Coming Home (78 page)

‘I'll help,’ Loveday offered instantly. ‘There's a whole new tin of chocolate biscuits and Mrs Nettlebed's made a lemon cake. I saw it this morning before we went to church.’

‘And we must have gallons of tea and lemonade. And we'll take the darling doggies.’

‘It's beginning to sound,’ said Rupert, ‘a bit like a military expedition. I expect at any moment to be told to go and dig a latrine.’

Athena gave him a slap across his knee. ‘Oh, don't be so stupid.’

‘Or pitch a tent. I'm useless at pitching tents. They always fall down.’

Athena, despite herself, began to laugh. ‘What about campfires? Are you any good at those? No, on second thoughts, you don't need to bother because Edward will come, and he's a whiz at lighting fires.’

Edward frowned. ‘What do you want a fire for on a day like this?’

‘To cook things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Sausages. We'll take sausages. Or baked potatoes. Or perhaps somebody will catch a fish.’

‘What with?’

‘A trident. A bent pin on a bit of string.’

‘Personally, I think we should forget about lighting campfires. It's too hot and too much trouble. Anyway, Judith and I aren't coming.’

Sounds of dismay, distress and disappointment greeted this announcement. ‘But of course you must come. Why not? Why don't you want to come?’

‘We have a previous engagement. We're going up to The Dower House to see Aunt Lavinia.’

‘Does she know?’

‘Of course. Insists we come. Just for a little while, of course. But she hasn't seen Judith since she was ill. So we're going.’

‘Oh, well,’ Athena shrugged. ‘If it's only for a little while, you can join us later. We'll leave one of the tea-baskets for you to lug down, though, so don't
not
come, or we'll be short of food. Talking of which…’ She pushed up her dark glasses to look at her watch.

‘I know,’ said Rupert, ‘you're starving.’

‘How did you guess?’

‘Instinct. Pure animal instinct. But hark…’ He cocked his head. ‘You need faint no longer. Help is at hand…’

At which point Colonel Carey-Lewis made his appearance, stepping out from the drawing-room, and stalking across the lawn towards the little group that consisted of his three children and their friends. He still wore his church-going suit, and the wind caught his thinning hair and blew it into a coxcomb. As he approached, he smiled his shy smile and tried to smooth his hair down with his hand.

‘How very comfortable you all look,’ he told them. ‘But I'm afraid I must disturb you.’ The four young men were already on their feet. ‘Nettlebed asks me to tell you that luncheon is just about to be served.’

‘Oh, darling Pops, haven't you had time for a drink?’

‘I've had one. A glass of sherry with your mother.’

‘How is she?’ Athena was getting to her feet, brushing bits of grass and daisy heads from her lap.

‘All right. Mary's just taken her a bowl of soup. She says she's not feeling up to roast beef. I think she's going to stay where she is for the rest of the day.’

Athena went to embrace her father. ‘Poor darlings,’ she said softly. ‘Never mind. Come along.’ And she tucked her arm into his, and they started back towards the house. The rest of them hung behind, collecting glasses and beer bottles and once more stacking the trays.

Without being prompted, Gus picked up one of them. ‘Where do I take it?’

‘If you'll follow me,’ Edward told him, ‘we'll head for Nettlebed's pantry…’

The small procession straggled indoors, Judith bringing up the rear and carrying an ashtray and a couple of glasses that had been forgotten. Behind her, the garden, deserted, simmered in the sunlight, and the shadow of the umbrella, with its jigging fringe, lay dark on the empty canvas chairs, the tartan rugs.

With luncheon over and the pudding plates cleared, coffee was served, at Athena's request, at the dining-room table. ‘If we all troop into the drawing-room,’ she pointed out quite rightly, ‘we shall collapse into armchairs, go to sleep or start reading the newspapers, and the afternoon will be over before it's even begun.’

Loveday was in total agreement. ‘I don't want any coffee. I'm going to go and start getting the picnic ready.’

‘Don't get under Mrs Nettlebed's feet,’ warned Mary.

‘I won't. Will you come with me, Mary, and help? If there are two of us it'll be much quicker. And we want you to come with us,’ she added, wheedling. ‘You haven't come to the cove for ages. And we're going to take the dogs.’

‘You won't take Pekoe. He's curled up on your mother's bed like a little prince. There'll be no budging him.’

‘Well, we'll take Tiger.
Please
come and help me, Mary.’

Mary sighed. It was clear to everybody that she would have quite liked to sit down for five minutes and digest her huge Sunday lunch, but Loveday, as always, got her own way.

‘I've never known such a child as you,’ Mary told her, but she rose to her feet, excused herself to the Colonel, and carrying her coffee cup and saucer, followed Loveday out of the room. ‘We'll butter splits,’ Judith heard Loveday telling Mary importantly, ‘and put the kettle on to make gallons of tea…’

Edward was equally impatient, but for another reason. ‘I think we should skip coffee,’ he said to Judith, ‘and go to The Dower House right away. Aunt Lavinia's usually quite perky after lunch, but she gets sleepy later on and dozes off. This is the best moment to catch her at her best.’

‘Don't stay too long,’ his father warned. ‘Half an hour is about as much as she can stand.’

‘Okay, Pops, I promise.’

‘When will you be back?’ Athena asked.

‘I suppose about half past three.’

‘And you'll join us at the cove?’

‘Of course. Expect us when you see us.’

‘We'll leave one of the tea-baskets on the hall table for you to carry down.’

‘You make it sound like a penance.’

‘No. Just a device to make sure you come. It's the perfect afternoon, just right for swimming off the rocks.’

‘We'll be there. Ready, Judith?’

She stood. The others stayed at the table, their faces turned towards her, smiling. The Colonel and Athena and Jeremy, and Rupert Rycroft and the enigmatic Gus. She said, ‘Goodbye.’

‘See you soon…’

‘Send our love to Aunt Lavinia…’

‘Send her my special love…’

‘Tell her I'll be up to see her this evening…’

They went. Outside the front door stood a selection of cars, including Edward's own, because he had driven Athena and Rupert to church in it. They got in, and because it had been sitting in the sun, it was boiling, the leather seats hot as griddles.

‘God, what a furnace.’ Edward rolled down windows, creating a small draught. For luncheon, in deference to his father, he had put on a tie again, but now he tore it off, and undid the top button of his blue shirt. ‘I should have parked in the shade. Never mind, it makes the prospect of leaping into the sea even more inviting. And when the moment comes, it will be extra splendid, knowing that you and I have done our duty.’

‘It's not really a
duty,
’ Judith pointed out, even though she did not want to disagree with him, and entirely saw his point.

‘No.’ Edward started up the engine and they moved away, across the blistering gravel into the cool tunnel of the avenue. ‘But you mustn't expect her to be the same jolly, active Aunt Lavinia we've all known and loved. She's had a hell of a battering, and it shows.’

‘But she isn't
dead.
That's all that really matters. And she'll get strong again.’ She thought about this. Aunt Lavinia was, after all, very old. ‘Or, anyway, stronger.’ Another thought occurred to her. ‘Oh dear, I haven't got anything to take her. I should have bought flowers or something. Chocolates perhaps.’

‘She's overloaded with both. And grapes, and Eau de Cologne, and boxes of Chanel soap. It's not just the family who care about her. She has friends all over the county, who've come trundling along to pay their respects and celebrate the fact that she didn't actually kick the bucket.’

‘It must be lovely to be really old and still have lots of friends. It would be awful to be old and lonely.’

‘Or old and lonely and poverty-stricken. That's even worse.’

It was such an un-Edward-like remark that Judith frowned. ‘How do you know?’

‘Old people on the estate…Pops used to take me to visit them. Not in a patronising sort of way, just to have a crack and make sure they were all right. Usually they weren't.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Couldn't do much. Usually they refused to be budged. Wouldn't go and live with a son or a daughter; were terrified of the stigma of any sort of social assistance. Just wanted to die in their own beds.’

‘It's understandable.’

‘Yes, but not very easy to deal with. Particularly when the cottage they inhabit is needed to house a new young ploughman or forester.’

‘But you couldn't possibly turn them out?’

‘You sound like a Victorian novel. No, of course we didn't turn them out. We cherished them and looked after them until they finally passed on.’

‘And where did the young ploughman live?’

Edward shrugged. ‘With his own parents, or in lodgings, or something. It was just a matter of making allowances for everybody.’

Judith thought of Phyllis, and told Edward about her unhappy circumstances. ‘…it was lovely seeing her, but it was horrid too, because she has to live in such a gloomy place and in such a bleak little house. And if Cyril joins up and goes to sea, then she's got to get out of it because it belongs to the mining company.’

‘The tied-cottage syndrome.’

‘It's just so dreadfully unfair.’

‘But if you want a man to work for you, then you have to give him a house.’

‘Shouldn't everyone have a house of their own?’

‘That's talking about Utopia, which doesn't exist.’

Judith fell silent. They were out onto the main road now, running down the hill into Rosemullion. Trees threw dark, speckly shadows onto the Tarmac, and the village drowsed in the heat, set about the small clear river, its banks yellow with kingcups. And Judith thought about Phyllis and then thought that this was a pretty funny conversation to be having with Edward, whom she loved more than anyone she had ever known, and whom she had not seen since the evening of Billy Fawcett's humiliation in the Porthkerris gutter. But it was rather nice too, because it meant they didn't just have love to talk about, but other, deeper topics. And it was easy and natural to talk to him about such things, because she had known him for so long, and he had been part of her life long before he became the whole of it.

Going back to Phyllis. ‘Do you think it ever will? Utopia, I mean. Do you think things ever will be right for everybody?’

‘No.’

‘And equality?’

‘There's no such thing as equality. And why are we onto such serious topics? Let's talk about something tremendously cheerful, and then we will arrive at the Dower House with beaming smiles on our faces, and everybody, including Isobel and Nurse, will be delighted to see us.’

Which, of course, they were. Isobel opened the door to them just as Nurse came down the stairs, bearing Aunt Lavinia's luncheon tray. Despite the warmth of the day, Nurse was in full fig; starched apron, white veil, and thick black stockings. She was a formidable figure, and Judith felt quite relieved that she wasn't the one upstairs in bed, being cared for by such a paragon — the very idea was too intimidating, but then, Aunt Lavinia had never been one to be intimidated by any person, not even this battleaxe.

She was called Sister Vellanowath. Edward, coming out with this mouthful, introduced Judith, and Judith, shaking hands, had to suppress shameful laughter. Going upstairs, out of earshot, she thumped his arm with her fist. ‘Why didn't you
tell
me she was called that?’ she whispered furiously.

‘I wanted to give you a lovely surprise.’

‘She
can't
be called Vellanowath.’

‘Yes, she can. She is.’ But he was laughing too.

Aunt Lavinia's bedroom was filled with sunshine, flowers, twinkling silver and crystal, photographs, books. She lay in bed, propped up by a pile of lace-frilled, snowy pillows, and with her shoulders wrapped in a Shetland shawl of the very finest wool. Her white hair was neatly dressed, and as they appeared through the open door, she took off her spectacles and held wide her arms in welcome.