Coming Home (48 page)

‘What about Nenny and Camilla and Roddy?’

‘Darling, don't call her Nenny. That's a private joke. They're all coming tomorrow, by train. And then Tommy Mortimer's coming the next day, and he's being sensible and taking the train as well. What a lot of people to go and meet at the station.’

‘So, where is everybody?’

‘Pops and Walter Mudge have taken the tractor and the trailer, and gone to find me masses more holly. And Athena's writing Christmas cards.’

‘Hasn't she done her Christmas cards yet? They'll never get to anybody in time.’

‘Oh, well. Perhaps she'll just put Happy New Year.’ Diana thought about this, and giggled. ‘Or even, Happy Easter. Now, darlings, I must get on. What was I doing?’ She gazed, as though for inspiration, at her tinsel and her holly. ‘Decking halls, I think. So much to do. Why don't you go and find Mary?’ Already, she was drifting off in the direction of the drawing-room. ‘…get unpacked. Settled in. I'll see you at lunch…’

Alone in her pink bedroom, once she had orientated herself, checked on her possessions, and spent a few icy moments hanging out of the opened window, the first thing Judith did was to change, get out of her uniform, and put on proper, comfortable grown-up clothes. Once she had accomplished this, she was ready to deal with her unpacking, and was kneeling beside the opened suitcase rummaging for a hairbrush when she heard Athena's voice, calling her name.

‘I'm here!’

She paused in her rummagings, her face towards the open door. She heard the swift light footsteps, and the next instant, Athena was there. ‘Just popped along to say hello, and Seasons Greetings and all the rest of it.’ She came into the room and flopped languidly down on Judith's bed. She smiled. ‘I've just seen Loveday, so I knew you'd come. How's everything?’

Judith sat back on her heels. ‘Fine.’

Of all the Carey-Lewis family, Athena was the one whom Judith knew least well, and consequently, at first encounters, was always slightly overwhelmed and a bit shy. It wasn't that she wasn't friendly, or funny, or easygoing as an older sister, because she was all those things. It was just that she was so sensationally glamorous and sophisticated that the impact of her presence was apt to stun. As well, she was not often at Nancherrow. Done with débutante dances and Switzerland, she was now totally adult, and spent most of her time in London, roosting in her mother's little house in Cadogan Mews and leading a sybarite's life of pleasure. She didn't even have a proper job (she said that a job would interfere with lovely, impromptu arrangements), and if questioned about her idleness, merely smiled in dazzling fashion and murmured something about a charity ball she was helping to organise, or an exhibition to publicise some scrofulous painter or sculptor, whose incomprehensible work she professed to admire.

Her social life appeared to be non-stop. Men buzzed about her, the proverbial bees around a honey-pot, and whenever she was at Nancherrow, she spent much time on the telephone, placating lovelorn swains, promising to get in touch when she returned to London, or else concocting some unlikely story as to why she was, at the moment, unavailable. The Colonel was at one time driven to remark that she had had him on a bed of sickness so many times, it was a wonder he was not already dead.

But Judith was sympathetic. In a way, it must be a terrible responsibility to be possessed of such beauty. Long blonde hair, flawless skin, and enormous blue eyes fringed with black lashes. She was as tall as her mother, slender and long-legged, and she wore very red lipstick and very red nails and was always dressed in lovely new clothes, in the height of fashion. Today, because this was country, she wore trousers, cut like a man's, and a silk shirt, and a camelhair jacket, with padded shoulders and the glitter of a diamond brooch pinned to the lapel. Judith had not seen that brooch before, and guessed that it was the latest gift from some adoring male. That was another thing about Athena. She was perpetually being given presents. Not only for Christmas and birthdays, but all the time. And not just flowers and books, but jewellery and charms for her gold bracelet, and expensive little furs of sable and mink. Sitting there on the bed, she filled the room with the romantic fragrance of her perfume, and Judith imagined the huge cut-glass flagon, pressed upon her by some man mad to possess her, and set down carelessly, to join the dozen or so others on her dressing-table.

But, despite all this, she was very sweet; and very generous about lending clothes and giving advice about hair, and for some reason not in the least swollen-headed. Men, she implied, without actually saying so, were really something of a bore, and she was always perfectly content to escape their attentions and spend a little — but not too much — time with her family.

Now she curled up her legs, and settled herself comfortably down for a chat.

‘Adore the colour of that jersey. Where did you get it?’

‘In Plymouth, last Christmas.’

‘Of course. You weren't with us, were you? We missed you. How's school? Aren't you getting utterly sick of it? I nearly went mad with boredom when I was seventeen. And all those ghastly rules. Never mind, it'll soon be over and then you can whiz off to Singapore. Edward said he never realised how stultifying Harrow was until he left. I think Cambridge has opened up a whole new world for him.’

‘Ha…have you seen him lately?’

‘Yes, he came and spent a night in London with me before setting off for Arosa. We had a lovely time, steaks and champagne and lots of catching up on news. Do you know what he's doing? You won't believe it. He's joined the University Flying Club, and he's learning to fly an aeroplane. Don't you think that's frightfully brave and heroic?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Judith said with total truthfulness. The very thought of learning to fly an aeroplane she found quite terrifying.

‘He adores it. Says it's the most magical thing in the world. Floating about like a sea-gull and looking at all the little fields.’

‘Do you think he'll be back for Christmas?’

‘Bound to be. Some time or other. What are you going to wear for Christmas feasties? Have you got something new?’

‘Well, yes, I have. It's not exactly new, but I haven't worn it yet.’

‘It's new then. Tell me.’

‘It's made out of a sari. Mummy sent me one for my birthday, and your mother helped me draw a picture, and we took it to her dressmaker and she made it.’ It felt very companionable, discussing clothes with Athena in such a grown-up way. Loveday never talked about clothes, because they bored her and she didn't care how she looked. But Athena was instantly interested.

‘Sounds sensational. Can I see it? Is it here?’

‘Yes, in the wardrobe.’

‘Oh, do show!’

Judith got off her knees and went to open the wardrobe and reach for the padded hanger on which hung the precious dress, shrouded in black tissue paper.

‘The paper's meant to keep the gold thread from tarnishing. I don't quite know why,’ she explained as she peeled it aside. ‘It was awfully difficult to design, because we wanted to use the border pattern, but Diana worked it out…’

The last sheet of paper drifted to the floor and the dress was revealed. She held it up in front of her, spreading the skirts to reveal the width. So fine was the silk that it all weighed nothing, just felt light as air. Around the deep hem and the cuffs of the little sleeves the gold key pattern of the sari's border glittered with reflected light.

Athena's jaw dropped. ‘Darling, it's divine. And what a colour. Not turquoise and not blue. Utterly perfect.’ Judith felt warm with delight. It was reassuring to have Athena, of all people, so genuinely enthusiastic. ‘What about your shoes?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Gold or blue?’

‘Gold. Sort of sandals.’

‘Of course. And you must wear gold jewellery. Huge earrings. I've got just the thing, I'll lend them to you. Goodness, you're going to devastate every man in the room. It's really heavenly, and I'm madly jealous. Now wrap it all up in its parcel, and put it away before it starts tarnishing or whatever it's meant to do.’

She sat and watched while Judith, with some difficulty, accomplished this, and replaced the dress in the safety of the wardrobe, and then yawned enormously and looked at her wristwatch.

‘Goodie, it's a quarter to one. I don't know about you, but I'm simply starving. Let's go down before Nettlebed starts banging his gong.’ She rose gracefully from the bed, ran a hand over her shining hair, and was ready and waiting. ‘You haven't done much unpacking. My fault for interrupting you. Never mind. You can do it later. Isn't it heavenly to know it's holidays and you've got days and days? All the time in the world.’

Judith was awakened by the wind, a gale which had risen during the night, and was now howling in from the sea, clouting at the window and rattling the casement. It was still dark. She had opened the window a fraction when she went to bed, but now the draught tore at the curtains, causing them to dance like ghouls, so after a bit she got out of bed and, shivering in the bitter air, shoved the window shut and closed the snib. Still it rattled, but the curtains were stilled. She turned on the bedside light, and saw that it was seven o'clock in the morning. Dawn had not yet started to lighten the stormy morning, so she jumped back into her warm bed again and pulled the eiderdown up over her shoulders. By now thoroughly wide awake, she lay and thought forward to the day ahead, and back to yesterday evening. Nancherrow was slowly filling up. The latest guests, Jane and Alistair Pearson, had arrived in time for dinner, having survived a long and icy car journey from London. The entire family had streamed out into the hall to greet them, hugging and kissing beneath the laden boughs of the glittering, fairy-lit Christmas tree. The new arrivals were an attractive pair, looking younger than their years, and bringing with them a buzz of London sophistication, he in his navy-blue overcoat and foulard scarf, and she in scarlet with a white fox collar. She had tied a silk scarf over her hair, but in the warm indoors, she unknotted and pulled this off, and her hair was dark and loose against the soft fur of her collar.

‘…oh, darling…’ Diana was clearly thrilled. ‘…wonderful to see you. Was it a ghastly journey?’

‘Frightfully skiddy, but Alistair never turned a hair. We thought it was going to snow. Thank goodness we didn't have the kiddywinks and Nanny with us. She'd have been frightened stiff.’

‘Where's your luggage? In the car?’

‘Yes, and about a million parcels for under the tree…’

‘We'll bring them in. Where's Nettlebed? Nettlebed!’

But Nettlebed was already there, making his way up the passage from the kitchen. ‘Don't worry, madam, I'll see to everything.’

Which, of course, he had, and the Pearsons had been duly installed in the big bedroom with the four-poster bed, where, at this moment, they presumably still slept, unless, like Judith, they had been disturbed by the storm.

This showed no sign of abating. Another sudden squall assaulted the house, and rain spattered and streamed down the window-pane. Judith hoped that it was not going to continue all day, but the weather was the least of her worries. Far more pressing was the fact that although parcels were already piling up under the tree, Judith had not yet got a single present for anybody. By now wide awake, she lay and brooded about this for a bit, and then got out of bed and pulled on her dressing-gown and went to sit at her desk and start on a list. In a long line, she wrote seventeen names. Seventeen presents to buy and only three days in hand before the great day. No time to be lost. Swiftly, she made a plan, cleaned her teeth and washed her face, brushed her hair, got dressed and went downstairs.

It was now eight o'clock. Breakfast at Nancherrow started at half past eight, but she knew that Colonel Carey-Lewis, relishing a little peace, was always early, able to eat his eggs and bacon in silence, and read the bits out of yesterday's newspaper that he had had neither time nor opportunity to peruse the day before.

She opened the dining-room door, and he was there, sitting in his chair at the head of the table. Startled, he lowered his paper and looked up over his spectacles, his expression clearly dismayed at this disturbance. But when he saw Judith, he politely rearranged his features into a semblance of pleasure. She thought, not for the first time, that he was probably the most courteous man she had ever met.

‘Judith.’

‘I'm sorry.’ She closed the door. In the grate a fire had been kindled, and the coals gave off a bitter, acrid smell. ‘I know I'm interrupting you, and you don't want to talk a bit, but I've got a problem, and I thought you might be able to help me.’