All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (18 page)

This sort of talk appalled Simon. It felt all wrong, somehow. He thought of his father when Sybil died: there had been no doubt that he had loved her to the end, and grieved for ages until he’d found Jemima, and it was clear that he loved her as well. Perhaps, he thought, it was a question of what country you belonged to, because he simply couldn’t imagine any of his family believing that sort of rot.

To change the subject, Wills said, ‘Oh, well, I should think anything I do when I come out will seem good after that.’ He looked hopefully at Simon when he said this, and Simon hadn’t the heart to warn him that it might not.

Instead they talked about their much-loved sister, Polly. ‘How’s Lady Fake?’

‘Haven’t seen her since before Christmas. She was fine then, except awfully fat. Of course you know she’s having yet another baby.’

‘Of course I do. It must be due any day now.’

‘She’s supposed to be having it some time this month. It takes a hell of a long time, doesn’t it? Well, at least there’d be plenty of room for it in that house.’

At which point their nippy arrived to clear the table and present them with the bill.

‘Thanks awfully for the meal. It was wizard.’

Simon nodded abstractedly. He was trying to work out the tip. In the end, he put down five shillings, and she thanked him. He hoped she was pleased, but he couldn’t tell. He left Wills waiting for a bus. ‘Let me know when you’re off,’ he said, and Wills said he would.

Simon crossed the road to reach his own bus stop, then changed his mind, deciding to walk to Maida Vale. He was not looking forward to Neville’s depressing flat, which would either be full of dirty cups and glasses he was expected to wash up, or full of people he did not know. They would be whooping it up with records of the latest rock-and-roll bands played on Neville’s awful gramophone so loudly that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. It would probably be full of both, he thought. His talk with Wills had been disturbing. What the hell was he doing with his own life? This made him realise – with some discomfort – that he always thought about the things he didn’t like without any consideration of alternatives. What did he really want? The answer came with the smooth ease of a ticket from a slot machine. He wanted to live with Polly, be her gardener – or learn to be – and, meanwhile, help with her plans for weddings at the house. He remembered that he had wanted that when he’d been staying with them but done nothing about it. He would write to Polly, to ask if he could stay for a weekend, and talk to them then. And he was amazed at how cheerful this made him feel.

RACHEL AND SID

It was their first proper row, and she felt really awful. True, they had had little spats, but nothing like this. All the way back from Hawkhurst to Home Place, Rachel had refused to speak – had retired into some icy calm of what felt like total indifference, a couldn’t-care-less attitude – which had never happened between them before.

It had all started with Edward and Diana asking them to dinner. She, Sid, had not at all wanted to go: this was partly because she was afraid of Diana, but quite as much because she really did not feel at all well. For months now she had been having what she called tummy troubles, which meant her digestion was tricky, and she always felt rotten if she ate anything rich. And she guessed (rightly) that the dinner would be just that. But Rachel was hell-bent on trying to reconcile her brothers, and was convinced that meeting Diana was the first step. She had insisted, had even offered angrily to take a taxi if Sid didn’t want to do the driving, but of course she couldn’t accept that. ‘A ruinous expense,’ she had declared, and she wouldn’t hear of it. So they had gone, Rachel armed with a bunch of violets from the Duchy’s garden. They had both taken trouble with their clothes, Rachel wearing her best blue linen suit, and Sid in the trouser suit with a silk shirt Rachel had given her for her last birthday.

Park House was not easy to find, and they lost their way – had to stop and ask a farmer, whose tractor was towing a cart loaded with bales of hay. Eventually they found the narrow turning that led up the drive to the house.

‘It looks very imposing,’ she had said, but Rachel had replied, ‘Oh, Ed has always liked large houses.’

They were greeted in the hall with varying degrees of enthusiasm by Edward, Diana and a yellow Labrador.

‘It’s so lovely to see you, darling – down, Honey, DOWN! This is Diana.’

‘And this is Sid,’ Rachel said.

‘Lovely to see you, Sid.’ She found herself briefly enveloped in lavender water and then the Lebanon cedar that scented all of Edward’s clothes as he propelled them to the drawing room.

It was close-carpeted in a brilliant yellow, and had one window that looked onto the drive, and two that looked onto a garden, which had lawn, a cedar, and was bounded by three walls edged with wide beds of herbaceous plants.

While she was taking all this in, and Edward was opening a bottle of champagne, she heard the following exchange.

Rachel: ‘I’ve brought a little bunch of my mother’s violets. They’re the old-fashioned kind, because she always thought they smelt the best.’

Diana: ‘How sweet of you. It’s such a pity that they don’t really last when they’ve been picked, isn’t it?’

Sid turned from the window to see Diana put the flowers on the nearest table. She wore a crêpe dress of emphatic purple with a row of black sequins round the low-cut neck. I’m never going to like her, Sid thought then.

Edward had poured the champagne into four glasses and was now handing it round. ‘Here’s to all of us.’ He lifted his glass, and they all drank – in Rachel’s case, sipped. She drank very little, but her family had always taken wine seriously and, naturally, she did not want to hurt Edward’s feelings. Sid took an unthinking gulp; she used to love champagne, but the last two or three times it had given her violent indigestion. Oh, well, I won’t have to drink any more because I’m driving, she thought. This excuse cheered her, and she wondered how much longer Diana would continue to avoid speaking to her.

By the time the champagne was finished, it was time to go into dinner. The dining room was dark red – damask paper made to look like rich material, crimson velvet curtains of a darker colour, and three pairs of sconces that produced a subdued electric light. The table was round, made of rosewood, and laid for what looked like an elaborate dinner. She had time to notice all this because Diana was arranging ‘the placement’, as she put it.

‘Oh, come on, darling! It’s quite simple. You sit in your usual place with me opposite and the girls between us. This is a family dinner – the Lord Mayor unfortunately couldn’t make it.’

So they all sat as told.

‘I think you forget, darling, that I don’t know your family. Of course I’ve heard a lot about you – may I call you Rachel? – but I hardly know your name. Miss Sidney, isn’t it? Like the Australian town. Do you by any chance come from there?’

‘I don’t. I’m strictly European. Jewish, actually.’

At this moment the soufflé arrived.

‘I think I’d better serve it, Amy. You bring the plates quickly, and make sure they’re hot. It’s crab,’ she explained.

While Sid was thinking wildly of how she could get out of eating any, Rachel was asking to be given very little, as she could not eat much. ‘And I can see that there is more to come.’

‘I’m rather like Rachel in that respect,’ she said.

But Diana simply behaved as though neither of them had spoken, doling out mountainous spoonfuls of an equal size for all of them. Meanwhile, Edward was pouring a white wine into their glasses, telling them it was a special sauvignon in their honour. ‘It’s especially good with crab!’ She had to eat some of the soufflé, and found that washing it down with wine was a help.

The conversation was clinging rather limply to the problems of the Suez Canal. Edward said that he could not imagine Nasser would accept an international body administering the canal. He must be stopped – indeed should have been opposed with force from the moment he seized it. Rachel deplored the way in which politicians regarded force as the best way of dealing with anything. Diana said that she entirely agreed with Edward, but it was a comfort that we had the French on our side.

Rachel had managed to move most of her crab onto Edward’s plate and was now having a conversation with him, conducted so quietly that Sid could not hear it.

Diana rang a little hand-bell for the plates to be changed. She looked pointedly at Sid’s, but said nothing. Indeed, Sid thought, they clearly had very little to say to one another, but she knew that Rachel needed to talk to Edward about Hugh, so she must somehow distract Diana. The new house might be the most promising subject.

‘It is a beautiful house. Did it take you a long time to find it?’

‘Ages. Edward, darling, how long did it take us to find Park House?’

‘Darling, I’ve no idea. Diana did all the work – she looked at dozens of places and sorted out three for me to view.’

‘It had to be within commuting distance of London because Edward seems to have more and more work these days, since they sent Teddy to Southampton. The poor old boy comes home exhausted, and we both look forward to Friday night.’

The next course arrived. A venison stew, Diana explained, done in wine and brandy. Edward got up to collect a bottle of burgundy from the sideboard.

The casserole stood steaming in front of Diana; the smell made Sid feel queasy, and her back was starting to ache. She asked for a very small helping, and this time she put her hand on Diana’s arm to emphasise her request. ‘Rachel and I are used to a very light supper at home – an omelette or a bowl of soup.’

‘Oh, Edward! Why didn’t you tell me? You said you wanted an especially nice dinner for Rachel so, of course, I planned a bit of a feast. Pointless, as it turns out. You might have warned me!’

Rachel, who looked really distressed, said, ‘Oh, Diana, don’t take any notice of Sid. She’s always worrying about food – particularly where I’m concerned. The venison smells simply delicious – I’m longing to try it.’

This mollified Diana somewhat, and she ladled a large amount onto a plate and handed it over the table to her sister-in-law. The maid had brought in two vegetable dishes that turned out to contain new potatoes and peas. ‘Do help yourself,’ she said.

Edward, who had finished pouring the burgundy, turned to Rachel. ‘This was the Brig’s favourite burgundy. It was left to me, and this is the last bottle.’

‘Oh, darling Edward, how very sweet of you.’

When it came to serving Sid, Diana, underlining every movement, as it were, picked half a carrot and two very small cubes of meat. She then poured from the jug so much sauce that nothing on the plate could be seen and handed the plate to her. ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said to Edward, in a threateningly quiet voice.

‘Of course I am.’ He was angry: things didn’t seem to be going at all as he had expected, and he couldn’t understand why.

Rachel made a desperate effort. Having taken a cautious sip of the wine, she said how good it was, stared at her plate, then resolutely began to eat. She shot a glance at Sid, which clearly meant ‘do the same’, but the fumes rising from the sauce were making Sid afraid that she might actually be sick, and after the terrible débâcle at Home Place, this paralysed her with terror. Here she did not even know where the nearest lavatory was . . . So, in the end, she simply did not eat.

From that moment Diana ignored her.

‘What are you two talking about?’ she called across the table.

‘Oh – just family matters,’ Edward answered.

‘Well, I suppose I’m family now, so could I please join in?’

‘Well, it’s a bit complicated,’ Rachel said. ‘I was hoping to get Edward to have lunch with me and Hugh.’ She was blushing. ‘To sort something out. It’s more to do with the firm than the family, really.’

She had stopped eating her venison, but had almost finished her wine.

Sid said, ‘Anything to do with the firm is to do with the family.’

Edward, refilling her glass, said, ‘It’s no good, Rachel, old dear. Hugh’s not going to change his mind, and he is the chairman, after all.’

There was a brief silence during which they all disliked one another. Then everything seemed to happen at once. Diana announced the pudding, which was to be a crème brûlée, Rachel wiped her tears with her napkin and seized Edward’s hand, and Sid, draining her glass (for courage), said, ‘It’s getting late. I really think we should be going home.’ Then, turning to Diana, she said, ‘You shouldn’t try to bully people about food. Leave it to them. Would someone please show me to a lavatory?’

‘Show her, Edward. We don’t want her throwing up on our new carpet.’

He took her and she was able to be sick in peace. Then, rather shaky, but relieved, she returned to find Edward in the hall, helping Rachel into her coat. She put on her own, and felt for the keys.

‘Darling Ed, I’m so sorry we’ve been such a nuisance about food – and everything. I didn’t mean to worry you about Hugh – and since Sid hasn’t apologised about being so rude to Diana, after she had taken so much trouble, please tell Diana, please tell her now from me. And remember that you do love your brother, and everyone has disagreements from time to time.’

‘It would help if he would be civil to my wife.’

‘Of course it would, and I shall tell him.’ She laid a caressing hand on his shoulder and kissed him goodbye. ‘Come on, Sid.’