There was a brief pause. I imagined Lizzie leaning against the glass wall of the telephone box digesting this. ‘She’s going to be your mother-in-law so naturally she’ll be interested. But you’re not going to let her dictate your own wedding, surely?’
‘Rafe’s parents are paying for the whole thing – your dress, my dress, the flowers, the food, the champagne, every crumb of cake, every grain of rice. My parents haven’t got a bean. Evelyn’s planning the most beautiful, stylish wedding in the history of the world. I understand her. It’s not just to show off or be competitive but because she’s extremely discriminating and a perfectionist. And it will be brilliant.’
Another pause. I could picture Lizzie’s frown as she wound a ringlet round her finger. ‘I can see how difficult it must be for you,’ she said eventually. ‘But surely Evelyn ought to consult you? It isn’t just about money, is it?’
‘She firmly believes she is consulting me. She asks me what I feel about this and that and before I can answer she tells me what I ought to have and why and she’s probably right. She’s got several yards of ivory pointe de Venise lace that she bought years ago for Isobel’s wedding dress which she says would be perfect for me. How could I possibly turn it down without being churlish and ungrateful?’
‘I don’t like the sound of that. Not the lace – that’d be fabulous – but how does Isobel feel about it?’
‘I admit I felt my blood drain when Evelyn said it. But apparently Isobel isn’t going to be married in church because Conrad’s a Jew. I’m so stupid that it had honestly never occurred to me.’
‘Oh dear. Now I see. It’s one great tangle of emotions – disappointment, compensation, gratitude, obligation – for ever and ever, Amen.’
‘And you’ve got to remember I shall be living under Evelyn’s roof for quite some time. So it won’t do to begin on the wrong foot.’
‘Marigold! It’s a recipe for disaster!’
‘Everything’s complicated by the fact that the Dower House, which is the only other decent-sized house on the estate, has been let on a long lease. All the other houses are farmhouses and not sufficiently grand. Besides, the tenants have been living in them for generations. We couldn’t possibly ask them to go.’
‘Why don’t you buy somewhere not on the estate?’
‘Apparently people like the Prestons don’t buy houses. I gather it’s a rather vulgar thing to do.’ Lizzie giggled and I found myself giggling too. ‘I know it’s silly, but that’s the way they look at things.’
‘Mm. I suppose that wraps it up really. But don’t you feel just a little bit resentful?’
‘I’m so conscious of having nothing to bring to the marriage – no blood, no acres, no dowry. Evelyn’s being utterly sweet to me, saying that I’m just like a daughter to her and she knows I’ll make Rafe happy and be a good wife. I just hope I will.’
‘You’re not having second thoughts?’
‘No-o.’
‘Marigold?’ This was said sternly. When I didn’t answer Lizzie said, ‘Of course I know what it is. You love the man but you love dancing more.’
I felt a fierce pain just below my ribcage. ‘Oh, Lizzie!’
‘And you feel guilty for being ambitious. You’re accusing yourself of being a cold-hearted bitch and you can’t bring yourself to disappoint Rafe and his parents and your parents. So you’re going to throw all that talent and years of training away to please other people.’
‘Have a heart. What would you do in my shoes?’
‘I’d ask him to wait a while. If he loves you … oh damn, there are the pips … we’re about to be cut off … promise you’ll write and tell me everything …’
‘I will. Goodbye, darling Lizzie, and thank you so much for ringing …’ A burring sound told me I was talking to the ether.
25
For the past week I had been rising at half-past six and slipping out of the house before breakfast. These days it was light by seven. The air was freezing at this hour; each frond of bracken was rimed with frost and last year’s fallen leaves snapped under my feet like fine porcelain. But trees were greening and birds were nesting. My plan was to run a little further each day. Already my joints felt looser and my muscles stronger. I always took the path that began a few hundred yards from the end of our drive and wound up through woods to the foot of the great rock on which Hindleep was built.
As I jogged to a steady rhythm, Benjamin Britten’s music for the second act of The Prince of the Pagodas ran through my mind and I tried to remember the sequence of steps for Belle Rose’s pas de deux with the salamander. By the time I reached the place where the trees grew more closely together and the path disappeared, I was always breathless and dripping with sweat.
It was with a sensation largely of dismay therefore that on this particular morning I came panting into a small clearing where the canopy thinned to admit a faltering ray of sunlight and saw Conrad.
His surprise must have been even greater than mine. He at least was in the grounds of his own house.
‘Hello,’ he said, recovering first. ‘What are you doing here?’
I put my hands on my hips and dropped my head forward to ease my breathing. Half a minute passed before I could speak. ‘I’m trying … to get fit … again. What … about … you?’
‘I was looking for a particular lichen. It is called teloschistes flavicans. Look.’
He pointed to a branch just above his head. I tried to stem with my sleeve the flow of perspiration that poured into my eyes, so I could see the tiny clusters of golden yellow tufts.
‘It’s … very pretty.’
‘I think so.’
‘Are those things in the … house yours, then … the feathers and stones, I mean. I thought they must … belong to Fritz.’
‘Oh? Why did you think that?’
He gave me a look that seemed to appraise. I became conscious of the skimpiness of my leotard, the depressing grey colour of my pink crossover cardigan which I had washed by mistake with my black tights and the drops of sweat hanging from the end of my nose. He was wearing a red scarf tucked inside the coat with the astrakhan collar. His face was pale with cold and his hair and beard looked blacker by contrast. His eyes were like shiny pieces of jet. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I pressed its soft white folds to my face. It smelt faintly of pencil boxes.
‘I don’t know. You seemed too … too … sophisticated.’ I could hardly say too materialistic, though that would have been nearer the truth.
‘You mean spoilt and worldly. You think I must drink only out of gold cups and dine on roast birds of paradise.’
‘Oh no.’ I shook my head and regretted it at once, because my nose began to stream. I was obliged to blow it on his handkerchief.
‘That, if you will forgive me, is a lie. It is generally assumed that those who have money must necessarily be servants of mammon. In fact frequently the opposite is true. Those who must be frugal and calculate the price of a piece of cheese are often unable to value things except in terms of dollars and shillings.’ I acknowledged the truth of this. I had never had the opportunity to be extravagant, but since living at home my brain had become a calculating machine. I was unable to look at a rotten tomato without comparing its price with that of a blackened banana.
Conrad picked up a pine cone, examined it closely, then put it in his pocket. ‘You have heard of Epicurus, the Greek philosopher?’
‘Um … wasn’t he awfully fussy about what he ate?’
‘That Epicurus was a hedonist is a common misconception. On the contrary he advocated living simply, enjoying modest pleasures in order to find happiness in an imperfect world. He held that a garden, a handful of figs, a pot of cheese and a few friends are all that is needful for contentment. This seems to me intelligent.’
I visualized this charming scene and saw the snags immediately. ‘I don’t expect you do much shopping so you wouldn’t know that figs are fiendishly expensive in England,’ I said apo
logetically. ‘Also the weather …’
Conrad gave me a sudden sharp look, whether because I had dared to disagree or because of my fruity sniffing I didn’t know. He closed his eyes briefly, as though reordering his thoughts, then said, ‘The hall is finished and the drawing room is halfway. Come and see.’
‘I’d love to but I have to get back. I’m my father’s receptionist. He’s the village doctor and the surgery opens at nine.’
‘Then come afterwards.’
‘I work at the local café in the afternoons.’
‘This evening then?’
‘I’m meeting Rafe.’
My face, which had been cooling, grew hot again in case he thought I was being untruthful and making up excuses. Since our last visit, when Conrad had enlivened the occasion by jumping from the balcony, Isobel had asked us to Hindleep for drinks, tea and even supper, but Rafe had been determined in his refusal. I put this down to a combination of things; his annoyance at the abduction of his own workmen, the pervasive Bohemian atmosphere, and most potent of all, his disapproval of Conrad as his sister’s lover.
‘I see.’ He did not press the invitation further but stared up at the ragged circle of sky that could be seen between the branches. ‘What do you consider should be the springs for one’s actions?’ he asked, still looking up. ‘What principles should operate in the process of decision-making?’
I hopped from one foot to the other. The sweat was growing cold on my body and the chilly air was making its temperature felt. ‘Um … I don’t know really.’
‘You have some notion of the difference between right and wrong, I suppose?’
‘Yes, but sometimes one chooses to do wrong all the same.’
‘And why?’
I thought hard. ‘Because it’s easier. Because there’s something you want so badly that you’re prepared to lie and cheat and steal to get it.’
‘So you are saying that one ought to be impelled by honesty. By truthfulness.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But you yourself do not always consult the truth?’
‘I’m not the only one.’ I began to feel indignant. ‘Everyone fudges the truth.’
‘Does that make it all right?’
‘No. It makes it human.’
‘Is it reasonable to disregard ethics when they are inconvenient?’
‘No! I’m sure it’s a mistake to pursue something whatever the cost to one’s conscience.’
‘Truth, then, must be our guide. We should aim in all situations always to stick to the truth and nothing but the truth as we may perceive it.’ ‘Certainly. That is … unless the truth might hurt someone else.’
‘Ah.’ He brought his gaze down from the treetops to look at me with that characteristic gaze that seemed to see into the smallest crevices of my mind but told me nothing of what he was thinking. ‘You lie out of consideration then.’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Tell me, Miss Marigold Savage, do you prefer that others deceive you out of the kindness of their hearts?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t like it if people blurted out horrible things about the shape of my nose or the rottenness of my jokes. But if it was something important, naturally I’d want them to be honest with me.’
For a while we continued to look at each other until I was forced to do more mopping and blowing. The dripping of my pores and nose placed me at a disadvantage during this catechism, as I felt it to be. Conrad’s tone was neutral, but I felt there was something more behind his questioning than a mild desire for a little early morning philosophical argument.
He smiled suddenly. ‘I saw a mountain hare this morning.’ His eyes were softer now and a degree of friendliness permeated the biting air. Sudden changes of mood seemed to be characteristic. I was tempted to ask him about our meeting on the train, but on second thoughts decided this entente cordiale was too new and fragile to risk.
‘Are they different from ordinary ones?’
‘They have shorter ears and tails. But the chief difference is the whiteness of their coats in winter. Beautiful things.’
‘I should like to see one.’
‘Do you like flowers? Of course,’ he added, not giving me a chance to reply. ‘All women do.’ He pushed up his sleeves and spread his fingers to show they were empty, brushed one hand over the other and held out a tiny posy.
I took them. The petals and leaves were wet with crystals of melting ice. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’
‘You are familiar with the sweet violet, the primrose and the anemone. But you may not know this little white one. I have looked it up and its common name is spring snowflake. That is charming, is it not? Now you had better run off for that appointment with your father.’
My dignity had already been so compromised that I made no objection to being dismissed like a bad child. I tucked his handkerchief into my sleeve and turned to run back down the hill.
‘Come another time earlier,’ he called after me, ‘and you may see the hare.’
‘How pretty.’ Dimpsie picked up the vase in which I had arranged the small posy and held it to her nose. ‘Mmm. Delicious scent.’
We were enjoying fried mushrooms and tomatoes, the fruits of my labours at the Singing Swan.
‘Conrad gave them to me.’
‘Really? When?’
‘About three-quarters of an hour ago. I happened to meet him in the woods.’
‘How romantic! But as you’re both engaged to someone else, of course it wasn’t,’ she added quickly.
‘No. Actually, I rather think they were in the nature of a lesson.’
‘A lesson. What about?’
‘Oh – about roast birds of paradise.’
But when Dimpsie pressed me to explain, I said I had to rush or I’d be late.
26
‘What do you think?’ I came down the stairs at Dumbola Lodge and twirled about in the hall for my mother’s inspection.
‘You look terribly elegant. Rafe will love it.’
The dress was cream figured silk, with a piecrust frilled neck and a long row of tiny silk covered buttons down to the waist, in the style the princess of Wales had made so fashionable. It was quite unlike the things I usually wore, but I had chosen it with Evelyn’s taste in mind.
‘I hope so. I’ve never spent a hundred pounds on a dress before. Or on anything, come to that. I feel utterly decadent and I must say it’s a heavenly sensation. You really don’t think it was wrong to let him buy it for me?’
Of course this was a question to which there could be only one answer. Whatever she thought, Dimpsie would not have wanted to spoil my pleasure. I was reminded of my conversation with Conrad several days before. But surely we were all guilty of saying what we thought people would like to hear?
‘Of course not! He’s going to be your husband, for goodness’ sake!’
Rafe had said, ‘Really, darling, I insist. You must stop being so independent. Besides, some of my parents’ friends are dreadfully old fashioned. They wouldn’t be able to appreciate your splendidly individual clothes. I admire your flair immensely, but you’ll probably feel more comfortable looking a little more … blending in. I don’t mean I want you to dress like a batty old dowager. Just fractionally more … ordinary. You don’t mind, do you? It’s as much to please Evelyn as anyone.’
I had said that I did not mind. This was not absolutely true but I dismissed a slight feeling of pique as being petty and selfish. And when Rafe had driven me to the superior dress shop in Newcastle where his mother had an account and gone off to find himself a fishing rod with the injunction to buy whatever I pleased, I had thoroughly enjoyed the luxury of shopping without the usual restraints on my purse. We had met for tea afterwards at the Beauchamp Arms. As I entered the hotel sitting room, he had folded his newspaper and stood up to greet me.
‘I’ve ordered China tea for you, darling, and chocolate cake. Is that all right? Come and sit near the fire.’
It was very pleasan
t. I had rejoiced that this good-looking, self-assured man, who gave the impression that he would be thoroughly at home anywhere from the Athenaeum to Crim Tartary, was mine. I had not allowed him to see my dress, wanting it to be a surprise. And there had been, I admit, a touch of pride that rebelled against the notion of needing his approval. He had said with a most charming smile that he did not doubt that I would make every man in the room deeply envious of him.
I pointed my toe so Dimpsie could admire my new black suede shoes with agonizingly high heels. It had been Dimpsie’s idea that I should pawn our silver forks to buy them. I was confident I would be able to redeem them fairly soon with the money I was earning at the Singing Swan.
‘Smashing!’ she said.
I tried to flex my feet but my toes were crammed into tight bundles. Madame would have gone into spasms had she seen them but, as it was on the cards that I was going to give up dancing for good, what did it matter? Dimpsie was wearing a black velvet dress that was nearly bald at the elbows, but it made her skin look luminous and showed off the beauty of her large, kind eyes. ‘I wish you’d let me pop the spoons as well, so you could have had something new. Not that you don’t look jolly nice,’ I added.
Jode O’Shaunessy came into the hall. He was so tall that he seemed to shrink any room he was in. He had been digging the new vegetable plot all afternoon and after dark had been in the garage sharpening the blades of the lawnmower and oiling the shears. Harrison Ford O’Shaunessy was fast asleep in his box in the kitchen.
‘T’at’s done now. She’ll go a treat when t’e time comes te cut t’e grass … sure, but yor a fine-looking cailin!’
Despite the scars and the glare of his eyes beneath his cliff-like brow, Jode’s face looked almost soft as he beamed shyly at my mother. Two of our kitchen chairs had already broken under him, but his hands when he fed and changed the baby were gentle. Not that he often got the chance in our house, because the tiniest snuffle from Harrison Ford drew Dimpsie to his box as though she were attached to it by taut elastic. As I saw Dimpsie blush and look self-conscious, an idea came to me which at first I dismissed as absurd. But when I reviewed it I thought, why not? It might be just what she needed.
Girl's Guide to Kissing Frogs Page 32
