Charles thought about it, as Artemis poured herself a soft drink, and then curled up in the large armchair by the fire. ‘I give up,’ he said finally.
‘I hook my stick on to the top of the architrave, in the middle,’ Artemis explained. ‘It’s a good wide moulding, you see, so you can get a decent whatever, purchase. Anyway, I lean out from the shelves on the left, hook my stick in the middle of the moulding, and then swing across and on to the shelves the other side.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Charles, lost in admiration. ‘Well done. Yes. Anyway,’ he continued after a moment, ‘look, about last night.’
‘The saloon’s the only one of the major rooms which can’t be got round.’ Artemis quickly continued, tucking her legs up even further under her. ‘It’s a cakewalk as far as the doors, because of the way the chairs and sofas are placed against the walls, but there’s absolutely no way across the doors because they’re double. And the architrave’s about twenty foot high.’
‘I’m sure. Anyway.’ Charles put down his glass, anxious to change the subject.
‘Unless you sit on one of the chairs by the pillars and sort of wiggle-waggle it over, you know,’ Artemis continued blithely. ‘Sort of jumping it to the other chair. But then that’s not really allowed. At least not under Hugo’s code of rules.’
‘Artemis.’ Charles got up and started to walk over to where Artemis was sitting, looking as if he intended to perch on the arm of her chair. Artemis got herself up quickly before he could do so and went to pick up his glass.
‘Drink?’ she asked.
She couldn’t avoid him this time, because he moved too quickly for her, catching her by one arm.
‘About last night,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Artemis, ‘wasn’t it fun?’
‘I proposed to you, remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you accepted. I think.’ Charles turned her round to him, but Artemis said nothing. She just looked at him directly, her head cocked slightly to one side. ‘I meant what I said, Artemis,’ Charles continued, realizing Artemis was in one of her unforthcoming moods. ‘Did you?’
‘What did I say, Charles? Can you remember?’
‘I know what you said, Artemis. I’m just not sure what you meant.’
‘Didn’t I say yes?’ Artemis asked, wide-eyeing him.
‘No.’ Charles shook his head and smiled at her, her deliberate elusion only making him love her all the more. ‘What you actually said was that you suppose you had better.’
‘Have another drink,’ Artemis said, freeing herself. ‘I’m going to have one.’ She fetched the decanter and poured them both a gin. She gave Charles his neat, and poured lemon squash into her own, topping it up with water. ‘Happy New Year,’ she said, briefly holding up her glass.
Charles put his drink down untouched and followed Artemis as she strolled over to the fire where she stood with her back to him, staring down into the flames. He put both his hands on her shoulders, but felt her stiffen and resist his touch. So rather than try and turn her to him, he left her alone to stare into the fire while he went to pour some bitters and water into his gin. He swilled the drink round and then half-drained it.
‘Sorry,’ Artemis suddenly said from the fireplace, still without turning round.
‘Meaning sorry you don’t think that you’d better? That you’d better not marry me?’ Charles enquired, unable fully to conceal his disappointment.
‘No. Meaning sorry but I think I’d just like a little bit more time,’ Artemis replied, ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘How much time do you want?’
‘I don’t know actually. Sorry.’
Charles put his empty glass down and looked at the girl who was still staring down at the fire, with her head bent so that the tumble of her blonde hair obscured the expression on her face, which Charles was unable to read from any angle as he walked across to her, to put both his hands on her slender waist. Again he felt her resist his touch, but this time she also verbally rejected him.
‘No, Charles,’ she said, ‘please don’t. Not just now.’
‘I don’t think you understand, Artemis,’ he replied. ‘I happen to love you.’
‘I know you do, Charles.’
‘But you don’t love me.’
‘I don’t know, Charles. I really don’t.’
‘Which is why you want more time?’
‘Probably.’
She was doing her best to resist him, but was finding it hard. It would be all too easy to allow him to take her in his arms, and to hold her and kiss her, and she would be grateful to him, because just at this moment what she needed more than anything else was for someone to hold her, and to tell her they loved her. But it would be too easy and it would be wrong, because Artemis knew if Charles took her in his arms and asked her again to marry him, she would say yes, she would agree to marry him, but not because she loved him as he said he loved her, but because Artemis knew that if she did not marry him she might end up destroying the happiness of two people whom she really did love.
So instead of agreeing or refusing, she prevaricated, asking for more time, which she really didn’t need. In her heart Artemis knew she should accept Charles Hunter’s proposal of marriage unconditionally, since he’d take her away from Brougham, and from Hugo, defusing a potentially dangerous situation. But this wasn’t her heart which was speaking now. This was her alter ego, her other side, her dark side.
Charles Hunter, however, took her request for more time at its face value. He had been brought up to understand that marriage was something into which people should not enter lightly, and when all things were considered, although Artemis and he had enjoyed a warm and companionable relationship, until he’d kissed her the previous night, there had been no intimacy whatsoever. The nearest Charles and Artemis came to physical contact was when he helped her down from her hunter. And yet after one kiss at a New Year’s Eve Ball he had proposed marriage to her, and in the cold light of day such a suggestion can only have seemed hasty and impulsive.
So he respected Artemis’s request and left her, after telling her he was returning to London that night, and that he would wait for her answer, however long it took her finally to make up her mind. Artemis did not see him to the door. She stayed exactly where she was by the fireplace. She did not even go to the window to watch his car vanish into the winter evening. Instead, despising herself for her guile and her false-heartedness, and fearful of the reason she was allowing herself to be propelled along a path she knew to be treacherous, she slowly spilled her drink on to the flaming logs in the grate. The flames spluttered and seethed and the fire hissed back up at her, as if passing judgement on her behaviour.
She said nothing of the matter to her godmother when they dined together later that evening, in fact she did very little talking at all. There was no need, because Diana was in top form, telling her goddaughter about Unity Mitford’s absurd passion for Hitler, and of Artemis’s stepmother’s increasing involvement with Oswald Mosley and the British Fascist party.
‘She’ll end up dangling off a lamppost, darling, mark my words. Even if we do go to war, and the Germans invade us, that little lot’s not going to be safe for a moment. The first people Herr Hitler will get rid of will be his pathetic fellow-travellers.’
‘How will you stand, Diana?’ Artemis asked. ‘If there is a war –’
‘Which there will be, darling, whatever the papers say.’
‘Suppose the Germans did invade us. What would you do?’
Diana toyed with her food for a moment and then put down her fork. ‘I’d shoot myself, sweetie. Wouldn’t you? Actually, I’ve already bought a gun.’
‘I’d shoot myself, too,’ Artemis replied. ‘After I’d shot my horses and my dog.’
‘Well of course. Vita Nicolson’s got pills in her dressing case.’ Diana drank some more of her whisky, which she had been steadily imbibing throughout dinner, before continuing. ‘Have you seen any of these privately
circulated newspapers?’ she asked. ‘I don’t suppose you have. Not down here, anyway. There are quite a few doing the rounds, you know, because a lot of us don’t quite believe what the Press are telling us. We feel we’re being lulled into a false sense of security. Particularly, you’ll be glad to hear, us girls. I was having dinner with Duff the other night, and he told me of the twelve happily married couples he and Diana know, every one of them were divided over what happened at Munich. And in every case it was the men who supported Chamberlain and the women who were opposed to him. Which is why if we do go to war –’
‘When we do, Diana, according to you.’
‘When we go to war, darling, thank you, when we do go to war that’s the very reason we shall prevail. Because the women in this country have a sight more sense than the men. We don’t believe for a moment in this ridiculous peace, and if women were in power the country wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling its thumbs. We’d be re-arming. And getting ready to blow the pants off Jerry.’
‘If or when there is a war,’ Artemis said ruefully, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be of much use.’
‘Nonsense,’ Diana answered. ‘You can drive, can’t you?’
‘Well of course,’ Artemis replied. ‘Although I don’t suppose Hugo would agree.’
‘Really?’ Diana eyed Artemis as she drained her whisky. ‘What about Charles? Would Charles also disagree?’
Artemis pushed herself up on the arms of her chair and suggested that they move through to the drawing room. ‘Let’s sit by the fire,’ she said. ‘And have some coffee.’
Rosie brought through a tray of coffee and built up the fire with more logs. Artemis refilled her godmother’s whisky glass, and also helped herself to a drink. They small-talked while Rosie fussed round them, poured their coffee and drew the curtains as tight as she could against the January night, before leaving them alone. For a while they sat in silence, Diana sipping at her whisky and Artemis idly stirring her coffee.
‘Is there something you want to talk about, darling?’ Diana finally asked.
‘No,’ said Artemis. ‘Should there be?’
‘It must sometimes get a bit frustrating. Living by yourself. Without anybody to chew the cud with.’
‘Not at all actually. I’ve got Brutus. And Rosie.’
‘In that order.’
‘Brutus doesn’t have opinions.’ Artemis leaned forward, to push a tumbling log back up on to the fire with the poker. ‘You live alone, Diana,’ she said.
‘Not stuck away in the country like you I don’t,’ Diana replied.
‘I know masses of people, Diana. You know how it is when you hunt and things. And anyway, if I really want to talk, there’s always –’
‘Yes?’ Diana broke the silence. Artemis just shrugged, leaving it to Diana to say, ‘there’s always Hugo and Ellie.’
‘Yes,’ said Artemis.
‘How’s Charles?’ Diana asked. ‘I like Charles.’
‘I know,’ Artemis replied. ‘Everyone likes Charles.’
‘Do you like Charles?’
‘Yes.’
Diana drained her coffee, which she’d allowed to get cold, and poured herself some more. ‘Wish I’d had a Charles in my life,’ she said, spooning some crystals of sugar into her cup.
‘Absolutely,’ Artemis vaguely agreed. She put down her coffee cup, but made no move to refill it. Instead she studiously looked at her wristwatch before staring briefly at the fire. ‘I think I’m going to bed now,’ she announced finally.
‘All right, darling,’ Diana agreed affably. ‘You do as you please. I think I’ll stay up for a while and read. This fire’s much too good to leave.’
Artemis stood up. ‘Good night then.’
‘Good night, darling.’ Diana offered up her face to be kissed. Artemis bent over her and kissed her on the cheek. Diana caught hold of her hand. ‘Just one little word of advice though, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m allowed that, I think, as your godmother, even though you are over twenty one. Believe me, in married life, two’s company and three really is none.’
Artemis sat down. She stared at the fire, at the ceiling, at her feet, at the nails on her fingers, at the fire again, and finally back at the ceiling, before exhaling a sigh that was more telling than any words could ever be.
‘I think you should marry Charles,’ Diana said gently. ‘Don’t you?’
It mattered not that she didn’t love him, what mattered it seemed was that Artemis had to be married, as if the ceremony of being wed would finally exorcise her feelings for Hugo. Besides, as Diana had kept assuring her through the long night, some of the very best and most successful marriages were made between people who were not passionately in love with each other, but who simply liked each other as friends, and even more importantly had things in common, which lovers who were just lovers rarely did. Of all the most successful marriages she knew of in London, none she told Artemis, had been the result of love affairs.
‘And as I’m sure you’re more than well aware of, darling,’ she added, trying to lighten the atmosphere, ‘love’s an ideal thing, and marriage a real thing. And a confusion of the real with the ideal never goes unpunished.’
‘I’m sure there’s something in what you say, Diana,’ she said at last. ‘But then who knows. Perhaps the war will solve it all for us, Diana. Perhaps we’ll all be killed and that will simply be that.’
By March, Ellie was five months pregnant and Artemis could hardly bear to look at her. She had become, as so many mothers-to-be can become, even more beautiful since conceiving, and the size she had now reached made her look endearing rather than cumbersome. Hugo fussed around her, fetching and carrying, his mind on nothing else.
Artemis observed from afar, rather than near, taking Diana’s advice and making sure to plough a lone furrow.
While she remained unengaged to Charles Hunter, she nonetheless was seen everywhere with him, on both sporting and social engagements, and on the two occasions she had been invited to dine at Brougham, Charles had been her escort and Artemis, due to Ellie’s placement, had been seated in the middle of the table, well away from her host. All told, by the middle of March, Artemis had not spent one moment alone in conversation with either of her two friends.
To compensate for this, and to try and counter the feeling of almost uncontrollable jealousy Artemis experienced every time she thought about Ellie’s baby, or, from her car, saw Ellie being helped solicitously by Hugo up the front steps of Brougham, or spied Ellie out walking slowly in the park in a March wind, stopping to bend and pick some daffodils with increasing difficulty, Artemis bought a proven race mare due to foal in April. The mare was a big, bonny and good tempered bay, who had already produced a decent colt who the previous season had won as a two-year-old, picking up his maiden, and towards the end of the season a good Stakes race. Artemis was thrilled with her purchase which, because it had been bought at an executor’s sale, she had managed to get relatively cheaply. In affording it the fact that she had also managed to win on one of the point-to-point horses she had bought the year before, and sell it on at a profit helped considerably.
The mare became the new focus of Artemis’s attention and she fussed over it as Hugo fussed over Ellie. Jenkins thought the mare a nice sort of animal, but couldn’t help being surprised and a little amused at the way Artemis, who was normally so self-contained, worried over her.
‘You’ll pardon my sayin’ so, your ladyship,’ he said one morning, ‘but it’s like you was havin’ the foal yourself.’
Artemis patted the mare on the rump and smiled. ‘Horses and all animals really,’ she said as she left the yard, ‘they’re much more sensible than we are, Jenkins. Once the baby’s weaned, that’s it.’
And so once more life at Brougham settled down and seemed as serene as life did generally in England. The Government assured the Press who passed it on to the people that the international outlook was positively serene, and Punch published a cartoon which depicted John Bull waking f
rom a nightmare, which was labelled ‘Danger of War’ and seen to be floating out of the window. On exactly the same day Punch was published the Germans marched into Prague, placed Czechoslovakia under ‘protection’ and renounced her non-aggression pact with Poland. The prime minister responded by announcing that the guarantee Britain had made to protect Czechoslovakia’s frontiers was no longer valid.
Upon reading this, Hugo threw his copy of The Times to the floor. ‘Am I a belligerent person, Ellie?’ he asked his wife across the breakfast table. ‘I’m not belligerent, am I? Yet the things we’re being expected to believe. The lies.’
‘What’s the connection with whether or not you’re belligerent?’ Ellie wanted to know, and somewhat anxiously. ‘You’re not going to rush off and join up, are you? I mean not yet?’ She put a hand to her growing stomach, instinctively.
‘If there’s a war,’ Hugo replied, getting up from the table, ‘if there is a war, I can’t wait to be called up. Of course I shall enlist.’
‘What about your eyes?’ Ellie asked hopefully. ‘You said yourself –’
‘I don’t know, Ell,’ Hugo said, pacing the room. ‘I’m not actually that blind. Not blind enough to be turned down.’
Ellie picked up her newspaper and frowned at the front page. ‘It says here,’ she folded her paper over and tapped it, as if it was a tablet from the mountains. ‘It says the German annexation of Czechoslovakia doesn’t necessarily mean war. In fact far from it.’
‘That’s just what I’m saying!’
‘It says as long as we keep negotiating with Germany –’
‘They don’t want to negotiate with us, Ellie! They never have done!’
‘Just listen for one minute will you, Hugo?’ Ellie eyed him over her newspaper. ‘Everyone’s negotiating. Your prime minister and Lord Halifax have even been to Rome. President Roosevelt has demanded assurances from Hitler and from Mussolini that they won’t –’
‘What will you do, Ellie?’ Hugo suddenly interrupted Ellie, coming to sit down close beside her and to take her hands in his. ‘Supposing there is a war, a European war, and America stays at home. And doesn’t fight. What will you do?’
In Sunshine Or In Shadow Page 34
