Young May Moon (14 page)

B
LOOMSBURY
. T
HE LITTLE
May knew about the area came from occasional articles in the press about the colony of artists and writers who’d lived there at the turn of the century. They were known as the Bloomsbury group and were freethinkers. Denzil’s father, she recalled, had been a painter of nudes; she smiled at the thought of her blushes at the mention of this. When Denzil married, and his new wife embarked on the restoration of the old manor house, his mother soon decided to leave. There were rumours that she had remarried, but she never returned to Kettle Row.

Mary’s prospective employer was a potter of some repute, who had signed her letter with her first name,
Tatiana
. She certainly didn’t live in a garret, but in a mews house with an attached studio. The surviving members of the Bloomsbury group, now middle-aged or elderly but still unconventional, mostly lived, it seemed, in rural isolation and decorated old houses with colourful murals.

May skirted a large, leafy plant in a pot and a bottle of milk on the doorstep. A newspaper protruded from the letter box. Her appointment was for 11 a.m.; was Tatiana a late riser?

Even as she hesitated before giving a second pull of the bell, the studio door opened and a petite lady, less than five feet tall, emerged. She wore a creased, faded blue smock with smears of clay and paint, The hand she held out in greeting was bony and blue-veined, but her grip was strong.

‘I do apologize, I lost count of the minutes ticking by. You must call me Tatiana; my other name, which you may have deduced is Russian, is unpronounceable, so I’m often told. And you are May, which is easy to say. Let’s go in to the house and we will talk and take a glass of tea.’

The drawing room was so crowded with ornaments of varying sizes that May had to wend her way between tables and cabinets to sit in an upright chair with an embroidered tapestry seat.

The tea kettle on the spirit stove on a low table was brought to the boil and tea, without milk or sugar but with a slice of lemon, was indeed served in glass cups held in elegant metalwork containers with handles.

‘My parents brought these with them, not much else, when they left Russia during the revolution. I was already here, studying in London, living with my godmother. She inspired me to become an artist; this house and studio I inherited from her. Like Olga, I didn’t marry. Your good health!’ Tatiana raised her glass.

Bemused, May looked at her over the rim of her glass. Tatiana, she surmised, was probably in her early forties. With those high
cheekbones
, almost almond-shaped dark eyes under arched eyebrows, the sleek, improbably black hair severely restrained by a wide band,
no-one
would take her for an Englishwoman.

‘You like what you see?’ Tatiana asked in amusement. ‘Well, so do I; despite your name I think you are also an exotic flower.’ This was said without irony.

‘I am half-Spanish, yes. Would you like to see my references? Certificates?’

‘If you wish. Your personality is of more interest to me than your qualifications. This is not just a secretarial job which I offer; I need someone who will look after the business matters, but also assist me generally.’

‘In the pottery, do you mean?’

‘Your interests include the artistic, I believe?’

‘Well, yes.’ Did her expertise with puppets count? May wondered.

‘Then I believe we shall suit each other very well. More tea? Then I shall show you my work, and explain everything,’ Tatiana said.

There was colour everywhere in the long studio. Shelves of pots and bowls gleamed with gold and silver and jewel colours, like ruby and sapphire. Some of the designs were oriental, others had a religious theme; a section was devoted to ethereal, fairy-tale picture plates.

‘You see what it is I strive to do?’ Tatiana asked, as May paused by the last section.

‘Oh yes,’ May whispered in awe.

‘You know that this is lustreware?’ May nodded. ‘It is a very old art form, which has its origins in Persia and Moorish Spain in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and spread to Italy in the fifteenth century. It was introduced into Europe by the Dutch traders who brought it from the Orient. I expect you are aware that Spain still produces much lustreware?’

‘I’ve never been to my mother’s country,’ May admitted, ‘but I can remember a lovely bowl which she kept on her dressing-table. My sister and I were not allowed to touch it. I – I don’t know what happened to it, after she left, when I was twelve.’

‘We will not discuss our past history today, I think. You would like to know more of the process involved in the making of lustre? To put it simply, I use the original reduction-firing method. Clay is combined with silver and copper salts and then the design is painted on the surface of a plain glazed pot. It is fired again but without oxygen this time and the fine layer of colour mingles with the glaze. Like the rainbow produced by oil spilled on water, you have this iridescence.’ She gestured expressively with her hands.

‘Are there many other lustreware makers in this country?’

‘We have grown in number since the Arts and Crafts Movement, but it remains a specialist process. You would like to be involved? I don’t mean with the manufacture of my pieces, but with the
cataloguing
, the exhibitions from time to time, and the selling to my clients?’

‘I would like that very much indeed.’

‘Well, let’s go back in the house and discuss the formalities, and shake hands.’ said Tatiana.

‘This is very good news: your first interview, and a successful outcome,’ Henry said warmly. They were sitting in a small café round the corner from the bank. He had ordered coffee and a
sandwich
for himself, and a Bath bun and a glass of lemonade for May, at her request. She was too excited to want more. ‘I’ll make us a special dinner tonight,’ she promised. ‘Cottage pie, your favourite.’

‘Just one thing: won’t you stay on with me at Wimbledon? It seems to me we have a mutually agreeable arrangement.’

‘I’ve been thinking – why not? But you must let me pay my share of expenses.’

‘When you receive your first pay envelope, I’ll hold out my hand!’

‘Oh, I
do
like you, Henry!’

‘Good. Then that’s settled.’

Bea was stretched out on the sofa in the hotel bedroom, with her head in Danny’s lap, while he idly stroked her hair. ‘Your roots need a touch of peroxide,’ he said.

‘Would you prefer me as I was – plain, mousy Jane?’ she joked.

‘Don’t talk nonsense. You are you – and I love you as you are.’

‘Do you mean that?’ she demanded.

‘Of course I do. And don’t argue that I’m too young to know my own mind; age doesn’t come into it. If our ages were reversed, would that make any difference? Of course it wouldn’t. My brother was married and a father at my age.’

‘But Danny, that didn’t last, did it?’

‘They weren’t right for each other, but you couldn’t tell him that when he was nineteen. And he wouldn’t be without little Cluny. How do you feel about me? That’s what I need to know.’

‘Right now, I don’t want to say goodnight, I don’t want you to go.’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘It might take me all night to do that. I’ve been struggling with my feelings ever since we met. It’s my upbringing, I suppose, even though my parents are never judgemental.’ She sat up, swung her feet to the ground. ‘I love you Danny.’

‘I won’t let you down,’ he promised solemnly. ‘Ever.’

Their letters crossed in the post. Bea wrote to her best friend:

Henry regarded May across the breakfast table. ‘Any message for me?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘What d’you mean?’ He grinned, to show he didn’t mind too much.

‘Bea and Danny, well.…’

‘They are engaged?’ he suggested.

‘Not exactly.’ May floundered.

‘Ah …’ he said. He folded the newspaper. ‘Well, you don’t want to be late on your first day. We’ll leave the dishes to soak. I’ll get the car – you powder your nose.’

‘Oh, I thought we were catching the train.’

‘Not today, I shall deliver you to the door.’

‘Thanks, Henry.’

He turned at the door, ‘I suppose you think I am seething with disapproval? The fact is, I wish it could be like that for us. See you in ten minutes!’

She thought about what Henry had said as she combed her hair and checked the contents of her bag. She didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps, but she was aware that the passionate side of her nature, long suppressed, was ripe for release. But was Henry the one to help her shed her inhibitions? She came to a decision: she would reply to Paddy’s letter; she’d do it this evening after work.

‘Paddy,’ Brigid reminded him as he sat there, letter in hand, thinking about his first love, ‘Cluny is waiting for you to take her to school.’

‘Sorry, Mum. I didn’t expect to hear from May, although of course I hoped I would. But was I right to contact her at all?’

‘Dear boy, you acted on impulse. It’s not always a bad thing, you know. Your divorce is going through; it’s good to remember happier times. May’s not married?’

He shook his head. ‘No. But she’s living with Danny’s girlfriend’s brother Henry. That’s how she and Danny met again, through Bea.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions, and hurry up, Cluny hates to be late for school.’

P
OMONA WAS HOME
for the Christmas vacation. She was thinking: home is where May is, so it’s Raynes Park now. We’ll join the Wrights in Kettle Row on Christmas Day, but it won’t be the same as it was in the old days, with Min and Grandpa, and earlier than that, Jim and Carmen … and Mr Punch.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing Terence,’ she informed Henry as he assembled their suitcases in the hall on the morning of Christmas Eve, prior to driving to Suffolk. ‘We haven’t met since we both went to Cambridge; he’s probably forgotten I exist.’

‘I shouldn’t think that’s possible,’ Henry said mildly. Pom had breezed in on the previous Saturday, leaving her sister to pay for the taxi she had taken from the station, and surprised him with a hug and a warm kiss on the lips. ‘That’s for being so nice to May and now me,’ she said.

‘My pleasure.’ The cheeky little girl was now an attractive young woman.

‘I wish you’d kept your motorbike and I could ride pillion! I was so-o jealous of May, because she had that privilege.’

Henry grinned. ‘
You
would have been far too distracting, I think. We’d have probably ended up in a ditch. Anyway, I can picture you tearing round the countryside on a bike yourself, one day – as modern girls do.’

Now, she took the opportunity to put a pertinent question to him while May was in their bedroom, tidying up before they left. ‘When are you going to make an honest woman of my sister, Henry?’

He was genuinely shocked. ‘There’s nothing going on between us, Pomona, I assure you.’

‘Though you wish there was?’ she dared to ask.

He was spared the need to answer when May appeared with a final bag.

‘Take care with that – fragile! It’s a present for your parents.’

The telephone rang as they were about to leave. Henry was already loading the car, so Pomona, who was bringing up the rear, called, ‘I’ll answer it!’ When she didn’t reappear for several minutes May went to find out why she was delayed.

Pomona replaced the receiver, her cheeks flushed with excitement. ‘That was Mum, ringing from Spain, believe it or not! She wished us both a happy Christmas.’

‘Did she sound all right?’ May enquired anxiously.

‘Well, yes and no … she said to come and visit her in the spring, if we can before civil war breaks out—’

‘
Civil war
? Oh dear! Is she safe where she is?’

‘She says so. Perhaps if we did go, we could persuade her to return to England with us?’

Henry was honking the horn. They looked at each other. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it now.’ May closed the front door firmly behind them.

The Wrights were accustomed to having their festive dinner in the evening. After attending midnight mass on Christmas Eve and hurrying back in a flurry of snowflakes to the rectory as the bells rang out the joyous peal for Christmas Day, they needed a few hours’ sleep before they trooped off to church for the morning service. The visitors were excused this.

‘We open our presents round the tree in the drawing room after a light lunch – there should be a good fire going by then. Then it’s all hands in the kitchen!’ Mrs Wright informed May and Pomona.

May thought it would have been perfect if Bea were here, too. However, Bea and Danny were spending Christmas with his family. ‘Wish me luck,’ Bea said when they spoke on the telephone.

‘You’ll love Danny’s family,’ May promised, ‘and they’ll love you!’

Tired after the journey and busy evening, both May and Pomona slept through the family’s preparations for the morning service. Henry woke them with tea and biscuits and a cheerful, ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Pass me my stocking please’, Pom yawned, sitting up in bed. She nudged her sister. ‘Don’t you want to look at yours, too, May? Thanks, Henry, I presume this was your idea? Sit down next to me,’ she invited, patting the side of the bed.

He unhooked the long woollen socks from the bedpost. ‘I planned to wear these in bed,’ he joked. ‘It’s so much colder here. I’m glad you appreciate the sacrifice. I knew you were used to opening your gifts in the morning, but we always save ours for after lunch.’

‘I must drink my tea first,’ May sipped the hot liquid, warming both hands round the cup. ‘Then I might be able to open my eyes properly and see what’s what.’

‘Oh!’ Pomona squealed. ‘A pencil with a rubber on the end. Very useful – but the Fry’s chocolate cream goes better with the tea!’

Henry smiled at them. No seductive nightdresses, he thought, with tantalizing glimpses of bare flesh. Both girls were clad in flannel pyjamas, wisely provided by his mother, for this was a large, draughty house. He’d hoped for a closer relationship with May after the occasion when he’d revealed his true feelings. He wouldn’t have needed much encouragement to take things further, but it hadn’t been forthcoming.

May observed how relaxed he was in Pomona’s company. She
realized
, with a start, that Pom was flirting with him. Actually, she thought, they have more in common than he and I do, being clever old sticks.

‘I presume,’ Pom was saying, ‘you didn’t win the pig in the Co-op draw? May told me about the piglet in the straw in the pen outside the shop. He would hardly have made much of a Christmas dinner.’

‘I thought you were the animal lover,’ May put in. ‘If I’d won with my sixpenny ticket I’d have kept him as a pet.’

‘Would you indeed!’ Henry grinned. ‘I’d have raffled him again for the church organ fund.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ May cried.

‘No, of course not. I don’t think he was the actual prize, I guess that was a joint from the butcher’s.’

‘Oh, I
have
got a pig! Look, May, a sugar one with silver-ball eyes and a curly string tail. I shan’t eat him either,’ Pomona said. ‘I shall keep him for luck. Thanks, Henry. Let me give you a kiss for Christmas!’

‘No need for that … I enjoyed finding the little novelties.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I must join the others in church. Selina is responsible for breakfast this morning. I’ll see you later.’

When he had gone, Pomona asked May: ‘Did I make you feel jealous?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do. But I think you need reminding now and again that you can’t do much better than old Henry.’

‘Sometimes you are really annoying, Pom. I am aware that he’s a thoroughly decent chap, but …’

‘I know. I’m sorry I teased you. Does this mean you wouldn’t mind if I…?’

‘Of course not, but I would hate to see him hurt. Henry has been a wonderful friend to me.’

‘And now me,’ Pomona stated firmly. ‘Terence is a callow youth, in comparison. Anyway, he couldn’t stop talking last night about that girl he works with. The only thing we had in common, now I think about it, is the pair of tights we wore, in turn, in
Cinderella
.’

‘They didn’t find a place in my memory box.’

‘Unlike the flamenco dress. Did you bring it, to wear today?’

‘Certainly not. As Henry said, it’s very chilly here. I feel like staying in pyjamas and dressing gown all day, and hugging the fire!’

‘Boiled eggs,’ Selina said, tapping the tops of the eggs with the spoon, after placing them in the pink china eggcups. ‘Toast – or bread and butter? Excuse me if I sit down, my back plays up if I’m on my feet too long.’

‘Not surprising, with all that extra weight,’ Pomona grinned. ‘Are you sure it’s only one baby?’

Selina wasn’t offended. ‘My dear little brother remarked on my girth, too.’ She appeared to have shed her shyness with her
pregnancy
, and patted her enlarged front complacently. ‘But I’m very grateful for my dad’s old nightshirts! Mum never throws anything away, fortunately.’

‘Where is Terence?’ Pom enquired, dipping her spoon into the egg. ‘Just right, Selina, thanks … I do like a runny yolk.’

‘Oh, he was actually up early and went to church with the others.’

‘When is the baby due?’ May asked.

‘I’ve a few weeks to go yet,’ Selina said cheerfully. ‘There are compensations: I’ve been told I can take the rest of the day off and put my feet up, while the rest of you peel buckets of potatoes and do endless sprouts. I just have to ensure the pudding is simmering for hours and hours.’

‘Pudding patrol!’ Pomona said, tongue in cheek.

Bea had spent the night in a single bed alongside little Cluny’s. Brigid was aware that Danny and Bea were a couple, but, as she said to Pomona, when she ushered her into the small bedroom, ‘Cluny is full of questions – she’s not old enough yet to hear all the answers.’

However, at the crack of dawn, the child scrambled out of her bed, dragging her heavy pillowcase along the floor to the door.

‘Where are you off to?’ Bea asked sleepily, but of course she guessed. She clicked on the lamp on the table between the beds. ‘Now you can see where you’re going.’ What a beautiful child, she thought, with dark hair like her father: a cherub in a plain white cotton nightshirt.

‘To wake Nanna and Grandad, and they’ll knock on the wall to Daddy – then I’ll get in the middle of the bed and Daddy will get in at the bottom of the bed and Grandad will say, ‘Why have you got such big feet?’ Daddy, not me, of course. Then I’ll show them all my presents.’

‘Sounds fun! I’ll see you later, then,’ Bea turned, plumped up her pillow. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said belatedly, but Cluny was already out of the door.

Five minutes later a whisper in her ear startled her. ‘Make room for me.’

‘Danny?’

‘Now, who else would it be. I missed you last night.’

‘I missed you, too.’

‘Will you marry me, Bea?’

‘You know I will, but not yet. You’re too young to be tied down Danny, you might change your mind.’

‘I won’t. I’m not Paddy. He should have married his first love.’

‘Am I your first love?’

‘Almost,’ he admitted. ‘But the only one I’ve slept with. How about you?’

‘You know the answer to that – and I’m glad you were the first for me. Shall we open our presents now, or seize the moment?’

Danny reached out and switched off the bedside lamp.

‘Did anyone see you come in here?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Only Paddy, and he won’t say anything.’ He drew her close. ‘Come on, Bea, relax – even if we’re caught out, it’ll be worth it, I promise.’

Later in the day, with the good cooking smells wafting from the kitchen, the vegetable brigade put down their peelers, and peeped in the dining room en route to the drawing room. Selina had laid the table with the best silver and there were folded hand-embroidered napkins by each setting. But it was time to gather round the tree, dug up each year from the garden. This year it was a rather weedy
specimen
garlanded with old and much-loved decorations. Henry set a big log to burn and remarked: ‘Worth all the blisters on my hands, sawing the wood, while my little brother was busy cracking walnuts.’

‘You’d better watch what you say to me – I’m bigger than you now,’ Terence said cheerfully.

‘I hope you haven’t eaten all the nuts, that’s all.’

Osmund took the first present from the pile round the tree. ‘For you, Henry – stop the banter, you two.’

There was a general burst of laughter when the wrappings were removed. ‘
Nutcrackers
– with Mr Punch’s head,’ Henry said ruefully. ‘Thanks, May!’

The mystery parcel, well-wrapped, was for Emma and Osmund Wright. A beautiful, shining bowl in blue and silver was revealed. ‘Oh, did your Tatiana make this? Thank you so much.’ May received a hug and a kiss.

There were more kisses under the mistletoe that Terence had fixed over the door to surprise the girls in turn, when they joined the family in the warmest room in the house. Henry ignored such frivolity, but wore his paper crown from a cracker; Pomona caught him out eventually with a cry of, ‘Got you!’ May, like Henry, tried to steer clear of the sticky white berries.

She unwrapped his gift, relieved to find a warm, fluffy scarf and not something more personal. ‘Just what I need in London, to keep out the fog.’

‘I thought of buying you a necklace, but I know you are not one for jewellery, apart from the amber pendant you always wear. That is obviously very special, eh?’

May said, before Pomona could reveal her secret, ‘Yes, it is.’

Emma nudged her husband, ‘Next present please – you’re neglecting your duties!’

The room was awash with discarded bright wrapping paper by the time it was time to adjourn to the dining room for the splendid Christmas dinner.