Joe glanced up the street, and down again as Jean’s front door swung open. He wanted so much to follow Jean into her cottage, but, on the other hand, he did not want to be seen by the rest of the village. It would damage her reputation, and he did not want that. Jean was too special.
‘You won’t want me to come in, Jean, I know that, but I just want you to know that I hate Mother being or seeming snooty, truly I do.’
The honesty in his eyes convinced her. It was not his fault that his mother was so snooty, and had a silver tea service, any more than it was Jean’s fault that she was from The Cottages.
‘Quickly, Joe, come in, before anyone sees you.’
Joe went eagerly through the door, and Jean shut it behind him. Sunshine flooded her little sitting room with its two Staffordshire pottery dogs on the chimneypiece, and arrangement of flowers on the side table overlooking the back garden. She turned to Joe, and he put his arms around her, which he had of course been longing to do, and they started to kiss, and kiss some more, very shallow kisses, and then deeper and deeper. At one point Jean pushed him away, but then allowed him to take her back into his arms, finally giving in to his passion for her.
After all, he was going off tomorrow morning at crack of dawn, and after that they might never see each other again.
When Laura returned to London and put her key in the door of her father’s Grosvenor Square apartment, she could not help hoping against hope that he would not be there. It was not that she had stopped loving him because of his amatory ways, it was just that she found the sight of him smooching on the sofa with a society lady distasteful in the extreme. Of course she knew she should feel sympathetic to his needs, to the fact that he had rebounded from the awfulness of his wife’s sudden death into the arms of every and any passing fancy, but the truth of the matter was – and she had to be honest about it, there was no avoiding the reality – she felt revolted by it. Happily it seemed he was out, and only a few of the maids were in residence.
It was two days before Arthur finally caught up with her.
‘Ah, there you are, Laura darling. I thought you might be back, had a feeling that you were, but you are so mouse-like quiet that neither the maids nor I ever know whether you are in or away.’
Arthur Hambleton was tall, exquisitely handsome – ‘Arthur is almost too good-looking’ Laura’s mother had often been heard to say, laughing appreciatively – on top of which he was charming and attentive, so naturally he was irresistible to women.
‘Yes, here I am, Father.’
Laura knew that her father hated being called ‘Father’, which was why she called him ‘Father’ as often as she could, especially in front of his mistresses.
‘You are not at all in a good mood, are you, Laura darling?’
He put his head on one side and stared at her, a humorous look in his eyes.
‘I am in a perfectly good mood, Father.’ Laura turned away to pick up her handbag, determined that if he was staying in with a girlfriend, she would go out, anywhere, rather than hang around listening to alien feminine laughter coming from the drawing room. She knew the public rooms would suddenly be filled with exotic scents, sometimes slyly Amber, sometimes distinctly Chanel, always deliciously feminine – like the sounds of the laughter, which always seemed to her, for some reason, to be vaguely challenging, as if the cause of the laughter was not something that she would ever be allowed to know about.
‘I expect everything is a little flat here, after being at Twistleton Court?’ Arthur said, attempting to look sympathetic, and failing quite singularly.
‘No, it’s not that,’ Laura confessed, finally succumbing to his feigned look of sympathy, because she so wanted to believe that he was sincere. ‘No, it’s just there are so many people around and about here, in uniform, that it is making me feel really quite awkward. I really should be preparing myself for doing something useful in the war that is about to happen.’
‘You will have a role to play, I am sure, darling. But for the moment, why not enjoy yourself? I saw there was a heap of invitations on the hall table for you. You are obviously very popular, and that is something, after all.’
‘Being popular is not exactly going to help in the war, Father,’ Laura told him in a sanctimonious voice. ‘Surely even you can see that I must start to train to do something?’
‘Your godmother wants you to go to luncheon with her tomorrow, I know that. She is very caught up with organising a Christmas ball for some charity or another. That will be something useful for you to get caught up in, surely?’
‘A charity ball?’
Laura raised her eyebrows. Over the last year she had realised, over and over again, just how terrible it was to be without a mother, because – possessing only a male relative – she had no one in her family who could truly sympathise or identify with her.
‘Girls meet people at balls, Laura darling. I mean, I know you haven’t, as yet, met anyone, but even so, I would say that you should be able to meet someone soon, and any minute now we will see you in the pages of Country Life – a girl in pearls, an engagement ring on your finger.’
‘Yes, Father. Just as you say, Father.’
Laura’s tone was so dismal, her expression so miserable, it caused even Arthur to sigh inwardly. Things were very difficult for him at that moment. Two of his mistresses were threatening to leave their husbands, and yet another, a widow, was threatening to marry him, all on account of the coming war. It seemed that the women in his life had all become infected with the same sense of amatory urgency, which was not at all convenient or attractive. He did not like women making passes at him, he did not like women threatening him, either with divorce or marriage, and yet, it had to be faced, he could do nothing about it. He had so many girlfriends now, life was getting really very complicated. He had even found the idea of being married just a little tempting, although he had no idea which of the many would be the victor.
And now, to make matters far from better, here was Laura, back from the country with an expression on her face like a wet week at Bognor. He had hoped that she would elect to stay on at Twistleton Court, despite its no longer even pretending to be a finishing school, but it seemed that lots of well-brought-up young girls were straining at the leash, making up their minds to join various armed services – be of use – although the country had yet to discover what use a gaggle of girls could possibly be.
‘Very well, let us talk, Laura.’
‘Not now, Father. I don’t want to be a party-pooper, but I am worn to a thread paper after that journey, it seemed to take for ever.’
Arthur stared at his daughter, thinking quickly, trying to escape from her, just as he had from her mother.
‘I will buy you a car, Laura, that way you won’t have to endure journeys like that again. I should have done it months ago. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
Laura stared at him, struggling as always to keep despair out of her eyes. It was always the same, whatever happened, whatever was about to happen, whatever had happened – since her mother’s death, her father’s solution to everything had been to put his hand in his pocket and bribe her.
‘As a matter of fact, Father,’ she said slowly, finding it very difficult not to relish the inevitable twitch that saying ‘Father’ brought to his face. ‘As a matter of fact, I would like a motor car. I think it will be most useful in the war. I have already tried driving at Twistleton Court, and enjoyed it very much. Branscombe taught us the rudiments.’
‘Good. I will write you a cheque in the morning.’ Arthur backed out of the room before quickly turning and haring off down the corridor, grabbing his silk-lined evening cloak, and charging to the door. He was late for his friend, he was late for that evening’s ball, and worse than that, he was late for Georgiana Bassington. She would suspect that he had been dallying with Dora Hopcroft, even though it was only Laura who had held him back, creeping into the flat, avoiding him as usual. Poor Laura, poor motherless girl. To judge from her e
xpression this evening, she could not wait for the war to begin.
He smiled at the maid who was holding the door open for him, and flung himself down the steps to his waiting car, where the chauffeur, too, was holding the door open for him. Unfortunately for both of them, Laura was the least of Arthur Hambleton’s problems, and when push came to shove, she would just have to get on with it.
Laura heard the front door closing behind Arthur with her usual feeling of overwhelming relief. He was gone, gone, gone. Please God, he would not return until daybreak, and when he did, he would sleep in late, so she could leave before he woke up.
She gazed around the drawing room of the flat. It was beautifully decorated. A pretty French repeating clock on the mantelpiece told her that a whole evening of being alone stretched before her. A cigarette marked with lipstick in one of the silver ashtrays told her that one of her father’s girlfriends had already called in for a drink. A little shadow of dust on one of the tables told her that the maids did not work as hard as they should, now that her mother was no longer there to bully them.
None of it now seemed to matter, now that she realised that tomorrow, or the next day, she could buy a motor car, set off to meet friends, or go to the country, do anything she liked – without her father. It was better than she could have hoped for. Above all, it was freedom.
With a sudden attack of religious fervour, she found herself blessing both Branscombe and Daisy Beresford for letting her take the wheel of Daisy’s car, and bob about in the quiet countryside around Twistleton, relishing the freedom that a car could bring, her friends seated beside her, murmuring encouragement.
If Laura could drive away from Grosvenor Square, drive away from Father and his antics, she could find work! It was a dizzying thought. More than that, it was a blooming miracle that it was Father who had suggested that she have a motor car. It was actually the first time since her mother had died that he offered her any independence. Up until now, he had tied her to the masculine version of his apron strings, making sure that her allowance was so staggered that it was impossible for her to have any sort of freedom outside of buying a return ticket to Twistleton. But now he was going to buy her a motor car, and the world was suddenly flung wide open.
She started to run a bath, and to sing at the top of her voice. She would make Father give her enough money – not just for the motor car, but for the petrol, and in the event that they would burst, for tyres, and for anything else that she might need. She might even be able to have a dog now. She stopped, suddenly frowning, as she remembered how easily the suggestion had seemed to come to Arthur. Why had he suddenly decided to let go of her? She stepped into her bath. What did the reason matter?
Daisy and Freddie had arranged to meet Laura and Relia outside London again, but not at the Court this time. They were meeting for dinner and staying the night in a country hotel, the idea being to make sure all four could plan their future together.
‘Where’s Daisy?’ Laura asked.
Freddie pulled a face.
‘She’s staying behind with Aunt Maude, poor thing, helping out. I nearly had to stay with Aunt Jessica, but she let me off, gave me a pink ticket, even though Blossom has already gone.’
Laura and Relia stared at Freddie, astonished.
‘Blossom has left the Court?’
‘She has, indeed. She seems to think she is going to be more useful in a munitions factory than hanging around Twistleton. She can’t wait for the war to start. You know how it is, war is one thing, but waiting for it is worse, Blossom says.’
‘But what about the dogs?’
‘Left with Aunt Jessica—’
‘What?’
‘On strings around her waist, now.’
‘Doesn’t she mind?’
‘Oh no, wherever a dog is concerned, Aunt Jessica doesn’t mind at all. She always says it’s because she’s never had children. I think she sees dogs as a healthy replacement.’
They all stared at each other for a few seconds. They knew Jessica was a model of everything that a single woman should be, yet none of them wanted to be like her. They longed to be wanted by men, not left by them, as Jessica had been, what with her great love being killed in the Great War, and her never recovering. But then, being wanted was one thing – getting married and having to have babies was another.
‘I will be the first to say what I feel.’ Laura looked at the other two. ‘I don’t want to marry and have babies, out of duty to our country,’ Laura announced. ‘I would much prefer to join up, and have lots of men fall in love with me, but not have to marry them, which practically everyone seems to be doing. And I certainly do not want to have their babies just because there is going to be a war.’
Laura had always been the one to state her opinion first, no matter what the situation, just as she had always been the first to own up when they found themselves in a scrape. Since no one else seemed prepared to announce their future intentions, or declare their aversion to what would seem, willy-nilly, to be their predestined role of mothers to the future heirs to the empire, Laura lit a cigarette, and carried on.
‘I understand, from what I have heard, that there are some good things about a war,’ she confided to the other two, leaning back in her armchair, as waiters hovered to fill their glasses with stimulating alcohol, and whisked their ashtrays away to clean them before they were even half-full. ‘War can free you. It freed lots of women last time. They earned their own money for the first time, they stopped being domestic slaves, and they were able to work in factories. Apparently, they felt needed in a way they had never felt before.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I have been reading about it, because we can’t all go on being this ignorant.’
The other two gave each other a quick look, and then coloured slightly, guessing immediately that Laura was referring to them.
‘Oh, shucks, Laura, you haven’t been trying to read Marie Stopes’s manuals again, have you? You know you couldn’t make head nor tail of them last time.’ Freddie leaned forward, dropping her voice.
‘Well, at least I now know that babies do not always have to arrive!’
They all laughed a little hysterically, but the colour in Freddie and Aurelia’s faces heightened. They had heard that some girls did do it, but not their kind of girl. Their kind of girl, nice girls, remained in blissful ignorance – well, innocent anyway – until they married.
‘So?’
Laura looked from one friend to the other, her head on one side.
‘I want to have something to do with boats and the sea,’ Freddie said. ‘But I won’t be eighteen until next month. As soon as I am, I’ve told Aunt Jessica, I’m off, and she, thank the Lord, has given me her blessing. As a matter of fact, I should think she can’t wait to get me off her hands.’
Aurelia looked from the room in which they were seated to the white-tipped waves beyond the windows. She had hardly thought about what she wanted to do, and yet she knew she must.
‘I, er . . . I, er . . .’ She frowned. ‘I think I will do the same as Freddie, actually, perhaps have something to do with the sea. I love the sea.’
‘Well, that is jolly.’ Freddie looked mildly astonished. ‘We can volunteer for something together. If they bring back the Wrens, we can do jolly boating things. Such a pity they were disbanded after the Great War as being unnecessary, but I daresay we’ll soon hear they are back, and then we will be in, eh?’
Aurelia nodded happily, despite not quite knowing why she was joining something that might or might not exist. Perhaps sensing her bewilderment, Freddie squeezed her hand.
‘If they will not let you join the navy, why not try the army, Freddie?’ Laura said.
Freddie looked mildly shocked.
‘Really, Laura, I hope I didn’t hear that.’
‘No, but really, why not join the army?’
‘Because, Laura dear, khaki is just not my colour. I look terrible in sludgy colours. It has to be dark blue or nothing.’
Aurelia gave Freddie a grateful look, feeling a rush of affection for her. She hadn’t given a thought to the uniform. She, too, would look ghastly in khaki.
‘So, so,’ Laura said, having accepted this explanation as being entirely reasonable. ‘So, that just leaves Daisy, who wants to fly aeroplanes, crazy girl.’
‘If she can get away from Aunt Maude, that is, which I somehow doubt. The old lady hardly lets her out of her sight, poor soul. I don’t know who to feel most sorry for, Daisy or Aunt Maude.’
The dreadful silence, usual in the dining room, had now infected the library. Aunt Maude had just spoken words that Daisy had never thought she would hear, for the simple reason that she had never considered herself anything more than Aunt Maude’s niece. Certainly not her heir, or was it heiress? At any rate, the very idea of inheriting the Hall was somehow absurd.
‘If you insist on going on taking flying lessons, I will disinherit you, Daisy.’
Daisy stared at her only relative, appalled, and it was a few seconds before she could think of anything to say.
‘That sounds a bit King Learish!’ she joked.
Maude stared, cold-eyed, at Daisy.
‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed. ‘But nevertheless, it is what will happen. I will not stand by and see you behave in this way. A woman flying an aeroplane! The next thing, you will be wearing trousers, or slacks as I believe some suffragettes have taken to calling them.’
Daisy was frightened by this threat. Aunt Maude was all she had. She must be aware of how horrified Daisy was at the idea of being all alone in the world, with only her godfather Gervaise to turn to. And since he was not exactly reliable, the thought of only having him was not reassuring. But since Daisy was, or fervently hoped she was, a young woman of spirit – and if she was to help win the coming war she would certainly have to be that – the very idea of Aunt Maude threatening her was enough to make her dig in her heels. She refused to be bullied. She would not be threatened.
The Daisy Club Page 9
