredded and there were craters dug in the bowls of salad when Grace arrived, an hour after everyone else.

  She stood poised in the doorway, looking in at the red-faced guests on their upright chairs with mounded plates and napkins spread on their knees. Clio knew that she was seeing Nathaniel and Jake holding their bottles aloft, and Ruth with her hands full of dirty cutlery, and wire-haired Dorcas shrinking behind the table as if she would be happier hiding beneath it. Miles lounged with one shoulder against the wall and a cigarette in his mouth, squinting through a plume of smoke at Clio’s grand relations.

  Thomas was with Grace. He came in resplendent in his cavalry officer’s uniform, his head seemingly almost touching the ceiling, and behind him were Phoebe and Cressida and Alice.

  Because she had begged and pleaded to be allowed to, Alice was staying with the Brocks instead of being billeted on Jake and Ruth. She hovered on the dividing line now, not sure whether to rush across and put her arms around Nathaniel or to linger in Grace’s scented orbit. Cressida hung back even further behind, peering around Phoebe, curious to see this first adult party but embarrassed by her own lavender ribbons and buttoned patent-leather shoes.

  Grace sailed across the room. She was wearing ivory silk and her ropes of pearls and all the men in the room turned to look at her. She held two hands out to Clio. ‘I’m so sorry we’re all so late for your party. Will you forgive, darling?’

  ‘Where is Anthony?’ Nathaniel boomed.

  Grace turned to him, smiling, with Thomas and Phoebe beside her like a pair of lieutenants.

  She’s so secure, Clio thought. So certain of everything.

  ‘Uncle Nathaniel, Aunt Eleanor, darling, how marvellous you look. Don’t stand up. Anthony is partly the reason why we’re late. He’s not very well, the poor boy. He wanted so much to come, but I wouldn’t let him. He sends all his love, and apologizes, and wishes us all a wonderful time.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Clio asked. Her voice showed her concern.

  ‘Oh, just a feverish cold, I think. But I sent him to bed.’

  Grace was a little piqued. Tom and Cim Mosley had been coming for drinks and she had had to cancel them, and then she had had to drive all the way out to nowhere on her own, with a carload of babies, to come to this impossible party. It was not Anthony’s fault that he was ill, of course. It was simply that she did not much enjoy even their own circle without him beside her.

  Clio said, ‘What a shame. But I’m glad you could come. Miles, here’s Grace.’

  With a round of introductions and greetings, the ripples that the new arrivals had made spread outwards to the walls and became part of the choppy waters of the party. Alice rushed to tell Eleanor and Nathaniel the latest elegant details of life in South Audley Street, and Clio took Cressida by the hand and led her to the buffet. Ruth continued to clear plates with her lips slightly pursed.

  Grace was able to look quickly around her and establish that Pilgrim was n
ot there. Relief lightened her mood at once. Jake made his way through the crowd. He put his heavy hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. With his height and girth he was an imposing figure, but Grace could no longer see the handsome boy in him. It was Julius who seemed always unchanged.

  ‘Anthony is all right, is he?’

  ‘I think so, doctor, thank you. He’s been overworking, rather. He gave a big speech last week on national relief schemes. He’s made an impression from the back benches already, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure he has. Look after him.’

  ‘Jakie, who are all these people?’

  Jake laughed. ‘Family, and medical and literary folk, of course. Who would you like to meet?’

  ‘Are there any of Anthony’s constituents?’

  ‘I doubt it very much.’

  ‘Wait, then. Which are Mr Lennox’s family?’

  ‘Oh, I think he sprang into the world unaided.’

  ‘And remained unclaimed thereafter?’

  ‘So it seems. Until now, that is. Now he has all of us.’

  They were quiet for a moment before Grace asked, ‘Do you like him?’

  Jake considered. ‘I don’t dislike him. Our interests don’t coincide, but I can hardly blame him for that. I believe he’s good for Clio. Her face shines when she looks at him.’

  Jake knew that look. It was the dazed impatience of sexual obsession, and he envied her. Miles was less easy to read, but then Jake did not consider it necessary to analyse his sister’s fiancé. Clio was grown-up enough to judge for herself. He simply wished the best of luck to both of them.

  ‘Really?’ Grace murmured. Privately she thought that Clio seemed nervous in a way that could not be explained just by the imminence of her marriage.

  Cressida was sitting on the other side of the room, doggedly eating trifle. Grace thought back to her own wedding, and her anxiety to become Mrs Brock as quickly as possible while all the time lamenting the loss of her precious Bohemian freedom. What would that freedom have amounted to, she wondered now? The chance to drink in pubs and go to bed with characters like Miles Lennox’s friends?

  A wash of love for Anthony poured through her. Lucky, she thought. So lucky.

  Would Clio be as fortunate? It was just possible that she was pregnant, but somehow Grace did not think so.

  ‘Why don’t you talk to Miles yourself?’ Jake was saying.

  ‘I will.’

  The room was overheated and the noise level rose steadily. Ruth’s own efforts and her chivvying of Dorcas seemed to have no effect on the rising tide of dirty plates and filled ashtrays and clouded glasses. Grace picked her way through the detritus to the corner where Miles and his friends were talking. They were beginning to be tired of drinking without a congenial bar to lean on, and were wondering how soon they might slip away. Miles stood up when he saw Grace coming and cut off the rest of the group with a hitch of his shoulder.

  ‘Lady Grace.’

  ‘Anthony is very sorry not to be here. He wanted to wish you both well. Clio’s a great favourite of his.’

  ‘Is she?’

  The sneer in his voice was unmistakable. Miles picked a shred of tobacco from his lower lip. Grace determined that he would not rebuff her.

  ‘How is your novel?’

  ‘Quite well, thank you.’

  The careless insolence almost took her breath away. She thought, There is so much hate in him. Which of us does he hate, and why? Is it all women, or only women like me?

  Clio can’t be going to marry this man …

  He was waiting, one eyebrow lifted, for her to say something else. But in the middle of the room Nathaniel had risen to his feet.

  ‘Friends, family,’ Nathaniel called. He spread his hands, enjoining them all to make a circle around him. Miles strolled away from Grace with his hands in his pockets and took his place at Clio’s side.

  Nathaniel made a graceful little speech. He welcomed Miles and wished the engaged couple every happiness, and paid a generous tribute to Ruth for her food and hospitality. He thanked all the guests for coming, and the natural warmth and affection that radiated from him made them feel that they had indeed been part of a convivial and successful evening.

  Nathaniel raised his glass. ‘Miles and Clio,’ he proposed.

  ‘Miles and Clio,’ they answered, and drank from the glasses that Ruth had not managed to clear away. Clio blushed, and Miles turned his head and touched his lips to her face.

  Grace watched, feeling cold in the hot room.

  An over-enthusiastic nurse from the clinic began to sing, ‘For they are jolly good fellows’, and a thin chorus of voices joined in. When the cheering was over Grace looked away in relief, and found Cressida beside her.

  ‘I think we should go home to see how Daddy is,’ Cressida said.

  ‘I think we should too,’ Grace agreed. ‘Let me first have a quick talk to Clio.’

  Clio had left the room. She had seen Ruth shouldering her way downstairs with a tray of leftovers.

  Grace found them in the basement kitchen. They were standing side by side at the sink, and Clio’s arm was around Ruth’s shoulders.

  ‘It’s your wedding. I don’t want you to help,’ Ruth was insisting. She looked as if she might be about to cry. They both turned to stare at Grace.

  ‘Lovely party, Ruth,’ Grace said.

  Ruth picked up the empty tray and pushed past Grace. They heard her feet clumping up the stairs behind them.

  Clio turned her back again. She slowly rolled up her sleeves and plunged her arms into the sink.

  Grace was suddenly exasperated by the smell of fish, the harsh shadows thrown by the single lightbulb under its glass coolie shade, and the grease-filmed water that left a scaly tidemark around Clio’s elbows.

  She asked, ‘Clio, are you really going to marry that little queer?’

  Clio stood very still. Then she raised her head. Above her, through the dark window, she could just see the basement area and the railings above. Feet and legs shuffled beyond the railings. Some people were leaving, and she had not said goodbye to them.

  Almost absently, she said, ‘Miles isn’t a queer. And even if he were, I would still be in love with him.’

  Grace opened her beaded bag with a snap. She took out a cigarette and clicked her lighter, then inhaled sharply. ‘Clio.’

  Clio spun round. Water splashed on the bodice of her dress. She had to make an effort not to shout. ‘Go home, will you, please, Grace? You don’t belong here. We don’t want you here.’

  They confronted each other. Grace wanted to go back, to begin again, softly this time, but Clio gave her no chance. Her eyes were like stones. It was Grace who looked away first.

  She shrugged, waving her cigarette in its own smoke, then butting it out amongst the dirty dishes on the table.

  ‘You know where I am if you need me,’ she said. As she climbed the stairs she was surprised to find that her legs were shaking.

  The door to Anthony’s dressing room stood ajar and the light was on. Grace let her fur wrap drop over the back of a chair and stooped briefly to glance at her face and her hair in the triple mirror. The cut-glass bottles and silver accessories on her dressing table caught the light and glittered back at her. It was reassuring to come home.

  She crossed quickly to the dressing room. The door leading to Anthony’s bedroom was also open, and she could see the shaded lamp burning beside his bed. He must be still awake, waiting for her to come in.

  ‘Darling, I’m back at last,’ she called. She would sit beside him and talk for a few minutes, and forget the evening.

  She reached the bedside before she saw for sure that he was asleep. He was lying on his back with his mouth open, one arm crooked over his eyes. His skin was flushed and damp, and his cheek when she put her hand to it was burning hot. As soon as she touched him he flung out his arm, muttered something, and rolled away as if her touch had hurt him. Grace saw that there was a darker patch on the pillow where his head
had rested. A single wheezing snore escaped from deep in his chest.

  She hesitated, and then told herself that sleep was the best thing for him. She drew the covers up around his shoulders and turned off the bedside lamp, then tiptoed back to her own bedroom.

  ‘It’s seven-forty-five, Lady Grace.’

  The housemaid brought in Grace’s tea early the next morning, as she had been instructed to do. Grace had a nine o’clock fitting, followed by a charity committee meeting. As soon as the maid had put the tray down Grace got up and pulled on her silk robe. She went through to Anthony’s bedroom and found him still asleep. Only she saw that he must have been up in the night, because some books and papers had been moved off his table and the little shaded lamp had been knocked over. She set it upright again, frowning.

  She watched him for a moment and saw that at least he seemed to breathe more easily. If he was not much better by the afternoon, she decided, she would call in Dr Boothe.

  Grace gave instructions that Mr Brock’s tray was to be taken up at nine-thirty, if he did not ring for it before, and left the house.

  Cressida stood in the drawing-room window, looking into the street. She held a fold of the dove-grey curtain in her fingers, pleating and repleating it into a series of concertina creases that would have earned a sharp rebuke from Grace if she had been there to see. But in her anxiety Cressida did not even think of that.

  Please come, she breathed.

  At last, at midday, a taxi drew up. Grace stepped out with a milliner’s box and some other packages. Cressida ran.

  She reached the foot of the stairs as the front door opened. ‘Mummy, where’ve you been? You’ve got to ring the doctor. Daddy looks strange. Nanny says the doctor should see him.’

  Standing with her arms full of parcels Grace stared at Cressida. Her daughter’s round black eyes were accusing. The sight of her was an irritation until the words sank in.

  ‘What is all this, Cressida? Where’s Nanny?’

  There was the sound of running feet and Cressida’s nanny appeared at the head of the stairs.

  ‘It’s Mr Brock, my lady. His temperature is very high. I think the doctor …’