The Cazalet Chronicles Collection

by Elizabeth Jane Howard

  ‘The point of them is that they’re orange,’ Harriet said complacently. She had cut hers up into small pieces and was mashing them up with her potatoes. The fishcakes had disappeared in a flash.

  They were delighted with the gobstoppers. Harriet had never heard of them, but Bertie said a boy at school had had one, and let his best friends all have a go to change the colour. ‘But then a stupid boy swallowed it when it had gone green and he got turned upside-down and banged on the back until the gobstopper fell out.’

  ‘Well, you’re neither of you to share yours with anyone. You can keep them at home. In fact, one more colour each and it’s bedtime.’

  ‘She’s in one of her firm moods,’ Harriet said. ‘And, Mummy, I wouldn’t dream of sharing mine with anyone. I think it’s disgusting.’

  ‘Right.’ Archie got up. ‘Go now, and I’ll come to see if you’re in bed in five minutes, teeth cleaned and all. Say goodnight to everybody and be off.’

  So they did as they were told, and went.

  The peace in the kitchen was such that they could hear the cold tap dripping in the sink. Neville opened the second bottle while Clary dished out their dinner. During this, Archie went to her and gently untied her dirty apron, put his arms round her and kissed the back of her neck. She turned to him and smiled. ‘What are you buttering me up for now?’

  ‘To get the most fishcakes, of course.’

  Neville, whose eye was sharp and practised when he wanted it to be, felt then that nothing escaped him. They had had a row of some sort, but it seemed to be cleared up. He was ravenous.

  Archie duly went up to – as he put it – bottle the children. ‘Can we start?’

  ‘Of course. If we drink any more without eating we’ll all be tight.’

  They ate in companionable silence.

  Then Clary said, ‘Venice will be lovely, won’t it? Tourists mostly gone and still good weather.’

  He shrugged. ‘The trouble is that when I’m working there’s no time. You start practically at dawn and you go on all day, going to different places, setting up shots that don’t work because they don’t show off the clothes enough, and you have to do it all over again, with a whole lot of wardrobe and make-up people fussing about idiotic detail, and then the girls get cold and cross and want hot coffee and a sit down.’

  There was a pause, and then Clary said, ‘Well, I’d love to go to Venice any old way.’

  Then Archie came back; he looked weary, the lines on each side of his nose more deeply indented.

  ‘Are they settled?’

  ‘Yep. I had to threaten them with Dr Crime. They want you to say goodnight to them, darling.’

  ‘Who is Dr Crime?’

  ‘He’s a nasty character who writes down all the bad things they do. They love him, really. He goes about at night doing wicked things.’

  ‘Well, Neville, what do you think of the state of the world?’ Archie asked, when Clary had gone upstairs.

  Surprised, he answered, ‘I suppose I don’t think about it much. I can’t do anything about it, whatever I think. Things don’t change much, really – do they?’

  ‘Some things do, albeit slowly. Liberalising the laws about homosexuality, for instance. Are you in favour of that?’

  ‘God, yes! I’m all in favour of liberalising everything.’

  ‘Have you told your MP that?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea who he is. So no.’

  ‘It’s something you could do.’

  ‘Really, Archie, what difference would that make? One person. And don’t tell me that if everyone did as you say it would make a difference because they won’t.’ He felt irritated and got at. Luckily, just as Archie was agreeing with him, Clary came back, and he said he must be off. He put on his newly cleaned jacket and pushed his old one into the carrier bag.

  Clary kissed him.

  ‘It was lovely you came,’ Archie said. ‘Sorry to rile you – marvellous champagne,’ and the evening ended peaceably.

  When he had gone, Clary began clearing the table, but he stopped her. ‘I’ll do it in the morning. It’s my morning, remember, and your lie-in. Come with me now.’

  On the stairs, she turned to look at him, a searching, anxious look.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Only I’m afraid you’re so sad.’

  When she said anything like that, the weight of his abstinence enveloped him. He still saw the girl sometimes at the school – always at a distance – and each time could tell himself that it was easier. What he could not bear were these allusions: however discreet, it was the only thing that made him feel angry – no, impatient – with her. ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I love you, and I’m fine.’

  POLLY, GERALD AND FAMILY

  ‘Basically, Lady Fakenham, basically, the idea of hosting wedding receptions in your beautiful mansion is a viable one. It’s simply that some adjustments need to be made before you get the clientele that you want. By that I mean people who are prepared to pay.’

  Mrs Monkhurst, dressed impeccably in autumn tweeds, cashmere and pearls, re-crossed her navy nylon legs and hoisted herself more upright in her chair. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘perhaps we should start with what you think went wrong with your do last week.’

  Polly, who felt rather slovenly beside her – she was wearing an old skirt that had been made of curtain material and a shirt that made it easy to feed Spencer – picked up the list she had made. It was she who had asked Mrs Monkhurst to come, as she ran some kind of agency for organising parties in large houses, but she was beginning to feel bossed and humiliated. ‘Well, to begin with, it rained, almost the whole time. So people couldn’t go into the garden. The marquee leaked, which wasn’t our fault, but it made a mess, and the guests were not warm enough. Then there were perpetual queues for the lavatory on the ground floor here.’

  ‘You only have one?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But, Lady Fakenham, you cannot have expected over a hundred people to make do with one!’

  ‘It was all so expensive, you see.’

  ‘I hear that the music wasn’t quite up to the mark.’

  Polly spoke stiffly. ‘We moved the piano into the marquee and my brother played, except when there were speeches on. He’s very good at it.’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ Mrs Monkhurst replied, with tones of exaggerated conciliation and disbelief. ‘But they were expecting a three-piece band at the very least.’ She was riffling through the pad on her lap. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t, but I can’t think of anything else. Offhand,’ Polly added, to be on the safe side.

  ‘Ah! This is the feedback I have procured for you. Apart from what you’ve mentioned, there was some disappointment with the catering, I believe.’ She looked enquiringly at Polly.

  ‘I don’t understand that. They chose the menu themselves.’

  ‘Yes. But the salmon and chicken were overcooked, the mayonnaise was salad cream out of a bottle and the canapés tasted, I was told, as though they had been made days before. You know what the answer is, don’t you, Lady Fakenham?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘You chose the wrong help. Neither the marquee firm nor the caterers were what we should consider first class. I could put you on to people who would never make such mistakes. Of course, they cost a bit more but, believe me, they’re worth it.’

  ‘But we didn’t have any more money! As it is, we’ve made a small loss.’

  Mrs Monkhurst regarded her with a short mournful silence. Then, she said, at last, ‘I’m afraid that means you’re a tiny bit under-invested. If you’re interested, I could do an estimate for you, which would include our costs for finding you clients.’

  ‘That was what she came for. When I asked her, I thought she was simply going to give us advice.’ Mrs Monkhurst had finally driven off in her Humber and Gerald had emerged to hear the news. ‘She was just after business.’

  ‘If she’s a busine
sswoman I suppose she would be.’ He was in one of his mild moods, which alternately maddened and alarmed Polly: in one of them he would agree to anything.

  ‘But, darling, she wants us to spend a whole lot of money that we haven’t got. And, if she finds us clients, she wants fifteen per cent of the profit. It’s hopeless!’

  ‘Not hopeless, darling. Let’s wait and see what she proposes. Here’s Spencer, wanting his lunch.’ Nan had come in carrying a cross red-faced baby. He was arching his back and his cries came in short staccato bursts, like gunfire. He was so beside himself that even after Polly had unbuttoned her shirt he banged blindly against her breast until she guided him to the right place, whereupon he latched onto her nipple, his slate-blue eyes regarding her with reproach.

  ‘He’s teething, bless him,’ Nan said.

  Gerald watched him fade from scarlet to a comfortable rose colour. Content was in the air, he thought, and it was all due to Poll. ‘How I love to see you both,’ he said. ‘Now, you’re not to worry about a thing. If the worst comes to the worst, we can always sell another picture. I must go and help Simon.’

  Polly knew that she was meant to be reassured by this, but was not. She sighed as she winded Spencer and changed sides. You should think of good things when you’re feeding babies, she thought. Dad is coming to stay, and nice Jemima and rather spoiled, sweet little Laura. And Simon is a great help. This afternoon I must make some food for them. She yawned; too many interrupted nights with Spencer. We simply have to earn some money somehow, she thought. Perhaps Dad will have a good idea, he is a businessman after all.

  A few minutes later, she went in search of the pram, which was in the kitchen, where she found Nan making sandwiches. ‘Tea’s not quite ready, your ladyship, and I think those twins have eaten the cake.’

  Oh dear! It had happened again. ‘Nan dear, we need to have a bit of lunch now. Teatime is later, when the children get back from school.’

  Nan stared at her for a moment, then said, ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ But she did not look as though it was, at all.

  ‘Would you like to go and call the men?’ She knew that Nan loved telling people what to do and it would distract her. ‘Take the bell with you, Nan. I think they’re planting trees in the avenue.’

  After she had laid the sleepy Spencer in his pram, and was stirring the soup, she wondered what on earth they would do if Nan’s memory got worse – or, rather, when. She would have to be looked after, and Polly would have to employ someone to help with the children and there would be more housework than the girl who came one morning a week could possibly manage.

  And they were planting new trees in the old avenue that was studded with stag oaks and splendid old elms, when there was so much else to be done where the results would not take thirty years to show! She cleared the table of tea things and collected the cheese and bread from the larder. She decided to get on with preparing the venison and vegetables for the stew for supper. Pheasants for tomorrow night, she thought. The family got sick of them at this time of year, but Gerald shot and hung them and they cost nothing. And Dad loved game. All I’ve got to do before they come is check their bedroom, make a chocolate cake for tea and some sort of pudding from our plums – a crumble would be easiest – and perhaps get Nan to make one of her treacle tarts for tomorrow …

  By the time Gerald and Simon appeared, very pleased with themselves – ‘We’ve planted twelve trees and run out of stakes for the others’ – Polly had soaked the prunes in warm water, and finished scrubbing the Jerusalem artichokes, both intended for her stew.

  ‘I want to sleep with Andrew.’

  ‘I don’t want to sleep with her at all.’ He looked at Laura with distaste. ‘She was sick in the car. I don’t want to sleep with a sick person.’

  ‘I told you, I’m only sick in cars. Mummy, do tell Andrew I’m only sick in cars.’

  ‘Darling, when you stay with people, you have to sleep where they say.’

  Eliza and Jane, who were polishing off their share of the chocolate cake, surveyed Laura with disapproval. One of them said, ‘And you shouldn’t talk about sick at meals.’

  And the other said, ‘No, you shouldn’t. It’s disgusting.’ Laura looked at them both, and her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I’ll give you some carrots,’ Polly said, ‘and, Eliza, you could take Laura to see your ponies. But only if you promise to look after her carefully. Laura is your guest.’

  And Jane immediately said, ‘I’ll take Laura. I should like to.’

  ‘OK, but everyone finish their milk.’

  ‘And ask to get down,’ Nan added.

  When they had done all of this, Simon got up. ‘I’ll go with them.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Simon.’

  Gerald then offered to show Hugh what they had achieved with the back garden, and he accepted gratefully.

  ‘If you go through to the sitting room, my lady, I’ll bring the baby to you. It’s time for his feed.’

  ‘Shall I come with you, or would you rather be on your own?’

  ‘Oh, come with me, Jemima. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  Polly had been shocked by her father’s appearance. He looked not only dead tired but somehow diminished. Jemima looked tired also, but she was always so neat in her appearance that her fatigue was not so apparent: blonde hair simply cut, a straight serge skirt and white shirt, with a tidy polished belt round her very small waist. She wore dark blue mesh stockings, and shoes as much polished as her belt. Her expression seemed to have settled to some sort of anxiety that had not been there the last time Polly had seen her.

  ‘How are things?’ she asked, after Spencer was settled at her breast.

  ‘I’m worried about your father. He and Edward are not getting on, and that distresses him. Far more than it does Edward. Your dear father can be – well, once he’s made up his mind, it’s almost impossible to get him to change it.’

  Polly waited a moment. Then she asked, ‘What do you think he should change his mind about?’

  ‘Accepting Edward’s wife for one. I think Edward resents him about that, and I don’t blame him. I mean, it’s happened. He’s married to her. But Hugh’s still very loyal to Villy. He goes to see her regularly and every now and then we have to have her to supper. I know I shouldn’t say it that way, but they are awful evenings: Villy always gets round to asking questions about Edward and she calls Diana “The Destroyer” and makes bitter remarks about her. And she won’t let poor Roland go to Home Place without her, and she won’t go unless Edward’s there without Diana. So Roly hardly ever sees his cousins; he’s being brought up as though he were an only child. By the way, Spencer’s a lovely baby.’

  Polly, who had him over her shoulder, smiled. Spencer was dribbling; he belched, and Polly stroked his head. He had worn a bald patch bashing his head about when he was in a temper, but his glistening red hair was growing quite long at the back. ‘He’s going through his unsuccessful-composer stage,’ she said fondly.

  ‘I wondered whether you could talk to him. I’ve tried, and I know that Rachel has, but he adores you. It would be marvellous if you could make him see …’

  ‘Well, I could try, but I don’t think—’

  Here they were interrupted by an influx of children.

  ‘We fed both of the ponies. They simply love carrots – they have lovely soft noses and they smell really nice. I think I ought to have one.’

  Eliza and Jane were clearly softened by Laura’s enthusiasm. ‘We’re going to give Laura a riding lesson tomorrow.’

  ‘Where’s Andrew?’

  ‘He got stung by some stinging nettles and cried.’

  ‘I don’t get stung by stingy nettles because I know what they are.’ Laura was so happy that she felt like boasting about anything that came up.

  ‘Did you give him a dock leaf?’

  Jane looked sulky. ‘Can’t remember.’

  Eliza said, ‘We told him about them but I don’t think he listened. He’s only six, Mum
my – he’s still pretty stupid.’

  ‘I’m seven and I’m not in the least stupid. I can play “Three Blind Mice” on the piano, and skip twenty-two times, and read some books, and walk two miles with Daddy—’

  ‘Laura, darling, that’s enough. It’s time for your bath now.’

  ‘I want to have my bath with Andrew.’

  At this point Nan appeared. She seemed refreshed by more children. ‘You’re coming with me, Miss. You and Andrew, then the girls, or you won’t get any supper.’ And she took the unresisting Laura by the hand and led her from the room.

  ‘Goodness!’ Jemima said, in admiration.

  ‘There’s nothing like Nan when she’s on form.’

  So Jemima went to unpack, and Polly to change Spencer’s nappy and put him in his cot.

  The long weekend (it was half-term) ran its course. Simon managed to tell his father that he had decided to become a gardener and, to his surprise, his father made no demur – even seemed relieved that he had settled on something. ‘Don’t you need to do a course or something to get qualifications?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it would help if I needed to get a job somewhere different, but I like working here with Gerald and Polly.’

  And this had been seconded by Gerald, saying what a marvellous help he was and how hard he worked.

  Andrew settled for Laura, as she would do anything he told her to do and it made a nice change from being bossed about and snubbed by the twins. Spencer cut a tooth and was very smiley.

  Polly, with the excuse of asking Hugh’s advice about Mrs Monkhurst’s suggestions, managed to get him to talk about his rift with Edward, and very carefully brought the conversation round to Diana. ‘Dad, how would you feel if the family had refused to have anything to do with Jemima?’

  Hugh stared at her, but she noticed that his usually kind eyes became hard, like marbles. ‘I wouldn’t stand for it,’ he said. ‘In any case, they all love her.’

  ‘You see, I sometimes think that poor Uncle Edward may feel like that about Diana, too.’