Roses and Champange

by Neels, Betty

  ‘My nieces,’ observed Mrs Lovell, ‘Madeleine and Sylvia—spending a few days with me. You must come over and have a chat while they’re here.’

  The women smiled sweetly and eyed Katrina’s velvet suit with calculating stares. She decided she didn’t like them and said at once: ‘I’m up to my eyes, Mrs Lovell, getting ready for Christmas. Have you heard from Virginia and James?’

  Mrs Lovell shook her head. ‘I thought I might give a party for them when they get back—you’ll come, of course. Do you suppose Lucius would come too, or would he feel embarrassed?’

  Katrina tried to remember if she had ever known him embarrassed, and decided that she hadn’t, but before she could answer one of the girls asked eagerly: ‘Why would he be that, Aunt?’

  Mrs Lovell, seldom the centre of attention, saw her chance, at some length she embarked on an account of Virginia’s close friendship with Lucius. ‘We quite thought that they would marry,’ she ended, ‘but it wasn’t Virginia at all, but Katrina.’

  Two pairs of hard eyes studied her with ill-concealed astonishment before focusing on Lucius, standing at the far end of the room. His size and height alone made him stand out in a crowd, his good looks and his elegance were an added bonus; he could have walked off with any one of the pretty young women in the room. Madeleine and Sylvia returned their gaze to Katrina once more, their astonishment more eloquent than words. She gave the pair of them a limpid look, murmured, ‘So nice to have met you. Excuse me—there’s someone I simply have to speak to...’ and slid away to join the Frobishers.

  She had barely returned their greetings when she found Lucius beside her. He bent to whisper in her ear: ‘You’re decidedly ruffled—is it the sherry?’

  She shook her head, smiling a little. He flung an arm round her shoulders and talked nonsense to the Frobisher girls, who loved it, but presently he said ‘Katie, Lady Ryder wants to talk to you,’ and eased her away, with perfect manners, to make their way across the room to where the old lady was sitting.

  ‘There you are,’ she declared loudly. ‘Our future bride—why aren’t you wearing a ring?’

  There was a sudden pause in the talk around them, resumed almost at once, and Lucius bent down and whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was sent her off into peals of laughter, caused all those nearby to look frustrated and sent a nice pink flush to Katrina’ s cheeks.

  All the same she answered civilly when Lady Ryder made some remark about her dress, and even contrived a smile, carefully avoiding Lucius’s eye. She wished with all her heart she could box his ears for him.

  She didn’t allow her feelings to show, however, and it wasn’t until they were driving back that she said coldly: ‘You behaved abominably—letting everyone see...I can find no possible excuse for you...’

  ‘You said that before, dear girl. Don’t you want to know what I said to Lady Ryder?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ snapped Katrina, and spoilt it immediately by adding: ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Women!’ observed Lucius to no one in particular, and didn’t tell her.

  ‘I refuse to quarrel about such a trifling thing,’ declared Katrina huffily as he drew up before her door.

  He turned in his seat and kissed her swiftly. ‘That’s a good girl,’ he said kindly, and got out of the car.

  They ate Mrs Beecham’s excellent dinner unhurriedly and on perfectly good terms with each other, there was a great deal to talk about. Christmas loomed large now, its advent touched off a round of mild gaieties to follow Lady Ryder’s party—carol singers, decorating the tree in the church, and just who Katrina should invite for drinks on Christmas Eve.

  ‘How many have you got coming?’ she wanted to know. ‘There’ll be your cousin Dora, I suppose, and Bertie and the two boys, and Great-Uncle Tom and little Tom and Jeremy, and Aunt Lucy...’

  ‘You remember better than I do—Jeremy’s bringing his fiancee and Aunt Lucy’s got a companion.’

  Katrina counted on her fingers. ‘That’s eleven with you—there’ll be about thirty of us. Drinks about half past six.’

  ‘And you will come back to my place for dinner. I’ll pick you up for church on Christmas morning and take you back with me to Stockley.’

  ‘Yes, but that means I’ll be with you all day,’ she objected.

  He smiled at her across the table. ‘That’s the idea, Katie.’

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. ‘Are we dressing up in the evening?’

  ‘Oh, lord, yes. Wear the pink dress. No one will do much on Boxing Day, we could ride before breakfast.’ Katrina agreed cheerfully. She had been secretly dreading Christmas, but Lucius had it all planned out and although his family weren’t exactly exciting, he was a good host and saw to it that everyone enjoyed themselves. They parted presently, still on friendly terms. Katrina had forgotten that she hadn’t enjoyed Lady Ryder’s party over-much. She went to bed, her head full of plans for the party on Christmas Eve.

  The days before Christmas flew by. Lucius went up to London and she didn’t see him for several days and when he returned he offered no explanation. Not that she expected one and she wouldn’t have dreamed of asking. They rode together, spent an afternoon helping to decc^ate the tree in the church and compared notes about the carol singers. They had each received visits from several groups by now; very small children who sang the opening bars of ‘The First Noel’, and then beat a tattoo on the door knocker, to be refreshed with hot cocoa and biscuits, and the weighty members of the church choir, reinforced by an outer fringe of men from the village, who sang at least two carols before knocking, far more gently than the children, and who were admitted to the hall, to drink beer and eat hot mince pies. They made their rounds to a regular pattern, beginning with the smaller houses in the village, working their way round the doctor’s house, the vicarage, the handful of houses occupied by retired people, then Katrina’s home, and last, Stockley House, where Lucius, being lord of the manor, handed out glasses of port, hot coffee and sausage rolls, as well as a discreet envelope towards the choir outing.

  Two days before Christmas Eve, coming back from an early morning ride, Lucius asked: ‘What are you going to wear for your party?’

  Katrina looked surprised. It wasn’t like Lucius to bother about her clothes, and this was the third time in as many weeks. She took a mental survey of her wardrobe and said: ‘Well, there’s that patterned blue velvet I had last year...’

  ‘We’ll go to town tomorrow and find something.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘Look, Lucius—I’ve got plenty of clothes. What’s got into you? I hadn’t planned to buy any more for ages.’

  ‘All the more reason to do so. I’ll call for you about half past nine.’

  They went in the Bentley and parked at his office as they had done before, had coffee and went in search of a dress. They found it very shortly, laid enticingly across a small gilt chair, sharing the elegant little window with a bowl of Christmas roses and an artfully arranged chiffon scarf. ‘That’s it,’ declared Lucius. ‘You go and buy it while I pop into that phone box and book a table for lunch.’

  The dress fitted. It also looked extremely nice on her. The price was ridiculously high, but Katrina signed a cheque with only a passing thought of the hole it was going to make in her bank balance, reflecting at the same time that Lucius was taking an unwonted interest in her clothes lately. Meant kindly, she supposed, an attempt by an old friend to smarten up her image. She left the shop, found him waiting patiently, handed him the bandbox, and remarked that she was hungry.

  ‘The girl I took out to lunch the other day would only eat quails’ eggs and Melba toast,’ Lucius told her.

  ‘Was she ill?’ asked Katrina seriously.

  ‘Not to my knowledge. She held strong views about female curves getting too curvy, which prevented her from eating like us common mortals who aren’t bothered about a few extra pounds.’

  ‘You speak for yourself! Although I don’t think I could bear to ea
t quails’ eggs and Melba toast.’ She cast him a suspicious look. ‘What are you laughing about? Am I getting fat?’

  ‘Not a bit of it—just right, Katie.’ He hailed a taxi. ‘I’ve got a table at the Mirabelle.’

  As they got into the taxi, she asked: ‘Is that where you got the quails’ eggs?’

  ‘Don’t fish, my dear, or should I be flattered that you’re at last taking an interest in my life style?’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Katrina, just a little too quickly. It astonished her to discover that until just lately she hadn’t bothered her head much about Lucius’s life, yet now, suddenly, she felt a lively interest in it.

  They lunched deliciously, finishing with fresh peaches in champagne, and then they made their way back to the car, stopping to look in shop windows as they went. There was an early dusk creeping through the streets as Lucius started on the slow business of getting out of London, but once they were free of the last suburbs, he tore smoothly along the motorway until he was forced to slow at Oxford.

  ‘This is a very nice car,’ said Katrina happily. ‘Is it fun to drive?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t think you’re going to borrow it, because you’re not.’ ‘I might save up and buy one.’

  He said, suddenly serious: ‘Don’t, Katie. She’d be a bit much for you—you’re a very good driver, but I’d not have a moment’s peace.’

  ‘You mean I might smash the car up? Well, I won’t buy one, then, only perhaps you might let me drive this one, just once with you here, of course.’ Her quiet voice was gently wheedling.

  He said at once: ‘Of course. We’ll take her for a run tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘I’ve got to go over to Mrs Lovell’s—I couldn’t get out of going to tea. I don’t want to; I’ve far too much to do at home. I’ve got to talk to Mrs Beecham about their Christmas dinner and talk to Lovelace...’

  ‘Proper little housewife, aren’t you, my dear? We’ll drive over to the Lovells’ place and she can give me a cup of tea and you shall drive back.’

  Mrs Lovell was delighted to see him, and so were her nieces. He was charming to them both, charming to Mrs Lovell, and nonetheless managed to convey that Katrina was the centre of his world. She squirmed under his air of loving proprietorship, the smiling glances and frequent darlings. On the way back driving the Bentley with determined sangfroid she said stonily: ‘You overdid it, Lucius. I felt like a mid-Victorian Miss with no rights of her own.’

  He said imperturbably: ‘Change gear, Katie. You aren’t exactly one of the stalwarts of Women’s Lib— besides, I wanted to leave a good impression.’

  She gasped and took a corner too fast. ‘What of?’ she demanded.

  ‘Devotion to you.’

  ‘Oh, stuff,’ said Katrina, and missed a slow moving farm tractor by a hair’s breadth.

  Lucius remained calm. ‘If you bust her up it will cost you fifty-six thousand pounds,’ he told her. ‘I shall dock it off your dress allowance.’

  She drove carefully after that, not speaking. Only when they drew up at her home did she say in a rather high voice: ‘Thank you for letting me drive. She’s a lovely car.’ She opened her door. ‘Goodnight, Lucius.’

  He was already out though, walking to the door opened by Lovelace and going through it with all the assurance of a welcome guest.

  ‘I could do with a drink,’ he suggested, ‘my nerves have been shaken.’

  ‘Oh, rubbish,’ said Katrina crossly, ‘you haven’t a nerve in your body. You’ll find the whisky in the usual place; I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  When she went back to the sitting room he was sitting in the winged armchair before the fire, the whisky on the table at his elbow. He got up as she went in and crossed to the sofa table where the drinks were.

  ‘Madeira?’ he suggested. ‘Something to put a little stiffening into you.’

  She bristled. ‘Stiffening? Are you suggesting that I drove badly?’

  ‘You drove very well indeed.’ He handed her the drink and after she had settled herself by the fire sat down too.

  ‘Have you any indigent aunts or cousins?’ he asked her.

  She choked on her wine. ‘One or two, yes. Why on earth do you ask?’

  Lucius gave her a look of such blandness that she sat up, prepared to hear something outrageous.

  ‘Well, you will live with me, naturally, but it would be nice to keep this place in the family, wouldn’t it? The eldest son couldn’t have it, of course, he’d inherit Stockley, but the second son might find it very useful.’

  She choked so hard this time that he had to get up and pat her on the back. When she had her breath: ‘I so wish you wouldn’t talk such nonsense!’

  ‘It’s as well to get these things sorted out now. Parents shouldn’t argue in front of the children.’

  She swallowed the rest of her Madeira. ‘What are you talking about? Whose children, and who’s going to argue?’

  ‘Ours,’ he said calmly, ‘and us. Which reminds me, it’s about time you had this.’ He put his hand in a pocket and took out a small leather case and opened it. ‘We have that quaint old custom of handing on the engagement ring...’

  It was a very beautiful sapphire, set in a circle of diamonds and mounted in an old-fashioned gold setting. Katrina goggled at it as he took her hand and slipped the ring on to the third finger. ‘I daresay you remember my mother wearing it,’ he observed. ‘Why do you look so surprised?’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Have you quite forgotten that I’m bowled over by your elegance and brains, worldliness and maturity? A girl with all those assets at her fingertips shouldn’t look like a stunned fish.’

  Katrina stared up at him and then back to the ring. For some reason she couldn’t fathom she badly wanted to burst into tears. She said in a quiet little voice. ‘No, I hadn’t forgotten. It’s a very beautiful ring.’ She added after a moment: ‘Thank you, Lucius.’ She looked at the ring. ‘Only it’s under false pretences, isn’t it?’

  He bent and kissed her, an impersonal, brotherly salute on her cheek. ‘Dear girl’, was all he said, and then: ‘Since I’m here you might as well ask me to dinner.’

  It was the least she could do, she supposed; she asked Lovelace to lay and warn Mrs Beecham, and was very conscious of his elderly eyes on the ring.

  Lucius didn’t stay late. With a cheerful: ‘What time are we coming tomorrow evening?’ he took himself off. His various relatives would be arriving in the morning and he was in for a busy time of it, his goodnight was casual in the extreme, although he did thank her for his dinner. For some time after he had gone, Katrina sat there by the fire, watching the sapphire glow in its light. It was ridiculous that she should feel sad and unhappy. Christmas, with all its attendant pleasures, was only a little more than a day away, she had nothing to be miserable about. Virginia was happily married, she had a lovely home, old, faithful servants, plenty of friends, enough money... Any moment now she would burst into tears. She got briskly to her feet and took herself off to bed.

  There was no time to feel miserable the next day, there was far too much to do. Old John had brought down his prized chrysanthemums, bundles of holly and mistletoe and the bowls of paper whites he had been forcing, and Katrina busied herself arranging these around the house, before going down to the stables to saddle Gem. It was a cold grey day, and she only rode for an hour, leaving Gem to be rubbed down by the boy from the village and going back to the house to shower and change and spend what time there was before lunch in the studio. This time the drawings were better; she felt reasonably content before she went downstairs to Mrs Beecham’s soup and omelette. As soon as Christmas was over, she promised herself she would get down to her work; a day or two would be enough.

  She went along to the kitchen presently to see if Mrs Beecham needed any help, but beyond setting out canapes on china plates and eating the cheese tartlets almost as fast as Mrs Beecham could get them out of the oven, there was little for her to do. Christmas dinner was already organised; there would be
turkey and Christmas pudding and everything which went with them, and Katrina had told Lovelace to fetch up a couple of bottles of hock from the cellar. She had provided beer as well, because Old John didn’t hold with wine drinking. There would be quite a cheerful party in the kitchen, as the girls who came up from the village each day would join Mrs Beecham and Lovelace, as well as the boy who helped in the stables and Old John. She made sure that they would lack nothing, sneaked another tartlet, and went back to the sitting room.

  Lovelace had readied the drawing room for the evening. It looked warm and welcoming with the table lamps already on to keep out the early dusk and a good fire burning. Katrina turned her back on it reluctantly and took Bouncer for a walk. From the top of the hill she could see Stockley looming in the last of the afternoon’s light. There were several cars parked on the sweep and lights shone from a number of windows in the great house. She stood looking at it and felt lonely.

  She turned and went home, Bouncer racing to and fro, delighted with himself. The old house welcomed them as they went in, Bouncer to sink happily on to the rug before the fire in the sitting room and Katrina to take off her outdoor things and join him hi the chair. They shared their tea and then she went upstairs to change into her dress.

  Lucius bad been right, she had to admit; the sapphire blue suited her. She inspected herself carefully and as she was turning away from the mirror remembered the ring. She would have to wear it—not in private, though; it was all part and parcel of Lucius’s outrageous plan and she wore it because he expected her to, but only when there were other people around. She went downstairs and met Lovelace in the hall. His eye looked for the ring and found it, although he said nothing, but he smiled at her in a fatherly fashion, just as he had always done when she had been a little girl and shown him birthday presents, or school prizes, and she found herself smiling back at him. ‘I’m going to have a sherry before they all arrive, Lovelace,’ she told him, and went into the drawing room.