A Season of Secrets (34 page)

With no help from either of them, the emerald silk gown slithered from her shoulders, falling into a pool around her feet.

Beneath it she was stark naked.

He sucked in his breath. Her tousle of pubic hair curled even more tightly than the hair that streamed waist-length down her back, but it was the same spicy fox-red. Until now he’d always
considered himself married to a redhead, but Olivia’s bush was a dark, burnished mahogany and his excitement spiralled to unbearable proportions as he realized he was about to have his first
experience of sex with a true redhead.

Violet forestalled him.

‘Not here,’ she said throatily, stepping swiftly away from him in the direction of the sofa and unearthing a yellow polka-dot dress from the mayhem of tumbled clothes.
‘There’s a darling small hotel this side of Gerrards Cross on the way back to London, and if you’re thinking of problems at home, booking in for the night doesn’t mean we
have to stay for the night.’

She stepped into the dress and then, still minus lingerie, into a pair of high-heeled shoes. Impishly she looked across at him
.
‘I’m ready, if you are,’ she said,
picking up a pair of white gloves and not feeling a twinge of guilt. ‘Let’s go and have some fun!’

Two months after Violet had embarked on her casual, reckless affair with Dieter, Carrie was on a train bound for London. It was a dull misty day in mid-November, but as the
train steamed out of Yorkshire and into Derbyshire her spirits were high. All domestic staff at Monkswood were allowed an annual week’s holiday so that they could spend time with their
families. Family, to Carrie, meant Hal, Thea, Olivia, Violet, Roz and Lord Fenton.

After finishing a British film in which she had a leading role, Violet was in Hollywood and Roz was in Kenya, photographing the wildlife and native inhabitants. Hal, Thea, Olivia and Lord Fenton
were all in London, and although November was an unseasonal time of year for a precious few days’ holiday, Carrie was unconcerned about this. All that mattered was that she would be spending
time with three – and possibly four – of the most important people in the world to her.

Hal’s landlady, Mrs Dabner, was happy to put her up for seven nights, on the strict understanding that they would keep to their separate rooms and that, in her words, there would be no
‘funny business’ going on between them. Hal had written to her:

When she had written to Thea about her plans, Carrie had received quite a cross letter back:

Carrie hadn’t changed her mind. Zephiniah Fenton hadn’t wanted someone who was in service as a guest in her home, and just as Carrie would never have taken advantage
of Zephiniah’s absence to step inside Gorton, so she had no intention of stepping inside her London home. She had far too much pride and, even if she hadn’t, deceit of any kind was
alien to her.

Olivia, of course, had been adamant that she should stay with her and Dieter in their Belgravia Square home, but although Dieter had been faultlessly courteous to her when he had met her at
Charlie and Hermione’s, she had known that he thought bizarre his wife’s friendship with someone who was under-housekeeper to one of her father’s friends. Not only that, but
Olivia led a super-sophisticated life, mixing with royals such as the Duke and Duchess of York as easily and regularly as Carrie mixed with her Outhwaite friends. She couldn’t be certain, of
course, but she rather thought staying with Olivia and Dieter could be a little too nerve-racking for comfort.

The train drew into Newark. A scattering of passengers got off the train. A much larger number boarded.

Watching them, Carrie pondered why Thea being good friends with the Prince of Wales didn’t unnerve her in the same way that Olivia’s friendship with the Yorks did. And then she
realized that it was because Thea was friends with lots and lots of ordinary working-class people as well – people that she, Carrie, would be instantly comfortable with.

She opened the magazine she had bought while waiting for the train and turned to the classified section, where scores of domestic positions were advertised. As always, she read the columns
advertising vacant positions for maids and footmen with interest, curious to see how the pay and conditions being offered compared with those of the staff at Monkswood.

There was a separate section for housekeeper vacancies, but she didn’t bother to read them. What was the point, when she wasn’t interested in looking for a new position? Monkswood
was the nearest house of its size to Gorton, and even though she could no longer visit Gorton itself, she didn’t want to be even a mile further away from it than she presently was.

Gorton . . . The rhythmic movement of the train had made her sleepy and, as her eyelids closed, she remembered the first time she had entered it. She remembered the feeling of safety and warmth
she had felt as Blanche had taken hold of her hand and led her down blue-carpeted corridors lined with marble busts, and then up the grand balustraded main staircase, just as if she was a very
special guest – a princess guest. She remembered again the light rose fragrance of Blanche’s perfume and the gentle tones of her voice. From that moment on, until Lord Fenton’s
second marriage, Gorton had been a second home to her and, because the people who lived in it were people she loved, she had loved it. Forbidden to enter it now, she loved it still and, as she
dreamed herself back there, her mouth curved in a deep smile.

Hal was waiting for her at the barrier when the train steamed into King’s Cross station. It was a damply chill day. His coat collar was turned up and he was wearing a
shabby flat cap, as if to advertise to everyone that he was a northerner and proud of it.

She hurried towards him, her suitcase in one hand, a wide sunny smile on her face.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, Hal! I’ve never seen so many people crowded on a station platform before, and I kept thinking of what to do if you’d been delayed by
work.’

He hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, took her case from her and said, ‘You’d have done the sensible thing, just as you always do, love. You’d have waited for twenty minutes
and, if I still hadn’t turned up, you’d have made your own way to Deptford and Mrs Dabner’s.’

She giggled. ‘I would certainly have waited for twenty minutes, but though I could have found my own way to Mrs Dabner’s – I made a note of the tram numbers you sent – I
wouldn’t have wanted to find my own way there, not going for the first time.’

‘It’s a simple enough journey, once you know the tram stops.’

They were out of the station now and on the pavement of a road so heavy with traffic it made Carrie’s head spin.

‘First off, we get a tram from here to Trafalgar Square, and then in Trafalgar Square we catch the 392 tram to Deptford.’ He shot her a broad smile. ‘I’m going to settle
you in at the digs, and then we’re going to a cafe for some fish and chips. London fish and chips aren’t a patch on Yorkshire fish and chips, but they’re better than
nowt.’

‘What’s with the “nowt”?’ she asked teasingly. ‘I thought you spoke the Queen’s English, now you were a journalist on a posh national
newspaper?’

‘I do.’ He flashed her another smile, happy as a proverbial pig in muck at spending time with her again. ‘I was just trying to make you feel at home.’

She gave him an indignant dig in the ribs, and they were both still laughing as they boarded the tram.

As the tram clanked and trundled on its rails, unimpeded by the rest of the busy traffic, he said, ‘I’ll be working through the day – and maybe some evenings as well – so
you’ll likely see more of Olivia and Thea than you will of me, but that can’t be helped, Carrie love.’

‘I know. There’s no need to explain.’

He squeezed hold of her hand. Ever since he could remember there had never been a need for explanations between them, not about anything.

‘As you’ve put your foot down about not visiting Thea at Mount Street, she’ll be meeting up with you at Olivia’s. I’m going to drop you off there tomorrow morning
before going in to work. You’ll soon get the hang of getting around London, though I don’t think Thea or Olivia will give you much opportunity for doing so on your own. Both of them
want to spend every available minute with you.’

She hesitated and then said, ‘Are you and Thea still pretending nothing’s gone dreadfully wrong between the two of you?’

The laughter left his eyes and voice.

‘That’s a very sensitive way of putting things, Carrie lass.’ He pushed his cap back on his unruly hair, as if doing so would help him with his answer. After a pause he said,
‘Yes. I suppose we are. There doesn’t seem to be any other way for us to behave. We can’t be friends in the way we used to be, because it’s impossible for us to go back to
that kind of friendship, and we can’t be anything else, because the class difference between us is too great to be overcome – and don’t go trying to tell me it isn’t,
Carrie, or this will end in a row.’

She didn’t want a row, but she did want to know how he felt about Kyle Anderson.

‘Do you think Thea will marry Roz’s stepbrother?’ she asked, determined that not every subject should be a no-go area.

A muscle pulsed at the corner of his jaw. ‘She will, if she’s any sense. Olivia thinks there will be an engagement announcement at Christmas. English blue blood and American blue
blood. The
Tatler
will love it.’

His voice was hard and tight, and Carrie knew that although the
Tatler
might love such an announcement, Hal would hate it – and would hate the groom-to-be, whoever he was. However
far the romance between Hal and Thea had progressed, it was shatteringly clear to her that Hal still wasn’t over it.

When Carrie entered Olivia and Dieter’s Belgravia home the next morning, it was to find it just as grand as she had expected, but with the same distinctive touches with
which Blanche had always made Gorton so comfortable. Instead of hothouse flower arrangements, exquisite vases held sprays of berries and burnished red and gold autumn leaves. In the large circular
hall a large Japanese vase held a single, statuesque branch of sweet-smelling, yellow-flowering mahonia. Everywhere in the drawing room there were bowls filled with snow-white, late-flowering
anemones.

The simplicity of them was so artless and perfect, and so like Blanche’s style of doing things, that for a moment Carrie’s throat closed with emotion. And then Olivia rushed towards
her, hugging Carrie so enthusiastically she nearly knocked her off her feet, and from where she was perched on the arm of a deep-cushioned sofa, Thea said with a catch in her throat, ‘Welcome
to London, Carrie. We’ve missed you like crazy.’

When Olivia finally allowed her to break free, Carrie and Thea hugged, and Thea said as they mutually plumped down together on the sofa, ‘So what are conditions like in darkest Deptford?
Are you quite sure you want to remain there and not at Mount Street, or here with Olivia?’

‘Hal’s landlady runs a very clean lodging house. I’m going to be perfectly all right staying there. I now know the number of the trams I need to get from there to here and back
again – and I have a map of London in my handbag, in case I should ever get lost.’

‘In which case,’ Thea said, ‘you’ll have to put our minds at rest on another matter. Someone in Outhwaite is having a baby and has asked Papa to stand as the baby’s
godfather. He simply won’t part with who it is, though. He says he wants you to have the pleasure of telling us.’

‘We’re thinking Jim must have got married without letting anyone know.’ Seated in a nearby armchair, Olivia curled her legs beneath her. ‘Has he finally married one of
the Pig and Whistle’s barmaids?’

‘No. Jim’s still heart-whole and fancy-free.’

Thea lit a cigarette and blew a plume of blue smoke into the air. ‘Then who is it? Papa’s adamant it’s someone in Outhwaite, but who else there is on the kind of terms with him
that they could ask him to stand as godfather to one of their children? Even more to the point, who is there in Outhwaite whose child he would
agree
to be godfather to? The only people in
that category are Hester Calvert and Charlie and Hermione.’

‘And Hester isn’t married,’ Olivia said helpfully, ‘and Charlie and Hermione . . .’

She saw the expression on Carrie’s face and came to a halt.

‘No!’ she said. ‘It can’t be true. It can’t be.’

‘It is,’ Carrie said with immense satisfaction. ‘Charlie and Hermione are expecting a baby in March. Isn’t it wonderful? Hal is so thrilled he says he’s going to be
at the christening.’

With the hand holding her cigarette stationary with shock in mid-air, Thea said in a stunned voice, ‘It’s unbelievable. Hermione’s forty-two!’