The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (49 page)

‘Um,
yes. Of course.’ Inigo grinned and broke into ‘Mystery Train’, which was if
anything even better than the previous song.

‘OK,
play me that one again,’ ordered Rocky, lighting a cigarette, certainly more
animated this time. Inigo grinned, pulled out his handkerchief to mop his brow,
then tossed it at Charlotte who caught it and pretended to swoon. This time
when he played, Charlotte and I sang too, at the tops of our voices, thumping
our legs with our hands, clapping and whooping. We did not notice Mama until
the end of the song when we heard the sound of clapping, and we all turned
round to see her standing in the doorway of the library, tears streaming down
her face.

‘Mama!’
cried Inigo, putting down his guitar at once and stumbling towards her. But
before he could get to her, she had run from the room with a stifled sob.
Moments later, I heard the sound of her footsteps in the hall, then the dull
thuds as she raced upstairs.

‘May I
go after her?’ asked Rocky at once.

‘Let
me,’ I said, ‘Charlotte, pour Rocky a drink, will you?’

Charlotte,
who was used to dramatics, nodded. ‘You were
that
good,’ she said to
Inigo. ‘I would cry, if I was your mother.’

But
Inigo didn’t smile. ‘She makes it so hard,’ he said, full of frustration and
really shouting the word ‘hard’ through clenched teeth. ‘I feel awful now.

‘No one
should feel awful after a performance like that,’ said Rocky. He spoke evenly.
without much emotion, but I sensed that what he was saying was a big deal.

I found Mama upstairs at
her dressing table, removing her makeup with cold cream and a tissue.

‘What
are you doing, Mama?’ I asked her, aghast.

‘Taking
off this filthy stuff,’ she said, scraping away at her beautiful cheekbones. ‘I
can’t think why I was wearing it in the first place.’

‘I don’t
understand,’ I said, but I think I did. Her bedroom, usually so tidy. was
littered with clothes; stockings and dresses, shoes and blouses lay scattered
all over the carpet and bed. It looked like my bedroom before I went out to
meet someone exciting, and I realised that Mama had been agonising over what to
wear for Rocky. For the first time since Papa had been killed, it had actually
mattered to her that she should wear something to please someone else, rather
than herself. I moved a Dior skirt off the bed and sat down.

‘Did
you — did you think Inigo played well?’ I asked her falteringly.

‘Of
course he played well. He plays better than all the records he feeds himself
with,’ said Mama, ladling more cream onto a fresh tissue.

‘Aren’t
you — aren’t you a little proud of him?’

‘Of
course I’m proud! How could I not be
proud?
I’m the boy’s own mother,
for goodness’ sake, Penelope!’

‘Why
don’t you show it then, Mama?’

‘What?
And encourage him to leave us? To go to America like Loretta?’ She wiped even
harder at her eyelashes.

‘But he’s
so
good,
Mama. You’re not being fair on him. He could have a real
chance, and I know Rocky thinks so too. He could make proper money.

‘Why
can’t he stay here and do it?’ Mama rubbed at her mouth and the tissue was
stained blood red with her lipstick. Now clean-faced, she stared at herself in the
mirror. A huge tear plopped onto the glass top of her dressing table.

‘He
might only have to go for a short time,’ I said, ‘Then he would be back to see
us, back to Magna, and perhaps he’ll make enough money to keep the place going.
Can’t you ever think of the good side of things, Mama?’

‘I don’t
want this place,’ said Mama. There was a silence while both of us took in what
she had just said. ‘I don’t want to live here any more.

I felt
a wave of sickness pass over me. ‘Mama, don’t say that! You don’t mean it!
Magna’s our home, It’s everything—’

‘It was
everything,’ said Mama. ‘It was everything when your father was here too.’

‘Oh,
Mama! Don’t start—”

But she
wasn’t listening. She stood up and started pacing in front of me, but I don’t
believe that she was aware of moving at all. Irrationally. I noticed how loudly
the floorboards were creaking.

‘I
loved the place,’ Mama hissed. ‘I loved it because he loved it. I could have
lived happily ever after at Magna if Archie had stayed with me.’ She was
talking faster and faster — it was as if the truth was dawning on her and she
needed to speak it before it crept away again. ‘But what do I want with the
place now? We rattle around the house like three little skittles waiting to be
knocked down, every corner I turn I’m reminded of him, everywhere I look I see
his face. I’m thirty-five—’

‘That’s
right! You’re thirty-five!’ I interrupted. ‘Do you realise how young you are,
Mama?
How young!’

Mama’s
face crumpled at these words, and she slumped back onto the chair in front of
her dressing table again. Without her make-up, she looked like a little girl of
twelve. I have never seen anyone look so lost and I had never loved her as much
as I did in that moment. She looked down at her hands and twisted her wedding
ring round her finger.

‘Thirty-five
years old and what am I to do for the rest of my life?’ she whispered. ‘Sit
here and watch the house die because I can’t ever sell it or leave it? Because
when I gave my heart to Archie, I gave it to this great mass of stone too?’ She
spat out the word ‘stone’, and it fell heavily between us. ‘Sometimes I —sometimes
I think he shouldn’t have married-me at all. Maybe he would have been better
off with someone else, someone older, someone with more confidence—’

I was
crying now, quietly. because I hated scenes and the last thing I wanted was for
anyone to hear what was going on.

‘I
remember when we were first married, Archie warned me that it wasn’t all going
to be parties and long baths. I didn’t really hear him — I thought I’d arrived
in Paradise. I’d never seen such an unbelievable building. I thought he was
quite mad. Now I know exactly what he meant. Once the gold starts to fade you’re
left with nothing but steel bars.’

‘But
Rocky, he’s rich—”

‘You
think he might marry me and take on this place,’ said Mama with a sad smile.

‘Well,
it’s not such a silly thought—’

Mama
shook her head. ‘It’s out of the question, Penelope. Not just because I could
never live at Magna with another — a man who wasn’t your father, but because I
could never marry again. Never. I hate myself for thinking, even for one
second, about Rocky Dakota. An
American
too!’ She gave another sob. ‘Thank
goodness Inigo played the guitar tonight. It made everything clear again. I
want that man out of my house before he whisks Inigo off to Hollywood.’

‘But
Mama, he’s been so wonderful to us!’ I cried. ‘We can’t throw him out now, not
before supper!’

‘We
certainly can.’

‘But
don’t you like him? Don’t you like
talking
to him?’ For a second Mama’s
eyes filled with pain. ‘I’m sorry, Penelope. Would you go downstairs and tell
him that I feel it would be inappropriate for him to remain here?’

Charlotte and Inigo were
loitering in the hall, pretending to play backgammon. ‘Is Mama OK?’ asked
Inigo.

‘Of
course not,’ I snapped. ‘You shouldn’t play the guitar in the house at all,
Inigo. You know she can’t stand it. Go up to her and say you’re sorry.’

Charlotte
stood up. ‘Should I be here at all?’ she asked me under her breath.

‘Oh,
please stay.’ I begged her. ‘Where’s Rocky?’

‘In the
library.’

He was
standing by the fireplace with a glass of whisky in his hand.

‘What’s
going on, kid?’ he asked me, his voice full of concern. Lovely Rocky, with his
soft voice and his kind eyes. Rocky who could have made Mama happy.

‘She
thinks it would be inappropriate for you to stay for dinner,’ I said bitterly. ‘She
thinks it would be best if you left.’

He
drained his whisky. ‘Tell her she looked beautiful tonight,’ he said. He
crossed the room to where I was standing, trembling with the strain of the last
few minutes. ‘She needs you,’ he said simply. ‘Look after her.’

Five
minutes later, we heard the scrunch of the Chevrolet taking off down the drive.

We had duck for supper,
and none of us mentioned Rocky’s name. Mama talked of the garden. We were back
at the beginning again, I thought in despair. No pain, not even the pain of
realising that Rocky had fallen for Mama, could compete with the agony of
realising that she was incapable of returning that love.

Chapter
21

THE
LOST ART OF KEEPING SECRETS

I
nigo
returned to school the next afternoon without a word to me about the night
before. Like Mama, he was quite capable of closing himself up when he wanted
to, and I feared he had been more affected by the events of Saturday than I
could ever know. There was a great weariness at Magna, as though something had
altered that could never change back again. Mama, determined not to mention our
conversation of the previous evening, spent the day outside in the garden with
Johns. Mary arrived at lunchtime with a terrible cold. I wanted, more than
anything, to get out of the house.

‘Come
to London tomorrow,’ begged Charlotte. ‘We’re celebrating the end of Aunt Clare’s
book. She’s holding a small gathering at tea time for the chosen few. Champagne
and cakes. Naturally. she’s hoping you’ll be here.’

‘Does
Harry know about it?’ I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

‘I
shouldn’t think so. I imagine that even if he did know about it, he’d run a
mile.’

I
smiled. ‘I’ll come,’ I said, ‘if only for the tea.’

‘I — I
took the liberty of inviting Christopher.’

‘You
did? Was that at Aunt Clare’s request or have you been missing the old dandy?’

‘Oh,
shut up. And anyway. he’s not as old as Rocky,’ said Charlotte after a pause.

Yet for the first time
ever, I set off for Aunt Clare’s without a hunger for cakes and scones. I wore
my smartest tea dress — Aunt Clare would expect nothing less — and carried a
bunch of early bluebells from the Fairy Wood, and even though I knew that Harry
was not going to be home, I felt more nervous than I had ever felt in my life.
I bought a paper on the train and tried to concentrate on pompous articles
about flying saucer sightings —of all things — but found myself incapable of
taking anything in. I had a dim sense that if only I could see Harry, this
great feeling for him would be cured once and for all. He was too short, too
weird-looking, too in love with Marina — and I felt certain that if I could
only see him, the ache for him would vanish. He would be just my friend again,
the only boy with whom I would happily spend half an hour in the ladies’
bathroom in the Ritz, or having a picnic in the Long Gallery. For the tenth
time since boarding the train, I checked my reflection. I looked paler than
ever, but what else could I expect after nights on end with so little sleep?
Rubbing rouge into my cheekbones, I wondered where Rocky was and if he had
forgotten all about Mama already. He might even be back in America, maybe
enjoying breakfast with Marina and George. laughing over the English and their
funny ways. Yet somehow that scene didn’t ring quite true. Wherever he is, I
prayed, make him happy.

It was one of those London
afternoons that makes one feel like dancing as if in a musical film — the
cherry blossom was at its sugary peak all the way down Kensington Church
Street, and the blue sky was merry with puffball white clouds. I thought how
odd it was that Charlotte and I had only really known each other in the cold,
and I wondered if the heat suited her personality as much as the winter months.
I felt at once comforted by the noise and bustle of London — Magna had felt
quieter than ever since Rocky had left before dinner on Saturday — and because
I had arrived early. I stopped into Barkers to look at the new season’s hats.
In the record department I could see Bill Haley and his Comets’ new record, ‘Rock
Around the Clock’, and in a fit of generosity, and because I felt he had been
given a raw deal of late, I bought it for Inigo. There was just time to pop to
the post office and send it off to him at school before tea. This simple act
combined with the bliss of the sunshine should have soothed my nerves, but
alas, as I stood on the steps of Kensington Court, I felt my legs trembling.
There was nothing for it but to ring the bell and go in. He’s not even there, I
told myself again. In my head I heard Johnnie singing ‘Whisky and Gin’. Help
me, Johnnie, I thought. Phoebe answered the door.