in my arms. The party was on as far as they were concerned, and I realized, with a sinking heart, that I’d never get them to sleep now. I might just as well not have come. Janice, though, was a hit, even with Archie, who’s very fussy. When we got to the bedroom she sat on the bed and pointed to the faded frieze of farmyard animals around the walls, asking Archie what they said. It occurred to me that this really was a nursery, albeit an old one.
‘Was this Sam’s?’ I asked, surprised, over Archie’s deafening ‘MOO!’
‘Good boy!’ she told him. She turned to me. ‘It was once, and the tenants didn’t use this room so they didn’t bother decorating. Didn’t decorate much at all, in fact, as you’ll see. Well, it wasn’t theirs, was it? Not worth the investment. And Sam won’t get round to it, what with the roof falling in and other things to worry about. Now then, young man,’ she fussed over Archie, popping him in between sheets. He instantly popped out of them, roaring with laughter. My son was having the time of his life.
‘And have you worked here for years?’ I persisted. Shut up a minute, Archie. I sat beside Janice on the bed. ‘Did you work for Sam’s parents too?’ Any detail, however small, would help.
‘Thirty years in all,’ she said, tickling Archie’s neck. He squealed like a piglet, tucking his chin in. ‘And when my Stan was alive we were housekeeper and gardener for his folks. Lovely, they were. Well, she died young, didn’t she? Cancer, it was. And he didn’t make old bones; died of a broken heart, I always said. We lived in the cottage, Stan and me. But that’s long been sold, what with death duties and that. I live in the village now. I worked for the tenants too, nice people they were. Just cleaning and a bit of silver; well, they had au pairs, didn’t they? And they were in London, mostly. That’s all I do for Sam now, a bit of cleaning, because of course I’m in his office by day, doing the typing. Taught myself, I did, a while back, when he needed more help there than he did here. Only four days, mind. Fridays I’m here to keep on top of things. Can’t be everywhere at once, can I? But I keep the place nice. General dogsbody, that’s me.’ She grinned as Archie embraced her neck warmly. ‘Well, he’d be lost otherwise, and there’s no one else. Time was, we had gardeners and grooms and a girl from the village and what have you, but not any more.’ I noticed the wall behind her head was riddled with cracks, the carpet, worn beneath our feet. Times were clearly tougher.
‘And he’s easy to work for?’
She broke off from blowing in Archie’s ear to turn. She raised her chin and gave me a level stare. ‘There isn’t a better man.’
There was something decidedly eighteenth-century about this remark, and since I’d just seen him looking impossibly handsome downstairs in something resembling a doublet and hose, it didn’t help my equilibrium. Why couldn’t she have kept to the Regency rhetoric but said he was a cad? A bounder? I felt something I’d been determinedly stiffening inside collapse a bit.
‘So, were you here when he got married?’ I persisted nosily. ‘To Hope?’
‘I was.’ This, more shortly.
‘And – and so it must be odd for him, don’t you think? Having her back here, with her new husband?’ I blushed at my inquisitiveness.
She looked at me appraisingly. ‘I don’t know how he does it. But he’s that fond of Chad, who’s a nice boy, and that upset for him too. That’s why they’re here, I’m sure.’
This didn’t make much sense to me, but as I was trying to figure it out and formulate another question, which obviously couldn’t quite take the form of ‘And is he still in love with her?’ Janice got to her feet. She was leading me to the door too. Quite forcefully, really; taking me by the arm and telling me to go off and have a good time and she’d sort out the kiddies. She thought a game of I-spy and then a story? And perhaps some hot milk? Clemmie and Archie, looking as if it was Christmas and not at all sorry to see the back of their mother, who would have put the lights out more instantly, agreed, bouncing in their beds, shiny-eyed.
Down the stairs I went in my old black, thoughtful; then along the passage, following the noise to the front of the house. The front hall, of course, was the entrance we should have arrived at, and as I turned the corner under an arch, it was everything I’d imagined.
A grand sweeping staircase curled majestically down to a black and white limestone hall, two marble pillars supported a gallery at one end, and haughty-looking ancestors frowned darkly from the walls. It was heaving with people, so much so that some of them were halfway up the stairs. All seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, talking at the top of their voices, shrieking to one another as they knocked back the champagne. Many I knew, but so deceptively attractive were they looking, in silks, velvets and sparkling jewels, the men dapper in black tie, that now and again I had to take a second look just to confirm. I took it all in for a moment, ridiculously pleased to be here. Then I cast around for Dad. We were obviously late and there seemed to be a general move towards the dining room for supper. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to drift in there alone. My eyes darted about. Instead of my father, though, I found Jennie, who, shimmering in her grey silk, dark curls professionally swept back in soft waves from her
