September (1990) (17 page)

Without her glasses, Isobel screwed up her eyes and peered. "Very impressed. It'll look splendid on the mantelpiece. The Americans will think we've been invited to something Royal. Now, read me Lucilla's letter. That's much more important."

Archie slit the flimsy envelope with the French stamp and postmark and unfolded two sheets of cheap, lined, and very thin paper.

"Looks as though she's written it on lavatory paper."

"Read it."

" 'Paris. August sixth. Darling Mum and Dad. Sorry I've been such ages in writing. No time for news. This is just a short note to let you know my movements. Am leaving here in a couple of days and going down to the south. I am travelling by bus, so no need to anguish about hitch-hiking. Going with an Australian boy I've met called Jeff Howland. Not an art student but a sheep-farmer from Queensland, with a year off to bum round Europe. He has friends in Ibiza, so we might possibly go there. I don't know what we'll do when we get to Ibiza, but if there is the chance of getting over to Majorca, would you like me to go and see Pandora? And if you would, will you send me her address because I've lost it. And I'm a bit short of cash, so could you possibly float me a loan till my next allowance comes through? Send all c/o Hans Bergdorf, PO Box 73, Ibiza. Paris has been heaven but only tourists here just now. Everybody else has disappeared to beaches or mountains. Saw a blissful Matisse exhibition the other day. Lots of love, darlings, and don't worry. Lucilla. PS. Don't forget the money.' "

He folded the letter and put it back into the envelope.

Isobel said, "An Australian."

"A sheep-farmer."

"Bumming round Europe."

"At least they're travelling by bus."

"Oh well, I suppose it could be worse. But thinking that she might go and see Pandora . . . isn't that extraordinary? We don't mention Pandora's name for months and all at once it keeps popping up everywhere we turn. Is Ibiza very far from Majorca?"

"Not very."

"I wish Lucilla would come home."

"Isobel, she's having the time of her life."

"I hate her being short of money."

"I'll send her a cheque."

"I miss her so."

"I know."

She was done with plucking, the feathers all painfully collected and stowed in the black rubbish bag. The six small corpses lay in a pathetic row, their heads askew, their clawed feet pointed like dancers. Isobel reached for her lethally sharpened knife and without ado sliced into the first little flaccid body. Then she laid down the knife and plunged her hand into the bird. She withdrew it, red with blood, drawing out a long string of pearly, greyish entrails. These piled in surprising profusion onto the newspaper. The smell was overwhelming.

Archie sprang to his feet. "I'll go and write that cheque." He gathered the mail. "Before I forget." And he headed for his study, firmly closing the kitchen door behind him, shutting away the small scene of domestic carnage.

At his desk, he held Pandora's envelope for a moment or two. He thought about writing to her. Tucking a letter from himself in with Verena's invitation. It's a party, he would say. It'll be fun. Why not come hom
e f
or it, and stay with us at Croy? We would so love to see you. Please, Pandora. Please.

But he had written thus before and she had scarcely bothered to reply. It was no good. He sighed and carefully readdressed the envelope. He added a few stamps for good measure and an airmail sticker, then laid it aside.

He wrote a cheque payable to Lucilla Blair, for a hundred and fifty pounds. He then began a letter to his daughter.

Croy, August 15th.

My darling Lucilla.

Thank you very much for your note which we received this morning. I hope you will have a good journey to the south of France, and are able to raise enough cash to get you to Ibiza, as I am sending this cheque there as you asked me to. As for Pandora, I am sure she would be delighted to see you but suggest that you telephone before you make any plans, and let her know that you propose to visit her.

Her address is Casa Rosa, Puerto del Fuego, Majorca. I haven't got her telephone number but I am sure you will be able to find it in the phone book in Palma.

As well, I am forwarding on an invitation to a party that the Steyntons are throwing for Katy. It's only a month off and you may have other and better things to do, but I know that your mother would be so happy if you could be there.

A good day on the twelfth. They were driving, and so I joined the guns for the morning only. Everybody was kind and I was allowed the bottom butt. Hamish came with me to carry my gun and my game bag, and help his old father up the hill.

Edmund Aird shot exceptionally well, but at the end of the day the bag was only twenty-one and half brace, and two hares. Hamish went off yesterday for a week in Argyll with a school friend. He took his trout rod, but hopes for some deep
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sea fishing. My love, my darling child. Dad.

He read this missive through, then folded it neatly. He found a large brown envelope and into this put the letter, the cheque, and Verena's invitation. He sealed and stamped it and addressed it to Lucilla at the Ibiza address that she had given them. He took both letters out into the hall and laid them on the chest that stood by the door. The next time that anyone went to the village they would be posted.

Chapter
2

Wednesday the Seventeenth

The Steyntons' invitation was delivered to Ovington Street on the Wednesday of that week. It was early morning. Alexa, barefoot and wrapped in her bathrobe, stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. The door to the garden was open, and Larry was out there, having his routine sniff-around. Sometimes he found traces of cat and became very excited. It was a grey morning. Perhaps later the sun would come out and burn the mist away. She heard the rattle of the letterbox and, looking up through the window, saw the postman's legs as he strode on down the pavement.

She laid a tray, put tea-bags into the teapot. The kettle boiled and she made the tea, and then, leaving her little dog to his own devices, carried the tray up the basement stairs. The letters lay on the doormat. Juggling with the tray, she stooped to gather them up and push them into the capacious pocket of her robe. Up again, the thick carpet soft beneath her bare feet. Her bedroom door stood open, the curtains already drawn back. It was not a very large room, and almostly completely filled by the bed that Alexa had inherited from her grandmother. It was an impressive bed, wide and downy, with tall brass bedsteads at either end. She put the tray down and climbed back between the sheets.

She said, "Are you awake, because I've brought you a cup of tea?"

The hump on the other side of the bed did not instantly respond to this summons. Then it groaned and heaved. A bare brown arm appeared from the covers, and Noel turned to face her.

"What's the time?" His hair, so dark on the white linen pillow, was tousled, his chin rough with stubble.

"A quarter to eight."

He groaned again, ran his fingers through his hair. She said "Good morning," and bent to kiss his unshaven cheek. He put his hand on the back of her head and held her close. He said, mumbling, "You smell delicious."

"Lemon shampoo."

"No. Not lemon shampoo. Just you."

He took his hand away. Released, she kissed him again, and then turned to the domestic business of pouring his tea. He pummelled pillows, heaved himself up to lean against them. He was naked, brown-chested as though he had just returned from some tropical holiday. She handed him the steaming Wedgwood mug.

He drank slowly, in silence. He took a long time to come to in the mornings, and scarcely said a word before breakfast. It was something she had found out about him, one of his small routines of existence. Like the way he made cofPSee, or cleaned his shoes, or mixed a dry martini. At night he emptied his pockets, laying their contents in a neat row on the dressing-table, always in the same order. Wallet, credit cards, penknife, small change, the coins tidily stacked. The best of all was lying in bed and watching him do this; then watching him undress, waiting for him to be ready, to come to her.

Each day brought new knowledge; each night fresh, sweet discovery. All the good things piled up so that every moment, every hour was better than the moment and the hour before. Living with Noel, sharing this blissful blend of domesticity and passion, made her understand for the first time why people ever wanted to get married. It was so that it would go on for ever.

And once . . . only three months ago ... she had thought herself perfectly satisfied. Alone in the house, with only Larry for company, occupied with her work, her little routine, occasional evenings out, or visits to friends. No more than half a life. How had she endured it?

You never miss what you've never had. Edie's voice, loud and clear. Thinking of Edie, Alexa smiled. She poured her own mug of tea, stood it beside her, and then reached into her pocket for the letters. She spread them on the eiderdown. A bill from Peter Jones, a circular for double glazing, a postcard from a woman who lived in Barnes and wanted some goodies concocted for her deep-freeze, and finally the huge, stiff, white envelope.

She looked at it. A Scottish postmark. An invitation? To a wedding, perhaps . . .

She ripped the envelope with her thumb and took out the card.

She said, "Goodness me."

"What is it?"

"An invitation to the ball. 'You shall go to the ball,' said the Fairy Godmother to Cinderella."

Noel reached out and took it from her.

"Who's Mrs. Angus Steynton?"

"They live near us in Scotland. About ten miles away."

"And who's Katy?"

"Their daughter, of course. She works in London. You've maybe met her. . . ." Alexa thought about this and then changed her mind. "No. I don't think you would have. She's inclined to go round with young men in the Guards . . . lots of race meetings."

"Sixteenth of September. Are you going to go?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Why not?"

"Because I wouldn't want to go without you."

"I haven't been invited."

"I know."

"Will you say, 'I shall come if I can bring my lover with me'?"

"Nobody knows I've got a lover."

"You still haven't told your family that I've moved in with you?"

"Not yet."

"Any particular reason?"

"Oh, Noel ... I don't know." But she did know. She wanted to keep it all to herself. With Noel, she inhabited a secret magic world of love and discovery, and she was afraid that if she let anybody in from the outside, then it would all dissolve and somehow be spoilt.

As well . . . and this was a pathetic admission . . . she lacked any form of moral courage. She was twenty
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one but that didn't help, because she still felt, inside, about fifteen, and as anxious to please as she had ever been. The thought of possible family reactions filled her with agonized distress. She imagined her father's disapproval, Vi's horrified astonishment, and Virginia's concern. Then, the questions.

But who is he? Where did you meet him? You've been living together? At Ovington Street? But why is this the first we've heard of it? What does he do? What is his name?

And Edie. Lady Cheriton must be turning in her grave.

It wasn't that they wouldn't understand. It wasn't that they were strait-laced or hypocritical in any way. Nor was it that they didn't all love Alexa-she couldn't bear any of them to be upset.

She drank some tea.

Noel said, "You're not a little girl any longer."

"I know I'm not. I'm adult. I just wish I wasn't such a wet adult."

"Are you ashamed of our sinful cohabitation?"

"I'm not ashamed of anything. It's just ... the family. I don't like hurting them."

"My sweet, they'll be much more hurt if they hear about Nus before you've got around to telling them."

Alexa knew that this was true. "But how could they find out?" she asked him.

"This is London. Everybody talks. I'm astonished your father hasn't got the buzz already. Take my advice and be a brave girl." He gave her his empty mug and a swift kiss on the cheek. Reaching for his bathrobe, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "And then you can write to Mrs. Stiffden, or whatever her name is, and say yes, please, you'd love to come to the ball, and you're bringing Prince Charming with you."

Despite herself, Alexa smiled. "Would you come?"

"Probably not. Tribal dances are scarcely my scene." And with that he took himself off to the bathroom. Almost at once Alexa heard the gushing of the shower.

So what was all the fuss about? Alexa picked up the invitation again, and frowned at it. I wish you'd never come, she told it. You've just stirred up a lot of trouble.

Chapter
3

Monday the Twenty-second

That August, the entire island simmered in an unprecedented heat wave. The mornings started hot, and by midday the temperatures had risen to unbearable heights, driving any person with sense indoors for the afternoon, to loll breathless upon a bed, or sleep on some shady terrace. The old town, up in the hills, quiet and shuttered, slumbered through the hours of siesta. The streets were empty and the shops closed.