they were allowed to grow.”
“I can’t believe that Quartermain House doesn’t have formal gardens.”
“Well, formal-ish. Fortunately Jack, the gardener, never had a good eye for a straight line and Sam, his son, is a bit odd and usually plants things in strange places, so that you are surprised by bluebells in the vegetable garden or a sudden breakout of lily-of-the-valley in the middle of the rose garden. Rather nice, really. But surely you’ve been to Q House at some stage?”
“Only very briefly, with Toby. I wasn’t asked to stay to tea.”
“That’s not very surprising. I don’t remember seeing you there. I might have been hospitable. I was sometimes.”
“He hid me in the walled garden. The rose garden. Now there’s a formal garden for you.”
“The sanctum sanctorum.”
“Hallo? Talking about gardens?” Toby had caught something of their conversation. “A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!” he quoted.
“Quite,” said Anna.
“We were talking about your country retreat. I was telling Anna about the day you hid me in the rose garden.”
“Oh, yes. Father was no lover of guests. You never saw the inside of Q House?”
“No.”
“Maybe we should all go there sometime. After all, what’s the point in having the blasted place if I don’t make some use of it?” Toby glanced at Anna, conscious of the fact that she might be sensitive about the idea of people going to Quartermain House. She was. The idea of crowds of Toby’s friends intruding on the place that had been her home, her retreat, the home that had been so much a part of Andrew, distressed her. But at the same time, she recognised the fact that the house now belonged to Toby, and that he had a right to do what he liked there.
“It certainly seems a shame to leave it empty,” she said, with difficulty. “Oh! that reminds me. The Brigadier’s going there next weekend. He only wants to pick up some papers.”
“Jolly good. Why don’t we all go? Not that that Harris would be particularly pleased to see any of us. Except Anna. Would you mind, Anna?”
“Why should I? It is your house.”
“I know. But I still think of it as yours. Silly really. But would you come?”
Anna struggled with her feelings for a moment.
“Douglas would be a lot happier about us going if you were there.”
Anna laughed. “He probably would. But I refuse to be responsible for your behaviour.” She thought how nice it would be to see the dour and gloomy Douglas again. And the gardens would be in their full spring bloom. “Oh, well. Why not.”
“First-class! Who else is for a quiet weekend in the country?”
Nobody dissented and only Anna had any reservations about the prospect.
It was only towards the end of the evening that Anna fulfilled her self-appointed task of engaging Warren in conversation. Although, ostensibly, her decision to go to the dinner party had been based on the fact that she would be given the opportunity of learning more about her young charge, she had not taken full advantage of the occasion. Of course, since she was seated next to Percy, and Warren was at the far end of the table, it was hardly surprising that she spoke more to the former. But by the time they had abandoned the table and tumbled onto the settees or sprawled on the floor, she had to admit that if she did not make a positive effort to insinuate herself into the dialogue that was going on between Warren and Duffy she would miss her chance altogether.
Actually, as she listened to what was being said, with the intention of intervening at the first opportunity, she observed that it was more of a monologue than a dialogue.
“...we could hardly have been expected to...quite frankly people wouldn’t accept that...and, after all, it isn’t even grammatically correct...didn’t think they approved of anything too suggestive...”
Anna wished she could grasp the subject of the little speech which she could only partially hear, Percy having inconsiderately put on some background music. She abandoned her place on the settee and edged closer to the couple.
“...and it’s getting much worse, so much worse that I’m almost ashamed to admit to my part in it...” Duffy paused to take a sip of her drink and Anna snatched the opportunity.
“Were you talking about your job, Warren? I didn’t quite catch what it was that you do?” Anna gave him an innocent, questioning look. It was a clumsy introduction of the subject in which she was interested, but he did not seem to notice anything odd about the interruption.
“No. There is nothing of interest to be said about my job. Jane was saying...”
Anna, not particularly wanting a résumé of what Jane had been saying, risked a further interruption.
“Stock broking! I believe Toby once told me you had something to do with stock broking.”
“Commodity broking,” Warren corrected her.
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes. But not a very interesting one.”
“Do you not enjoy your job?”
“It passes the time.”
“You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic.” Jane had turned her attentions to Philip, and Anna was left to pump what information she could out of Warren. He was not an easy person to pump.
“I’m never very enthusiastic.”
“What did you study at university?”
“Russian and German.”
“Did you study them with any end in mind?”
“No. I can’t say I did.”
“Oh. So you left university without any idea of the sort of job you wanted and just drifted into the City?”
“I had planned to work in marketing. I thought of working for my father’s company but I rather went off the idea.”
“Oh? Why was that?”
“One sees quite a lot of one’s father as it is. I preferred to do something else.”
If he saw more of his father than he could stand, why follow him about the place?
“How about your work?” Warren’s question seemed to be merely polite. Anna, however, did not get a chance to answer. Percy bent over her and placed one hand on her shoulder,
“I promised to show you those pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“Yes. The ones I hide.”
“Oh. Where are they?”
“In my bedroom.”
“I suppose they would be! Is this a new departure on the old theme of...do come and see my etchings, or, have some Madeira m’dear? Perhaps I ought to ask Toby along as a chaperon.”
“Is Percy going to show you his collection of dirty postcards?” asked Toby.
“I rather think so.”
“Trust Uncle Percy.” He helped her to her feet.
Anna glanced instinctively towards Caroline, but she had just turned to speak to Philip. Oh well, the man had asked her into his bedroom, not into his bed.
“You’ll have to be quick. Ben will be here any minute. I asked him to pick me up at twelve if I didn’t summon him earlier.” She meekly followed Percy into his room where he began to rummage about in a drawer. Whilst he did so, she glanced at some photos on the wall.
“Lots of young Percys.”
“A few young Tobys too.” He pulled a small folder from the bottom of the drawer.
“No really little Percys?”
“What a horrible thought! No. The earliest pictures are the Cambridge ones. Here we are.” He handed her the pictures. Anna looked at them. They were very precise drawings, some in pencil, some watercolours. She thought how difficult it was not to like a man who played cricket and drew flowers. The sound of the doorbell forestalled her comments.
“That must be Ben.”
“The fair maiden was whisked away before the stroke of midnight!”
“You wouldn’t want to see me turn into a pumpkin.”
“Will I see you again?” He looked at her appealingly.
“Of course. At Q House.”
“Not before?”
“Not before.”
“Cru
el woman!”
They went back to join the others, and Anna said goodnight and thanked Percy for his hospitality.
“Do any of you need a lift?” she enquired.
Philip glanced up, “I say, would you mind? I ought to be toddling along. Where do you live?”
“Holland Park.”
“I’m Chelsea. That won’t take you far out of your way.”
“That’s fine. Anyone else?” There was no one else and the two of them took their leave. “Can you give Ben directions?” asked Anna.
“Of course.” During the brief journey they exchanged pleasantries. Then, as they neared their destination, Philip said, “Take that road...Turn down there...That’s the one. Thank you so much. Goodnight.” He stepped out of the car and Anna and Ben watched him as he let himself into a smart brick house with a white front door.
“Curiouser and curiouser!” said Anna.
“Is he a friend of the chap we followed here?”
“His cousin.”
“Why should someone bother following their father to their cousin’s house?”
“Why, indeed. There is either a very simple reason – or a very strange one.”
Seven
“Unfortunately Mrs Baldwin has been poorly and I had to ask young Eleanor to come and help. She is a steady enough girl, but a little slapdash. You might find the rooms somewhat musty. Mrs Baldwin was waiting for the fine weather before she aired them.”
Anna smiled. The same over-careful Douglas. And “young” Eleanor, Jack Baldwin’s daughter, was nearing forty.
“I’m sure everything will be perfectly all right. I certainly don’t see why you should put yourself out for Toby’s friends. Has a room been prepared for Brigadier Butterworth? I’m not sure if he will be staying but he is the most deserving of your solicitude.”
“Indeed. I have set the principle guest room aside for