Love Always (13 page)

Louisa and Jeremy peered past them as the first-class section gradually dispersed, but then instead of two young men came endless hordes of families, struggling with battered, heavy suitcases and screaming children, lots of boys with Beatles-style mop-top haircuts, sweating in polo necks, girls in pretty cotton dresses and low heels, cardigans draped over shoulders, housewives in headscarves, carrying their shopping in wicker baskets, farm workmen, officious men in suits with efficient moustaches, lounging men, old men . . . but no sign of Frank and his brother.

As the masses subsided into a trickle, and then to nothing, so that the platform was empty once more, Louisa and Jeremy looked despondently at each other. ‘Perhaps they missed the train?’ Louisa said, her mouth turned down. ‘But wouldn’t they have at least telephoned, to let us know?’

‘I should have thought so,’ Jeremy said. ‘Not like old Frank to leave us waiting.’

Louisa glanced desperately down the platform once more. ‘Perhaps they’re . . . perhaps they’re chatting with the driver.’

‘Lou, I don’t think so,’ said Jeremy. ‘They’d know we’d be waiting. Old Frank wouldn’t leave us hanging here while he swapped horror stories about Dr Beeching with some railway bod. Perhaps their old man’s been taken ill again, he wasn’t well before Easter, I wonder if that’s it . . . Hullo! Who’s that? Frank!’ he said with relief, as someone poked him in the ribs. ‘Oh, dammit, it’s you. Hullo, Cecily.’

Cecily’s face fell as she saw his expression. ‘Hello, Jeremy,’ she said in a small voice, blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘I got my book and my new diary. Look.’ She held up a Georgette Heyer in one hand and in the other, a simple red exercise book, with a stamp on the front: Name, Class, Subject.

‘
The Toll-Gate
,’ Jeremy read aloud. ‘Right. Sorry, Cec. Thought you were Frank,’ he added, not seeing the look of anguish on her face. He turned back to his sister. ‘I’ll just check with the chap at the ticket office. Perhaps there’s a message for us, but I doubt it. Wait here.’

Louisa’s keen eyes missed nothing, and she nudged Cecily after he’d gone. ‘I can’t believe you’re blushing, Cecily. You’ve got a pash for Jeremy. Ha!’

‘I haven’t!’ Cecily cried, hitting her on the arm furiously. She stamped her foot, her face still red. ‘Shut up, I haven’t!’And she crossed her arms, blinking back tears of mortification, like every other teenager before and since.

‘Sorry, Cec,’ Louisa said, feeling guilty. ‘That’s your new diary, is it? Gosh, you’ve written a lot, to be getting a new one already. Are you enjoying it?’

‘Yes,’ Cecily said, standing up straight again. ‘I love it. This new bit will be even more private, I can say what I like because I’ve finished the school project.’ She hugged both books to her.

‘No sign,’ said Jeremy, appearing again. ‘I must say,’ he repeated, ‘not like him, leaving us high and dry. I thought old Frank—’

‘Oh, shut up about damned old Frank,’ said Louisa, turning on her heel. ‘They’re not coming. Let’s just get back home, for God’s sake.’

‘Yes,’ said Cecily, imitating her with a flounce. ‘I want to go home too.’

Jeremy sighed and followed them.

Louisa was silent on the journey home. Jeremy took the quicker main road through the open countryside, driving fast because he was hungry now, and he’d heard Mary mention chicken salad for lunch.

‘I don’t understand what happened,’ Cecily said, equanimity restored, sticking her head between their seats. ‘Why wouldn’t they have come?’

‘Perhaps we got the wrong time. Or the wrong day,’ Jeremy said.

‘Perhaps they just changed their minds,’ Louisa said. ‘I bet they did.’

‘Frank wouldn’t do that,’ Jeremy said. ‘I’ve known him for eleven years, he wouldn’t just not turn up. Guy either.’

‘How do you know him?’ Cecily said. ‘I thought he was Louisa’s
boyfriend
.’

‘Honestly, Cecily,’ Louisa said through gritted teeth, ‘if you say that again, I will ram this down your throat.’ She turned around, brandishing a battered old
Shell Guide to the Roads of Britain
with some force. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, her hair out of place.

‘We were at prep school together,’ Jeremy said. ‘Known him for years. Lives near us. We used to play tennis together, the three of us. And Guy. You’ll like Guy,’ he told Cecily. ‘He wants to be a writer too.’

‘I bet he’s not as nice as you,’ Cecily said quietly. Jeremy didn’t hear her. ‘They’re good sorts. They like playing tennis, swimming, joining in with things, all of that.’ He turned the car off the main road, onto the dark, leafy lane above Summercove.

‘Well, if they’re such bloody good sorts, why— oh,
hell
!’ Louisa cried. ‘This stupid car, Jeremy! The spring’s come through the damned seat, look, it’s torn my shorts! My beautiful shorts . . . oh, God.’ She squirmed around in the car.

‘Maybe if you put the
Shell Guide
over the spring it’d stop it tearing anything else,’ Cecily offered helpfully. Louisa shot her a look of pure loathing.

They drew up outside the house. ‘I’ll put the car in the garage, if you want to hop out,’ Jeremy said, and the girls got out. Cecily opened the gate while Louisa, still grumbling, followed behind her.

Cecily breathed in as they walked across the lawn towards the house. ‘Oh, it’s lovely to be back on a day like today, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I can smell the sea, I can smell the sea . . .’

Voices drifted across to them from the terrace on the other side of the house. ‘I expect they’re having lunch already,’ Louisa said ruefully. ‘Bet they didn’t wait.’

They walked around the side to the garden, and Louisa let out a cry.

‘Oh! Oh, my goodness.’ She stared in amazement across the lawn.

There, kneeling on a blanket, in slim black trousers, a white T-shirt and a black cardigan slung over her shoulders, a white ribbon tying back her dark hair, was Miranda and, with her, two young men, one in meticulously pressed linen shorts and a navy polo shirt, a cricket jumper tied round his neck, the other in jeans and an open-necked shirt. They were laughing at something Miranda had said. She looked up.

‘Oh, here!’ she said, her cat-like face breaking out into a smile as the girls walked towards her. ‘Louisa’s back from the station! I’m sure she can explain what’s happened. Louisa, look!’ she said sweetly to her cousin. ‘Frank and . . . it’s Guy, isn’t it?’ she added shyly. ‘They wired yesterday to say they’d be down early, but it obviously never arrived. Isn’t that strange?’

Frank and Guy sprang to their feet as Louisa and Cecily, on the edge of the lawn, stood there, mouths open. ‘Hello!’ Louisa said, desperately clutching the flap of material on her bottom. ‘My goodness! What a lovely surprise! We’d quite given up on you two. How strange!’

‘Are you all right?’ Miranda asked, watching her cousin anxiously. ‘Is something . . . wrong?’

‘No, no,’ Louisa said hastily. ‘I tore my shorts, that’s all. Very annoying!’ she added heartily, one hand still holding the ripped material. ‘Hello, Guy, Frank—’ She patted both of them awkwardly with her free arm, bowing her head in mortification.

‘Hello, Louisa,’ Frank said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Very – very nice to see you.’

‘Oh, we
are
glad you’re back,’ Miranda said. She unfurled her legs from underneath her and stood up gracefully, stretching her long arms, and Guy gave her his hand to help her up.

‘Wow,’ said Cecily, in admiration. ‘Miranda, you look pretty today.’

‘Thanks,’ said Miranda. She tugged at her ponytail and looked sympathetically at her cousin. ‘Poor Louisa!’ she said, in honeyed tones. ‘You’d better change your shorts before lunch, it’s in five minutes. Guy, Frank – are you all settled in? Do you want a wash and brush-up?’

‘When did you get here then?’ Cecily asked. ‘How strange that we never got the wire!’

‘About an hour ago,’ Guy said. He smiled at Cecily. ‘We got a lift from a fellow who was going to Sennen Cove. Very decent of him. We were a bit stuck, we didn’t know what to do. We weren’t sure which bus would take us to Summercove, and a taxi would have wiped us out.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m Guy,’ he said, shaking Cecily’s hand.

‘Hello,’ she said, pleased. ‘Hello, Cecily,’ Frank said, also stepping forward. ‘I’m Frank, I’m Jeremy’s friend.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

Cecily stared at him. ‘Hello, Frank,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said awkwardly. He pointed to his shorts. ‘We’re all kitted out for a summer holiday, as you can see.’

She didn’t say anything, just kept looking at him. ‘It’s funny,’ she said after a while. ‘You don’t look like you should be wearing shorts.’

‘Aah. I am not that used to them, it’s true,’ Frank said. ‘You look more like you should be . . .’ Cecily paused. ‘Wearing a bowler hat.’

There was a silence. ‘Cecily, that’s rude,’ Miranda said, pushing her. ‘Say sorry.’ But Frank laughed. ‘No, it’s not rude. She’s right.’ He fiddled with some imaginary cufflinks, a smile on his handsome face. ‘I’m usually more happy in smarter kit, it’s true.’

Cecily rubbed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr Bowler Hat.’

Guy gave a shout of laughter and Frank joined in. Louisa, however, looked mortified.

‘I’m sure we passed you on the way,’ Frank said to Louisa. ‘We got our friend to sound the horn, and we pulled over, but you didn’t seem to spot us.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Louisa said. ‘Of course. I remember now . . .’ She bit her lip, annoyed, and then clutched her bottom again. ‘I really should go and change,’ she said, blushing. ‘Sorry. Will you two be OK out here while I go off?’

She looked at Frank, but he was listening to Miranda, who was saying, ‘How wonderful you’re here. Ah,’ she said, turning towards the house, ‘there’s Jeremy. Now we’re all present and correct.’ She sighed and smiled happily at the new arrivals, coiling her hair around one finger.

Suddenly a shadow passed over her. ‘Hello there,’ said a voice behind her, and Miranda and the two boys turned to see Frances walking towards them, her hand outstretched.

‘I’m Frances Seymour,’ she said, pulling the headscarf that had been tying her hair back off her head. She shook her honey-coloured hair out, scratching her scalp. ‘What a terrible welcome you’ve had.’ She smiled at them both, eyes sparkling, her clear, tanned face glowing with pleasure.

‘Not at all,’ said Guy, shaking her hand, clearly taken aback. ‘It’s wonderful to be here.’

‘Yes,’ said Frank, wiping his hand on his shorts and then holding it out to her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Kapoor.’

Frances looked up at the tall, blond, godlike Frank, and smiled, almost in amusement. ‘Frances, please,’ she said.

‘I’m Frank,’ he replied. ‘Well, so that means we’ve got almost the same name!’

‘Ye-es.’ There was a look on her face that he found rather disconcerting. ‘Well, let’s get you a drink.’ She laughed, her green eyes glinting in the sun, and patted Miranda on the shoulder. ‘Stand up, darling. Isn’t this wonderful? I feel as if the holidays can properly start now.’

Chapter Fourteen

‘More tea, vicar?’

‘Tea? Ha – very good. Yes, please, Louisa.’

‘Guy, more champagne?’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’

Louisa turned to her aunt. ‘Franty, is there anything else I can do?’

‘No,’ said Frances, smiling. ‘You’ve been wonderful. Sit down and enjoy yourself, darling.’

They had gathered on the lawn at the front of the house for drinks before dinner. There was no wind, not even the faintest breeze from the sea. The scent of lavender and oil from the lamps outside hung in the still air. ‘My One and Only Love’, and John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman floated out to them from a gramophone.

Louisa, resplendent in mulberry-coloured silk, was making the rounds with champagne, but it was Miranda who was the star of the show that night. She appeared after everyone else had gathered on the terrace, in a black grosgrain cocktail dress, extremely simple and obviously expensive, with a tulip skirt and tight bodice which clung perfectly to her gamine figure.

‘That
is
a beautiful dress, Miranda,’ Louisa said generously, handing her a glass. ‘You look like Jackie Kennedy.’

Miranda flushed, her olive skin mottling red. ‘It
is
a beautiful dress,’ Frances said, curious. ‘Where’s it from, may I ask?’

Miranda turned her face to her mother. She was glowing. ‘I didn’t tell you, Mother. So please don’t be cross. But Connie sent me a postal order to school. For ten pounds. I bought this in Exeter. And some other things.’ She was pleading.

‘She gave you
TEN POUNDS
?’ Cecily screeched. ‘I didn’t know it was that much!’

The shirt that morning. The lovely blue pumps she’d been wearing yesterday.
Of course. Frances nodded, appraising her daughter again. She definitely had style, she’d give her that much.

Not for the first time, Frances regretted making her old school friend – married to a wealthy industrialist and without children of her own – Miranda’s godmother. She was absentminded but very generous – when Miranda was ten and a half she bought her a pearl necklace from Asprey’s – but it wasn’t fair on the others.

‘Feel how gorgeous it is,’ Miranda said, taking her mother’s hand and running her fingers over the thick, beautiful fabric, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘The capri pants today, too – the cut! It’s so perfect. They’re the nicest things I’ve ever owned.’

Frances didn’t know what to say. Funny, what a difference the right clothes and a sparkle in the eye made to the girl. All these years of struggling to make Miranda happy, and it turned out she should have just taken her to Harrods and bought her some nicer clothes.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Even as she chided herself she looked again at her daughter, laughing with Cecily for once instead of snapping at her, tucking her shining black hair behind her ear, eyes shining. She hadn’t seen her like this for a long time. She, Frances, as much as anyone else, was responsible for making Miranda feel small, and she was suddenly overcome with guilt.

Miranda turned back to her. ‘Is it really all right, Mummy?’

‘Did you write and thank Connie?’ said Frances, taking a sip of her champagne.

‘Of course I did.’ Miranda stared at her mother, her green eyes unblinking. ‘I wrote her a really long letter telling her all the lovely things I could buy for ten pounds. And then she sent me another pound in the post, just like that! In case I went over it.’

Frances sighed. How very Miranda. ‘Darling, that’s awful of you.’ But she couldn’t help smiling at her.

Cecily sipped her champagne, gingerly holding the stem of the flute. It was a special night, so she was allowed a glass. ‘Mm,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as the bubbles tickled her. ‘It’s so fizzy.’

‘Don’t get drunk and make a fool of yourself,’ Archie told her. He was himself beautifully turned out, his dark hair gleaming with brilliantine like a matinee idol. Next to his sister, they made quite a pair.

‘What, like peeking at people while they get undressed?’ Cecily said sharply, turning away from him.

Archie’s expression darkened and he stammered. ‘What?’ Cecily’s face flushed, but she was saved from responding by a clinking sound. ‘Welcome, all of you,’ said Arvind, addressing the assembled group, much to their surprise. He took his wife’s hand. ‘We are glad to have you all here.’

‘Yes, cheers,’ Jeremy said, raising his glass. ‘Thanks, Uncle Arvind. We love being here.’

Next to him, Miranda rolled her eyes. Frances, seeing her expression, tried not to smile, shaking her head at her instead. Dear, staid Jeremy.

Arvind gave Jeremy a polite smile. ‘Your good health, all of you. You are the future. I salute you.’

He stepped forward, raised his glass, and then frowned, as if he was surprised he’d spoken.

‘Daddy is pretty eccentric,’ Miranda whispered loudly to Guy, who was standing next to her. ‘Just ignore him.’

Guy nodded. ‘Excuse me a moment, would you? Sir –’ he said, moving determinedly towards Arvind and leaving Miranda standing alone. ‘I’m extremely sorry to bother you with work, but I felt I couldn’t stay here and not tell you how much I enjoyed
The Modern Fortress
.’

‘You enjoyed it?’ Arvind said. ‘How extraordinary.’

Guy was nonplussed. ‘Well, perhaps
enjoyed
isn’t the right word.’ There was a silence. ‘I – er, it’s a very interesting book, anyway.’

‘Thank you,’ said Arvind, staring at him through his small round glasses. ‘You wear glasses too.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Guy equably. ‘Sometimes. For reading.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Er – me?’

‘Well, yes, you.’ Arvind looked around, as if there was someone else there.

‘I’m up at Oxford,’ Guy said. ‘I’m doing PPE.’

‘Of course.’

‘What’s PPE?’ Cecily, who had materialised next to them, asked softly.

‘It stands for Philosophy, Politics and Economics,’ Guy told her.

‘That sounds pretty dire,’ Cecily said. ‘I mean very interesting. Sorry, Dad.’

‘Ah,’ Arvind said. ‘The child rejects the parent. Very disappointing.’

‘The child rolls her eyes at the parent,’ Cecily replied gravely, but her eyes were twinkling.

Watching them with surprise on his face – in most of the homes of his contemporaries, you called your father Sir and you certainly didn’t call his work ‘dire’ – Guy coughed. ‘You’re nearly taller than your father,’ he told Cecily, flushing slightly as he couldn’t think of what else to say.

‘Thank you, young man, for pointing out my lack of inches,’ Arvind said. He jabbed Guy in the stomach and smiled, and Guy laughed, his nerves suddenly gone.

‘Sir, I wonder if you read Dr King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail?’ Guy asked hurriedly. ‘Because there are several points in it which you touch on in
The Modern Fortress
. How oppressed people cannot remain oppressed for ever. It is not possible. The desire for freedom always manifests itself and works its way through, even though it may take a long time.’

‘Ah –’ Arvind said, his eyes lighting up. ‘The danger of the white moderate, greater than the white extremist. Yes, I found that very interesting.’

‘What are they talking about?’ Miranda whispered to Cecily. ‘Really boring stuff. Someone called Dr King.’

‘Martin Luther King, that is,’ Archie said. He was standing next to them, one hand casually resting in his blazer pocket. ‘The head of the NAACP. He’s a great man.’

‘NAACP?’ Cecily said. ‘National Association for the Advancement of Colored People,’ Archie said, enunciating each word. He took a sip from his drink, turning his handsome profile away from them, towards the setting sun.

‘How do you know who he is?’ Miranda asked scornfully. ‘You don’t know anything, Archie.’

She looked at her brother crossly, as she always did when Archie showed any signs of having a different opinion from her, or an opinion about which she knew nothing.

Archie licked his lips as if he were nervous. ‘I know all men were created equal. But we’re the only different people we know,’ he said suddenly. He looked around; his father was engrossed in conversation with Guy, Louisa and Frank were laughing together on the edge of the terrace, and Jeremy and Frances were sitting on the bench by the steps. ‘And I get called a Paki at school and told to go home by boys whose parents can barely read or write, when my father’s one of the cleverest people in the world, and his family lived in a palace in Lahore.’ There were bubbles of spit in each corner of his mouth. ‘You’re stupid, Miranda. You don’t stand up to those girls who bully you because your father’s Indian. You should tell them you’re better than any of them.’

‘They don’t bully me,’ Miranda muttered, hanging her head, her hair falling in her face. ‘Shut up, Archie.’

‘They do bully you,’ Cecily said softly. ‘They’re horrible to her,’ she told Archie. ‘They call her horrible things.’

‘We don’t talk about it,’ Miranda hissed, grabbing Cecily’s arm. She was bright red. ‘Remember?’

‘We never talk about it!’ Cecily said loudly, wrenching her arm away. Frances looked over at her three children, questioning. They huddled back together again, mutinous but quietened.
Don’t break the pact.

‘There’s nothing to talk about anyway,’ Miranda whispered. She stood up straight again. ‘All right? So shut up.’

‘Anyway,’ said Cecily. ‘I don’t think it matters if Dad grew up in a palace or not. He could have grown up in a hut. They shouldn’t do it in the first place.’

But Archie wasn’t paying attention. ‘Dad went to one of the best schools in India. With Maharajahs and – and English boys,’ he said. ‘Much posher than the pit I go to.’

‘Only because his dad was a teacher there,’ Cecily pointed out. ‘That’s what I mean, it doesn’t matter either way. Just tell them they’re bigots.’

‘No,’ Archie said. ‘I don’t want to do it like that. I want to show them I’m better than them. That I’ll make more money than any of them, be more English than them, beat the faggots at their own game.’ He nodded, as though he was talking to himself. ‘I’ve got a plan, you see. We have to have a plan.’ His eyes rested, briefly, on his twin. ‘You have to understand that, both of you. They’re not going to help you. That’s all.’

The other two stared at him blankly, like he was speaking another language. And through the open window inside the house somewhere a tinkling, silvery bell rang suddenly, as if signalling the end of something.

‘I think that means it’s time for food,’ Frances said. Miranda turned away from her siblings. She put her hand gently on Guy’s arm. ‘Guy, would you like to go in to dinner?’ she said in a husky voice.

Guy turned. ‘Oh, hello, Miranda,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’d love to. Shall we?’ he said, turning to Arvind.

‘Well, if we don’t,’ Arvind said, patting him on the back, ‘it’ll go cold. Dinner, my friends. Let us eat.’

‘So, you’ve got two weeks,’ said Frances. ‘Is there anything you’d like to do while you’re here? Beyond relaxing and having a holiday, of course.’

Guy paused in the action of handing the salad bowl to Miranda and looked down the table at his brother, who was seated next to Frances.

‘We don’t really have any plans,’ Frank said, staring ner vously into Frances’s amused green eyes. ‘We’d like to go to the beach. Obviously!’ He laughed, a little too loudly. Cecily, next to him, watched him in amazement. ‘Um—’ He looked at his brother for help. He was nervous, he wished it would go away. Across the table, Louisa smiled gently at him, and he looked ruefully at her.
I’m not normally this much of an idiot
. He had hardly said a word since he’d arrived. He’d never been anywhere like Summercove before.

The windows were open, the curtains drawn, and it was a still night. Occasionally they could hear an owl hooting in the woods behind the house.

‘I’d like to go to the Minack Theatre,’ Guy said. ‘I’ve always wanted to.’

‘Well, if we can get tickets,’ Louisa said, looking at Frank to see if he registered any interest in this activity. ‘But it’s often booked up.’

Frances waved her hand. ‘That’s fine. I know them. I’m sure if we motor over tomorrow there will be some available. Terrific!’ She looked pleased. ‘I love the Minack, Guy, I hope you will too. It’s such a wonderful setting. So dramatic. You feel as if at any moment the whole thing could be swept away into the sea.’

‘Is it very dangerous, the sea around here?’ Frank said. ‘We’ve lived here for eight years, if you count when it was just our holiday home,’ said Archie sagely. ‘We’re all pretty used to the sea.’

‘The rocks can be treacherous,’ Frances said, staring at her nails. ‘But you just have to be careful. Sensible.’

Yes, be careful. Be sensible. Don’t rock the boat.
She smiled, her teeth gritted together behind her lips.

‘Well, I’d like a picnic on the beach,’ Frank said suddenly. ‘With food.’

‘Yes,’ Jeremy said, pleased. ‘We thought we’d do that. At night, if that’s all right with you, Aunt Frances?’ He turned to his aunt, next to him. ‘Don’t want to leave you high and dry without company for the evening.’