The Orchid House (17 page)

Olivia walked across the terrace and stood by the balustrade overlooking the park. As Harry had promised her, the gardens in high summer were magnificent.

‘Miss Drew-Norris! Olivia. It is you, isn’t it?’ A familiar voice beside her made her turn round. ‘May I say, you look like a dream.’

‘Hello, Harry.’ Olivia could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Although she had been convinced the mental image of him she had carried with her for the past few months was accurate, he was actually far more handsome in the flesh.

‘So, how has the Season been?’

‘Actually, it’s been far more fun than I thought it would be. And I’ve made some heavenly new chums.’

‘Good-oh. And have you settled down in England now?’ he queried. ‘You certainly look happier than the last time I saw you.’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I rather think I have. And on nights like this,’ she indicated the park in front of her, ‘it would be hard to refute its charms.’

‘Agreed,’ Harry nodded. ‘And have you any notion of what happens next for you, once the Season’s finished?’

‘No. Not yet. Anyway, let’s not think about that tonight. I want to enjoy being back at Wharton Park and this simply divine evening. How are you, Harry?’

‘At present, I have the whole summer at home and I intend to make the most of it.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s awfully good to see you, Olivia, it really is.’

‘Olivia, darling, how are you?’

A man Harry did not know appeared beside them. He took the cue to leave. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Olivia, I must do my duty and circulate. I can see there are certain young ladies, including my cousin, who seem to be doing an accurate impression of a wallflower.’ Harry indicated a plump girl standing alone further along the terrace. ‘I shall no doubt see you later.’

He ambled off to save Penelope from wilting but, before he reached her, he was struck on the shoulder by a familiar figure.

‘Harry! My dear chap! How are you?’

‘Sebastian!’ Harry shook his old friend’s hand heartily. ‘Long time, no see. Fourth of June at Eton a couple of years back, wasn’t it?’

‘I rather think it was!’ Sebastian removed his thick-lensed, round glasses and wiped them. ‘Rather gathered you might be here tonight. How’s tricks? Sandhurst as ghastly as you thought it would be?’

‘Worse!’ joked Harry, enjoying the fact that Sebastian was one of the only chaps he could make that comment to. They had met at Eton, and the bookish, asthmatic and chronically short-sighted Sebastian had clung on to the musical and painfully shy young man Harry had been. They had both suffered their share of bullying and, though they had little in common, had found mutual ground through their position as outsiders. ‘Over, thank heavens. Now there’s simply the war and getting my leg shot off to look forward to,’ Harry added grimly.

‘Well, that at least is one fate from which I’ve been saved.’ Sebastian returned his glasses to his nose. ‘No one in their right mind would put me in charge of a shooter! Couldn’t see where the bally thing was pointing to begin with!’

‘I wouldn’t want you in my battalion, old chap, but then I’m not sure that I’d want me either, to be honest,’ Harry smiled, removing a couple of glasses of champagne from a tray and handing one to Sebastian. ‘So, what are you doing with yourself these days?’

‘Working for my pater in his trading company. I’ve been learning the ropes in the London office and I’m about to be shipped off to run things in Head Office in Bangkok. Papa is rather eager to come home after twenty years of being an ex-pat. Even if he is arriving to face the uncertainty that gathers daily on these shores.’

‘I’ll say,’ muttered Harry grimly.

‘The most contact I’ll have with the war,
if
it heads that way, is organising some of our ships to carry troops and supplies out to the Far East. Rather looking forward to it, actually – they say the Siamese girls are just the ticket!’

‘Sounds as if you’re leaving at the perfect time,’ Harry commented enviously. ‘Getting out of the bloody great mess that is Europe. Can’t see it spreading to where you’re heading.’

‘No, but one never knows, does one?’ answered Sebastian. ‘One feels rather guilty, not being able to make a tangible contribution to one’s country, but perhaps it’s a small compensation for being given such a duff pair of eyeballs and a dicky chest.’

Harry touched his shoulder briefly, noticing Penelope still standing alone. ‘Must dash, old chap, drop me a line with your forwarding address.’

‘Will do. Awfully good to see you, Harry,’ said Sebastian fondly. ‘Try and stay alive if the worst happens, won’t you? I’ll have some of those Siamese girls lined up for you!’

Over dinner, Olivia enjoyed the company of her high-spirited table, mostly people she knew from London. To her left sat Angus, the Scottish laird who seemed to be keen on her, and to her right was Archie, Viscount Manners. There was talk amongst some friends in London that Archie ‘batted for the other side’. Olivia was not experienced enough to tell.

After dinner, they were ushered out whilst the room was cleared of tables. Olivia stood on the terrace with Archie, smoking a rare Abdullah cigarette with him companionably.

Archie looked over the park, which was bathed in the half-glow of night, and sighed. ‘I can hardly stand its beauty. As Blake so aptly describes, one knows it’s leaving as soon as it arrives.’

The band struck up and people made their way back into the ballroom.

‘I hope you won’t mind awfully if I don’t ask you to dance. I have two quite ghastly left feet and don’t wish to maim you, Olivia,’ confessed Archie. ‘Please, feel free to find an alternative squire.’

‘I’m perfectly happy standing here, really.’

‘Well, it shan’t be the case for long. I can see a beau approaching us already.’

Sure enough, Harry was crossing the terrace towards them. He stopped short of them, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘I’m not disturbing you two, am I?’

‘Not at all,’ said Olivia, a little too eagerly. ‘Please, come and meet Archie. Archie, this is Harry Crawford, son of the house.’

The two men stared at each other for a while, before Harry extended his hand towards him. ‘Archie, a pleasure to meet you.’

‘And you, Harry.’ Archie smiled suddenly for the first time that evening.

Eventually, Olivia broke the silence that had descended. ‘Archie and I had such a jolly time at dinner, discussing the great romantic poets. And, of course, Archie is a poet himself.’

‘You write poetry?’ Harry asked.

‘I do. For myself, of course. I wouldn’t wish to subject any other poor soul to it. It’s rather maudlin, I fear.’

‘Sounds right up my street,’ grinned Harry. ‘I’m a fan of Rupert Brooke, myself.’

Archie’s face brightened. ‘What a coincidence! So am I. I’ve been boring poor Olivia half to death with him over dinner.’ Archie closed his eyes and began to quote:

‘
Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes
,

And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.

The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.

I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands …
’

Harry took up the words:

‘
Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea’s making

Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned.
’

They smiled at each other, acknowledging the pleasure of a passion shared.

‘One day, I mean to go to Skyros to see his grave for myself,’ offered Archie.

‘I was lucky enough to visit the Old Vicarage at Grantchester. Marvellous to see the very house where Brooke spent his boyhood,’ replied Harry.

Olivia listened as they talked animatedly, feeling like a spare part. Luckily, Venetia arrived by her side. Olivia could see she was a little the worse for wear.

‘Hello, my darling,’ she said, looking Harry up and down with a glint in her eye. ‘Who’s this?’

Harry was still deep in conversation with Archie, so Olivia whispered, ‘Harry, the chap I told you about.’

Venetia nodded approvingly. ‘He’s … dreamy! And if you don’t want him,’ she giggled, ‘then I’ll have him. Harry –’ she broke into the conversation – ‘I’m Venetia Burroughs, Olivia’s closest chum, and I’ve heard all about you.’ She reached up and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘I feel as if I know you already.’

Olivia could have died on the spot from embarrassment.

Harry looked rather taken aback by her exuberant greeting, but recovered his manners to say, ‘Venetia, it’s my pleasure to meet you.’

‘You too, Harry. I shall be expecting a dance later. And talking of dancing, I vote we all pile in. It’s getting chilly out here.’

‘Good idea.’ Harry smiled down fondly at Olivia. ‘I came over to ask you to dance. May I have the pleasure?’ He extended his arm to Olivia, who took it, blushing with pleasure.

He looked at Archie. ‘We must talk some more another time.’

‘Perhaps, before I leave.’

‘I do hope so,’ replied Harry.

Then, with Olivia on his arm, he turned and walked into the ballroom.

As Olivia partnered Harry on the dance floor again and again, she thought back to London and how many times she had dreamt of being held in his arms. And here she was with him at Wharton Park, the place she had decided she loved best in the whole of England, on a beautiful midsummer’s night.

Later, Harry led her outside for some fresh air.

‘Well,’ he said, lighting his cigarette, ‘I think one could say that the evening has been an unqualified success, don’t you?’

Olivia was gazing up at the stars in the clear night sky. ‘Perfect,’ she murmured contentedly.

‘And Mother looks happier than I’ve seen her for a long time,’ added Harry. ‘Listen, the band are playing my favourite Cole Porter song, “Begin the Beguine”.’ Harry started to hum it under his breath. ‘One last dance, Miss Drew-Norris?’ he asked, as he put his arm round her waist.

‘If you insist, Captain Crawford.’

They swayed to the music together, Olivia resting her head against Harry’s chest and giving herself up to the moment.

‘Olivia, I’ve loved dancing with you this evening. Thank you,’ said Harry. Then he reached down and kissed her on the lips.

Adrienne, who had herself stepped outside further along the terrace to gaze at the night sky, watched them and allowed herself a secret smile of pleasure.

17

Olivia headed back to London the following day, wrapped in a gossamer shroud of happiness. Finally, she understood what the ‘magic’ was all about. She had confided in Venetia on the journey back to London. Venetia had snorted derisorily when Olivia had indicated that Harry was ‘the one’.

‘Darling, really! How can you possibly know that? He’s the first boy you’ve even kissed. You are absolutely mad!’

Olivia shook her head defiantly. ‘No. I’m not. I know how I feel, and sometimes it just happens that way. Look at your mother and father, they were eighteen and nineteen when they met and fell in love.’

‘
Touché
, but that was then and this is now. And besides, Olivia, you’ve always promised me you didn’t want to marry until you were a lot older. You haven’t even done the “thing” yet,’ added Venetia. ‘How can you “know” without doing that?’

Olivia knew Venetia
had
done the ‘thing’. And not just with one chap either. And hadn’t seemed to give it a second thought. This was one area where their thoughts differed and could not be reconciled. Venetia’s pronouncement that it was ‘her’ body and she could use it as she wished without guilt, was not an attitude Olivia shared. Whether it was upbringing, or her nature, she felt strongly that her virgin state should remain intact until she married the man she found to love.

‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ Olivia answered feebly. ‘That’s secondary.’

‘Golly, Olivia! I thought in the last few months I’d managed to instil some feminism into you. And here you are, imagining the wedding already. And don’t tell me you’re not,’ Venetia wagged her finger as the car veered dangerously into the centre of the road, ‘because I jolly well know you are.’

After two weeks of floating on air, and being detached from the final round of parties and other events that saw the Season coming to a close, before everyone left London like a swarm of flies to head for the warmer climes of the Riviera, Olivia had still heard nothing from Harry.

After the euphoria, came the uncertainty and the pain. Olivia sank into a black mood as she contemplated that Venetia may have been correct in her assessment and, for Harry, the kiss had meant nothing more than a pleasant end to the evening.

She had been invited, along with Venetia, to spend a month at a villa in St Raphael, owned by the parents of Angus, the Scottish laird. She knew Angus was awfully fond of her and he had made his intentions clear. Joining him at his family home would mean, on some level, an acceptance of his affection.

‘Well, I’m going along, whether or not you come,’ Venetia had declared. ‘The atmosphere here is quite dreadful. Pup’s locked away in his studio and Mup is sulking because Pup has refused to let anyone come to the house. And that’s before I’ve stepped out of the back door and tripped over the beastly air-raid shelter spoiling our beautiful garden.’

The two of them were walking towards the Ritz, having just left Dudley House in Park Lane after Kick Kennedy’s dance.

‘It’s hardly fair though, is it, Venetia?’ insisted Olivia. ‘Angus is delightful, but I don’t want him to think that I like him in
that
way.’

‘Darling, all’s fair in love and war,’ Venetia eyed her, ‘and presently, anything goes. Besides, beautiful girls were born to break some hearts along the way. Angus’s villa is meant to be utterly fabulous. And what will you do if you don’t come?’ she added. ‘Spend the entire summer mooning in a funk over lover-boy and waiting for the Germans to drop their bombs?’ They turned off the main road to walk down to the side door of the Ritz. ‘For goodness sake, do pull yourself together and have some fun whilst you can.’