‘Freddy, old boy, how delightful to see you, come in, come in, and Dewhurst, champagne immediately.’
The champagne, well chilled and in tall, fluted crystal glasses, had just been served when Dewhurst announced David Collins and Lady Primrose. Freddy blushed, not expecting to see them, and quickly rose to his feet. David was obviously slightly drunk, but even so he looked as handsome as ever. He wore the new-style dinner jacket, but then he would, he had always been obsessed with fashion. Lady Primrose wore the latest fashion, a very short sequinned dress with a small cloche hat to match. The sequins on her dress were rose pink at the top, shading down to almost plum colour at the hem. She wore dark velvet slippers with a small heel, and fine silk stockings. She looked stunning, more beautiful than Freddy had ever seen her. His heart lurched inside his chest, and he had to gulp champagne to stop himself shaking.
Sir Charles went straight to Lady Primrose and called her ‘Primmy’, kissing her affectionately on the cheek, then took her hand and guided her into the room.
‘Do you know my cousin Lady Primrose? Yes, I’m sure you do, and her husband, David Collins?’
Dewhurst slipped in and out serving champagne and then passed a trayful of tiny squares of crisp brown toast topped with caviar. He squeezed the lemon himself to ensure that none of the guests had to get their fingers sticky. Tiny lace napkins were placed on knees, everyone smiled and gradually the atmosphere relaxed.
Lady Primrose gave David a slight warning look as she saw him accepting another glass of champagne. They had had the most awful row earlier about his drinking. If it wasn’t his drinking, it was his erratic, often violent moods. He had even accused her of telephoning Freddy when it was Sir Charles on the phone. He was jealous, and with such tantrums he exhausted himself. He had become more like a child than ever. She hoped he would behave himself this evening, Sir Charles being her mother’s sister’s son, and so immensely rich. She wanted at all costs to keep on the right side of his family. Their own finances were being depleted fast. One day she might have to turn to Sir Charles for assistance.
David leaned back on the velvet sofa and crossed his legs. He always felt a flicker of irritation when he was announced as Mister David Collins. He was, after all, a captain, not that anyone ever remembered or gave him his rank. How he would have loved a title; still, he hadn’t done too badly, he was married to one. He gave Freddy a shifty look. Rather be married to Lady Primrose without a lot of cash than be married to the homely Heather, fortune or no. He could see that Heather was wearing a couple of hundred thousand pounds around her squat neck.
Sir Charles was the perfect host, giving his complete attention to his guests. He made each one feel like the most important person in the room, but somehow he seemed to ignore David, laughing and joking intimately with Primrose, chatting about the times they had met as children. ‘Remember, Primmy, the day I beat up that stable lad? Gawd, it was funny, even funnier now to think I am so closely associated with boxing. Do you ever go to any of the matches? Jolly good sport, not that the ladies enjoy it of course, it’s very much a man’s game.’
Sir Charles caught a slight look of panic passing between David and Freddy. He gestured to Dewhurst to refill the glasses and stood with his back to the fireplace. Freddy still sat about ten inches away from his dumpy wife, his eyes constantly straying to Primrose, who was being delightful, telling a witty story about the time when she drove to London to be presented at court. As she spoke her head shimmered and glistened with sequins. She took a cigarette and placed it in a long holder, and Freddy leapt to his feet with his lighter. He touched her hand slightly and she quickly withdrew it, promptly moving across the room to stand closer to Sir Charles who took out his fob watch and told them they were waiting for his special guest and then they would dine. He had ordered dinner to be served in his rooms, if that suited everyone. They could adjourn to the ballroom for more champagne and a twirl round the dance floor after dinner. Lady Primrose began to giggle and display her new dance steps. Her movements were beautifully co-ordinated as she danced the Charleston.
Sir Charles took the opportunity to cross the room and stand by David looking down at him and murmuring that he must get his tailor’s name, he liked the cut of David’s trousers. He studied this handsome man, noticing the slight, nervous tremor of his hands. ‘You were cavalry, weren’t you, Captain? Yes?’
David’s hand tightened on his champagne glass and he pursed his lips.
‘Your chaps had a bad time of it, heard your regiment was one of the first up front, dreadful carnage. I was lucky, they started bringing in the vehicles by the time I made it over there. Bit of shrapnel in the eyes, that’s why I have to wear this, but I was one of the lucky ones.’
Primrose could also see the signs – David’s face had paled, and his whole body was shaking slightly. She danced over to Charles and tried to change the subject. ‘When are you going to get yourself married, Charlie? You’ve been on the society lists as a catch from the early days.’
Sir Charles laughed his wonderful, infectious giggle. ‘Never found the right one yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still huntin’, ya know.’
Primrose sat next to David and gripped his hands, whispering for him to hold on, not to start it here, not tonight.
‘Good heavens, Charlie, aren’t we ever going to dine?’
As if on cue there was a tap on the outer door, and Sir Charles checked his watch. Exactly nine o’clock.
‘My last guest, and then dearest we will dine immediately.’
Dewhurst opened the door. The whole party turned expectantly. Sir Charles took a fraction of a second to realize that this really was his little Miss Jones before he leapt to attention and bowed, his hand out to draw Evelyne into the room.
Dewhurst had not given her a second glance when he opened the door, which deflated her a little.
‘Miss Evelyne Jones, Sir Charles.’
Sir Charles greeted her with his arms open wide. ‘Well, my dear, do come in, I am so thrilled you could come . . . now, let me introduce you . . . Lord and Lady Frederick Carlton . . . my cousin Lady Primrose . . . and her husband, Captain David Collins.’
Freddy had the most awful sick feeling in his stomach, but he swallowed, forcing a smile. He should have known something was up, but all he did was bow and gesture for his wife to step forward.
Heather was so nervous she didn’t recognize Evelyne immediately, but as she came closer to shake hands her piggy eyes widened in amazement. ‘Oh, but we’ve met before.’
Sir Charles gave one of his infectious laughs, and turned to Primrose and David. ‘Isn’t she stunning? Quite beautiful, absolutely beautiful, my dear. Now, give me your hand and I think if you don’t mind Evelyne dearest, we shall go into dine straightaway.’
David bowed low over Evelyne’s hand, she could smell his lavender perfume and his silky hair was the same as ever. He had not recognized her.
‘Where on earth did you find this stunning gel, here in Cardiff?’
Already guiding Evelyne towards the dining room, Sir Charles was holding her hand tightly, giving her great comfort. ‘Oh, I thought, dearest, you said you had once stayed with David, in his father’s house, am I wrong?’
She looked directly at David and saw awareness dawning. For a moment he looked panic-stricken, flicking nervous eyes towards his wife, but she was laughing with delight at the elaborate dinner table.
‘Oh, Charlie, you are so clever, what a delightful table . . . oysters, too! Oh, you are such a delicious man, you really are.’
Sir Charles seated everyone, putting himself at the head of the table and David on Evelyne’s left. He still held her hand. Suddenly Sir Charles leaned so close she could feel his breath. ‘My dear, you have surpassed yourself, you look like a queen. I shall not leave your side. Quite, quite lovely.’
David could not take his eyes off Evelyne, he was confused, trying hard to collect the jagged pieces of the picture which were gathering like a storm in his head.
She was dazzling; could it be that funny girl, could it really be that girl he had taken to the fight that night? Her cheeks were flushed, the rest of her pale skin translucent. Her dark eyes, like the sea, looked even more green because of the rich colour of her satin gown. The emeralds and diamonds glittered, but it was her hair that outshone everything, like gold, so simply done, a single braid to below her waist.
Freddy looked at Primrose with beseeching eyes, but she refused to look at him, afraid David would do something embarrassing. Under the table he felt for her foot, but she pulled her satin-clad feet back beneath her chair, giving him a cool, tight look of disapproval. She found it hard not to stare at the girl, who stood head and shoulders above her. It was obvious to everyone there that Sir Charles was smitten. Only Primrose knew how very strange this was, as she had heard family rumours about him . . . well, she thought, they must be wrong.
‘May I propose a toast to my dear friend Evelyne, ladies and gentlemen, will you raise your glasses?’
Dewhurst had filled their champagne glasses, and they all toasted Evelyne. Sir Charles gave the hovering waiters a discreet signal to begin serving then slipped an arm around Evelyne’s shoulders and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t be nervous, just follow me, do whatever I do.’
Again he was close to her, and she smiled into his piercing, unsettling eyes. He was a strange kettle of fish – she never knew where she stood with him. She would never have believed he could be so familiar, but it did give her confidence. At one point he made her turn her head so that he could straighten one of her earrings which had become entangled in a stray curl. His fingers brushed her neck and he allowed his hand to linger for a second too long, then he turned his attention back to his guests. They sat quietly, not sure how to react to Sir Charles’ ‘lady’. Seeing him so intimate with her made them even more uncomfortable.
Occasionally Evelyne shot a sidelong glance at David. He seemed oblivious to everything, even to his food now, and was staring, stony-faced, at the wallpaper. His only gesture was to lift his wine glass to his lips, his movements neat and delicate. When the next course arrived Evelyne had to pay close attention to Sir Charles, it was a thick lobster bisque. She watched as he used the big, round spoon from the right-hand side of his place setting, and Evelyne followed suit, using the same outward strokes, and did not once scrape the plate. The dinner seemed to go on for ever, the conversation stilted and extremely strained, David’s withdrawn silence affecting them all. Lady Primrose battled on, trying to encourage the party spirit, and told them funny little stories about her two sons, Clarence and Charles, or Charlie, as he was known.
‘We named him after you, didn’t we, David darling? David?’
Lady Primrose smiled, but her quiet voice had an edge to it.
‘David, I just said we call him after cousin Charles . . . you really must come and see the boys, will you be here long enough?’
Ignoring her question, Sir Charles signalled to Dewhurst to serve the main course. Primrose gave David a kick beneath the table. She was trying so hard, and in their precarious financial situation they really needed to keep on the right side of her rich, if rather distant, relative.
When the main course was served, Evelyne had to hide her smile as she saw Heather eating like a horse, everything before her vanishing at great speed. She made unconscious little ‘mmmm’ sounds of appreciation, which irritated Freddy. He frowned at her, making her peer around the table like a guilty child. Freddy’s fork clattered on to his plate when Sir Charles spoke out of the blue.
‘Any of you read about this gypsy chap, the one on the murder rap? Very interesting case, I have a personal interest in it.’
This game was partly at Evelyne’s instigation, although it saddened her. She was being used as a pawn, and she waited expectantly to see what the outcome of the evening would be.
The port and brandy decanters were placed on the table, and the ladies withdrew to the sitting-room.
‘Very nice dinner, Mother always says this is one of the best hotels . . . oh, coffee, and mints, très bon.’ Heather gave a toothy smile as Evelyne poured the coffee. ‘I didn’t catch where you were staying? Evelyne?’
‘I have a suite here.’
Primrose began a slow dance across the room, swaying, moving closer and closer until she stood directly before Evelyne.
‘Can you do the Charleston? No? Want me to teach you? Come on, try it.’
She backed away flicking her heels out and humming the tune. Evelyne sensed that Primrose was laughing at her, the baby blue eyes were spiteful, glittering.
‘Thought your sort of woman had to know the latest steps.’
Evelyne continued pouring the coffee, held a cup out to Lady Primrose, who waved her hand. ‘No sugar, sweet enough, be-boop-be-doo.’
She danced past Evelyne, whose cup went over and spilt down the glittering, sequinned dress. Lady Primrose didn’t shriek out, she didn’t move; the coffee made a dark brown stain, spreading and dripping over the beads. Her little delicate hand shot out and slapped Evelyne’s face. ‘I believe my husband should have done that to you a long time ago.’
The port went round for the third time, the cigar smoke swirled around the men’s heads. They were relaxed, enjoying the many witty anecdotes with which Sir Charles regaled them. He played the evening like a poker game, finally delivering his winning hand, card by card. He began by moving first the decanter, ashtray and his port glass to one side, and with the table cleared he leaned on his elbows on the table. ‘Gentlemen, now to the business of the evening, the reason I asked you both here.’
David leaned back, smiling, the drink had eased him. Freddy, sharper and more alert, had been waiting for something. His heart beat faster.
‘I want you both to stand as witnesses to Miss Evelyne Jones’ statement in court next week. You were, I am led to believe, both present at a certain boxing match on Highbury Hill. The fighter was a gypsy called Freedom Stubbs.’
Freddy leaned forward, pushing his glass away. ‘I am aware of the case, a murder case, but perhaps I did not make myself clear to Miss Jones. I really feel that my presence in court, particularly in such an appalling case, would be most distasteful, I have already stated my feelings on this . . .’
Sir Charles interrupted, ‘Rubbish, man, your word is essential. You both instigated the evening’s outing, am I not right? Miss Jones had no prior knowledge of this boxing match?’
Freddy stubbed out his cigar. ‘I really couldn’t say, but judging by what I know of her she’s a little tramp, and the public outcry surrounding these murders would be frightful. The gel is a blackmailer, David here can tell you more . . . David? How much money did she demand from you?’
Sir Charles banged the table. ‘I don’t call twenty pounds a large sum, especially as the girl was more than likely owed twice that from her share of the Collins’ house.’
Nonplussed, Freddy turned to David.
‘You told me she had demanded more than a hundred, good God, I gave you over fifty towards it, David?’
David downed the remains of his port. His manner changed, he became surly, giving Freddy a foul look. ‘The way you carry on, old chap, I’d say you owe me a hell of a lot more, you think I’m blind as well as sick? Do you? Do you?’ He rose to his feet and lurched against the table, glaring at Freddy. ‘Not your money anyway, you don’t have a penny to your name, so what are you bleating about?’
Sir Charles poured more port. He spoke in a calm, conversational voice that was not raised in the slightest. ‘Now, now, let’s not get into a nasty argument, let’s just take things easy, shall we? Whatever marital problems you both may have they certainly wouldn’t look good spread across the Cardiff Herald . . . all that is required of you both is a simple statement saying you escorted Miss Jones . . .’
David turned his anger on Sir Charles. ‘Exactly what are you implying? None of your bloody business! What marital problems? Eh? What? What’s he talking about?’ He was on his feet, blazing, movin
g round to Freddy’s chair with his fist up and looking foolish and inept.
‘Sit down, David! Sit, please, let’s not raise our voices, we don’t want the ladies upset . . . and I really don’t want to drag my cousin into any adverse publicity.’
David sat down again like a lamb, reached for his port and downed the remainder of the glass in one gulp. Freddy looked at Sir Charles. ‘The girl was brought to the fair by David, that is all I know, I had nothing to do with her, but if David agrees, then . . . David?’
David simply stared at Freddy.
‘If David agrees, I will go along with whatever he has to say. David?’
There was a short burst of humourless laughter from David, then he glared at Freddy. ‘I’m sure you will, always such a friend, I am not going into a bloody court and that’s final.’
Sir Charles smiled his thanks at Freddy and asked to be left alone with David. As Freddy closed the door Sir Charles picked up the decanter, carried it round the table and sat close to David, who reached for the port. Suddenly, Sir Charles’ hand shot out and gripped David’s wrist. ‘No more, old fella, I want a private chat.’
‘I’ve got a headache.’
‘Dare say you have, this won’t take long . . . David, I would hate what I say ever to go beyond this room, but I want you, should I need you, in that courtroom.’
‘I don’t remember things, haven’t you been told? You put me on a witness stand and I’ll go to pieces.’
‘All you have to do is sign a statement, that’ll be good enough. I don’t want to have to subpoena you, then you’d have to take the stand, don’t make me do that . . . You know, David, you were not the only officer to turn tail, you were in the front line for six months, and your reputation was unblemished . . . I recall many officers – in particular poor old Ridgely – often spoke of you. Remember Ridgely, do you? Died of syphilis, I’m told.’
David went grey, his forehead puckered, and he turned terrible, pleading eyes to Sir Charles.
‘Face it, don’t be afraid, it’s over, no one blames you. But sadly, there are those who can never understand. There was nightmare carnage, human carnage, to face day in, day out. It can destroy any man . . .’
The Legacy (1987) Page 27
