'This evening, everybody is. Isobel's only just appeared. Now, come and have a glass of champagne, and then you'll feel much better.'
'Is my tiara straight?'
'Perfect.' He took her arm and led her into the drawing-room.
'I think,' said Pandora, 'that Verena's missed out. We should all have been issued with darling little dance programmes, and tiny pencils hanging off them…'
'That just shows,' Archie told her, 'how long you've been away. Dance programmes are a thing of the past…'
'That's a
'It was all right,' Isobel pointed out, 'if one was a social butterfly, with lots of admirers. Not so much fun if nobody wanted to dance with you.'
'I'm certain,' said Conrad, with a certain transatlantic gallantry, 'that that never happened to
'Oh, Conrad, how kind of you. But every now and then there did occur a disastrous evening when one had a spot on one's nose, or a horrid dress.'
'So what did you do?'
'Hid in shame in the Ladies' Cloakroom. The Ladies' was always filled with sad wallflowers…'
'Like Daphne Brownfield,' Pandora chipped in. 'Archie, you have to remember Daphne Brownfield. She was the size of a house and her mother always dressed her in white net… she was madly in love with you and blushed like a lobster whenever you came within spitting distance…'
But Archie was more charitable. 'She played a splendid game of tennis.'
'Oh, jolly hockey sticks,' Pandora scoffed.
The room rang with voices, and now, laughter. Violet, sitting at Archie's right hand, and with a glass of champagne inside her, was already feeling a little less edgy. She listened to Pandora's teasing, but with only half an ear, because it was far more fascinating to watch than to listen. The dining-room at Croy this evening presented a splendid spectacle. The long table was dressed overall, like a battleship, for ceremony, laden with gleaming silver, starched linen, green-and-gold china, sparkling crystal. Silver pheasants stood as a centrepiece, and all was illuminated by the flames of fire and candles.
'It wasn't just the girls who suffered,' Noel pointed out. 'For a young man, dance programmes could be dreadfully limiting. No chance to play the field, and by the time you'd spied some dishy chick, it was too late to do very much about her…'
'How did you become so experienced?' Edmund asked him.
'Doing my circuit as a Debs' Delight, but those days, thank God, are over…'
They ate smoked trout, with wedges of lemon and thin brown bread and butter. Lucilla moved around the table pouring white wine. Lucilla appeared, to Violet, to have raided the dressing-up box. Her flea-market dress was gun-metal-grey voile, sleeveless and hanging straight from her bony shoulders, with a skirt that drooped below her knees in a series of handkerchief points. It was so dreadful that she should have looked hideous, but for some reason she looked perfectly sweet.
And the others? Violet sat back in her chair and observed them covertly over her spectacles. Close family, old friends, new friends come together for this long-anticipated celebration. She disregarded the undercurrents of tension that she could feel charging the atmosphere like electric wires, and kept her gaze objective. Saw the five men; two of them come from the other sides of the world. Different ages, different cultures, but all groomed and barbered and dressed up to the nines. She saw the five women, each, in her own way, beautiful.
Colour assaulted her eye. Ball gowns of dark silk or flower-garden chintz. Virginia cool and sophisticated in black and white, Pandora ethereal as a dryad in sea-green chiffon. She saw jewels. Isobel's inherited pearls and diamonds, the silver-and-turquoise chain that encircled Pandora's slender neck, the gleam of gold that shone from Virginia's ears and at her wrist. She saw Alexa's face, laughing across the table at some remark of Noel's. Alexa wore no jewel but her pale-red hair shone like a flame, and her peachy face was alight with love…
All at once, it wasn't any good. Violet was too involved with all of them to remain objective, to continue to observe them with a stranger's dispassionate eye. Her heart agonized for Alexa, so vulnerable and transparent. And Virginia? Across the table she faced her daughter-in-law, and knew that although Edmund was home again, nothing had been resolved between the two of them. For Virginia, this evening, was at her most animated. There was a brilliant and brittle sheen about her, and a dangerous brightness in her blue eyes.
I mustn't imagine the worst, Violet told herself. I must simply hope for the best. She reached for her glass and drank a little wine.
The first course was over. Jeff rose to his feet to act as butler and clear the plates. As he did this, Archie turned to Virginia.
'Virginia, Edmund tells me that you're going back to the States to see your grandparents?'
'That's right!' Her smile was too swift, her eyes too wide. 'Such fun. I can't wait to see the darling old things.'
So, despite Violet's warnings, she had done it. It was definite, official. Knowing that the worst of her fears was confirmed, Violet felt her heart sink.
'So you are going?' She did not try to keep the disapproval from her voice.
'Yes, Vi. I am. I told you I was. And now it's all fixed. I leave on Thursday. Conrad and I are travelling together.'
For an instant Vi said nothing. Across the table their eyes met. Virginia's gaze was defiant and did not waver.
'How long will you be away?' Violet asked her.
Virginia shrugged her bare brown shoulders. 'Not certain yet. I've got an open-ended ticket.' She turned back to Archie. 'I always wanted to take Henry, but now that he is no longer with us, I decided that I might as well go on my own. Such a funny feeling, being able to do things on the spur of the moment. No responsibilities. No ties.'
'And Edmund?' Archie asked.
'Oh, Vi will take care of Edmund for me,' Virginia told him airily. 'Won't you, Vi?'
'Of course.' She repressed an impulse to take her daughter-in-law by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. 'It will be no trouble at all.'
And with that Violet turned away from them both, and talked instead to Noel.
'… my grandfather had a young under-keeper by the name of Donald Buist. Twenty years old and a fine, lusty lad…'
They were now onto the second course, Isobel's Pheasant Theodora. Jeff had handed round the vegetable dishes, and Conrad Tucker refilled the wineglasses. Archie, primed and prompted by Pandora, was engaged in telling a classic family anecdote, which, like the saga of Mrs. Harris and the shooting stocking, had become, over the years, an oft-repeated family joke. Blairs and Airds had heard it many times before, but for the sake of the newcomers Archie had been persuaded to recount it again.
'… he was an excellent under-keeper, but he had one failing, and the net result of this was that every girl within twenty miles became, unfortuitously, pregnant. The shepherd's daughter at Ard-namore, the butcher's daughter in Strathcroy; even my grandmother's parlourmaid fainted clean away one lunch-time while serving the chocolate souffle.'
He paused. From beyond the closed door that led through the pantry and into the kitchen could be clearly heard the ringing of the telephone. It rang twice, and then ceased. Agnes Cooper was dealing with the interruption. Archie continued with his story.
'Finally, my grandmother put her foot down and insisted that grandfather take Donald Buist to task. So he was sent for and duly wheeled into my grandfather's office for the distasteful interview. My grandfather named half a dozen of the ladies who were bearing, or had borne, the young man's little bastards, and finally demanded to know what Donald had to say for himself, and what possible excuse he could give for his behaviour. There was a long silence while Donald thought about this, and finally he came up with his defence. 'Well, you see, sir, I've got a bicycle!' '
As the laughter died, there sounded a cursory thump on the pantry door. It was at once opened, and Agnes Cooper put her head around the edge of it.
