The Wedding Group (24 page)

‘I wish you could always come home early,’ Cressy said.

‘Well, of course, I can’t. But I made a special effort today, because I thought you’d be a bit down, saying good-bye to your parents.’ This was a sudden inspiration, and his words went down very well.

It was really a growing wariness that had made him leave London early that afternoon; for Nell had telephoned him from one of her outside jobs to ask him to pick up some smoked salmon on his way back to her flat – simply assuming that he was going there. The reasonableness of the assumption had alarmed him. He knew that she had every right to expect him, for they had fallen into such a routine that his weekdays had become more like a married life than his weekends.

‘It has been quite a day,’ said Cressy. ‘What with all that sadness at Quayne, and Mrs Brindle finding the ear-rings.’

‘
That
has finally decided me,’ David said. ‘If it hadn’t been for the so-called break-in, we’d have been living in London by now.’ And all the involvement with Nell would never have begun, he thought. As far as that was concerned, he knew that he was tired of being mothered and patronised and ticked off for his little failings, like unpunctuality and irritability. Even in bed, Nell condescended to him, was too gracious for words, like a very grand hostess with a guest of not much consequence.

‘Well, thank God, it’s not too late,’ he told Cressy, thinking of London, and of a new and different life there with her, which would make a continuation of the Nell affair impossible.

When his father’s house was sold, he would have that
much more money to further his plans. They might even be able to afford a little house in Chelsea, like Jack Ballard’s, or somewhere a bit out, but equally pleasant and fashionable, such as Chiswick or Blackheath. Apart from his first astonished condemnation, he could not bring himself to say much to Cressy about his mother, whom he saw in such a new light – perhaps Archie’s light – that he did not yet recognise her.

‘I have never been in one of those motor-way cafés,’ Cressy said. ‘And I’m still a bit hungry, I’m afraid. There’s one in half a mile. May we?’

‘Of course we may, if you want. But I don’t think you’ll find it very nice.’

In half a mile they turned in towards the bright lights, which were blurred in the rain, and ran from the car towards the building. He winced, hearing the pounding of the juke-box, but felt quite cheerful all the same, seeing her eager look as they queued at the self-service counter. Fluorescent light fell on the perspex-enclosed food on cardboard plates.

She really fits in with her generation, he thought – in spite of Quayne and all that that entailed. She was quite content to stand in line, obediently holding her plastic tray.

He looked with horror at a caseful of curled-up fish in batter, at bright yellow cakes covered with shaggy coconut.

In front of them were black-coated, very much studded, motor-bike boys, all wet, but docile. Cressy seemed to go mad in her enthusiasm, helping herself to a pork pie, a cheese roll, little packets of Ryvita and butter, a jelly with a very white whirl of cream on top, and a cardboard beaker of coffee. David marvelled at her appetite. He took a sausage-roll and coffee, and they found a table which had just been wiped down, its sauce bottles re-grouped, and its ash-tray emptied.

The noise was deafening.

‘
Our
place,’ Cressy said, smiling across the table at him. ‘Our little secret hide-out.’

He smiled back at her, between sips of his scalding-hot but tasteless coffee.

‘I’m so really happy,’ she said. ‘And this morning, I didn’t feel I would be for a long time.’

‘And I feel, too, that it’s all going to be different for us from now on.’

‘Yes, it will be very exciting.’

She suddenly thought, in a fluster of fear, of having Timmy to look after on her own, her sole responsibility; but, as quickly, she brushed the idea aside. She told herself that the worst with him was over, that she would manage, be happy and confident with him, as she felt, this evening, she was with David.

‘We can’t be disturbed tonight,’ she said, thinking complacently of their being in bed. It would be the final treat of the evening. Meanwhile, she was in this exciting and extraordinary place, with its life of its own; and enjoying herself.

‘I’ll take you to really nice restaurants in London,’ David promised. ‘I’ve never had a chance to show you my favourite places.’

All these dinners in London, she thought – her father coming into her mind fleetingly. Kind, kind, poor father. She unwrapped her butter carefully. ‘Look at this dear little plastic knife,’ she said.

‘Everything disposable – except this sausage-roll by me,’ David replied.

In the night, Timmy cried, and Midge heard him at once. She went to his room and lifted him from his cot and carried him, wrapped in a blanket, back to her own bed.

Lying beside her, he soon dropped off to sleep again. She did
not want to sleep herself; simply liked having him there with her. Her heart had grown large with love.

Sometimes he stirred and sighed, and she could hear him peacefully sucking his thumb. Blissfully content, in spite of the dangers of the day, at last she fell asleep herself.

Elizabeth Taylor
Introduced by Paul Bailey

‘An author of great subtlety, great compassion and great depth’
Sarah Waters

On a rainy Sunday afternoon in January, Mrs Palfrey, recently widowed, arrives at the Claremont Hotel where she will spend her remaining days. Her fellow residents are a mixed bunch – magnificently flawed and eccentric – living off crumbs of affection and an obsessive interest in the relentless round of hotel meals. Together, upper lips stiffened, they fight off their twin enemies: boredom and the Grim Reaper. And then one day, Mrs Palfrey encounters the handsome young writer Ludo, and learns that even the old can fall in love…

‘A wonderful novelist’ Jilly Cooper

‘The unsung heroine of British twentieth-century fiction’
Rebecca Abrams,
New Statesman

‘Elizabeth Taylor had the keenest eye and ear for the pain
lurking behind a genteel demeanour’ Paul Bailey

Elizabeth Taylor
Introduced by Sarah Waters

‘Elizabeth Taylor is finally being recognised as an important British author: an author of great subtlety, great compassion and great depth. I have found huge pleasure in returning to Taylor’s novels many times over’ Sarah Waters

In the faded coastal village of Newby, everyone looks out for – and in on – each other. So, although keeping up appearances is second nature, nothing goes unnoticed for very long. Beautiful divorcée Tory is secretly involved with her neighbour Robert, while his wife, consumed by the worlds she creates in her novels, is oblivious to the relationship developing next door. Their daughter Prudence, however, is appalled by the treachery she observes. Meanwhile Mrs Bracey, an invalid whose grasp on life is slipping, forever peers from her window, gossiping with everybody who passes by.

‘Her stories remain with one, indelibly, as though they had been some turning point in one’s experience’ Elizabeth Bowen

‘A wonderful novelist’ Jilly Cooper