September (1990) (65 page)

Finally, it was all over, except for a few troublesome sobs. Mr. Ishak brought him a mug of hot chocolate, very sweet and brown and bubbly, and Mrs. Ishak made him a sandwich with jam in the middle.

"Tell me," said Mrs. Ishak, when Henry was feeling much stronger and more composed, "because you still have not answered my first question. Why are you here and not at school?"

Henry, with his fingers locked around the hot mug, gazed into her dark and liquid eyes.

"I didn't like it," he told her. "I ran away. I've come home."

The clock on the mantelpiece stood at twenty to nine as Edmund walked into the drawing-room at Croy. He had expected to find it filled with people, but instead discovered Archie and an unknown man, who by the simple process of elimination, he assumed to be the Sad American, Conrad Tucker, and the root cause of Edmund's immediate disagreement with Virginia.

Both men were resplendent in their evening gear, Archie looking better than Edmund had seen him look in years. They sat by the fire, companionably, glasses in their hands. Conrad Tucker occupied an armchair, and Archie perched, with his back to the fire, on the club fender. As the door opened, they stopped talking, looked up, saw Edmund, and got to their feet.

"Edmund."

"We're late, I'm sorry. We've had dramas."

"As you can see, not late at all. Nobody else, yet, has appeared. Where's Virginia?"

"Gone upstairs to shed her coat. And Alexa and Noel will be here in a moment. At the last minute Alexa decided to wash her hair, and she was still drying it when we left. God knows why she didn't think of doing it before."-

"They never do," said Archie bleakly, speaking from years of experience. "Edmund, you've not met Conrad Tucker."

"No, I don't think I have. How do you do."

They shook hands. The American was as tall as Edmund, and heftily built. His eyes, behind the heavy horn-rims, met Edmund's in a steady gaze, and Edmund found himself torn by an uncharacteristic uncertainty.

For, deep within him, concealed by a civilized veneer of good manners, burnt a smouldering rage and resentment against this man, this American, who appeared to have taken over while Edmund's back was turned, rekindled Virginia's remembered youth, and was now calmly planning to fly back to the States with her
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Edmund's wife-in tow. Smiling politely into Conrad Tucker's open face, Edmund toyed with the lovely idea of balling his fist and smashing it into that craggy and sun-tanned nose. Imagining the consequent mayhem, the blood and the bruising, filled him with shameful relish.

And yet, on the other hand he knew that, under different circumstances, this was the sort of person that it would be perfectly possible to like instantly.

Conrad Tucker's friendly expression mirrored Edmund's own. "How very nice to meet you." Damn his eyes.

Archie was headed for the tray of bottles.

"Edmund. A small whisky?"

"Thank you. I could do with one."

His host reached for The Famous Grouse. "When did you get back from New York?"

"About five-thirty."

Conrad asked, "Did you have a good trip?"

"More or less. A bit of trouble-shooting, a few well
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chosen words. I believe you're an old friend of my wife's?"

If he had hoped to throw the other man off-balance, he did not succeed. Conrad Tucker gave nothing away, showed no discomfiture.

"That's right. We were dancing partners in our long
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ago and misspent youth."

"She tells me you're travelling back to the States together."

Still no reaction. If the American guessed that he was being needled, he betrayed no sign. "She got a seat on that plane?" was all that he said.

"Apparently so."

"I hadn't heard. But that'll be great. It's a long trip on your own. I'll be going to the city straight from Kennedy, but I can see her through immigration and baggage claim, and then be certain that she has transportation to Leesport."

"That's more than kind of you."

Archie handed Edmund his drink. "Conrad, I didn't know you'd planned all this. I didn't even know Virginia was thinking of going to the States. ..."

"She's going to visit her grandparents."

"And when are you off?"

"I'm staying here until Sunday, if that's all right by you, and then flying out of Heathrow on Thursday. I need a day or two in London to see to some business."

"How long have you been in this country?" Edmund asked him.

"A couple of months."

"I hope you've enjoyed your visit."

"Thank you. I've had a fine time."

"I'm glad." Edmund raised his glass. "Cheers."

At this point they were interrupted by the appearance of Jeff Howland who, having finally solved the problem of the bow-tie, had completed his dressing and come downstairs. He obviously felt ill at ease and self
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conscious in his unaccustomed gear, and his face wore a faintly abashed expression as he walked into the room, but indeed he looked more than presentable in the outfit that he and Lucilla had gleaned from Edmund's wardrobe. Edmund was amused to see that Jeff had picked out a cream hopsack jacket, purchased in a moment of crisis in Hong Kong. It had proved to be a mistaken buy, for Edmund had worn it only once.

"Jeff."

The young man craned his neck and ran a finger around the restricting collar of the starched evening shirt. He said, "I'm not used to this sort of thing. I feel a real berk."

"You look splendid. Come and have a drink. We're onto the whisky before
. T
he women turn up and demand champagne."

Jeff relaxed a little. He was always happier in purely masculine company. "There wouldn't be a can of Foster's?"

"There most certainly would. On the tray. Help yourself."

Jeff relaxed a bit more, reached for the can, poured the long glass. He said to Edmund, "It was good of you to kit me out. I'm grateful."

"A pleasure. The jacket is perfect. Dressy, but with just the right touch of outback informality."

"That's what Lucilla said."

"She was quite right. And you look a great deal better in it than I did. Wearing it, I resembled an elderly barman ... the useless variety that doesn't even know how to fix a dry Martini."

Jeff smiled, took a heartening swallow, and then looked about him. "Where are all the girls?"

"Good question," said Archie. "God knows." He had settled himself once more on the fender, seeing no reason to stand about for a moment longer than he had to. "Buttoning themselves into their evening gowns, I suppose. Lucilla was searching for underclothes, Pandora decided to go to bed, and Isobel's in a state of panic about her evening shoes." He turned to Edmund. "But you said that you had dramas. What's been happening at Balnaid?"

Edmund told him.

"Our phone's on the blink, which is one thing. We can make calls, but nobody can get through to us. However, it's been reported, and some guy's coming to see to it tomorrow morning. And that's the least of our worries. Edie turned up out of the blue, with her nightie in a bag, and the news that Lottie Carstairs is on the loose again. She walked out of the Relkirk Royal and hasn't been seen since."

Archie shook his head in exasperation. "That bloody woman is more trouble than a bitch in heat. When did this happen?"

"I don't know. Sometime this afternoon, I suppose. The doctor rang Vi to let her know. Then Vi tried to ring me, but couldn't get through. So she called Edie, and proceeded to order her out of her cottage for the night, and come to us. Which is what Edie has done."

"Vi surely doesn't think that lunatic is dangerous?"

"I don't know. Personally, I think she's capable of almost anything, and if Vi hadn't told Edie to come to Balnaid, then I should have done so myself. Anyway, Alexa will leave her bolted in with the dogs for company. But as you can imagine, it's all taken a bit of time."

"No matter." Archie, with domestic problems dealt with, changed the subject to more absorbing and important matters. "We missed you yesterday, Edmund. We had a great day. Thirty-three and a half brace, and the birds flying like the wind. . . ."

Violet was the last to arrive. She knew that she was the last, because as she drew up on the gravel sweep in front of Croy, she saw five other vehicles already parked there. Archie's Land Rover, Isobel's minibus, Edmund's BMW, Pandora's Mercedes, and Noel's Volkswagen. A bit, she decided, like the car-park at a Point-to-Point, and an awful lot of traffic for just two families.

She got out of her car, bundled her long skirts up out of the damp, and made for the front door. As she went up the steps, this was opened, and she saw that Edmund waited for her, standing in the bright light of the hall. With his silver hair, and wearing kilt, doublet, and diced hose, he looked even more distinguished than usual, and despite all her dratted anxieties, Violet found time to experience a dart of motherly pride, and the relief of having him actually around again filled her with gratitude.

"Oh, Edmund."

"I heard your car." He gave her a kiss.

"What a time I've had." She went indoors, he closed the door behind her, and came to help her off with her fur coat. "Your telephone. It's not working. . . ."

"It's all right, Vi. All under control. It's being fixed tomorrow morning. . . ."

He laid the coat on a chair while Vi shook out her ample velvet skirts and readjusted the lace frill at her shoulders. "Thank heavens for that. And my darling Edie? She's at Balnaid?"

"Yes. Safe and sound. You look trachled. Stop worrying now, or you're not going to enjoy yourself."

"It's impossible not to. That wretched Lottie. Just one thing after another. But you're home and safe, and that's all that matters. I am dreadfully late, aren't I?"

"This evening, everybody is. Isobel's only just appeared. Now, come and have a glass of champagne, and then you'll feel much better."

"Is my tiara straight?"

"Perfect." He took her arm and led her into the drawing-room.

"/ think," said Pandora, "that Verena's missed out. We should all have been issued with darling little dance programmes, and tiny pencils hanging off them. . . ."

"That just shows," Archie told her, "how long you've been away. Dance programmes are a thing of the past. . . ."

"That's a shame. They were always half the fun. And then you kept them, all tied up in ribbon, and brooded over your lost beaux."

"It was all right," Isobel pointed out, "if one was a social butterfly, with lots of admirers. Not so much fun if nobody wanted to dance with you."

"I'm certain," said Conrad, with a certain transatlantic gallantry, "that that never happened to you"

"Oh, Conrad, how kind of you. But every now and then there did occur a disastrous evening when one had a spot on one's nose, or a horrid dress."

"So what did you do?"

"Hid in shame in the Ladies' Cloakroom. The Ladies' was always filled with sad wallflowers. . . ."

"Like Daphne Brownfield," Pandora chipped in. "Archie, you have to remember Daphne Brownfield. She was the size of a house and her mother always dressed her in white net . . . she was madly in love with you and blushed like a lobster whenever you came within spitting distance. . . ."

But Archie was more charitable. "She played a splendid game of tennis."

"Oh, jolly hockey sticks," Pandora scoffed.

The room rang with voices, and now, laughter. Violet, sitting at Archie's right hand, and with a glass of champagne inside her, was already feeling a little less edgy. She listened to Pandora's teasing, but with only half an ear, because it was far more fascinating to watch than to listen. The dining-room at Croy this evening presented a splendid spectacle. The long table was dressed overall, like a battleship, for ceremony, laden with gleaming silver, starched linen, green-and-gold china, sparkling crystal. Silver pheasants stood as a centre-piece, and all was illuminated by the flames of fire and candles.

"It wasn't ju
. S
t the girls who suffered," Noel pointed out. "For a young man, dance programmes could be dreadfully limiting. No chance to play the field, and by the time you'd spied some dishy chick, it was too late to do very much about her. . . ."

"How did you become so experienced?" Edmund asked him.

"Doing my circuit as a Debs' Delight, but those days, thank God, are over. . . ."

They ate smoked trout, with wedges of lemon and thin brown bread and butter. Lucilla moved around the table pouring white wine. Lucilla appeared, to Violet, to have raided the dressing-up box. Her flea-market dress was gun-metal-grey voile, sleeveless and hanging straight from her bony shoulders, with a skirt that drooped below her knees in a series of handkerchief points. It was so dreadful that she should have looked hideous, but for some reason she looked perfectly sweet.

And the others? Violet sat back in her chair and observed them covertly over her spectacles. Close family, old friends, new friends come together for this long
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anticipated celebration. She disregarded the undercurrents of tension that she could feel charging the atmosphere like electric wires, and kept her gaze objective. Saw the five men; two of them come from the other sides of the world. Different ages, different cultures, but all groomed and barbered and dressed up to the nines. She saw the five women, each, in her own way, beautiful.