Roses and Champange

by Neels, Betty

  Katrina watched him go, bristling with temper, vowing to herself that if Pete Johnson asked her to go out with him, she would, all day and every day.

  Only she wasn’t given the chance. Lucius rode over shortly after breakfast and there was no faulting his casual friendliness, nor did he even hint at thek bickerings of the previous evening. They rode off to the Home Farm and had coffee in its large, old-fashioned kitchen, then Lucius went off to inspect some repairs to one of the barns. It took a long time, and when he returned he mentioned apologetically that he had intended riding on to see one of his gamekeepers, another mile or so away, and by the time he had dealt with whatever his business was there and Katrina had some miles away, so she would have time to take a bath.

  She was back wrapped in a dressing gown, with time to spare. The car’s headlights flashed down the lane and into the grounds of Stockley House, and she had a splendid view of Lucius and a young woman getting out of it and going indoors. She dressed in a fine temper, made worse by the message she had had given her by Lovelace. Mr Peter Johnson, he had informed her in a disapproving voice, had telephoned during the afternoon and had wanted to meet her. He had telephoned again later and left no message.

  Katrina whisked her mousey hair into a semblance of tidiness and went down to dinner. Halfway through she was called to the phone.

  ‘Katie?’ enquired Lucius softly. ‘Just in case you were wondering who it was I fetched from the station—one ofmy partner’s secretaries with some important papers which needed my attention.’

  Katrina drew a deep indignant breath. ‘What makes you think...’ she began.

  ‘Dear girl, I’ve known you since you were an infant. I can, at times, hear your thoughts.’

  ‘Not all of them,’ she said quickly.

  Lucius sounded as though he was laughing. ‘It’s a pity I can’t see your face—you sound guilty! Goodnight, Katie.’

  It was a pity that Pete Johnson didn’t ring in the morning. She hung around after breakfast, hoping he would call, and then, unable to put it off any longer, she went down to the village to the Parish Council meeting, where she was kept until lunchtime, weighing the pros and cons of a jumble sale or a bring-and-buy morning in aid of the church tower fund. And when she escaped at last, Lucius was outside, leaning against her car. ‘I walked,’ he told her, ‘so may I beg a lift home?’

  She unlocked the car door. ‘Of course.’

  He took the keys from her. ‘I’ll drive. Will you come in for lunch?’ And when she hesitated: ‘I want your advice about End Cottages—old Miles in the end one needs a new roof. I’m wondering if it would be sensible to have all four done...the others aren’t too bad, but they’ll need re-tiling in a year or two and will probably cost twice as much by then.’

  Katrina knew almost as much about the Stockley property as her own; they were still weighing the fors and againsts as they sat down to lunch, and once that meal was over, she agreed readily enough to go with him to look at the cottages.

  It was a fine day, although cold, and they walked across the fields to the edge of the estate. The cottages looked charming against the winter sky, backed by bare trees and the tall iron fence which ringed the house; they had been carefully maintained and modernised without detracting from their age, and Katrina said now as they approached them. ‘You’ll have to do the lot, Lucius, otherwise the tiles will look odd— you might never be able to match them up if you wait to re-roof the other three.’

  ‘Yes, I’d thought that too. Let’s go and see old Miles.’

  The old man had been the estate carpenter for his whole life and, now retired, was pleased to see them. They drank tea with him, explained about the roof and started back across the fields. They were almost at the house when Lucius said casually, ‘I met your Pete Johnson this morning—he was on his way to Chipping Sodbury to get the train back to town.’

  Katrina hardly heard him. ‘You might as well have the sitting rooms papered when you do the roofs...’ She stopped. ‘Has he gone back to London? And he’s not mine!’

  ‘No? He could have been.’ Lucius sounded amused.

  She said peevishly: ‘Probably, if I’d been given the chance to see him again. But each time he phoned I was out.’

  ‘Oh, hard luck,’ said Lucius, and opened the yard door and ushered her in to the back of the house. ‘I won’t come to dinner,’ he said cheerfully, even though he hadn’t been asked. ‘You’ll want to start packing.’

  Which was true. He gave her a drink and then drove her back to her own home, where she went up to her room and began to pack, just as he had suggested, folding the pretty clothes carefully and wondering if he would find her attractive in them, marvelling that until now she had never minded over-much whether he noticed what she was wearing or not. ‘Love is a very peculiar thing,’ she told Bouncer, watching her with suspicion as she hunted through her cupboards for swimsuits: neat, navy blue and lacking in all frivolity. She tucked them away in corners in her case and wondered if she should have bought something a bit more exciting. Then: ‘No,’ she addressed Bouncer once more, ‘that wouldn’t do at all; I’m not and never will be an exciting person, am I?’

  Bouncer, to whom all beauty was skin deep, grinned and wagged his tail.

  Katrina spent the next day putting her household in order, paying a hurried visit to Mrs Lovell to explain why she couldn’t be home when James and Virginia got back, taking Bouncer for a walk which was much longer than usual, and presiding over the WI tea-party, an annual function which she had almost forgotten about. She had never really enjoyed it, because she was shy on such occasions, and this year it was worse than usual, for she had to sit through a spate of questions about herself and Lucius, accompanied by coy smiles and nods and a great many references to Virginia. She answered calmly, apparently unruffled, agreed pleasantly that her sister and James seemed to be ideally suited, agreed again that the same might be said of herself and Lucius and remained vague as to the date of her own wedding. The ladies went one by one, a little annoyed, and having discovered nothing they didn’t already know, and she was on her way up to her studio when Lucius walked in, using the yard door.

  His ‘Hullo’ was cheerful. ‘Didn’t dare come in through the front door,’ he told her. ‘I remembered at the last minute that it was your annual chat-up. Was it fun?’

  Katrina paused, one hand on the banisters. ‘No,’ she told him crossly, ‘it wasn’t. Why are people so interested in us?’

  ‘Nothing unusual,’ he said easily. ‘In a small village we know everybody’s business, and if we don’t then we pry and poke until we do. No harm intended.’

  ‘No, I know that. It’s just a bit—well, awkward.’ She looked away from him. ‘And it will be worse when we get back and they discover that we’re not going to be married after all.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. They would all rally round you with genuine sympathy. I’ll be the black sheep— probably I’ll have to go to the North Pole or the Gobi Desert and stay away for years while they forgive me.’

  Katrina came down the stairs with a rush. ‘Lucius, you don’t mean that? You wouldn’t have to go away? I couldn’t...’ She stopped just in time.

  ‘You couldn’t what?’ asked Lucius lightly, although his eyes were intent on her face.

  ‘Nothing.’ She retreated backwards towards the staircase once more. After a moment of silence she said feverishly: ‘I’m all ready to leave. I think I’ve remembered everything.’

  Lucius lounged across to her. ‘No last-minute phone calls?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said coldly, pretending to misunderstand him.

  ‘Ah, well, I daresay he’ll write. Does he know where we’re going?’

  ‘If by he you mean Pete Johnson—no, he doesn’t. Why should he?’

  To her annoyance he didn’t answer. ‘Mind you’re ready by nine o’clock,’ he observed. ‘Now I must go—unlike you, I’ve several calls to make. ‘Bye!’

  Katrina didn’t reply, only tossed her mou
sey head at him and started up the stairs. It amazed her that she could be so exasperated by someone she loved so overwhelmingly. She had taken but three steps when Lucius was beside her. Without a word he kissed her soundly and went as quickly as he had come, leaving her with her mouth open and no feelings at all except a great rush of love. Lucky, she told herself, that he wasn’t there to see it.

  She occupied her evening saying goodbye to Lovelace and Mrs Beecham, taking Bouncer for a walk even though it was dark and cold and checking that she had everything she might need for their journey. It would have been sense to have gone to bed early, but she dallied around the house, washed her hair, did her nails, checked everything once more—unusual for her; she was normally so calm and collected—and finally, far too late, went to bed.

  She slept badly, waking from nightmares where she was struggling to get to the airport in time, running in slow motion as the plane took off with Lucius on board. She woke quite tired out and found Mrs Beecham pulling back the curtains and her early morning tea on her bedside table.

  She got up and bathed and dressed quickly, ate a sketchy breakfast under Lovelace’s anxious eye, and went out with Bouncer. It was still dark and cold, and when she looked across the valley she could see the lights from Stockley House streaming out on to the frosty lawns around it. A reassuring sight; at least Lucius would be up and ready to leave.

  She went back indoors, did her rather pale face again, and very suitably dressed in her tweed dress and matching coat, expensive gloves and shoes, she went downstairs. Her luggage was ready in the hall, the Gucci overnight bag and the roomy case. At least Lucius would have no reason to grumble at her not being ready.

  He arrived a few minutes later in the Jaguar, wished her a casual good morning, saw her luggage into the boot, said a few pleasant words to Lovelace, who worshipped him in a slavish way Katrina found quite unnecessary, and told her to get in. ‘Masses of time,’ he told her comfortably. ‘We’ll have coffee on the way. Have you got a book to read?’

  She looked surprised. ‘No—should I have?’

  ‘There’s always a wait between getting there and actually boarding the plane. Never mind, there’s bound to be something at the airport.’

  ‘Have you got a book?’ she demanded.

  Lucius smiled faintly. ‘I’ve brought some work to do.’

  So that was why he was anxious for her to find something to read! If he thought she intended to chatter for the entire journey, he couldn’t have been more mistaken. She settled in beside him without another word, and beyond answering him when he remarked upon something, had nothing to say for herself until they stopped for coffee at the Fleet service station.

  It was large and noisy, full of people, even at that hour of a midwinter morning. Lucius fetched coffee and they sat, surrounded by people making late breakfasts. Katrina averting her eyes from a plateful of bacon and eggs being eaten with gusto, caught Lucius’s own eyes on her.

  ‘You’re very silent,’ he observed. ‘Sorry you’re coming?’

  ‘Certainly not! Why do you say that? I have no doubt that I shall enjoy myself enormously. Are we in good time?’

  ‘Oh, lord, yes, I’ll turn off at Staines and go through the reservoirs. There should be someone waiting to take the car. Once we’ve checked in the baggage we can sit and twiddle our thumbs for an hour or more.’

  ‘You can always work,’ she reminded him sweetly.

  Heathrow was a hive of activity, full of people racing round looking for luggage, children, porters, while the seasoned travellers trod carelessly among them, knowing exactly where they were going, immaculate in their well cut suits and carrying their executive bags. Katrina, told to wait while Lucius and the porter checked in their luggage, found herself between two elderly ladies, one cosy, plump and cheerful, the other, clad in a sensible raincoat and a no-nonsense hat, a thin, frowning lady, prepared for the worst. She said across Katrina’s front: ‘Surely you can remember if you had your red hatbox with you, Addy? If you haven’t got it now where is it?’

  Addy’s face was as trusting as a child’s. ‘Someone will find it and put it on the plane, Dora.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ declared Dora, and turned on Katrina. ‘My sister is so careless,’ she said crossly, and added fiercely: ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ said Katrina mildly. ‘I travel very seldom, but surely there’s some sort of information centre iere? Couldn’t you enquire what to do there?’

  Both ladies spoke at once. ‘Upstairs,’ snapped the thin one. ‘And who’s to mind the luggage?’

  ‘We can hardly expect this young lady to do anything,’ said the cosy one. Til go, Dora.’

  ‘You will not! Perhaps this lady will mind our bags and we’ll both go.’

  Tm travelling myself,’ interposed Katrina, still mild, but firm, and heaved a sigh of relief as Lucius said from behind her: ‘Some kind of trouble? Can I help?’

  They both told him, speaking together. Katrina admired him for the way in which he sieved through their muddled words, told them to stay just where they were and disappeared.

  ‘Your husband, my dear?’ enquired the cosy lady.

  ‘My fiance.’ Katrina smiled at the nice old dear. Tm sure he’ll be able to sort things out for you.’

  ‘He looks most dependable.’ The faded blue eyes were wistful. Tm sure you’ll be very happy.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked her sister. Katrina didn’t particularly want to tell her, but there seemed no way out. ‘Greece.’

  ‘So are we. Is there no one else travelling with you?’

  Katrina felt inclined to tell the busybody to mind her own business. She said briefly, ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t approve of unmarried people going on holiday together,’ began the lady, and was luckily interrupted by Lucius returning with the hatbox. He cut short their thanks with charm, took Katrina’s arm and started for the stairs. ‘How on earth did you manage to get entangled with those two old souls?’ he wanted to know. ‘I only left you for a few minutes!’

  ‘One of them was rather sweet, and they just sort of surrounded me,’ she explained.

  ‘Well, thank heaven we shan’t meet them again.’ Lucius was leading her to the bookshop, his hand tucked under her elbow.

  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ she told him. ‘They’re going to Greece too.’

  She chose a book and went upstairs and had coffee till their flight was called. There was no sign of the two ladies; Lucius remarked hopefully that they were probably lost or sitting in some remote corner, arguing with each other. But they saw them presently. They were the last to board the plane and passed through the first class compartment to reach their seats. The cosy one smiled nicely, her sister stared and snorted.

  ‘I don’t think she likes us,’ murmured Lucius. ‘What have we done?’

  ‘If you must know, we’re going on holiday and we aren’t married.’

  He let out a crack of laughter. ‘We could, of course, remedy that—there’s an English church in Athens, we could have the banns called or whatever one does. Would you like to be a respectable married couple, Katie?’

  He had laughed, so he was joking. Her heart ached, but she said lightly: ‘Not particularly, thank you. And I don’t think you’d find a couple more respectable-looking than us, so I don’t think we need to worry.’

  She gave him a cheerful smile which concealed her feelings very well.

  They didn’t talk during take-off and once they were airborne Katrina opened her paperback and Lucius took a handful of papers from a pocket and began making notes on them. They could have been a married couple, married long enough to enjoy each other’s company without bothering to talk. She turned the pages of her book, not reading it at all, wondering if their holiday was going to be a success, wondering why Lucius had been so keen to take her with him, wondering what she should do when they got back home. She wasn’t sure if it would be worse to see him each day and hide her love under a mask of frie
ndship, or never to see him again.

  ‘Lunch,’ said Lucius in her ear. ‘Is that book dull? You’re not reading it.’

  The meal was excellent and Lucius made her drink some wine with it, so that she became nicely drowsy and dozed off, to wake at once at his touch on her arm. ‘We’re coming down,’ he told her, and fastened her seatbelt.

  They went down slowly, going through cloud, so that the plane emerged and the sun seemed brilliant and the sea a Technicolor blue which didn’t seem quite real. Katrina peered down at the ragged coastline and the land beneath her. Not much green, but there were trees, small white dots which she took to be houses, narrow ribbons of roads, and coming into view now, although some miles away, the city of Athens. She stared down, wishing for a cup of tea. It was, after all, after five o’clock.

  As he so often did, Lucius read her thoughts. ‘You were so sound asleep we decided not to wake you when they came round with the tea. You shall have it the moment we get to the hotel.’

  She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Lovely! Did I miss anything while I was asleep?’

  ‘No. We’ve been above the cloud most of the way.’

  They landed a few minutes later and were through Customs in another five minutes. As they emerged into the entrance hall, Katrina said: ‘Nice and quick, but a bit terse, didn’t you think?’

  Lucius took her arm. ‘It’s the language, I expect. Where’s our porter? We’ll get a taxi.’ He grinned down at her. ‘I hope you feel you’re on holiday, because I do!’

  Chapter 8

  The Grande Bretagne Hotel was quietly luxurious, and Katrina’s room, large and airy with a bathroom adjoining it, had a shaded balcony, complete with table and chairs. There was a sitting room dividing her room from Lucius’s, and before she had unzipped her overnight bag he had called across from his own balcony.

  ‘There’s tea waiting for you. Come and have it now and tidy up later.’

  Before she did so she went out on to the balcony. It overlooked a large square and a view of distant hills beyond orange trees. The air was clear and cool, but the sun and the blue sky made it seem to be much warmer than it was.