“Are we the first? Are we too early?” And Lucy replying, “Of course not. We’re waiting for you. Let me take your coats. Everybody’s upstairs.”
Elfrida’s party, at last, was on its way.
A quarter past eight, and it was all over. Rutleys, Sinclairs, and Erskine-Earles had departed to the sound of goodbyes and thank-yous ringing down the deserted street. Only the Kennedys lingered, and that was because they had been late arriving in the first place, coming to the Estate House straight from the annual party at the Old People’s Home. Peter, wearing his dog-collar, announced himself awash with tea and buns, but that didn’t stop him gratefully downing a dram, and plunging enthusiastically into another roomful of slightly less geriatric friends.
Now, a certain languor prevailed. Sam had built up the fire, and all had collapsed into chairs, grateful to get the weight off their feet Rory and Lucy were down in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Snead and Arthur with the last of the clearing up. Cheerful noises and much laughter floated up the stairs, and it was obvious that the party, below stairs, continued.
Elfrida, sunken gratefully into cushions, and with her shoes toed off, said, “I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. We’ve all been beavering away all day, and the next thing you know, it’s eight o’clock and guests start looking at their watches and saying it’s time to go.”
“That’s the sign of a good party,” said Peter. And added,
“Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.” He sat in the wide-lapped chair by the fireside, and his wife was on the hearth rug leaning in comfort against his knees.
“I liked Lady Erskine-Earle,” said Carrie.
“She looked like a dear little Highland pony, all dressed up in cashmere and pearls.”
Tabitha laughed.
“Isn’t she a star?”
“She and Mrs. Snead chatted for hours.”
“That’s because they’re both on the fund-raising committee for the church. And the Women’s Institute. Elfrida, asking the Sneads was a huge bonus. No fear of pregnant pauses with Mrs. Snead and Arthur on the go.”
“Arthur was not a barrow boy for nothing,” Oscar pointed out.
“He never misses a trick. When he wasn’t being either butler or guest, he found time to do a little business as well. Orders for New Year’s Eve. Chrysanthemums for Emma Erskine-Earle, and six avocados for Janet Sinclair. Incidentally, I think Janet Sinclair’s a charming person. We hadn’t met her before. Only the doctor, when he came to see Carrie.”
“And what is more,” Carrie told Oscar, “she’s an architect. She works three days a week in a practice in Kingsferry.”
“And,” Peter added, “she’s extremely efficient. She designed a new wing for the Old People’s Home, and did a good job. Only thing is, it makes the rest of the place look a bit gloomy.” He laid down his glass, shifted slightly in his chair, as though his wife’s weight against his knees might be giving him cramp, and looked at his watch.
“Tabitha, my love, we should be on our way.”
“Oh, don’t go,” Elfrida begged.
“Unless you have to. This is the best bit of a party. Talking it all over with the last of the friends. Stay, and we’ll have a kitchen supper. We’ll finish up all the scraps, and we’ve got some soup, and there’s more smoked salmon. Sam gave it to us. And a delicious Stilton….”
“Are you sure?” Tabitha was clearly tempted.
“If we go back to the Manse it’s only scrambled eggs.”
“Of course you must stay….”
Here, Carrie took over.
“In that case, I shall be in charge.”
She got up from the sofa.
“I’ll go and see what’s happening in the kitchen, and find something for us all to eat. No, Sam, you stay and chat. You’ve done your part for the evening.”
Elfrida was grateful.
“Darling, you are sweet. If you want any help give me a shout.”
“I’ll do that.”
She went out of the room and closed the door behind her. On the landing, all that was left of Elfrida’s party was the table with the white cloth. Bottles and glasses had all been cleared away. The Sneads, Rory, and Lucy had clearly been hard at work.
The telephone began to ring. Carrie looked at it in some astonishment, because for some reason it was the last thing she expected to happen. It had only rung once when she picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Who’s that?” The female voice was clear as a bell, but there was a tiny hiccup of hesitation on the line.
“It’s Carrie.”
“Carrie. It’s Nicola. From Florida.”
“For heaven’s sake. How are you?”
“I’m great. Fine. What are you doing?”
“Just had a party. We’re all sitting around recovering.”
“Is Lucy there?”
“Yes, she’s downstairs, helping to do all the clearing up. She’s been having the time of her life. How’s Florida? Is the sun shining?”
“Nonstop. Everything’s wonderful.”
“Hold on. I’ll go and find Lucy….”
Carrie laid the receiver on the table and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she saw that all the washing up and putting away had already been accomplished, and Mrs. Snead was now pulling on her mock Persian lamb coat and fastening the silver buttons. Arthur was enjoying the last of a final beer, Rory leaned against the sink, and Lucy was sitting on the kitchen table.
Mrs. Snead was still in full flow.
“Well, I must say, that was a really good do…” she was saying. She hiccuped slightly and Carrie saw that the bow on her coiffure had slipped a bit, giving her a rakish appearance. “… and here’s Carrie. I was just saying, Carrie, that was a really good do. Nice company, too….”
“I certainly enjoyed it,” Carrie told her.
“Lucy, you must run upstairs quickly, your mother’s on the telephone.”
Lucy’s head jerked around; her eyes met Carrie’s and in them Carrie saw an expression of alarm.
“Mummy?”
“Yes. From Florida. Go quickly, because it costs a bomb.”
Lucy slipped down from the table. She looked at Rory, and then back at Carrie, and then went out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Discreetly, Carrie closed the door behind her.
“Fancy that,” said Arthur.
“All the way from Florida.”
“It’s still afternoon there. Five hours’ difference, you know.” Mrs. Snead informed them all importantly. Having buttoned her coat, she took off her suede court shoes and pulled on stout boots, in readiness for the short walk home.
“Lucy’s been a real help, I must say. We got through it all like a dose of salts, didn’t we, Rory? And Arfur’s put the empties out in the scullery, and a few scraps of sausages I put on a plate for Horace. He can ‘ave them for ‘is dinner tomorrow.”
Carrie was grateful.
“You’ve both been marvelous. You made the party.”
Arthur drained his beer and set down the empty glass.
“I’d like to agree with my wife. A very nice bunch of customers. And tell your friend I’m grateful to know ‘ow to open a bottle of champagne. A real little art that one is. Next time we ‘ave a Bowling Club party, I’ll be able to demonstrate my skill.”
“Oh, Arfur, you are a one”
“I always say, it’s a good day when you learn something.”
Mrs. Snead gathered up her possessions, her handbag and the plastic carrier into which she had put her good shoes.
“We’ll say good night, then, Carrie.”
“Good night, Mrs. Snead. And have a great Christmas.”
“Same to you. And tell Mrs. Phipps I’ll be in Thursday as usual.”
When they had gone, arm in arm, out into the night, and the back door had closed behind them, Rory said, “What’s Lucy’s mother ringing about?”
“I don’t know, Rory.” Carrie took Elfrida’s apron from its hook and tie
d it on over her filmy black dress.
“Probably just to say Happy Christmas.”
“It’s not Christmas yet.”
“Perhaps she’s just getting her word in early. Elfrida’s asked you and your parents to stay for supper, so I came down to try and get something organized.”
“Do you want me to help?”
“I think you’ve already done your share.”
“I don’t mind. I’d rather do that than make small talk.”
“It seemed to me you managed rather well.”
“It’s not so bad if you know people. What do you want done?”
“Well, if you really mean it… perhaps you could lay the table. For eight of us. Knives and forks are in that drawer, and the plates are in that cupboard. And there’s smoked salmon in the fridge. I think it’s all sliced. You could maybe put it on a plate, and then we’ll have to butter some bread.”
She went into the icy scullery and returned to the kitchen bearing an enormous pot filled with Elfrida’s latest brew of soup. She lit the gas ring on the cooker, turned the flame down low, and put the pot on top of this to heat through slowly.
Behind her, Rory said, “Lucy talked to me.”
Carrie turned her head to look at him.
“Sorry?”
“Lucy.” Laying the table, he squared off a knife and fork.
“She talked to me. About London and everything. Her parents divorced. Her grandmother. About not really wanting to go back.”
“Oh, Rory.” He did not look at her, simply went on with what he was doing.
“I’m sorry.”
“What have you got to be sorry about?”
“Because in a way I feel responsible. Guilty, perhaps. Because I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Stayed in Austria, and somehow lost touch with my family. Everybody was all right. Except Lucy. It wasn’t until I got back that I realized how impossible life must be for her. It’s not that anybody’s unkind to her… in a way, she has everything. But she misses her father. And she’s never been encouraged to get in touch with her grandfather… my father. There’s so much acrimony. It’s not good to live with.”
“Couldn’t she go to boarding-school? That, at least, would be a different environment.”
Carrie was surprised by such perception in a young man of only eighteen.
“Perhaps she should, Rory. But, you see, I am simply a maiden aunt. I don’t dare make too many controversial suggestions in case I’m cast out into the wilderness as well.” She thought about this.
“And her school is good. She has a splendid headmistress whom she’s really fond of….”
“But it’s all girls.” Rory had now finished laying the table. He said, “Where’s the smoked salmon?”
“In the fridge. In the scullery.”
He went to get it. Carrie took a loaf of brown bread from the crock and then returned to the cooker to give the soup a stir. When he returned, she cleared a space for him, and found a large oval meat dish on which to arrange the delicate rosy slices. Rory slit the cellophane with a knife and began, neatly, to separate the slices of smoked salmon, and lay them out in overlapping layers. Carrie took a couple of lemons from the fruit bowl and started cutting them into wedges.
Rory worked on, intent and business-like, and Carrie watched him, and saw his unlikely bright-yellow hair, the ring in his ear, the blunt features, youthful but strong, well on his way to manhood. Helping the Sneads, probably washing up, he had rolled up the sleeves of his dark-blue cotton shirt, and his forearms were tanned and his hands strong and capable. Carrie could perfectly understand why Lucy liked him so much. She only prayed that Lucy, at fourteen, had not fallen in love. Because they were too young for love. Rory had his sights set on getting to Nepal, and a teenage infatuation at this moment in time was almost bound to result in a broken heart.
She said, “You’ve been so kind to her, Rory. A lot of guys your age simply wouldn’t have bothered.”
“I felt sorry for her….”
“I wonder why.”
“She seemed so lonely.”
“But sweet. She’s a sweet child.” She could not resist a small tease.
“And you bought sleepers for her ears.”
He looked at her and grinned.
“Oh, come on, Carrie. That was just giving the finger to her mum. Anyway, she wanted her ears pierced. So what? It’s part of growing up.” He stood back to survey the plate of neatly arranged slices of salmon.
“There, that’s it. Is that going to be enough?”
“Have to be. We’re keeping the other lot for Christmas Day.”
“Wonder how Lucy’s getting on?”
“Perhaps I’d better go and see…. You come, too. You’ve worked hard enough.”
“No, I’ll stay here. Be the chef. I quite like cooking. I used to make gingerbread men with my mum. You go back to the others. I’ll butter the bread, and there are still some little pizzas left over. I might put them in the oven…. Do you want me to open a bottle of wine or anything like that… ?”
Finally, Came unwound herself from Elfrida’s apron, hung it on a hook, and left Rory to it. She went out of the kitchen and upstairs. The landing stood empty. The receiver was back on the telephone. No sign of Lucy. She hesitated for a moment, all at once experiencing a pang of unexplained disquiet. And then, just as before, the telephone rang.
Carrie picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Who is that speaking? Is that the Estate House? I want to speak to Carrie.”
Unmistakable. Carrie’s heart sank.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m here. Hello, Ma.”
“It’s you. Oh, thank heavens. My dear, has Nicola been on to you?”
“Yes. She rang from Florida. About twenty minutes ago. But she wanted to talk to Lucy.”
“Did she tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Oh, my dear, she’s married. She’s married to Randall Fischer. This morning. They had a kind of whirlwind ceremony in a church called the Wee Chapel of the Angels, or something, and they’re married. She didn’t even let me know she’d got engaged, that they were planning this. I had simply no idea. Until I got this call from Florida….”
Carrie told herself that she had to keep calm, or everything was going to go to bits.
“She rang you before she rang Lucy?”
“Yes. She wanted to make arrangements.”
“What sort of arrangements?”
“For Lucy, of course. What else, do you think? When she’s getting back from Scotland, and that sort of thing….”
Oh, God, thought Carrie. Here we go again.
“… She’s talking about a honeymoon, not flying back to London until the end of the month. She’s going to cancel her flight back. Postpone it. And she expects me to be in London so that I can get Lucy back to school. But I’ve planned to stay here, in Bournemouth, until the end of January, and I cannot see why I should change all my arrangements. It’s really too much, Carrie. I’m simply not up to it. I told her so. I said, “I’m not up to it, Nicola.” But you know how selfish and unkind she can be if she doesn’t get her own way. And now of course she’s besotted with this man. And he’s all she’s thinking about.”
“Is she going to spend the rest of her life in America?”
“I suppose so. If you marry an American, I suppose that’s what you have to do.”
“What about Lucy … ?”
“Oh, Lucy will just have to do what she’s told for once. The immediate problem is who is going to look after her until her mother gets home?”
Carrie did not answer this question. She simply stood there, holding the receiver, aware of a great wave of impatience and fury directed at both her mother and her sister. She had felt this way before, many times, and doubtless would again, but she could not remember ever having been so angry. She thought of Randall Fischer and silently cursed him off for his tactlessness, his lack of imagination, of feeling. Surely he could
have persuaded Nicola to give her family some warning before he marched her off to the Wee Chapel of the Angels and stuck a ring on her finger? He could not have caused more trouble if he had been a fox sneaking into a chicken coop, setting up a panic-stricken cackling and causing feathers to fly. She knew that if she made any remark, it would be wrong, finally precipitating a useless slanging-match that would solve nothing.
“Carrie?”
“Ma… I think it would be better if I rang you back.”
“Have you spoken to Lucy?”
“No. Not yet. This is the first I’ve heard of the happy news.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“No.”
“You’ve got my number? Here, in Bournemouth.”
“Yes, I’ve got it. I’ll call you.”
“When?”
“Sometime. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Don’t leave it too long. I’m worried sick.”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, and darling … you will have a lovely Christmas, won’t you?”
“Lovely,” Carrie told her.
She put the receiver down and stood for a moment, giving herself time to cool down, gather her wits, and face facts. Nicola was now Mrs. Randall Fischer. She had married him in Florida, in the Wee Chapel of the Angels. Carrie tried to picture the ceremony. Blue skies and palm trees; Randall Fischer in a white suit, and Nicola in some little concoction suitable for such an occasion. Had there been friends to witness the marriage? Had some old chum of Ran dall been wheeled in to give Nicola away? Had the old chum’s wife stood in as matron of honour, wearing an ankle-length gown and a corsage of orchids? And after the ceremony, had the four of them driven to the local country club, there to be feted by anyone who happened to be around… ?
But it was all unimaginable. And how or when it had taken place didn’t really matter because it was done, and could not be undone, and there was so much emotional debris littered around, waiting to be picked up, that Carrie felt she scarcely knew where to start.
Lucy. Lucy was the first. She had been given the joyous news over the telephone by her mother, had put down the receiver and disappeared. But where? Lucy didn’t much like Randall Fischer, and had uncharacteristically rebelled at the very suggestion that she might spend the two weeks of Christmas in his company, and in Florida.