Pa.
Teddy, though surprised by the extent of Riverton’s decline, was not perturbed. He had planned a full renovation anyway.
‘Just as well to bring the old place into the twentieth century, eh?’ he said, smiling benevolently at Hannah.
They’d been back a week by then. The rain had cleared and he was standing at one end of her bedroom, surveying the sunlit room. Hannah and I were sitting on the chaise longue, sorting through her dresses.
‘As you like,’ was her noncommittal answer.
Teddy looked at her, his face a sketch of bewilderment: wasn’t it exciting to restore her ancestral home? Didn’t all women relish the opportunity to put their feminine stamp on a place? ‘I’ll spare no expense,’ he said.
Hannah looked up and smiled patiently, as one might at an overeager shop assistant. ‘Whatever you think best.’
Teddy, I’m sure, would have liked it if she’d shared Deborah’s enthusiasm for meeting with designers, debating the merits of one fabric over another, if she’d delighted in obtaining an exact replica of the King’s own hall stand. But he didn’t make a fuss. He was used, by now, to misunderstanding his wife. He just shook his head, stroked hers, and dropped the subject.
Hannah, while not interested in the renovations, displayed a surprising elevation of mood when we returned to Riverton. I had expected that leaving London, leaving Robbie, would devastate her, had prepared myself for the worst. But I was wrong. If anything, she was of lighter spirit than usual. While the renovations were taking place she spent much time outside. She took to strolling over the estate, rambling all the way to the back meadows and returning for lunch with grass seeds on her skirt and a glow in her cheeks.
She had given Robbie up, I thought. Love it might have been, but she had decided she would live without. You will think me naive, and I was. I had only my own experience to guide me. I had given Alfred up, had returned to Riverton and adjusted to his absence, and I supposed Hannah had done the same. That she too had decided her duty lay elsewhere.
One day I went looking for her; Teddy had won the Tory nomination for the seat of Saffron and Deborah had organised a lunch with Lord Gifford. He was due in thirty minutes and Hannah was still on one of her walks. I found her, finally, in the rose garden. She was sitting on the stone stairs beneath the arbour-the same that Alfred sat upon that night, all those years before.
‘Thank goodness, ma’am,’ I said, out of breath as I approached. ‘Lord Gifford will be here any minute and you’re not dressed.’
Hannah smiled over her shoulder at me. ‘I could have sworn I was wearing my green dress.’
‘You know what I mean, ma’am. You’ve yet to dress for lunch.’
‘I know,’ she said. She stretched her arms out to the side and rolled her wrists. ‘It’s just such a beautiful day. It seems a shame to sit inside. I wonder if we might convince Teddy to dine on the terrace?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ I said. ‘I don’t think Mr Luxton would like that. You know how he is with insects.’
She laughed. ‘You’re right, of course. Ah well, it was a thought.’ She stood up, gathered her writing pad and a pen into her arms. On top was an envelope without a stamp.
‘Would you like me to have Mr Hamilton post that for you, ma’am?’
‘No,’ she said, smiling and hugging the writing pad to her chest. ‘No thank you, Grace. I’ll go into town this afternoon and post it myself.’
So you see why I supposed her happy. And she was. She was. But not because she’d given Robbie up. I was wrong there. Certainly not because she’d rediscovered a flame for Teddy. And not because she was back in her family home. No. She was happy for another reason. Hannah had a secret.
Beryl leads us now through the Long Walk. It is a bumpy ride in the wheelchair, but Ursula is careful. When we reach the second kissing gate there is a sign attached. Beryl explains that the bottom of the south garden is closed for renovation. They’re working on the summer house so we won’t be able to look closely today. We can go as far as the Icarus fountain but not beyond. She swings the gate and we begin to file through.
•
The party was Deborah’s idea. It was as well to remind people that, just because they were no longer in London, the Luxtons hadn’t slipped off the social scene. Teddy thought it a splendid proposal. The main renovations were almost complete and it was an excellent opportunity to show them off. Hannah was surprisingly acquiescent. Beyond acquiescent: she took a hand in organising it. Teddy, surprised but pleased, knew better than to ask questions. Deborah, unused to having to share the plan-making, was less impressed.
‘But surely you don’t want to concern yourself with all the details,’ she said as they sat down to tea one morning.
Hannah smiled. ‘On the contrary. I’ve a great many ideas. What do you think of Chinese lanterns?’
It was at Hannah’s urging that the party turned from an intimate affair for a select few into the huge extravaganza it became. She produced guest lists and suggested they bring a dance floor in for the occasion. The midsummer’s night party had once been a Riverton institution, she told Teddy; why shouldn’t they resurrect it?
Teddy was delighted. Seeing his wife and sister work together was his fondest dream. He gave Hannah free rein and she took it. She had her reasons. I know that now. It is much easier to go unnoticed in a large energetic crowd than a small gathering.
Ursula wheels me slowly around the Icarus fountain. It has been cleaned. The blue tiles glimmer and the marble gleams where it never did before, but Icarus and his three nymphs are still frozen in their scene of watery rescue. I blink and the two ghostly figures in white petticoats lounging on the tiled rim disappear.
‘I’m the king of the world!’ The young American boy has clambered onto the harpist nymph’s head and is standing with his arms outstretched.
Beryl sweeps the scowl from her face and smiles with determined pleasantness. ‘Come down from there now, lad. The fountain was built to be looked at, not clambered over.’ She waggles her finger toward the little path that leads to the lake. ‘Take a walk along there. You can’t go beyond the barricade, but you’ll be able to glimpse our famous lake.’
The youngster jumps from the fountain rim and lands with a thud at my feet. He shoots me a glance of diffident scorn then scuttles on his way. His parents and sister follow him down the path.
It is too narrow for the wheelchair but I need to see. It is the same path I followed that night. I ask Ursula to help me walk. She looks at me uncertainly.
‘Are you sure?’
I nod.
She wheels me to the entrance of the path and I lean against her as she hoists me up. We stand a moment as Ursula catches our balance, then we go slowly. Little stones beneath my shoes, long grass reeds brushing along my skirt, dragonflies hovering, then dipping in the warm air.
We pause as the American family files back toward the fountain. They are lamenting loudly the restorative process.
‘Everything in Europe’s under scaffold,’ says the mother.
‘They should give us a refund,’ says the father.
‘The only reason I came on this trip was to see where he died,’ says the girl in the heavy black boots.
