A Change of Pace (11 page)

So Bet had gone, and they’d had sponge cake that melted in the mouth and two sorts of tea, in a room full of fumed oak, Benares brass, bamboo tables and Buddhas. Afterwards Ron had taken her into his inner sanctum, and they had stood pressed uneasily together in a tiny room the size of a broom cupboard, while Ron explained the mysteries of transcendental meditation. By the time he’d finished, Bet felt she was about to pass out, and Ron’s eyes were beginning to glaze over and his breath was coming in short, sharp pants ...

One good thing about having the Stokes, at least she’d get them over with — she had been brought up strictly on the manners front; one always, no matter what, returned hospitality. God knew what Simon would make of them. She felt like Lizzy Bennett arranging a party for Mr Darcy, with no one to come but Mr Collins, Mrs Bennett and her own frightful sisters. This made her giggle, and she was still giggling when Emmie Stokes came on the line. Emmie Stokes sounded stunned by the invitation. Did no one ever ask them out? Probably not. She added their name to her list.

*

‘Now, Bet, are you having caterers, because if you are — ‘ For Christ’s sake, Pol, who d’you think I am? Of course I’m not having caterers.’

‘It was only a thought, there’s no need to be rude. Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you lately. You ring me to say you’ve invited half the county to a party — I confess that at first I did think the idea a tiny bit on the ambitious side, but fun all the same — then you jump down my throat when I ask about caterers. It was only that Kitty Cornwall told me the people to have are Thrush and Co, they — ’

‘Where you get the idea that I’ve invited half the county I cannot imagine. There are at most a dozen people coming, and I doubt if all of them will turn up. The only food provided will be a few crisps and a packet or two of nuts from the Post Office. Do I make myself clear?’

Pol dialled Pete’s office. ‘Pete, I simply cannot cope with Bet at all over this party; she’s insisting on inviting all these people and then flatly refusing to give them anything to eat. It makes one wonder what she’ll be offering them to drink — a thimbleful of cooking sherry if her present attitude is anything to go by.’ Pete closed his eyes; he’d only just got back from a meeting with old Bollocks and some turd from the Treasury. It had gone on and on, and quite frankly he couldn’t take much more. ‘Don’t worry, ducky, I’m sure Bet knows what she’s doing. Anyway, from what she told me —’

‘I see, she’s already been in touch with you, has she?’

‘I rang her this morning to thank her for the invitation, that’s all. And from what I can gather, there’s only going to be a handful of people — that meditation chap from the village, the vicar, Simon Morris — ’

‘If you ask me, that’s what the party’s in aid of ... ‘

*

Diz, newly returned from his trip to Paris, showed little interest in the forthcoming party. His Easter in France had transformed his way of thinking completely, he told his mother, and he was now a dedicated francophile. Never in his life, he said — for the umpteenth time — had he met such interesting, kind, amusing, civilised people as the Duponts.

‘And rich with it.’ Bernie had grown tired of listening to minute descriptions of meals eaten, art galleries visited —whose owners Monsieur Dupont naturally numbered amongst his most intimate friends — and gatherings backstage at the Comedie Francaise. Diz waved his arms about. ‘Can’t you get it into your thick, insular head, it’s not the money —although I admit the Duponts’ place is pretty luxurious — it’s their whole way of life.’ He glanced round the kitchen, seeking inspiration. ‘It’s ... well, it’s not like this.’

‘I never for one moment thought it would be,’ interrupted his mother tartly, ‘and what I wonder is, if
chez
Dupont
is as wonderful as you say, what are we going to do with Jean-Pierre when he comes here in July? He’ll be bored stiff.’

‘No he won’t, Mum. You just don’t understand. JP’s one hell of a nice guy. He takes his pleasures where he finds them — he won’t mind in the least what the place is like. But there is one thing, while we’re on the subject —’

‘When are we ever off it?’ — Bernie’s parting shot as he whizzed out of the back door on his way to give the lawn a quick once-over with the new hover. ‘Oh belt up, cretin. Have you any idea what a pain you are?’ Diz turned to his mother. ‘As I was saying, Mum, there is just one thing ... ’

‘Yes?’ Why did one have children?

‘It’s JP’s sister, Liza. I mentioned her in my postcard, she’s at the Sorbonne. I was just wondering — that is, the Duponts were wondering — whether you could possibly see your way to having her to stay too, just for JP’s first week. The Duponts would pay, of course, and she’s dead keen to visit England.’

So that’s how it was! It had to come sometime, she supposed, and she couldn’t complain, could she, when she herself ... ? She kissed him on the top of his head. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged, darling. I only hope Liza won’t be bored and the weather’s good ... ’ — But Diz had already disappeared upstairs to write to Madame Dupont assuring her that all was well, Liza could come too.

By Saturday morning Bet had still heard nothing from Simon. No news was, hopefully, good news, but she had nevertheless slept little, eaten less, and was, so everyone kept telling her, bad-tempered in the extreme. Diz was despatched to the post office to buy crisps, Bernie had collected the drink from Victoria Wine in Stotleigh, and Nell had done the much vaunted tuna fish mixture for putting in the vol-au-vent cases she’d made the night before. Unfortunately these had not turned out quite as expected, too little butter perhaps. Never mind, she told Bet optimistically, once they’d been filled no one would notice. Bet shrugged her shoulders gloomily —who cared anyway?

‘Mum,’ Nell’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp, ‘it was your idea to have this party in the first place, in fact you absolutely insisted on it. I do think you might at least try and show a little enthusiasm.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, it’s just that I haven’t been sleeping too well lately — you’ve all been wonderful, you really have.’ And hoping she sounded suitably enthusiastic, but doubting it, Bet hurried away to polish the furniture.

Later, exhausted by all their preparations, Bet, the children and Bernie were just sitting down to a late lunch of sausages and baked potatoes — Diz’s favourites, despite his views on the inadequacy of English cooking — when Pol suddenly appeared in the doorway. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she looked disapprovingly round the untidy kitchen, tut I’ve brought a small contribution to the party.’ Blushing a little, she plonked a large hamper on the table amongst the cooling sausages. ‘Just a few bits and pieces,’ she said, not looking at anyone. ‘Fortnum’s do a special party pack.’

They opened the box with trembling fingers. Predictably, it contained absolutely everything anyone — even Madame Dupont herself — could possibly have wished for to titillate the appetite of the most jaded party-goer.

‘What price cardboard vol-au-vents now, eh?’ said Diz, unpacking a small tin of truffles. ‘Pol, you shouldn’t have, it must have cost the earth. Mr Snately will think I’ve gone mad — truffles and caviar ... Pol,
really
.
’
For an absurd moment Bet thought she might burst into tears — she seemed to be so emotional these days — but instead she kissed her gratified sister and patted her shoulder. ‘I’ve half a mind to keep it all for us. It’s wasted on the people coming to this party.’

The Stokes were the first to arrive, followed precisely three minutes later by the Snatelys. Bet and Diz had to cope on their own; Nell said she couldn’t come until she’d dealt with the sausages, and Bernie said he was still putting the last-minute touches to his bar, and why did people have to come so early? Not for Bernie Pete’s vague but lavish hospitality, at whose parties it was sometimes possible to find oneself consuming a glass of neat gin, the host having been distracted by something while pouring it out. Bernie’s bottles were arrayed in serried ranks, his glasses sparkled, each drink would be carefully measured according to the rules of the licensing trade.

The Stokes and Snatelys knew one another, of course, but that was about as far as it went. Mr Snately disapproved of meditation, and Mrs Snately, a huge woman with blue hair and a mean mouth, was saving her energy for the next arrivals, rightly concluding that she hadn’t been forced to turn out on a chilly evening like this simply to meet the Stokes.

‘Caviar, Mrs Snately?’ Diz, the son of the house, smiled boyishly. ‘Good gracious, Desmond — it is Desmond, isn’t it, such an unusual name — I haven’t eaten caviar since the bishop’s daughter married young Quentin Merrivale. Of course she’s married to someone else now, but I never can remember her second husband’s name. What’s Ophelia Merrivale’s new husband called, Horace?’ she roared at the vicar, who was standing in front of the fire, glass in hand, opening and shutting his eyes like an owl blinded in sudden daylight.

‘What’s that, dear?’

‘Ophelia Merrivale, what’s her new name?’

‘Ophelia who?’

Bet hovered uncertainly in the background. She longed to escape; this was not the party she had visualised. What in hell’s name was Nell up to, it couldn’t take that long to cook a few sausages. Where were the Redfords? She took a gulp at her gin and tonic.

‘What beautiful things you have here, Betty. I appreciate beautiful possessions as much as the next man, but beauty of the spirit is what I’m really after.’ Ron Stokes put his hand on her shoulder, smiling roguishly. ‘It’s no use having good furniture out East,’ said Emmie Stokes, her newly lacquered, deep auburn perm sparkling in the lamplight, her floral two-piece hung about with beads, ‘the ants eat it.’

‘Oh dear, what a frightful nuisance. Would you like some caviar?’

‘Not for me, dear, if you don’t mind. Fish roes disagree with me. It’s been the same ever since a holiday we spent in Bognor years ago. We stayed in a boarding-house behind the station — of course, it’s been pulled down now — and the landlady gave us cod’s roe for every meal. Do you remember, dear?’ Bet was pleased to see a spasm of annoyance flicker across Ron’s face. However, no doubt used to such deflationary tactics on the part of his wife, he quickly rose to the occasion. ‘Emmie, my dear,’ he sounded as though he were talking to a wayward infant, ‘this is caviar, the food of kings and princes, it’s not the same thing at all. I can see our Betty here must have friends in high place — ‘

‘Can I press you to one of Bernie’s specials, sir?’
Sir
? ‘It helps to wash down the caviar.’

‘My dear young man — Damien, isn’t it? I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, your mother has ... ‘

Bet fled. Would Simon never come?

But the caviar was all but eaten and they were on to the vol-au-vents and chipolatas before Bet, stuck with Emmie Stokes — ‘I don’t care what people say, I do like a bit of colour in my garden, don’t you, dear?’ — heard the front door bell and knew, all her other guests having arrived, that this time it must be Simon. Feeling the beginning-to-be-familiar lurch in her stomach, and mumbling an excuse to Emmie, she made a dash for the hall, only to find Pete had forestalled her. ‘Ah, Bet, here’s Morris at last, says he’s walked all the way from the Manor. I’ve told him he’s missed the caviar, but he says no problem, he doesn’t like the stuff anyway.’

‘Can’t “Morris” speak for himself?’ Suddenly Bet felt in command — or almost. At least he’d come, and to walk all the way from the Manor showed a certain determination.

‘Sorry to be late, Titania, but on such a night one really had to walk. Actually, it was rather a case of needs must, my car’s playing up again. I used the short cut through the wood so I’m afraid my shoes are in a bit of a mess.’

‘Nature-lover, are you?’ Pete was still hovering. While Simon bent down to get the mud off his shoes, Bet gave Pete a quick kick on the shins. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Pete, this happens to be my party.’

‘No need to be like that, ducky, I was just standing in until you arrived. I must say you arrived pretty quickly — not gone on the chap, are you?’ Drink always made Pete reckless. ‘And why does he call you Titania?’

‘Because we met in a wood, Redford, does that satisfy you?’ Simon had given up trying to clean his shoes. ‘And in anticipation of your next question, no, I haven’t yet worked out what my role is. When I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.’

Pete looked at him, his mouth slightly open. ‘Whisky do you?’

‘Admirably, how did you guess?’ Pete went.

‘God, I look like the wild man of Borneo.’ Simon peered at himself in the hall mirror. ‘You haven’t a comb on you, Titania?’

‘No, but you can borrow the dog’s comb if you like,’ Bet said, searching the face’s reflection for something, she didn’t quite know what — knew only that the something, whatever it was, wasn’t there. ‘You could have rung.’

‘I fully intended to, I really did.’ The eyes, meeting Bet’s in the mirror, were veiled, the wary eyes of a practised lover, looking her over, giving nothing away. ‘But what with one thing and another this week’s been an absolute pig. Things got rather on top of me and —’

‘They have a habit of doing that? Things — getting on top of you?’ She was surprised at the acid in her voice. This was not how she’d visualised their meeting.

‘Touché
!
’
Simon gave a bark of laughter and the brown eyes looking into hers widened in surprise, vulnerable, acknowledging a hit, seeing her, perhaps for the first time, as an equal. ‘I deserved that.’ Somewhere, something deep down in Bet breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I only thought —’