All Change: Cazalet Chronicles (52 page)

The news was followed by a concert of Mahler and Shostakovich; she did not care much for either of them, but it was better than silence.

PART TEN

NOVEMBER–DECEMBER 1958

EDWARD

On Monday morning the news about Cazalets’ was out.

‘I’ve asked for them to come to my office at eleven o’clock,’ Hugh said to Edward. ‘I was hoping you’d do the wharf in the afternoon. You’re much better with the men than I am. Remember that strike you stopped when you went and talked to them? The powers that be have given us five weeks from now and I have negotiated three months’ salary for senior staff. In the case of the staff at the wharf, I think you could tell them that there is a fair chance of some of them at least being taken on by whoever buys that set-up.’ There was a pause, and then he said, ‘I had young Teddy in here at nine o’clock. He seemed to know that things were on the blink and was angry that he had not been told. I’ve sent him off to Southampton with a note for McIver. I’ve told our accountant to come for this meeting in case there are questions about finance that we can’t answer.’

‘Right.’

The poor old boy looked dreadful – as though he’d been up all night. Which was almost true. His weekend with Diana had been a nightmare. It had taken until Saturday for her to understand that he had no money in the bank, and had only his salary – which he was also about to lose – to live on. In the end he had taken her by the shoulders and literally shaken her, yelling, ‘I’ve got no money left! None!’ The penny had finally dropped then. She had shrugged his hands off her shoulders – not difficult since he at once felt ashamed of assaulting her – and said coldly, ‘Well, you’ll have to get another job, won’t you? And pretty damn quick.’

‘Of course I’ve got to. But it won’t be so easy at my age. I’m afraid we’re going to have to sell this house and find somewhere more modest.’

‘You seem to forget that this is my house, and I have no intention of selling it.’

A bombshell. Something awful that he had never expected, and the implication chilled him to the bone. ‘Diana! You can’t mean that. We’re a partnership – married! If you refuse to sell this house, I shall become bankrupt.’

There was a silence. She had walked away from him to the French windows that looked onto the garden. Then, in a much softer, despairing voice, she said, ‘I simply cannot understand how you have got into this awful mess so suddenly. It frightens me. It feels as though nothing is safe any more.’

He wanted to say, ‘We have each other,’ but the words died in his throat. That did not feel safe any more. Nevertheless, it was up to him. ‘Darling,’ he said carefully, ‘I know this is an awful time for you. I know how much you love this house. I am determined to get another job. But I have debts to pay off – an overdraft at the bank, which is entirely my fault. I don’t see how I can do that and pay for the upkeep of your house. I have wanted to give you everything, you see, and I’ve overreached myself.’

And, at that moment, the telephone rang, and Diana answered it.

‘For you,’ she said. ‘A woman for you.’ Her voice was dangerously calm.

‘It’s Rachel,’ he said to Diana, who indicated that she knew. She helped herself to a cigarette and settled down to listen to the telephone conversation. This, he could sense at once, was going to be deeply embarrassing. Rachel always talked louder on the telephone than she did at any other time; she dropped her gentle drawl and became quite military.

‘It’s about Christmas! This house belongs to the firm, so I shall have to leave it in the New Year. So we’ve decided to have one last family Christmas, and I was wondering whether you and Diana would like to join us.’ He glanced at Diana: it was clear that she had heard every word.

‘That’s extraordinarily sweet of you, darling. Could I think about it and let you know?’

‘Well, yes, but could you not be too long about it? I have another idea I should like to put to you.’

‘Of course. I’ll ring you tomorrow morning.’ The moment he had rung off, he realised that he had said nothing sympathetic about her having to leave Home Place. It must be horrible for her, and the least they could do would be to rally round.

‘Poor Rachel,’ he said. ‘She’s having to give up Home Place, which really has been her home for most of her life. So, you see, we’re not the only ones.’

‘But she has another house in London, doesn’t she? The one that her little lesbian friend left her.’

‘Yes, she has. But Hugh says she doesn’t want to live in it.’

‘Well, there you are. We are the only ones.’

‘Oh, come on, Diana. I’ll make us a Sunday special – it’s nearly lunchtime so I’m calling a truce.’

‘Oh, all right.’ She rang the bell, and a flustered Mrs Atkinson answered it, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Mr Cazalet would like the juice of two oranges squeezed and some ice. Oh, and two cocktail glasses.’

But when he’d made the drink, he found that he didn’t want it. He felt vaguely rotten, with a distant pain that he couldn’t locate.

Lunch was worse. It was roast guinea fowl with Calvados, a purée of Jerusalem artichokes and creamed spinach. He tried a mouthful and gave up.

‘What’s the matter, darling?’

‘Don’t know. I just feel rotten. I’ll take a couple of Alka Seltzers and lie down for a bit.’

‘Want me to come?’

‘No, no. You have your nice lunch. I’ll have a kip.’

Diana explained that Mr Cazalet was not feeling well, and Mrs Atkinson rushed upstairs with a hot-water bottle and woke him up giving it to him. But he did sleep heavily until about six in the evening when Diana brought him a cup of tea and a ginger biscuit. ‘Poor old boy,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought you a ginger biscuit because you liked them last time you had a tummy upset.’ She was behaving as though there had never been a quarrel of any kind and he was grateful. He fell asleep again, and woke at two in the morning to find a cup of cold consommé by his bed and a note from her: ‘Sleeping next door. Didn’t want to wake you. Alarm set for seven. Love D.’ His pain was gone, thank God, and he settled himself for more sleep. But sleep evaded him, and he began at once to worry. He started to tot up the possessions he could sell that would bring in a fair amount of cash. The Brig’s guns, his Asprey watch, his gold and sapphire cufflinks, the Bentley, and finally his Gagliano violin. If he could find the right place to sell them, there should be enough money to tide him over. He began to think about what on earth he could do when he stopped being a timber merchant. His strong points, he thought weakly, were getting on well with practically anybody, and selling – he was certainly good at that.

The meeting in Hugh’s office had been exactly as awful as they had expected. The office boy had been deputed to get the requisite number of chairs, but he hadn’t and several of the men had had to stand. Edward had sat beside Hugh behind his desk. They had all filed into the room on time and sat or stood with resolutely expressionless faces.

‘I’m afraid I have very bad news,’ Hugh began. He went on to say that it was with great sorrow he had to tell them that Cazalets’ was forced to go into receivership, which meant that six weeks from today everyone would be out of a job. He explained briefly why this was so. The bank would not honour any further loans and was calling in the money already loaned. Everybody would get one extra month’s salary when the six weeks were up, and those who had been with the firm for more than ten years would get three months’. He could not begin to describe how he and his brothers had tried to avert this disaster, but they had failed. Here his voice nearly broke, and Edward saw that two of the secretaries were in tears. Hugh finished by saying what a wonderful team they had been, and that everyone could be sure of getting an excellent reference. Now, they might have questions and he would do his best to answer them.

There was an uneasy silence. Then Crowther, from Accounts, asked whether Cazalets’ would be bought by another timber firm. Hugh replied that he had no knowledge of this, but that of course it was possible. Miss Corley, the senior secretary, rose to her feet to say that she spoke for everyone in the room when she said what a pleasure it had been working for Mr Hugh, Mr Edward and Mr Rupert. There was a wave of weak clapping – not from all – and Rupert observed that his new secretary, Doris, did not join in. He had spent most of the meeting looking out of the window at the motionless plane trees, and wondering if he could paint the vista: the elegance of the bare branches against the weary grey sky . . . a sombre picture.

People were shaking hands with his brothers, then turning to him. He wondered whether he was the only person in the room who felt a certain relief that all this was coming to an end. Life would be tougher from now on, but exciting. Archie and Clary were putting their flat on the rental market immediately, and planning to move in before Christmas.

For Christmas they were all going down to Home Place – the last Christmas there. Poor Rach! But she did have Sid’s house in London. Unable to face a gloomy lunch with his brothers, he decided to give Archie a ring to see when he could meet him at the studio flat to make a list of what he and Clary needed to take to Mortlake.

‘If I’m doing the wharf today, I’ll just grab a sandwich.’ He looked at Hugh, who had been rubbing the side of his head with his good hand – a sure sign that it was aching badly. ‘Why don’t you pack it in for the day, old boy?’

‘Out of the question. I have a great many letters to write, and I’ll have to go down to Southampton tomorrow. I feel pretty bad about McIver and must see him.’

Alone, Hugh took a couple of painkillers, washed down with an old, rather dusty glass of water, and lay back in his chair to give them a chance to work. He still felt awful. As though he had been put in charge of a whole small world and let down every single person in it. Fragments of this anxiety kept coming to the fore, confronting him with his hopeless inadequacy. It was true that, unlike Edward, he had been careful with his finances, had taken out the right insurances and always saved. But Rachel! He did not have enough money to give her a steady allowance. For one wild moment he had thought of buying Home Place, his family living there with her. But even if he did that, there would not be enough money to keep it up. The new roof had taken every penny in the pot contributed to by himself, Rachel and Rupert. He was sixty-two and, apart from serving in the Army during the First World War, he only had experience in timber. It just might get him a job of a humbler sort in another timber firm, but at the moment he had neither the heart nor the will to continue speculating.

After a while, when his headache had temporarily subsided, he got out his cheque book and wrote a cheque to Rachel for fifty pounds towards Christmas at Home Place.

Then he put in a call to Polly, and told her the bad news. He asked – almost begged – her to join the family at Christmas. She said she would have to discuss it with Gerald, but she thought it would be all right. ‘And Simon, of course,’ he said.

‘Of course. One thing. I might have to bring Nan because she can’t stay here on her own. She’ll help with the children – she loves that. Poor Dad! What an awful time you must be having. I’m coming! Got to go, Dad. I’ll ring you this evening.’

Cheered by this, he rang for Miss Corley, who arrived with a plate of egg sandwiches and a pot of coffee. ‘I realised you didn’t go out to lunch. I cancelled your appointment with Colonel Marsh and made a list of the people you’re most likely to want to write to.’ Her pale grey watery eyes were rimmed with red, but she was all set to be businesslike now.

He thanked her for the sandwiches and began to eat them while he looked at the list. ‘We can send the same letter to a good many of these.’

‘Perhaps you’d rather have your luncheon in peace.’

‘No, thank you, Miss Corley. I’d rather get on with it.’

He realised, almost at once, that he felt better with something to do. He started by dictating the more general letter, and ticked the names that were to receive it. The more personal ones would be more difficult. The
Timber Trades Journal
rang to speak to Mr Cazalet, and the telephonist put them through. They had, of course, heard the sad news about Cazalets’ and wondered whether Mr Cazalet would like to make a statement.

Hugh, who hated this sort of thing, said that naturally everyone connected with the firm was most concerned, and that when the business was sold, he very much hoped that many of his excellent staff would be re-employed. He had no further comment.

He put back the receiver to realise that tears were coursing down Miss Corley’s peach-powdered cheeks.

‘Oh, Mr Hugh! Twenty-one years I’ve worked for you. I could never work for anyone else now! Never ever! I feel as though my life is coming to an end.’ Here she began sniffing and blowing her nose. ‘I’m ever so sorry – I had a good cry in the ladies’, but there was a queue so I couldn’t stay. I’m ever so sorry, please disregard me – twenty-one years and I hope I’ve always given satisfaction?’

‘Always, Miss Corley. I couldn’t have had a better secretary and helpmeet. I shall give you a reference that makes all that clear.’