Past Imperfect (57 page)

'Obviously,' said Damian, remaining completely stationary.

I pointed out Joanna and briskly explained the second not-coincidence. He smiled. 'Oh, brave new world, that has such wonders in it,' he said. But still he did not step forward into the party, or indeed alter his position at all. During this, Serena had been watching, waiting, I can only suppose, for him to make the first move, but if so, she was obviously going to be disappointed, so she decided it was time for her officially to register his presence. I admired her manner in doing it. A lifetime of emotional concealment can sometimes have its uses. She walked up briskly with a wide smile. 'Damian,' she said, 'what a treat. How are you?' Andrew had followed her across the terrace, and now stood, almost threateningly, as he locked eyes with the man who had after all knocked him down in front of us all at Dagmar's ball. She, Dagmar, perhaps recalling the same incident with shame, left her own conversation and drew near. 'You remember Andrew,' said Serena, as if this whole thing might be happening on any street in any city.

'Yes,' said Damian. 'I remember him.'

'And I remember you,' said Andrew.

I think the idea crossed several minds in that second that we might be about to witness a rematch, but Candida, sensing danger, came over, clapping her hands. 'Let's all have a walk before dinner. There's a path down through the rocks, directly onto the beach. Don't you agree?' And before Serena could mention it: 'Your mother-in-law says she'll stay here and watch out for the baby.' Behind her Lady Belton had parked herself in a chair, with the expression of one of the accused at Nuremberg hearing his sentence read out.

In a way it did seem a solution and nobody raised any objection, so we broke away in groups and followed Candida, who had collared her uncle, Lord Claremont, as her personal guide. He didn't put up much resistance and set off by her side, after refilling his drink and carrying it with him. We all pottered down on to the sand and I must say it was a marvellous sight, the wide, blue sea, shining and glinting in that pellucid, evening light. We loitered, listening to the waves for a while, but when we set off for our walk down the beach I realised with a faintly sinking heart - although why? When she was a married woman, and so no concern of mine - that Serena and Damian had slipped to the back of the group. With her marvellous instinct for avoiding trouble Lady Claremont had also taken this in and made a beeline for her son-in-law, sliding her arm through his, and involving him in some apparently intense flow of talk, heaven knows what about - what would one talk about when trying to interest Andrew Summersby? - as she dragged him down the beach with her. But I could see her husband watching his daughter and Damian at the end of the trailing line, and it was not hard to tell that the sight was becoming more and more disturbing to him.

Joanna had joined me, and now she whispered: 'Do you think we're going to see some fireworks?'

'I bloody well hope not.'

'My mother's furious. She thought I'd have Damian all to myself, but it's quite clear he couldn't care less whether I live or die. Not when Serena's around.' Of course, at the time I thought she was exaggerating. That's how slow I was.

At this stage Andrew drifted away from his mother-in-law. He cast an angry look at the pair who were now quite a long way behind us on the sand, but Lucy came to his aid. I think that by this stage we were all, by unspoken agreement, working together trying to avoid a collision. Andrew had left Lady Claremont walking on her own and I could hear Pel Claremont as he drew alongside his wife. 'Do you see who that is?'

'Of course I do.'

'Did you know he was here?'

'Obviously not.'

'What's he talking to her about?'

'How should I know?'

'By Christ, if he's trying something . . .'

'If you say one single word you will only make things worse. I want your promise. You will say nothing contentious, not one word, before you close your eyes on your pillow.'

Lady Claremont hissed the phrase 'not one word' like a giant, angry snake and it was easy to tell she meant business, but whether she got the answer she required I couldn't say, since I had to crane forward to catch the last of these muttered exchanges and her husband's reply was lost beneath the sounds of the surf. Not knowing most of the facts, I couldn't understand their hostility to Damian. I turned back to Joanna, on my left. 'Did you hear any of that? If so, what's it about?'

But she shook her head. 'I wasn't listening,' she said.

I noticed we had been joined by Dagmar on the other side. 'What about you?' I asked, but she'd also missed it. In fact, she seemed rather quiet that night and uncharacteristically thoughtful. I looked at her, raising my eyebrows to signify a question, but she shook her head and gave a sad smile. 'Nothing. I'm just pondering the rest of my life.'

'Heavens.'

She waited until Joanna had dropped back to walk with George Tremayne. 'You started it, last night,' she said. 'You and Damian.' With her moist mouth twitching she was at her most poignant. 'All I want is a nice man who loves me. It sounds so tragic but that's it. I don't care how I live, really, as long as it's not in a complete hutch. I just want a nice man who loves me and treats me with respect.'

'He'll turn up,' I said. How baselessly optimistic one is when young, although I did not then guess how completely her request for even a tolerable future would be denied.

Dagmar nodded, sighing softly. I did not understand why this melancholy had gripped her, but of course now I know. The previous night, after their final tryst, Damian had told her she would never have him, she would never have the one above all others whom she loved and wanted. Any of us who have lived through a similar dismissal will feel for her. At last she gave a wistful smile. 'Maybe. Que sera sera.'

'Well, no doubt everything will work out for the best.'

'But I do doubt it,' she said.

At last Candida, sensing or praying that the danger had passed, turned us around, and slowly we made our way back to the villa. The light was failing, now, and the maids had arranged lit candles down the table and turned on the lamps that threw their beams against the house, so we seemed to be climbing up the path through the rocks, towards a fairy palace made of jewels.

We started peaceably enough. The first course was a sort of Portuguese version of
Insalata Tricolore
with olives added for good measure. I forget what the proper name was but it was delicious and we ate of it freely, which was just as well since it was destined to get us all through until the following morning. The trouble began when the main course arrived, some sort of fish stew, which looked and smelled delicious although I never got to swallow any, brought by the angry women in the kitchen. They did not hold it for us, but instead put three large, white, china bowls, filled with the steaming mixture, onto the table at intervals, leaving it to us to help ourselves and others. Meanwhile, and perhaps inevitably, Lord Claremont had been tucking into the drink since he arrived. In fairness to him, and again I did not know it then, he was simply livid to have found Damian at this house where, as he saw it, he and his wife had been lured by artifice. Once there, and presented with this bounder, which was bad enough, he found himself sitting next to a very common woman whom he did not know and who kept trying to engage him in a conversation about things and people of whom he had never heard. On the other hand, Valerie Langley was only too thrilled by her
placement
, since one of her main goals in coming out of England had been to catch the Claremont family for herself and for her daughter, and was quite unaware that it was not working well.

To get things straight, to trace the source of the explosion, one must bear in mind that Pel Claremont thought Damian Baxter a liar and a cad, who'd attempted to seduce Serena into a marriage that would have ruined her life, all in an attempt to promote his own slimy and ill-bred interests. This was not my reading of the matter at all, but it was his and he did not understand why he had to sit at dinner with the author of his misfortunes. The plain truth is that neither Serena nor Candida had thought this through. The whole thing was as doomed as their original plan that exposure to Damian, at Gresham, would bring her parents round. Clearly, once the Claremonts had invited themselves on this expedition, Candida should have cancelled, or at the very least made a totally different plan as to how Serena and Damian would meet, because, given my new and greater understanding of the situation I now think Serena was incapable of turning down the chance to see him when it was offered. Unfortunately.

Damian was silent as we returned from the walk, and he had been fairly monosyllabic all evening since then. I saw Serena make an attempt to sit next to him, but he deliberately placed himself in a different, empty, chair, where the seats on either side were already taken by Candida and Lady Claremont, who may have been a little surprised when he chose her as his neighbour, but who contained it. After that, Damian talked to Candida exclusively and of course it would have been to everyone's benefit if he had continued to do so, but Lady Claremont lived by certain rules and one of them was that at dinner, when the course changed and the next one was brought, it was time to turn to your other neighbour. Accordingly, she resigned George Tremayne to the claims of Dagmar and turned to Damian on her other side. 'So, what are you doing now?' she asked pleasantly. 'Have you made any plans for the future?'

Damian stared at her for a moment, long enough for most of us to register his deliberate insolence. 'Do you really want to know?' he said. Now, as I am happy to testify, this was very unfair. At the time it was completely bewildering to the rest of the party as we could not imagine what on earth Lady Claremont had done to deserve it, but even if I now accept that she had been an accomplice in wrecking his life, I still don't think it was fair. In this context she was just trying to get through dinner. Just trying to allow Candida or John or Alicky to feel that the evening was a success. What's wrong with that?

With something like a deep breath she nodded. 'Yes, I do,' she said, as steadily as she could manage. 'I'm very interested to know what lies ahead for all Serena's old friends.' Honestly, I would swear she meant this in a friendly way. She did not want Damian to marry her daughter it is true, but I don't believe she wished him ill beyond that. This may not have been true of her husband, but it was true of her. For a second Damian looked slightly ashamed. He seemed to gather himself and he opened his mouth to speak, presumably to talk about the bank or something.

But before he could utter a word, Lord Claremont cut in. 'Well,' he said as he reached for a bottle of red that required him to stretch right across the table, 'we
are
interested in a way. But only really to be sure that if you do have any plans they won't involve us.' The effect of this was electric. In an instant every conversation was dead. Lady Claremont slowly shut her eyes and held them closed against the tidal wave that she probably guessed was coming. John and Alicky were just puzzled as to why their guests had suddenly chosen to be so rude to each other. The Langleys looked shocked, as did the younger group including me, while Lady Belton assumed her usual expression of indignant disdain. In the silence, Lord Belton took a huge slug of wine.

'They won't,' said Damian easily. 'What makes you think I'd make a mistake of that magnitude twice.'

'Stop this!' Suddenly Serena was as angry as I had ever seen her. 'Stop this right now!' Her eyes were blazing, but of course it was too late.

Lord Claremont quietened her with a sharp gesture of his hand, then looked his opponent in the eye and took another sip. Next, slowly and with some style, he lowered his glass and smiled before he spoke. In truth, his languor was not enough to conceal that he was very drunk. 'Now, you look here, you little shit--' This actually made half the people at the table jump, like mice they all jigged up and down in a row. Lady Claremont gave a sort of low groan, which sounded like 'Oh, no,' but might have just been a sound of mourning, as she leaned forward with one hand raised, and Valerie Langley let out a kind of wailing 'What?' to no one in particular.

But, by now, Damian was standing. 'No,' he said. '
You
look here, you pompous, ridiculous, boring, idiotic, unfunny, pretentious, ludicrous
joke
.' There were seven adjectives employed in this sentence and I was fascinated by them, because I cannot imagine that seven words could do more to change a life. When Damian had first got to his feet, he was part of a minor incident, which a few apologies and a 'have a drink, old boy' would soon have fixed. By the time he'd finished his speech, less than a minute later, he was out of this world for good and there was no possibility of return. The gates of the drawing rooms of 1970s England had clanged shut against him and the air was thick with the smoke of burning bridges.

Lord Claremont himself appeared stunned, as if he had been hit by a car and was not quite sure as to the extent of his wounds. 'How dare you--' he started to say.

But Damian was having none of it. We were way past that stage, by now. 'How dare I?
How dare I
? Who
on earth
do you think you are? What insanity gives you the right to talk to me in that manner, you
stupid old man
?' Now this was a curious moment, because to most of us present these words could easily have been said in their entirety except for the final insult by Lord Claremont to Damian, so the reversal of their direction created an odd sensation. We may be absolutely sure that never in Lord Claremont's fifty-eight years had he been addressed in anything even approaching this manner. Like all rich aristocrats the world over, he had no real understanding of his own abilities, because he had been praised for gifts he did not possess since childhood and it is hardly to be wondered at if he did not question the conclusions that every suck-up had fed him for half a century. He wasn't clever enough to know they had been talking bunkum and that he had nothing to offer in any normal market. It was a shock, a horrid shock, for him suddenly to feel that, rather than a universal figure of dignity and poise and admiration, he was in fact a fool.