Fragile Blossoms (23 page)

‘His Highness is a gentleman, if that’s what you mean.’

‘A gentleman? Does that mean he treats you as you should be treated and doesn’t take advantage of his position?’

‘I thought you said you didn’t dip your oar in choppy waters?’

‘Is the water choppy then, Anna?’

‘It is certainly deeper and more dangerous than I ever imagined but I believe I am learning to paddle my own canoe with a certain amount of dexterity. Talking of deep waters I saw Luke yesterday back from Italy.’

The moment it was said it was regretted the smile gone from Nan’s face. In drawing attention away from her secrets she highlighted another’s.

‘Oh don’t talk to me of Luke! I can’t bear to think on him. That woman! If I’d have known what her coming to Bakers would lead to I’d have barred the door.’ Useless trying to divert the course, Nan’s hatred of ‘that woman’ flooded out. ‘Not enough he follows her to London she tries comin’ here. I won’t have it. She calls wantin’ rooms for her and her limp-wristed brother and I say we’re full. Most times we are but if we were empty I’d not let her in.’

‘Why does Lady Carrington want to come do you suppose?’

‘Probably to tighten her grasp on my deluded son and to tell him how happy he’d be if he were to leave this miserable backwater for London.’

‘You were listening in on the call!’

‘I was and not ashamed to do it! I wouldn’t mind if he was happy.’

‘Is he unhappy?’

‘I don’t know what he is! He’s handsome in cutaway coats and blossomy buttonholes and all that but as miserable as sin.’ Nan sniffed. ‘It’s my fault. I should have let him have the woman he wanted. I should’ve let him have you.’

‘
I should have let him have you
?’ Julia pondered the remark. Damned cheek! Who are these people that think they order one’s life? She likes Nan and is glad of her support but could manage without her. Not so long ago a door was slammed in Matty’s face and Julia regarded the Whore of Babylon. Evie having ruffled Nan’s feathers Julia is considered the lesser of two evils.

Well, thank you, Nan Roberts, but as I said I paddle my own canoe. It’s true the water is choppy and I make mistakes but they are my own mistakes. As for Luke he too is his own man and must make his own choices.

With the popularity of the Nanny Tea Shop, the bustling life and the dashing in and out of carriages there have been rare glimpses of the man. His mother says he’s changed. Lithe electric body, brooding eyes and mass of dark hair, Julia believes the essential man the same.

Last week at the theatre watching Mrs Patrick Campbell in
The Second Mrs Tanqueray
they were in opposite boxes, Luke handsome in a midnight blue tail-coat, his waistcoat embroidered in a similar blue, Evie’s brilliant hand and eye at work. For a while there was sniggering and the quirking of eyebrows, Luke more than once likened to one of the new motoring cars, ‘
latest model, plenty poke under the bonnet but in need of polish.
’ Time has moved on and with much else to occupy gossip public interest in that particular private affair waned. It’s likely the sniggering continues but behind closed doors as in Julia’s case with her friendship with Bertie.

Nan asks what kind of a man is the Prince of Wales. Julia sees him as a series of men the medals and insignia on his chest a row of buttons that if gently pressed allowing a good man to appear and individual acts of real kindness. If however the buttons are mishandled, and protocol and good manners so meaningful to him not observed, then a bully appears, witness Marlborough House last year between Acts of The Mikado, the Doyle Carte playing before a selected audience. ‘Why deny me your company, Ju-ju?’ he’d said, his hand grasping her elbow. ‘Am I not worthy of attention?’

‘You are, Sir.’

‘And what of love? Am I not worthy of that?’

‘Every man is worthy of love.’

‘And in this am I to be as every man?’

‘In the right to love and be loved surely we are all as one.’

Her answer didn’t suit. ‘Mrs Dryden?’ He’d frowned. ‘Is it possible you seek to recreate history while looking toward the future?’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Then allow me to elaborate. I suspect you, dear Ju-ju, of playing politics, of withholding treasure in anticipation of gaining greater treasure.’

‘In what way am I doing that?’

‘In the way of certain intransigent woman who centuries ago would persist in withholding duty toward an illustrious forbear of mine, an
infamous
forbear, I might add, known for the swift dispatching of errant wives.’

‘With respect, Sir, if you speak of English History then your description offers ample choice, however, if the lady you refer to is the unfortunate Anne Boleyn let me assure you emulating her fate was never an ambition of mine.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He’d leaned close his breath smoky. ‘As you say every man is worthy of love. Kings too are worthy and must not be coerced into offering of a reward for that which should be freely given.’

Furious, Julia kept her distance and for weeks afterward cited illness or prior engagement to invitations. ‘No,’ she thought. ‘This is the twentieth century. I’ll not be bullied.’ The prince regretted the incident. He said he had toothache at the time and his comment was an ill-judged attempt at humour. She was not to be so easily appeased and continued to stay away until Hugh Fitzwilliam arrived one day at the cottage bearing the rubies she will wear tonight.

‘A pretty little coronet goes with that, Ju-ju,’ Bertie suggested some weeks later. ‘I would’ve sent it but thought the gesture excessive.’

Julia thought it all excessive and said so the day the necklace was offered. ‘I can’t accept this,’ she told Sir Hugh. ‘He insulted me and I’ll not wear it.’ Hugh had laughed. ‘Then wear the rubies instead. You can’t give ‘em back. That would be tantamount to treason. My advice, Anna, is to see beyond the outer crust to the soft underbelly of the man. That way you will both benefit.’

That day all was said with a smile but Julia knew him in earnest and in accepting the rubies tried looking beyond the crust. Last April an attempt was made on Bertie’s life, he and Princess Alexandra shot at aboard a train to Brussels. Then the death of his brother Alfred scored another wound. Bertie was heartbroken. ‘Affie got a chance to prove his worth and will be remembered as a man who did something. I shall be remembered as the prince who did nothing.’

The day he said that, sun turning the velvet curtains ruby-red, and he aging and bewildered, it was easy to comfort, to take his face between her hands and kiss his sorrow away. That the kiss should lead to closer intimacy was not the intention. Bertie didn’t press her. To say they are close friends would not be true, others have a greater claim, yet they trust one another. He writes letters to ‘My Dearest Ju-ju,’ nothing indiscreet, more the chronicles of a complex man. They don’t always agree. Julie accepts most invitations but won’t attend shooting parties. Her refusal to attend the last Glorious Twelfth brought a public dressing down, ‘
if the patronage of the Prince of Wales is of so little consequence we suggest, Madam, you return poste haste to your tea-room
.’ The intermediary this time was the long-suffering Hugh and the treasure the ‘pretty little coronet.’

Alice Keppel says Julia needs to manage herself better. ‘You’re here but look as if you’d sooner be elsewhere.’

‘But I don’t really know why I am here,’ Julia replied.

Mrs Keppel smiled. ‘You do know. You’re here to be beautiful and to entertain and be entertained. If you accept that and are pleased you’ll see the situation for what it is a chance to make a man happy.’

*

Julia sat with Maggie and Dottie wrapping early Christmas presents for patients at Bradbury, linen handkerchiefs for the men and lace for the ladies.

‘A bit early for Christmas ain’t it, madam,’ said Maggie.

‘It is but I’m not sure when I shall be in Cambridge again and am thinking ahead.’

‘They are mad, ain’t they, the people where you go, and this is nice lace.’

‘You would sooner they were given nasty lace?’

‘Would they know the difference?’

‘I would know so make haste and wrap them as prettily as possible.’ Julia added a sweetener. ‘There may well be some left over after wrapping and they’ll need a pocket in which to sit.’ Bait taken wrapping is resumed.

It’s been a busy week for the Tea-Room bookings being taken for the New Year. It was Matty brought the name about. The N an N clumsy on his tongue it became the Nanny and staff and customers taking it up.

The success of the Tea Shop is surreal. Julia often thinks to pinch herself. This last year has seen locals as well as strangers sitting down to tea, the people of this ‘miserable backwater’ crossing a Rubicon. Evie used to call Bakers a backwater when trying to inveigle Julia to London. Now it’s Luke’s turn. News of him hums through the wires, his reputation in the restoration of property taking him and a substantial work-force all over the country. He still keeps the house on Fairy Common. Last week knowing him away Julia took a peep. That same night she dreamt an angel took her on a tour of the house. Gleaming space and light, a blaze of colour with ornate tapestries hanging on every wall, she marvelled. ‘It’s so big, the rooms go on forever. And this light is so bright! What am I seeing?’ The angel had smiled. ‘You’re seeing beyond the outer crust.’

Ten am the door bell rang, August Simpkin and his wife. The Tea-Room being fully booked this Christmas Abigail asked if they might book next Christmas for the Good Wives annual luncheon, and might they also reserve the whole of 16th February 1902 for their daughter’s wedding breakfast. ‘It’s the very thing in London,’ said Abigail, ‘guests waited upon in a fashionable emporium. We’d like to do the same for our Laura and what could be more fashionable than your tea-room, Dear Mrs Dryden.’

Julia wanted to turn Abigail down but liked Gussy and so accepted the booking and offered a wedding cake as a gift to the bride. Abigail told her friends. By mid afternoon a trend had developed bookings taken for similar occasions. Julia rang Cambridge. ‘I do hope you can make wedding cakes, Maud. I’ve committed you to more than a few.’

Mrs Mac laughed. ‘As a partner in our ‘fashionable emporium’ I’m happy do good business and only wish my mother were here to see it.’

‘Yes and my husband.’

There is a soiree this evening in Suffolk at Long Melford Hall. Daniel in the South of France with Callie Hugh is to be Julia’s escort. Hugh Beresford Fitzwilliam is elegant and droll and not above poking fun at himself. A self confessed homosexual he offers to be her escort because he might get a glimpse of the ‘delicious Daniel.’

Nan asked if the relationship between Julia and Daniel was serious. Julia said she’s happy when she is with him and when not wishes him there.

‘If you feel like that,’ said Nan, ‘you should accept him.’

‘He hasn’t asked.’

‘That’s because he’s unsure of your feelings. You’re a cool sort of person, Anna. You don’t give anything away.’

‘What would you have me give away?’

‘Your heart! You should speak to the man.’

‘And say what?’

‘Well nothin’ if you’ve to struggle for it! When a woman is in love the words should shoot out of her mouth like fireworks. She shouldn’t have to think about it. Weren’t you that way with your husband?’

Since Egypt Julia is unable to give a clear answer to any question about Owen. ‘I suppose you’d call ours a quiet love.’

‘Would I?’ said Nan. ‘Well it takes all sorts to make a world. I dare say if you’re right for Mr Masson and him for you the words will come sooner or later.’

The carriage pulled into the yard. Hugh climbed out and gazed toward Greenfields. ‘All the lights are out.’

‘The Greville Massons are away.’

‘Dash it, how disappointing! I was hoping for a glimpse of the man but yet again I am on the outside looking in.’ He turned to Julia. ‘And here’s another alone and virginal-looking. I love the gown! Love the furs too but not the rubies. In the wrong light you look like your throat’s been cut.’

Dorothy Manners, who lives in now as Julia’s personal maid, was waiting at the door. ‘Hello, Dottie,’ said Hugh. ‘You’re looking bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Is it safe to leave you alone or have you some young chap hiding behind the wall ready and waiting with a bunch of mistletoe?’

Dorothy blushed. ‘Ooh no sir.’

‘What no one? Dearie me what is the world coming to?’

Julia stepped into the carriage. Hugh bundled her train in behind and rapped on the roof. ‘Drive on, my good man, but take your time. We’re mixing with riffraff this evening, no one there worthy of gaining more chilblains.’

The carriage pulled out the drive, a row of faces at the window, Matty smiling and blowing kisses to Hugh. ‘That’s a gorgeous little lad, Julianna.’

‘I know. I do adore him.’

‘And do you adore your Colonial neighbour?’

‘I like Daniel.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘I was earlier asking myself that question and couldn’t help thinking adoration should be a more immediate thing.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve adored many a chap but was never adored in return.’

‘Has there never been that one special person?’

‘My dear, there have been hundreds of special people but they never got beyond a fumble. They
can’t
get beyond a fumble, not if I want to keep my job, my home and my prize marrows. It’s an odd world. A man can be all kinds of swine, he can beat his children, lie and steal, but mustn’t love another man.’

‘Dear Hugh.’

‘I’m alright, Anna, truly I am. I manage my little tied-cottage with my cats and my dowager’s hump. I keep my garden and I go to Matins on Sunday and confess my non-existent sins. I take a warm brick to bed and tell myself I’m too old to care. What about you and Daniel?’

‘We are friends.’

‘Lord, how awful!’

‘Why is it awful? Can’t a woman be friends with a man?’

‘Of course she can! I have masses of women friends, and that according to the Marquis of Queensbury is because I am a sinful sodomite and harmless to women. Talking of sodomites, as we are at this moment, how come you, a vicar’s daughter, is so
laissez-faire
about me and my delights?’