The Light Years (The Cazalet Chronicle) (16 page)

‘What are you looking forward to most when we get there?’ She asked politely – she didn’t particularly want to know.

‘My bike. And strawberries. And the Walls’ Ice Man.’

‘Strawberries are over, Neville. It will be raspberries now.’

‘I don’t mind which they are. I can eat any old berry. I very-very-very-like ber-rys-ber-rys-ber-rys.’ He began laughing, his face became bright pink and he nearly fell off his seat. This made Ellen say that he was getting silly; he was quenched by being told to put out his tongue and having the lower half of his face rubbed with a handkerchief and his spit. Lydia watched with distaste, but just as she was feeling rather superior Nan did exactly the same to her.

‘Nasty smuts you got out in the corridor, I told you!’ But it must mean they were nearly there and she was longing for that.

The Cazalets were a kissing family. As the first lot (Edward and Villy) arrived, they kissed the Duchy and Rachel (the children kissed the Duchy and hugged Aunt Rach); when the second lot (Sybil and Hugh) arrived they did the same, and then the brothers and sisters-in-law kissed each other, ‘How
are
you, darling?’; when Rupert and Zoë arrived he kissed everyone, and Zoë imprinted her brothers-in-law’s faces with her light, scarlet lipstick and lent a creamy cheek to her sisters-in-law’s mouths. The Duchy sat in an upright deck-chair on the front lawn under the monkey puzzle boiling the silver kettle for strong Indian tea. As each one kissed her she made her silent, lightning review of their health: Villy looked rather thin, Edward looked in the pink as he always seemed to; Louise was growing too fast, Teddy was reaching the awkward age; Sybil looked done up, and Hugh looked as though he was recovering from one of his heads; Polly was becoming a pretty child so nothing must ever be said about her appearance; Simon looked far too pale – some sea air would do him good; Rupert looked positively haggard and needed feeding up; and Zoë – but here her thoughts failed her. Incurably honest, she admitted to herself that she did not – like – Zoë and could not get past her appearance which, she felt, was a trifle
showy
, a little like an
actress
. The Duchy did not have anything against actresses in general, it was simply that one did not expect to have one in the family. None of the observations were apparent to anyone except Rachel, who quickly admired Zoë’s tussore suit with white crocheted jumper and long string of corals. Clary had not come to kiss, and had rushed straight into the house.

‘She was sick in the car,’ Zoë explained in neutral tones.

‘She’s perfectly all right now,’ Rupert said sharply.

Rachel got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and see.’

‘Do, darling. I don’t think she should have raspberries and cream, it would be too rich for her.’

Rachel pretended not to hear her mother. She found Clary coming out of the downstairs lavatory.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Zoë said you were sick in the car coming down. I thought perhaps you—’

‘That was ages ago. Which room am I in?’

‘The Pink. With Polly and Louise.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Her suitcase stood in the passage outside the lavatory. She picked it up. ‘Is there time to unpack before tea?’

‘I expect so. Anyway, you needn’t have tea if you don’t feel like it.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Aunt Rachel – honestly. I’m perfectly all right.’

‘Good. I just wanted to be sure. Sometimes people feel awful after they’ve been sick.’

She took a hesitating step towards Rachel, put down the case, and then gave her a fierce and hurried hug. ‘I’m tough as old wellingtons.’ A look of doubt crossed her face. ‘Dad says.’ She picked up the case again. ‘Thank you for worrying about me,’ she finished formally.

Rachel watched her stump upstairs. She felt sad. Her back ached, and that reminded her to take out a cushion for Sybil.

When she returned to the tea party, Zoë was telling Villy about seeing the men’s singles at Wimbledon, Sybil was telling the Duchy about the nanny she had found, Hugh and Edward were talking shop, and Rupert was a little apart, sitting on the lawn, hands round his knees, watching the scene. Everybody was smoking except for Sybil. The Duchy interrupted Sybil to say, ‘Pour away your tea, darling, it will be cold. I’ll give you another cup.’

Rachel proffered the cushion, and Sybil heaved herself up gratefully for it to be put in place.

Zoë, who observed this, gave Sybil a covert second glance and wondered how anybody
could
go about looking so monstrous. She could at least wear a smock, or something, instead of that awful green dress strained over her stomach. God! She hoped she’d never be pregnant.

Rachel took an Abdullah from the box on the tea table and looked about for a light. Villy waved her little shagreen lighter at her, and Rachel went over for it.

‘The court is all ready for tennis,’ she said, but before anybody could answer, they heard the car arrive. Doors slammed, and, seconds later, Lydia and Neville ran through the white gate. ‘We went
over
sixty miles an hour.’

‘Gracious!’ exclaimed the Duchy kissing him. Over-excited she thought. It will end in tears.

‘I betted Tonbridge he couldn’t go fast, so he went!’

‘He went how he would’ve went anyway,’ Lydia said primly, bending down to her grandmother. ‘Neville is rather young for his age,’ she whispered very loudly indeed.

Neville turned on her. ‘I’m not as young for my age as you are! How can you be young for your age? You couldn’t
be
your age if you were young for it!’

‘That’ll do, Neville,’ Rupert said with his hand over the lower part of his face. ‘Kiss your aunts and go and get ready for tea.’

‘I’ll kiss the nearest.’ He planted a smacking kiss on Sybil’s cheek.

‘And the others,’ ordered Rupert.

He sighed theatrically but did as he was told. Lydia, who had done her kissing, ended with Villy onto whom she flung herself.

‘Tonbridge has a very red neck. It goes dark red if you talk about him in the car,’ she said.

‘You shouldn’t talk about him. You should talk
to
him, or not at all.’

‘Oh,
I
didn’t. It was Neville. I simply noticed.’

‘We don’t want any tales,’ said the Duchy. ‘Run along now to Ellen and Nanny.’ They looked at her, but went at once.

‘Oh dear, aren’t they priceless? They do make me laugh.’ Rachel stubbed out her cigarette.

‘Now – what about your tennis?’ She wondered whether Villy minded her mother-in-law reprimanding Lydia, and she knew Villy loved to play.

‘I’m game,’ said Edward at once.

‘Hugh, do play. I’ll come and watch you.’ Sybil longed to have a little rest in the cool of their bedroom, but she didn’t want Hugh to be robbed of his tennis.

‘I’m happy to play if I’m wanted,’ but he didn’t want to. He wanted to lie in a deck-chair and read – have a peaceful time.

For once, however, they were cheated of sacrificing themselves to each other’s imagined requirements, as Zoë, leaping to her feet, proclaimed her interest in playing and said she’d pop up and change. Rupert immediately said, right, he’d play too, and there was the double. The Duchy was going to deadhead and pick her roses, and Rachel had just decided that as everybody seemed happy and occupied she could go to her room and read Sid’s letter, when her father emerged from the house.

‘Hallo,
hallo
, everybody. Kitty, it’s quite all right, because I’ve remembered now that the Whatsisnames couldn’t dine with us, so they are just coming for a drink.’

‘Who, dear?’

‘Chap I met in the train. Can’t for the life of me remember his name, but he was a very nice chap and, of course, I asked his wife as well. Pity I got up the port, but I expect we’ll manage to drink it.’

‘What time did you ask them, because dinner is at eight?’

‘Oh, I didn’t fuss about the time. They’ll come about six, I should think. Ewhurst they’re coming from – that’s where the chap said he lived. Rachel, can you spare a minute? I want to read you the end of the British Honduras chapter before I start to compare their mahogany with the West African variety.’

‘You read that bit to me, darling.’

‘Did I? Well, never mind, I’ll read it again,’ and taking her by the arm he marched her firmly into the house.

‘Why do you let him go in trains?’ Hugh said to his mother as she went in search of her secateurs and trug. ‘If he drove with Tonbridge, he wouldn’t meet nearly so many people.’

‘If he goes with Tonbridge, he insists on driving. And as nothing will stop him driving on the right-hand side of the road, Tonbridge is refusing to be driven by him. If he goes by train, then neither of them has to give way.’

‘Don’t the police have something to say about the right-hand side of the road?’

‘They do, of course. But the last time he was stopped, he got very slowly out of the car, and explained that he’d always ridden that side of the road and he wasn’t going to stop now just because he was motoring, and they ended up
apologising
to him. He’ll have to stop soon: his eyesight is really quite bad.
You
have a word with him, dear, I expect he’ll listen to you.’

‘I doubt it.’

They parted, and Hugh went upstairs to be sure that Sybil was all right. He went up the cottage stairs, avoiding the children who were all having tea in the hall.

Tea was nearly over, and the older children were panting to be allowed to get down. They had all had the statutory piece of plain bread and butter, followed by as many pieces of bread and jam as they pleased (the Duchy did not approve of butter
and
jam – ‘a bit rich’, her uttermost condemnation) and then there were flapjacks and cake, and
then
there were raspberries and cream – all washed down by mugs of creamy milk that Mr York had delivered from the farm that morning. Ellen and Nanny presided, careful of each other’s status, and more watchful and firm with their own charges than they were at home. Polly and Simon, unaccompanied, were no-man’s land, which curiously subdued them. Manners seemed to make most people dull, Louise thought. She kicked Polly under the table, who, taking the cue, asked, ‘
Please
, may we get down?’

‘When everyone has finished,’ Nanny said.

Neville hadn’t. They all looked at him. When he realised this he started shovelling in his raspberries very fast, until his cheeks bulged.

‘Stop that!’ said Ellen sharply, whereupon he choked, opened his mouth and a messy slide of raspberries dropped onto the table.

‘You others may get down.’ This they thankfully did, just as the scene was starting.

‘Where are you going?’ Clary called to Polly and Louise. She knew they were trying to leave her out.

‘To see Joey,’ they called, running to the north door. They did not want her, she thought. She decided to go for an explore by herself. At first, she did not notice where she was going, was too engaged in hating everyone; Louise and Polly always ganged up – like the girls at school. If she
had
gone with them to see Joey they wouldn’t have let her ride him, or they would just have let her have one small turn on him at the end. Anyway, she was wearing her shorts and the stirrup leathers would have pinched her knees awfully. She could hear Neville’s wails coming from an upstairs open window: serve him
right
, the silly fool. She kicked a stone with her foot and it hurt her toe—

‘Look out!’ It was horrible Teddy and Simon on their bicycles. What was horrible about
them
was that they simply wouldn’t talk to her at all. They only talked to each other and grown-ups – but usually they got a bit nicer when the holidays had been going for a bit. She was at the corner of the house now, where to the left she could see the tennis court and hear them calling, ‘Love fifteen,’ and, ‘Yours, partner!’ She could offer to be a ball-boy, but she didn’t want even to
see
Zoë, thank you very much. She heard Dad give his hooting laugh when he missed a ball. He didn’t take games very seriously – unlike the others. To the right she could see the large part of the garden and in the distance, the beginnings of the kitchen garden. That’s where she would go. She walked along the cinder path by the greenhouses, whose glass was painted a smeary white. She could see the Duchy in her large hat, snipping and bending over her roses, and decided to go through the greenhouses to avoid being seen. The first one smelled of nectarines that were fan-trained up the wall. Overhead was an enormous vine, the grapes like small, clouded, green glass beads. They wouldn’t be at all ripe, but they looked very pretty, she thought. She felt one or two of the nectarines, and one fell off into her hand. It wasn’t her fault, it simply toppled. She put it in her shorts pocket to eat somewhere secret. There were masses of pots of geraniums and chrysanthemums that were hardly in bud; the gardener showed them at the Flower Show. The last greenhouse was full of tomatoes, the yellow and the red; the smell of them was delicious and so overpowering it tickled her nose. She picked a tiny one to eat; it was as sweet as a sweet. She picked three more and stuffed them in her other pocket. She shut the last greenhouse door and stepped into the cooler, but still golden, air. The sky was pale blue with a drift of little clouds like feathers. By the kitchen-garden gate there was a huge bush with purplish flowers like lilac only pointed; it was littered with butterflies – white ones, orange ones with black and white on them, small blue ones and
one
lemon with tiny dark veins on it, the most beautiful of all, she thought. She watched them for a bit and wished she knew their names. Sometimes they were restless and went from flower to flower with hardly a pause. I suppose the honey gets used up out of each little flower, she thought. They have to go on until they find a full one.