A Rather English Marriage (24 page)

It was the first time he would have seen his nieces – great-nieces they were really, but he'd have no truck with being called great-uncle and made to feel 105 – since that morning at Tidmarsh's. He was not certain how, or even whether, he should introduce the topic of Liz. Safest just to stick to Mary, and how he missed her. Plenty of time for Liz later.

He had booked the best table in the place, the one called the Loose Box because – so it was said – King Edward used to bring his little fillies here. Not bloody likely, thought Reggie, he would parade his popsies in public; why would the King
want to advertise his misdemeanours in the Ritz? Discreet private brothel more likely, in Paris, so I've heard, with a specially adapted chair. That'd be the stuff. The big boy thickened, and Reggie thought, Down boy! Wrong moment. Don't be awkward. He signalled to the head waiter.

‘I've booked a table for four o'clock. Conynghame-Jervis's the name.'

‘Certainly, sir. Would you like to come this way?'

He led Reginald up and to the right, giving him a commanding view across the ornate room. From there he could survey the chattering tables of brightly dressed people, most with shiny carrier bags parked on the floor beside them. Loose Box, eh? Just a story to draw the tourists. Works, too, judging by the skinny bowing little Nips and flashy American women with quacky voices, Yankee men as usual talking too loud and line-shooting …

Reggie felt himself becoming irritable, and glanced at his watch. Ten past four – where the blazes? He looked up to see the head waiter escorting Celia and Felicity across to his table. One was dressed in pink, one in yellow, both with modest flat shoes and open smiling faces. He stood up, and they converged on him from two sides, both kissing him at once. It was most agreeable. They sat down amid a small landslide of handbags and carrier bags, and Reggie said to the waiter, ‘Three large teas. Super de luxe. The works.'

‘Indian or China, sir?'

‘China,' said Reggie. ‘Lapsang. With milk
and
lemon. And cucumber sandwiches and toasted scones and cream cakes. The whole flapdoodle.'

‘Oh Uncle
Reggie,'
said Felicity, ‘you mustn't treat us like
schoolgirls!'

‘No fear of that,' said Reginald indulgently. ‘You've grown up into very lovely young ladies.'

‘Women,'
said Celia. ‘You're supposed to call us women nowadays, not ladies. Or girls.'

‘In my young day you'd have been called bogle, or frippet, or the target for tonight,
and
liked it,' said Reginald. ‘Lot
of nonsense. Your women's lib gives you all these ideas, I suppose?'

‘Tell him about your new job, Celia,' said Felicity soothingly. ‘Wait till you hear what Celia's pulled off!'

‘I've got a job working at Sotheby's,' said Celia.

‘Not just
working at
. She's been made assistant to one of the directors. She'll travel all over the place with him, abroad too, looking at people's stuff that they might auction at Sotheby's. Meeting rich widows and all that.'

‘Rich widower's more up your street,' said Reggie, before remembering that, what with his wife's bequest and her father's wealth, Celia was amply well off in her own right. ‘Jolly good show,' he added. ‘What about you, Flicky?'

Felicity blushed slightly. The tea arrived on a trolley escorted by two waiters. Swiftly they set the table and retreated.

‘Shall I be mother?' said Celia. ‘Go on, Flick, tell him.'

‘It's not official yet. It hasn't been announced,' mumbled Felicity.

‘Aha! Engaged!' said Reginald. ‘Congratulations in order and all that?'

‘Well, as I say, it's still not sort of official, but, yes, we're going to be married. It's all thanks to Aunt Mary, really. She made it possible.'

‘Mary did?'

‘Well, Gavin and I've been living together for ages –'

‘Living
together?' trumpeted Reginald. A couple of Americans looked round, and he went on more quietly, ‘What do you mean, living together? Does your father know? Did Mary?'

‘Actually Aunt Mary
didn't
ever know, because I thought it would upset her – oh, Uncle Reggie, don't look like that. Everyone does it nowadays, you know. It's perfectly normal. We've been together for nearly three years now, and I moved in with Gavin, oh, well over a year ago, must be nearly two. My parents have known all along and they don't mind.'

‘Don't they? Well they damn well should!' he blustered.

‘Uncle Reginald, drink you tea and let her tell you,' said Celia.

‘We've been sharing his flat in Kentish Town since then.'

‘Where?'

‘Kentish Town. Just north of Camden Town. Oh darling, I'd forgotten, you haven't lived in London for ages, have you? It's not all Mayfair and South Kensington and Regent's Park any longer, you know. People live all over the place. Kentish Town is sort of north of St John's Wood.'

‘St John's
Wood?'
snorted Reggie, and saw that they were teasing him. ‘Go on, then …' he subsided.

‘Gavin had this flat in Kentish Town, which he rented with a couple of other men while they were all students. Eventually they moved out, and I moved in. It's on the first floor and actually it's lovely. He's stripped and sanded all the floors, and polished them, and painted all the walls white, and Susan and Papa let us have some odds and ends of furniture and rugs and things, and it looks really nice. But we wouldn't have wanted to marry into it, there's nowhere near enough room for babies and nannies and things. Well, anyway, because of Gavin training to be a barrister …'

‘Thank God for that, at least,' muttered Reggie, ‘chap might have been anything.'

‘… it was going to be simply ages before we could afford to buy anywhere decent, even if Gavin had been prepared to let Papa help, which he wasn't keen on. And then along came this wonderfully generous thing from Aunt Mary, and it's just about to come through, if you remember, I get it once I'm married or thirty, whichever is the sooner. So we've been house-hunting. When we've found something we like, then we'll put the announcement in the papers.'

‘Times, Independent –
probably not the
Telegraph,'
said Celia, and Reggie, looking up, saw that she was teasing him again. She laughed and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Course it'll be in the
Telegraph,'
she said.

‘Anyhow, we'll let you know in advance. The wedding will probably be late summer. Quite soon now,'

Yes, Reginald thought, it's the end of May, and summer is almost here. My wife died last June, not very long ago, yet already almost a whole year, and here is this girl, this child,
ready to become a wife in turn. How time flies! Will he treat her well, this Gavin? Barrister, she said. Sounds a tough sort of chappie.

‘What's he like, this fellow? Decent school, family, all that?' he asked Felicity.

‘Oh Uncle Reginald, you'll adore him. Everyone does.'

‘I can see that you do.'

‘Well of course
I
do, but, honestly, everyone does. He's big and sort of woofly, wears dreadfully baggy clothes, all over the place; got a beard –'

‘Never seen a barrister with a beard.'

‘But he's frightfully kind and capable and practical, as well as having a brilliant mind. He's wonderful. Mother and Papa and Susan think so, and so does Ceel. Tell him: you do, don't you?'

‘No worries, Uncle. He's great. They'll get married and have loads of babies and he'll be a famous barrister and stinking rich and they'll all live happily ever after. Don't waste your worries on her. What about
me
, poor old me, lost in the vast green wastes of Sotheby's, endlessly climbing staircases looking for masterpieces?'

‘More to the point,' interrupted Felicity, ‘gosh, we are awful, we haven't asked, how are
you?
What's your news, Uncle Reginald?'

‘Well, since you ask, I might be getting married, too,' said Reginald.

Immediately he cursed himself. It was pique that had made him blurt it out; that, and those last two brandies with Douglas. Shock at Felicity living in sin with some fellow; shock at how the young – not just that model girl, Thingy's wife, but even his own properly brought-up nieces rogered whomever they wanted, married or not; shock, then, at how the world was changing and, on top of all that, yes, he was a bit peeved that they had spilled out the news about themselves, their busy and engrossing young lives, without first making sure they'd heard his. But now he'd given the game away. He hadn't mentioned Mary, said nothing about missing her, paid
her no tribute; instead he'd barged straight in about Liz without preparing them. Now he'd blown it.

Imperceptibly they had retreated: from crowding impulsively over the table to interrupt and amplify, they leaned back to crumble scones and nibble at sandwiches. But their manners rescued the situation, as good manners do, and after the briefest space Celia said, ‘Go on, then, Uncle Reginald, tell us about her.'

‘Name's Liz, Elizabeth Franks. Known her about, oh, six months, bit more. Met her before Christmas.'

‘How?' interpolated Celia.

Better not say in a pub, thought Reggie, and he improvised quickly. ‘Friend's place; drinks one evening. Usual thing.'

‘OK. So then…?'

‘Good-looking popsy –
woman,'
he corrected himself meaningfully.

‘Aged?'

How shrewd they were.

‘Haven't asked. Not on, you know, to ask a lady's age. Younger than me, good bit, I should say. Fortyish.'

‘Has she been married?' asked Felicity. And then. ‘Listen to us! Gosh, we are awful! Go on, you tell us and we'll shut up.'

‘Yes, she's been married; couple of children, I think.'

‘Have you met them?' Celia began, but Felicity kicked her in the shin.

‘No, I haven't met them,' he said, realizing for the first time that this might be thought odd. Here he was thinking of marrying a woman, and he didn't know what her children were like. Didn't even know their names. ‘They're grown up. Live away from home.'

‘Are you, well, you know, are you, I mean, in love with her?' asked Felicity.

Am
I? thought Reginald for the first time, or am I just enjoying the chase? The question was too complicated to be dealt with there and then, so he set it aside and said, ‘Nothing's fixed yet, nothing's definite. She's away at the moment, travelling, visiting friends in Rome, that sort of thing. Spring holiday, you know. Search for the sun.'

‘So she's quite well off?' asked Celia.

‘No problems in that department,' reassured Reggie. Being far from certain about that, either, he changed the subject.

‘How're your parents? Seen your mother recently? Vivian keeping well?' On the calm waters of platitudes they wound down their meeting and gathered up their possessions. Reginald paid the bill and they parted under the colonnade of the Ritz and went their separate ways.

Roy unlocked the door of his own house to find a pile of letters on the doormat. Circulars in brightly coloured envelopes with jagged comic-strip stars screaming YES!!, a couple of brown bills, and a blue-and-red bordered envelope from Vera. He went through to the kitchen, which smelled stale and airless, and threw open the windows, then ran water into the kettle. While it warmed up, he scanned the circulars before dropping them into the swing-bin. He set aside the bills for later and slit open Vera's letter.

Dear Dad
, it said:

Hoping this letter finds you well and to let you know how things are here. Summer's pretty well over and it's autumn so not as much time spent on the beach nowadays, much to the boys' regret. But they're working hard at school and Brian came top in his latest French test. Not bad, eh? He says he wants to hitch-hike round Europe for his next vacation and come and visit you
.

However, as I'm sure you guessed a long time ago …

Guessed what? He hadn't guessed anything! Roy's heart began to race and he pressed a hand to his chest. Mustn't get excited; bad for him.

… things aren't too good with me and the old eating problems are back. I've gone down to six stone and don't look or feel right, so in the end I had to go and see a doctor about it the other week
.

Stan would be OK if it wasn't for the drink. He meets his mates in the evenings and has too many beers and then he gets rough. I don't
know why that should make me stop eating, but you might remember that worrying always had that effect on me. It's daft really because Stan says he prefers big women and here I am going the opposite way! I even thought about coming back to you and maybe living at home for a bit so I could look after you, but I'd be miserable without the boys in no time. So I'll stay here for the moment and see how things work out. The doctor recommended Stan and me to go for counselling, but Stan wasn't too keen on that idea
.

Hope the Squadron Leader's treating you all right and that you're bearing up and missing Mum bit by bit less as time goes on. I think of you both a lot and the good old days when we were kids
.

Well I guess that's all there's room for, so lots of love from me and the boys
.

Ever your loving Vera
.

Roy stared out of the window, his hands folding and unfolding the letter, smoothing it out with flat-iron gestures and then refolding it and running his fingernail along the creases. He didn't know what to think. Whatever happened to marriage, to kindness and gentleness, mutual support one to the other till death us do part? It was Vera's duty to stay with her husband, but it was Stan's duty to treat her well, not to harry her so that she couldn't eat properly. He'd never understood all that; he thought she had a slimming craze like so many young girls. But now she was down to – he checked the letter –
six stone?
Counselling wasn't going to put weight on her.